A Side of Death - An Exaggeration

Do you ever get an ominous feeling when you go to a restaurant? Like your life depends on you not eating there? The violins from Psycho play in your head as they slide the food onto your table?

That's how hungry I was today that I ignored that feeling.

Restaurant's a bit generous. It was a food shack, which is one step away from being a food cart only by virtue of it being cemented to the ground. Service so mean the staff is likely add you to the menu. It's not a matter of whether or not they'll spit in your food. It's a matter of how many and in what order.

But I skipped breakfast and I was starving.

This may be my last blog.

Avenge me.

In a Hidden Corner

Tucked away in a secluded part of San Francisco is where I found this graffiti of the Mona Lisa. It's just barely there and it is beautiful. Wonder if whoever made this intended for it to be so subtle or has the weather made it so?

Web Translator Fun! - Just Do It!

"Just Do It!" translated via internet translation tools. Everything has been translated from English to another language and then back to English.

Russian: Exactly make it!

Portuguese: It only makes it!

Japanese: Do that exactly!

Greek: Precisely him you make!

German: Straight it! (I'm putting this on a T-Shirt)

Korean: It only!

Chinese simplified: Please make it!

English to Russian to Portuguese to Japanese to Greek to German back to English:
This forms this exactly!

The Difference is Substance

What’s the difference between a Hollywood film, an independent film and a foreign film?

Simple! Let’s look at three different versions of the same story.

The Hollywood version:
A lovable alcoholic (played by Nicolas Cage) alienates everyone in his life and beats alcoholism (in a week, during a montage) to regain the love of his wife and kids.

The indie version:
A loveable wife-beating alcoholic (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) alienates everyone in his life but comes to the conclusion that, “Hey, maybe I do have a problem.” The wife tentatively agrees to give him a second chance if he gets help.

The foreign version:
A wife-beating alcoholic (played by Gerard Depardieu) alienates everyone in his life and comes to the conclusion that everyone around him is a son of a bitch while looking for loose change to buy his next beer with.

Fortune Cookie

Open any fortune cookie, any one single fortune cookie and you'll get a fortune. Duh...Anyone knows that, but the point is, all those well-wishes are nothing if you don't put in the effort yourself to make sure they come true.

Every fortune cookie lies if you don't make the effort.

The last one said, "Your fondest wish will come true this year."

So I'm going to work extra hard to make sure people that annoy me
fall into a deep, deep well.

So Unfair...

Kurt Vonnegut died this year. Michelangelo Antonioni and Ingmar Bergman died within the same week this year as well.

In my local newspaper, these men got honored with blurbs. A certain professional football coach (who shall remain nameless), upon death, received a full front page article and an entire sports section devoted just to him.

Think about that one, a full front page. Not a blurb in the front page. The whole front page. Plus, several pages devoted to him in the sports section. All for a man who coached football. Not to knock his accomplishments (which were many) but isn't that overkill?

Three men whose cultural accomplishments spanned the whole world get less ink than a man who coaches a sport that only this country takes seriously.

So it goes...

Night Walks

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Originally uploaded by hypno_bedhead.

The night's good to me. Gives me no reason to complain. At night, I can think; whereas in the morning I am so useless I'm practically furniture. Walking at night's when all the best ideas come out. My brain's digested the day and put in context and I can see it for what it was, a day.

The day's too bright, at night, we illuminate what matters.

Not that different from writing. A story could be about anything. You take all the possibilities and narrow it down to a certain one that catches your imagination.

We illuminate what matters.
Like shadow puppets in reverse.

My Life Measured in Shoes

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Originally uploaded by hypno_bedhead.

They were brand new Nike shoes. The kind that cost more than his daddy makes in a year. Oh, he had to have 'em. Day in and day out, it was, "Daddy, can I please?" Promises were made involving cleaning dishes and taking out the garbage. Simple, easy things the village idiot scoffs at.

The shoes arrived weeks later since they were so expensive there was no convincing Daddy to pay for 2nd day delivery. Don't even think about Next Day. Two weeks and four days, that's what it took for the shoes to get there.

The boy misjudged how much he was likely to grow in two weeks and four days and when he tried the shoes, they fit, barely. He was in pain, but he had Nike shoes. Daddy meanwhile, worked extra hours to pay for those damn shoes. Well, not just the shoes, but the Xbox, the car, the gas, the bills.

But the dishes stayed dirty and the trash was still inside.

And a few days after getting the shoes, a brand new style came out. The boy started up again, "Daddy, daddy, please." All daddy could do to not smack the boy was throw the old pair of shoes onto the power line.

For those shoes, by his count, had cost him, twelve hours of his life.

Madam, Last Time I Checked, I'm the Mad Scientist Here

I'm not crazy, I'm a mad scientist. Which is like crazy but with a degree.

This excuses me from all sorts of things that crazy people do. So for example, I tell you that I've replaced your spouse's brain with a potato, you're supposed to bow down before my superior intellect. Not whack me in the head with whatever is handy.

And no, I can't bring him back from the dead. Water to wine, yes. Bringing back the dead, not so much...But give me a week, the march of Mad Science is a frightening, unpredictable V.I.P. party.

So call me next week, who knows?

Mea Culpa of Sorts

Been accused of not writing enough in my blog. Not in the sense that there's not enough entries, but in the sense that the entries are too short. Oh, and it was not so much "accused" as "strongly hinted with a side of back handedness."

Sometimes, you just want to make your point and get off the stage.

Really, what else can you do sometimes?

Today, on the Train

Submitted for your approval, while my train was stopped, another one stopped next to us. In that train was a guy wearing headphones. No big deal, everyone wears headphones since the iGod conquered the world.

But this guy...this guy, he was sporting a hand crank radio.

That's the kind of radio I don't expect to see on the public transportation system. iGods, CD players, MP3 players...yes. Hand crank radios? It didn't even occur to me.

I salute thee, sir, wherever you are.

Where's My Tiny Bike?

Found this on CNN.com

Famous clown gets tiny bike back

I think everyone needs to find their tiny bike and be extremely grateful for it.

That's the Question, Innit?

Can I still, in good conscience, call myself the Hypno Bedhead if I've shorn my locks off?

The Hell I can't!

Bedhead is a state of mind!

--The "Now Metaphorical" Hypno Bedhead

Now I've Seen Everything...Again

The Man with the Cat on a Leash crossed my path again. Once more, The Cat on the Leash did not look happy.

And we have just entered, the Twilight Zone.

*Cue theme song*

Submitted for your approval, a man who puts his cat on a leash. Is this man crazy, or has he just figured out something the rest of us haven't. There are mysteries within mysteries within this tableau of the absurd. Of course, the absurd arranges it's tableau in a performance theater we like to call...

The Twilight Zone

*End theme song*

Now I've Seen Everything

Yesterday I saw a homeless man walking an animal that appeared to be a small dog but was in fact a cat...on a leash.

The cat had a defeated look on his face. Can you blame him?

The Hypno Bedhead's Marathon Journal - Entry 004

As for where 001-003 went, they're on my MySpace blog.

Last run went swimmingly, which is just the roundabout way of saying it was keen. I had to run for 40 minutes and after a lot of procrastinating, I got my behind out to run. It's once I get going I remember how great it feels to run. Feels like meditation to me, I just tune out all the stress from the day and concentrate on my running form. Nothing else matters, except for drivers who don't pay attention.

This time, unlike last time, I managed to run the full 40 minutes without stopping a single time. Yup, didn't stop a single time. I wasn't even out of breath. It's a relief and it gives me hope that I will run the whole 26.2 miles come M-Day.

Not bad for a former childhood, asthmatic couch potato. And I used to hate running.

Here's hoping it continues like this.

Dear Sir,

I am writing this letter in the hope that it finds you and your family in great health and spirits. You don't know me, but I believe that you have done me a great service earlier today.

See, as you drove to wherever it is you were going, you had no idea that you were going to play your part in a cosmic dance of wonderment and coincidence that has become my life for the last few days. It was when you made that right turn, just as the light turned green, that my foot came down on the intersection. That was the moment that changed my life forever.

I don't get many chances to test my reflexes and they say you never know what you are capable of until you are tested. I thank you sir, for having no regard for pedestrians and trying to make that right turn before any of us got off the curb. The speed at which your taxi took that turn was breathtaking. I'm sure the Guinness World Records people are on their way to your doorstep as we speak to confer to you the honor of Fastest Right Turn When You Don't Have the Right of Way.

More specifically, I thank you for being the one that proved to me beyond any doubt that I do, in fact, possess super speed, among other powers that will surely manifest themselves in the coming weeks. There was no way that I could have gotten out of the way of your taxi otherwise. I thank you and whatever wise, transcendent, God-like being put you in my path to show me that truth.

The world will soon thank you as well, when I've ended suffering with my amazing abilities.

Thank you,

The Hypno Bedhead

Blame Abraham and Isaac

Finally remembered the exact reason I don't like religion. Namely the one I was raised in.

Let's all go back in time to 1986. You're six years old, and you're dying to color something...anything preferably a wall of some sort. Your mother, bless her heart, buys you a Judeo/Christian themed coloring book.

Innocent enough...

And you color Noah Ark first because when you're a kid, and animals are cool. Fun times.

Then you color the nativity because of Baby Jesus.

Then you get to a picture of Abraham getting ready to sacrifice his son Isaac because God (capital G) asked him to. A quick recap:

Abraham was a man with lots of faith. His family had lots of faith. Everything was good. He had a son named Isaac, who he loved very much. One day, God asks in his big booming voice, "Hey Abraham, prove your faith in me by sacrificing your beloved son Isaac."

To which Abraham said, "Do what, Lord?"

To which the Lord replied, "Don't pretend you didn't hear me, it demeans us both."

"But, couldn't I sacrifice some sheep?" asked Abraham (at least I assume Abraham would have tried to bargain. At least I hope did.)

"Ummm...No," said the Lord.

"Okay!" replied Abraham since he had faith in God.

So he somehow manages to convince his son this is a good idea. Ties him up, puts him on top of a bunch of sticks to burn him on, and gets ready to give his soon a fatal case of death.

But right before Abraham can deliver on his promise, God stops him. "Psych!" God says, "Oh Me, you were really gonna do it! You have proven your faith to me. Untie your son, and here, take some money for his therapy bills." And everyone lived happily ever after.

Now in the coloring book. Abraham held the knife up in the air with a goofy-looking smile on his face. Same with Isaac, tied up to a pile of wood about to be stabbed by daddy, but what does he have on his face? A great, big goofy smile, cause being sacrificed is the bee's knees daddy-o.

It's the smiles that bothered me the most. Those vacant, cartoon grimaces haunt me still.

Let's go through better version of this story...

Abraham & Isaac: really cool great people who love everyone and have faith in God. You know? Real assets to the community.

God comes to Abraham and says, "Go sacrifice your son in my name."
Abraham cocks his head to the side and says, "Yeah...no."
God points his immaculately manicured finger at Abraham, "That's an order mister. Don't make me resort to smiting you."
Abraham turns and walks off, "Piss off, loony."
God blocks Abraham's path, "Listen you...I'm God. I say jump and you say, 'Is that all, I can juggle for you as well, maybe sing.'"
Abraham digs his heels into the ground, looks God in the eye and says, "NO!"

God stands aghast, but then chuckles to himself. "Right on, man. Good job. I asked you to do something completely stupid and you stood your ground. I'm so proud of you for not being a f****** robot. Come here!" And God high fived Abraham who knew in his heart of hearts that God wouldn't be so petty as to seriously ask him to kill his favorite son for no reason other than to teach him a lesson on the value of obeying blindly and without question." The end.

That's much better.

New Pictures

Takes forever to get pictures onto FLICKR without using their downloadable mass uploader.
This is a mosaic of some of my camera phone pictures. Not the best necessarily, but I was playing around.

As a recovering film student, it's hard not to look at the world in camera angles. I need to make a short project soon before I forget why I studied film in the first place.

Does the World Really Need Legally Blonde: the Musical?

And they say Hollywood's out of ideas.

Also, based on the success of The Producers musical, Mel Brooks now wants to turn Young Frankenstein into one. Personally, he should do Blazing Saddles instead. That whole scene where cowboys eat beans by the campfire is just crying out to be put to song. They should use real beans for the sake of authenticity and provide gas masks for the front row patrons.

Once in a while you'll hear a rumor about some dolt trying to turn Batman into a musical theater piece.

I hate musical theater.