But What If No One Can Afford To Live Here Anymore? Well I Guess You Can 'Cause You've Got A Trust Fund

Look, it's San Diego:



Hah-hah, it's funny because now everyone in San Diego is poor! There must already be lines of unemployed white people hanging out on street corners, begging for some work or just some fish tacos.

BTW, this video was shot around Vista, the North County town in San Diego that fake-boobied boob Carrie Prejean is from, though she won her tit-le as "Miss La Jolla." Faker.

I also worked in Vista for my dad during summers in high school. Looks like it sucks as bad now as it did then. It's the most boring place ever, until you've been to Irvine.

My Heart Is Broke, But I Have Some Glue

I read this Beth Spotswood person's blog and occasional other pieces at SFGate or SFAppeal and think, "She seems like a nice person." She's funny, charming, intelligent, and she -- in my opinion -- bravely decided to confront her alcoholism late last year and go into rehab for it. She is, as far as I know, still sober seven or eight months later. Good for you, Beth.

She also seems to have lotsa friends who still like her and hang out with her now that she's sober. Maybe she's a total liarpants when she writes about it, but that makes me ridiculously jealous. I'm not afraid to quit drinking (I've done it before -- repeatedly), but I'm afraid that this time, if I do, my friendships with everyone else in the universe will dry up. Because what else do I have in common with everyone I know (or at least, want to know)? We drink.

I was so lonely here for years until I started drinking again. Now, I'm still kinda lonely (break-ups and depression and all that), but at least I know I have friends here who like me and care about me. I didn't have that before.

Life: Confusing!

==========

Also: The saddest looking animal ever.

Because He's Fucking Up Even The Simplest Lines

You know what's incredibly maddening? (And I'm mad, so I can testify!)

When it seems like you're the only person in your office who, when you call in sick, everyone gets an e-mail notifying everyone else in the office that you're out sick. And NOBODY else gets that e-mail when it's someone else calling in sick. I've had days go by where I notice someone is not in the office and I have to ask where that person is. The answer is never in my inbox.

I hate my life.

(And no, I'm not paranoid. Believe me, I can read about mental illness and say "That's not me! Close, but no cigar.")

Mama Won't Shave Me, Jesus Won't Save Me

A guy says, "I hate Jews," and I said, "Why?" He goes, "Because they killed my God." They believe that. If I believed that the Jews killed my God, I'd worship the Jews, 'cause shit, there's some badasses on that team, man. I haven't seen God ever, I see Jews all the time – go figure. -- Bill Hicks

I don't care about people's religion much. To each his or her own. Religion has been a part of every society ever (right?), and even though we're all fancy dancy now with our telescopes and movies about dinosaurs, there are still lotsa people who are religious out there. (Like, billions and billions of them.)

I'm an atheist, and I became one when I realized that I didn't have faith. I didn't, and still don't have faith in a God or gods or some sort of higher power. But lots of other people do. So I'm not gonna hate on the religious just because I lack something they have. I'm not one of those Richard Dawkins/Christopher Hitchens "new athiests" or anti-theists or whatever they call themselves. So long as I'm comfortable in my atheism, and they're comfortable in whatever they're comfortable in believing, and no one is hurting another person or infringing on their rights in the process (Note: Definitely not always the case), then Budda Bless Em'.

(Note: This does not include people who believe in astrology. Those people are dumb.)

Having said all of that, professional basketball players are not where one should look for religious guidance or profound thoughts. Other than knowing which strip clubs are the best and where to find a good lawyer to handle those palimony claims, professional basketball players shouldn't be look to for guidance about ANYTHING. (Especially fashion.) They're people, many of whom are especially bright or well-educated, who have pretty much dedicated their entire lives to putting a ball through and stopping other people from doing likewise.

I thought of the above quote from Bill Hicks a little while ago after I read this this gem from Stephon Marbury, who I never imagined to be particularly bright but also didn't think of as a particularly religious person.

"Do I believe in aliens?" I don't know, because I've never seen one. But I believe in Jesus because I saw him in the shower the other day."

See? The Jews didn't kill Jesus -- he's taking a shower at Stephon Marbury's house. With Stephon Marbury!

Fortunately, there are no aliens in Stephon Marbury's shower, so we're safe. FOR NOW.

(After reading the other excerpts from Marbury's live stream of his life, uh, I think he's just a mixture of equal parts stupidity, ego, and insanity.)

And that reminds me of this:

I'm Gonna Do A Lot Of Drinking, Cause It Don't Hurt When I'm Drunk

Last nite, I came home drunk (is there any other way to come home? Oh, right, drunk and with a girl), and went to my computer after I stuffed my burrito in the microwave.

I go on the Facebook. I see an unfamiliar name in my feed: "Rachel Wilkinson." Who the fuck is Rachel Wilkinson? I don't remember meeting anyone recently named Rachel, and the only Rachel I know is... oh wait -- I know who that Rachel is. It's the (former) Rachel Mills, founder of the late, great Loin's Mouth, and my buddy, who I saw just last month at Zeitgeist.

She just married a guy who's nickname is "Pants."

I remember her complaining to me about how there were zero datable men for her in San Francisco, and she was actually thinking about moving away (to Portland) to find a man. And she used to hate on the Mission so badly.

Then she meets Pants, they move in together in the Mission, and now they're married. Life can be funny. Good job, Rachel (and Pants!).

Also: since Jessica and I broke up, I believe everyone* has either gotten engaged or gotten married.

==========

*"Everyone" does not include gay people in California.

Nowhere To Go To But Down, Down, Down, Nothing But The Ground Left For You To Fall To

Dear Supervisor Daly:

Fuck off and die.

Better yet, resign first, then fuck off and die.

Thank you.

==========

Dave's weight loss plan has hit a major snag as his knees, burdened by a college-age injury and thirty-five years of supporting his ass in all of its failed endeavors, can't take running anymore.

It's been a week since my last run, and my knees ache. Walking to work is painful. Going down the stairs is painful. Life's painful, and I live it, but I can do without chronic knee pain.

Gotta find a back-up plan.

Love Love Love Don't Live Here Anymore

Geary and Jones (I think).

It obviously ain't my corner.

==========

Ways Dave Is Trying To Conserve Money Number #1:

I'm checking out sites like Redtube and Xtube for free porn, rather than paying for video-on-demand.

I am such a hypocrite. Being poor robs you of your soul! It's like being a racist, but much less fun.

Also: Redtube and Xtube suck.

==========

You know, the question over whether the use of "nigga" by black folks is ever appropriate or not, whether in music or in person or wherever, is one thing that I think about when I smoke.

But the use of "faggot" is generally accepted to be wrong by most people (exception: gay humor?). Straight people shouldn't refer to anyone, really, as a "faggot," whether as either a homophobic or childishly emasculating putdown. Sure, there are bigots and hill people and some ghetto people and six year-olds out there, but for the rest of us, we kinda know it's bad. If you're local newscaster referred to your local mayor as a "faggot," that'd be a "What the fuck did he/she just say?" kinda moment, and then you'd immediately Twitter/Facebook/Blog/Text Message Your Friends about it, because you are an attention-seeking whore.

Where was I? Oh right, the other "f-word." So in my old age, I still get embarrassingly shocked whenever I hear Dire Straits' Money For Nothing and then this comes along:

See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy that's his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he's a millionaire

I know this song came out in 1984 or whatever, and times and attitudes were different. But still.

Liberal guilt. Harumph.

(Also: Blogger accepts the other "f-word" as a correctly spelled word in its spellcheck.)