Remembering..

I was reading a blog about the late Robert Steinberg. He was a doctor turned chocolatier who recently died of cancer. He and a partner of his created the ScharffenBerger brand, an American chocolate maker that specializes in dark chocolate. I was recently reading a blog about his recent passing and the stories, anecdotes and other tidbits others had about him. (On a side note, I had heard about his passing on NPR the day after he had died. I did not know who he was but he seemed like an awesome guy)

Reading the blog, it got me thinking about how others perceive me and how they will remember me when I'm gone. Then, it occured to me that I want to be remembered positively and with fondness; I want people to have good stories about me when I'm gone.

I know people think I'm an asshole. And I know people think I'm a pussy. But I don't know whether people would cry for me or not when I'm being buried. I don't know if people will have a beer in my honour after the funeral or if people will joke about the many stunts they and I went through when we had our fun.

I don't know if people will even say they loved me.

I want to be something more. I've stated this before. But, I don't want to go out of my way to achieve greatness, like many have in the past. If it happens, awesome. If not, meh. I can live with that, I guess. But the one thing I hope is that my friends love me and those whose paths I've crossed never forgot me. I hope I've enriched at least one person's life in this world. If I've done that, my life hasn't been a complete waste.

Teh OC needed a fire, too..

I guess the dry, fire-prone brush just couldn't be left alone here in the OC. Out in Yorba Linda, someone retard had to go and set it ablaze. I happened to be out in the Yorba Linda area and snapped some photos..

This last photo was taken from by bedroom window. I'm not sure but... this one looks a little closer to me. I'm wondering if someone set the damn hillside behind me on fire too, just to be funny.

I'm not laughing.

No, I'm not a cripple..

(though I've been feeling like it for the last few days, after all the rigorous activity I've been partaking in).

So I was out in Westwood tonight.. just got back from a night of James Bond 007 action. The new flick starring Daniel Craig is a must see. Damn, he is by far the best James Bond since Sean Connery. Even better than that old rag Roger Moore. Anyway, I digress.

So, I get there at 7p and I sit all the way in the back in those seats reserved for the handicapped. Some people say that they're 'handicapable'. I say they should handi-shut-the-fuck-up.

Anyway, there's this old woman sitting in one of the seats across from me. It went down like this:

Old bag: Hey, are you handicapped?

Me: Uh, no?

Old bag: That seat is labeled 'handicapped'. It's for handicapped people.

Me: Well, if a handicapped person comes by, I will gladly give up my seat.

Old bag: Well, I'm handicapped and I resent you sitting there.

Me: Okay. You do that.

Movie plays, ends, I get up, leave and I end up running into Mr. Movie Fone. Again. Him and Leonard Maltin seem to be at every screening I go to lately. Fortunately, he didn't get overrunned (is that a word? I dunno) by the papperazzi that was sitting outside the movie theatre. It's fortunate, because I was bee-lining it to the parking structure right behind him. It does make me wonder who they were waiting for. Tangent. Not important.

Anyhoo, to the old lady watching Quantum of Solace across from me: why the fuck didn't you yell at the young lady, who didn't look like a cripple to me, that sat next to you midway through the film? I know - you were discriminating againsts me because I'm a man. That's it. A young man. It's okay. I'll be old one day.. and possibly crippled like you. Karma seems to work in mysterious ways. But, until then...

Nah nah nah nah nah nah! [tongue out / funny face]

I'm such an asshole.

Just voted.

So, I just got home from voting. I was frantic trying to make sure I left work early (for fuck's sake, the drive took forever!) to get home. Everything went wrong all at once and I had to do training in one city, drive to another to hear a customer vent, then do training in the office for the stupid sales reps. I don't mean stupid stupid.. I mean idiot stupid.

If you don't know, you are allowed to either come into work late or leave early to vote. It is the law. I was hoping my boss would give me a hard time so I could go HR on his ass. Twas not the case.

I didn't vote Obama, as I said before. And I voted NO ON 8 (and 4 and the animal initiative, the number I forgot). I pretty much voted NO on most of them.

I was anticipating long lines. I was in and out in 15 minutes. Very nice.

So, I hope you people voted and I hope you voted with your interests at heart, not with "Oh he's so cute" or "Oh, he's not a socialist" in mind.

On another note: I knew it. I called it. I blogged it. I knew turn out for this election would be stellar. I told people as far back as a year and a half ago that this election would be key. It would be one of magnitude. Young people, old people, all people would be out in droves to vote for this one. And I knew it. I said it. It gives me faith in the public. It makes me feel like the give a shit for once.

I'm going to the gym now, with my I VOTED sticker on my shirt. :-)

Sigh..

I have just finished the last of my bottle of vodka. A bottle of vodka that I've had for the last year and a half. A bottle of vodka given to me by an old friend that was more than just a friend. A bottle that reminds me of things I shouldn't be thinking about. And I think about these stupid things and stupid people and stupid decisions and stupid everything. All because of this stupid bottle of vodka. And I haven't even talked to this friend in almost a year. What kind of fucking friend am I?

So, now I'm kind of buzzed. But, not enough. So, I'm going to hit the absinthe, which I won't need much of because of its potency. And I'll probably pass out from it. But not before I ramble on a bit here.

I don't care about the election. We already know who's going to win. And even if Obama doesn't win, it's not like anything would be different. Why? Because these people aren't the ones who run the country, it's the people who advise the President who run the country. Presidents come and go; advisers stay the same. There are pretty powerful people behind the scenes; the ones we don't hear about, the ones that don't want to be heard about. Obama. McCain. They're the face, maybe even half a brain. They may even be the ones who THINK they're making the decisions. But they're not. So, it doesn't matter who becomes president because it's going to be the same regardless. And it probably won't affect me either way. But I'll vote. And I'll vote neither for the GOP nor the Dems. And if you think I'm wasting my vote, then fuck you. I'm not. I'm exercising my right to vote for the candidate who best represents my interests. And if you're simply voting for a candidate because he's the lesser of two evils, then you're the one wasting your vote.

The last of the bottle of vodka is getting to me. Drinking and Grey's Anatomy don't mix.

Is this all there is? Wake up, get dressed, go to work, come home, do mundane shit and then go to bed? Maybe a party, maybe a function; some school thrown in to learn something and then? What the fuck am I doing here? And the live-to-the-ripe-old-age-to-55 just to see that I've wasted my fucking life? Hell, I don't need to live that long to know that my life has already been wasted.

Geeze, I should really write my friend. I'm glad she's in another country.. Otherwise, I could text her.. or call.. or better yet.. show up to her door and say.. Hey.. what's up? But I can't. There are closer people I could do that to but.. what's the point in that?

I should really write.

Ya know.. I never heard my father laugh. Not once. Not one belly laugh, not one har har.. nothing.. a smirk, maybe.. a 'heh'.. but no laugh. I don't even know what my father's laugh sounded like. I thought about this today as I laughed while enjoying a funny monologue . I laughed. Did my father's laughs sound like mine (or vice versa)? I don't know. This strikes me as terribly sad. I'm actually beside my self. It saddens me.

This rant was brought to you by the letters 'who' and 'cares'.

And the last bits of a stupid fucking bottle of vodka.