Had a great session today. I'm able to drop in on friends short half pipe now. Small stuff but I'm stoked.
Click Here to read a post from my first day back on my skateboard. It's pretty funny what a rough start I got off to. I got hurt everytime I got on my board. Within a few months I'd gotten a mean swellbow, a broken collar bone and a broken arm. You'd think that would be it but I just couldn't quit. Stubborn maybe, afraid of being an old man, whatever it was I stuck with it and now I'm getting better and I'm done breaking bones, knock on wood.
My skate buddies are a nine year old boy and a fifty year old vegan, lesbian artist. They're both rad and I couldn't ask for a better crew. I love skateboarding.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Tears for Tears for Fears
I just got back from Jamba Juice, and felt compelled to write:Please, oh overlords of Corporate World HQ, please stop making me listen to Tears for Fears and their song of unbridled passion over nothing, for people who like folk music sensibilities without confusing politics or views. This band should have been called XTC2-Neutered. Click here to see a Google search of Tears for Fears images. Can you find one where they don't look ready to cry? I just wanted to get my free smoothie. Damn!
Speaking of Free, if you live in an apartment or you use a PO box and you get a coupon for a free burrito, smoothie, what have you, be sure to look in the trash can near the cluster of mailboxes. My friend John Ross scored like 9 free burritos that way. Check over the next few days too. Not everyone checks their mail every day.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Ten Reason's Keith Lowell Jensen Rocks Ass.
1. If Keith Lowell Jensen invented Kung-Fu it'd be called Keith-Fu. Though actually, if Kung-Fu didn't exist yet the Fu part would make no sense, so it'd probably be called Keith's Great Ass Kicking Technique.
2. Guns don't kill Keith Lowell Jensen, existential angst does, or Ulcerative Colitis does, or maybe the drugs that are prescribed to treat the Ulcerative Colitis do it, or maybe a gun after all but only if it gets to him soon, before that other stuff.
3. If Keith Lowell Jensen were a president he'd be Keith-adoor Roosevilt, or maybe John F. Keith-edy, but probably he'd keep his own name, because it's Keith Lowell Jensen, and that rocks.
4. Keith Lowell Jensen isn't the Lizard King, but he CAN do anything, or at least a great number of things, too many in fact to list in one post. He can a) Stand on his head. b) The robot c) Eat soup while watching television d) never mind, too many things to list. I told you.
5. If Keith Lowell Jensen were a rooster he'd say cock-a-doodle-death.
6. Terrorists have never attacked an American City after Keith Lowell Jensen visited it, except for New York and Oklahoma City, but in both cases it was a long time after Keith visited and they couldn't possibly had known he'd been there. The overwhelming majority of cities that Keith has visited have never been attacked by terrorists.
7. Keith Lowell Jensen is so straight that if he had sex with a man he still wouldn't be gay, the other guy would be a woman trapped in a dude's body. No, seriously.
8. The only reason you'd ever beat Keith Lowell Jensen at chess on the internet is if he was distracted by watching 15 second clips of amateur porno and even then you'd better be a fairly decent chess player, or the porn had better be above average porn. And it would be straight porn, because as I've made perfectly clear Keith Lowell Jensen aint gay!
8. Keith Lowell Jensen, who isn't gay, doesn't make mistakes in numbering. If you think he did, you'd better learn a new numbering system, or else just don't worry about it. Dang, it's really not a big deal. Get a life Mr. Mathematician.
9. Keith Lowell Jensen doesn't have to go to ten. He's not gonna let some dumb numbering gag cause him to write an extra joke. In fact he'll use it to cop out of the last joke. Ha ha. (Not Gay!!!)
2. Guns don't kill Keith Lowell Jensen, existential angst does, or Ulcerative Colitis does, or maybe the drugs that are prescribed to treat the Ulcerative Colitis do it, or maybe a gun after all but only if it gets to him soon, before that other stuff.
3. If Keith Lowell Jensen were a president he'd be Keith-adoor Roosevilt, or maybe John F. Keith-edy, but probably he'd keep his own name, because it's Keith Lowell Jensen, and that rocks.
4. Keith Lowell Jensen isn't the Lizard King, but he CAN do anything, or at least a great number of things, too many in fact to list in one post. He can a) Stand on his head. b) The robot c) Eat soup while watching television d) never mind, too many things to list. I told you.
5. If Keith Lowell Jensen were a rooster he'd say cock-a-doodle-death.
6. Terrorists have never attacked an American City after Keith Lowell Jensen visited it, except for New York and Oklahoma City, but in both cases it was a long time after Keith visited and they couldn't possibly had known he'd been there. The overwhelming majority of cities that Keith has visited have never been attacked by terrorists.
7. Keith Lowell Jensen is so straight that if he had sex with a man he still wouldn't be gay, the other guy would be a woman trapped in a dude's body. No, seriously.
8. The only reason you'd ever beat Keith Lowell Jensen at chess on the internet is if he was distracted by watching 15 second clips of amateur porno and even then you'd better be a fairly decent chess player, or the porn had better be above average porn. And it would be straight porn, because as I've made perfectly clear Keith Lowell Jensen aint gay!
8. Keith Lowell Jensen, who isn't gay, doesn't make mistakes in numbering. If you think he did, you'd better learn a new numbering system, or else just don't worry about it. Dang, it's really not a big deal. Get a life Mr. Mathematician.
9. Keith Lowell Jensen doesn't have to go to ten. He's not gonna let some dumb numbering gag cause him to write an extra joke. In fact he'll use it to cop out of the last joke. Ha ha. (Not Gay!!!)
The Brothers Jensen
My brother John and I have been working on stories about growing up in our household of Five hyper boys. Here are some notes I made when putting together story ideas. They're fairly entertaining I think.
Edward caught up with me as I walked home with my report card pinned to my shirt. He informed me that only kindergarten babies had their report cards pinned to their shirts. I was in first grade at the time. I’ll forever appreciate the humiliation I was spared.
We boys were home alone when a stranger showed up at the door. “Hi. I’m your Uncle Herb. I just came from the hills. Can I have a beer.” We had never seen this man before, so of course we let him in and gave him a beer. He did turn out to be our actual Uncle, thankfully.
Gene-Gene the dancing machine would come on the TV’s The Gong Show and all five Jensen brothers and the Jensen dad would jump to their feet and dance in their best Gene-Gene shuffle. The only guest that excited us more was the one and only Unknown comic.
While playing street hockey, my brother Erick announces that the losers will have to kiss the winners asses. I’ve never played as hard at any sport in my life. I was less afraid of kissing an ass than thrilled at the promise of humiliating the poor bastards who’d line up to kiss mine. Turns out is was just a figure of speech. This was the first of many of life’s great disappointments.
My brothers and I would spend hours in the garage, boom boxes blaring an exciting new music called rap as we practiced our break dancing moves, including intricate routines and formations that we’d do together.
I took my little brother’s favorite toy truck and buried it in the backyard. I then handed him a shovel and a map and let him spend quite a span of time digging many holes before my mother happened upon the scene and forced me to return the truck from it’s shallow grave.
We dug a hole in the backyard. We all worked together, just to do it and dug a whole deep enough for even the tallest of us to disappear completely in while standing. It was so narrow that only one of us could fit in it, standing, at a time, and I required assistance getting in or out. Mom made us bury it once she discovered it.
I didn’t know why the Mexican men hid when I yelled La Migra. I only knew that I, a mere kid, could make grown men leap into bushes and with this came feelings of great power.
Tortures I endured:
Three older brothers standing around the toilet crying. “What’s the matter” I’d ask.
“Mom fell in” they’d answer tearfully. “And when she tried to climb out she accidentally flushed.”
I tell Edward and Erick of a poor dog that I saw out in the rain. They run outside and Edward swings a shovel at whatever is behind the garbage cans while Erick makes yelping noises. They were only putting the poor dog out its misery they explained.
I try to go vegetarian for animal rights reasons. My brother John decides to be uncharacteristically generous and buy the whole family Ice Cream, for the express purpose of excluding me as he explains that it has gelatin in it and so isn’t vegetarian.
After I was accepted in the GATE program my three older brothers stood shoulder blocking the entrance to the kitchen in their interpretative dance depiction of a Rusty GATE, my new nickname.
To get to the school in Norco that housed the GATE program I rode on a short bus with six mentally retarded kids who were taking advantage of the school’s other programs. “Yeah Keith, their parents tell them that they go to a special school because they’re smart too.” John taunted me. To this day I harbor a deep psychological fear that he may have been right
Erick and Edward, fine actor’s they were, would speculate over who was the toughest kid in third grade. I’d of course have to beat up whoever they named in order to defend my title. But there was always another kid that they figured might be tougher. It finally ended after I beat up Steve, the sweet, heavy set bookworm who taught me how to play chess.
Edward caught up with me as I walked home with my report card pinned to my shirt. He informed me that only kindergarten babies had their report cards pinned to their shirts. I was in first grade at the time. I’ll forever appreciate the humiliation I was spared.
We boys were home alone when a stranger showed up at the door. “Hi. I’m your Uncle Herb. I just came from the hills. Can I have a beer.” We had never seen this man before, so of course we let him in and gave him a beer. He did turn out to be our actual Uncle, thankfully.
Gene-Gene the dancing machine would come on the TV’s The Gong Show and all five Jensen brothers and the Jensen dad would jump to their feet and dance in their best Gene-Gene shuffle. The only guest that excited us more was the one and only Unknown comic.
While playing street hockey, my brother Erick announces that the losers will have to kiss the winners asses. I’ve never played as hard at any sport in my life. I was less afraid of kissing an ass than thrilled at the promise of humiliating the poor bastards who’d line up to kiss mine. Turns out is was just a figure of speech. This was the first of many of life’s great disappointments.
My brothers and I would spend hours in the garage, boom boxes blaring an exciting new music called rap as we practiced our break dancing moves, including intricate routines and formations that we’d do together.
I took my little brother’s favorite toy truck and buried it in the backyard. I then handed him a shovel and a map and let him spend quite a span of time digging many holes before my mother happened upon the scene and forced me to return the truck from it’s shallow grave.
We dug a hole in the backyard. We all worked together, just to do it and dug a whole deep enough for even the tallest of us to disappear completely in while standing. It was so narrow that only one of us could fit in it, standing, at a time, and I required assistance getting in or out. Mom made us bury it once she discovered it.
I didn’t know why the Mexican men hid when I yelled La Migra. I only knew that I, a mere kid, could make grown men leap into bushes and with this came feelings of great power.
Tortures I endured:
Three older brothers standing around the toilet crying. “What’s the matter” I’d ask.
“Mom fell in” they’d answer tearfully. “And when she tried to climb out she accidentally flushed.”
I tell Edward and Erick of a poor dog that I saw out in the rain. They run outside and Edward swings a shovel at whatever is behind the garbage cans while Erick makes yelping noises. They were only putting the poor dog out its misery they explained.
I try to go vegetarian for animal rights reasons. My brother John decides to be uncharacteristically generous and buy the whole family Ice Cream, for the express purpose of excluding me as he explains that it has gelatin in it and so isn’t vegetarian.
After I was accepted in the GATE program my three older brothers stood shoulder blocking the entrance to the kitchen in their interpretative dance depiction of a Rusty GATE, my new nickname.
To get to the school in Norco that housed the GATE program I rode on a short bus with six mentally retarded kids who were taking advantage of the school’s other programs. “Yeah Keith, their parents tell them that they go to a special school because they’re smart too.” John taunted me. To this day I harbor a deep psychological fear that he may have been right
Erick and Edward, fine actor’s they were, would speculate over who was the toughest kid in third grade. I’d of course have to beat up whoever they named in order to defend my title. But there was always another kid that they figured might be tougher. It finally ended after I beat up Steve, the sweet, heavy set bookworm who taught me how to play chess.
Your Mama
Your mother is so fat.
How fat is she?
She is so fat, that her cholesterol is dangerously high and she is at risk of developing diabetes.
How fat is she?
She is so fat, that her cholesterol is dangerously high and she is at risk of developing diabetes.
Another new story
http://www.rockass.net/fightstories/
Click the link to read my latest fight story. Matt was a jerk who picked on me relentlessly when I was the new kid in high school, finally culminating in fists being thrown.
Click the link to read my latest fight story. Matt was a jerk who picked on me relentlessly when I was the new kid in high school, finally culminating in fists being thrown.
Tofu Jerky
Oh man, tofu jerky is soooo easy to make and yummy. I made a marinade from apple juice, honey, hickory flavoring, soy sauce and black pepper. I let strips of tofu soak and then put them in my dehydrator (thanks Robert) for about 8 hours. Man oh man it came out good. Next time I do it I'll get picutres of the whole process. Mmmmm. I'm going to try portabello mushroom jerky too.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The Violent Femmes
I finished the story this morning about going to see the Violent Femmes in S.F. and getting stuck at a punk rock crack house for a few days. Read it HERE.I finished the other story I mentioned too. You can find it if you try. If you're related to me, I ask you sincerely to please not try. Thanks.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Great Skate
I had the most amazing day skating. I did at least three things today that I couldn't do before today. I'm learning really fast. Having the pads and the helmet helps because I'm not afraid to try new things, less afraid of falling on my ass. I'd tell you the new things I did, but I don't know the names of skate moves any more. I had a great time though. I wish I had a ramp in my back yard so I could go skate it all the time. I'd never get anything else done.
I started two new stories. One about a wild adventure me and friend Ryan had when we were teenagers and went to see the Violent Femmes in S.F. and didn't get home for three days. The other is about going on an insane, neverending ride with my friend "Robby" to buy acid in Berkely. All of my most messed up stories involve "Robby". Someday I'll publish "The Robby" chronicles. I use the quotes because it's not his real name. I should have those done in the next day or two. And watch next thursday for my review of The Flaming Lips new album.
I started two new stories. One about a wild adventure me and friend Ryan had when we were teenagers and went to see the Violent Femmes in S.F. and didn't get home for three days. The other is about going on an insane, neverending ride with my friend "Robby" to buy acid in Berkely. All of my most messed up stories involve "Robby". Someday I'll publish "The Robby" chronicles. I use the quotes because it's not his real name. I should have those done in the next day or two. And watch next thursday for my review of The Flaming Lips new album.
Vomit Flavored Jelly Beans
My nephew suckered my fiance out of four bucks for vacuuming the living room. The Jelly Belly corporation then suckered my nephew out of four bucks for a little bag of jelly beans. Four Bucks! For jelly beans! Almost as bad as Pokemon charging $15 for a magazine.I will admit the jelly beans were pretty cool. They were Harry Potter themed and came in the most disgusting flavors incuding vomit, earwax, sardine, booger and spinach. Mixed in with them are tasty flavors like cinamon, toasted marshmallow, sardine, booger and spinach.
Watching him pop a bean in his mouth without looking and then go running to the kitchen to rinse his mouth out with water was hillarious and well worth the four bucks. It's also mighty nice to have the floor vacuumed. I abhor the vacuum, naturally.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)