Keepin' up with Jones, right?
-LS^2
"Bring me his fingers."
Monday, February 18, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Phourth of July
It's 9:48am on Sunday and I'm in bed. Still. I went to bed at 8pm. Friday.
Ooooh yeah, the flu. It hurts to cough and it feels like there is asphalt in my lungs. And I'll bet I smell, too. I was going to try and join a baseball league today, but I'll have to waylay those plans. It's been 31 years without playing organized baseball, so the great American pastime can wait another week for my crippling left-handed juke smash and kitty-like speed. I will cough and baseball will wait. What's new?
I want to learn more about space. But where to begin? Where would I start? I feel the same way about contacting Morgan Freeman for some freelance voiceover work (for him, not me). I think it'd be easier to forge a relationship with the Big Black that is space than the Big Black that is Morgan Freeman. But who knows? Maybe he's dying for a project to mix it up. And with enough SBTB video, we could rule the comedy world. Yeah, space is more far-fetched. Morgan will be fish in a barrel.
I work. I work work work and then I get home and I get a head start on tomorrow's work so that tomorrow I'll have a little extra time...to get my work done. It's a 6 hour gig at work, but it's about 1-2 hours of homework each day. Then each week there are sticker plan updates. And 5 times a month there are report cards. Then the 2-3 hours I've been devoting to handing out folders in the morning to parents to spread the Little Fox gospel. Then there's printing on this awful, awful machine we share. All in all, I'm spending all my time on the thing I was told would be the least of my livin' here. I understand fully that that's not how one should expect taking a job to go, but I was hamstringed into believing it. Oops. But salvation of that lies within my resourcefulness. How to make a dollar stretch, an hour sing and a moment appear. Joining a baseball team seems like a logical step. Another would be to block every site from my computer that isn't work. And maybe one that teaches you how to train carrier pigeons.
When I was in 2nd grade, I moved to Waterloo, Iowa. I learned right away that Georgia Trovas was a bitch. Cute. Popular. Bitch. Deadly combination. Then you move forward in my timeline to college. I'm 22. A man. Purely awesome and radiant. I meet Georgia Trovas again. She goes to my school for about a week. I approach her. "Hey, I'm Lucas Salazar. Remember me? Been a while, huh?"
"So?"
Some things never change. I hear she has a sarcastic greeting card business now. I hope she squanders the profits on a fatal cocaine habit.
Got any music to suggest?
I'd really like some NyQuil and a steak right now. I think I'll get the medicine from the store and murder a cow on the way back. Rumor has it there's one in town and happens to be close personal friends with James. Sorry, James, but your Mr. Ed's goin' down.
Face forward, y'all, and keep your hands on the warmth of your loves (their genitals),
-LS^2
My mission work.
Aint seen you in a while, Tootie Fruity 2x4.
Ooooh yeah, the flu. It hurts to cough and it feels like there is asphalt in my lungs. And I'll bet I smell, too. I was going to try and join a baseball league today, but I'll have to waylay those plans. It's been 31 years without playing organized baseball, so the great American pastime can wait another week for my crippling left-handed juke smash and kitty-like speed. I will cough and baseball will wait. What's new?
I want to learn more about space. But where to begin? Where would I start? I feel the same way about contacting Morgan Freeman for some freelance voiceover work (for him, not me). I think it'd be easier to forge a relationship with the Big Black that is space than the Big Black that is Morgan Freeman. But who knows? Maybe he's dying for a project to mix it up. And with enough SBTB video, we could rule the comedy world. Yeah, space is more far-fetched. Morgan will be fish in a barrel.
I work. I work work work and then I get home and I get a head start on tomorrow's work so that tomorrow I'll have a little extra time...to get my work done. It's a 6 hour gig at work, but it's about 1-2 hours of homework each day. Then each week there are sticker plan updates. And 5 times a month there are report cards. Then the 2-3 hours I've been devoting to handing out folders in the morning to parents to spread the Little Fox gospel. Then there's printing on this awful, awful machine we share. All in all, I'm spending all my time on the thing I was told would be the least of my livin' here. I understand fully that that's not how one should expect taking a job to go, but I was hamstringed into believing it. Oops. But salvation of that lies within my resourcefulness. How to make a dollar stretch, an hour sing and a moment appear. Joining a baseball team seems like a logical step. Another would be to block every site from my computer that isn't work. And maybe one that teaches you how to train carrier pigeons.
When I was in 2nd grade, I moved to Waterloo, Iowa. I learned right away that Georgia Trovas was a bitch. Cute. Popular. Bitch. Deadly combination. Then you move forward in my timeline to college. I'm 22. A man. Purely awesome and radiant. I meet Georgia Trovas again. She goes to my school for about a week. I approach her. "Hey, I'm Lucas Salazar. Remember me? Been a while, huh?"
"So?"
Some things never change. I hear she has a sarcastic greeting card business now. I hope she squanders the profits on a fatal cocaine habit.
Got any music to suggest?
I'd really like some NyQuil and a steak right now. I think I'll get the medicine from the store and murder a cow on the way back. Rumor has it there's one in town and happens to be close personal friends with James. Sorry, James, but your Mr. Ed's goin' down.
Face forward, y'all, and keep your hands on the warmth of your loves (their genitals),
-LS^2
PC Road Retter--the fuck does that mean?
"Teacher finished!"
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Garbage Booty
I am known here as a "waygookin." That means "foreigner." I like it. It sounds derogatory (and maybe it is), but when I hear children secretly ask their parents "Waygookin?" and the parents then hush their children (for it's not polite to stare), I smile like a Dutch boy.
Last weekend I went bowling every waking hour. On Sunday, I bowled a 166, which I believe is in my top 3 scores of all-time. I have no form and only an antiquated sense of fundamentals, but I do enjoy a good bowl. It's not too big in Korea, which would explain the NO DRINKING rule and the fact that there were never any other bowlers there save for my company. Yep, I spent all my money bowling. And a Friday night of whiskey and gizzards.
I'm still duckin' and bobbin' and weavin' with my job. It's a never ending pinballing 'twixt hoping they enjoy themselves, cramming lessons into their faces, pleasing the bosses and not punting a child down the hall. I had to assign one of my more unruly classes a seating chart. There are 8 students and 12 seats. The goal is to keep the sleepy ones engaged, the hyper ones at bay, the ones with grabby hands away from appliances and windows and stop them from fighting. And, you know, to teach them English. When assessing this, all I can think of is the riddle with the rice, the cat and the wolf (or whatever evolutionary hierarchy you learned). You gotta get 'em across the river, but you can only take one at a time, you can't take the rice with the cat 'cause it'll eat the rice, you can't take the wolf with the cat 'cause it'll eat the cat, and you can't shoot them out of a cannon. In my case, this girl can't sit by these two girls, this girl can't sit by the window or the light switches, this boy has to sit in front, this boy can't sit next to any of the talkers, these two girls are good and must act as buffers between the baddies, and the back row is too far away for the myopic and the perpetually fatigued. I plot it out like Napoleon, but invariably I find flaw with it. Right now, "Ooni" keeps turning on and off the heater.
Wait...why wouldn't the wolf wouldn't eat the rice? Or you for that matter? And why such a small boat if you've taken the responsibility of domesticating a wolf? Or have you not domesticated it, in which case what the hell are you doing with it anyway? And is the rice cooked? Could you put it in tupperware?
I am on my 3rd week of the Insanity workout. It's a mother fucker, but I'm getting somewhere, which is very encouraging. My goal is to get down to 75 pounds. But as I just discovered Nutella, this may be unrealistic.
I have to thank the light and life around me. Through the extremely gracious karmic whathaveyou, I am living in Korea, financially above water, healthy, sitting in a nice chair and loaded with fresh veggies and lemon juice. All this thanks to help from others, good friends, unsecured garbage dumps, love from my family and some good ol' dumb luck. With all the advantages I've had, I could be much further along, but I won't dwell on that (yes I will). I'll simply continue forward. I'll see you when I'm emaciated, world.
And Happy Birthday, Brett Loudermilk. Yesterday to me, but Today to you. Much love, Freakazoid.
As for the rest of you: Happy Birthday (when applicable).
Love you like FNM,
-LS^2
Last weekend I went bowling every waking hour. On Sunday, I bowled a 166, which I believe is in my top 3 scores of all-time. I have no form and only an antiquated sense of fundamentals, but I do enjoy a good bowl. It's not too big in Korea, which would explain the NO DRINKING rule and the fact that there were never any other bowlers there save for my company. Yep, I spent all my money bowling. And a Friday night of whiskey and gizzards.
I'm still duckin' and bobbin' and weavin' with my job. It's a never ending pinballing 'twixt hoping they enjoy themselves, cramming lessons into their faces, pleasing the bosses and not punting a child down the hall. I had to assign one of my more unruly classes a seating chart. There are 8 students and 12 seats. The goal is to keep the sleepy ones engaged, the hyper ones at bay, the ones with grabby hands away from appliances and windows and stop them from fighting. And, you know, to teach them English. When assessing this, all I can think of is the riddle with the rice, the cat and the wolf (or whatever evolutionary hierarchy you learned). You gotta get 'em across the river, but you can only take one at a time, you can't take the rice with the cat 'cause it'll eat the rice, you can't take the wolf with the cat 'cause it'll eat the cat, and you can't shoot them out of a cannon. In my case, this girl can't sit by these two girls, this girl can't sit by the window or the light switches, this boy has to sit in front, this boy can't sit next to any of the talkers, these two girls are good and must act as buffers between the baddies, and the back row is too far away for the myopic and the perpetually fatigued. I plot it out like Napoleon, but invariably I find flaw with it. Right now, "Ooni" keeps turning on and off the heater.
Wait...why wouldn't the wolf wouldn't eat the rice? Or you for that matter? And why such a small boat if you've taken the responsibility of domesticating a wolf? Or have you not domesticated it, in which case what the hell are you doing with it anyway? And is the rice cooked? Could you put it in tupperware?
I am on my 3rd week of the Insanity workout. It's a mother fucker, but I'm getting somewhere, which is very encouraging. My goal is to get down to 75 pounds. But as I just discovered Nutella, this may be unrealistic.
I have to thank the light and life around me. Through the extremely gracious karmic whathaveyou, I am living in Korea, financially above water, healthy, sitting in a nice chair and loaded with fresh veggies and lemon juice. All this thanks to help from others, good friends, unsecured garbage dumps, love from my family and some good ol' dumb luck. With all the advantages I've had, I could be much further along, but I won't dwell on that (yes I will). I'll simply continue forward. I'll see you when I'm emaciated, world.
And Happy Birthday, Brett Loudermilk. Yesterday to me, but Today to you. Much love, Freakazoid.
As for the rest of you: Happy Birthday (when applicable).
Love you like FNM,
-LS^2
Edging out England in a nail-biter.
Hey kid, c'mere...
...that's right. Now smile!
Atta boy.
Rapping HS boys beget screaming MS girls.
Some of my Garbage Booty.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Only One Sheet
Before you read on, please know that I have nothing important to say.
Tonight I went to Midas and had a pitcher of beer and a serving dish full of dry Duo Balls. I studied the Korean that I learned long ago and on which I have since become hazy. I can now tell you "I am not Duo Balls, Friend." It comes up more often that you think.
What's the real shit that's been on my mind? It's this far-to-late realization: there is a huge difference between being liked and being respected. I have always gravitated towards being liked because it offers me an instant gratification. Get some laughs, get some attention, and BAM! I'm liked. Feels good. Fast forward, say, an hour. All of a sudden I've used up all that bullshit I talk and I'm left being the one who won't shut up about insignificant things. Now change my audience to 10 year olds. Things get messy.
Tonight a man bought me a deep fried pancake smothered in sesame seeds because he had a hunch I might be American. He was right. He also seemed to know that I was hungry. And while those oily snacks are far from what I ever crave, he saves me $2 and hooked me up. Thanks, dude.
There are sweet potatoes boiling in my kitchen as we speak. As I speak. As I type. Did you know sweet potatoes are the best food ever? Neither did I. Nor do I agree with that. They're not. But they're damn good.
I also had wine.
If any of you have any used clothes to spare, I would love to have them. I'm not budgeted for shopping sprees and I'm tired of all the clothes I have.
That's really all I care to share right now. Here are some helpful hints to get you through your life:
-Listen to Jónsi.
-Try the Insanity workout.
-Avoid YouTube.
-Don't sleep in.
-Buy one lottery ticket. Only one.
-Make up a fake name for yourself.
-Get a scar.
-Befriend Buddy Pross.
-Send me clothes.
In Closing...
-LS^2
Tonight I went to Midas and had a pitcher of beer and a serving dish full of dry Duo Balls. I studied the Korean that I learned long ago and on which I have since become hazy. I can now tell you "I am not Duo Balls, Friend." It comes up more often that you think.
What's the real shit that's been on my mind? It's this far-to-late realization: there is a huge difference between being liked and being respected. I have always gravitated towards being liked because it offers me an instant gratification. Get some laughs, get some attention, and BAM! I'm liked. Feels good. Fast forward, say, an hour. All of a sudden I've used up all that bullshit I talk and I'm left being the one who won't shut up about insignificant things. Now change my audience to 10 year olds. Things get messy.
Tonight a man bought me a deep fried pancake smothered in sesame seeds because he had a hunch I might be American. He was right. He also seemed to know that I was hungry. And while those oily snacks are far from what I ever crave, he saves me $2 and hooked me up. Thanks, dude.
There are sweet potatoes boiling in my kitchen as we speak. As I speak. As I type. Did you know sweet potatoes are the best food ever? Neither did I. Nor do I agree with that. They're not. But they're damn good.
I also had wine.
If any of you have any used clothes to spare, I would love to have them. I'm not budgeted for shopping sprees and I'm tired of all the clothes I have.
That's really all I care to share right now. Here are some helpful hints to get you through your life:
-Listen to Jónsi.
-Try the Insanity workout.
-Avoid YouTube.
-Don't sleep in.
-Buy one lottery ticket. Only one.
-Make up a fake name for yourself.
-Get a scar.
-Befriend Buddy Pross.
-Send me clothes.
In Closing...
-LS^2
The duck is dead.
I don't know a single one of these kids.
I'm in love with Meg Foster,
and she's in love with me, too.
My niece has a mustache.
Proud Uncle here.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
The Watchmen
If we started like this:
"Lucas, Lucas bo-Bucas
Banana fana fo-fucas..."
Would you say:
"...me my mo Mucas--LUCAS!"
Or:
"...fe fy mo Mucas-LUCAS!"
Or neither? It's not bugging me at all, so don't pummel your brain in order to respond to me. But do think about it. You might realize there's a lot you don't know about yourself.
Lots of things drive you to question what you would do in a given situation. And I think hypothetical "What Would YOU Do?"s are pretty bullshit. I know what my answer would be, and I like to think I'd live by 'em, but when it comes face-to-face with the hot breath of temptation and morality, all the songs sounds different. I recently did the right thing despite what the less-right thing had to offer only to be largely put upon as a result. It made me think "Well shit, I shoulda just done the wrong thing." But that's the natural response. Maybe I'm just being tested. Maybe Big Brother is gauging how I deal with being put upon to see if I'm all talk or if I've got the yarbles to man up and accept my lashings. Or maybe it's just all coincidence and I'm too sensitive (but nothing is coincidence (I don't actually believe that (yes I do))).
Er, no I don't. Listen to Kissing & the Hiccups.
Melissa gave me a small tupperware full of egg rolls she had made. It was enough to last a human being with will-power and an appreciation for tasty foods perhaps two or three days. Being who I am, I all but knocked her down as I yanked them from her hands, ran to my apartment and ate every last one of them in a shade under 5 minutes, all the while thinking quite out loud "This is why I can't have nice things." It was sad, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
I wonder if I'll stay here another year...
My brother Mateo sent me a care-package today including (but not limited to) the following:
-curry powder
-a AAA watch
-sweater vests
-quinoa
-oatmeal
If I can eat it or wear it, please send it. And with that, I'm done. You're welcome, Earth.
Forever Yours,
-LS^2
"Lucas, Lucas bo-Bucas
Banana fana fo-fucas..."
Would you say:
"...me my mo Mucas--LUCAS!"
Or:
"...fe fy mo Mucas-LUCAS!"
Or neither? It's not bugging me at all, so don't pummel your brain in order to respond to me. But do think about it. You might realize there's a lot you don't know about yourself.
Lots of things drive you to question what you would do in a given situation. And I think hypothetical "What Would YOU Do?"s are pretty bullshit. I know what my answer would be, and I like to think I'd live by 'em, but when it comes face-to-face with the hot breath of temptation and morality, all the songs sounds different. I recently did the right thing despite what the less-right thing had to offer only to be largely put upon as a result. It made me think "Well shit, I shoulda just done the wrong thing." But that's the natural response. Maybe I'm just being tested. Maybe Big Brother is gauging how I deal with being put upon to see if I'm all talk or if I've got the yarbles to man up and accept my lashings. Or maybe it's just all coincidence and I'm too sensitive (but nothing is coincidence (I don't actually believe that (yes I do))).
Er, no I don't. Listen to Kissing & the Hiccups.
Melissa gave me a small tupperware full of egg rolls she had made. It was enough to last a human being with will-power and an appreciation for tasty foods perhaps two or three days. Being who I am, I all but knocked her down as I yanked them from her hands, ran to my apartment and ate every last one of them in a shade under 5 minutes, all the while thinking quite out loud "This is why I can't have nice things." It was sad, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
I wonder if I'll stay here another year...
My brother Mateo sent me a care-package today including (but not limited to) the following:
-curry powder
-a AAA watch
-sweater vests
-quinoa
-oatmeal
If I can eat it or wear it, please send it. And with that, I'm done. You're welcome, Earth.
Forever Yours,
-LS^2
Entertaining tonight.
So rip Niko Niko open and take it.
I can't get enough of this behavior.
The teachers' manual I'm writing is one page long.
Friday, January 11, 2013
GOLGA
It's done.
Finally.
I've put together an album. It's been something I've wanted to do for a long time and I've finally done it. GOLGA is a selection of tracks from my 6 years in LA, so it's not "new" music but simply a way for me to contextualize it, wrap it up, give it away and move on.
Because it's not exactly new music, it's not entirely representative of my artistic sensibilities as they are at present. But I'm proud of that which bred these songs and I'm satisfied that I made them. I say this primarily to apologize for all the poor recording quality, out of tune harmonies, choppy editing and overall lackluster musical capabilities.
In the same breath, I say I love it. I hope you enjoy it too.
-Click here to download GOLGA. Included with it is my first album The King's Mind, which was recorded even longer ago and entirely in the first day I had ever even heard of Garageband. So double what I said about musical sensibilities and all that shit.
-Click here to listen to the albums on SoundCloud. The individual tracks are downloadable there too.
A million hugs and kisses to Jimmy Heberling and George Krikes for contributing some bass and guitar on a song. It sounds like real fucking music with your hands in the mix. Muaw.
Big giant thank you to Nathan Spidle for hosting the recordings. Dude knows how to do everything.
Thank you Aprille Clarke, Evan Lampe, Marti Matulis and Bradley Laborman for lending your Photoshopping skills. Y'all didn't have to do that and I appreciate the speed and knowhow with which you worked.
Muchos gracis Ben Shearn, Tara Jayne and Steve Whatevermyoldroommate'snameis for letting me use your recording equipment on a couple tracks. For better or worse.
And finally, thank you Golga. You're a freak. Give your Mum a kiss on the mouth for me.
Now go outside and do something in the fresh air. You haven't even showered yet and there are incense ashes all over your table.
-LS^2
Finally.
I've put together an album. It's been something I've wanted to do for a long time and I've finally done it. GOLGA is a selection of tracks from my 6 years in LA, so it's not "new" music but simply a way for me to contextualize it, wrap it up, give it away and move on.
Because it's not exactly new music, it's not entirely representative of my artistic sensibilities as they are at present. But I'm proud of that which bred these songs and I'm satisfied that I made them. I say this primarily to apologize for all the poor recording quality, out of tune harmonies, choppy editing and overall lackluster musical capabilities.
In the same breath, I say I love it. I hope you enjoy it too.
-Click here to download GOLGA. Included with it is my first album The King's Mind, which was recorded even longer ago and entirely in the first day I had ever even heard of Garageband. So double what I said about musical sensibilities and all that shit.
-Click here to listen to the albums on SoundCloud. The individual tracks are downloadable there too.
A million hugs and kisses to Jimmy Heberling and George Krikes for contributing some bass and guitar on a song. It sounds like real fucking music with your hands in the mix. Muaw.
Big giant thank you to Nathan Spidle for hosting the recordings. Dude knows how to do everything.
Thank you Aprille Clarke, Evan Lampe, Marti Matulis and Bradley Laborman for lending your Photoshopping skills. Y'all didn't have to do that and I appreciate the speed and knowhow with which you worked.
Muchos gracis Ben Shearn, Tara Jayne and Steve Whatevermyoldroommate'snameis for letting me use your recording equipment on a couple tracks. For better or worse.
And finally, thank you Golga. You're a freak. Give your Mum a kiss on the mouth for me.
Now go outside and do something in the fresh air. You haven't even showered yet and there are incense ashes all over your table.
-LS^2
The King's Mind (2006)
photo: Matt Mallams
design: Evan Lampe
GOLGA (2012)
photos: Simon Edelman
design: Aprille Clarke
attitude: Russia
Friday, January 4, 2013
The Snowman
I hate to say it, but the writings of R.L. Stine were too formulaic. Here's what happens:
Goosebumps
-1st chapter introduces main character who has a quirk or a favorite OCD twitch. Ends in a false cliffhanger.
-2nd chapter introduces main character's spunky female best friend, and she's always clad head to toe in denim (insight to me: I thought "denim" was "tye-dye" for years).
-3rd chapter until the end is all ungodly atrocity no children should have to endure, culminating in the main character putting the aforementioned quirk or favorite OCD twitch to miraculous use for the first time ever. Problem solved. Hooray. Ends in cliffhanger eluding to a potential sequel...
Fear Street
-Everybody's fuckin', they just don't say that.
-The quiet guy killed 'em all 'cause he's jealous (and is the only one not fuckin').
Any Other Book
-Who cares?
That's all for now. Just thought I'd share.
Kiss Each
Other Slowly,
-LS^2
Goosebumps
-1st chapter introduces main character who has a quirk or a favorite OCD twitch. Ends in a false cliffhanger.
-2nd chapter introduces main character's spunky female best friend, and she's always clad head to toe in denim (insight to me: I thought "denim" was "tye-dye" for years).
-3rd chapter until the end is all ungodly atrocity no children should have to endure, culminating in the main character putting the aforementioned quirk or favorite OCD twitch to miraculous use for the first time ever. Problem solved. Hooray. Ends in cliffhanger eluding to a potential sequel...
Fear Street
-Everybody's fuckin', they just don't say that.
-The quiet guy killed 'em all 'cause he's jealous (and is the only one not fuckin').
Any Other Book
-Who cares?
That's all for now. Just thought I'd share.
Kiss Each
Other Slowly,
-LS^2
Is he how you pictured him?
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