So I was talking the other day about how if I get too caffeinated late in the day, I have really crazy, vivid dreams. Steven Wright mentions it in “Coffee and Cigarettes,” how he drinks coffee right before he sleeps so he can “dream fast.”

Anyway, last night was kind of like that, with my brain in complete overdrive about two hours into my REM cycle. It was standard wandering the city stuff, possibly being followed (?), but lit like a Wong Kar Wai movie with intense, moody colors. It shifted pace a lot and didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but somewhere along the line my dream kind of flipped, and all of a sudden I was sitting in front of my monitor clicking on some livejournals or something. I woke up immediately in a huff, and realized that was the first time I’ve ever woken up from a nightmare from being completely bored.

I went back to sleep, dreamt normally after that. Weird.

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GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

I think I’m going to slam my head against the wall until I fall unconscious. I have this feeling that if homie Axel were here he’d tell me to exercise until I passed out. Phil would load me up with some fruity mixed drinks til I fell asleep. Charity would knock me upside the head and then wake me up ten minutes later to tell me to stop snoring.

These are the things that go through your head when you should be dreaming instead.

EDIT
–

Two seconds after I typed that I yawned. New strategy: Read my own writing and bore myself to sleep. Score!

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In a bizarre moment last week, my boss told me that I was going to be recognized for my length of service… I’ve apparently been working in the same place for ten straight years.

One decade. what. the. fuck.

The span includes my five undergraduate years of toiling part-time, so it wasn’t nearly as soul crushing as it first seemed. It is a little odd that ten years ago I was a freshman in college though.

What did I get for my indentured servitude? A paperweight. To be fair, it’s a nice black monolith with the UC seal on it that I could totally use to bash someone’s skull in.

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my ipod is broken. i think i’m going to cry.

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So I had a pretty shit week, topped with a crappy movie (Riddick) only to come home last night to find the neighbors rockin’ what seemed to be a last day of finals / birthday party until 3 in the morning. I figured out it was a birthday party because I could hear them singing it off the balcony through my bedroom window. I can’t complain too much, considering I had much worse parties at my old apartment and lived under the threat of eviction for almost all my years there.

Today? Oh not much, just got my thumbnail caught on a book and had the nail fold in on itself. So I get to look forward to looking at that bruise up and turn all sorts of nifty colors over the next couple of days. Hopefully nothing will fall off, but my videogaming and TiVo control is taking a major hit. Oh, and yeah, I’m on call this weekend and I’ve been called twice already, going in once on Saturday night.

Tomorrow? Well, today is tomorrow and right now my insomnia is the best part of my weekend. I was thinking of getting a haircut tomorrow, but with my luck I’ll get Jacques the Butcher if I try and get a walk-in appointment.

Prediction: I get attacked by wolf-dog hybrids. Just a guess. I’m already sounding like some emo kid off makeoutclub. I’d better stop before I start quoting tragic song lyrics at ‘ya.

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I just noticed that in my entry for “I’m The Man” in the May mixtape (my one year anniversary mixtape, btw) I used the word awesome three times in the span of two sentences. I wasn’t even using the repetition as a point of emphasis, I just ran into a lack of vocabulary. I should have snuck a floating opposite in there instead.

Jeezy creezy, how did I even graduate college?

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It’s a new year, so you know what that means: Weak ass resolutions like actually writing on your own webpage. After a move, a computer crash and a real, real lazy holiday season, I think I am finally ready to restart this thing. Get ready, I will most likely lose momentum after a week or two.

So anyway… for the holidays, my friends bought me this set of clay poker chips. It’s 300 count, eleven gram casino weighted stuff, so it feels good in your hands and it makes a good sound when you splash the pot. With the continuing growth in popularity in poker, I’d made some rumblings of starting a poker night, and I guess this was a transparent ploy in order to STEAL ALL MY MONEY. That said, I’m such a sucker that kids lick my face.

I was never a huge card player, but there is a certain fascination in it, and the speed and high-risk nature of No-Limit Texas Hold Em (as seen on TV) is pretty alluring. I’m pretty sure I have the gambling addiction gene, as many Asians do, but growing up poor has cured me of that by giving me a heinous allergy to losing well earned money. But you know, chips aren’t real money. *cough*

So the first thing I do is not to learn cards… OH NO, THAT WOULD BE THE EASY WAY OUT. The first thing I tried to learn are poker chip tricks! Look cool at the table while saying goodbye to your chips. I’ve learned the back to front trick, I’m kind of close on the chip twirl and I’m about as coordinated as Jerry Lewis while trying the chip shuffle. I can do the knuckle roll a little bit too, but I drop the chips pretty often.

Pretty much nobody I know is a decent player, which is perfect as we’re all terrible and learning. The interesting thing I’ve noticed, all my friends play like telemarketers from the SubContinent: They call everyone and everything. All your chips and it’s an Ace-High vs a Straight Flush? CALL.

Whatever. I got chips, I got a felt tablecloth… I’m all-in, baby. Um, unless actual money’s involved.

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Man, this place has really gone to shit since I started the other column. Over there are plenty of concert reviews (and man, have I seen some great shows lately), but here? Nada.

I’m going to get some monthly mixes up here soon, but I’ll probably forego the liner notes for a while until I regroup.

Back in the real world, I just spent last weekend in Vegas for my homie’s 30th birthday. It was a pretty usual weekend with lots of drinkin’, eatin’ and a little bit of gamblin’. The new experience of the weekend was driving home on the back roads, through Nevada mining towns and crazy desert roads, eventually breaking down in Amboy, California. Amboy is literally in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but chloride farms for about 30 miles, and about 60 miles from 29 Palms, which is a tiny military town.

Welcome to Amboy, population us.

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Last Saturday, around 4am, my phone started ringing off the hook. I was up watching Sports Night episodes, so I was up and awake and everything. Who calls at 4am? Should I pick up the phone? What if it’s a friend in a bind?

HQD: Hello?
Random Stranger: Is Kenny there?
HQD: Nope. There’s no Kenny here.
RS: Who dis?
HQD: This is Han. I think you have the wrong number.
RS: I must, unless you on crack too.

Who calls at 4am on a Saturday night?

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Turned 27 today.

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