Jason Rimbaud

So Camy is Mryon, and he likes to shop at Wal-Mart. For some reason, this doesn't fit with what I first pictured the emu to be like. Somehow I'm disappointed. Jason R.

Wonder Boy, Edward Forty-Hands, and a Perfect Penis By: Jason R. So let?s start at the beginning, mainly because I really don?t know the ending as of yet. Plus, the beginning is way more interesting to write about. Though I guess I could start at the end and work my way backwards, then all the drama would be pointless and I?d seem like a winey bitch. And honestly, who likes winey little bitches? Des, put your hand down. I wasn?t speaking to you as of yet. Now if your better half raises his hand, then that?s a different story all together. Now would be the time for all you to say, STOP DIGRESSING. Then I would deny it and move on. Shall we, I know you have to be a bit curious on where I?m going with this post, wonder who with how many hands and a perfect penis, what? Wonder Boy Okay, it started last Friday night when I stopped in at Applebee?s for a beer after work. Applebee?s is not a place I would normally frequent but it?s one of the only bars still open in Redwood City after I leave my wonderful hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto. And I know they have Fosters Beer on tap. Fosters is a beer that I would gladly punch a baby, several babies in a row, just for the possibility of maybe getting one to drink from a toothless hag with saggy tits and acne. And they serve them in a 23 ounce glass. Heaven on earth, I think so. So as I walk into Applebee?s I mentally check myself, how?s my hair, how?s my breath, how?s my ass look in these work pants, you know all the important questions. I?d been working all day so I know I must smell of food, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. I put some cologne on once in my car but not even my expensive designer cologne can truly hide the nasty smell I know I ooze from every pore. But that doesn?t stop me from sitting down next to one of the prettiest girls I?ve seen in?well?a long time. I derive great pleasure from hitting on girls, I can?t truly explain it, but there it is. I flirt, buy them drinks, dance my ass off with them, and then once I know they?re interested, I smile and say, ?Sorry, I?m gay.? Reading that back, I?m kind of a dick. Where was I? I sit down next to this chick, and look around the bar area of Applebee?s. At the moment, I don?t see the bartender, so I immediately strike up a conversation with the girl. After a few minutes, out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender walking towards me. When he?s in front of me, I say without really looking, ?Can I have a Foster?s, tall please?? The answer caught my attention, well not the answer as much as the voice I heard that gave the very generic answer. Truthfully, I don?t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice. I know for a fact that I could never find the words in my limited vocabulary to accurately describe the tone, the richness of his voice, or the way it was so infectious I couldn?t help but smile. So I won?t, why embarrass myself anyway? He was slim, his build much like a swimmer?s tone body, pale skin that had hints of natural darkness, his hair was streaked with blonde highlights, shoulder length and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had high cheekbones, classical features that spoke of Asian heritage with dark chocolate eyes that mirrored his every emotion plainly for the world to see. He was beautiful, and I don?t use that term lightly or frivolously. Later on that night I would come to understand his rather bizarre attire which comprised of skin tight black linen pants, a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lithe form in all the right places. What?s so bizarre about that? To top off the ensemble and to make it bizarre, he wore a bright red belt and matching suspenders. And on the right side of his chest he wore a nametag that read in plain white letters, Wonder Boy. I saw all this in a single glance because the moment our eyes met my heart started beating faster and for a long minute we stood there, gazing into one another?s eyes. Finally I spoke, ?Are you really a wonder boy?? He laughed and replied immediately with a mischievous grin, ?That?s what they say.? He turns around to walk over to the beer tap system. But over his shoulder he calls out, ?If you?re lucky you might found out someday.? After that I pretty much forgot about the hot chick sitting next to me. All my attention was focused on Wonder Boy. I ordered some food, had a few more beers, turned on the charm and tried anything I could think of to keep that seductive smile on his face. Wonder Boy and I chatted as much as we could in between the constant interruption the other patrons caused. I mean, what a bunch of assholes. If I saw one of them hitting it off with a chick I wouldn?t interrupt them, they should?ve had the same courtesy. And seriously, the way they were talking to the hot chick next to me, the last thing they needed was another drink. It seemed my time with Wonder Boy was destined to end all too soon, because a few minutes before twelve, he asked me if I wanted anything for last call. I?m not sure if he saw the disappointment on my face, or if he was as sad as I at the thought of the nights end, but once the rest of the patrons had left and the other employees were busy doing the closing jobs, he leans over and asks in a breathless voice, ?What are you doing later?? I shrug, trying my best to play it cool, and say, ?Going home to my empty apartment.? Just my way of letting Wonder Boy know I am single and that I also live alone. What, like you don?t do that? He smiles at my answer, and asks really fast, his words jumbled together in what I hoped was a mixture of excitement and desire, ?Do you want to go to a party with me?? I made sure my face remained neutral, though I was screaming the word yes inside. I asked, ?Where?? His face lights up with a smile, he replied in that voice that first caught my attention, my pulse quickened as he said, ?Here in Redwood City, a friend of mine is having a birthday party. She just turned twenty-one.? I immediately say, ?Sure. But?? ?What?? he asks, the smile slipping from his face. I grab the front of my work shirt, and say, ?I?m not dressed for a party.? ?You look fine to me.? I don?t know where it came from but I blushed, I guess hearing him say I looked fine did funny things to me. I shook off that feeling and said, ?Thanks, but I really stink from work. I need to change.? He asked, ?Where do you live?? I told him, and the smile returned to his face. He exclaimed, ?I know where that is, that?s like right down the street. I have a few things to do here still, why don?t you go and change and I can meet you at your apartment building in like twenty minutes.? That was the smartest thing I ever heard. I reach for my wallet and say, ?Brilliant.? You might not believe me, but I really did say brilliant. And no I?m not British, it?s just sometimes when I get excited I tend to lapse into this horrible English accent. I can?t explain it, it just happens okay. Get off my ass. I say, ?Brilliant.? And reach for my wallet. I add, ?Can I get the check?? Wonder Boy looks around, I guess to make sure his manager is no where to be found and says, ?Don?t worry about it.? I ask, frowning, ?Are you sure?? He laughs, raspy and low, and winks at me. I smile and hand him a twenty, ?Here?s the tip then.? He grabs my phone from the bar and dials a number, a few seconds later his phone starts ringing. ?When I?m out front of your building I?ll call you.? Before I can stop myself, I say, ?You better.? ?Promise.? I leave the restaurant with a big smile on my face and lyrics from the song by Tenacious D called Wonder Boy ringing in my head. ?Wonder Boy, what is the secret to your power? Wonder Boy won?t you take me far away from the mucky muck man? Yeah, I know a bit cheesy but what can I say, it?s the truth. Once I got home, I rushed into the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and untying my shoes as the small box takes me to the third floor. Once inside my apartment, I quickly shed my clothes and jump in the shower. Not having much time, I hit all the important places quickly and wash my hair. With my hair still dripping wet, I throw on a pair of boxers followed by black jeans and a tight green shirt that has a single word printed on the front in white letters, GEEK. I slipped on a pair of trainers and was in the middle of taming my hair when my phone rang. I answered; somewhat breathlessly if you must know, and Wonder Boy?s euphoric voice once again filled my head. He says, ?Are you ready?? I look in the mirror and shake my head, ?No yet. Almost.? For a moment, there is silence, then he says, ?Why don?t you buzz me up?? Again, I?m amazed by the good ideas that seem to flow out of this boy; truly he might be a wonder after all. Jesus Christ, that sentence is beyond stupid, sorry. So I hit the number 9 on my cell phone, which sends a signal to the front door that unlocks it, and say, ?312, once out of the elevator, take a right.? ?See you soon.? Suddenly I panic, my bathroom floor is littered with my discarded clothing, dirty undies not withstanding, not a good first impression I would want to make. With my hands covered in product, I grab the clothes and rush into my bedroom closet and shove them inside the hamper. I was in such a great haste, I never bothered to separate the clothes, nor did I open the closet door all the way, so when I bent to put the clothes in the hamper, I smacked my head against the closet door. I don?t think you got the full impact of this action, so I will repeat it. I smacked my head against the closet door. Oh and incidentally, my closet door is one of those sliding mirrored doors, which I like, it opens up my bedroom while at the same time gives me a panoramic view during sex. At least I admit it, mirrors rock. Moving on, so when I say I smacked my head against the closet door, I hit the door so hard it actually broke the mirror. And it made me more than a bit dizzy so I fell down. I was there on the floor when I heard the doorbell ring. So I jumped up, and headed down the stairs. But I was still groggy from the blow to the head and lost my balance and fell about half-way down hurting my left ankle in the process. After a few moments, the doorbell rings again. ?Shit.? I scream out. I don?t want Wonder Boy to think I gave him the wrong apartment number or that I?m standing him up. So I get up and hobble over to the door as fast as I can. Once I arrive at the door, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. But my head still hurts and my ankle keeps switching back and forth between fire and ice. I open the door, with what I?m sure is a look of pain on my face. Wonder Boy is standing there, that smile on his face, and again my heart starts to race. But as soon as Wonder Boy looks at me, his smile disappears and a look of concern settles on his face. Suddenly I feel something wet drip into my eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand and to my horror I see that its blood. End Part One

I subscribe to Yahoo Music, for those of you that don't know what this is, you pay a monthly fee and you get access to over two million songs without having to buy the album. And you can play them whenever you want with Yahoo Music Jukebox. And the best thing, since you are a subscriber, you don't have to stream them online but actually download the song to your computer. As long as you pay the monthly fee, you can play the songs whenever you want even if you aren't connected to the internet. So today, I was browsing the new music on Yahoo Music and saw the name Sixx AM. I've been hearing things that the bassist of Motley Crue, Nikki Sixx, was putting out an album to go along with his new book entitled The Heroin Diaries. This is a book taken directly from his journals from Christmas of 86 to Christmas of 87, and chronicles a year in the life of a heroin addict. I heard Nikki on Love Line last Sunday night and I can't wait to read this book. Now I'm not a fan of Motley Crue, I've always thought their music and lyrics were too juvenile for my tastes. I like my music to be a bit more in depth than sex drugs and rock and roll. So I was more than a bit hestitant when I saw a band called Sixx AM. But since the name of the album was the Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, and from listening to Nikki on Love Line, my curiosity was peaked so I checked out the album, expecting to hear some bad knock off of Motley Crue. And Holy Shit, this album blew me away and left me feeling violated. From the opening track, X-Mas In Hell, I knew this was no bad knock-off of a Motley Crue album. This was Nikki's soul laid bare, an honest look into the mind of junkie. And I wanted more. The music is heavy, loud and in your face on some songs, yet on other tracks, there are strings, piano, and soft acoustic guitars that enhance the listening experience without losing integrity or speed. And the lyrics, wow, Nikki takes you on a journey that is one part horror, one part depression, one part suicidal, and one part...HOPE. I've yet figured out who is the lead singer for Sixx AM, I do know it's not Nikki, but whoever is singing, his voice is filled with power and raw emotion when needed yet is soft and filled with passion on the darker, more introspective songs. And throughout the album and some of the songs, Nikki speaks, in what I'm assuming is excerpts from the Heroin Diaries themselves, in a matter of fact tone of voice that is quite haunting and unapologetic at the same time. This is by far, the best rock album I've heard in years. It's raw, powerful, and definitely in your face rock and roll that forces you along for the ride and makes you examine your life as if you were living these songs along with Nikki. I also know that most people won't find this album accessible, the themes and music will be enough to turn certain people away. But if you like your music with a little more depth than the average pop rock on the radio today, check out this album by Sixx AM called The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, you won't be disappointed.

Hey Des,That was the sweetest, nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thanks.Jason R.PS: The checks in the mail Des, and I put a little bit extra just for you.

Thanks Trab and Camy, I hope this works, I'll let you know if I can figure it out. jason r.

Though I hate the fact that I"m shamelessly plugging my work on your blog here is the link since you asked.http://www.gayauthors.org/eficiton/viewstory.php?sid=375Jason R.

How can I post a picture in the main body of my blog entry? And if it makes a difference, it's a picture that I painted in the program, PAINT. Thanks Jason R.

And Des, And I actually used the title you gave me for one of them, Poetic Justice of a One Night Stand. And the other one is called Fractured, one I'm actually really proud about.I read the poem at the end of your post, and I understood that you were answering your own question, but damnit, I just wanted to disagree with you because you are never wrong and I hate that. Just kidding, I just wanted to add my one and half cents to your better two cents. Jason R.

Hey Des,I think I'd have to disagree with you. I don't think writing blog entries drains the creative impulses at all, matter of fact, I think they can only add to any author's creative juices. Whether you're writing a full blown novel, a short story, article, blog entry, or even a rather detailed shopping list, I believe that staying in the habit of actually putting words on the paper can only enhance your instinct as a writer. Blog entries are more than just words strung together to form sentences, you have to construct them, sometimes from the ground up as simple idea, IE: Like thinking and writing a blog entry on the validity of writing a blog entry, brilliant by the way.For me, when I decide to actually begin a story, I have already a clear idea and usually a complete plot line before I even sit down at the computer. All I have to do is fill in the gaps. But when I begin to write a blog entry, I usually sit down and just start typing, like a free form writing exercise, what comes out comes out. Sometimes I edit before I post the entry but sometimes I just post it and forget it. Either way, this keeps me in practice of forming a thought into something interesting for others to read. And, in writing my blog, I took two blog entries and turned them into two short stories. So writing in my blog didn't hinder my creative juices at all, it actually enhance my ability and gave me the courage to write a story about a subject matter that I never would have even consider had I set out to write a short story.

Oh my god Trab, what a brilliant observation. I've a fondness for A-holes myself Wow, I'm wondering what I'll do for my one year anniversary for my blog. ThanksJason R.And no Camy, I didn't forget about you either.

I didn't read the poem. I couldn't, I'm still trying to understand why that bad ole muse attacked you during work time. I hope you pulled it aside and had a stern heart to heart. Sometimes muses are like that, if you leave them alone too long, they like to pop up and remind you to pay attention.Jason R.I still didn't read your poem, for only one reason now, I don't think houses are all that safe. Nuff Said.

Happy One Year Anniversary to me to me Happy One Year Anniversary to me to me So what if I'm four days late, it's my anniversary and I'll be late if I want too. Thanks for having a place such as Awesome Dude where A-holes like myself can find a home. And thanks to all the folks who have been so nice to me over this year. Jason R.

Intrinsic By: Jason R. Though I am fascinated by your mouth I can live without your false words When your eyes are open I can see the fear Your breath comes in gasps as you struggle to exist There is a lack of understanding behind your gaze This is the cause and effect of your fading beliefs The lapses of judgment that evolve into anger The point of origin is lost in your brutal acceptance You attack and destroy all attempts of change While ignoring the reality of your own mistakes Letting others affect you until hatred consumes All the while claiming happiness is in the act of sex Indifference is the only weapon you possess And happiness is your only inner conflict Drama is your only ally And manipulation is your only friend That smile that you paint on your face Is nothing but Chameleon colors fabricated for the world And it is the answer to bury the emotion of your pain For restless dreams haunt you unless properly medicated You search for the sky in arms and beds of strangers Embracing the darkness and the shadows of the moon Even as you claim exuberance to search for the sun And yet you are sad and you are always alone This poem is probably the most honest thing I have ever written.

IDTIWLPAM I was pretty much depressed about the events of my Sunday night dinner with Daniel. I don't want to get into it right now because that's not the reason I'm posting tonight. But I was pretty depressed and didn't want to spend all day Monday thinking about it so I figured I might catch a movie on Monday. So after looking up the Movies on Yahoo, I found three movies I really wanted to see. And since I couldn't decide between the three, and I don't know of a three sided coin to let fate decide, I choose to watch all three. I'd first catch the 11:30 AM showing of The Bourne Ultimatum, great movie by the way. What a way to end the trilogy, great job. Afterward, I would catch the 2:30 PM showing of the last Pirate of the Caribbean movie. Kind of boring about two hours too long, but it did have its moments. Like about half-way through the movie, this guy that was sitting a few seats over from me, suddenly let out a scream and a moment later his cell phone landed in my lap. The only thing I could think of, he must've been holding his cellphone against his face, and when he received a phone call, the vibration scared the hell out of him. I handed the cell phone back to him, and watched out of the corner of my eye as he searched the seats and floor on the other side. He kept this up for a good five minutes before he found what he was looking for, his glasses that were in the other hand and that he sent flying along with his cell phone. That event caused my depression to disappear so after Pirate Movie was over, I went home and had a relaxing day. I never did make it to the Simpson's Movie. But as funny as I know it's going to be, it might not be able to live up to that dumbass scaring himself so bad that he threw his glasses and cellphone in opposite directions in a dark theater.

The good news is, I did not have this dream last night. Matter of fact I slept like a baby. So maybe it was just a dream caused by my over active imagination.And Trab, that's the funny thing. I'm actually pretty sober lately. I've stopped doing pills all together, I haven't done cocaine in several months. And though I have a few beers a week and maybe a bottle of wine, I stay sober most of the time. So I think this dream is just that, a dream. Because I'm doing well, and mostly staying out of trouble. But thanks for the concern, and Camy, I did call Daniel today and we're going out for dinner on Sunday. Just him and I, he'll leave the boyfriend at home. Woot.Jason R.

I can't sleep, or I'm afraid to sleep, to face the dreams that haunt me. It started last Friday night. My eyes are bloodshot, dark circles line my face, and I can't seem to find solace. Sunday morning I woke up, the light from my window burning my eyes and my head pounding. I don't work Sunday so I clean the house, I do laundry and veg out in front of the TV. Sunday night I wake up, my alarm clock is blinking, I had the same nightmare. I can't go back to sleep. I go through all day Monday feeling listless and tired. My boss tells me I look sick, I say I'm only tired. I go home, I have a beer. I pass out on the couch. Three hours later I wake up, the nightmare fresh in my mind. I can't go back to sleep, I can't seem to find solace. Not even in drugs, I bought Vicadin from a friend on Tuesday. I pop three pills, three thousand milligrams, I need to sleep. But now I'm trapped inside the nightmare, I couldn't wake up, and when I did, my sheets were soaked and I had claw marks on my face. I go to work Wednesday and drift around the restaurant, my mind unfocused. Customers complain that I forgot things, my boss calls me into the office to talk to me, I fell asleep. He sends me home after asking what's wrong with me. I can't tell him, I don't know. I manage to eat without throwing it up, I watch TV. I drink a pot of coffee, I don't want to sleep. I wake up on the couch, my pants are wet from the coffee I spilled. I go to the gym and climb on a treadmill, I start to run. Three hours later I pass out, I'm thirsty, I must've forgot to drink water. Thursday night after work, I buy an eightball of cocaine from a friend. I'm determined not to let this nightmare grip me again. I brew a pot of coffee, I do lines all night. I type feverishly at the computer, the words I write meaningless and intelligible. I do more lines, I drink another pot of coffee. I'm awake, but I feel like I've been kicked by a mule. I go to work Friday morning, my boss sends me home and suggests I seek help. He's worried about me, I understand but I still don't know why this nightmare is haunting me. I go and buy another eightball, I've been up for three days, I wonder if my mind is finally sick enough not to dream. My heart is sick, it's pounding so hard I feel like I have heartburn, my thoughts won't make sense anymore, words are mysteries that I can't comprehend. I smoke a cigarette but it made me sick to my stomach. I open a bottle of wine but it's tasteless, my throat is too numb. I try to lie down but the act of being prone causes my head to hurt again. I see dust on the TV and a sink full of dirty dishes. Someone must've thrown up in the sink, I see that too. Maybe I don't exist. Or maybe I'm in hell. I take a shower, but I can't recognize the figure staring back at me in the mirror. My ribs are sticking out, maybe I should eat. Though I'd probably throw it up anyway. I do a few more lines, the eightball is nearly gone. I cut my arm with the razor, I want to know if I can feel. I don't, but I am mesmerized by the blood streaming down and how it pools on the carpet. I laugh, I wonder just how big of a puddle I can make it. I reach for the razor again. And that's when I wake up screaming. I've had this dream three nights in a row. I usually don't analyze my dreams, but this one kind of frightened me. What is my mind trying to tell me? Is there a meaning or is this the product of my imagination? But what really worries me, like in the dream, tonight is the fourth night. If I dream it again, will I buy pills tomorrow? Did I just dream my own future, did I just witness my own...? Great, now I'm scared to fall asleep. Fuck, I miss Daniel right now. Jason R.

Lateral Guilt By: Jason R. You are the place I?ve stayed too long Our vocal battles always ended in drama But I learned about spoons and candles About justifying addictions By using my body as a weapon You push me away Even as you reach out blindly For my touch to comfort you Yet you sell your body for money I guess being a stone Protects your fragile mind With denial I want to be unfeeling I want to be a stone I want to be you

Hey Camy,I found it brilliant and not the least bit disturbing. I have written a few pieces fantasizing about my own death so I understand the need to sometimes examine certain feelings. I figure if you have the cats to keep you company and the occasional shag from the bf, then examine those feelings and write about it. I love the little tidbits of Camy thoughts you give us time to time. Great title by the way, I think that's the most brilliant part of the piece.Jason R.

Hey Graeme, One of my favorite author's once said, "There is nothing new to write about." or something to that effect. If that is the case, then none of us can ever write anything new or original. So it falls on us to use something that has been done before, but put our own spin on it. If you can think of an idea around a car accident, and the characters are believable as well as the plot, then your story will work. I do think we should know all the rules of writing, and I also think if you know the rules, then you know when to break them. Knowing the type of story you usually tell, I don't think you should have a problem. That being said, whatever changes comes about due to this car accident, try to devise a way to make that same change happen without using the car wreck as a plot device. I would personally try to exhaust all other ideas before going back to a car wreck. Though to give you something else to think about, I've been involved in three accidents, two of my best friends have been in a major car accident, and a cousin of mine died in a car accident. So car accidents do happen, and they change so many lives when they do. Just my two paragraphs of thought. Jason R.

That is simply unkind and untrue. Her teeth are not British and are just fine. And I love independent book stores (most of which sell HP). Fog? Well Jack the Ripper understands that fear....Well Wibby, It seems I was wrong about her teeth, I checked for pictures on the web.As for independent book stores, I really like them as well, more intimate than the big chain stores.As for the fog, your reason is way better than mine.And since we all know our resident raccoon is one of the most intelligent beings on Awesome Dude, I might...might I say...borrowmyfriendsbook and readthefirstharrypotter. Jason R.

I don't think I'll even mention Des or Trab's comments. Wanking and such I'll leave to my betters. I'd like to apologize to Rad for those insensitive comments, no matter how funny they were. Wanking, good one Trab. That being said, Trab watch out for the British witch, she'll get inside your soul and steal your last breath just like she stole the idea of Harry Potter. And for the reasons why I hate J.K.Rowling Wibby, I'm not sure. But it has something to do with bad teeth, upstairs of independent book stores, and the fear of the fog. Jason R.

My Fiftieth Blog Entry So I realized a few days ago, that this would be my fiftieth blog entry here on Awesome Dude. Of course this was after I wrote one of my typical blog entries. And much to my surprise, I was petrified to post this average run-of-the-mill post. Let's face it, my fiftieth blog entry warranted something special. So for days I struggled with finding the right topic. I thought I'd come up with something witty, maybe a bit smart, and really funny. But as I stared at the blank screen, I discovered I didn't feel very witty, smart, or funny. So then I thought I might offer up some advice, something so deep that it would change the life of anyone who might read it. But I don't have any advice other than to advise to never wear pink out in public, and that's really not that life-changing for everyone. So I called my friends, polling them for any glimmer of insight they might have to offer. But sadly, I found out they are pretty much as pointless as my left over toenail clippings. Then I danced around with the idea of relaying some past emotional trauma for you but I don't feel like being all deep and vulnerable right now. So here I am, my fiftieth blog entry and I've got nothing to say. But...I can offer this one admission, an admission so terrifying and so embarrassing just the thought of it causes me to run and hide in the closet and never come out again unless I first change my identity. I am really looking forward to the new Harry Potter movie. You average Awesome Dude readers might not think this is a very scary admission at all. Truly not scary enough to warrant posting it as my fiftieth. But let me explain this first, so it becomes crystal clear why this admission frightens me so. First off, let me say that I've never read a single Harry Potter book. Mostly because I'm not a fan of books starring children, for some reason I can't seem to identify with twelve-year-olds, no matter if I act the part most of the time. Nor have I watched a single Harry Potter movie. When asked about Harry Potter, I would roll my eyes and say something along the lines, "How good can it be, it's a childrens book." To be honest, I've been known to vehemently say I would never read, watch, or pursue any avenue that would lead me to Harry Potter or that freaky witch that writes the stories. In my opinion, J.K. Rowling is one step below Satan. I don't care how much money the whore has made. So how could I go from hating all these Harry Potter to looking forward to this new Harry Potter movie? Let's go back to last week. I had the good fortune of having Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off, Wednesday being the fourth of July. And while Monday and Tuesday were quite eventful and I'm pretty sure I'll be posting those events in blog entries very soon, Wednesday I had absolutely nothing to do. Hanging out with Daniel's family is okay, most of the time, but there are times when I just want to hang out alone and veg. Unfortantly, sometimes Jason alone is not a good thing. Idle hands and such, so when I begin feeling a bit bored, I do what I normally do...I clean my apartment. But that only killed about four hours and two bottles of wine. So I decided to order food from my favorite Chinese Restaurant, in reality I ordered enough food for three people. Once the food was delivered, I settled in front of the TV to eat WAY TO MUCH food and watch some mind-numbing programs on my 60 inch screen. Okay, I know the fourth of July is a holiday about the celebration of the independence for our nation. I love America, I really do, but fuck me running backwards, why the hell do they have to play those crappy war movies all day long. I've seen them all, a billion times and I wasn't in the mood for blind patriotism. I wanted a different flavor, so channel surfing became my way of doing something different. And since I have every channel available, going through them is a chore in and of itself. Two hundred channels and nothing on right. It's how it always goes. The only movie I was even considering watching was on TCM at two o-clock, Mel Gibson's The Patriot. Looking at my watch, I had about twenty minutes to kill. In my channel surfing, I saw that Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone had just started a few minutes earlier. So on a whim, I switched over, after all, I was all alone in my apartment and I would allow my balls to be ripped from my body by a herd of wild baby elephants before I would ever admit to what I had just done. I had planned on watching it for a few minutes before The Patriot started, no harm, no foul. Right? Okay, yeah, I'll tell myself that. Holy Shit! Before I knew it the ending credits were rolling and I was in shock. Not only was it a good movie, but I really, really, really, liked it. So much so, that I got dressed and raced to the local Blockbuster to rent the other three movies. I won't mention that I made a big show of saying to the pimply faced nerd behind the counter that I was renting these stupid movies for my little cousin, so loudly that everyone in line heard me. I watched all three movies back to back. And I was sitting on the edge of my seat the whole time. I couldn't believe it, the story drew me and kept me waiting to see how this all played out. So my friend, Ann, is a Harry Potter junkie. I mean junkie, she has all the books, signed probably from E-Bay, she owns all the movies and has watched them over and over again. And for years, I gave her a ton of shit about this unhealthy addiction. But once the fourth film finished, I was so excited, I called her up. Did you know that Pennsylvania is three hours ahead of California? I did, but for some reason in my excitment I forgot that important piece of information. It was a few minutes after midnight in California, for me, yet for her, it was just after three AM. After she yelled at me for about five minutes, something about waking her up in the middle of the night on a work day, I finally got the chance to tell her about the Harry Potter marathon I had in my apartment. Three hours later, we finally hung up. She had twenty minutes to shower and get dressed for work. We talked about the story development, the movie version as opposed to the books, it was a fucking amazing conversation. In those three hours, I learned so much about the world of Harry Potter. I hung up the phone in a daze, and a bit confused why I had for so many years dismissed Harry Potter as mere children's drivel. And I realized that I was a fan. At least when it comes to the movies. I still won't buy a single J.K. Rowling book, mostly because of the things I've heard her say in the press and the way she goes after those who writes fanfics about her characters. Fanfics are the truest form of flattery, why the hell she gives a flying nun's fuck is beyond my understanding. Anyway, J.K. Rowling sucks, no matter if they can make good movies from her crappy books. About enough about that crazy whore. So now I'm waiting for the new movie. I'll even go see it with all the other wacko's and won't be embarrassed to be seen in the theatre. Mainly because I know I won't be the only fag in the theater who is watching because of Daniel Radcliff. My oh my how he's grown up. And I've been fortunate in that regard, I've watched him grow up in a single afternoon instead of waiting for each new movie like the rest of you. So I'll admit it, I'm a fan of Harry Potter. And I should never have said never. Oh well, life goes on. Jason R. Now if I could only persuade Ann to keep her big fat mouth shut, and not tell all our friends. Like that's going to happen, she probably already sent out a mass email to everyone. Tragic I say, fucking tragic.

First off, haven't you already posted this particular topic a few days ago?Second, I'm shocked that Wibby would say you are nearing 90 years old. We all know that you aren't a day over 85.Thirdly, have you already posted this particular topic a few days ago?Fouthly, I'm glad you're feeling better and hope you get to feeling the boyfriend very soon. Though I must admit I'm a bit jealous of him.Jason R.Happy three twenty day

I wonder My birthday is on 26th of January, and Australia celebrates it's national holiday on the same day. So that must mean, in reality, Australia celebrates my birthday. Thanks for the well wishes Jason R.

Hey Camy,For some reason, I just noticed a picture on your site. If its been there the whole time I'm sorry for not noticing. Is that you?If so, you look nothing like I pictured you. Emu coments aside, I had a much different picture in my mind.Jason R.