Mike (Huang) and I discussing the meaning of art after watching an (infamous) Alex Grey performance:
DirtEater85 (1:25:34 AM): sometimes art isnt really art
astroguy 123 (1:26:54 AM): haha
astroguy 123 (1:27:20 AM): well i think it boils purely into an argument of semantics
DirtEater85 (1:27:29 AM): ;sometimes its just two people with puking fetishes
Jeff at Fiddler’s Green in San Francisco… attempting to do an inebriated Harry Caray whilst inebriated.
I realized a few days ago that this site still exists. I mean, I really didn’t know what to expect… but I kind of thought that it would just have been swallowed whole, by the internet’s unforgiving, chasm-like vagina.
A few minutes ago, I decided that I would check my @hunglikehuan email account, you know… just in case I had emails from the thousands hundreds tens ones upon nones of devoted fans begging me to come back. As the smug bitch that I am, I would, of course, give ‘em the cold shoulder and decline. That wasn’t the case.
What I did find, though, was a staggering number of presumptuous spammers. How dare they assume: one, me being a guy; and two, my need for whole-sale value Viagra? Psh… I can totally score Viagra for sub-whole-sale value. If anybody needs a pallet of the peen-pill, holla.
Having finished my disappointing quarry through thousands of truly offensive email messages,
—to quote one of my favorites: “Ladies always giggled at me and even guys did in the public toilets! Well now I laugh at them because I took megadik for 6 months and now my dick is much bigger than ‘average’ size.” Is “average” now an imaginary concept?—
I headed over to the site’s stats page and found myself salivating just a bit. You see, this blog never really received all that many hits. And I was ok with that. Hell, I’m sure I would be pretty disappointed if tons of people visited, because…well… this site ain’t that great. In other words, I’m fine having a small amount of people wasting their time, but when it happens in ridiculous amounts, I’m likely to become annoyed.
What I’m not ok with, is getting more hits and referrals as a “dead” blog than as an active one. What the hell is a matter with you people? You’d rather stare at a dead, rotting corpse than a vibrant, funny twenty-something full of good intent and hope? You fucking freaks.
So with said accounts, I’m ready to drive visitors to an all-time low.
Yes, HungLikeHuang is back.
Am I the only one that is too nice to be completely deceitful? Let me explain. The other day, I met somebody who shall remain unnamed. This person, who I will call… “Jacky” was introduced to me by a person at a social gathering (I’m being ambiguous for a reason). “Jacky,” wasn’t, how can I put this? Well, let me just say that she wasn’t somebody that I would ever want to talk to again. There wasn’t really any certain aspect about her that made her all that terrible, but, you know? Erglgggleahh… So she ended up totally digging my sweet, but, oh so, very passive and superficial, banter. Yeah, she wanted my number. Now, if you know anything about me, you know that I’m a pretty mellow guy that is never openly disgusted with anyone, well, at least not to their face.
And I know that you’re probably thinking, “Shit, Eric, don’t be a dick to ugly chicks. You ain’t no Kobe Dome.” I know that. Except, this girls wasn’t ugly. In fact, she was rather pleasant looking. Her looks intrigued people left and right . Her personality, however, was that of an inclusive and vain ho-bag. I couldn’t believe some of the things that came out of her mouth. It was like an episode of Laguna Beach was being transmitted into “Jacky’s” brain, and resulting in the form of poorly mimed hand gestures and bad impersonations. It was painful and distressing.
So, I had somehow managed to keep this human wasteland interested enough in me, that she wanted to “get together and do things, like next week, yeah?”
Me: (Gulp) Um, yeah. Alright, definitely.
Jacky: Here’s my phone, put your number into it.
Me: Oh yeah, for sure.
Jacky: Just press the buttons, it’s like a computer thing.
Me: (faking astonishment) Oh yeah! Like a keyboard!
As I starred blankly at the phone, and hated myself for being so nice, I thought, “You know what? Fuck her.” I knew what I had to do, but I had to relay niceness.
And just like that, I created a loophole of sorts, to fit my very own dilemma. I gave her all the correct digits, except for the last one. That way I don’t feel terrible about lying, even if to a crappy person, and if, for whatever reason, we do ever meet again, I can just say, “Oh, yeah, thats supposed to be a 7, not an 8.”
I’m the most commendable, asshole-prick, nice guy you will ever meet.
More like, global un-warming… with a heaping side of snow. If you’re in southern California today, April 20th, you know that it’s cold and raining/snowing (if you leave near a mountain/snow slug nest). If you’re in any other part of the country… um… you are also experiencing some type of weather or another. I don’t know, I tend not to care about the weather in any other part of the country, except for the one that I’m currently in, which of course, (mis)shapes my conception of crackpot theories(see title), and further, leads to a 20% increase in run-on sentences, liberal use of commas, and other such grammatical phenomena.
So with Earth Day coming up, I thought I would expound a little, and offer my liberal hippy friends (they’re not really my friends, I just like the smell of patchouli and the loose hippy chicks that like to get down) a suggestion about what they could protest, cuz lord knows they’ve run the fuck out of ideas. They’ve been bitching about trees, whales, war, and blacks since the 60’s. They need to get with da TiMez, son.
The idea? You guessed it, Global Cooling. I don’t know about you guys, but it’s freaking obvious the Earth isn’t getting hotter, and by that, I mean the weather in my hometown at this very second isn’t getting hotter. And just like celebrities concentrate on feeding the Ethiopians and adopting the Asians, and they forget about everybody else in the less exotic world, why not look over in the direction of those wishing for a nice, warm day today? Huh? Why not? Come on… COME ON… COME ON!!! You’d be pretty cool and hip for trying to raise awareness of the effects of Global Cooling in a town that nobody’s ever heard of, Madongelina Penn Baldwin.
What is soo global and warming about this picture, taken not but a mere seconds ago:
Yeah, that’s an elementary school.
Children need dirt and sand, not snow. You wouldn’t want to deprive the children from experiencing the wonders of the playground, would you? Get started, Earth-loving MoFos.
*Quick Note: Do you guys remember Jacob? Well, he ran the Boston Marathon! That’s right! Go read about his experience.
Some lucky and privileged few of you may see the irony in the title—you probably know who this pertains to and/or have read Slaughterhouse-five. While the rest of you only know that you’ve maybe, probably heard that phrase somewhere, sometime. The phrase comes from the recently deceased, writer/novelist/humanist/awesome human being, Kurt Vonnegut.
Alas, this post is not about the influence one has had on another (me), but of the innate ability that many of us have to find humor in tragedy. I awoke this morning to the ever annoying, but always drawing babble of Good Day L.A.—the yapping will make your ears bleed, but it gets you the fuck out of bed—which was, strangely, reporting news, and not some celebrity scandal or half-assed attempt at the weather report. Nope. Not this time. Good Day LA had cried wolf on too many occasions so I decided to not bother with their reporting.
To continue, I sat up with one blood-shot eye realizing how busy I’ve not only been, but have truly enjoyed being for the past two months. I had managed to do the impossible: watched no more than two hours of television a night, used the internet for email and to feed my baby(this site). To put it grossly, I had separated myself from the real world (of pop-culture). But I got up from bed this morning to a show that I rarely pay attention to, and decide to surf the web to find out that the awesome Vonnegut died a few days ago, Virginia Tech was hit by a crazed gunman this morning, and the daily newsletter that I unsubscribed to three weeks ago, which I never subscribed to, to begin with, was still flooding me with their crap.
Sigh. Depressing, I know. If there are any starving African kids out there, you’re fucking lucky. At least you all know your fates: lay dying with a fermenting stomach, or be adopted by a self-righteous celebrity. In any case, sadly, nobody will truly ever care about you. No, not even UNICEF. Maybe God is trying to tell me to stay the fuck off the computer and keep from watching crappy television. I don’t know. What I do know for sure, though, is how angering it can be knowing that no matter how hard you work to try and better yourself, somewhere out there, there is some lazy, self-loathing, pathetic soul playing Counter-Strike thinking to themselves how cool it would be to shoot everyone they hate. I can’t think of an anymore feeble attempt at trying to transcend your problems. Anybody can go out and kill everyone that’s making their life “miserable” and take their own life while they’re at it. Not very impressive, chimp-shit. Yeah, life sucks, but you don’t fucking quite. The day you do that, you put yourself out of your own misery. There is no gun-smoke glory.
Excuse me. I’m sorry for sounding so angry, but why the fuck do I keep getting this damn health newsletter? LoLeRrZz!
For providing me, and many others, with such eloquent insight into the intricacies of life, thank you, Kurt.
“If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you’re a one-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind.”
-Kurt Vonnegut
That’s a good question. But before I tell you what he would do, let me first explain to you who, exactly, Jacob is. Jacob is a “438-Pound beekeeper from Wisconsin,” who plans on doing what most people his weight—and to a great extent, people in fair physical shape— might have a heart-attack just thinking about. In approximately 20 days, on the 16th of April, Jacob will run the Boston Marathon.
You read right: a 400 pound man will run the Boston Marathon. You would think he would stop there, but this behemoth of a man is not just doing it for himself, but for a few good causes, as well: here, here, and here. For somebody who is rarely impressed/inspired by individuals who taken upon themselves to change their lives for the better, let me say just say that the method by which Jacob intends on doing it, takes the cake—the whole cake (a slight pun intended).
Jacob dressed as Rosie O’Donnell on Halloween.
A little over two months ago, Jacob decide that he had had enough with his lifestyle, and decided to take on one of the most physically demanding endeavors anyone could ever hope to achieve (On my list of things to do before I turn 30, so the obvious bias). As to the reasons why Jacob is doing what he’s doing? Well, he attributes some of the following factors to his life changing decision:
Pretty shitty stuff, if you ask me. Tyra Banks is off of her fucking gourd, though, so I would never take anything she ever said/did too seriously. Well, anyway, if you go to Jacob’s site, you come to find out that he’s kept a pretty good sense of humor through it all (including some pretty harsh hate mail), as made evident by one of his training videos:
If you feel like finding out more about Jacob, head on over to http://whatwouldjacobdo.com , where you can find some of his training videos, blog, some vicious hate mail, and links to the charities that are sponsoring him.
I love music. I love it a lot. I do this weird thing when I listen to music. I usually tend to listen to music in cycles. Let me elaborate. It’s been a few years now, of me doing this, but I have found that nothing beats finding that band that just makes you believe that it’s the best band in the world. It’s the sweetest thing in the world, discovering that gem. What makes the discovery great, is not that moment that we all tend to experience when we usually blurt out “Oh, I love this fucking song!” No, it’s the instance when you simultaneously not only say, but mean it, when you say: “I fucking love this band!”
You incessantly listen to all of their tracks as much as you can, for as long as you can, hitting the repeat button several times. But like with most things in life, there is such a thing as overindulging. You will inevitably find the band become less and less appealing, and not because you realize that they aren’t as good as you originally thought they were(they’re just as good, and possibly even better). It’s because you listened to them too many times, like that “hit” song on the radio that you hear for the first time and fall in love with, and before you know it, every single radio station has it looping at the 15 minute mark of every hour. You end up hearing the song to the point of not only hating the song, but of hating the musician.
I did, by accident, many moons ago, learn how to not only keep from hating bands/musicians— I’m not talking about the synthetic, one-hit wonder tools that you hear on KISS, or most other stations for that matter— but to excitedly experience all of the joy and regalement that you experienced the first time, with maybe an added incentive. Kind of like a vaginal rejuvenation for the ears and soul, if you will (sorry for that, but it irks me to be too serious for too long). Continuing… I swear by this method, but it only works for that band whose album you can listen to without skipping tracks.
The “cycles” that I mentioned above, work for one or two or three bands, depending on the extensiveness of the band’s (or bands’) catalog. But listen to your musical treasure(s) like you normally, obsessively would. And right when you feel the need to skip over a track, that’s when it’s time to bury the cd(s). It can take some time, though, that’s for sure, but that depends on how many cds are available, or you are willing to you listen to. Time will pass, you will forget about the band almost completely, and fate will once again, reunite you with your sweetheart. It will be as if you’re listening for the first time, except you know the lyrics, so of course you’ll be making a scene as you sing your lungs out.
So I’ll end this post by shortly describing it’s inspiration. I was casually browsing YouTube, and had just finished watching a video of some guy explaining why he hated… I think like diapers or something (it was completely ridiculous)… when out of nowhere, the “related” sidebar contained an image of a very familiar group of individuals on a stage. To my surprise, it was non other than one of my favorite bands ever, Fugazi! The last time I listened to Fugazi was almost a year and a half ago. This was before I ever even knew of the existence of YouTube, so imagining that I’d ever see a video was completely unfathomable then, since going to one of their concerts wasn’t going to happen (they’ve been on “hiatus” for a few year now). But I pretty much relentlessly listened to them for a few months, during which a lot of significant things had happened in my life. The feelings, along with the myriad of memories/emotions that burst within me is indescribable.
In case you’re wondering about the vids I saw, which will, by the way, make you say “What the fuck? This is it? They ain’t that great.” They are:
Here
and
Then I searched for one of the contempts, too
It was 2004/05 all over again. The only thing that would have taken me back to that time so vividly, would have been, well, Marty McFly and an ‘85 DeLorean (with the flux capacitor package).
While I’m reminiscing, and since this post is already fuck long, tonight was made killer awesome by hanging out with one of my best buds, and all around awesome person, Alex, who is visiting from San Luis Obispo, as we reminisced about high school, drank beer, talked about life, became depressed, but then realized everything would be okay thanks to the random dance party started by about fifteen Scripps College girls.
Signing off: 3:14 AM
Putting my intro astronomy class’ material into good use, let me educate… ahem… let me school you fools on what’s up with this here image. The image clearly depicts the Sun revolving around the Earth over the course of a year. Now, I know some of you scientists might say otherwise, but let me assure that geocentricism is alive and thriving, thanks to images like this.
On a related note, is anybody attending the Flat Earth Society symposium next week?
What’s really happening: The apparent path of the Sun around the Earth, has to do with an imaginary gigantic sphere, whose central point is the Earth, that projects the Earth’s features (equator, poles, etc.), known as the celestial sphere. It’s useful for mapping stars, planets, meteors, etc.
In this case, the Sun’s yearly course, or ecliptic, is seen here. It’s kind of like switching the spot of the Sun, with the Earth’s. Except, there’s no switching, it’s just from an Earthly point of view/perspective which centers it, but it’s not, but it is, you know? So it looks like the Sun is the one revolving.
Make any sense? Sure it doesn’t. Just google/wikipedia it. Or don’t.
Image from Educated Earth.
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