Today was one of those perfect days where every song on the radio is seemingly about your life. It was downright creepy how 93.1 Jack FM (shameless plug) kept blasting out my own personal soundtrack. Giving you a look at said soundtrack, however, would just be a passive aggressive act on my part to describe what I've been feeling over the past week or so. And there's no room for that on my blog. But one key song was "Mama, I'm Coming Home" by Ozzy. An oddly emotional ballad from the bat-head-biter-offer about homecoming and redemption. I recommend you hit up Limewire and find it immediately (Note: Max Davison in no way supports the illegal downloading of copyrighted material).
But my mood was easily disrupted by someone that I thought was an old friend: Trader Joe. On Tuesday, I had to make three trips to Trader Joe's, which is normally something that I don't dread. But in the madcap caucophany that is the week before Thanksgiving, stepping into a market is like an unprotected big toe at a snapping turtle convention.
The aim of the first trip was to pick up salad greens. Simple enough. One little, overpriced, green bag. So I grab your classic spinach salad mix (one of Men's Health's power foods to boost your metabolism) and happily jaunt past the Greenpeace clones with the petitions and head back home.
But apparently Mom wanted Spring Mix. And as much as I demonstrated that they're basically the same thing, the "I gave birth to you" card always ends up on top.
So I braced myself for what would invariably be a horrendous exchange/store credit experience. But thankfully Alan the assistant manager at TJ's actually understood how to handle a return, and I was in and out in under 7 minutes.
This is how my day went from the calm, collected, Black Sabbath Ozzy into the blundering pile of shit that was "The Osbournes" Ozzy.
Whereas getting Spinach over Spring Mix was admittedly my fault, the problem with Bag #2 was entirely on the shoulders of American frailty: apparently this bag of spring mix wasn't marked "organic."
"Organic" is just a fake word invented by Big Agriculture to make money off of America's liberal guilt. It's a word that jacks up the price by 200% with no notable difference in the product. I'm willing to bet that there's no physical difference between Spring Mix #1 and Spring Mix #2. So what are we paying for? It's kind of like shilling out a little more for a blood-free South African diamond or dolphin-free tuna. Only with organic vegetables, you're not helping Leo DiCaprio save Djimon Hounsou's son or posting bail for Hayden Panetierre. Nope, you're just lining the pockets of Big Agriculture and making sure that the pesticide salesman's son can't afford to go to college.
Also, I came home and wanted nothing more than to sit down with my favorite TJ's mixed berry yogurt. So I open up the carton (without plastic lids anymore. Even yogurt has gone green) and take that first bite...and notice that there's no flavor. It's plain yogurt. Or is it? That's right, my droogs, Trader Joe's only sells item #47 on my enemies list: Fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt. There is no benefit at all to mixing your own yogurt. I thought that's what we had machines for. And before you blame me for killing John Henry, automatic-yogurt-mixers are a slightly different animal than the steam engine.
Even worse is that the words "Fruit on the bottom" were printed on the cup in size 4 type. It was the inverse of the surgeon general. Had I seen "WARNING: THIS PRODUCT CAUSES YOU TO STIR THE CONTENTS FOR 30 SECONDS BEFORE CONSUMPTION," I'd be bolting in the other direction like when the fat chick eyed you at a high school dance.
So in the coming weeks, I'm on a quest down the yellow brick road to find the good Trader and let him know what's happened to his products. The man behind the curtain needs to understand that the good people of munchkinland have been oppressed by the Wicked Organic Witch for far too long.
And now if you don't mind, I'm off to go start downloading "About a Boy" so that I can endure the culinary pre-production of Turkey's Day Eve. Or maybe I'll go see "Southland Tales." But in the latter case, baking a three layer pumpkin/walnut cake might be more painful.
Death to the infidels,
MGD
'That's what she said' of the day:
(Re: chugging a glass of milk)
"I can't believe that I swallowed that and kept it down!"
Monday, November 19, 2007
20 November 2007 - If only the real world were broadcast in HD
The first week after I went away for my freshman year at CMC, my parents (now free of their offspring) decided to sign up for both digital cable and Netflix. I can only assume that this was their passive aggressive way of dealing with empty nest syndrome. While I can't say that these technological advances made me more apt to come home for the weekend, I was noticably annoyed at the timing and decided to stop speaking to Mike and Christina for two and a half months.
Well two years later, it looks as though the silent treatment worked...as one day before I came back home, a 52 inch flat screen HD TV was installed.
Just when I thought that television couldn't get any better...
Before I was a skeptic who thought that the difference was as negligible as Keira Knightley dropping two pounds. But brothers and sisters, I was wrong. It's honestly like the TV has become a window into some sort of magical, land of OZ realm with bubblegum mountains and tumbleweeds of bacon. There is added depth, razor sharp clarity and colors that previously only existed in acid trips. For the first time in my life, I was able to watch Dancing with the Stars and not be bored...only due to the crystal clear definition (and Jennie Garth, of course).
And nothing can compare to watching spoiler alert HRG getting shot in the head last night end spoilers. I honestly felt like his glasses were going to fly right out of the screen and into my lap. Too bad the same can't be said about Claire. Who cares if she's a friend to the dolphins? If West (Mr. I pick up girls by asking them if they're robots or aliens) has a shot with her, I think that anyone can.
In the past, I've been accused of watching far too much television. Sure, I currently watch about 27.5 shows a week (the half is for Gossip Girl, which I still don't admit to viewing). But it's not because I'm an "addict" or I "have no life" or I "haven't gotten laid in a while." No, it's because I know that the dumbass writers are going to shut down Hollywood in about two months, so I'm just savoring the precious few episodes that are left before a TV drought that turns audiences into the Joads in our own celluloid version of the Grapes of Wrath.
And if you'll allow me to get on my soapbox and sermonize for a second: You're writers for television. The only people in this town more overpaid are Jason Schmidt and Kwame Brown. Get over yourselves and stop making the grips, gaffers, make up artists, teamsters, craft service, and all the other below the line people suffer. Let's talk in three years when we see if downloading shows catches on. In the meanwhile, get back on your PowerBooks and finish typing up season four of LOST so I can experience the Smoke Monster in HD (Sidebar: RIP Mr. Eko. You're still missed).
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
That's what she said of the day:
(Re: pizza toppings)
It was so damn hot when I got it in my mouth, but after it cooled off it was great.
Well two years later, it looks as though the silent treatment worked...as one day before I came back home, a 52 inch flat screen HD TV was installed.
Just when I thought that television couldn't get any better...
Before I was a skeptic who thought that the difference was as negligible as Keira Knightley dropping two pounds. But brothers and sisters, I was wrong. It's honestly like the TV has become a window into some sort of magical, land of OZ realm with bubblegum mountains and tumbleweeds of bacon. There is added depth, razor sharp clarity and colors that previously only existed in acid trips. For the first time in my life, I was able to watch Dancing with the Stars and not be bored...only due to the crystal clear definition (and Jennie Garth, of course).
And nothing can compare to watching spoiler alert HRG getting shot in the head last night end spoilers. I honestly felt like his glasses were going to fly right out of the screen and into my lap. Too bad the same can't be said about Claire. Who cares if she's a friend to the dolphins? If West (Mr. I pick up girls by asking them if they're robots or aliens) has a shot with her, I think that anyone can.
In the past, I've been accused of watching far too much television. Sure, I currently watch about 27.5 shows a week (the half is for Gossip Girl, which I still don't admit to viewing). But it's not because I'm an "addict" or I "have no life" or I "haven't gotten laid in a while." No, it's because I know that the dumbass writers are going to shut down Hollywood in about two months, so I'm just savoring the precious few episodes that are left before a TV drought that turns audiences into the Joads in our own celluloid version of the Grapes of Wrath.
And if you'll allow me to get on my soapbox and sermonize for a second: You're writers for television. The only people in this town more overpaid are Jason Schmidt and Kwame Brown. Get over yourselves and stop making the grips, gaffers, make up artists, teamsters, craft service, and all the other below the line people suffer. Let's talk in three years when we see if downloading shows catches on. In the meanwhile, get back on your PowerBooks and finish typing up season four of LOST so I can experience the Smoke Monster in HD (Sidebar: RIP Mr. Eko. You're still missed).
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
That's what she said of the day:
(Re: pizza toppings)
It was so damn hot when I got it in my mouth, but after it cooled off it was great.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
19 November 2007 - Santa Monica Boulevard? We love it!
I was entirely content upon putting ye olde blog on hiatus for a while as I get over my jet lag and get accustomed to seeing Joe Torre in Dodger blue.
But apparently I've garnered a small yet loyal fan base and the wait between blog posts is equivalent to waiting for the next Salinger novel or Guns n' Roses CD. Normally peer pressure doesn't work on me, yet I'm afraid that some of these "fans" might go Misery on me and break my legs and keep me trapped in a cabin until I finish the next post.
So duty calls and I'm forced to cathartically type up some of my trademark allusion-filled angst.
And it has also been brought to my attention that people think that I "use up all my material" in this blog and have nothing else to talk about. I'm an open book, easier to read than "Goodnight Moon" (which, incidentally, touches upon some very deep questions about Benthamite utilitarianism). All you have to do is read these little updates and there's no need to talk to the real deal.
Well I hate to ruin the party, but like onions and Patrick Dempsey's hair, I have layers. My approachable yet rugged exterior doesn't show you everything that's going on inside. You have no idea how many details I'm leaving out. Like my script about an MLB umpire. Or how I met Cheryl from the Clue Crew. Or how sick I've gotten of the Claremont Independent. Or that I mistakenly voted for Nader in 2004. Or how I occasionally dress up like a spider and fight crime at night. Or that one poker game that got way too intense and ended with a dead hooker, two kilos of blow and a life long pact to never talk about that night again.
So yeah. The big, recent news is that I'm back home in LA. After four and a half months, it felt good to sleep in my own bed. And even though the sky is grey and the freeways are more congested than Chuckie Finster, it feels like home. I've taken the past week off to reacquaint myself with my old friends Tyler Florence and Jim Rome.
I also had to reorient myself with those little differences between NZ and LA. The most important of which is driving on the other side of the road. You see, it's not safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car after playing Grand Theft Auto. So you can imagine how dangerous I'd be after driving on the left side of the road for four months. I've literally had to mark my left hand with an X to remind me which side is the driver's. Too many times have I sat down in the passenger's seat and wondered where the steering wheel was.
My first meal was something that I couldn't get in Auckland: authentic Mexican food. Yup. Tacos so fresh that even the guacamole didn't have a green card. Apparently you just can't find any good Mexicans in New Zealand. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that instead of a poorly patrolled fence, there's an entire ocean separating the two countries. It all goes back to my new plan for border patrol: turn Mexico into an island. We'd see fewer illegals entering the country and co-eds would have a new beach for spring break. And it would also stop any debate on the issue, like when Obama went on about supporting drivers licenses for illegal immigrants or when Kucinich takes it one step further and wants every illegal to own a hybrid car powered by aborted fetuses.
But I digress...
Then you had the recent weekend I spent at CMC. Mind you, it was a classic Claremont weekend. Underwhelming parties with themes that no one seems to care about. Hours of video games. Finding someone who's sober enough to drive to Carl's Jr. Disappointing Friday nights at Collins.
But oddly enough, it felt right. It brought back smells and feelings and memories. It felt like home. And for someone who's been gone far too long, that's exactly what I needed.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Also due to popular demand, I'm bringing back *drumroll please*
That's what she said of the day:
"Beller, what the hell are you doing down there?"
But apparently I've garnered a small yet loyal fan base and the wait between blog posts is equivalent to waiting for the next Salinger novel or Guns n' Roses CD. Normally peer pressure doesn't work on me, yet I'm afraid that some of these "fans" might go Misery on me and break my legs and keep me trapped in a cabin until I finish the next post.
So duty calls and I'm forced to cathartically type up some of my trademark allusion-filled angst.
And it has also been brought to my attention that people think that I "use up all my material" in this blog and have nothing else to talk about. I'm an open book, easier to read than "Goodnight Moon" (which, incidentally, touches upon some very deep questions about Benthamite utilitarianism). All you have to do is read these little updates and there's no need to talk to the real deal.
Well I hate to ruin the party, but like onions and Patrick Dempsey's hair, I have layers. My approachable yet rugged exterior doesn't show you everything that's going on inside. You have no idea how many details I'm leaving out. Like my script about an MLB umpire. Or how I met Cheryl from the Clue Crew. Or how sick I've gotten of the Claremont Independent. Or that I mistakenly voted for Nader in 2004. Or how I occasionally dress up like a spider and fight crime at night. Or that one poker game that got way too intense and ended with a dead hooker, two kilos of blow and a life long pact to never talk about that night again.
So yeah. The big, recent news is that I'm back home in LA. After four and a half months, it felt good to sleep in my own bed. And even though the sky is grey and the freeways are more congested than Chuckie Finster, it feels like home. I've taken the past week off to reacquaint myself with my old friends Tyler Florence and Jim Rome.
I also had to reorient myself with those little differences between NZ and LA. The most important of which is driving on the other side of the road. You see, it's not safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car after playing Grand Theft Auto. So you can imagine how dangerous I'd be after driving on the left side of the road for four months. I've literally had to mark my left hand with an X to remind me which side is the driver's. Too many times have I sat down in the passenger's seat and wondered where the steering wheel was.
My first meal was something that I couldn't get in Auckland: authentic Mexican food. Yup. Tacos so fresh that even the guacamole didn't have a green card. Apparently you just can't find any good Mexicans in New Zealand. Maybe this has something to do with the fact that instead of a poorly patrolled fence, there's an entire ocean separating the two countries. It all goes back to my new plan for border patrol: turn Mexico into an island. We'd see fewer illegals entering the country and co-eds would have a new beach for spring break. And it would also stop any debate on the issue, like when Obama went on about supporting drivers licenses for illegal immigrants or when Kucinich takes it one step further and wants every illegal to own a hybrid car powered by aborted fetuses.
But I digress...
Then you had the recent weekend I spent at CMC. Mind you, it was a classic Claremont weekend. Underwhelming parties with themes that no one seems to care about. Hours of video games. Finding someone who's sober enough to drive to Carl's Jr. Disappointing Friday nights at Collins.
But oddly enough, it felt right. It brought back smells and feelings and memories. It felt like home. And for someone who's been gone far too long, that's exactly what I needed.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Also due to popular demand, I'm bringing back *drumroll please*
That's what she said of the day:
"Beller, what the hell are you doing down there?"
Thursday, November 08, 2007
9 November 2007 - This is the end, beautiful friend
There's an old joke: two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of them says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know. And such small portions." Well, that's essentially how I feel about life - full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.
-Woody Allen
Except that's the thing about New Zealand. It's over far too quickly, but it wasn't full of melancholy or suffering or sadness (at least, not all of the time). It was happy, it was smiles, it was trusting, it was everything you could want.
And now...t's over.
I just spent a good long while in the lobby saying numerous, teary goodbyes to all the people I've met over this past semester. And since packing is just one step closer to leaving NZ, I'm putting it off as much as possible. How desperate am I right now? I'm watching Smallville. Yes, Smallville. And I'm not even of the opinion that Kristen Kreuk is that hot. But hey, that's 43 more minutes that I don't have to think about leaving the country.
So in the interest of not being filled with the sadness associated with leaving behind a part of yourself, I'm just going to move on. But I'm going to miss so much about this past semester. The people. The clean air. The entire feeling of the country.
And I'm going to miss you most of all, Scarecrow. You know who you are.
Best things I did in Auckland (The G rated version):
1) Bungy jump off the Nevis high wire
2) Sky diving in Lake Taupo
3) Caving in Waitomo
4) CADBURY CHOCOLATE FACTORY TOUR
5) Watching a red lunar eclipse on a private beach in Abel Tasman National Park
6) Overnight cruise in Milford Sound
7) Watching the All-Blacks pound the Wallabies at Eden Park
8) Zorbing in Rotorua
9) Kayaking with Daryl, our ex-con, deadbeat dad instructor in Abel Tasman
10) Jetboating in Queenstown
11) Skiing Mt. Ruapehu
12) Deep sea fishing in Kaikoura
13) Went abroad to another country where I didn't know anyone else.
So first thing I'm going to do when I get home? Simple. Park myself on the couch with a nice big burrito (made by authentic Mexicans). And watch Top Gun for the first time in 6 months.
See you in another life, brother.
-MGD
-Woody Allen
Except that's the thing about New Zealand. It's over far too quickly, but it wasn't full of melancholy or suffering or sadness (at least, not all of the time). It was happy, it was smiles, it was trusting, it was everything you could want.
And now...t's over.
I just spent a good long while in the lobby saying numerous, teary goodbyes to all the people I've met over this past semester. And since packing is just one step closer to leaving NZ, I'm putting it off as much as possible. How desperate am I right now? I'm watching Smallville. Yes, Smallville. And I'm not even of the opinion that Kristen Kreuk is that hot. But hey, that's 43 more minutes that I don't have to think about leaving the country.
So in the interest of not being filled with the sadness associated with leaving behind a part of yourself, I'm just going to move on. But I'm going to miss so much about this past semester. The people. The clean air. The entire feeling of the country.
And I'm going to miss you most of all, Scarecrow. You know who you are.
Best things I did in Auckland (The G rated version):
1) Bungy jump off the Nevis high wire
2) Sky diving in Lake Taupo
3) Caving in Waitomo
4) CADBURY CHOCOLATE FACTORY TOUR
5) Watching a red lunar eclipse on a private beach in Abel Tasman National Park
6) Overnight cruise in Milford Sound
7) Watching the All-Blacks pound the Wallabies at Eden Park
8) Zorbing in Rotorua
9) Kayaking with Daryl, our ex-con, deadbeat dad instructor in Abel Tasman
10) Jetboating in Queenstown
11) Skiing Mt. Ruapehu
12) Deep sea fishing in Kaikoura
13) Went abroad to another country where I didn't know anyone else.
So first thing I'm going to do when I get home? Simple. Park myself on the couch with a nice big burrito (made by authentic Mexicans). And watch Top Gun for the first time in 6 months.
See you in another life, brother.
-MGD
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
8 November 2007 - The Long Goodbye
Got one more final tomorrow, so I'm still running low on bloggings. Time to switch to stream of consciousness mode for the next few minutes.
Starbucks has busted out their seasonal Christmas apparel already. Everything's all red and green and pepperminty. I told the guy at the counter that my name was "Nomar." After he asked me for the spelling the third time, I gave up my alias and just said "Max."
I alternatingly pity and respect the proctors on these final exams. You see, all they have for responsiblities are tests (albeit worth 50% of your total grade). So they're able to dedicate all of their energy to proctor the living hell out of the test. But at the same time, these are older women who come out of retirement twice a year to sit in a room for two hours and make sure that students don't go over the allotted time. Cushy job, actually. Come in for a short period of time, make sure that the situation isn't worse than you found it, then collect your paycheck. The name gives the Dodgers' new set-up man Scott even more depth.
We're starting to say "goodbye" as people start to peace out of Auckland and fly back home. I thought that a four month period would be easy to leave. There's a sense of finality and closure, so you make the most of your time. But I've still grown to care about a lot of these people. And these goodbyes actually mean something. It isn't "See you in the fall!" or "See you next summer!" It's more like "I'll see you in another life, brother."
I really do feel bad for all the people that I'm leaving behind in Auckland. I mean, their lives are going to be so pathetic without my company. And the last thing that I want to do is to Munson all of my new friends.
There was a long dark hair on one of the pillows. There was a lump of lead at the pit of my stomach. To say goodbye is to die a little.
-Raymond Chandler
MGD
Top Five songs about saying goodbye (the Laura's Dad tribute list):
1) He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones
2) Love Me Two Times - The Doors
3) Funny How Time Slips Away - Willie Nelson
4) Bye Bye Blackbird - Joe Cocker
5) Goodbye - Steve Earle
Honorable Mentions: Dakota - Stereophonics, Let Me Love You Once Before You Go- Rex Allen Jr, Hello Goodbye - Beatles, Sara - Fleetwood Mac, Time to Say Goodbye - Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli, Bye Bye Bye - *NSYNC, This Flight Tonight - Joni Mitchell (Hell, the entire "Blue" album can be on this list), and 2 out of 3 Ain't Bad - Meatloaf.
Starbucks has busted out their seasonal Christmas apparel already. Everything's all red and green and pepperminty. I told the guy at the counter that my name was "Nomar." After he asked me for the spelling the third time, I gave up my alias and just said "Max."
I alternatingly pity and respect the proctors on these final exams. You see, all they have for responsiblities are tests (albeit worth 50% of your total grade). So they're able to dedicate all of their energy to proctor the living hell out of the test. But at the same time, these are older women who come out of retirement twice a year to sit in a room for two hours and make sure that students don't go over the allotted time. Cushy job, actually. Come in for a short period of time, make sure that the situation isn't worse than you found it, then collect your paycheck. The name gives the Dodgers' new set-up man Scott even more depth.
We're starting to say "goodbye" as people start to peace out of Auckland and fly back home. I thought that a four month period would be easy to leave. There's a sense of finality and closure, so you make the most of your time. But I've still grown to care about a lot of these people. And these goodbyes actually mean something. It isn't "See you in the fall!" or "See you next summer!" It's more like "I'll see you in another life, brother."
I really do feel bad for all the people that I'm leaving behind in Auckland. I mean, their lives are going to be so pathetic without my company. And the last thing that I want to do is to Munson all of my new friends.
There was a long dark hair on one of the pillows. There was a lump of lead at the pit of my stomach. To say goodbye is to die a little.
-Raymond Chandler
MGD
Top Five songs about saying goodbye (the Laura's Dad tribute list):
1) He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones
2) Love Me Two Times - The Doors
3) Funny How Time Slips Away - Willie Nelson
4) Bye Bye Blackbird - Joe Cocker
5) Goodbye - Steve Earle
Honorable Mentions: Dakota - Stereophonics, Let Me Love You Once Before You Go- Rex Allen Jr, Hello Goodbye - Beatles, Sara - Fleetwood Mac, Time to Say Goodbye - Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli, Bye Bye Bye - *NSYNC, This Flight Tonight - Joni Mitchell (Hell, the entire "Blue" album can be on this list), and 2 out of 3 Ain't Bad - Meatloaf.
7 November 2007 - Too Busy to Blog
Big test tomorrow means no time to post a new entry. My apologies. But hopefully these clips make up for my lack of diligence.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He is young man that some people know. His age is 21 and he comes from down in southern Colorado. He's just out of the service and he's looking for his fun. Many parents cannot stand him since he rides the rodeo. When he comes to call, fathers have nothing good to say about him. But that's only because they were just as wild in their younger days.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
6 November 2007 - It's somthing unpredictable...
CafeAbroad.com continues to ruin my life. Earlier in the year, I had to print a retraction over I Am Dan's use of the fake word "lede" after it was brought to my attention that "lede" might be more legitimate than I had thought.
Well just yesterday in a game of online Scrabble, I was down to my final three letters in a very competitive match. And sure enough, I saw a spot on the board and I put down "L-E-D-E" in a move that should have won the game for me.
Except for the fact that my opponent challenged the word and guess what? HE WON. "Lede" is not a valid Scrabble word. And seeing as I trust a board game more than dictionary.com, I retract my retraction and I will continue to call Dan a total and utter retard. Check and mate.
Onto the reflectrospective:
Top Five Things I'm Looking forward to in Los Angeles
1) My dog. Nuff said.
2) Seeing the sun again. This entire semester has been like 30 Days of Night. My deep, George Hamilton tan has faded to the point where I might be mistaken for a brunette ginger kid.
3) Not cooking for myself/City Wok sesame beef.
4) Joe Torre helming the Dodgers. But more importantly, the promise of Larry Bowa being Torre's proxy for home plate tantrums.
5) The potential that the spring semester at CMC will be even better than my time in Auckland. SUIT UP, men. It's going to be one hell of a time. Just remember: No classes on Friday.
In other news: in honor of the WGA strike, Heroes actually put out a decent episode last night. Although I totally called Kensei being the killer, I was pleasantly surprised with the cliffhanger ending. Sadly, it looks as though the world once again needs saving and the only recourse is *sigh* save the cheerleader. Weren't we already at this point of tedium last season?
My auto-drafted fantasy team continues to run wild (if only everyone else in the league would pony up their $20 for the pool...).
Stephen Colbert won't be running for president for at least another four years.
And both Generalisimo Franco and Edgar Stiles are still dead. Although the same can't be said for Tony Freaking Almeida! Hopefully the WGA strike won't ruin Tony's triumphant return from the dead.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He was born in the summer of his twenty seventh year, coming home to a place he'd never been before. He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again. You might say he found the key to every door.
Well just yesterday in a game of online Scrabble, I was down to my final three letters in a very competitive match. And sure enough, I saw a spot on the board and I put down "L-E-D-E" in a move that should have won the game for me.
Except for the fact that my opponent challenged the word and guess what? HE WON. "Lede" is not a valid Scrabble word. And seeing as I trust a board game more than dictionary.com, I retract my retraction and I will continue to call Dan a total and utter retard. Check and mate.
Onto the reflectrospective:
Top Five Things I'm Looking forward to in Los Angeles
1) My dog. Nuff said.
2) Seeing the sun again. This entire semester has been like 30 Days of Night. My deep, George Hamilton tan has faded to the point where I might be mistaken for a brunette ginger kid.
3) Not cooking for myself/City Wok sesame beef.
4) Joe Torre helming the Dodgers. But more importantly, the promise of Larry Bowa being Torre's proxy for home plate tantrums.
5) The potential that the spring semester at CMC will be even better than my time in Auckland. SUIT UP, men. It's going to be one hell of a time. Just remember: No classes on Friday.
In other news: in honor of the WGA strike, Heroes actually put out a decent episode last night. Although I totally called Kensei being the killer, I was pleasantly surprised with the cliffhanger ending. Sadly, it looks as though the world once again needs saving and the only recourse is *sigh* save the cheerleader. Weren't we already at this point of tedium last season?
My auto-drafted fantasy team continues to run wild (if only everyone else in the league would pony up their $20 for the pool...).
Stephen Colbert won't be running for president for at least another four years.
And both Generalisimo Franco and Edgar Stiles are still dead. Although the same can't be said for Tony Freaking Almeida! Hopefully the WGA strike won't ruin Tony's triumphant return from the dead.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He was born in the summer of his twenty seventh year, coming home to a place he'd never been before. He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again. You might say he found the key to every door.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
5 November 2007 - The Final Countdown (Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo)
The time has come, the walrus said, to get the hell out of this country.
I currently have four and a half days until I hitch a ride on an jetplane and leave like I'm John Denver (Not knowing when I'll be back again, not crashing into the Pacific Ocean). So how do I plan on celebrating my remaining week in Auckland? Why, two art history finals, of course. And by "art history finals," I mean "watch reruns of The Office and start packing."
But also, I figure that I should do some reflecting in a retrospective of my time down here. A Reflectrospective, if you will, of the time of my life. When I get back home, everyone will be asking a) What were the best things about New Zealand? b) What did you love about it? and c) How is it different? So over the next 4.5 days, I'm going to be preparing for the onslaught of interrogation.
Top 5 things that I will miss about Auckland:
1) The weather - It's not so much that I love rain (although devotees might remember this post), but when compared to the heat wave that's running wild in SoCal, I'll take the overcast. What's worse: Light showers 3 days a week or 105 degree heat, wildfires, and fat chicks who think the temperature is an excuse to wear cut-offs?
2) No sales tax. The 8.25% imposed by the People's Republic of California is going to be a bitch getting reaccustomed to.
3) The somewhat advantageous exchange rate. True, the US dollar isn't as strong as it once was, and I'm probably paying the equivalent for a loaf of bread. But there's such an invigorating feeling when you go to the ATM, take out $100US and end up with a cool $131, it's a high than only morphine can top.
4) The relaxed attitude that everyone down here has. The key suffix for the entire country is "-ish." Nothing is too precise or too exact. A lot of leeway and flexibility in NZ, which when compared to LA is much appreciated.
5) No longer being 18 hours ahead of the West Coast. It was pretty fun being Future Max for the past semester, being able to warn those in the past about all of the misfortunes to come.
And an honorable mention at #6) Dan Coscino.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He's gonna be leaving at the break of dawn. He wishes you could come but he doesn't need a woman tagging along. There's always something greener on the other side of that hill. But he was born a wrangler and a rounder and he guesses he always will.
I currently have four and a half days until I hitch a ride on an jetplane and leave like I'm John Denver (Not knowing when I'll be back again, not crashing into the Pacific Ocean). So how do I plan on celebrating my remaining week in Auckland? Why, two art history finals, of course. And by "art history finals," I mean "watch reruns of The Office and start packing."
But also, I figure that I should do some reflecting in a retrospective of my time down here. A Reflectrospective, if you will, of the time of my life. When I get back home, everyone will be asking a) What were the best things about New Zealand? b) What did you love about it? and c) How is it different? So over the next 4.5 days, I'm going to be preparing for the onslaught of interrogation.
Top 5 things that I will miss about Auckland:
1) The weather - It's not so much that I love rain (although devotees might remember this post), but when compared to the heat wave that's running wild in SoCal, I'll take the overcast. What's worse: Light showers 3 days a week or 105 degree heat, wildfires, and fat chicks who think the temperature is an excuse to wear cut-offs?
2) No sales tax. The 8.25% imposed by the People's Republic of California is going to be a bitch getting reaccustomed to.
3) The somewhat advantageous exchange rate. True, the US dollar isn't as strong as it once was, and I'm probably paying the equivalent for a loaf of bread. But there's such an invigorating feeling when you go to the ATM, take out $100US and end up with a cool $131, it's a high than only morphine can top.
4) The relaxed attitude that everyone down here has. The key suffix for the entire country is "-ish." Nothing is too precise or too exact. A lot of leeway and flexibility in NZ, which when compared to LA is much appreciated.
5) No longer being 18 hours ahead of the West Coast. It was pretty fun being Future Max for the past semester, being able to warn those in the past about all of the misfortunes to come.
And an honorable mention at #6) Dan Coscino.
Death to the infidels,
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He's gonna be leaving at the break of dawn. He wishes you could come but he doesn't need a woman tagging along. There's always something greener on the other side of that hill. But he was born a wrangler and a rounder and he guesses he always will.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
4 November 2007 - We Need Girlfriends (The webisode, not Max Davison's life story)
Don't get me wrong, I hate YouTube. Well, I don't hate the fact that I can watch all of my favorite SNL sketches or music videos at any time. Not gonna lie, that's pretty awesome. But as an outlet for aspriring directors, it bugs the living crap out of me. Suddenly any schmuck with a camcorder and Final Cut thinks they're the next Roland Emmerich. Why should this bother me? Well, because as another self-proclaimed-next-Tarantino, I belive in due paying and earning the right to direct and produce.
Basically, I'm just bitter that other people are out there producing, while I'm behind a typewriter acting like the embittered scholar of the universe.
Either way, It was recently announced that Darren Star (of Sex and the City fame) is executive producing a version of the webseries "We Need Girlfriends" for CBS. Star's last TV show was the brilliant yet axed "Kitchen Confidential." Even though it only ran for 4 episodes, it proved that Star's writing skill wasn't entirely wasted on straight women and gay men.
"We Need Girlfriends" is the story of three roommates who get dumped right after college graduation. It's filled with idiotic dialogue, references to Three's Company, MySpace pages, games of Taboo, strange characters named Henry...pretty much, I should have written this. And I think the "Team Rod" shirt is pretty stylish.
The clip below is kind of long (but distinguished) at 8 minutes, but I assure you that each minute is comedy gold. Way better than anything currently on CBS (not starring Charlie Sheen, that is). It's the sort of low budget comedic fare that I aspire to create some day in the not so distant future.
And if you like what you see, do yourself a favor and just search "We Need Girlfriends" on YouTube and check out the other 10 parts of the show. Episode Six is pretty money as well. Almost as money as Dan Coscino.
Basically, I'm just bitter that other people are out there producing, while I'm behind a typewriter acting like the embittered scholar of the universe.
Either way, It was recently announced that Darren Star (of Sex and the City fame) is executive producing a version of the webseries "We Need Girlfriends" for CBS. Star's last TV show was the brilliant yet axed "Kitchen Confidential." Even though it only ran for 4 episodes, it proved that Star's writing skill wasn't entirely wasted on straight women and gay men.
"We Need Girlfriends" is the story of three roommates who get dumped right after college graduation. It's filled with idiotic dialogue, references to Three's Company, MySpace pages, games of Taboo, strange characters named Henry...pretty much, I should have written this. And I think the "Team Rod" shirt is pretty stylish.
The clip below is kind of long (but distinguished) at 8 minutes, but I assure you that each minute is comedy gold. Way better than anything currently on CBS (not starring Charlie Sheen, that is). It's the sort of low budget comedic fare that I aspire to create some day in the not so distant future.
And if you like what you see, do yourself a favor and just search "We Need Girlfriends" on YouTube and check out the other 10 parts of the show. Episode Six is pretty money as well. Almost as money as Dan Coscino.
-MGD
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