jimmy

I just installed Mr. Driller for PC on my lappy, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. In fact when I first turned it on, I did tear up a bit.

It’s a very simple game. You have to drill through the colored blocks that have filled the sewers. You have to make sure you don’t get crushed and get enough air capsules to ensure you can breathe. During the Santa Barbara years, namely 2000-01, we wasted our lives on booze, caffeine, drugs and Mr. Driller.

Here is a video demonstrating the crack-ish nature of the game.

Okay, this is clearly nostalgic wanking bullshit on my part. But fuck it. I’ll let myself wallow in it for just a bit.

With all of the post cigarette weight I’ve piled on the last six months (yes, I’m going to blame it on cigarettes and not my tendency towards inertia or horrid eating habits), I’ve been diligent the last couple of weeks going to the gym. When I hung out with Madd the other day, she was startled at the weight I’ve lost. Hell, even my mom noticed, and Koreans are completely weight obsessed.

Anyhow after covering the Kings game last night I was feeling a bit hungry. For some reason I decided to stop by Del Taco for a chicken quesadilla and fries. At around 4 a.m. I woke up with the most horrendous pain in my stomach. I went to the bathroom and everything exploded out with cramping I’ve not felt since I was lactose intolerant. Oh it was bad.

I think that was a sign, a penance for eating fast food. I have sinned, and I fully paid for it. Hell, I still feel a little rumble in the belly right now. Oof.

So I guess I’ll be cutting that out of my diet.

That is indeed a shot of me taken at my desk at home chugging a bottle of scotch.

I spent the night at STAPLES Center watching the Kings demolish the Vancouver Canucks. That was fun. By the time all the postgame interviews were done, it was 10:05 and I had a decision since I decided to Metro it to the game to avoid the shit-for-brains on the road. Do I finish my story at the arena and ring in the new year in LA Live somewhere, or do I jet home and celebrate 2012 by myself?

I obviously chose the latter since I really hate humanity. So there it is, me drinking while finishing my story and being the very last story on LAist for 2011. I think I will buy that noose right now.

Nothing more needs to be said.

Before you fuckers start being all thankful that your god was born, I say fuck it all.

I should have known better. I went to a chain bookstore in Torrance that rhymes with Narnes and Boble. They usually have my favoritest magazine in the world stocked: Arena Homme +. Of course since the birth of someone’s god is right around the corner, people are packed in the parking lot trying to position themselves for the best parking space possible. Never mind that in doing so they create a traffic jam while unwitting drivers like me who just want a place to park no matter how far (since we acknowledge that we need what little exercise we get in walking 1,000 feet versus 50 feet) was trying to hold in urine before exploding into a mess right there in the parking lot.

Anyhow going into the store and using the bathroom, I found that they didn’t have my magazine. Oh well, I thought. No big deal.

I traveled through the stacks and notice the children’s section expanded while the literature section shrunk. I couldn’t find the biography and sociology sections, and the philosophy section was poorly stocked and filled with titles like The Philosophy of The Sopranos. Ugh.

Since I’m reading Proust right now, I wanted to see what they had in the way of Proust. See the picture above. Three. Count them, three copies of Swann’s Way and that’s it. That was shocking to my delicate composition. But don’t worry, they had that Snooki book.

But like I said, I should have known better. My expectations of humanity are usually very, very low. But on the rare occasion I have one, I always end up disappointed and bitter. So here’s hoping for that nuke to hit.

That is probably the most incredulous statement I could ever utter. That lady pictured above is 60 years old. I emerged from her loins when she was 27 years old.

My family had a party for her on Saturday where we stuffed our gullets and drank wine. She seemed really touched especially when I told her if she gets lost in the wilderness again and we have to send helicopters and search parties that I would send her to a home. She seemed really touched by that.

No, my mom isn’t feeble. She runs marathons, loves hiking and has the usual Korean obsession with golfing. In other words, she’s fucking insane.

But she’s my mom, and I love her.

For the first time since Nov. 10, 2007, I have created a podcast. So here it is. It’s under an hour long, and no copyright infringement is intended. All songs are property of their respective owners. Yadda yadda yadda. The only intellectual property I own on this podcast is whatever comes out of my mouth. And even calling it “intellectual” is a stretch.

1. Fugazi – Waiting Room
2. Annie – Heartbeat
3. Cibo Matto – Black Hole Sun
4. PJ Harvey – Hardly Wait
5. Elastica – Stutter
6. Limp Wrist – I Love Hardcore Boys
7. Fagatron – Like a Prayer
8. Crocodiles – Jet Boy, Jet Girl
9. Pussy Galore – Cunt Tease
10. Skinny Puppy – Spasmolytic
11. Nine Inch Nails – The Hand That Feeds
12. Siouxsie and the Banshees – Overground (Peel Sessions)
13. Coil – Tainted Love
14. Unwound – MKUltra

Download here.
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