Category Archives: ghostwriter

Getting Real with the WORLD SERIES CHAMPS

in case you weren’t in the lower haight tonight, here’s what you missed.  WORLD. SERIES. CHAMPS

thank you san francisco.

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Getting Real about saying goodbye

RIP, Old Friend

I loved him.  I really did.  Sure, I haven’t heard from him in over ten years.  And, sure, we may have had our differences:  He was having trouble adjusting to the changing of the times and was set in his ways.  But, I loved him.  I loved the soft humming of his motorized heart.  I loved the way he used to mimic Alvin and the Chipmunks.  I loved it all.

I can’t believe he’s gone.  And they way he had to go… it makes me shudder.  Sure, he may have felt neglected and marginalized, but it didn’t mean I didn’t have a place for him in my heart.  Even though I would probably never hear from him again.  And even when I did hear from him, it would be muted and garbled.  Regardless, he was a part of my childhood and made me feel so much cooler than anyone else.

On October 25, 2010, Walkman was murdered by his father, Sony.  He was 31 years old, was survived by his equally obsolete brother, Discman, and no one could give two shits.

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Filed under ghostwriter, internets, Music, R.I.P., Style, Tech

Getting Real about beating Ohio State

There’s a widely held opinion that you never really can go back to college.  I would like to present this video as proof that, on certain occasions, you most definitely can.  Look out for the :45 mark…

10/16/10 – Wisconsin knocks of the #1 ranked Ohio State Buckeyes at home.

BEST. GAME. EVER.

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Getting Real about how I learned to love the Blue Angels

“The Blue Angels’ mission is to enhance Navy and Marine Corps recruiting efforts and to represent the naval service to the United States, its elected leadership and foreign nations. The Blue Angels serve as positive role models and goodwill ambassadors for the U. S. Navy and Marine Corps.”

Sitting in a dog park with a bunch of white people this weekend, I took some time to reflect upon the Blue Angels, life, and why my ears won’t stop ringing for the next three days.

As a little kid, my relationship with the military was limited to a fear of dying by bayonet attack while in a sleeping bag on Cub Scout camping trips and those terrifying commercials that looked like a game of BattleChess until the rooks turned into Marines and killed everyone with swords.

I was watching two little kids on Sunday, which is what I often do in the park when there aren’t any dogs around.  This makes parents really uncomfortable and they usually move to another spot in the park, which is fine, because then someone else shows up and I forget I was being creepy.  But, because this was a special day and everyone was picnicking because the Navy was going to simulate a high-casualty air strike above the city, the parents stayed put and allowed me to transfer my own thoughts onto their children and I started thinking that these kids probably hadn’t even seen those BattleChess ads.  I doubted they even knew what BattleChess was unless there’s an iPhone app for it (there might be an iPhone app, but I haven’t checked because I could never win on the DOS version which was likely far less sophisticated than the release out now).

It was pretty unlikely that these kids were Cub Scouts either, because I’m not even sure they have Cub Scouts in SF and if they did, they wouldn’t meet in a Church and DEFINITELY wouldn’t get to play with knives which was the best part of Cub Scouts before I learned about bayonets.  I resigned myself to the fact that the Blue Angels had found their ideal, uncorrupted audience with these little shits who suffered none of the military-related trauma I endured as a child.

After you watch gigantic death planes fly over your head for ten minutes, you start asking things like, “Why on earth do they do this ever year?” and “Why the hell are the Blue Angels not affiliated with the Air Force?” (this is a completely valid question and one I don’t ever expect to be answered). And my favorite of which, being “Man, Churchill had some ballsack to stand on top of the Treasury Building while the Nazi’s bombed the shit out of London”.

(Not actually a question).

 

 

"VICTORY"

 

But neither of these kids were bothered by the absurdity of planes belonging to a military branch inherently based in the water, and surely neither had the lung power to finish an entire cigar while running a country and watching bombers decimate your town and eardrums alike (still love you Winston).  They just kept cheering.  And not like how I cheer, secretly hoping for comical disaster, this was honest-to-goodness GO USA screaming.  Their cries, barely audible due to the chronic tinnitus growing inside my skull, began to take hold in my brain.  I no longer cared how much of the defense budget was allocated to these show-boating assholes.  These guys were protecting us, at that very moment, from the darkness lurking in my very own neighborhood.

I subconsciously traced their Pacific Heights flight path from home to home, noticing a strange triangular pattern that began on Lyon Street, shielding the sun completely from Dianne Feinstein‘s windows.  They turned up Broadway, flying so low the flowers wilted from the sound in Nancy Pelosi‘s back garden, and finally, completing their isosceles axis of evil, through Alta Plaza park where they nearly shook the solar panels from the bastions atop Sean Penn‘s seventh home.

 

 

axis of evil

 

They were telling me something, these Blue Angels, and I think I finally understood:  God sends the military to San Francisco once a year to remind us that we’re assholes, and that even he can’t get Pelosi out of office.

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Filed under ghostwriter, politics

Getting Real about a party at Zito’s

i was hungover at work on Friday.  no explanation required, just setting the tone for this one.

my office-mate comes in, does some shit for awhile, then says to me,

“nate, you like the brewers right?”

“yeah.”  i really don’t want to be talking about anything right now, but i’m oddly intrigued that that we’re talking about baseball.

“i had dinner with this guy named ryan last night.  he said he plays for the brewers??  soo cute.”

OMFG.  first off, the mention of “plays for the brewers” is delivered in the same tone as if she said “works for yelp” and second, it’s RYAN fucking BRAUN.  i’m using a lot of caps today because i’m tired and i had to endure this.

i start yelling a series of loud sentence fragments.

“NL ROOKIE OF THE YEAR! THREE-TIME ALL-STAR! $40 MILLION DOLLAR CONTRACT!”

our cfo comes out of his office and thinks i have turrets.  i apologize.

she proceeds to tell me that her friend is hooking up with chris dickerson (also a brewer) and they were all going to dinner.  no intros made beyond first names, she sits next to braun and some slutty model that he’s fucking from utah and listens to them talk about debilitating injuries (apparently a big fear of braun’s), brauns steakhouse(s), and green sports stadiums for about two hours. at one point she was apparently so bored she pulled out her phone to go check perez.  the best part?  neither professional athlete offers to pick up her $30 dollar dinner and she had throw down her debit card down next to braun’s black amex!!

my mind is blown at this point.  my coffee tastes like liquor.  she finishes the story by telling me that braun asked her how much a cab would be to marin. she told him $50 and asked why anyone would want to go out there at 11PM.  Apparently there’s a party at Zito’s… and she definitely wasn’t invited.

party at Zito's!

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Getting Real about touching Natalie Portman

i read the GRR post yesterday and started thinking a lot about natalie portman for like ten minutes. not like thinking ‘i’d so fuck natalie portman’, which is a good fantasy, but not the one i was having.

i was thinking about the time i touched natalie portman which was probably the best day of my life and that’s what i was thinking about.

for a long time i assumed i’d work in politics. what i didn’t know at the time was it was actually like saying you’d work in poverty and disappointment and probably have a bad haircut even though you had sweet hair at the time and had no idea that it would just fall out when you turned 26 and then you blame your dad who’s like, fuck you kid – i was always bald, and then you have no one left to blame because the story about your grandpa on your dad’s side is a load of shit.

so when you work in politics, everyone is really excited about things for no good reason. like, i’m so pumped about this election. this guy is totally gonna legalize it – which is one of my top three issues. but no one ever legalizes it which is why i no longer believe in anything and just moved to cali instead. but when people get excited in politics it means two things: free booze and celebrities, which are my other two top issues.

when i worked in politics i drank a lot of free booze. i was probably a borderline alcho because i even puked at my desk once, but it was more like dry heaves cause i obvi didn’t eat dinner the night before and mostly because i couldn’t go to the bathroom at work until lunch because the phone might ring and you had to pretend the senator was there and that he like couldn’t agree more with abortion or shooting mexicans at the border or else we’d lose the election and the world would go to hell.

but it was all worth it the time i touched natalie portman.

i was tight with the dudes at the democratic party when i had good hair and was taking like 12 credits and just chilling a lot so sometimes i’d ‘do shit’ for them to pad my resume and convince my parents i was doing relevant activites and that i was pursuing a meaningful career. this was when bush was president and we were all ‘really excited’ about being libs and we only listened to The Boss (born 2 run era).

due to all the excitement, and because we listened to ‘no surrender’ pretty much on repeat, natalie portman showed up to keep us really excited and to
tell us how to be better libs and how to go to harvard. this was when when natalie portman shaved her head and wasn’t that hot, which i think helped
her focus on working in politics. i usually block the part out about her shaved head when i think about the time i touched her and imagine she had the good star wars hair but i’m just using this for context. either way it was way better than listening to john kerry.

so the dudes at the democratic party knew i was tall and they needed someone to take a bullet for natalie portman and couldn’t afford actual bodyguards. obvi i was the first person to come to mind and i have always said i’d take a bullet for natalie portman every since i saw the professional on usa network when i was like 12 and knew we were destined to be together.

there were all these things i wanted to tell natalie portman when i touched her and because i was her bodyguard, i assumed she’d want to tell me things
she’s never told anyone else just in case she died in my arms and needed me to pass a message on to her loved ones. but no one shot her and we just kinda stood there and i swear it was her shoulder that brushed against my back.

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Filed under ghostwriter, Hotness, politics, Sex

Getting Real about the worst traffic jam of your life

is beijing the new la?

i remember i had an interview once in hollywood that was later in the afternoon but i had nothing to do during the day, so i just fucked around and played fifa for like four hours, then i realized my hair looked terrible and i should get some product to keep it in check.   so i went to gelsons and bought this bottle of dove gel that looked like blue jizz (i still have this bottle today) but would make my head look better.  then i put the suit on that my parents bought me when i graduated but whenever i don’t spend my own money on clothes i try to get somethign cooler than i probably should have in which case it goes out of style in two years. three buttons seemed awesome at the time but now i’m well aware that you should just own a two-button suit and be done with it.

anyways, i was super late but my hair looked good even tho i was sweating balls in this suit and then i realized i didn’t actually know where the building was, but i thought i’d driven by it before.  this was b4 i had a super phone and could google pretty much whatever i wanted.  so i ended up on la cienaga and remember thinking i’d blown the job for so many reasons, the worst of which was this fifa season i was playing with wigan athletic.  there’s no reason you should ever play a fifa season with wigan athletic but it became this personal challenge and was realistically as good a use of my time as any and i was basically dominating the premier league with a second tier team with a great name.

the stoplights were absolutely killing me at this point and i was thinking about just pulling a super illegal u-turn and going back and playing fifa because i was already 25 minutes late and it wasn’t like the job was that sweet.  but i heard that a basic traffic violation was like a $400 ticket b/c the state was broke and i didn’t have those kind of skrills so i just went to the interview and got the job the next day.

so apparently china is worse now.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704125604575449173989748704.html?mod=WSJ_hpp_MIDDLETopStories

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Getting Real about acid trips

flying wook!

i’ve struggled with being a phish fan for the past year.  its tough to justify to your employer that you’re missing work to see this band; its even tougher to justify to yourself that you’re missing work to see this band.  i’m 26 years old, i hold a steady job.  it’s no longer socially acceptable to know the smell of dmt in a crowd of degenerates or the sound of a nitrous tank in the woods behind the berkeley law school.  but i’m fine with it.  this is phish 2.0 – the sober tour.  and then this shit happens…

the flying wook of jones beach – http://mobile.gothamist.com/2010/08/19/phish_fan_in_icu_after_plunge_from.php#gallery

i’ve seen a lot of things in my life. a meatstick with japanese translation (rosement ’02), the leo treo (alpine ’03), a lizards encore (first since ’94), several glowstick wars that combined couldn’t live up to the fireworks during the loving cup at indio ’09, but i have NEVER seen a man hurl himself from an amphitheater balcony with a head full of acid.

quote from a bro in the balcony:

“he was completely spun. he jumped between me and my buddy. we were in the 2 seats at the front corner of the mezz in that picture. he came down the backs of the seats stepped on the back of our seats, put his hands on our shoulders and a foot on the railing and jumped…dove. he belly flopped onto the seats”

ponderable situations:

– if you were a bro tripping balls, what would you dive into?
– ever wonder how scrooge mcduck dove into all that gold and avoided massive duck-head trauma?
– how good was that antelope?

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