UPDATE: Apparently, I'm not the only person outraged by this. The body shop agreed to take the paint off for free.

Thanks to everyone who stepped up, and I'm surprised at how many of you did. Thank you. Thank you all.

Original post:

My friend Jessica messaged me despondent this morning. "People can be so mean."

Last night someone spray painted "Fag" and the usual homophobic vitriol over her roommate's car. Including "God Save You" - their not atypical divinely justified hatred.

Part of me wants to just express my sympathy and remind her that this kind of thing is why we have insurance. We can't control the feelings and actions of the people around us, and inevitably, we all will eventually pay the asshole tax.

The other part of me is just furious. Why should he have to waste his time, his money, his emotional energy because somebody else doesn't like what he does in the privacy of his own bedroom?

Part of me wants to look at this through the eyes of MLK. The other part of me wants to be a little more Malcolm X. But maybe the best thing I can do is be me, The Mighty Jimbo, and respond the best way I know how.

Digitally.

I will do what I can to beat back these bastards. Fuck them. He is an 18 year old early childhood education major. He's a kid, trying to get his life started, and trying to do some good with it. And I refuse to have him wearing someone else's hatred either on his heart or on his vehicle.

I am personally starting a fund to pay the deductible on his insurance required to have his car repainted. This site is read by 1500 people a day, gay and straight. Let's beat them back.

I am going to step up with $100 of my own money. I'm asking all of you to step up. Even a little.

If you can't afford it right now, link this. Spread it around. This kind of thing keeps happening to my friends. I'm sick of it. People are getting hurt. People I know of have been brutally beaten and hospitalized. I'm sick of being sick. And if this internet is the only pill I have, it's what I'll take.

Can we change everything? No. I don't intend to. Can we help everyone? No. Not at all. But we can help one.

Below is a repost of something I wrote in January of 2003. I have decided to post it here again.

Joe, don't let the bastards get you down.

Originally posted January, 2003.

As with every other form of bigotry, I have never been able to figure out homophobia. I will never understand how straight men get so irrationally enraged at the mere presence of a homosexual. When I was an RA in college, we went through diversity training with a guy who represented the gay student union. Several of my colleagues sat in the back of room, arms folded, cursing under their breath. Hell, they offended even me. As this was the first openly gay person I had ever met, I wanted to hear his story. I had a long talk with him after the session. I walked back to the dorm with him in an attempt to understand where this fear, this hatred comes from. And it might come as a shock to those homophobic readers but he didn't even grab my ass. Not once! Shocking!

Seriously. It's not like gay men have done anything to piss of the straight community. Sure, we aren't too happy about Will and Grace, but we can live with it. They aren't competing for women, so they certainly didn't steal your girlfriend. It's not like these homophobes were getting their asses kicked by the neighborhood gay street gang. Honestly. Have you ever once met a gay bully? No gay terrorists. No masked men are running around cities forcing innocent citizens to redecorate at gun point. Though that's not a bad idea. Most people need all the help they can get. And they aren't out there recruiting like the fucking army.

Don't like getting hit on? Is that it? Come off it, assface. Women aren't hitting on you either, and most of the gay men I know wouldn't come near you if you were touring with the Village People. And if you do get hit on, so what? Women have been putting up with your bullshit pick-up lines and unwelcome advances for years. Take some of your own medicine. Personally, the best pick-up line ever directed at me was from a gay man. He asked me, "You're not gay are you?" "No, I'm not", I replied. "Don't worry. The first time, doesn't make you gay." Priceless. And no, it didn't work.

Someone told me it's because they find the thought of gay sex repulsive. All right. To most straight men, gay sex is repulsive. But the smell of green beans makes me want to wretch. I'm not out there shouting insults at farmers. Against your religion? Believe it's a sin? Read your book again. So is lying, cheating, fornication, and greed. Go direct some of that hatred at your politician and priest first. They are much bigger targets. I'm told that people hate what they don't understand. Ok. Most people don't understand quantum physics, but no one is out there tossing bricks at Stephen Hawking.

I don't get it. I just don't get it.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (33) | TrackBacks (2)

Warm Sunday morning. Head still a little cloudy from two days of drinking. Walking through San Francisco's gritty Tenderloin, on the way back from the gym. Endorphins pumping. The angry, cutting intro of Slash's guitar from "Welcome To The Jungle" roaring through my headphones. And I'm amped. I start to strut.

Suddenly realize it's impossible to look like a bad ass when you are sucking on a very-berry fruit smoothie - no matter how much protein powder you put into it.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Wow. I can't hear a thing.

It got ugly last night, somewhere in the middle of those gin and tonics and tequilla shots in San Francisco, dancing to Roger Sanchez.

Well. Maybe ugly is the wrong word. Did I mention I went out with my friend Bridget?

The girl with the best legs in the world. Really. The world. She has a certificate to prove it.

You know I wasn't leaving this at home.

Girls like her make me wish I was French.

And yeah, that's an inside joke you aren't supposed to get.

Thanks B. Let's do it again!

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

In six blocks I walked past six different ethnic restaurants, ten liquor stores, one unconscious, and not unattractive blonde woman in six-inch, knee-high. white boots, clearly no longer made for walking, several three-hundred-plus pound men AND women, one four-foot Asian woman with a walker, a guy wearing giant, Elton John style sunglasses, another guy wearing a sailor hat, two reasonably hot strippers who totally checked me out, about twenty homeless people, a rather robust prostitute in black thigh highs and a vinyl jacket, and one dude wearing iridescent purple pants with baby-blue, fur, knee-length cuffs and a frilled American flag vest.

Goddam, it's good to be back in San Francisco.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Have you looked at a Playboy lately? Seriously. Have you? Almost seems quaint in the age of DVD and internet porn. For the first time in history I think people actually *do* subscribe to Playboy for the articles.

But it's not the articles I'm talking about. I'm talking about the girls. The girls with the airbrushed cheekbones and flawless skin and the breasts that even Michelangelo couldn't sculpt. Usually these girls are seen lounging seductively in various stages of undress in succulently backlit bedrooms surrounded by sheer curtains and silken linens or naked by the pool or the stables or on the veranda.

Playboy likes to brag that their Playmates are the "girls next door."

Really?

Clearly I'm living in the wrong neighborhood.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

After seven months without so much as a drop, it appears winter has arrived.

Along with a really high tide this morning.

And a lot of pissed off girls with high heels who had to wade to their cars.

And just cause I went a little apeshit with my camera today...Dry:

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Listen people. If you aren't reading Dooce every goddam day, then you are seriously wasting the internet.

Sure, it's not too hard to entertain The Mighty Jimbo with stories of poop and puppies, but that doesn't change that fact that she is the best reason to procrastinate since porn.

Heather, thanks for keeping me totally unproductive. And if you ever need a dogsitter in California, I'm your man.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I have a crazy family.

I know, I know, who doesn't, right? But really. There's a side of my extended family that for decades has been more than capable catalysts for chaos and controversy. Drugs and sex and gambling etc. I know this just sounds like a fun weekend in Vegas, and in reality they aren't so bad. But compared to my boring suburban upbringing, it sounded like a whole lot of freaky things torn right from the pages of a Jackie Collins novel. Or more accurately the script of a Jerry Springer episode - they do live in Florida (one of these days Florida is gonna ban me from their state). And as they were actually ON Jerry Springer at one time, that isn't exactly an exaggeration.

We all grew up together, but after my family moved to Texas in 89, I lost contact. Honestly, I never really viewed this as too bad a hand. My mother did a good job of keeping me updated as to who was in jail and who was in rehab and who my jackass of a grandfather wasn't speaking to this week. Throw in a little college, a little move to SoCal, and suddenly it's fifteen years since I had seen them.

Imagine my surprise when one of those cousins called me a couple years ago from Orange County. Imagine my surprise when she was calling from her HOUSE in Orange County. She followed a boy to my adopted home, and as of last weekend, she married him.

And as of last weekend, OC was overrun with my family. Well, all of them who were not in jail or rehab or something.

Believe it or not, it was good to see everyone again. My parents flew into town, along with my aunt, and two of my five cousins. More importantly, however, my family brought THEIR families. I got to meet some of the kids.

And I fell in love with them. How in the hell these seemingly normal, healthy, happy kids came out of my family is totally beyond me. Then again, on the surface even I seem relatively normal and healthy and happy. Those of you who read this blog clearly know better.

I was recruited that morning to join the wedding as an usher for the groom's grandmother when a member of the wedding party decided to get drunk, start a fight and split for the east coast on the night before the service. This kinda thing is to be expected amongst my people. A wedding isn't a wedding without at least one fight and somebody making a total ass of themselves. For a really good time you should see our funerals. Regardless, that little adventure aside, it was a very nice wedding on a beautiful day in OC.

My cousin looked incredible, and her husband was fully overwhelmed. I tried to warn him about what he was getting into before the service, but there was no talking to him. There were pretty blonde bridesmaids, some of whom apparently took a liking to me, but as I am generally clueless to such signals short of a tongue in my ear, I was unable to capitalize. There was drinking and dancing and embarrassing stories and the usual torn dresses and wedding cake facials and plenty of matrimonial blubbering.

I guess most importantly I was happy to be a part of their celebration and happy we were all together. Even after fifteen years, we're still a family. And even with the crazy quirks and chaos, we're not so bad. And despite the fifteen years I still love them all.

Congratulations, Christina. And Stephen, welcome to the family.

Now, wanna see some pics? I know you do.

My cousin needs to lock this one up. In a closet. In a convent. In Utah. We may be crazy, but nobody can say we don't have good genes.

I wonder if this is where he stepped on her dress and near tore it off.

Oh man, to be 15 and that cool. Heh. You couldn't PAY me. Even if I did look that good.

He calls this "Blue Steel."

A Packard? In OC? I thought only BMW's and Hummer limos were allowed.

Seriously. A closet. In Utah.

As I have a collection that rivals Victoria's Secret, I decided to sit this event out this time. I don't think lingerie has been helping my luck with the ladies. Then again, maybe I'm not supposed to WEAR them...

Seriously. I dug this kid. How could I not?

Don't worry kid. That's how I feel about a rented tux too.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

We all have our little fetishes. So I like sunglasses (and Swiss watches but I can't afford to indulge in that one so often).

What are yours?

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Ok. I know I try to keep this thing light hearted and unemotional (riiiiight), squarely focused on penis jokes and rock climbing and pretty pictures of doorways, mountainsides and Tassy's boobs, but I promised my roommate I would help her with this project. And as I love my roommate more than sunrises and a good veggie burger (but maybe not as much as a hot slice of New York pizza on a rainy day), I've got something serious to talk about.

In an effort to contribute to breast cancer research, Care Bear, my favorite roommate for more than three years now and the best wingman EVER, the girl who puts up with my shit EVERY DAY, joined a team committed to raising $15,000.00 by the end of the month. I know I'm a little late with this, but we still have a week! The $15,000.00 will be donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and the Young Survivors Coalition.

She is promoting hand-made breast cancer bracelets for $35.00 each. The bracelets can be ordered online here . These are good people, and this is a good cause. I vouch for them personally.

Now it's no secret that I really like boobies, especially healthy boobies, so you know I am more than happy to help. There are somewhere between 500 and 1500 eyeballs that see this site daily. That number of people can do a world of good. I'm asking you to step up to this challenge.

If you've got a little extra cash, a sister or a girlfriend or a niece that needs a cool birthday gift, of if you know anyone who has ever been touched by this disease, please make a donation and buy a bracelet. You'll do something profoundly important, and you will get a cool reminder that you're helping to find a cure.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 09:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Overheard tonight...

"You'd look really good in that dress, if it weren't for your, uh, bulge."

We all look down to stare at what has suddenly become a very obvious penis in a very tight black dress.

"Gee. Thanks for bringing it up."

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

So it seems that the general consensus is that I should up and Willy Nelson my ass outa here.

Ok. Fine.

Who is coming with me?

And don't give me any lame excuses like "I can't" or "I have no money" or "my husband won't let me" or "I have to be back in the house by seven or my parole officer gets pissed." I did it before with a whole host of reasons as to why I shouldn't. You seem to think I should do that again with an even greater list in front of me. And I tend to think you are right.

I want to know who will ride shotgun on this adventure. Last time I went with a woman I had never met before who left a boyfriend and a high paying job as an engineer for the world's largest company just to climb a mountain in Africa. We both jumped. She landed in San Fran with a husband and a better job. I landed in corporate America and on the internet.

So again I ask, who is coming with me?

If a world trip isn't on your list of life goals, just what the hell is, and more importantly, what risks, what steps have YOU made toward achieving yours?

Are you eating your own dog food? If you aren't, it's high time that you start. I think you'll find it's not so bad once you get past that initial smell.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Just an FYI, but I’ve heard no less than 174 acronyms in software presentations since 3 PM on Monday. 174, no BS. I've been counting. I have three days left, BTW. MLM, WWW, SQL. CICS, DB2, IMS, ISV, GUI, HTTP, IIS, EJB, RDB, IIS, MS, LAN, J2EE, Y2K, ISP, ESM, LSS, ELA, IGS, TCO, ROI, BA, BEA, MIPS, TIO, IRD, TCPIP, CDE, XDE, XML, RUP, SDP, CVS, SWG, HATS, SAP, PDM, PDA, PAI, TFP, LWP, OTC, CRA, UBV, MQS, PVC, DMZ, SAN, NAS, SSL, DNS, CPU, LPAR, B2B, SOA, LDAP, BBH, GE, IBM, HP, OD, MS, ITS, BEA, ITSEC, DASD, MDD, MSU, CIO, CEO, GUI, C2A….OMG…if I have to sit through too much more of this I’m going to need some serious THC.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (18)

There are few bigger psychological canker sores than the knowledge that I should have listened to my mother. I probably should have gone into advertising. Not because I especially like manipulating people or manufacturing need in an effort to extract increasingly large sums of increasingly hard-earned dollars from a generally unsuspecting public. All of that gives me cramps.

I just really want to wear funky, chunky, black glasses and cool, flat-front trousers to work. And I can’t really consider myself a Yuppie without a coke habit and an ulcer.

Actually, it’s something I understand. And, subsequently, I think it’s something I could probably do well. Sure, I would be just as destined for hell as I am now, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a fraud on my way there.

I’m not sure I’d make a good designer or graphic artist, despite my mother’s constant reminder that I knew how to draw as a four year old. Now that I know real artists, I don’t think I harbor that fire. I just don’t feel that compulsion to create. I never have. Perhaps there was a spark there. At this point in my life, who can tell? Maybe I just never blew on it.

What I do feel is a fire to communicate.

Big surprise, huh?

When I go on vacation I spend half my time looking for things to photograph. When I started this blog I began to think about narrative. I began to look for it. How am I going to tell this story? I can spend a day on messenger, not because I’m hoping to score more Tassy porn (although I’m certainly not opposed to it), but rather it’s just another way for me to keep talking. And talking. And talking. And talking.

Jesus, this drove my ex crazy.

Advertising, at its core, is communication. Commissioned. Manipulative. Impure. Frequently unethical. But when done correctly, powerful. Sometimes poignant. And when inspired, possibly even art.

I think I could do this.

The irony, of course, is how far I go out of my own way to AVOID advertisements, tearing every advertisement page out of my Newsweek, asking my favorite mailman not to deliver any bulk mail (if I were gay I would be all over him) and switching to HBO, NPR and my iPOD almost exclusively. I even refuse to wear clothing with logos.

I may not have the creative chops (or the requisite Photoshop skills) for the design desk, but I think I could handle account management. I think I might even be able to handle copy. So long as I never have to write bad copy. Good Lord, if I never hear another advertisement claim a product can do something, anything, “like never before.”

So maybe I should look to that industry next. Take the initial (and excruciating) salary hit and bounce my ass out of technology. Could be something I’m good at. And I think I could rock funky, chunky glasses and cool, flat-front trousers like never before.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 06:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

It's a good sign you are, a. spending too much time on the internet, b. socializing in really, REALLY nerdy circles, c. in serious need of a more anonymous pseudonym, when you go to a party in Los Angeles and over the course of the night three different people you have never met before say to you in surprise after learning your domain name, "You're The Mighty Jimbo!"

It's both a little flattering and a little weird.

I guess I should be grateful none of them followed up with, "Gee, I though you would be, a. better looking, b. funnier, c. less arrogant, in person."

Posted by themightyjimbo at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I know I’ve been bitching a lot. I know I’ve been whining a lot. I know most of you are thinking that maybe Morrissey might be a more upbeat alternative to Jimbo right about now. Maybe you should know what all this is about.

I’ve been boxing with shadows in an increasingly darkened room.

Four years ago today I began a new career after seven years with a small company in Irvine, California. I had been working as the Sales and Marketing Director at a twenty-person start-up scientific software company with a meager $3M in annual revenue. I was miserable. I was in a rut. My professional life was a rapidly becoming a mockery, my romantic life was utterly nonexistent, and my tiny 401K virtually vaporized when the bubble burst in 2000 -an almost audible “POP” that launched thousands of tech workers into the street. A pop that occurred at just about the same time I decided to quit my own job in information technology.

I had $3000 in cash to my name when I left and went to Africa for a month. For the foreseeable future I was living on credit cards and that $3000. In case you hadn’t guessed from previous posts, that sum doesn’t go all that far when you live in Orange County and have rent, credit cards, and car payments to make.

But that decision proved to be one of the most important in my life. I climbed Kilimanjaro and summitted despite dizzying altitude sickness and 24 sleepless hours of trekking at altitude. I witnessed lions hunting in the Serengeti. I was chased by a pissed-off bull-elephant on the rim of Ngorongoro crater. I went sailing in the rain in a hand-carved dhow off the coast of Zanzibar and went diving with sea snakes in those coral reefs.

I lost ten pounds from exertion and an inconsistent (at best) diet of vegetables and Indian Food, but more importantly, I lost a thousand pounds of psychological baggage.

I often tell people that Africa changed my life. This isn’t exactly correct. I changed my life, by choosing to go to Africa.

That decision, that action, combined with my experiences in Africa, was liberating in profound ways. Most dramatically, it made me realize that the worries and doubts and fears I had before were of my own creation. They were fantasies.

I only had $3000. So what? I saw people with leprosy, missing limbs, begging in the streets. I was fabulously wealthy by any comparison. I was unemployed. So what? Did I really believe that I was unemployable? I gave up a career. So what? In the end, all I lost was a paycheck.

I was suddenly living without fear. Within weeks of my returning to California, I was giving slide shows on Kilimanjaro in Orange County. I was in my first successful, reciprocated romantic relationship since, oh, high school. And I was recruited by one of the largest, most influential companies in the world, hired (with a fat signing bonus to pay off the credit cards) into a start-up life science division at the dawn of the genomic age, and began what would become the best job I had ever had. I near instantly doubled, then quickly tripled my income. And after a summer of training I was in the strongest, most athletic condition of my life.

I shook my tree.

I didn’t know what I wanted or where I was going, only that I wasn’t getting anywhere by sitting in a dead-end job I hated and compensating for my misery by spending four hours a day in the gym.

It’s been four years since then, four years since I walked into that giant black and marble skyscraper for my training in Chicago, and I find myself rowing a bigger boat down the same river. The excitement of my gig has long past, replaced by the soulless drudgery of job I don’t believe in and am not motivated to perform. Ever tried to maintain a successful sales career when you can’t bring yourself to care? Ever tried to climb a corporate ladder when you are unmotivated by the view from the top? I find myself suddenly alone in my home, my friends all having moved on in their own lives and relationships, and becoming increasingly isolated in my life, either encapsulated in aluminum at 31,000 feet or sedated by this flickering pane of glass and the digital relationships that have become a narcotic substitute for the growing void of strong relationships in real life.

And again, I find myself growing increasingly desperate and increasingly despondent about what I want and where I am going.

It’s time to change. It’s time to shake the tree.

Four years ago, I had been motivated to act by a mountain in Africa. A goal that had been in the back of my mind for six or seven years.

Today my motivation is similar. A goal that has been in the back of my mind for four years now.

Four years ago I began saving for something bigger than Kili. A trip. A sabbatical. A trek around the world. No plans. No itineraries. Just boots and a bag. Three months? Six months? Twelve months? As long as I wanted. As long as I needed. The Taj Majal. The Great Wall. The base of Everest. The Great Barrier Reef. The icebergs of Antarctica. It’s all out there and it’s all suddenly possible.

Originally, I had hoped I would have a partner for this experience. Someone with whom I could share those sights and walk those roads and climb those mountains. I thought I had found that person at one time. I was wrong. Part of me wonders if I will find her on the road. Part of me wonders if the only thing I will find on the road is more of the same neuroses only in a different setting. Part of me wonders if all this wondering is just an excuse keep from making a difficult decision. Action by inaction.

Four years later I have nearly 300,000 frequent flier miles on American Airlines. This equates to four, possibly six free intercontinental flights. This corporate monkey has wings. I have put together the financial resources to leave my job, and leave my lifestyle relatively intact for at least a year (depending on the expense of the travel and the status of my current investments).

Surprisingly however, these resources are simultaneously the solution and the source of my current dilemma.

This might sound crazy, but it’s a lot harder to leave when you can as opposed to when you can’t. When I left for Africa in 2000, the decision was made easier by the fact that I really had so little to work with. Gambling is easy when you have nothing to lose. Human beings are usually significantly more inclined to guard what they have as opposed to gambling for what they don’t.

And honestly, I have a lot to lose. It’s this that has been keeping me up at night. I know I can’t keep this job, but I also fear I can’t leave it.

Part of my pining away for a partner right now is my desperate need for some assurance. Someone to help me make my leap. Regardless of which direction. Leaping is always easier when you have a hand to hold on the way down. Or someone to give you a push.

I know that if I am going to make this trek, I need to make it soon. I’m old enough to know that decisions like this do not get any easier as you get older, and opportunities like this do not become any more abundant. But at the same time, I really would prefer to take this trek with someone special. Granted, the last vacation I spent with a lover turned out to be one of the most miserable vacation experiences of my life, despite the extraordinary beauty of my surroundings.

What, I never wrote about that part of Thailand?

There’s a reason for that. It still stings to think about it.

Regardless, I need a change. I’m not sure where I want to go with my career, but a certain produce related technology company is interested in talking to me right now. A resume will likely be en route tonight. And this may provide just the springboard I need to bounce me out of this hole.

It may also be a dive into another corporate mud puddle and another way to avoid taking the bigger risk of checking out of corporate America and checking into the world.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (36) | TrackBacks (1)

Enough of that self-deprecating melancholy crappola. I don't have time to be depressed. On to more important things.

My brother, you know, the good-looking one in the family, is going to Afghanistan. Next Saturday. As he is an officer in the United States Marine Corps, this isn't exactly a surprise to anyone, and as he is a supply officer and isn't likely to see combat, this isn't an overwhelming concern for anyone. Except for maybe my mother. She is still hoping he will grow out his hair, turn in his uniform and move back into the spare bedroom.

He won't be there long, but he will be there. In a way, I almost envy him.

Almost.

But it's still Afghanistan. And there are still lots of people there anxious to kill him and/or anyone else who looks like him.

So be safe, my brother. You made a choice and took an oath to serve this country. And regardless of how anyone feels about your commander in chief and the choices he has made for this country, your choice is an honorable one. I respect you for that. It's a decision I would not have had the courage to make myself.

Come back to your daughters safely. Come back to them with a new appreciation for the world and what is happening within it. Just be sure to come back.

And if you just happen to run into Osama, do me a favor and aim for his stomach.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I'm tired of waking up tired.

I'm tired of falling asleep in the middle of the bed.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Would someone please explain to me why a dozen or so half-naked women are standing in front of the local Newport Beach "Hooters" establishment all dressed as slutty pirates? Johnny Depp doesn't seem like the "Hooters" type, and Pittsburgh isn't in the playoffs. Spicy parrot wings? Would someone also explain to me why I am still here and not investigating this personally? I'll be their cabin boy, anytime.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 07:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I've been depressed a lot.
I've been lonely a lot.
I've been insecure a lot.
I've been restless a lot.
I think it's time to make some changes.
I think it's time to be bold.
But bold is frightening.
Change is unsettling.
People tell me I have an amazing house in an amazing place at an amazing price.
Why would I want to give that up?
People tell me I have a good job with a good company with good benefits and a good salary.
Why would I want to give that up?
People tell me I have family and friends and intelligence and good looks and everything going for me.
Why am I still single?
Maybe I am starving during the harvest.
Maybe I am drowning in a puddle.
But if you only focus on the risk you will never reap the reward.
I think it's time to shake the tree.
The boughs may break.
But you never know what fruit will fall out.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

One big downside to traveling alone (aside from the obvious lack of companionship, a person to understand when you swear in a foreign language, a shoulder to nap on during long train rides, and the whole lack of making out on gondolas) is not having anyone to take your picture. After a while, I just can't deal with another picture of another doorway or another pretty hillside. And making faces for one-handed self portraits is only entertaining for so long. Besides, it makes your desperation that much more obvious while simultaneously providing ample photographic evidence that you can't get a date.

Sure, I could ask a stranger to take my picture, but the last thing I want is a foot race through Florence with someone who likes my Digital Rebel more than I do.

More frustrating, however, is the fact that 90% of the population hasn't the foggiest idea just how to compose even a tolerable photograph, let alone a good one. My favorite mistake is the guy with the point and shoot who insists on standing 147 feet away from his subject so he can fit most of Florence into the picture instead of his family. I swear, sometimes I just want to run around coaching the clueless on how to take a snapshot. I feel the same way about helping people with comb-overs, pleated pants, and cell phone holsters, but that's probably just my inner homosexual trying to get out.

And you people say I never smile.

Come to think of it, a smile here is actually a surprise, cause after a week solo in Italy, you want to start strangling all the annoyingly cute people holding hands and kissing on bridges. "Will you all just STOP being so grossly in love! I'm getting cavities here!"

Posted by themightyjimbo at 05:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

So, yeah, I know I should have been working, but the fog rolled in early last night, and combined with the amber lighting of Newport it turned the sky orange. Since my roommate was blocking my garage and I was too lazy to move it in order to go work out (I can already feel the fatty deposits forming on my hips), I decided to run around the street with my camera, taking pictures of all my neighbor's houses. That I wasn't picked up for peeping is a miracle.

I loved the results. The joy that a tripod can bring. Oh yes. You can now call me, "Tripod Man." And please do. I could use the ego stroking.

Sigh.

The lengths I'll go for a lame joke.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 08:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I know I was never all that good at math, but I'm confused by something.

The median home price in Orange County is now $655,000 (or $862,500 here in Newport Beach). That's a median price. It's the average home. Not the mansion. Not the beach-front. Not even the "nice" home. It's the price for a twenty-year-old, three-bedroom in a neighborhood where you probably won't get shot.

Probably.

Now, doing some back of the envelope estimations based on assumed interest rates and down payments and such, I would think the average new home owner in OC is fronting a monthly payment of $3500-$4500. And that's with a nice downpayment and/or variable interest rate.

The part I don't get is how this works in a county with a median family income of roughly $45,000 a year. Not to brag, but I have, at least for the time being (maybe a real SHORT time), a good, corporate, depressingly yuppified, geek sales gig that pays a skosh more than that. And honestly, I can't afford that monthly payment. Well I can. If I want to live without a few little luxuries to which I've become accustomed. You know, like food.

Sure, the sunshine is nice and we have a hugely disproportionate number of fake boobs, but sometimes I gotta wonder if 300 days of near perfect weather and easy access to "Wahoos" justifies the selling of a soul. Or two. What good is a house on, no, NEAR the beach if you have to work so hard you never get to enjoy it?

Maybe it's better to have a nice affordable house somewhere and enough discretionary income to you know, visit the beach. Then again, that weather is really, really nice. My nightmare is that one day I have to make the decision of having to live in Iowa just so I can afford to feed my kids. Nothing against the great state of Iowa, except that it's, well, Iowa.

Screw it. I gotta pay my rent. And I'm going to the beach.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I'm home.
It's not going well for me professionally right now.
Or personally right now.
It might be time for a self-imposed digital hiatus.
Even if that isn't the case, I'm drained, and it's impacting my capacity for creative thought.
Certainly my ability to be funny.
Regardless of what I choose, daily updates may become increasingly difficult.
Sorry kids, but it is all about me.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 12:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Fly to Philly.
Werkwerkwerkwerkwerk.
Party in Philly on the roof bar of Continental.
Drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink.
Fly to Providence. Meet up with Kerry and her gay boyfriend Ethan.
Drinkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink. And Karaoke.
Drive to Massachusetts. Dinner with my artsy cousin.
Eateateateateat.
Train to Manhattan.
Werkwerkwerkwerkwerk.
Fly home on Monday night (maybe).
Four states in four days.
Yeah. This is my life.

Posted by themightyjimbo at 04:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)