The Boogie Man Speaks

The End

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 17:13:00 +0000

As I stare at this blog to which I have not posted a fresh word to, in over a year's time, it becomes very clear that the time to befriend the inevitable has arrived.

You see, I hate loose ends. And the notion of having a neglected piece of myself on the internet, pointlessly occupying precious space, is an unhappy one. I've lost count of how many blogs I've stumbled on that were just left to whither away, eating up space on some long-forgotten server. All abandoned with little more than a quick post talking about major changes in the writer's life, and how despite it all they were going to be writing more often, and with better stories no less. On some, there was the occasional pity follow up, with a random two-paragraph post talking about something nonsensical. Usually a funny tale that wasn't all that funny to begin with, just to fill in the spaces.

Suddenly the months and years go by, and that silly little post serves as the epitaph to everything you had composed before. All the things you had written, stuff that was well received and possibly even a little bit popular, it all suffers because it was all left hanging on that one weak note.

I really don't want to be like that. I like conclusions folks. Even if the end is somber and not up to the expectations one would like, at least you know that the spool is no longer dangling any loose threads.

So here I am one last time on this ill-neglected blog, with the intention of ending it all. Not in any kind of venomous "gun to the temple," way, but to provide some measure of closure to anyone who had ever read this blog, and of course closure to myself. I'd sleep just a little bit better knowing that there wasn't some loyal reader out there who wasn't spending his nights anxiously waiting to see if this would be the moment I came to my senses and wrote something. It's an impractical fear, but I've never been known for my practicality.

At the very least, anyone who found there way here via my strong opinions about Shia (which I still stand by god damnit,) would know this place to be nothing more than a minor rest stop on the infinite highway of the net. Something to chuckle over, possibly muse upon, but inevitably move on knowing that all this was is what it was. It was a notion I was very content with.

So, we end it. I dare say we'd have to. The person who started writing this blog probably wouldn't even recognize the person who's writing this particular post. To try and take everything I had learned and become in the last couple years, and completely destroy it by returning here to bash on celebrities and complain about how real music is dead would be an insult to fate. And I'm wise enough to know that fate is unyielding in where the currents take you. I believe in the great magnet people.

So, a thousand apologies to the five followers I was fortunate enough to collect (most of whom, ironically signed on when I wasn't writing a damn thing,) and the legions of folks who stopped by from time to time. I appreciate the loyalty, but it is time for me to bow out gracefully. The site itself will remain active, simply because I still get enough traffic coming in to warrant such irresponsible behavior. And I'll still respond to any emails and comments that come my way, but the Boogie Man won't be writing here any more. The Boogie Man doesn't really exist any more. And that my friends, is a good thing. For you, and especially for him.

Thank you for reading, and for giving me an opportunity to write for you.

And I Quote

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 23:59:00 +0000

"I tend to be more forgiving when I go to upscale joints to eat, simply because I realize I'm dealing with lot of items that I may not be used to. Establishments like this are known for getting people who work with unique flavors and taste sensations, to help make them stand out. So, I'm guaranteed to occasionally get something that doesn't immediately connect with me. But I make it a point to work hard, give it a fair shake, and try to be open minded about it.

But if you fuck up a sandwich, you're dead to me."

-Boogie Man Montoya-

Kate Gosselin.....AAARRRRRGGGGHHH!

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 20:42:00 +0000

I was checking my Yahoo email the other day, when I had another one of those loud, overly obvious news headlines thrust into my face. You know the type, a big picture of a famous person, coupled with the perfect sound-byte headline, all of which is taking up huge amounts of browser space. You can' help but take it all in while you're trying to locate that little tiny button that actually leads you to your email. Every once in a while, this tactic works. There's something curious enough to actually pulls me away from my task and forces me to click for a new tab, just to learn more about this stirring piece of data. Nine times out of ten, I'm usually hugely disappointed with the result.

I know Yahoo has never claimed to be an authority on the news. And I know they're a company in pain, who's biggest draw at this point is their willingness to dish relentlessly on celebrity goings-on. I'm aware of all these things, but that doesn't mean I have to like them. And I reaaaaallly don't like them when they actually work too.

I could give two shits about why Sandra Bullock is getting an Oscar, or why she doesn't deserve it. And yet, finding myself suckered into a pointless article because of a captivating headline just makes me feel.....stupid. And I don't like to feel stupid people!

Or, you could get what happened the other day; an article so offensive and rage building, that it's amazing I didn't foam at the mouth and die on the spot.

It started off as it always does, I wanted to check my email. Upon signing in, I see the big bulbous picture of a blond woman who looks somewhat familiar. The eyes drift to the headline before my brain can stop them. The mental conversation that followed went something like this:

"Oh, it's Kate Gosselin, that's why I thought she looked familiar."

"According to these big words, she's gotten a make over so she could be on Dancing With The Stars."

"God how I hate Dancing With The Stars."

"You know it's funny, with this new look of hers, I don't really remember what she used to look like before."

"That's weird, I don't even remember what she was famous for either. She must be an actress or something."

"No wait, I do remember now. She was the mom of the eight kids with that Jon guy."

"Ooooh, okay! Kate Gosselin of Jon & Kate Plus 8, who recently got divorced and is now a single mother is going to be on Dancing With The Stars!"

"Wait..... what?"

Let us consider the math here. A woman, who's most well known public traits are a styled haircut and the ability to reproduce en' masse, who's home is currently broken by a philandering dipshit of an ex-husband, and is now a single mother to 8 children, is going to be taking part of a reality show where she dances in fluffly clothes and hip music. Someone with no sustainable income beyond being an interesting tidbit in People magazine, who has apparently left their career of being an RN in the dust, and is reliant on the child support payments of an idiot, is apparently using all of her time to do rumba's and tangos. Perhaps I'm a little too old fashioned or something, but I can't help but ask:

WHO'S WATCHING THE FUCKING CHILDREN??!!!!!!!!!!!!

I mean shit, one would figure that being responsible for 8 fucking children and having no true support network to speak of, might be something that occupies a good healthy chunk of your time! I've seen mothers all around me on a day to day basis, getting stressed out and overwhelmed with the existence of a single child. 8 should be hard labor people! Free time should be a at the back of your fucking mind! What are these kids gonna do while mommy is shaking her ass in front of a camera? Sit backstage with juiceboxes, hoping the stage hands don't have criminal records?

Oh wait, the article says that one of the judges is helping out by setting up a "special day care" for the youngsters. Isn't that nice? I mean, we're not going to trust the father of the children to look after the kids while mommy's playing whore but hey, why not let a TV judge whom you really don't know, make a "special day care" for your children? That sounds like a wonderfully stupid idea.

The article concludes on a quote. During an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, Gosselin said "If I can cook dinner and dance, then I'll be doing really well."

Hey Kate?

YOU'RE NOT COOKING DINNER!! YOU'RE NOT COOKING DINNER AT ALL!! YOU'RE DANCING! WITH STARS! SOMEBODY IN THIS WEIRD CULT DAY CARE FACILITY IS COOKING THE DINNER! AT LEAST I FUCKING HOPE THEY ARE! WHO THE FUCK KNOWS? MAYBE THEY'RE LEARNING HOW TO TALK BACKWARDS AND MAKE SHOES? ALL I FUCKING KNOW IS THAT THEY'RE NOT GETTING COOKED FOR BY YOU! BECAUSE YOU'RE DANCING AND GETTING DOLLED UP LIKE A FLUTTERY SKANK IN FRONT OF A COUNTRY FILLED WITH PARENTS! MOST OF WHOM ACTUALLY DO HAVE TO COOK DINNER! COOK SOME FUCKING DINNER KATE AND QUIT YOUR FUCKING DANCING!!!!!!!

But, I digress.......

Huh. No new emails, too bad.

Switching Off

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 21:49:00 +0000

I have just encountered a strange phenomenon. Something probably foreign to most of the world, but something probably infinity relateable to those who deal in high stress professions: Doctors, Police Officers, Firemen, Soldiers, and to a lesser extent, the people in the profession I'm studying.

Here's how it goes down: I'm driving to to class for a day of fun and pressure in the kitchen. My head is flying at possibilities, getting stations set up, selecting tools, the mad scramble for cookware and appliances to get a head start on things. Part of my head is anticipating potential problems for the personnel in my group, and how to best adapt to it. I've got a mental soundtrack playing in the noodle that's got me pumped. Real pumped.

Soon as I hit the Institute, I hit the ground running. Decked in the uniform, looking sharp and ready, I dash into the kitchen and start tending towards necessity. Grabbing cutting boards, sanitary buckets, that whole shebang. I am reared up on adrenaline, and ready to fly.

And then, the tide turns. Class is canceled, and everyone can go home.

Now for most folks, this would be great news. A day off to go do with what you like. No long hours, or sweaty high stress situations. A day to relax and embrace a little peace. There was a time, not too long ago, when I took this as great news too. I mean, hey, I'd rather be doing other stuff.

But not today. Today, I am mortified.

My heart is still racing, and I feel practically ready to run a marathon. I've got that much energy, and I really don't know what to do with it.

I've noticed traces of this phenomenon. Days when I'm not in the lab I feel agitated and edgy. I scurry all over the place with this deep seeded feeling that I need to get something done. I have no idea what that something could be, but it needs to be finished before I can calm down.

I've spoken of the Warface before, and I suspect this is an extension of that. This feeling of constantly being bombarded with stimuli, that you don't think so much as react. Constantly adapting to situations to achieve a set goal, until suddenly it gets achieved. And you find yourself sitting atop a mountain of energy, and no place to put it.

Switching off people. Most folks do it, and do it well. When they're done with their outside life and return home, what's done is done. But, some people, like the aforementioned doctors, police officers, soldiers, etc... can't do it so easily. And somewhere along the line, without really meaning to, I became one of those people.

I'm not complaining, for within all that pressure comes a remarkable sense of achievement. Being able to pull a monumental task out of one's ass within a set amount of time feels pretty damn amazing. It's an endorphin rush like no other. And perhaps, that's what keeps me edgy. Maybe I'm an addict. Maybe I'm riding the rush the way crackheads weave slurry songs to their muse. Truth be told, it makes more damn sense than anything else I've been able to come up with.

Anyways, I just needed to say something about it. To try and get it out of my head so I can go embrace a day to myself. It's sad, I never meant for this blog to be a place where I celebrate and promote the profession I find myself in. There are tons of other blogs out there that do this, and I certainly don't want to be one of them.

Alright, enough of the culinary babble, it's time to get back to bitching, Boogie-style.

The Warface

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 08:04:00 +0000

Alright, let's be totally frank here: I really don't know jack about much of anything.

I've managed to compile a working knowledge of the universe based on the knowledge of a sixth grader, mixed with a lot of bad movies. Don't let the degrees and certificates on my wall fool you people, I am sub-functional. A wanderer through the dusty roads of fact and reason, painting my own personal graffiti over both of them. Nobody in their right mind should take anything I say with anything more than a chuckle and a truckload of salt.

So why, why, why, please tell me why, people are actually coming up to me and asking questions like I actually know shit?

This scenario happens in the kitchen in what seems to be a once a day occurrence. I will be standing at my station, pouring through my daily sheets for what needs to be done, flipping through my textbook confirming processes on how to do what's on those daily sheets, and trying to throw a bunch of things together in the vain hope that the end result will taste good. I'll be moving along basing my every step on my working knowledge of the universe (see above) and the little bits of information I am able to gather out of the aforementioned sources. While I'm doing all of this, one of my colleagues in studentia will come up to me, sometimes making the journey all the way across the kitchen, and ask me how to do stuff. "Am I doing this right?" "Should I do this or that?" "It's not looking right, what should I do?" I hear these questions all the time.

Despite the fact that I am in the same program as these poor diluted souls, and am taking the class at the same time with them, and am essentially and idiot, they continue to believe that I actually know something! Me! Something! It's ridiculous!

I have lived a long and reasonably content existence where my word isn't really anything to take seriously. Oh sure, I've been a teacher, and a fairly effective one, but that doesn't count. These people watch me walk into their classroom and don't have to deal with me for more than a few hours. They don't know any better. Besides, I have to put on that face when I step into a classroom. I mean, can you truly listen to someone who doesn't give off that sense of confidence? I need people to believe in me when I teach, otherwise I haven't done my job. And the ol' warface comes with the job. The difference of course, is that in this circumstance, I'm a student. I'm walking into a situation where it's expected that I don't know crap. The point is to sit there, and actually learn something from a smarter, more experienced group of educators. So there is absolutely no reason for anyone to expect me to know anything about anything.

And yet, here we are. I'm getting questions from all sorts of people. Taste tests, problem solving, suggestions, the whole shebang.

What's weirder is that the responses I give to these people usually turn out to be correct ones. I don't know how this happened, but in the processes of reading up and studying things before starting this program, out of the constant fear of being too dumb to keep up, I actually managed to learn a thing or two. I can conceptualize what they're asking, and respond to these queries with confidence. I can actually stand in a group of people, and give out orders........and those orders are actually followed! It's insanity!

I'm not throwing this out there like I'm claiming to have some form of aptitude in this subject, I very clearly don't. It's just strange to have so many people, especially those who really don't know anything about my background (I'm not exactly forthcoming,) believe that I do.

In the end, I guess I'm worried that I haven't removed the warface for this. That despite being in a situation where I can relax with my guard down, I'm not doing it. This is one of the few times in my life, where I'm not required to know everything and have all the answers, and yet I'm still locked up and ready for battle. And by battle, I don't mean combat, but that dreaded, sickly sense in my gut that tells me my word has to mean something. That bad things will happen if my calls are off, even by a bit.

It scares me I guess, because being a leader of people has always scared me. I'm not a fan of telling people what to do, even when what I'm telling them is the right thing, because....you know.......why should they listen to me? Why is my word so damn important? I get through this with the job, because it's.....well......a job. I'm paid to tell them what to do. But such a mentality doesn't work for me in this situation. When I decided to walk into those kitchens, I did so figuring that my time leading anything was done. I walked in expecting to be the quiet outcast. The guy who kept to himself, did everything as he was told, and just sit back learning what needs to be learned. I guess, my hope was to be the throwback to the guy I was in college the first time around. Before I was put into positions where my word was required to carry weight. That isn't happening, and I worry that it may never happen again.

I wish I had a way to conclude this on a more appropriate note, but tell you the truth, I'm just confounded as hell by all of this.

One Of The Quirks Of Studying Culinary Arts

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 05:12:00 +0000

I waltzed into the bedroom around 9:45 this evening. I had just gotten through making dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, and was good and ready to plop down in front of a warm, toasty laptop, and dive headfirst into all the happy joy that only the internet can provide.

It had been a pretty productive meal. Pork Chops with scalloped potatoes. Tonight, I decided to toy around with veloute sauce, which is old school classic french stuff, and in the end converted my creation into a supreme sauce, which gracefully resided atop my pork chops. T'was a good series of experiments that lead to a very light and very nice meal.

Has I was kicking off my shoes, it dawned on me that I probably should sit down and do a bit of homework. I was in a peaceful mood, and in a good state to focus on some required studential stuff, so why not crack down and do some homework right?

So, I stared at my desk for what felt like five minutes, but was probably only a matter of seconds, trying to determine what my homework was supposed to be. You see, the mood to actually do homework comes at very intermittent times. And while I always meet deadlines, sometimes it takes until the final hour to kickstart the ol' mental drives, and get the damn things done. In the process of all this waiting and procrastinating, I oftentimes forget what exactly I'm supposed to be doing. This was clearly one of those times.......just staring at the desk, slowly piecing together what my homework was.

And then, it hit me. I knew what my homework was.......and it was dinner.

You see, we're currently studying the classic sauces in lab, and the night's homework was to brush up on them.......which I feel I did relatively competently.

Homework complete...........weird as hell.

Boogie's Resolutions: Reviewed

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 22:07:00 +0000

Remember this?

I certainly didn't. As the course of the year went by, and things went from fucked to interested, to a fucked up brand of interesting, I completely lost sight of the dedicated riffs I had set forth about this time last year. It wasn't until I was in the eighth hour of an eleven hour trip home on New Year's Day that I realized, "My god, an entire year has gone by." It's the traditional time for brand new resolutions, and while there were plenty to choose from, I figured I really couldn't start until I evaluated the ones I had made last time around.

And rather than simply flip through them in the quiet contemplation at home, I figured I might as well bare them for all to see in what is sure to be, mass humiliation.

So, let's begin....

MORE FOOD

Nailed it! But not to the degree I would have liked. There were tons of places and I would have loved to try and chances I would have loved to take, but finances were tight. So, these establishments were left wanting. Still, I've added a lot of places and flavors to the ol' belly, and have since become a regular at a few locales. If anything, 2009 can be clearly stated as the year I really began to appreciate the Vietnamese. Those cats know a thing or two about good eating! So, my appreciation for eating has only increased. And, my ability to cook hasn't fared to bad either. Not great of course, but I'm less likely to poison someone.

MORE DRINK

Eh, I really can't say I met this one at all. I probably drank less this year than the year prior. The only excuse I can really give is that it wasn't by choice. Again, finances were tight, and the loopy-miser had to sit this one out. Some may say it's for the best, but damnit, I miss the stuff. I'm a fun drinker after all.

MORE ADVENTURES

I probably broke even here. Except that this year, my adventures were more peaceful and home bound than last years, which ended up being more public and.....probably illegal. I'm not sure if this is a sign of maturity or laziness, but my adventures were definitely a bit more grown up this time around.

MORE MUSIC

Meh. Bleah! Pssh! Forget it bub, I was a pitiful musician this year. I did record some stuff, and I actually played around quite a bit, but not nearly to the degree of my formative years. And I barely took in any new sounds from around the world. Beyond developing a new appreciation for Tom Waits, I pretty much slunk on my belly amongst the musicians that I was around. I'm so ashamed.

MORE ACCOMPLISHMENTS

Nailed it! In ways, I could have never guessed.

As of August last year, I am a fully enrolled and matriculated student at the local Culinary Institute. I haven't set foot into a kitchen yet, but I managed to pull off a full-time semester with flying colors (Straight A's bitches!) It's strange to have gone from this being a potential pipe dream to actually doing it. Never really thought I would. And strangely, the people in this world have been more eager about this than anything I've ever done. Folks who I had been forcing my musical works on suddenly became very eager about my time spent with food. I guess sometimes you really are the last to know.

As of right now, I now have four shiny new certificates, an assload of knives, and a sparkly white chef coat that makes me look ripped. Not a bad way to check off this goal.

Well, that's the sum up......now for the new year's resolutions:

FINISH THIS SCHOOL THING DAMNIT!

We're in baby, and we ain't leaving until we're done. I've got 4+ more terms of this program, and I expect to walk out graduated. After spending this kind of dough on it, it'd be sick not to. And, pulling the best grades of my life on my first term in, I've gotten real competitive about it. More competitive than I've ever been about anything in my life. Not so sure that's the best way to go about it, but it definitely keeps me boosted.

BE MORE OF A GENTLEMAN

The great Kimmi Rudolph of Rock Deli/Metal Deli fame, started a trend that has been a guiding point for the year. While featuring yours truly on one of her esteemed podcasts, she referred to me as a "Dapper Guy." I even briefly won an award testifying to this (which was later changed to "Best Quote," and equally wonderful honor.) And believe it or not, these simple words, kinda altered my brain path a bit. I started wanting to act less like a furious bastard, and more like a dapper gentleman. Being a cook only further cemented this, since the cooks I respect most have always been class acts. I like feeling dapper day in and day out, and wish to continue it more so.

Does this mean that the days of madcap ramblings are over? Hardly. For you see, even the the sophisticated get pissed about shit. They just tend to speak out about them in a very elaborate, well stated way. And that's what I'm all about baby!

The idea here is to treat the good things that are around me better, and find more unique ways to slander the bad stuff. I think I can pull that off with gusto.

ROLL WITH IT, BUB

This has been one of the hardest years of my life. I haven't had to work as hard to endure through bad times as I have this last year. But, it's also been one of the best. Knowing you can survive something is a fantastic feeling. That despite everything that's going on around you, your ability to adapt and think a situation through can get you through to the end of your troubles. Perhaps it's not the most relaxing way to live, but you certainly feel like you've accomplished something when the smoke clears.

I suspect that this year will be just as hard, perhaps harder. And I want to take my lumps right. It means testing the intellect and the instinct of course, but it also means having faith that things will always work out right. I don't buy into the notion that the universe is a dark and morbid place whose sole purpose is to fuck with my existence for the sake of fun. I'm a butt hair in the eyes of the universe. Barely noticeable, unless you stare really really hard. It doesn't have the time, or the resources to pick on little ol' me.

But I also believe that the universe is self righting. Nature's all about balance, and bad stuff is always weighed perfectly against the good stuff. You just gotta look for it. Keep your eyes open, take chances, and never pass up an opportunity to be happy, no matter how fleeting. Maybe we all can't take in mansions, fancy cars, and beach parties in Malibu, but that's not all there is to life now is there? Never neglect the little things people: a good, well-cooked meal, the smell of firewood burning all around you, making a point to dress up a bit when you're feeling down, finding any excuse to tell someone a great joke. Life's too frickin' short to simply sit and wait for all the big things to happen, when there's a million little things going by you every single day. I aim to bust ass to find them.

And may those of you who read this find as many little things as possible in this the year 2010. All the best!

The New Moon Preview

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:43:00 +0000

This weekend, I had the opportunity to see Zombieland, which was better than I ever could have expected. Fantastic film, I could sing it's praises all day.

However I'm not going to. Filmage that good doesn't need my praise. And besides, loyal readers of this blog are not nearly as intrigued by this as the other thing I do a lot of.....which is scorn. And boy, was there scorn to be had.

Without knowing it beforehand, A preview for the new Twilight film "New Moon" was mixed in with the mishmash of material that's always a precursor for the movie. Now understand good people, I have not read the Twilight series. Anything beyond what the cover of the book looks like is completely foreign to me. I watched Twilight, and hated it, without ever reading a page. And this darkened opinion of the movie only insured that I would not see another one, much less read the damn book. So everything I have to say about this film is going to be based on the two minutes of preview I endured to get to the feature presentation.

Here goes.......

Holy fucking shit!!!!! What kind of sick pulpy teenage filth are they passing off as entertainment here? I mean seriously? An entire genre of film, spawned by talented individuals such as Christopher Lee, Bella Legosi, and Gary Oldman, has evolved into this dribble? Vampires used to be cool for fuck's sake!

Alright, perhaps that last point is moot in this day and age. Clearly there is an allegiance to this film by a much bigger mass of people than yours truly. There are armies of teenagers and young adults out there who think this is the greatest thing since Hilfiger Jeans and the relaunch of Converse. To them, vampires are now identifiable. How so is beyond me, but such is the way of things I suppose.

So I won't get into fads here, or debate what's fashionable or not. I've been outdated for years, so it's not exactly my forte. What I feel does bear mentioning, is the logic of the situation.

Yeah, I know, vampires don't exist, and if they do, we can't prove it scientifically. Fine, whatever. Let's roll on the assumption that they do exist, and that there are in fact immortal beings who have lived on this planet for hundreds of years, never aging, and sustaining their cursed existence on the blood of the living. And let's say that there is someone like big hair Edward about, who continues to interact the living even though he is estranged from it.

Well then let me ask you this: Why in the fuck would a vampire who's hundreds of years old go to high school? Seriously, you have centuries of knowledge and experience, why not go to college? Hell you might actually make some contributions to science or history or something. Wouldn't that kind of be for the betterment of all these mortal cattle you like to frequent? What exactly are you trying to achieve at the high school level? And not even a world-renound school with an outstanding curriculum. No, a small rural school in the middle of nowhere.

You know what else college has? Women of legal fucking age! Did anyone ever actually do the math on this, and realize that Edward is a very old man? Hell, people still find it kind of creepy when an older guy is talking to a teenager at Barnes And Noble. How do you think they'll feel when a guy nearly pushing a century is spouting tales of love to a girl barely old enough to drive? It's disgusting.

But you're okay with that eh? You don't let the huge age gap bother your mood? Fine, then let's consider the following: Edward is a being that is very old. He's wandered the earth for quite some time, experienced a great many thing about life (and unlife I imagine.) He is worldly being who's had time to figure things out.

So, if all of the above is true, then why would he even consider, even for a second, falling for an overly dramatic teenager? I mean seriously, there are teenage boys who don't even want to mess with that bag of crazy. And yet here a being with the wealth of knowledge that is only possessed by some of the oldest living people on the planet, falls into that shit. How fucking stupid do you have to be?

And then you know what he does? He leaves! All the while an audience of people are supposed to be completely surprised that she's blow this completely out of proportion and try to kill herself. "Oh no, the love of my life is leaving me. I can't live without him, so I'd rather die." Holy hell, how many times have we heard that shit? It's practically it's own stereotype right now. Everybody knows this......except apparently big-haired Edward. Who clearly does the one thing in the world you should never do with an overly dramatic teenage girl. And the best I can tell from the preview, is that the entire premise of the movie is based on this: An old man robbing the dramatic cradle, and the wackiness that ensues.

Now, clearly this isn't a review for the sort of people who are excited for the release of this atrocity. Mostly, this is for like minded individuals who abhor everything about this movie, and want nothing more than to read someone else bitch about it. And this is also for those of you who are on the fence about this Twilight business. The sort of people who can't decide if they should be pulled into the tide with everyone else. If this is you, and you're telling yourself, "Well it can't be that bad," let me assure you that yes, yes it can.

Why I Left Heavy Metal: Halloween Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 20:44:00 +0000

With All Hallows Eve just around the corner, I felt it was a good time to speak on this matter.

You see, years and years ago, I was a dedicated disciple of all things heavy. In those days, I felt that anything musical that could be defined as pure and honest was required to have high decibels of distorted guitar angst. Primal fury, encapsulated by tormented words screamed at the edge of a singer's limitations, it was the only way to be a sincere artist in my mind. The enemy was easy to see. Acoustic strumming pretty boys who sung of girlfriends and happy meetings in coffee shops,totally glazing over the problems that the world wears. We knew them well and despised them better. We rock guys knew the score, if it wasn't loud and tormented, then it wasn't the real deal.

Then, one day, I simply stopped. Burned out and frustrated with what heavy music had turned into, I walked away. I had lost all interest in distorted guitar fury, and those savage rhythms that were requisite in such music. It had become commercial to me, easily crafted routine that no longer captured my imagination and spoke of the pain in my heart.

Aside from the occassional visit while the MP3 player is on shuffle, I have never gone back. I play in a mellower side of the spectrum, and am pretty happy with it. And I sleep soundly at night knowing that any contributions I might have made in what is rock and/or heavy metal would've only further dilluted down an already bland stew. Occassionally, I get a doubt or two about the path I chose. Understandable really, after near a decade of dedication, It's easy to look at what was and what might have been. But for the most part, ce la vie

Every once in a while, time and nature conspire to remind me of why I left that scene in the first place. Today was one of those days, as a catalog arrived at the homestead. Halloween is close, and as such, there's a lot of pressure out there to invest in costumes. Classic and new, treading new ground or simply modernizing a traditional theme. Vampires and fairies, witches and Spider Man. Power Rangers are still on the scene, and it looks as if the hippies and disco-lytes are now fare for kiddies. As if a failed counter culture movement and Studio 54 weren't depressing enough.

Of course, none of this is as bad as what I was about to encounter.

In the small handful of pages dedicated to the young men, I stumbled across a costume that at once angered and frightened me.

The costume was called "Headbanger." It was an all black number with fingerless driving gloves and an industrial grade mechanic's overalls. A studded neckline and wrist guards let the average observer know this this kid knew nothing about oil changes. The cherry atop this monstrosity was a pale white mask with long, shoulder length horse hair sewn atop it in a stringy, slightly balding fashion. The face was adorned with blood red coloring around the eyes and along the chin, forming a paganistic goatee of sorts. It was disgusting, abhorrent, and very very embarrassing.

Costume makers, traditionally, have been a few step behind the times. The market is flooded with Pirate garb years after Johnny Depp made pirates cool. Halloween is fed by fads, and rubber can only be molded so quickly. So, it surprises me very little when costumes turn up to in this day and age a bit overdue for when people actually would've worn the stuff.

Not so in this case. I need only flip through any heavy metal publication to see that my once proud musical genre still looks like this costume I see before me. This outfit is the direct descendant of bands like Slipknot and Dimmu Borgir, both still very functional entities in the brotherhood of metal. Bands galore, donned in pointy guitars and mad makeup, still look like this. What's worse, is that they look like this without shame. These misguided idiots are still under the impression they cut a terrifying figure on society. That they still put fear and nightmares into the hearts of yuppies everywhere. Never stopping to realize that the kids of those they are trying to frighten, will be dressing up just like them for cheap candy and gum.

I am ashamed for what once were my brothers. Ashamed that what once took nothing more than long hair, black T shirts, and true grit has slowly dissolved into this. An outfit adorned with copious quantities of makeup, excessive jewelery,and enough studded leather to make even Rob Halford question your manhood.

And for all the physical enhancements and theatrics, the music hasn't spun any more a convincing tale. Overly dissonant, relying more on random noise and hoarse frog croaks, the music has lost it's magic. It takes concentration to decipher the message, and having to concentrate while being pummeled with excessive volumes has simply become too trying for an old timer like myself.

So metalheads and rockers alike, take note: The tricks you've been relying on will no longer work. Weird outfits and distortion are simply not enough in this day and age. Things need to grow, expand, get pissed, and all in new and exciting ways. What those ways are, I can't tell you. I've defected from the cause, so it's now all on you. All I can say is, do something new, and do it fast. Before the epitome of your legacy is being glossed on the pages between a ninja and dinosaur.

The Knife Thing

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 10:04:00 +0000

I present to you my knife.

This here is a Wusthof Classic 10-inch chef's knife. Standard CrMoV german steel straight outta the heart of Soligen. I found it in a pawn shop several months back along with a knife roll and a few other tools for sixty smackers. Since it's used, I know very little about it's history, other than it's somewhat old (how old I don't know, but the blade says Dreizack, which means it's older since the newer ones say Trident.) She was beaten pretty badly, with scratches up and down the blade, and a big worn out section of the edge where it's last owner had sliced repeatedly. Not pretty, but functional as can be.

Those who have some love for cutlery, or spend above average time in Bed, Bath, & Beyond, know this to be a knife of reasonable quality. At the very least, it's pricey and rolls off the tongue real nice. However, I'm not showing it to you fine people because of the name on the blade. I'm showing it to you because of the story that came with it.

You see, I had finally convinced myself to enroll in culinary school. For good or ill, I had decided this was something I had to do. So, I had taken the tours, gotten a feel for the programs, and started getting things together. Part of the culinary school wrap is the acquisition of a knife kit. Knowing this, I had spent a great deal of time researching equipment, hitting countless websites to dig up deals, reading reviews on the benefit of one knife over another, and so on and so on. I assure you, that nowhere in this fact-finding mission, did the name Wusthof even become a consideration to me. That stuff was too rich for my blood.

Then, one cloudy Saturday, I waltzed into a pawn shop looking for treasures, and I found a knife roll in a glass case. I was pretty excited about this, since I needed one for class, and because my obsession with cutlery was starting to build up steam. But, buying a new one is a pricey proposition. One of subpar quality was 25 bucks, a bit more than I wanted to drop. And this one looked better than any of those cheap ass rigs. So I figured, "Hey. Empty knife bag in a pawn shop. I might be able to pick this thing up for 15-16 bucks." So I asked the kid up front go grab it for me, which he promptly did. But when I opened the thing, I was in for quite a shock. Since this was no mere knife case, but a complete kit, loaded with tools, including the aforementioned Wusthof. This was everything I would need for school, at less than half the cost I would have spent had I bought everything new. While poking around the kit, I got my knuckle too close to the edge of that Wusthof, and it slashed it open on contact. I took this as a good sign (yes you read that right, me getting cut by my cutlery is considered a good sign in my sad little world.) So I grabbed the thing as soon as I could, and drove home figuring I had gotten pretty lucky in finding the thing.

I used the thing, finding it to be a well balanced, and competent performer. But the damn thing was big. Big enough to make using it a pain, so for months she sat in the kit while I relied on the knives I was more "comfortable" with. And in the meantime, I kept reading and learning about knives, and I had found out that the longstanding name of Wusthof had fallen out of favor amongst the cutlery minded. Reports of being "too heavy" and "too soft" filled my head, as I became less and less enamored with it. In many ways I began to disdain this knife, figuring that as soon as it got me through school, I'd dump it and move on to bigger and better things.

And then I had a conversation with a friend who changed my perspective on everything. She was telling me about her father's knife kit, which she had left unopened since his passing. And she spoke to me about the sadness she felt using the tools for which she had attached so many great memories to her dad.

It was the first time I had ever considered the notion, that a simple tool like a knife could be an heirloom. It wasn't just a bag devices used to chop through onions, it was a memory. And a cherished one at that. You never think that something as common as a knife in the kitchen could provide the kind of history until it's too late. At least I never did. Wow, if I ever get crazy enough to have children, my knives will probably be that for them as well. In a time where every death I've seen has lead to squables over who gets this amount of money and who gets this property, I hadn't considered that someone might want "dad's ol' cuttin' knife" when I'm gone.

And it made me wonder about the poor soul who had to give up this kit at a pawn shop. Were they a chef somewhere? Or was the person a student just like me? I wondered if they finished the program, and what situation would drive them to get rid of a good quality knife, something you can always use wherever you are. I spent a lot of time staring at that knife, studying the scratches and scrapes that covered it. This knife had scars, a history of being beaten and rough-housed. It had seen some shit before falling into my hands.

Then a realization hit me. I had always counted myself as lucky for finding that knife, but not once did I ever consider that maybe it was the knife who found me. It was only chance that I had walked into that pawn shop with cutlery on my mind. And being fortunate only goes so far when you find a kit that has exactly everything that I would need in this new venture. A venture which I still felt uneasy about. Now I had a kit that not only took care of my worries, but also secured the idea in my thick head that I would be doing this. I had something that clearly knew how to survive. Maybe, just maybe, me and this knife need each other.

Perhaps I'm romanticizing this all too much, but I don't care. It just feels right. I have everything I need to get through school, including the answer to the question, "Should I really be doing this?"

So now, I use this knife every time I set foot in the kitchen. I'm careful to listen to it, and adapting my hands to better work with it. The results have been pretty great. And I reckon the knife's pretty happy with the arrangement too. After a great deal of sharpenings at my unskilled hands, we finally found an edge we can agree on. It's been leveled and buffed, and while I can never get rid of all those scratches and imperfections (not that I'd ever want to,) I think the thing looks better than ever. Any time I use it, it gets washed and dried immediately afterward. And it gets wrapped in a silk handkerchief when I put it away, which I imagine is something it's last owner or owners ever did.

I still wonder what story this knife had before finding me, and will probably never find out. But I figure at the very least, while it's in my hands, it has a story that can now be heard.

Boy In The Balloon

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 04:06:00 +0000

Let's play a bit of reality math shall we? The treasured game where we add up real life situations, and calculate the results. Are you ready? Alright then, here we go....

Take one 6 year old boy,
add in a very big, very dangerous balloon capable of carrying a person,
factor in one parent who's apparently far too busy to pay attention to either

What does that equal?

If you responded with, "Stupid stupid, dipshit fucking dumbasses" Then you are clearly a well rounded denizen with some common fucking sense.

I mean seriously, it's strange enough to spend a great deal of time and money to develop a balloon that can carry a person's body weight. That takes a level of commitment to insanity that I can't even begin to fathom. But then to be too cheap to build a garage for the damn thing, and too lazy to deflate it? Holy shit people! Who the fuck says "I just built a big ass balloon, but now I'm tired so I'm just going to lash it to my roof?" It almost seems kind of illegal in general to leave something big and capable of flight unattended. It may well be extremely illegal but I can't verify it (and am too lazy to try.)

And so daddy dearest leaves this big fucking thing on the house, with a curious 6 year old boy. And I guess never once did it cross his mind, to CHECK ON THEM! Holy fuck people, he has been a father for at least 6 years, and I'm almost positive a bit more, does he not know of the child-like tendency to explore shit? Especially when that shit is a big silver globe that glows in the sunlight and moves enticingly in the wind? Why not just lock the kid in a shed with fireworks and give him a lighter?

I feel safe asking these questions because it all turned out for the best. The kid was safe, nobody got hurt, all ended well. But frankly, it shouldn't have even been an issue. This kid shouldn't have even been put in a situation where that could've happened. And a capable fucking parent should have done everything in their power to insure that their child would be safe.

But what do I know? The whole thing might just be a hoax anyways.

Billy Ray Urges Miley To Return To Twitter

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 17:42:00 +0000

Ye freaking gods!

There is a bit on my news feed about how Billy Ray Cyrus has made a public appeal to his daughter Miley, to resume updating her fans via Twitter. Apparently, sometime in the last month (I don't care when) She made one final post (tweet? twit?) stating that her costar in an upcoming film suggested she quit using the service for what apparently is "good reason." This has left many fans in disarray, and has caused her father to use the service to plea for her return.

Okay, there is so much wrong with this, that I can't even sum it up in a single point. Let's start with the most obvious.

If Billy Ray Cyrus is urging his daughter to reactivate her Twitter account, and using Twitter to do it, how the fuck is she going to know about it? That's like sending me an email telling me that I need to check my email! It's dumb!

But assuming that word will get around to Miley about this (and with the power of the Associated Press behind it, how could it not?) We really need to ask ourselves on fundamental question: Why the hell didn't Billy ask Miley directly? I mean, it's not like they're RELATED or anything! He could have made a phone call, or said "Hey, what say we have dinner tonight? I need to talk to you about something." Perhaps I'm flawed in my knowledge here, but it seems like he'd have an easier time of having a sit-down conversation with her than most any of us, so why not do it? It's easier, less time consuming, and has the virtue of actual human contact!

But, let's assume that the point was to cause abject humiliation. By making a public statement for all to read, he's sort of "calling his daughter out" and trying to get her back into the game. Fair enough, I can understand that. It's a shitty thing to do, but I can understand it. So, assuming that was the point, my next question is this: Why does it fucking matter? So what if she doesn't use Twitter, she's a celebrity! I can't walk into any store without having that buck-toothed grin stare me in the face. Everyone knows who she is, so why is this so important?
Are you telling me that Miley's fans are falling by the wayside by her unwillingness to tweet (toot? twat?), and rushing to pledge their loyalty to other pre-adolescent celebrities? Has the market share of other Disney acolytes gone up because Miley has better things to do than fire off a 140-word limit thought every little while? Unless someone show's me some solid statistics, I'm going to guess that the answer is no.

And you know why? Because the fans of Miley Cyrus have other avenues to explore. I'm going to guess that she has a Myspace page, and a Facebook page (I'm only guessing because I refuse to confirm this.) And I'm going to guess those still get updated on a regular basis (again, I refuse to confirm this, but big daddy Bill isn't making a fuss about those, so my reasoning has to be sound.) And if not, I can almost guarantee that she has a website. There are plenty of venues for Miley Cyrus fans to ladle praise upon their hero. And people can have as many of these goddamn accounts that they want! If they can't find Miley on twitter, than I guarantee they'll find her someplace else.

This girl is going to be seriously fucked up by the time she hits adulthood. If I read in a few years that she was arrested sucker-punching midgets in the nude, it would not even remotely surprise me. We're talking a build up of psychological issues that make Britney Spears look like Julie Andrews. I certainly don't wish it upon her, but with nonsense like this going on, I don't know how you could avoid it.

Marge Bares All (No Seriously She Does.)

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 16:27:00 +0000

Playboy magazine, source of much palm-based material for many an underage boy, is about to make history by placing Marge Simpson of the animated series "The Simpsons" on the November cover of the magazine. Details about this can be found at this website.

So, assuming you went to the link (which really, how could you not?) were you as confused as I was upon learning that the new CEO of Playboy just happens to be named "Flanders?"

Jon Gosselin On The Insider

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 23:05:00 +0000

Much as I absolutely hate devoting time and space on my precious blog to the likes of Jon and Kate, I just had to throw one more thing in the pile. Is it wrong that I found this absolutely hilarious?

Oh man, it's like someone turned me into a feisty older white woman who looks smashing in yellow! Mad kudos to the staff at the Insider for making my day.

University Of Utah Researchers See Through Walls

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 17:58:00 +0000

Just once people, just once I would like to write about my beloved state of Utah on this blog, and not have it be about a bunch of weird bastards doing abnormally weird things. It's not too much to ask to have at least one bit of news on Utah that isn't strange or creepy, and I swear one of these days, something will turn up that I can actually write about.

Today however, is not that day. Observe.

For those fearful of the link, I'll sum it up for you: Researchers at my alma mater have devised a way to detect movement through solid objects using wireless internet signals. In a nutshell, relying on the signal strength of the wireless network, one is able to detect motion as a result of interference with the signal.

Sounds harmless? Consider that any person can now get your basic pattern while you sit in your room changing your underwear. And while the technology can't do much more than show a pattern, and not do the x-ray vision thing at this juncture, it's still creepy. Damned creepy. And it comes out of my fucking state no less.

Jon And Kate Plus Eight Minus One Multiplied By Nonsense

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 22:09:00 +0000

Alas, over yonder appears to be more Jon and Kate bullshit to fuck with my news feeds.

First there was the announcement that TLC was giving ol' Jon Gosselin the boot, creating a program entitled "Kate Plus 8" focusing solely on Ms. Kate doing the whole single mother rap with a buttload of kids. And now, there's Jon's response to this news. Apparently, he isn't happy.

Aside from talking his usual nonsense, he's also brought a lawyer into the picture. The claim is that part of the conditions of the divorce is that he has joint custody over the children, thus has a voice in what decisions are made regarding their welfare. He's gone so far as to post signs on his home forbidding TLC camera crews from entering the premises, or risk having the authorities notified.

You know, despite seriously disliking both of them, I can't dispute that this is a smart move on TLC's part. Kate, while a dramatic control-happy bitch, still seems like the lesser of two evils. And she has managed to keep her hormones (assuming of course that she has hormones, I personally have my doubts) in check, which is more then we can say for Jon. Besides, America loves the story of a scrappy woman picking herself up after the love of her life dumps her. And while she's a snotty, whiny, hose-beast, I think scrappy applies quite well to Kate Gosselin.

Of course, I'm not going to watch this shit! Frankly, nothing would make me happier than to log onto my browser and find nary a trace of these stupid people. Just because I understand the marketing logistics doesn't mean I hold any love for either of these people. It's just I smell the funk of stupidity, and I had to comment.

And the funk of the matter is this: If Jon Gosselin was so concerned with the welfare of his kids, then why the hell did he subject them to numerous seasons of this goddamned television show? Reality TV is notoriously the most invasive thing since proctology, and he sure didn't seem to mind airing every last shred of dirty laundry on the tube back then. All of a sudden now that he's no longer welcome, suddenly this is an unfit situation for the kids? Bullshit man!

You good people can already see how this is going to play out right? TLC will probably spring for a new pad for Kate that will be joyously free of legal detritus, and the brunt of this legal claim will dissolve into thin air. Anywhere between three to six months from now, Jon will appear on a new TV network (my money is either on Spike or MTV) with a problem detailing the woes of his life. It'll be dubbed Jon plus several unnamed girls too young for his dumb-ass, and will feature the douche who owns the Girls Gone Wild franchise as his wingman. Every show will be a contest between the two, trying to determine who can say "ummm" the most, and will feature a plethora of attention-starved barely legals to embarrass themselves on camera with some of the most disgusting sugar-daddies ever to occupy my cable.

I weep for us all.

And I Quote

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 21:42:00 +0000

Today's post sounds a little deeper than usual, especially considering it's source is me. Rather than the usual barrel of cynicism and fuckupedness I typically generate, this one could almost sit real nice on a coffee mug.

To answer your question, No I'm not getting soft. I'm still bitchy as can be, and don't see a future where it'll cease. As to why I sound so damned philosophical today, well there's a reasonable explanation: I was in the middle of an argument.

Well, probably not an argument, more of a debate really. Some discussions on morality and the like. And while I'm probably not the best example of clean-spirited living, I do quietly support it. And when people start getting all speak-happy about what they consider to be right, and passing unnecessary judgment upon those who lead a different, but decent life, I tend to start talking. And during one of these "discussions," I let some words slip that I thought sounded pretty darn sharp. So, I leave them with you, the world, to care for. And my apologies for writing stuff with actual meaning, it'll never happen again.

"It's only a sin if you don't learn from it."

-Boogie Man Montoya-

And I Quote

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 06:10:00 +0000

"I spend a great deal of my life running on the assumption that God has a sense of humor. Here's hoping I'm right."

-Boogie Man Montoya-

Kanye West Did What?

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 06:03:00 +0000

I'm pretty sure everyone in the world and their conservative aunts knows about this...

I'm at a complete and total loss for words here people. I mean, there are things in this universe which are smug, and things which are pure stupid. Occasionally, there are those things that happen to be equal parts of both. But this? This is on a whole new level of it's own. Some parallel plane of batshit crazy that isn't even visible in this spectrum.

I can't really yell about it, because I'm not 100% sure that West even realizes his true caliber of douche. I seriously thing that somewhere in that cloudy, neon-colored brain of his, that he really thinks he's inspiring us little-folk into awe. In the face of that sort of insanity, I just can't be angry. I can really only stare dumbly, and feel troubled about. This is the sort of thing that one muses over with a stiff tumbler of rum, wondering what the hell happened to the world. Because people like this have been given license to be this strange. There's a group of people out there who made this guy into enough of a hero that he can actually get away with this.

I'm lacking in venom over this little incident, but I did walk away with one revelation:

Beyonce disgusts the living hell out of me, and I'm no fan of Taylor Swift either. And yet, all it takes for me to sympathize with both of them apparently, is Kanye West.

A Moment Of Philosophy

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 04:42:00 +0000

Wanting to attain the "perfect week," and get off at least one post every single day here on TBMS, I was searching for some topic to fill this bad boy out. I've got a few more extensive bits of nonsense on the line, but it's Friday for fuck's sake. I'm not capable of a full load of dribble pre-weekend.

So, I needed something brief to pull of this personal best. But what? So many things to discuss. So many new items to bitch about. And I had no clue with where to start. So I pondered this greatly, and thank god for the potential of anaphylaxis to inspire this sharp bit of philosophy:

"There is nothing like the potential for painful death by explosive swelling to make you appreciate how good Cheetos can be."

Shirts, Shorts, And Social Standing

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 06:35:00 +0000

It's embarrassing enough to go wandering about town in a tight T-shirt that you haven't worn in four years. People more often than not assume that you're in need of clean laundry. Things get harder however, when you couple that T-shirt with a too-snug pair of slacker-approved shorts. However, if you're quick and walk with a confident strut, people might just figure you're having an off day, cleaning out the closet, or if you're lucky, you can get a bit more mileage out of the whole laundry thing.

However, when you've commited all of the above offenses, and also have orange Cheetos stains on the legs of those shorts, you can pretty much pack it in Bubba. You are fucked, completely and totally. And for the duration of your day, it will not matter how intelligent you are, or how well you carry yourself, you are dead weight as far as the world is concerned.

My advice? Roll with it. Embrace being low on the totem pole. Humility builds character, I think I read that somewhere. Shoot, you might even get to roll the pity card. Many happy marriages have been started that way. Might turn out to be the best day of your life.

Crime And Punishing For Text Infractions: Utah Style

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 16:00:00 +0000

In the what must be the most miraculous of news items, my twisted state actually passed a law I agree with.

In March of this year, (yeah, it's pretty obvious that I need to expand where I get my news from,) former Governor Jon Huntsman passed a law that banned sending text messages while driving. As it stands now, getting caught texting while behind the wheel will be considered a Class C misdemeanor. Do it again, or even worse, hurt someone while doing it, and it goes up to Class B with no questions asked. If you actually kill someone because you were getting your text on, it is considered automobile homicide, which is anywhere from a second to third degree felony. Don't bother requesting vehicular manslaughter, you won't get it.

Utah is notorious for throwing around bills that go completely over the top, and tend to be ridiculously excessive. And usually, I'm the guy standing on the sidelines screaming, "Come the fuck on!!" But on this I must admit, that tendency towards excess is actually a useful asset in this case.

I am a texter. I text openly, and often. In some ways, I feel it has further handicapped me in my antisocial ways, but I don't care. Sometimes, all I need to say is one sentence (though you'd never figure that out from reading this junk.) But I also realize there is a time to do it, and a time to put it away. Texting while talking to someone is flat out rude, doing it while people are asking you questions is incredibly unprofessional, and doing it while driving is ridiculously stupid. And I for one refuse to die on my half exhausted drives home because some dipshit couldn't wait 10 extra minutes to send out their "OMG's!" and "LOL's!" There isn't a damn urgent thing in this world you need to text. If its' an emergency, then you probably should just bite the bullet and make an actual fucking phone call. There was a time when cell phones didn't have extensive keyboards and you still managed to contact people, an emergency situation might be a good time to be old fashioned y'know? And if for some strange reason you can't make a call, but you can text......well pull the fuck over then. We'll wait for you to get done.

Bear in mind that this bill came about because people have already died. A couple of rocket scientists in fact (I shit you not.) All because someone couldn't wait to fire off that oh-so hilarious off color forward until they got home. Decent people who have no business suffering always pay the ultimate price when other people get careless. And while I have no idea how this will actually affect things in my twisted state, I'm optimistic that this may scare the pee out of a few texters out there.

At the very least, it'll keep me from doing it. Despite knowing better, I'll occasionally fire off a text at the stop light. I reckon it's high time for me to take my own advice.

Baby Pole Dancer

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 18:00:00 +0000

Courtesy of Gizmodo

What. The. Fuck?

And I Quote

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 06:10:00 +0000

"I have a heart, I swear to God I do. And as soon as I can find the bastard, I'll happily show it to you."

-Boogie Man Montoya-

At Some Point, They're Just Best Described As Dumb

noreply@blogger.com (Boogie Man Montoya) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 06:32:00 +0000

I'm a man of pretty even temper.

Though these pages may never reveal it, I do try hard to think critically before I speak. I'm someone who puts a lot of emphasis into observing the world, and tries very hard to maintain perspective. People take a lot of interesting paths to become who they are, and it's that willingness to walk the journey that defines someone, not where they end up. And I know full well that money, job title, or education can never define a person as good or bad. You are what you make yourself, and how you choose to let the world view you. So, I do my best to avoid judgment, and always make an effort to hear the folks of the world out. I really don't want to dislike anybody.

Still, there are those things that I simply cannot abide by. The clear point where education and experience are no longer a factor, and you are making a purposeful attempt at being an idiot. We've all seen these things, quirky marks of jackassery caused by grungy, overly hormonal people with something to prove. And you sit there watching them do these things, and the whole time you think to yourself "C'mon! There's no way in hell you don't know any better!" Perhaps they smoke cigarettes on their porches while their kids run amok, or blast their way too loud car stereos at inappropriate times.....you know the little things. Those annoying acts that the dumb-fucks and dipshits of the world do, despite being completely pointless and somewhat dense. It's unforgivable in this day and age to be so dumb.

Witnessing such acts gets me in a bit of a rage. And I tend to fall into a pattern of retribution when I do them. Most of the time, my violent tendencies don't go too overboard. I've never set a house on fire, nor have I ever taken hostages. But they definitely are within a legal gray zone, and the world would probably be all the better if no one drove me to this point to begin with.

I'm speaking to you good people of this, because I just so happen to have one of the aforementioned idiots commiting one of these unforgivable sins outside of my home. And it's got me in a revenge-minded state, so I figured I'd use this time to issue a polite PSA on the matter:

People of the world, be warned: If you are the type of person who sits in their driveways and revs their ridiculously loud engine for more than five seconds, I will pee in your tailpipe.