Marquisdejolie On Video

Walking The Dog

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 01:39:00 +0000

A metaphorical video about simple realities in day to day life.

Tags: metaphor, life, real, music video, James Jarvis

Bone Breakers (Short Version)

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:47:00 +0000

(CLICK PIC FOR REVVER VIDEO)

By Jolie Blond
02/21/01

People break our bones . . .
and we forgive them.

Breaking each others' bones
is just the way we are,
mad, flesh-eating, bone-breaking
carnivores that we are.

We break our mothers' bones
coming into this world;
breaking bones
to make our way into this mess.

Better to forgive a friend
who has broken our bones
than to risk more fractures
from new people,
strange, unknown, new bone breakers.

Once a friend has broken your bones,
THAT part of the friendship is done,
accomplished, a rite passed . . .
and a friendship based on mutual forgiveness
might have somewhere nicer to go.

Tags: Jolie Blond, Jolieblond, poetry, poet, poem, spoken word, funny videos, social video, bone, break, breakers, flesh-eating, bone-breaking, carnivores, rite of passage, mutual forgiveness, James Jarvis

Pilots VS Air Traffic Control

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 23:43:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Tower: "Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock, 6 miles!"

Delta 351: "Give us another hint! We have digital watches!"

****************************************************************************************************

From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff queue: "I'm f...ing bored!"

Ground Traffic Control: "Last aircraft transmitting, identify yourself immediately!"

Unknown aircraft: "I said I was f...ing bored, not f...ing stupid!"

**************************************************************************************************

O'Hare Approach Control to a 747: "United 329 heavy, your traffic is a Fokker, one o'clock, three miles, Eastbound."

United 329: "Approach, I've always wanted to say this..I've got the little Fokker in sight."

****************************************************************************************************

A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight. While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, "What was your last known position?"

Student: "When I was number one for takeoff."

***************************************************************************************************

A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long roll out after touching down.

San Jose Tower Noted: "American 751, make a hard right turn at the end of the runway, if you are able. If you are not able, take the Guadeloupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return to the airport."

****************************************************************************************************

A Pan Am 727 flight, waiting for start clearance in Munich, overheard the following:

Lufthansa (in German): " Ground, what is our start clearance time?"

Ground (in English): "If you want an answer you must speak in English."

Lufthansa (in English): "I am a German, flying a German airplane, in Germany. Why must I speak English?"

Unknown voice from another plane (in a beautiful British accent): "Because you lost the bloody war!"

*****************************************************

Tower: "Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on frequency 124.7"

Eastern 702: "Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way, after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway."

Tower: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff behind Eastern 702, contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from Eastern 702?"

BR Continental 635: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, roger; and yes, we copied Eastern... we've already notified our caterers."

*****************************************************************************************************

One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC-8 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the DC-8 crew got on the radio and said, "What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?"

The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with a real zinger: "I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like yours and I'll have enough parts for another one."

****************************************************************************************************

The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.

Speedbird 206: "Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of active runway."

Ground: "Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven."

The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.

Ground: "Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"

Speedbird 206: "Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now."

Ground round (with quite arrogant impatience): "Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?"

Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, -- And I didn't land."

*************************************************************************************************

While taxiing at London's Gatwick Airport, the crew of a US Air flight departing for Ft. Lauderdale made a wrong turn and came nose to nose with a United 727. An irate female ground controller lashed out at the US Air crew, screaming: "US Air 2771, where the hell are you going? I told you to turn right onto Charlie taxiway! You turned right on Delta! Stop right there. I know it's difficult for you to tell the difference between C and D, but get it right!"

Continuing her rage to the embarrassed crew, she was now shouting hysterically: "God! Now you've screwed everything up! It'll take forever to sort this out! You stay right there and don't move till I tell you to! You can expect progressive taxi instructions in about half an hour, and I want you to go exactly where I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you! You got that, US Air 2771?"

"Yes, ma'am," the humbled crew responded.

Naturally, the ground control communications frequency fell terribly silent after the verbal bashing of US Air 2771. Nobody wanted to chance engaging the irate ground controller in her current state of mind. Tension in every cockpit out around Gatwick was definitely running high.

Just then an unknown pilot broke the silence and keyed his microphone, asking: "Wasn't I married to you once?"

Tags: jokes, pilots, air traffic control, James Jarvis

Awakenings

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 23:12:00 +0000

by Jolie Blond
06/09/04

I awakened to the setting of the sun,
shards of waning light
cutting through my closed blinds,
cutting through my darkness,
cutting across my room
in hard geometrical shapes,
slicing through my solitude,
slicing into my sleep time,
daylight's dying attempt
to rouse me into
the hard-edged industriousness
of the day people
who push and shove
and kick the back of the next person's heels
and honk and squeel
and ring and buzz and bother
and slip their hands stealthily
into each other's pockets
and pass forests of paper---
statements and bills and invoices and cash--
pass forests of paper back and forth
and back again . . .
and forth again . . .
their only measure of self worth
found in the heights of their stacks
and I awakened
to the setting of civilization,
said no thanks,
and rolled over in my bed
and went back to my dreams.

Tags: awakenings, awakened, viral video, poem, poetry, poet, prose, Jolie Blond, Jolieblond, spoken word, reading, writing, day people, social commentary, statements, bills, invoices, civilization, James Jarvis

The Devil In The Details: My Arcology Begins

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 22:16:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Breaking The Color Barrier!
I have broken the color barrier at Arco. I work there part time now (12 hours a week at minimum wage . . . almost enough to pay my rent). I put in 6 1/2 hours yesterday running the cash & gas registers. I now know how to run a lottery machine. I get 50 cents off cigarettes and hot dogs and all the free coffee I can guzzle while I'm working. Coolness.

I’ll try to get other jobs to add to my Arco employment now that I’ve proved to myself that I CAN get straight work. Think I'll apply at Scaife Security next door. You can't go wrong with a name like 'scaife'.

Autobiography of a Money-godless Man
(next day)
Scaife wanted to hire me on the spot to guard school children as soon as I could drive out there, but they wanted me to quit Arco with no notice and I just don't think that's an honorable way to act. No sir. Hired one day, quit the next. What do they think? That I am a native Angelino?

I hounded those Arconians for that job. Besides, if my word is no good, then I REALLY got nothing.

You may think I'm stupid. The Scaife guy didn't understand me at all. He said the school job was at least $280 a week and the Arco job is maybe $70 a week and what was there to think about?

Man, I want money and I desperately NEED money, but money is not my God. Maybe I should've put that at the bottom of the autobiography Scaife Security required that I write as a part of my job interview.

Tags: devil, Arcology, gas station, jobs, color barrier, gas pumps, cashier, Scaife, Arconians, money god, James Jarvis

The Jolietharian Way

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 19:23:00 +0000

Doubt whom you will, but never yourself
---Christian Bovee

For some reason, hanging out in the Torrance, California Labor Ready hall four or five hours a day gives me the feeling that I've been hanging out at anarchist meetings. My brethren of the holy jeans are a mixture of old military veterans America doesn't give a crap about and twenty-something kids who are dumb as boiling mud.

So after hanging out in the hall all morning and not getting any minimum wage work, I popped into a print shop in Inglewood and made a quick $90 for 45 minutes of Photoshop work and then ran up to the Sprint offices (pun intended) to pay my cell phone bill. Ahhhhhhhh. I'm a communications mobile homeless bum again.

I took a nap this afternoon and then when I went over to the Arco (which won't hire me because they think I'm white), they were so short-handed and behind in their work that they paid me a large pizza, two quarts of soda and a pack of cigarettes for a little light beverage stocking.

Back in San Antonio when I was a Mr. M convenience store manager, my store was one of the top producing stores in the city. I regularly got efficiency bonuses and store manager of the month awards . . . but I can't get hired as a simple cashier at the Arco because the Mediterranean owner apparently thinks white people are . . .uh . . . I don't know . . . ambitious? That's a rotten thing to think about ME.

The Gypsy, a Hungarian callgirl I occasionally drive for the Pacific Coast Entertainment Escort Agency, says I should start my own religion. There's more money in whacky religion in Los Angeles than there is in sex, she says. Hmm. The Church of Jolie, a Jolietharian way of life. I like that.

Tags: Jolietharian, viral video, weird videos, homeless, day labor hall, Christian Bovee, minimum wage work, dumb as boiling mud, Inglewood, Photoshop, bum, vagrant, drifter, tramp, transient, vagabond, callgirl, escort agency, more money in religion than in sex, Church of Jolie, James Jarvis

Peeling An Old Onion

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 19:06:00 +0000

by Jolie Blond
11/13/04

The young woman,
thirty years younger than him,
drops by
night after night,
making small talk,
looking into his eyes,
searching,
peeling back layer after layer
of this surprising complex man,
hoping . . .
hoping that
once all the peeling was done
and she had gotten to his center
that there would be something there
worth keeping.

Tags: video, peeling, onion, poetry, poem, spoken word, poet, Jolie Blond, James Jarvis, making small talk, something worth keeping

Reading Gemini

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 04:16:00 +0000

Nothing new here. Same old random brutal violence, stupidity and drunken angst. And then I got out of bed, wiped some magazine cologne across my chest in lieu of a shower, drove out to 1120 Catalina Ave and took an envelope of cash from under number 8's doormat.

Then I drove out to Sherman Oaks, Ca. to pick up my new girl: Tori from Detroit. She and her boyfriend are doing the cheap motel circut, having been homeless three months. When they can't afford a room, they sleep in thier stolen UHaul truck. I parked next to the Uhaul and waited for Tori to curl her hair using telephone cord and the heat setting on the motel air conditioner.

While I was waiting, I decided to check the motel rates to see if I could get a better deal than the one I have at The Patio Inn. I stepped into the motel office and asked the man behind the bullet-proof glass how much the weekly rates were.

"You have to move out after one dollar," was his reply, spoken with a thick Indian or Pakistani accent. I asked again, thinking I had misheard. He replied the same again, thinking I was deaf or stupid. Sigh. Back to my car.

Tori is a skinny 23 year-old blonde, blue eyed wunderkind whose chatterbox personality aligns perfectly with everthing she's ever read about her Pisces attributes: psychic, spiritual and disorganized. Her dad is Navy retired and she was the baby of the family. Her turn ons are...

(just kidding)

I drove her to customer (john) Max the movie producer in secluded, rustic Topanga Canyon, then to a john in a crowded little squeezebox apartment in Santa Monica behind O'Brian's Irish Bar (which reignited my Russian angst as O'Brian's is directly across from a place Tatyana used to drag me to when we weren't chasing customers, a high priced dress shop called the Armani Exchange).

I know how long I am carrying a torch for any girl by how many days, weeks, or months I continue to read her horoscope after reading mine. While Tori was in the squeezebox, I picked up a free copy of the L.A. Reader and read Gemini after Pisces.

Then I drove Tori out to the rich side of Pepperdine University and napped in the driveway the hour Tori was 'servicing' some professor. Back to Tori's Sherman Oaks motel, then a quick run to Westwood to drop off Tori's agency fees.

Same old same old. Same old random brutal violence, stupidity and drunken angst. How about you?

Tags: drunks, callgirls, whores, prostitutes, hookers, sex workers, escort agency, random brutal drunken viloence, Sherman Oaks, Detroit, cheap motel circut, homeless, living in a Uhaul, The Patio Inn, Pisces, Gemini, Topanga Canyon, Santa Monica, O'Brian's Irish Bar, Armani Exchange, L.A. Reader, Pepperdine University, Westwood, funny videos, James Jarvis

Snapshot From The Homeless Veterans Shelter

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 04:00:00 +0000

Tags: homeless, veterans shelter, homeless veteran, transitional living facility, VOA, volunteers of america

Kind Seeks Kind

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 00:38:00 +0000

I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.
---Oscar Wilde

While I was down at the DMV getting a $5 copy of my H6 driving record for some prospective driving jobs, I filled out an application to work at the DMV. I'm no longer holding out hope for that cashier job at the Arco gas station next door. The Mediterranean owner seems to have a policy of only hiring non-native people who know English only as their second language.

That's his prerogative as a business owner. If he wants to discriminate against Americans in America, he can. He has the full support of the American government to hire only aliens if he wants to.

I guess he figures aliens will be more controllable employees. I would take my cigarette business to the Korean liquor store across the street, but that guy over there refuses to carry my brand. He says Carltons don't sell enough to bother with ordering them.

I sold some books as the used book store today at about 20 cents on the dollar to be able to get a $7 haircut. I hope I look more clean-cut and hireable. I had enough cash left over to buy a $2 pair of Salvation Army dress slacks. I'm trying to overcome the handicap of not having a criminal record and being able to pass a drug test. Seems like the employers in THIS neighborhood would be more comfortable with me if I could flunk the drug test.

You think I'm kidding, don't you? Well, remember one of the immutable laws of the universe: kind seeks kind.

Tags: job, employment, Oscar Wilde, Department of Motor Vehicles, DMV, H6, driving record, discriminating against Americans in America, Salvation Army dress slacks, kind seeks kind, employment drug test, funny videos, viral video, weird video, music videos, James Jarvis

As Close To Hell As You Can Get Without Being Dead

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 23:13:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia
I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.
---Mark Twain

I went down to the gas tank cleaning place to apply for a job today. The Creepmobile --my roommate’s car-- barely made it. It chugged and huffed and hesitated at every turn as if it knew what I knew about this job and didn't really want to go, either.

I was talking about this job in the Arco this morning when a customer overheard and said he knew that job. He used to do it. He said that job is as close as you can get to hell without dying.

I went down and applied anyway. I peeked into the back room while me and two illegal aliens were filling out the application forms. It looked like something out of "Metropolis" back there. Steamy and furnacey.

The sound of hammers hitting metal anvils made the place SOUND like Dante's Inferno.

I completed the form and turned it in anyway. I've got the Creepster on my back. He's making 'move out' noises at me. I gotta kick in my half of the rent on the crack motel room we're sharing. He's got a steady unemployment check coming in and the silly sophomaniac thinks that makes him superior to my sporadic day labors.

The Mexicans caught a whiff of the burning metal and blood smells coming from the back room and vamoosed.

An older guy in a suit and tie walked in for his job interview and we chatted a few minutes. The old guy was one of the thousands of aircraft industry workers laid off in this neighborhood recently. He looked worried. Hell, he looked like a guy going in for prostate surgery during an anesthetic shortage. Twenty six years he gave those bastards and they threw him out like moldy yogurt.

He didn't tell me that. I read it off his face. He was trying to get some moral support from me, but I had little to give. I had seen the back room before an alert receptionist closed the door. They had looked like Star Trek Borgs back there.

The ex-aircraft worker looked to me for comfort, but I'm scared shitless myself. With any luck, they'll be drilling machine parts into my skull in a week.

Tags: near-death experience, hell, hades, funny videos, vlogger, video blog, Mark Twain, Metropolis, Dante, Inferno, crack motel room, unemployment check, sophomaniac, day labor, aircraft industry workers, Star Trek Borg, James Jarvis

Our Lamentations

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:44:00 +0000

Image by lumierefl via Flickr

By James Jarvis
04/09/01

Carl is a man
who's seen what happens
when you piss God off.
(Lamentations 3:1-16)
First hand.
Up close and personal.

He's about as popular in heaven
as a hair in a southern-fried biscuit.
Crazy as a soup sandwich.
Horny and mean and
quick with a straight razor;
in his mid-fifties I would guess,
'cause of his shiny shoes.
Old men always shine their shoes.

Carl loaned me one a his hounds tooth jackets
and a pair of green sharkskin pants
so I wouldn't embarrass him;
He'd have enough trouble keeping the young brothers off me
without the hindrance
of sartorial embarrassment.
I had stolen one a my roommate's fedoras
while he was takin' his nightly ninety minute shower,
tipped out the room
and it was on.

We was rollin' down Western
like two old G's from Compton,
South Central bar hopping,
pocos pero locos,
lookin' ta run some bitches,
some hookers
and some hoes.
Didn't matter which,
'slong as it was true split tail
and painted.

Two old G's from Compton;
one black, one white.
'Cept Carl's from Cheecaga
and I immigrated from Texas.
And instead of a Cadillac,
all we had ta ride was my roommate's Crapmobile;
an '84 primer gray Oldsmobile
with Oagum scratches up one side
and a tattered American flag droopin' off the radio antennae
on the other side.

(We parked 'round back
whenever we got somewhere.)

Tags: lamentations, poet, poetry, Jolie Blond, poem, spoken word, hair in a southern fried biscuit, crazy as a soup sandwich, quick with a straight razor, houndtooth jacket, sharkskin pants, sartorial, fedora, rolling down Western, old Gs from Compton, South Central homies, pocos pero locos, run some bitches, hookers, hoes, James Jarvis

A Bum's Goodbye To A Homeless Old Dead Gypsy

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 20:24:00 +0000

We must have the courage to be happy.
---Henri Frédéric Amiel

I just recently learned that my homeless attorney, Donald Steinberg, has passed away.

Details are sketchy. I hadn't heard from the aromatic old gypsy in several months and contacted a guy who lives in a car in Westwood (Gordon The Hollywood Anarchist) who contacted a guy who lives in an Inglewood homeless veterans shelter (Uncle Miltie) who contacted a woman who lives in a car in a Gardena church parking lot (Lost Lisa) who broke the news. Donald is dead.

I live in east Texas now, but when I was homeless in L.A., Donald was the windmill-jousting, old hippie reprobate who taught me that we must have the courage to be happy, even living in cardboard boxes under bridges.

The above interviews touched on Donald's neverending battles with The Movealong Police, who perpetually herd homeless people in L.A. from one neighborhood to the next, never giving us more than 72 hours respite in one spot.

We miss you, Don.

Tags: social video, social commentary, ode, dead gypsy, homeless, homelessness, homeless veterans shelter, homeless vets, my homeless attorney, Henri frederic Amiel, Westwood, Hollywood Anarchist, Inglewood, Gardena, east Texas, L.A., living in cardboard box, living under a bridge, Movealong Police, herding homeless people, video blog, vlogger, James Jarvis

Video Coulrophobia and The Happy Meal

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:26:00 +0000

"We have had so many people with clown phobias . . . I am worried everyone might end up hiding in the woods."

Well, if coulrophobia is SUCH a societal problem, I say 'Let's round up the clowns!!'

Tags: video coulrophobia, scared of clowns, funny videos, sick video, societal problem, round up the clowns, James Jarvis

Getting Ready To Do My Boxcar Willie Thing

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 16:55:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

We will either find a way or make one.
---Hannibal

It's official. I have to face it. I am no longer the iron-balled, bulletproof Super Duck I used to be.

I got up at 5 a.m. Thursday to move heavy, lead-weighted furniture all day in 90 degree heat for today's motel room rent money. Right Angle Al got me the gig.

Up and down stairs. Heavy furniture grunted through windows because the doorways were too small for some of the handmade desks. Two truckloads, loaded and unloaded. No dollies. Don't bother to tell me I'm whining here. You couldn't do for one hour what I did for ten hot, sweaty, hellish hours.

First, I blew out my left wrist, so I carried the heavy stuff balanced on my arm. Then I blew out the whole arm, so I carried everything right handed. The balls of my feet started giving out after 6 hours. I limped the furniture in and out of the truck. The excruciating back pain began at the 7th hour.

By the time I got 'home' at 7 p.m., I was too weak to undress. Couldn't even unzip to pee. I slept in the tub for hygiene.

That's the hardest $80 I ever earned. It made me realize that I'm not ready to ride the rails up to Seattle.

Yeah, I'm gonna try the Boxcar Willie thing. Ride the rails for a month or five. A-Number-One stuff. I've already got my freighter picked out, the one I'm going to ride out of town on. I know where I'm gonna catch it in Inglewood. I've been practicing jumping on and off them in the downtown switchyards.

But now I know I'm not the ironweed I used to be. I need to get into shape. Six months. Maybe twelve. I'm closing in on fifty now and shaping up is gonna go slow.

station this morning and the It's sad to lose one's super powers. It's hard to realize I just can't be as free as I used to be because I just can't do what I used to do.

There's Kryptonite everywhere now. It's in the walls and floorboards. It's in the telephone poles and sidewalks. I walked to the ArcoKryptonite had me so weak, I had to stop three times to let the muscle pain subside. I'm 850 pounds this morning and moving around ain't easy.

Tags: day labor, moving furniture, Right Angle Al, Boxcar Willie, hobo, riding the rails, A Number One, catching a freighter, switchyards, kryptonite, James Jarvis

New All-Night Ghetto Candy Store

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 16:12:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Today started early this morning when I walked over to the Arco gas station at 4 a.m. to get some cigarettes. Through the bulletproof night window, I diagnosed the night clerk's computer problem, got my cigs and returned a few minutes later with the software and manuals he needed to fix his obsolete Mac.

I just gave the Arco night guy a System 8.5 CD and some system manuals to fix his ailing Macintosh computer. Hope I get the CD back.

While I was visiting this night clerk, I noticed that several crackheads seemed to be hanging around his night slot and then scattered like gamblers at a poker raid when I approached. After I walked away, they ran back up to that night slot like they were being sucked back by some invisible force.

Suspicious. Maybe that guy has set up an all-night ‘candy’ store for the local druggies, pushing crack through his night slot. How entrepreneurial.

Tags: creative writing, viral video, video blog, vlogging, funny videos, ghetto candy store, drug dealing, Arco gas station, bulletproof night window, obsolete Mac, crackheads, James Jarvis

Bon Chance, Children of The Write

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 15:49:00 +0000

Dieses Eis schmeckt nach Seife.---Mudhead

Onefugi, day clerk at the Arco, always greets me at the Arco counter with a big smile. She loves the stories I email her, especially the tales of my roommate Creepy. She calls them 'her stories', like women say of their Harlequin romance novels.

"I love reading my stories from you," she says, "I show them to my husband," she tells me, "You know, he says you must be CRAAAAA-ZEEE!"

"A common opinion," I answer.

'My stories'. THAT, my friend, is quite a compliment. I get other compliments; direct ones that warm my heart and indirect ones that let me know I've touched a nerve of truth. I've even gotten compliments that made me check my back pocket to make sure my wallet was still there, but 'my stories' is the kind of compliment I really like.

'My stories' implies a kind of co-ownership; co-ownership of the ideas and thoughts and characters in my stories. Like she can really relate. Like she lived some of the events in my stories THROUGH my stories, if she hasn't lived them herself in her own life already.

My stories are like children. They're all influenced by me, but each has its own personality. Anyone, like The Russian, who says they're all the same, hasn't lived with them very long, didn't REALLY want to know them. Wanna really piss me off? Ignore my children!

I encourage my children to go out into the world and make their mark. Maybe I don't encourage them enough. Whatever. But what they do once they're out there is beyond my control. Good luck, children!

Tags: Onefugi, Arco, Harlequin romance novels, my stories, James Jarvis

Paralegal Mime & Missionary Patrol

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 15:23:00 +0000

No price is set on the lavish summer,
June may be had by the poorest comer.
----James Russel Lowel

I woke at midnight tonight, walked over to the Arco station for some cigarettes, startling Mike, the night clerk there, a little, walking in out of the dark night as I do. Most of his customers drive in to the station.

I made the international hand gesture for "I want to smoke" and Mike knew which brand to slip through the safety box. I hate it whenever they get a new night clerk there. When that happens, I have to do a whole mime routine to explain that I want cigarettes and I want Carlton Menthols. I use "Car" (automobile) and "Ton" (staggering under a very heavy weight) to get my cigs.

I answered some email for a couple of hours and took a smoke break outside in my motel courtyard. A 14 year-old crackhead and his mother rode up out of the darkness on their bicycles and stopped in front of me.

"Isn't it a little past your bedtime, young man?" I joked to the boy.

His mother wasn't amused. 2 a.m. and she's on a mission to the new Motel Marquis candy store ( the new resident drug dealer ). She squinted at me, trying to decide if I was an undercover cop, then trudged up the stairs to her drug dealer as the boy watched the bikes. Everybody around here thinks I'm a cop when they first see me and that's racist. Do all white guys in this neighborhood gotta be cops? No. Me? I'm a paralegal at best. Besides, I'm not white, tete d'epingle.

I looked at the boy, shook my head, and stepped back inside.

Around 3:30, I walked back to the Arco for more cigarettes. On my way past the next door vacant lot, the Vietnamese cat-sacrificing voodoo lot, I noticed a clump of clothes in the tall grass. It was a Colombo jacket, a trench coat. I always wanted a Colombo jacket. Maybe I'll jump the fence where it's torn most of the way down and nab that jacket, I thought as I continued towards the Arco.

"PSSSST!" the jacket said. I turned.

"PSSSSST!" it said again. I looked more closely. There was a man in that jacket. Oh, well, I thought, so much for that, and I continued walking to the Arco.

Mike looked at me through the supposedly bullet-proof, mostly soundproof glass at the cashier's window. NOW what did I want? Couldn't be cigarettes, I was just there a few hours ago for cigarettes. Mike is friendly enough, but a little confused about American appetites. I got him to slide open the safety box enough to where I could talk through it.

"Whatsa matter, Mike? You think I smoke too much? Yeah, that's right. I'm here for more Carltons."

"You live here?" Mike asked as we made the cash/pack exchange. He waved his arm in the general direction of the street.

"I have a mission over there at the motel," I answered, "Very exclusive."

Mike looked confused.

Tags: urban tales, paralegal, mime, missionary, Arco gas station, crack motel, crackhead, drug dealer, candy store, ghetto racism, tete d'epingle, Colombo jacket, living on the street, James Jarvis

The Barton Fink-ness of Decomposing In A Shabby Veterans' Flophouse

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 13:57:00 +0000

(CLICK PICTURE ABOVE FOR RELATED VIDEO)

If a multiplicity of relationships is an avenue of growth, I must be eight lanes wide and ten foot tall by now.
---Mudhead

Have you ever heard the sound of a nation being rocked to sleep?
---Carly Sheehan

I have slipped into neutral again. I'm drinking can after can after can of ca phe sua with no results. Just can't get back into gear here in my shabby homeless veterans dorm room that the ungrateful nation of America has begrudgingly rented to me..

If you've seen "Barton Fink", you know where I am. I'm at the scene where Barton is sitting at his typewriter, a blank sheet of paper in the roll, staring at the peeling wallpaper on his cheap motel room walls (much akin to this dump's nicotine-stained sheetrock), watching the wallpaper peel and being able to do nothing about the blank sheet of paper waiting to be typed on.

This blog is nothing. Skip it. There's no story here. No Jarvisonian perspective of the Felini-esque, no Jolietharian verve. Just the Barton Finkness of decomposing in an Inglewood veterans' flophouse.

The crowd is here . . . all my flophouse brethren. Get back to you later.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

It's six hours later now than when the crowd came in to my room and discombobulated my thinking / writing process. I was almost there. ALMOST. It's like being almost asleep in that fuzzy twilight place and some motherfucker snatches you awake by standing over your bed and asking, "You awake?"

That's not hyperbole. That happens to me here. A lot. At a shabby veterans' flophouse, there's no breakers between oneself and all the flotsom and jetsom. You just have to let the trash wash over you and rinse out your brain later.

I was trying to catch a wave (writing is like surfing: you swim out [start typing nothing about nothing], wait . . . . . . and when you feel the ocean swell, you ride that bad boy all the way in to the beach if you can) when Dopey, Stinky and Shaky came into my room, bringing their three-ring circus of emotions, noises and needs into my one-ring homeless shelter room of toe-stubbing clutter.

Dopey wants to play his geetahr, have me hide his thousand milligram hydrocodone painkillers from him, doling them out one at breakfast and one at bedtime "no matter how much I beg for more", and to argue with my homeless attorney (Stinky) about some ethnocentric 'hate whitey' book by Donald Goines that Stinky has brought in to my room and dropped on my dresser top like a fresh steaming dog turd on a clean dinner plate.

Stinky wants to use my phone to call his son, argue with Shaky about . . .

The wave has passed on that thought. I have to swim out and wait again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's six and a half hours later now than when I was typing on my laptop and then the three dwarfs came in to discombobulate me. Now I'm at WORK (as a security guard) and writing this in pen on a writing tablet I found in the dumpster.

I'm sitting here, alone in the dark apartment complex clubhouse that serves as a guard shack, sitting under a small circle of weak light from a 60-watt, two foot lamp, waiting for the next wave to come in. It might be minutes or it might be hours. I have to wait.

I write four words: "I have to wait", then walk around the apartment complex I'm security guarding. I have to wait. I'm waiting for the next wave, the one you hear in "Barton Fink" just before he stops glaring at the wallpaper and starts typing like crazy, and while I'm waiting, I'm fidgety. I hate it when I don't have a story to tell.

I was going to write about The Pie Man who has a soft spot in his head for veterans and keeps giving me boxloads of cakes and pies to pass along to the rotten bastards at the U.S. Vets homeless shelter.

Or maybe I'll write about the Asian/Arabic couple who were having sex in the Casa De Toro jacuzzi the other night at 4 a.m. until --- in my capacity as security guard --- I chased them in to a building (having no idea about the consequences of actually catching them).

Or perhaps I should write about my romantic run yesterday at the Radio Shack girl (she got so scared of my attentions she asked a local homeless loiterer nicknamed 'The Mayor' to stay in the store until closing).

And I was going to write about . . .

. . . but who the fuck cares? What a worthless enterprise this journal writing is. I make more money out of writing "Patrolled parking lots B, C, and D. Checked fitness room area. Checked pool area. All appears secure" than I ever did writing about . . . .

. . . whatever the hell it is I waste my time writing about . . . my tinseltown tales of Creepy, The Mad Turk, The Angry Haitian, The Russian, The Gypsy, The Midget Pimp, The Dragon Lady, The Arconians, Ranger Mike, Gordon The Hollywood Anarchist, The Ornamental, Stir Fry and the Day Laborers, Motel Marqainsians, Amazing Grace, Betty The Bomb, The Stem People, The Park People, The Chicken Santa, Wrongway Lettner, My Homeless Attorney, Ant, Gunrunner Mike, The New Black Dahlia, Cabbage Patch, Marie The Milk Crate Stealer . . . my, uh, my journal of the damned.

HEY! "Journal of the Damned" Not bad. It's 8 hours since I started this blog and I finally got something from the effort: Journal of the Damned. I like it. Hope nobody else has thought of it already. If so, I'll just have to call it "Offline Journal of the Damned."

Tags: social conscience, Barton Fink, decomposing in a veterans flophouse, U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, Veterans Administration, VA, homeless veteran, homeless veterans shelter, U.S. Vets, writer'sblock, ca phe sua, shabby veterans dorm, ungrateful nation, Inglewood, Dopey, Stinky, Shaky, Donald Goines, Westside Residence Hall, apartment complex clubhouse, The Pie Man, Creepy, The Mad Turk, The Angry Haitian, The Midget Pimp, Dragon Lady, Arconians, Gordon The Hollywood Anarchist, The Ornamental, day laborers, the public park people, amazing grace, the stem people, my homeless attorney, journal of the damned

Lil Loca: Queen Homegirl of YouTube

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 02:55:00 +0000

Little Loca: an aspiring actress in Hollywood whose career I have been half-assed following this year because she pushes buttons on me I thought had fallen off years ago. As far as I am concerned, she is the reigning queen of YouTube and I expect to see her on the silver screen soon.

The character this actress plays in her videos, this well-crafted persona, is the kind of girl you would want to date in Los Angeles, because if you get in a rumble in the Barney's Beanery parking lot in West Hollywood, this girl with throw down with you and help you kick some wannabee gangsta tweeker ass.

Tags: YouTube, Little Loca, queen of YouTube, aspiring actress, Hollywood, reigning queen, silver screen, well-crafted persona, Los Angeles, Barney's Beanery, West Hollywood, throw down, wannabee gangsta, tweekers, tweeker, viral video, internet video, music video, vlogger, vlogging, jarvis

Unemployed Thoughts On The Food Chain

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 01:30:00 +0000

Image by James Jarvis via FlickrA man should so live that his happiness shall depend as little as possible on external things.
---Epictetus

I was walking over to the Arco to get some cigarettes tonight when one of the crack whores catcalled out to me "Hey, buddy. Wanna see the mystery of life?"

What she was referring to was a crude $1 live street corner peep show, but still it was a much, much more intelligent come-on than what they usually say. It got me thinking about the basics.

I think the basic question in life, going way back to whenever we first started despoiling this planet, is "Can I eat it, or will it eat me?"

We have gotten away from that. We have secured our superiority in the food chain (hee hee, so we delude ourselves) thus we flounder around with less important worries now, mostly about how much stuff we can accumulate (before something eats us).

I need a job. Not to get more stuff but so I can continue to hang around here and get philosophical inspirations from the crack hoes.

Tags: unemployed, food chain, crack, crack motel, crack whore, Epictetus, catcall, mystery of life, peep show, street corner, hooker, streetwalker, food chain, how much stuff can we accumulate, homeless, homelessness, crack hoes, James Jarvis

Aint No Grave

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 00:55:00 +0000

Undertaker's new theme song - Aint No Grave

Tags: aint no grave, johnny cash, the undertaker, professional wrestling, WWF, friday night smackdown

Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen!

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 19:31:00 +0000

Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen!
By Mary Schmich (Chicago Tribune) - Baz Luhrmann

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97

Wear Sunscreen!

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, "sunscreen" would be it.

The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists,

whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience.

I will dispense this advice NOW!

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth.

Oh, never mind.

You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded.

But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now

how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future.
Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum.

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind,

The kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts.
Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Don't waste your time on jealousy.
Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind.

The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive.

Forget the insults.

If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters.

Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life.
The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives.
Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees.

You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll divorce at 40.

Maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.

Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much,

or berate yourself either.

Your choices are half chance.

So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body.
Use it every way you can.

Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it.

It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance

Even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines.

They will only make you feel ugly.

"Brother and sister together we'll make it through,
Someday a spirit will take you and guide you there
I know that you're hurting but I've been waiting there for you
and I'll be there just helping you out
whenever I can..."

Get to know your parents.

You never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings.

They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go,

but with a precious few you should hold on.

Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get,

the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in "New York City" once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Live in "Northern California" once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel

Accept certain inalienable truths:
Prices will rise.

Politicians will philander.

You, too, will get old.

And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young,

prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you.

Maybe you have a trust fund.

Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse.

But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy,

but be patient with those who supply it.

Advice is a form of nostalgia.

Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal,

wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

"Brother and sister together we'll make it through,
Someday a spirit will take you and guide you there
I know that you're hurting but I've been waiting there for you
and I'll be there just helping you out
whenever I can..."

Tags: wear sunscreen, trust me on the sunscreen, motivational videos, free to wear sunscreen

Yosemite Sam Heads Out To Set Up Our Gold Prospector's Camp

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 18:35:00 +0000

This is a picture of my buddy John's $800 pickup that he "rescued" from the deep swampy woods of south Louisiana yesterday. John is going to take this truck out west to Oregon and Washington and Arizona to go panning for gold. His prospecting partner will go out there first to set up the camp and permits. I met him yesterday and he's a genuine rootin' tootin' Yosemite Sam kinda guy currently living in a trailer out in the woods of south Louisiana.

Tags: $800 pickup, pickup truck, southern Louisiana, panning for gold, rootin tootin, Yosemite Sam, gold prospecting

Gold Fever At Our Home For Wayward Veterans

marquisdejolie@gmail.com (Marquisdejolie) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 18:28:00 +0000

Here is a picture of God's heavenly light shining down on John's escape vehicle (he's going panning for gold out west soon) parked in the Longpants section of our Home For Wayward Veterans.

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