Off to the gym ...

... to get yolked!

Today was chill with guitar practice. I rocked out with a classical song entitled on the music sheet Classic Dance. Wow, that sounds rhetorical.

I just remembered that yesterday at the GNC, a security guard with the name tag of Ricafort, Brian and I were talking about the correlation between sex and athletic performance for males. Popular belief has always stated that sex would tire athletes. However, recent studies have shown that sex the day before a game followed by a good night's rest would result in more testosterone the next day, thus positive in terms of performance during the game. And that was another day at the GNC.

So to prevent possible laziness that would prevent me from attending Capoeira class tomorrow, like it did yesterday, I busted a #3 to Richard's friend, Edlin, the first-time-raver whom I met last weekend on the 2nd day of EDC. Oh yeah, and it's a #3 only because I don't have a partner right now to actually do it. Let's see if it works.

To Life! Fuck it!

I went to the GNC to visit Brian. I finally found out why I couldn't get ahold of him at EDC. He wasn't there! After his brother picked him up, instead of going home so that he could get ready, he was informed that his uncle had a heart attack and that they had to go straight to the hospital. He was trying to get out of it, but the guilt trip that his family imposed on him prevailed. He sold his ticket for $60, unaware that he could raise the price on the day of the event. Ah, this would have never happened if only he rode with me like I asked him to. Yup, an "I told you so" moment in my favor.

I wanted to go to Capoeira class, but decided against it at the last second as I still felt fucked up from the weekend.

It was so good to eat at Red Robin instead. This waiter named Gabe, who has become familiar with me, and I struck up a conversation about the weekend. Apparently he knew about EDC. I guess it's becoming mainstream. That might be a sign of even more crowdedness in future raves. Dammit.

Electric Daisy Carnival (EDC) 2009

Day 1:

Michael came to my house.

Ryan (me):   We're gonna chill for a while.
Michael:  Umm ... ok.

Later ...

Michael:   (Sarcasm) Great.  Rush hour traffic.
Ryan:   Oh shit! It's Friday!
Michael:  ... I was wondering why you were like, "We're gonna chill."   You looked so serene sitting there making beads that I didn't wanna interrupt such a serene moment.



Lots of room to move in the LA Coliseum.   Just the way I like it.

Yup, empty space.

Michael and I went on that spinner ride and he lost his phone as it was launched from his pocket.  I also saw Chris, a.k.a. Bites, who's the nephew of Carlos' buddy Eric, while in line for the ride.

There were Chinese Lion Dancers on the coliseum dance floor.

Peeps walking on stilts.

A chick whipping her tigers.

The coliseum at night.

Michael and I rule.

That's a chick that Michael felt up because she took his hands and felt herself with them.  And they made out.  Her guy friend was jealous. I would've brawled to save Michael, but fortunately I didn't have to, fortunately because I didn't feel like it.

Ryan:   I wanna see Shiny Toy Guns at 11:20.
Michael:  They're here?
Ryan:  You've heard of them?

SHINY FREAKIN' TOY GUNS

Day 2:

I rolled up with Richard.  He introduced me to his friend, a first-timer named Edlin.  I said to myself that normally Edlin is the type of chick I'd put into my database and extract for later use when I'm all alone.  But it occurred to me: I can't just go busting a #3 to every cute chick I meet!  It cheapens me, doesn't it?

Edlin, Richard and I.

Mission:  Go to sound control area in the middle of the coliseum and ask for Julio to retrieve Michael's lost phone.  Sounds simple, right?  Wrong!

Obstacle:  Traffic of people.

Obstacle:  Security guard rolling.  Unable to communicate with him.

Obstacle:  No one knows who Julio is.

Obstacle:  People within sound control area had no idea it was sound control area.

Aftermath:  Julio was the sound guy.  He had stepped out.  He said ask for Curtis.  But a raver let the security guard let me in, found Curtis, and gave me the phone.  Target acquired!

I made new friends.  Left to right: Ryan (me), John, Jamie, Sophia, and Ron.

John and I with light-up teeth.  I got mine in Vegas last summer.  John found his on the floor that night after I busted mine out.  Yay fate!

Marcus Schulz on stage in front of a screen that says: Electric Daisy Carnival.  It was during this set that I discovered that apparently being scratch could feel nice.

I found Son and introduced him to my new friends.  He's from D.C.  I first met Son during the Winter Music Conference in Miami, Spring Break 2006.  I had never see him as fucked up as I saw him.  He said he did 12.  I introduced him to my new friends.

Sophia gave him a massage to make him feel better.  I sat down next to him.  I tried to talk to him about Law School.

Ryan:  So I take the LSAT.

Son:  Yeah, you take the LSAT ...

Ryan:  What's the next step?

Son:  And then the next step is ... um ... and then you ... um ...

1 minute later ...

Son:  And then you ... um ...

This process keeps repeating ...

Son:  I know the words.  I just can't say them right now.

Son tried his liquid dancing.  He couldn't spin, nor could he see anything on my camera or phone.  Son then tried another spot on the floor.  Spinning wasn't happening.

There were no porto-potties in the coliseum and security guards weren't letting anyone back in near the end during Paul Van Dyk's set ... so I ended up taking a massive, 1-minute long piss on the dance floor.  Teeheehee.  Ron covered me on one side.

The Human Tornado had been wrestling at EDC both nights, including being under the influence on the second night, AND wrestled at Pro Wrestling Guerrilla (PWG) the day after.  We hung out in the parking lot during intermission.  Each wrestler made his entrance to a Michael Jackson song.

Final thoughts:

• The locals offering their driveway for $15 - $20
  
• The parking attendants dancing
• The stage playing nothing but Michael Jackson songs
• The security guard busting out Michael Jackson moves while guarding the gate
• The drunk ass security guard
• The sober security guard trying to imitate everyone's liquid dancing
• The cashier wearing candy
• 500-600 people rioting, knocking cops off their bikes and crashing the gate

Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon

Gosh, they come in 3s.  Ed McMahon died 2 days ago, but I only cared now when I just found out he was the host of Star Search, which I watched as a kid.

Farrah Fawcett finally gave in to her battle with anal cancer.

But the real story is Michael Jackson, the King of Pop.  Upon coming home from my FMA pre-test with Guro (and damn I really wanna take a hiatus after my real test as I'm fed up with his attitude problem), I discovered on the news that Michael Jackson died ... and so did a part of my childhood.

I was the first to Moonwalk back in Providence High School (PHS).  At the time, everyone was doing Usher's sideways Moonwalk.  But I was the first to do it backwards, true MJ style.  When PHS outlawed breakdancing and everyone resorted to popping & locking, I did it MJ style as he had just celebrated 40 years of his career.  And in my Theater 111 class during my first semester at CSUN, Fall '02, Eugene and I did an MJ style dance battle.

Words fail me at the moment.

It was my first time seeing Mark in months when I stopped by his place after midnight to pick up some records.  That's a code word, by the way.

Listen to my dancing feet

Gosh, Michael and I just cannot coordinate on a meet-up.

Mom took my car to the shop for an oil change and check-up.  Of course those dirty mechanics would always try to find something wrong to repair and make more money.  Here's what I imagine goes on:

Mexican mechanic:  Oh, well, you need a new Flux Capacitor.  You have a blown Transformer.  You also need to change your speakers for your Night Rider.

Mom:  Oh, ok.  How much will all that be?

Later ...

Mom:  I don't think we can eat at restaurants for the next month.

Goddammit.

I visited Brian at the GNC and we discussed Danny McBride (of The Foot Fist Way fame) doing his ecstasy dance, made fun of that loiterer Manuel always quitting weights when he starts to feel the burn, the disappointing ending to Breaking Dawn (the final Twilight book), how I'm now only a Twilight fan because Kelly Clarkson (my future baby's mama) is, the upcoming Bruno movie, and most importantly this weekend's Electric Daisy Carnival.

While Brian was in the back, I pretended to be in charge of the store and even winged it with a few customers.  I was practicing my Danny McBride ecstasy dance when this waitress named Eve, formerly of Zono Sushi in Glendale who had recognized my mom and I as regulars, bursted in after stopping her car in front.

Ryan (Me):  How'd you find me?

Eve:  I just saw you.  I work in the Zono Sushi in Burbank now.  Tell your mom.

I told my mommy.  Speaking of my ultra Christain (despite Catholic) Prop-8-supporting mommy, she has apparently been trying to brag that I'm scared of gay people, an attempt at having people see me as as molded in her personal views.  For example, in real life, I declined University of California Santa Cruz (UCSC) in favor of CSUN because the latter was ranked as #1 for Film that year.  But according to my mommy, I declined UCSC because I was "scared of some gay court there."

Bollocks!  I love lesbians.

Work, drugs!

It was a low wattage guitar practice.  Change of plans.  Michael has enough gas now to drive to my house, so I didn't have to drive to Burbank where I would've visited the Hot Topic there to check out this white girl employee of theirs who I've thought about while alone, busting a #3.  But someday, I will renew that database.

I can't take the freeway to the Poo Bah Record Shop because it's actually wrong on Mapquest.  Colorado Blvd. goes on forever, running through Glendale, Eagle Rock and Pasadena.  But I'll have to give Michael his Electric Daisy Carnival ticket maybe tomorrow.  Mom called me.

I saw mom's hairdresser, who to me is tita Dory, for the first time since I was a mid-teen.  She had cut my hair for most of my life, beginning when I was 1 year old, before my current rockstar image.  She fixed my hair, though I was hesitant.

Tita Dory:  When you were a kid, you didn't trust anyone with your hair but me!  And now you don't trust me?  How dare you!

Anyway, I look a lot sexier.  Too bad I broke my diet for EDC by eating a Tommy's chili cheese burger, chili cheese fries and a large lemonade while waiting.  Speaking of which, this clip from a show starring Danny McBride (of The Foot Fist Way fame) is my inspiration for EDC:

And we keep moving

Michael:  You busy?

Ryan (Me):  I'm just on my laptop.  I got porn on one window and Kelly Clarkson on another window.

Michael:  Are you, like, mixing and matching faces.

Ryan:  Nah, just giving the porn a soundtrack ... but also clicking from one to the other to pretend it's a music video.

I gotta go to the Poo Bah Record Shop in Pasadena to pick up an EDC ticket for Michael.  I'm gonna have to do it tomorrow (I got sidetracked by Capoeira today), right before guitar practice so I can multi-task: 1) drop it off to him afterward and 2) since he lives near the Burbank mall, I can stop by the Hot Topic store there to check out this white girl employee who I've thought about a bunch of times before when all alone busting a #3.  It's always good to renew the database.

Michael:  Do you have a car?  'Cause I'm on E right now.

Ryan:  You're on E?

Michael:  No!  I mean ... I'm not rollin!'  I meant my car's on Empty.

Capoeira training was at the Sylmar Park.  Andres' dog ran a lap around the park with us.  I'm not used to playing in the dirt.  It was one of my crappy days.  Apparently Steph has a crush on Jacob Black in the upcoming New Moon (Twilight sequel).  I got to plug my good news that my future baby's mama, Kelly Clarkson, will contribute to its soundtrack.

I'm a huge Twilight-- I'm a nerd Twilight fan!

Kelly Clarkson

I'll be honest, I couldn't call myself a true fan because of the final book hyping up a final battle that never took place and a cheep "happily ever after."  But if my future baby's mama is a nerd Twilight fan, I stand behind her.

Matt, the Leisure Suit Advocate, should be in Japan right now.  I wonder if he'll be able to get establishing shots, as well as some Japanese dude saying "This is John Conner," another saying "Come with me if you want to live," and a buff guy with "I'll be back" for our Terminator: the Sarah Connor Fanfics.

At our last Capoeira class at the Boys and Girls Club, when the staff required me to sign in, since I don't like giving out my real name, I signed in as Derek Reese.  Speaking of which, here's what some writer named Ashley had to say about killing off half the T:SCC cast in it's final episodes:

"So, Derek Reese is dead. And Charley Dixon is dead, too. Dead, because we killed them. We sat down, and we wrote it, and we killed them.

Okay. So here’s the deal. It’s not like we enjoy doing that. Trust me, I know what you guys think. I’m a fan – I know how we think. I know what I invest in, I know how I invest in those things. It’s not rational. It doesn’t make sense. We bond emotionally with characters because they speak to something in us. So when they die … It hurts. 

This is not an apology. This is me confessing on our behalf. Not to ask forgiveness, not because we crave absolution. Because we want you to know that sitting in the writer or producer’s chair doesn’t deaden you to the horror or pain that unfolds in your characters lives, just because you chose that they would suffer it.

You love these people. I loved them, too. I loved Riley. I loved Jesse (jury is out I know – but go with it). I loved Charley. And I loved Derek. They were heroes. Flawed heroes. Tragic heroes. But heroes, every one. Which is a pretty romantic way of saying they were screwed from “go”. Because it’s the destiny of the hero to die.

I read something once that stuck with me as a writer, though the source is lost to memory: you haven’t told a character’s story unless you’ve told the story of his death. I’ve meditated on this for years. Really. It’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s not about telling all the beats of the story, from cradle to grave. It’s about how we understand a character’s life through an understanding of his or her death.

Riley Dawson died a fighter, struggling to survive – in the end, an animal. The kind of animal that could survive Judgment Day. If Jesse is dead, she died alone … in her own mind systematically betrayed and disappointed by everyone she believed in and risked all to protect. Defiant. Charley Dixon sacrificed himself not for John Connor, future leader of mankind – he did it for John, the boy he called “son” in his heart. Derek Reese died like a soldier. Doing the job. Exactly the way he expected he would. No blaze of glory. No eulogy. Only the mission. His number came up, as everyone’s eventually must in the cold mathematics of war. 

If that’s small comfort to you, you’re not alone. It’s not supposed to be comforting. It’s supposed to be a kick in the gut. It’s supposed to hurt like hell. On some level, The Terminator franchise is about the value of human life. Death is the scale on which it is measured. Pain means it matters.

And we keep moving."

I'm watching a historic, commercial-free WWE RAW right now with Donald Trump.  Guro, that deadbeat FMA instructor, FINALLY texted me back to schedule training for Thursday.  And I'm off to the gym to get sexy for this weekend's Electric Daisy Carnival.