Andrew: So you're the famous Tony, huh?
Tony Primo: Yeah, who are you?
A: I'm Andrew, the new cashier.
TP: Cut your fuckin' hair, you look ridiculous.


So I've been able to go from zero to caffeine junkie in just two days. I now am the morning/afternoon "cashier with personality" at Caffe Primo, a restaurant that could be likened to Urth Cafe's Italian methamphetamine-addict cousin. Every item on the menu is no less than three times the quality of its Urth Uquivalent, which means panninis, frittatas, crazy delicious salads, soups, gelato, pastries, cookies, and coffee.

And ohhhhh, the coffee. I get free unlimited brewed coffee (and we always have two going at a time), and I'm required to taste each batch I brew. I brew two batches in an hour, which means by 4:05 PM today I was over-revved rotary engine manic. The caffeine high hasn't subsided yet, and I'm a little concerned that I won't be able to sleep as early as I'd hoped. My shifts start at 7:30 AM, which means I'm up at six, so I definitely need my beauty sleep.

I was standing outside Equinox (Hollywood's most exclusive gym) handing out coupons for half-off on a smoothie for a good hour today. Most people were very excited to take one, but two people stood out as definite party poopers. One certain Fred Savage responded with "No no no, I'm alright, thanks!" -- at least he was honest and semi-polite. Frankie Muniz, on the other hand (whose left arm is now covered in tattoos), said "I'm just going to run into the gym, I'll be right out". He was not right out. Yesterday, I served coffee to Kurt Russel. He sucks.

There was a funny incident at the caffe today. I was talking to a thirty-something year old hispanic man outside the gym, who works for the company who owns all the land the caffe, gym, and other things are on. His job is to water the cement. He was doing so at 8:30 AM, and still at 1:30 when I went out again. At about 2:00 PM, the following conversation transpired:

Man: Who's that nigger who works at your place?
Andrew: Huh? Who?
M: I don't know what she is, she looks half black half and half chinese, but damn is she fiiiiiiiine.
A: Oh, I know who you're talking about! I saw her once when I was applying there, she is pretty hot.
M: Yeah bro, let me know when she works --
A: Sure thing!

I then went back to the caffe. Five minutes later, the aforementioned girl walked up to the counter and started up with me:

Black: Wow, and who are you?
Andrew: Andrew [extends hand], what's your name?
B: My name's ****** (I have no idea what her name was), but I just stopped shaking hands because I saw your buddy Alex go number two without washing his hands.
A: Well that's your loss, not mine. I have coffee to brew, you're waiting on a sandwich.
B: What time are you working until?
A: Three thirty.
B: Oh damn that sucks, I don't start until four thirty!
A: ...
B: You're really interesting, I wanted to get to know you!
A: 'kay...
B: Well -- uh, I gotta run. I'll be back though, wait for me!
A: Sure thing!

No, I didn't wait for the chocolate-faced girl. Who thought I would? Even my managers were rolling their eyes and making jokes afterwards.

I was going to keep writing, but I suddenly had the impulse to clean my room instead. C'est la vie!

Hooray for Mulholland drive(s)! I've really missed my car, driving it, and having Benny blazing in the seat next to me. I saw him tonight, and saw Carlos Guitarlos last night. I very well might be seeing the latter man again tomorrow night around UCLA with Melissa, Linda and Jessica. Hooray for dollar twenty-five ice cream sandwiches, and hooray for frat row. Richard has been sick, but I might be seeing him as well tomorrow night, I certainly hope so. Daniel seems to be doing well, not too terribly stressed (at least anymore) about finals, and his friends Jessica and Gilda seem to be staying afloat. Ben-neh left his cell phone in my car tonight, which is funny because it's not his anyway. Somebody left a Motorola RAZR in the dog bakery a few months ago, and he stuck his SIM card in and it was from that moment on his.

I'm going to costco tomorrow morning with my mom (insert momma's boy joke here), then dropping my car off at the shop in hopes of finding out what the bloody fuck is wrong with my transmission. Anybody know of any good spots in LA to get a car sideways? Let me know.

My life is looking somewhat dismal right now. Erectile dysfunction, no eating, no sleeping (and if I do sleep, it's chemically induced)... and I owe it all to dextroamphetamine! It really sucks having to chemically schedule your entire day. I held back on eating because I knew if I took Dexedrine I wouldn't be able to eat, but now I'm starving and really want to write my goddamn story and get it over with. I can't do that until I've taken the pill though (believe me when I say I've tried -- it's just not happening), and if I take a pill now I won't be able to eat with Rico and Nick in 40 minutes. Lada da dee da.



Day three isolated in my eight by twelve
I'm dusting off my last empty shelve
Where once stood nine empty Camel packs
is a space I sometimes reserve for prescription crack
I carefully craft a circle in crushed ADD pills
Before I do anything, I must first irrigate my nostrils

Progressively erasing the line between safe and self,
I've found it's the latter medication that helps
It's not my dad, ex, or job a recently lost
Not even seven traffic tickets, or what they cost
My dad's hope is that I finish school fast
but unlike him, I won't claw to stay above middle class

I'm here for a degree -- or two -- or so I'm told
Forgive me for a second, can I be so bold
as to read a book not assigned to me
by my teachers, friends, or family?
I hope I haven't been taught too much to learn
these thoughts just come and go; it's a pattern

"Five feet to freedom!" says my good friend Billy
As he sets down an absurdly large bong, I sigh; "really?"
I roll my eyes, he's so naive, I'm dumbstruck
I try to tell him you can't store happiness in ziploc
"To each his own" is neither appropriate nor sincere
Shirking responsibility just produces more fear

I don't find my friends' drug abuse particularly impressive
though my doctor says it's part of me too, if I'm a manic-depressive
A keg in the kitchen only perpetuates thirty drunk stereotypes
it's not as fun as it sounds, so don't believe all the hype
but who am I to judge? I like a good beer
and the pot thing was a joke -- Billy's sitting right here

Tonight was a really fun party. It was Tyler's 21st birthday (he just got back from Australia a couple of days ago). He's so freaking skinny, it's great. I didn't know, but it was an 80s party. He looked just like Forest Kline from Hellogoodbye, so I'll attach a picture of him. I only had two beers, but it seems that all the guys in the room really like the pop-punk/indie-rock genre. They were going crazy singing along to some Hot Rod Circuit song (not to say that Hot Rod Circuit doesn't rock), and when I turned on "At Your Funeral" by Saves The Day, they went nuts. Andrew climbed a wall and pulled a piece of the railing out, it was quite funny. Mike, Billy, Ashley, Richard and I, and Phuan in the trunk (trust me I made plenty of "Cambodian girl in the trunk jokes") drove back to the Village from the party with Phuan smoking pot in the trunk even though we passed through a security checkpoint. We dropped Billy, Richard, and Phuan back at home, and Mike, Ashley and I drove to College Eight to see Giorgio. Somebody in his apartment bought a Nintendo Wii. Ben apparently wants one really badly as well. We didn't play any of the "cool" games, but I had tons of fun golfing and bowling. Very post-modern game system, it does terrifying things with space. The phone in my room has been broken for a few days now (no matter what I do it simply won't charge), so I'm sure I have a bunch of inaccessible messages that will be amusing when I finally discover. My cell phone had basically no service anywhere today, which really sucks because at one point I found a message from my mom. I will have not talked to her in a week as of tomorrow, so I'd better get on that shit -- as they say. I also have a psychology experiment to participate in tomorrow morning at 11:00 AM, that should be a riot.

Goodnight!

There are only a few weeks left in the quarter. By my calculations, three. It could be two for all I know, I certainly hope not. I'm up to my ass in papers and a story I'm working on (here's a hint: it's about bipolar disorder). I met a girl at the Village named Ivea who is working on a 350-something page book about an apocalyptic future where people still don't give up hope and continue searching for survivors after a nuclear explosion kills basically every living creature on earth.

I signed up for a sweet History of Consciousness class today, check out the course description:

Examines the metaphors we live by in imagining time and space of the American West. Explores representations of the temporality of Californian space from prehistoric wilderness, to nostalgic suburb, to futuristic techno-utopia, to the corrupted post-modern nightmare.

I'm also going to sign up for a HisCon class taught by Angela Davis (hells yeah) as soon as some more spaces open up.

I'm writing a paper right now (same one, spiritual experience yadda yadda), and as you can tell I kind of need a break. Eric's good friend (a pro basketball player nonetheless, I forgot his name though) died a couple of days ago in a car crash -- he was cut from his team, and apparently a lot of people are suspecting suicide. So everybody be really nice to Eric today.

and, as Louis C.K. said: "I'm still not gonna fuck you, you faggot."

I'm really enjoying being single. I just hope whatever the future (er, and present) brings has an understanding of my position on monogamy. I'm sure this'll all catch up to me one day, so don't harp on me about being an asshole. At least 99% of people who've called me an asshole in the past week either love me or find me charming anyway.

Ahhhhh I'm a dick!

Mike K's little bro Zachary (though not so little) is visiting from UC Davis. Mike gets off work in a little more than thirty minutes, and then we're going to head on down to his house to christen the nook, whatever the hell that means.

Here's a picture of one of my favorite cars. Nissan Skyline GTR R34 (500+ horsepower, all-wheel drive, all-wheel steering).

Had my identity stolen, what?


Over $300 in unauthorized check card charges, what?

For those unfortunate ones who don't get it (fuck you, you don't know cinema worth a shite), that's Michael Meyers from the 1980 classic "Halloween". That's right. It's officially Halloween right now, I'm still not asleep even though I didn't sleep last night, I have to get up early(ish) in the morning to write a story for my creative writing class which is entirely too much drama for me to handle, I'm a cruel bastard, I have class from two until four, and then work from around seven or eight (nein! hah) until late at night which means I'm probably (no definitely) missing Mike Singh's totally hoppin' party, and getting home at like four in the effing morning. A major part of me hates Subway and the late hours I sometimes/entirelytoofuckingoften have to work (totally not good for my mental health), but it's more the small things like not being able to stop smelling the "Subway Smell" even long after a shift, and not being able to stop hearing the "Subway door sensor ringing noise" that I hear everywhere I go and always turn around expecting a customer to walk in (whether I'm walking down Hagar Drive or sitting at my computer in my room). A good story is about rising action, climax, and denouement -- three things completely absent from this entry.

Some CSOs can be such idiots. I (also an idiot) left my keys in my room tonight and didn't get home until 2:40 AM. I called the CSO dispatch to send somebody to let me in, and twenty minutes after I called a pathetic looking white middle-aged man in glasses showed up. He took me to my door (the name next to the door says Esau -- which for those of you just tuning in, is not my name), saw that the name on the wall didn't match the name on my ID card, and decided he had to call UCSC Police to verify that I was in fact a student. 2:40 in the AM he decides to speak at full volume (loud enough so that when he wasn't talking I could hear multiple people in the building either turning in bed or waking up) to the Police dispatch, asking if my name was on the list of College Eight students. The lady on the other end was unfortunately a mouth-breathingly incompetent moron, and took her sweet time trying to find my name on the computer. The two of them exchanged information back and forth (I tuned out pretty quickly, because I'm really tired and have a really bad headache) for a little bit, during which time I suggested twice that we go outside so he can talk on his radio. Both times he blatantly ignored me and continued to talk to the woman at the UCSC Police headquarters. The retarded CSO eventually got the information he needed and let me in, but he wasted my time, his, and probably woke up at least three people in my building.


Anyway, thanks to both Ben and Melissa I have a computer for the time being. Ben went to LA last weekend and brought up my laptop (which was at his house). I'd left my AC adapter in LA though, but fortunately Melissa has a desktop here AND a Toshiba laptop, which means I was able to borrow her AC adapter and charge my computer. Here I am, just a few hours before I have to wake up and begin my journey to Los Angeles. Boy oh boy, this should be a lot of fun!

This is a short photojournal of my life in Santa Cruz thus far.