Look at this sweet spaceship! Uhh.. uhh... LETS GET WASTED!

That's right Richard Branson. Drink up! You're free to molest the final frontier all you want now.

Down deep inside the outter most layer of hell is a little place I like to call Mojave. It is here that Qajillionaire Richard Branson and no homo life partner/engineer Burt Rutan revealed the newest vehicle to propel you halfway in to outer space only to float down out of the womb again. White Knight Two is not the sequel to a Klansman training video but rather the beautiful bird that takes the SpaceShipTwo to a great enough height for it to propel itself up in to oblivion.

I do consider myself lucky though to have attended the monumental occasion of SpaceShipOne. That being the first time a private company broke the cherry of space. Sadly though it tainted my view of space travel all too quickly. The whole idea was for Richard Brnason to stand atop a pile of gilded children and point at people in the audience. "YOU COULD GO TO SPACE!"

Then I would be like "OH EM GEE! MEEEE!?"

He softly nodded then returned to his limo that runs on china men.

I was so excited. A whole new world had opened up in my eyes. I promised to myself that the first time I go on a plane will be when I'm visiting my second cousin on Jupiter. And he would live on Jupiter because by that time the martians will have so heavily inbreed with the human populace that we were left to protect our heritage and existence by moving to Mercury and Jupiter.

Little did I know that I was being lied to. Richard Branson didn't mean me. He meant the guy behind me, possibly the one that had boots made of some sort of extinct eagle. Simply put, Space Tourism is for the rich.

While I wandered around on that hot desert morning there were assorted speakers set up all around. They would play interviews from celebrities that were also there to watch the SpaceShipOne become history. Except these celebrities were stationed miles away from all us dirty common folk, probably in space. They had the usual run of the mill b-listers. William Shatner, George Takai, Dean Kamen, Gene Simmons.

Wait... Holy shit Gene Simmons from KISS! It was a pretty slick move though by whoever was organizing all the interview clips because after that they unleashed the entire KISS discography. I knew only 4 or 5 celebrities could stand sharing a room with Burt Rutans sideburns.

So the thing went up, the pilot threw M&M's and shit around the cockpit, and then it came down using the patented Burt Rutan lay her gently technique. It's really ingenious when you think about it and it's mainly why space travel on a smaller scale is possible now. By using a specific design the ship floats down in a spiral motion while giving gravity the finger. Since the ship floats down at such a slow speed there is never this fireball effect from the atmosphere and no need for a heat shield.

It was mildly anti climactic as the day winded down but eventually worth waking up at 3 in the god damn morning. SO you all better start saving up for that two hour ride to space, the 200,000 dollar price tag isn't going to pay itself. Even though i'm pretty sure Doritos or Mountain Dew will have a contest giveaway for a pair of tickets. Plus an Xbox 360...

Why don't you just buy a bike then and move to Japan!?

I'll always remember that insult... It made absolutely no sense. There was this kid at a robotics competition and I kept hinting at him to introduce me to the lovely lady they had working on their team. He went on this big tirade that they were best friends and he didn't appreciate me hitting on her. I really wasn't being mean to her though. She was a very cute asian girl and had some sort of retro tin robot pin. Probably derived from some god awful anime but the general idea of vintageness turned me on. I went on arguing with the kid.

"At least tell me her name yeah?"
"NO GO AWAY WE NEED TO GET READY FOR THE NEXT ROUND!"

Meanwhile he was frantically digging through toolboxes while 4 or so middle aged engineers scribbled abstract figures on a white board. She was sitting there by herself. I told her I liked her pin. She said her boyfriend was riding around on a bike with their flag. That stupid guy flashed in to my head. I remember seeing him earlier in the day. I started to devise ways of harassing him now... but he had a bike. I thought about throwing tools in the spokes, but the thought of him flying through the air and being impaled on a piece of scrap aluminum tubing kept running through my head. That probably would have disqualified us from the tournament.

I went back to harassing her "best" friend. It soon became apparent that he was the straggler that latched on to her just waiting for things to go bad with the boyfriend. Which I can't blame him. She was cute and worth the insane amount of heartache day in and day out he must have felt.

"Cmoooon. She's really cute and she has a tin robot pin! I lvoe vintage Japanese stuff like that."
"Why don't you move to Japan then!"
"I don't know she seems to be into guys on bikes..."
"Why don't you just buy a bike then and move to Japan!?"

Shit. He had me beat. How was I supposed to respond to that!?
I stood there a minute. Calmly collected myself. And walked away.

Thus returning to my 2'x 2' square of gutted robot innards.

I don't know what sent that tear down my face. The scrap metal in my god damn eye or the broken heart I had.

There's no fate in my writing. Just lots and lots of procrastination.

Barstow 120 was actually created the day I considered leaving college. With my head injected of thoughts to large to comprehend this place was my medium of writing. I was supposed to write and write and prepare for my departure. People at school knew I was leaving the second they read one of my blogs, whether they knew it or not. Once again Barstow 120 is the relevance of a small desert shanty town that is in correlation with everything important in my life. Places i've lived, people i've loved, things I wish had never exsisted. Barstow being one of them.

I come back to this blog after a bizaare three days of self discovery and Kool-Aid. I fucking hate self discovery, but I fucking love Kool-Aid. With a super nova state of confusion I found myself the only way I knew how, buying tons of weird shit. Dvds depicting a new found love for 80's saturday morning cartoons, a Daft Punk movie that has reviews as mixed up as Tom Bradys sexuality, and a hookah that induces deja vu' every second I look at it. Apparently the remedy for such a state is the combination of all three. I put on He-Man, set fire to the shisha, and looked through a post card booklet that came with Electroma.

I'm at peace. Not everything is perfect. Actually nothing is really even that good. However I am getting by and that is by and by the biggest by to bye bye.

Actually the biggest eye opener is a chart of everyones sexual shenanigans that was created by the god of Cal Poly Pomona. I still have no idea how I should feel about it but it elecits the memory and reminder of why I gee tee ef ohhh'ed out of there. It's insanity brought on through little red and green lines. Never had I thought something with the color scheme of Christmas would give me such a hard on for life. I always pictured myself more of a follower to Hallows Eve. I should write more but I have to dissect my life for a Psychology paper.

It will be titled "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cereal is why i'm BAT SHIT CRAZY NOW!"

I leave you with something I wrote in a myspace blog, recounting what is still the greatest night at Cal Poly Pomona. In my eyes at least.

When left in the wake of a mass exit from the Palmitas dorm hall a certain ambiguity falls over the few last remaining residents. I say this because it is a feeling of vagueness. Left to your own devices you are forced to provide water, food, and sanity for just a single day or moment. If I had not known any better another day there would have left me scarred thinking people were never coming back.

I inhaled at 10:30 P.M.

Exhaled at 3:00 A.M.

Banding together with two comrades that I had just recently become accustomed to hanging with for more than ten minutes at a time came to my aid. Or rather we met in a neutral territory with plans to expand. In and Out sounded delicious. No surprise, it was delicious. Mind this all taking place at 7:30 P.M. it felt as if I had just woken up at four. I'm better than that though. I woke up at two. Then wasn't fully aware of my surroundings until four. Time had shifted.

In and Out had satiated my stomach but my mind still hungered for something other than Mythbusters re-runs back at the dorm. Heading towards the nearest smoke shop I had a quarter less than a sawbuck on me. Pitching in my monies, the other major characters of this night made their purchases. Walking away we held forth the legal key to what I thought was unlocking my thoughts. Salvia.

Salvia reminds me of the cruel mistress experienced at a fellow robotics members house. Smoking it in my past out of a bong i'm not sure what hit me. The pot or the 20x of salvia. Whatever it was I had caked it onto the inside of my lungs. I fell backwards for about seven minutes. Broken only by the single lamp standing in the room. Ironically it was above me and I had no idea moving up was possible in the seven minutes. We had listened to three tracks off a Doors vinyl. It almost makes sense. However the tracks were each about 5 mins long. Time shifted.

This attempt I had a mission, to take in enough until my brain forced me to surface for air. Admiring the butterfly cut out of the package, my driver recieved a call. His father wanted him to pick up a suit. A ploy by the salvia gods to warn us of the impending leave of reality. Our act of defiance was laughing in their faces. Wal Mart probably sold suits. If this menial task had been accomplished nothing would have changed in the night. Which is bizzare to reflect on because at the end of the night everything we did played no major role in the future.

Calling bluff we continued to the dorm. Getting a parking spot fifteen feet in front of the building enforced to us that we were the last beings. My room was cold. Roommate was there. His presence laid no reassurnace to life since he would have been gone in an hour. And he was a cripple. Fractured leg, crutches, and keys in pocket ready to drive home. Door shut and window open laid to the defences of random intruders.

Sadly to say I was first to go. First to be disappointed. Salvia could almost be bizzare enough to trip the people that are just watching you. However the first stage is intense giggling. Fearing that the only thing I touched upon was my inner school girl laughing at my commrades sleeves I forced myself to settle down. A room that seemed cold as the fridge quickly evolved into the microwave that convinently sits atop of the fridge in my dorm. Trying to pull meaning out of that, there's nothing but the plain fact that I started sweating balls. An inept sense to smoke developed. Smoke from the piece, the cieling, my lungs, and my commrades hits. Being such a small side effect shocked me. The effect lingered for enough time to fully enjoy it. Opening a bag of burned popcorn revealed the gold mine to intuition. I wanted to bring up the story of the guy who got cancer from breathing in Popcorn steam all his life. However Salvia did not want to hear it. I shut up before I started speaking. With such a chance to observe, I did. These people I was with talked amongst themselves. The Popcorn steam triggered their own stories whether they knew it or not. Soley on my raction people were pleased. Random individuals had come and gone. By the end it was just the trio. Inspired to do more there was a change of rooms for the three of us. Two Twenty Seven did not provide a good hookah vibe. It had Salvia Vibe. Never confuse the two.

Salvia in the moment seemed to have failed me thus setting the night open for even more disappointments. This tripod of men searching for a release on college angst switched rooms. My Commrades room had a double monitor set up that teased you of awesomeness, but the screens were awkward sizes. Never really portraying one solid set up but rather the illusion of two different computers. However the mouse had free reign which tripped balls in its own respect. (I just realized there's a running motiff of me stating something "balls".)

He had set up a snowboarding video on the larger of the two screens and kept the social scene alive with AIM on the other. As far as Snowboarding videos go this one was mediocre. Some charming personality exsisted but the way it was shot and certain segments drawn out, I grew tired of it by the end. As a way to recover the immediate sense we needed smoke of some sort. Not so much as a krutch for the night but smoke had become a reoccuring theme. Glad I had smoke. Pissed off that everyone was gone to enjoy it. Finding some of my best conversations are around a hookah i've grown to enjoy it. Doesn't seem to come often to the point where it will kill me someday, but often enough to call it a friend.

The flavor for tonight was a shot of Raspberry. In my head I already had it planned out tasting like Brisk Raspberry ice tea. Although it wasn't strong enough to actually have my fantasy come true it did have a light hint of the berry found in the sweet drink. Subtle. As I watched the second snowboard movie it just felt right. Within 10 mins of the movie I could easily point out why this one was so much better than the last one. Each boarder got their own song for their own segment. I wasn't sure if I loved the movie until I heard Suffergate City start up, yup I loved it. I see Bowie so rarely in the music scene today that it's definately refreshing to see the "Yeah Bowie. I listened to your shit back in the day. Fuck these kids." pop up in pop culture.

As Hookah died out I had finally mastered the O's in smoke. My only goal in college is to spit out letters exclaiming "Mo Money, Mo Money, Mo Money!" I figure the commas and exclamation point will take some practice. Looking to eachother my associate and I realized this was the best snowboarding movie ever made. I can gauge a movie on how good it is by making you want to do something so badly afterwards that it plagues you when you blink. We were left with no other coice than to attempt snowboarding. Timewise it was about one in the morning. With heads full of hookah, snowbard in hand, and a digital camera with a full roll of film we headed out. Me being an asshole I went to my room and checked myspace just to make sure no one was urgently trying to contact me at one in the morning through the intranet. Oh, and I grabbed my aviators. Another slick move to douchebaggery.

Praying the Salvia and hookah gods aligned in the heavens, we just wanted a good night. I was left in charge of picture taking duties. Which proved to much for my platter/. Hand me a camera and you will be in the lower right side with beautiful scenery engulfing you, or since it was night, complete darkness. I don't think any of us fully realized that snowbaring on wet grass was an impossiblity. Maybe if it was cold enough to convert to ice. However we were only standing there freezing our balls off. BALLS, I said it. I traded the camera for hauling around a big ass snowboard. Snapped some cool shots of cheap scooter tricks. One of my colleagues ate shit. Then we headed back to the dorm. Still aware of smoke or just the cold breath in air I felt my significance.

Significance is what I set out to find.

Gene Simmons Sex Tape

That's really all I have to say. He's gross, it's gross, and I love it.

Why are we all competing with this dead guy?

I sit here typing this in some dudes house. Actually more important I type this in San Diego. Still not exactly sure what I’m doing here besides hanging with a buddy of mine. This place doesn’t really seem like San Diego though. I want to call it Palm Diego Dale but it doesn’t roll off the tongue all that smoothly. And it sounds really f’ing stupid. There’s this sort of desert setting that can fool you in to believing you’re in some god forsaken part of Arizona, but then you pass Qualcomm stadium and it’s like oh… yeah this is San Diego. People will probably fight this view till they die but my lone impression of San Diego is becoming an awesome one with cacti. I SWEAR TO YOU I’m looking out at rocky mountains and cactus.

Now that I’m done lying to you people that I’m in San Diego when I’m really in the middle of Montana I can’t say for sure what this weekend holds. With maybe 20 dollars to my name I’ve already dodged the bullet of Indian Casinos. Although I know I can win. I wonder what the spread is for the All Star game…

Because the title of this entry will probably send me straight to hell I won't bother explaining it.

This is my real Valentine

I plan on watching VHS Kyuss all day on Thursday

This is your math homework. I hate you.

Homework doesn't freak me out anymore. Mainly because it's non existent here in college.