August 7th, 2008 · Reviews
BEST COMMENT PROVIDING EVIDENCE THAT SOMEONE TAKES MY EVALUATION OF COMMENTS TOO SERIOUSLY
Allen on Favorite Reader Comments, June 2008
I’m thinking about working on my candidacy for worst comments now. Hm…
BEST BLAH BLAH BLAH WITH SOME COMPLIMENTS THROWN IN BUT THEN HEY IT’S ALL ABOUT ME AND HERE’S A LINK TO SOMETHING I WROTE SPAM COMMENT
The Baglady on Red Glare
loved this post. Especially this part: “Today, you were too afraid to admit you wanted to get laid to the wife you wish you didn’t marry. Today, you got a degree that your parents told you to get so that they could brag to other parents.”
Then again, America the country also spews out a lot of propaganda that makes you think you are free, but in fact you are still an indentured servant to be taxed into oblivion. Anyway, here is my 4th of July post: http://www.wisebread.com/patriotism-and-personal-finance-a-brief-walk-through-american-history
BEST EVIDENCE OF SOMEONE LEARNING SOMETHING IMPORTANT FROM MY BLOG
Ross on 80s Metal For Coke Addicts III: The Ratt Album “Out of the Cellar”
Some may say you’re a bad influence. I just want to say, “Thanks!”. It would have taken me months to understand the lyrics and more time to find the true meaning behind them.
This makes me want to grab a bag of coke, a couple of girls, party, listen to Ratt, and get some lady skirts high… high in the night.
BEST AND MOST USEFUL ADVICE STYLE COMMENT
Alex on Life With A Loaded Gun
I found this to be a pretty good rule in life:
“no coke on Mondays”
BEST MULTIPLE-CHOICE QUESTION STYLE COMMENT
I, the People on Life With A Loaded Gun
Lil’ Wayne is:
a) a venereal disease
b) a menstrual bleed
c) both
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080616200613AAZtZuU&show=7
BEST COMMENT, PERIOD
Ross on Favorite Reader Comments, June 2008
Fucking A. I didn’t make the “cut”. You bitch!
Pick one of my 2 extremely stupid comments and put that in there with some witty shit for “best of”… FUCK! jezz
August 6th, 2008 · Memoirs
On July 28th my subscriber count doubled. At first I couldn’t account for the sudden spike in readership. Then I remembered something (barely) about that night I got stoned with my lawyer.
Before we got high we went to a bar in San Francisco and saw an 80s cover band play. The band finished their set and everyone started chanting “one more song! one more song!” Someone grabbed the microphone and handed it to me. I yelled “one more song!” a few times. Then I yelled “IF IT FEELS GOOD DO IT DOT COM!” as loud as I could. Just kidding, I didn’t yell it as loud as I could but I yelled it loud.
It’s funny to think that half of the people that subscribe to this blog are people that heard me yell the name of a random website in a bar, remembered the name of the website even though they were drunk, and then went home and looked it up. Then after all that, they subscribed.
If you are one of those people, clearly you are in the Ian Bowman demographic. Thank you for that.
Incidentally, if you are into this blog in addition to subscribing you can
- Comment - Comments are good.
- Correspond Privately - Some people I know never comment but correspond with me privately regarding what I write on this blog. They tell me what they like and what they don’t like. I take what they say heavily into consideration when choosing what kinds of stuff I write about. If you want to discuss something my email address is listed in the contact page.
Any feedback is important because I write this blog for the people that read it. People like you.
However you found it, thank you for being a person who reads ifitfeelsgooddoit.com.
August 5th, 2008 · Memoirs
RENDEZVOUS II
I woke up at the Wild Wild West Hotel. I extricated myself from it.
I checked into the Hard Rock. My room would not be ready for a few hours. I called my ex ex girlfriend’s girlfriend and told her where I was. She drove over to pick me up.
While I was waiting A called me. Someone had stepped on her toe and broke it in LAX, so she left. We agreed to meet in Orange County sometime.
It was approximately 107 degrees. My ex ex girlfriend’s girlfriend arrived. It was good.
NOT EXACTLY LIKE THAT
When I was in Vegas I heard this country song on the radio. A lyrical excerpt follows.
Beer just makes her turn up her nose
And, she can’t stand the thought of sippin’ champagne
No Cuervo Gold Margaritas
Just ain’t enough good burn in tequila
That song does not describe my ex ex girlfriend’s girlfriend. (Well, except for the next part that says she likes to drink whiskey.)
I love to get together with my ex ex girlfriend’s girlfriend. A list of our favorite activities follows.
- Getting drunk.
- Quickly.
- Other stuff.
First we had coffee, blah blah blah. Anyways, let me just cut to the chase. Eventually my room was ready in the Hard Rock. It had a great view of the pool. Since it was Sunday, it also had a great view of the Rehab party. That view was surreal.
Of course we took no pictures of it. Fuck pictures. Pictures are for boring people. Plus we were busy making full use of the amenities.
OTHER STUFF
Then we went out and watched Zoomanity.
Then we got drunk at a sushi bar during happy hour.
Then we went to Body English. More on that later.
Like right now. Have you ever been to a club and seen two people getting freaky with a capitol f on the dance floor? I mean like their behavior is enough to make you ask yourself “have these people no standards of decency?”
That was us. And it was good.
The next morning in my hotel room I woke up. I stared at the ceiling. I was hit with a radical thought.
“I love my life.”
August 4th, 2008 · Memoirs
The title is complete bullshit. Well, maybe not complete bullshit. But the content is the true story of my life. I was inspired by thebaglady’s continuing translations of her Dad’s story, Fifteen Years In America and motivated by this comment that I left regarding it.
When we moved from Sunnyvale to Benicia it was like someone turned up the saturation knob for my life.
Instead of renting a store, my parents rented a house that was near the bay. It was windy, but I loved to run down to the end of the street and play in the water. In the backyard was a lawn, quite a welcome change from the dirt lot I had played in before.
My parents enrolled me in Mills, the downtown public elementary school. It seemed so loud and dirty. The students there were like savages compared to the sterile refined classmates I was used to. There was no long line of yuppies out in front to pick up their kids after school. One of my classmates had parents that were in the Hells Angels.
In private school I had learned basic reading, writing and math. Now in kindergarten at public school I learned, well I don’t remember what I learned actually. Mostly I remember scooping rice and taking naps.
My mom still lit two Shabbat candles on Friday nights. One time when one of our cats died, my dad had me stand over its grave right after we buried it and speak Hebrew. My dad just thought that was a cool thing to do. It was a little bit on the morbid side. For the most part though, other than those two examples, all Jewishness that I had learned was dispensed with. One of the first things we did when we moved to Benicia was celebrate Easter with some cousins of mine that lived in Napa. Well, by celebrate I mean we had an Easter egg hunt and then ate candy afterwards.
SOUTHERN MAN
My mom worked early in the morning before I got up to go to school. So, everyday my Dad would wake me up.
My dad was from the South. His definition of breakfast was very American. He would cook a huge breakfast consisting of pancakes, hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, sausage, and other ingredients commonly associated with a diner. Then he would sit with me at the table and make sure I ate all of it. He was almost always in a good mood at that time of the day, and almost always not in a good mood after it.
Starting from the first-grade, I rode my bike to school.
My first-grade teacher was also from the south. He had trouble pronouncing my name. When he said “Ian” it sounded like “in.” So, a bunch of my classmates called me “in,” and continued to do so for years.
A CONVERSATION WITH THEM ON GOOGLE TALK GOES A LITTLE SOMETHING LIKE THIS
me: got a DS 
just arrived
nintendo DS i mean
leon: cool. now you can play nintendogs
do coke
bang hot chicks
Dude. Leon, I like the way you think. Sounds like a winning combo.
ADDITIONAL CORRESPONDENCE FROM YESTERDAY
I received two text messages from my sweet ex ex girlfriend.
From: Nicole
Hey hows it going? I felt your rage today as seen in your recent post on the vegas pants vs. Boring house owner
That’s quite some rage.
Well, of course I was sorry to hear that and asked her what prompted it.
From: Nicole
Long story, by the way, i am not sure but i get an emo vibe from you
Emo vibe? Selling my bike was an emotional moment, but I’m not emo. The only vibe you should feel from me is the horny vibe, and I’m not just talking about when I reminisce about when me n u were on the menu.
This post is kind of embarrassing because now people know I have a nintendo DS. Note that I got it with rewards points from my citi mastercard. But yeah, in addition to being a full-time sex addict and recreational drug user, I also experiment with being a dork.
July 30th, 2008 · Memoirs
On Monday I had an emotional moment. I sold my motorcycle.
I took a picture of it before I rode it to work for the last time.
But it is in good hands now. I sold it to my co-worker and good friend Hoang. After he bought it he immediately took it from work to the gas station. He filled up the tank and came back with a huge smile on his face.
I remember a similar transition a few years ago when I bought it. It was my first bike, a 1999 Suzuki GS500. I rode it to a nearby hill and looked out over the bay. I spoke to myself inside my helmet.
“You made it.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what the “it” was, but I felt that getting the bike was the only time since I graduated that I had done something important. I became a different person.
Incidentally that person banged a lot more chicks.
THE FUTURE
Now it’s time for my next bike. I’m one of those weirdos who likes both Harleys and sport bikes. I like Harleys more, but for my second bike I’ll get a sport bike.
I spent half of Saturday recovering from a drunk and stoned Friday night. In other words, I took a nap.
The other half I spent at two different barbecues. Sum total of evites for the weekend was three, including my lawyer’s birthday celebration on Friday. Just try to beat that shit. You can’t.
I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, PERIOD
The second barbecue was thrown by a guy I knew from grad school who got a PhD and now works for Google. We used to work in the same lab. He has a history of criticizing me and generally telling people what to do. I’ll call him C, as in Cock.
Some of you probably think you have an idea where this is going. Some of you probably do.
Despite the annoying characteristics of his personality I would easily refer to him as a friend. As I have said I have no standards.
He invited me to his barbecue. That was nice. But then he acted distant from the beginning. I’m not sure what that was all about. Maybe he read what I had to say about Googlers. I certainly hope so.
Finally I just went up to him.
“Hey C, what’s up man. Come here man.”
I gave him one of those handshake hugs.
“Ah ha ha. Hi, Ian. Yes, man hug, man hug. Ha ha.”
My gesture of good will had blown his mind.
“So Ian, looking good. Let’s see… man, those are nice pants.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Nice pants indeed. I bought these Monarchy pants the last time I was in Vegas. God damn I looked good in them.
“How much did you pay for those?”
“Well. Uh. Guess.”
“Oh, I don’t know Ian. Probably too much.”
“Ha ha.”
“$50.”
“Ha ha, higher.”
“Oh man. You didn’t… $70.”
Blah blah blah. It went on like this for some time until I revealed to him that I spent approximately $200 on my pants.
“What?! You spent two hundred dollars on pants????”
He was disgusted and in shock. It was like I had just said “I’m a registered sex offender.”
I tried to justify the purchase.
“Well, I mean, I don’t buy that much in the way of clothing. I really thought-”
“What? No way!! You spent more than a hundred dollars on pants?? That’s horrible. I don’t know about you.”
He started to walk away.
I looked in C’s hand. What a surprise, he was holding a digital camera. He was on his way to take pictures and be boring.
“I bet you spent more than one hundred dollars on that camera.”
He turned around.
“Uh. Yeah I did.”
Is spending more than $100 on a digital camera morally superior to spending more than $100 on a pair of pants? If so, then fuck morality.
“Well, see: I didn’t buy a camera. Fuck digital cameras. People take pictures of me.”
“Uh…”
He walked away faster. Maybe he thought I was going to give him a beat down. If so, he was right.
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE
C recently bought a house. What a coincidence: C recently bought a house, and C invited me to a barbecue for the first time ever.
When I was leaving the barbecue I got C’s phone number. I envisioned having lunch with him and telling him just how annoying he was to his face. I’m into that kind of thing.
But as I was walking to my truck he brought up my pants again.
“Goodbye to you and your two hundred dollar pants.”
“What?”
“Well uh, those are some expensive pants.”
I looked at C standing there in the moonlight in front of his San Jose 3/1.
“How much did you spend on your house?”
There was nothing he could say. He spends more in property taxes every month than I spent on my pants.
Well, he did say something after forming a deer in the headlights look.
“Uhhhhh… spent… too much.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you did. And let me tell you something: I have way more fun with these pair of pants than you do with your house.”
He knew I was right. He wanted to be me but he wasn’t. He walked back inside to his boring life.
CONCLUSION
My pants are a gift to humanity that everyone wants to get inside of.
July 26th, 2008 · Memoirs
I got stoned out of my mind last night. Before that I got completely drunk. Ironically, it was with my lawyer. Maybe it wasn’t that ironic.
We watched Airplane. I used to watch that movie all the time when I was a kid. I thought it was totally funny.
When I watched it last night I was so confused. It was so full of references I didn’t get. I thought to myself that I was watching Airplane 3 or something. It was nothing like the movie I remembered.
Luckily my truck was still there this morning at the corner of Union and Montgomery.
It’s 11 a.m. I’m home. Good night.
Holy shit am I going bald?
there was a lot of scalp at the top of my head. I could only see it if I bent forward. maybe it was just my haircut. or maybe I was just another obsessively vain dude from California.
Oh well I like short girls anyways.
I was in the bathroom of a metal bar in downtown L.A. it was a not a nice place.
I walked out of the bathroom and a Motley Crue song was playing.
I sat at the bar next to the middleman. he turned his head and asked me a question.
What can I get you, Bowman?
Hm. How about name-dropping no-names, glamorized cocaine, puppets with strings of gold?
Huh?
It’s the lyrics to this song.
Oh.
So do you have my money or what?
Yeah, we wired it. You can check your account.
it wasn’t the first time we had done business.
I know you’re good for it. Space A23 in the lot across the street. Black Chevy Nova.
I handed him the keys.
Cool. I’m gonna take off now. You just gonna chill here?
Yeah, for a little bit. Kinda tired.
I’ll bet. Later.
I ordered a Jack on the rocks.
the middleman left but a bunch of his crew stayed behind, including a girl. she came and sat next to me.
she had something to ask me.
I have something to ask you.
What?
Are you carrying a loaded gun?
I looked at the girl and then behind me at the rest of the group and then back at the girl.
That’s kind of a forward question isn’t it?
Yeah, maybe so.
I just stared and didn’t say anything.
Well? Are you going to tell me a forward answer?
she was wearing a short dress.
I’ve got bullets to spare.
she crossed her legs.
What kind of gun is it?
Smith & Wesson. 357 revolver.
she uncrossed her legs.
Let’s leave. Back to my apartment.
What? Are you sure? Are you even legal?
Yes.
Really? No you’re not.
Yes I am, and I have the documentation to prove it.
she got out her drivers license, two credit cards and her passport. she showed them to me. she was 19.
See I told you.
Okay. You’re right. In which case I have something to ask you.
she put her elbow on the bar and looked at me.
Okay.
Do you give good hand jobs?
she took her elbow off the table.
What?
Do you give a good hand job?
Good hand job?!
Yeah.
Fuck hand jobs. Who gives hand jobs anymore? Those are so 1955.
she had passed the litmus test.
Okay good. Clearly you are in the Ian Bowman demographic.
she smiled. then she laughed.
Ha ha ha ha!
a that point I just had two things to say.
I just have two things to say.
What? What are they?
Skin on skin. Let the love begin.
and it did. like three times. before that she drove us to her apartment in a Ferrari.
at dawn she was sleeping I reached down to the floor and grabbed my gun.
cli-cli-cli-cli click. cli-cli-cli-cli click.
Too many bullets.
then I slept some more.
July 23rd, 2008 · Personal
People sometimes think I’m a Raiders fan. Wrong. It’s an obsession.
I got my 2008 season ticket package yesterday. It was a package, literally. Like, it came in a box.
Inside was all kinds of shit.
My favorite thing besides the tickets was the FAN CODE OF CONDUCT, with a huge list of prohibited actions.
Clearly the NFL produced this FAN CODE OF CONDUCT and sent a customized version to every team. Clearly whoever came up with this list has never been to a Raiders game.
They should have more completely customized the list for the Raiders. Instead of THE FOLLOWING ACTIONS ARE PROHIBITED, it should say DO THE FOLLOWING AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE WHEN THE OAKLAND POLICE ARE NOT STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU.
Even the major offenses I see regularly at Raiders games. Some of the minor offenses are so widespread I don’t even know how anyone could stop them from happening.
Case in point, the sixth prohibited item: “Use of foul, abusive, or obscene language or gestures.”
The first time I went to a Raiders season opener I went with Axe. The game was against the Kansas City Chiefs. As we walked to our seats just before the game, people were standing up, flipping off the field and yelling “FUCK K.C.! FUCK K.C.! FUCK K.C.!” And when I say people, I mean everyone I could see. Men, women and children.
What did the police do about it? Absolutely nothing. What could they do about it? Basically nothing. They weren’t going to shut down the game and kick 65,000 people out of the stadium. 65,000 Raider fans is a group of individuals greater in number and more violent than the military personnel in some countries (e.g. Canada).
This years season opener is on September 8th. It can not arrive soon enough.
RSS
