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.
I had been drinking too much. I didn’t eat well. I didn’t go to the gym. I had stopped doing zazen.
I hadn’t taken a shower in three days and my razor was broken. I looked like a Neanderthal.
I was at a club.
I was in a bad way. it had been about 24 four hours since I had been drunk. I was shaky. I was drinking more. I was drinking Jack straight. it wasn’t working. I knew I was in a bad way.
the DJ was playing Lil’ Wayne’s Lollipop.
Li-li-li-li lick it like a lollipop.
girls were getting freaky everywhere, some more than others. this was the silicon valley, this was the sausage-fest.
But this is still California, what do you expect?
I was staring at the disco ball on the ceiling.
Hey Bowman! Come dance with us dude! What are you doing?
I’m too busy thinking about doing your girlfriend.
well I didn’t say it out loud.
well alright I did say it out loud but I didn’t think my friend could hear me. or did he?
Oh shit did he just hear me say that?
I looked at them all getting freaky.
My best friend. That dude has a girlfriend like that.
other girls danced with each other.
the disco ball spun.
Li-li-li-li lick it like a lollipop.
then my revolver was at the top of the ceiling. the chambers were spinning. cli-cli-cli-cli click. cli-cli-cli-cli click.
I closed my eyes and looked away.
hadn’t I just gotten freaky on the dance floor recently?
Yeah that was in Vegas.
she was in Vegas. I wasn’t going to move there and she wasn’t going to move out here. I missed her.
cli-cli-cli-cli click.
my revolver was driving me mad. clearly I was losing it. I had to leave. I wasn’t sure where to.
Later guys.
What? Leaving already? Are you alright?
Definitely not.
Oh? What’s wrong?
My gun has too much ammo and I need to go shoot it right now.
What?! Jesus Ian. Sometimes I don’t know about you.
What do you mean?
What I mean is-
yeah, whatever, blah blah blah. I didn’t even bother listening to him. of course he didn’t know about me sometimes. I was a lunatic.
I left.
I got home and climbed into bed.
I tossed and turned. I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t thinking about my ex-girlfriend.
Fuck that bitch.
okay, maybe I was a little bit. but mostly I was thinking of the girl in Vegas.
If I could only hold her right now.
in bed alone I was a fire raging out of control.
Why don’t I just move there?
of course I wasn’t going to move there. I had business to take care of.
I got up. I cut up a line of coke on my desk and snorted it.
Ah.
my gun was in the top drawer. I took it out. I spun the chambers.
cli-cli-cli-cli click.
Ah.
then I drove 377 miles to Los Angeles.
I arrived just past noon on Saturday with 500 thousand dollars worth of Columbian white chained under a black Chevy Nova.
July 20th, 2008 · Personal
In any relationship there is a before, a during, and an after part. In a monogamous relationship, I’m only into the before part. Fuck the rest of that shit.
Just kidding. That’s not really the way I feel. Or, I guess I should say, I don’t know if that’s the way I feel or not. I just type stuff off the top of my head. I don’t really think about whether or not it’s true.
But why do I type stuff like that and put it online? Why even have a blog like this in the first fucking place?
Let me tell you.
Let me tell you what this blog is all about.
Actually first let me tell you what this blog is not all about.
This blog is not about recording the events of my life accurately and completely.
Now I’m just going to say one more thing. That thing is this: this blog is just a blog.
July 17th, 2008 · Video
It seems like most people’s favorite video is Gossip Vision, but there are a select few who have told me they like Traveling Canadians are a Pain the most.
The heart-crotch dance sequence at the end of Gossip Vision was originally planned for the beginning of Traveling Canadians are a Pain.
I couldn’t tell you what the process is for coming up with a video like this is. Every time I finish filming and editing one video, I am completely out of ideas for the next. I feel like I’ll never be able to come up with anything new ever again.
But then these visions come to me from somewhere. I don’t know where. Probably my testicles. One of the visions was a heart-crotch dance sequence.
All week I had been rocking out to this Loverboy vinyl that I had picked up real cheap. “The Kid is Hot Tonite” would form the perfect soundtrack for the heart-crotch. Or so I thought.
While driving somewhere to look at a Harley, “Working For The Weekend” followed by “Summer of ‘69″ came on the radio. Then the D.J. said something like “You just heard two hits from two Canadian rockers.”
Holy shit. Loverboy was Canadian? I went home and looked it up. Yep, they were Canadian. The irony. So I scrapped “The Kid is Hot Tonite” and the dancing sequence that went a long with it.
I was still so totally amped up to film the video though, that I woke up totally early on the day I was supposed to film it. I couldn’t sleep.
But when I started acting out the lines, something seemed wrong. My delivery was off. Something was not right with my voice. I was overly subdued. I realized later in the day that I was actually sick.
That part at the very end where I look toward the camera and it looks like I’m doing a sleazy smile I was actually sniffling and checking something on the monitor. That wasn’t even meant to be in the video. But later during editing I liked that part so I just left it in there. It looks like I’m doing a half smile, half coke residue snort.
July 16th, 2008 · Reviews
It’s 1984. Again. Hypothetically, I mean. And hypothetically, your girlfriend has just left you.
You try getting coked out of your mind. It doesn’t help. You grow your mullet longer. It doesn’t work.
Prozac hasn’t even been invented yet and there’s no such thing as Viagra. What’s a badboy like you supposed to do at a time like this?
It’s time to get your mind out of the cellar and into the gutter.
OUT OF THE CELLAR
Out of the Cellar. Blast off into the heights of consciousness, preferably with the aid of a controlled substance.
All tracks are presented in the order they appear in the album.
WANTED MAN
The album begins with a trademark Ratt dual-guitar pump-up montage. You pop a boner before you even get to the lyrics.
You cross me, you realize
You’re hot leather, you’re cold steel
You make a move, I’ll make you feel like a
Human target, in my eyes
I’ve got you, well, in my sights
And by the rope, you will hang
It’s your neck, from this Ratt gang
‘Cause I’m a wanted man
That’s right human targets, I’m a wanted man.
I’m wanted by the cops for dealing in narcotics. Or maybe I’m just wanted for cutting one of those tags off of a mattress. Or maybe well, I would be, if the cops knew about it.
And I’m wanted by all the women of the world. Or, at least my mother loves me. So eff you! I’m a wanted man, and you missed your chance, woman.
YOU’RE IN TROUBLE
Well, fast as lightnin’, and the gun
Your shadow’s got you on the run
You’re such a fighter, I said you’re the one
And I will only tell you once
You’re in trouble, what are you gonna do?
You’re in trouble, it’s what you’re goin’ through, goin’ through
Previously you were all depressed, lying around at home and feeling bad. But then you started listening to Ratt. You got your mind out of the cellar and into the gutter. The ladies found out. Now you’re in trouble, dog. They’re after you. Run like hell. Then have an orgy after you’ve given them the thrill of the chase.
ROUND AND ROUND
You concentrate when you hear the dual-guitar solo in the middle of the song and you explode in your pants. You were never able to do that before. Not without manual stimulation, I mean.
You’re becoming something more than a man. You’re becoming a Ratt.
IN YOUR DIRECTION
Well, months and days, they slowly pass
I’m not waitin’ for you
You turned me ’round in your direction
I’m lookin’ for you, yeah
Do those lyrics make any sense? Of course they do. Ratt is using some symbolism here. By “your” they mean someone with a vagina. Ratt is not going to wait around any more. If you’ve got a vagina, Ratt is headed in your direction.
SHE WANTS MONEY
I try to tell her I don’t have no cash
She looks at me and starts to laugh
I don’t wanna know, you’ve gotta go
I see her walkin’ on down the street
She sees another and she acts so sweet
You wanna try, your luck tonight
She wants money, she
She wants money, she wants money
That’s right. She wants money.
Don’t they all?
Ok, maybe not. But your ex-girlfriend did. That’s all she wanted.
Ok, maybe not again. But, just tell yourself that anyways. You’ll feel better.
LACK OF COMMUNICATION
You’re so together, you fall apart
You never miss, when you’re shootin’ straight for the heart
(Lack of communication, back off)
You call up a girl who is on the fence about dating you.
“Look. I’m awesome. If you don’t realize that then there is a serious lack of communication here. (And that shit is on your side. Open your fucking ears.)”
BACK FOR MORE
Oh damn.
You turn him away, you tell him you’re mine
You make him believe you’re but one of a kind
You give him a cold look, you tell him a lie
You turn him away, girl, you know you’re mine
And you’re back, you’re back for more
Yep. That’s right.
First you left.
But then you found out I was listening to Ratt.
You had a change of heart and now you’re back for more.
Back for more action. Back for more satisfaction. Back for more crotch grabs than Michael Jackson.
MORNING AFTER
It’s not just the guitar. It’s not just the drums. It’s not just the lyrics. It’s not just the delivery. It’s not just the rhythm. It’s not just the message.
Say I’m deliberately sent here to please
It’s what you need, so I’m here tonight
You won’t confuse me with somebody else
Look in your mirror, you’re too good for yourself
It’s all in your books, your magazines, can’t you see
I’ll be headin’ out in time, if it’s wrong or right
I’ll leave the morning after
You won’t confuse me with somebody else. Like for example, you won’t confuse me with the guy I was before I listened to Ratt.
It’s what you need, so I’m here tonight. But then I’ll leave the morning after. Not only that, I’m going to tell you about it first.
I know you’ll always think you’re one of my kind
You’re on my mind, baby, all the time
Lift your skirt, lady, high in the night
I’m just what you need, won’t you give it a try
I’m high. It’s night. I’m high in the night. You might as well lift your skirt that way too.
I’M INSANE
Well, I’m off my rocker, I fell out of my tree
I’ve been standin’ on shaky ground
There’s no helping me, yeah
I can’t remember my number
I can’t remember your name
I can’t remember all the trouble I’m in, child
Well, I’m insane
This life is too much! Too many women! Too many controlled substances!
Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you? I can’t remember!
I’m insane.
SCENE OF THE CRIME
I’ve got me a weapon, got me a loaded gun
You know I’ll track you down
And you’ll be on the run, no fun
You broke the law in the first degree
When you left me, it was the scene of the crime you committed on yourself.
Too bad. I’ve got a weapon with way too much premature ammo. And now you’re at home feeling bad while I’m out discharging my loaded weapon on multiple human targets. Actually it’s not just loaded, it’s overloaded. You best be on the run, lest you hear all about it from your neighbor.
OUT OF THE CELLAR
Man, typing that review was an intense one hour of my life. I’m going to go attempt to eat breakfast now.
July 14th, 2008 · Memoirs
I was supposed to go up to Justin’s place north of Sacramento this past weekend to prepare for burning man. But on Thursday night Justin reported that conditions were unfavorable due raging fires in the area.
Suddenly I found myself with a free weekend. I had been considering going to Irvine for a while to visit my sweet sweet ex ex girlfriend who lives there. I called her up on Friday to discuss the idea. She told me that her friend from Vegas would be visiting. This was the same friend that knew the way to my heart.
Conditions were favorable. A little too favorable and I was taken aback. Then I was taken aback that I was taken aback and snapped myself out of it. Clearly it was time for a weekend road trip to Irvine.
As far as what happened there, I put the full story below in quotes. Oh, except I removed some information to protect the guilty.
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