Albuterol For The Soul – LittleCubeNews.com

These are some speeches I wrote for a friend who was speaking at an opening for a new library. They are meant to explain why we still need libraries in an age when we don’t need libraries.

The internet has everything  – that sounds great until you’ve been scarred for life because one your “friends” sent you a link for a quiche recipe that turned out to be a picture of something called a “lemon party”… I can tell by this person dry heaving in the front row someone knows what I’m talking about. Case closed. Thank you.

OR

The internet has everything… except for free books! Okay, okay, it has www.freebooks.com, but you have to sign up for credit cards or trial memberships to travel websites just to get one free book. And what about librarians? Most of the so-called “librarians” on the internet are just girls in various states of undress… but always wearing glasses! I’m guessing they don’t know much at all about the Dewey Decimal system… unless we’re talking about porn star Dewey Hardstone, and by “decimal” we’re meaning “lovemaking”, and by system we’re meaning “technique”… but we’re getting off track here! Let’s hear it for free books!

OR

The internet will never succeed because it relies on people’s own self-moderation – most people, if given the chance, would spend all day “surfing the world wide web” until they passed out with swollen eyes and involuntary twitches in their hand. On the other hand, who wants to spend all day in the library?! Not me, libraries suck! I mean… let’s hear it for libraries!

OR

If the internet were a library, it would probably be a 50-story building at least the size 4 football fields. That sounds great (if you like libraries) but consider this – people you haven’t seen since high school would be around every corner waiting to be your new friend, half of those friends would be spending “special time with their penis” while flipping through magazines filled with pictures of Jessica Alba, and you would probably get distracted for hours by cat pictures when you just wanted to know the conversion formula for pounds to kilograms … hell, you might even wander into a lemon party! Let’s hear it for (small) libraries!

I was fined $500 for having glass at a pool party at my condominium. This is my response:

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is regarding the bullshit fine given to Unit #365 for violation of Section G-10. There are three main points in my dispute of this assessment. I have followed all rules to the best of my ability in this instance and in previous instances where I have reserved the pool with no issues, including a complete lack of fecal incidents, though not necessarily a lack of pool sex (an act not at all prohibited in your monthly newsletter “The Center Court Community Digest” that apparently now doubles as the “official rules and regulations”).

1. The douche bag who brought (and broke) the bowl was not an invited guest of mine. Because of a prior pool reservation where other people came to swim, I wanted to know what I was liable for.  I verbally verified when reserving the pool that it was OK for me to let other people use the pool and I would not be responsible for their behavior. As such, I had no interest preventing other people I did not know from swimming or enjoying themselves.  I only know the person who brought the bowl as “Brent”.  I wish I could be of more help to who this inebriated & coked-up man-whore was, but he was no friend of mine.  He was with two other strangers, one with a large tattoo on his chest which I think  was a panther or maybe Garfield the cat (I’ve heard the HOA manager is a former police officer, so perhaps these details can aid in any investigation) .  Eventually, “Brent” seemed to understand that no one was going to eat his leftover slop, and tried to take it back his car or apartment or wherever the fuck he came from. Unfortunately, this clown began doing some retarded dance in an evident effort to entertain us, at which point he dropped it.  From what I understand, this entire situation was explained by one of my friends to the security guard (who promised to “take care of us”…  thanks a lot you miserable old battle-axe). They were all quite aware of the rules because of my insistence on no glass or pool shitting, which I’m afraid makes me come across as a real tight-ass.  Yet, I have done this because I am well aware of the rules.

2. I would like to reiterate I was told that I would only be responsible for my guests, but if this was complete ass-talk from the old man in the office, I would also like to make another point. Perhaps you will regard this as a technicality, but the bowl broken was not glass. It was clearly a ceramic bowl.  I fully understand the spirit of the rule, but as stated in your official rules, this is not a violation as ceramic is not “glass of any type”. Perhaps the regulations should be rewritten to include “breakable items” so it makes it easier for you to be complete assholes in the future.

3. Another thing – the sign posted at the pool clearly states that a fine for glass is $100. I’ve included a picture of it for your reference. I also have 3 witnesses in case you try and write over it with a Sharpie the way you did to the signs at the south pool. As an interesting side note, there was an older lady swimming when I took this picture. After explaining to her what I was doing, she told me a story in a thick Hungarian accent of how she had been bringing her twelve grandkids to the pool for ten years with no problems until the current HOA manager changed the rules limiting guests for no reason other than as an exhibition of his  delusional power trip. I thought she might just be a senile immigrant, but once she used the phrase “sad, washed-up cop with no meaning in his life”, I knew she was onto something.

I hope this resolves the matter. I would also like to note that I expect my deposit check for clean-up to be returned.  The area was as clean or cleaner when we left it than we got there. Despite Brent’s culpability, he did not show much interest in cleaning his mess. We made sure it was completely picked up since we fully understand the danger this could present in a swimming area (bloody feet, which leads to bloody water, which leads to sharks).

There are several of my guests who can verify anything I’ve written if you would like their contact information. In addition, Awesome John from Unit #344 was present for a short time. He was not a guest of mine, and I had not even met this guy before. But by liberally helping himself to our cooler of Bud Light and his use of the phrase “old twat” to describe the residents at the complex, I feel like he may be a future friend.

Thank you so much for your attention in this matter,

Nathan

One of the other Nathans I often get e-mail for is apparently a runner at Victory Christian School because the cross country coach put me on his mailing list, and he recently asked for the members to update him with any changes in contact information…

Please remove me from this list – I have decided I hate running because God hates running. Ever hear of Jesus running anywhere? I didn’t think so. Don’t try and change my mind. If you ever see me running, it is only because my mom is making me – she is convinced that running expels demons when the opposite is probably true. Sometimes, I wish she would be stricken down with a holy bolt from the sky right before she reaches the finish line – maybe then all of you would learn!

Also, I don’t like to cast stones, but Nick Paloma and his entire family is insufferable [ed. note - I inferred this from the number of Palomas on the list].  If I have listen to them talk about their matching sneakers one more time, I might be forced to pray that one of them gets punched right in the face somehow.

And his response…

I will remove you from the list.  Sorry you don’t like running.  If I disliked it as much as you…I’d quit too!  Should our saviour ever change your mind about running give me a holler…I’ll add you back on.

Regards,
Rich

Those were the last 3 movies I had from Netflix – Doubt, Defiance, and Taken. I think you would have a pretty good movie by combining all 3 of the titles. Combining all 3 of the plots would be pretty good, too – a provincial nun and “progressive” priest butt heads and team up to rescue a kidnapped altar boy working as a sex slave in a Nazi forest. Given the awesome nature of such a movie, it would probably fail miserably at the box office. But the title should definitely be used for something – it has words that imply conflict, duality, and subtle ennui.  I know the public loves complex titles because Transformers 2 made 200 billion dollars on its opening weekend. Its subtitle is Revenge of the Fallen – it works on many levels because not only did the Decepticon robots “fall” in the first one, but there is apparently a transformer actually named “The Fallen”. That is fuckin’ brilliant, man.

I recently had to get a sleep test (SPOILER ALERT – it turns out I have severe sleep apnea).  I was worried the entire time leading up to it about my ability to even doze, much less enter the kind of deep slumber I assumed they would need to detect abnormalities in the REM cycle, also known as the mystical… dream sleep. I had no problems dreaming, but they would be better classified as “hallucinations”. I discovered that I tend to go a little crazy strapped in one position for hours on end, especially with the added pressure of having to eventually fall asleep when one is not sleepy at all.

The first step was wiring me up to several electrodes, the ones on my head having to be applied with a thick glue substance. At some point in the night, a drop began to inch down and across my face like a slow, confused worm.  I was not physically restricted enough that I could not wipe it away with my forehand, but I had become so convinced I was undergoing some sort of torture that I would “lose” if I brushed it off.

Much of that abused mentality was due to the fact I watched the season finale of  reality show “The Housewives of New Jersey” before I turned off the light. It was not readily apparent who these women were, if they were really housewives or really lived in New Jersey – only that one of them saw fit to let her children sit at the table while she “joked” about her husband raping her when she was drugged up after her breast implant operation, but she told the children to leave when a discussion about the destructive power of gossip came up.  I’m not phased by too much on television, but presumably because of the circumstances, I couldn’t stop thinking about these ladies – I began to focus and hate, then focus my hate, then hate my focus – my thoughts began to spin wildly out of control to other subjects as well.  Soon, my legs were shaking with frustration and anger (SPOLER ALERT – i was also diagnosed with “concurrent movement periodic limb disorder”). I have my doubts to the validity of this finding – my kicking was largely voluntary.

The electrodes on my legs actually got pulled off a few times. This led to Brian, the technician, sneaking into the room to reattach them. A large black man sporadically sneaking into the room and pulling down my covers was another big reason I had trouble falling asleep. No, I am not racist, and I was not having flashbacks to prison (I have never been incarcerated)…  It was more about flashbacks to my childhood.

By 4am it was looking like I was not going to fall asleep at all. As the air conditioning came on causing the ceiling fan to start squeaking again (a curious feature for a room designed to facilitate sleep, for sure), I seriously considered ripping off all the wires and running out. This was right after I seriously considered masturbating to achieve some sort of drowsiness, even though I was being monitored by a camera and microphones.  At that point Brian came in again to “adjust” something – foiled again, guy, I was still awake!

I did ask him if I could have taken an Ambien – I had assumed they needed a natural sample of my sleeping and not the stoned version where I vocally marvel at the shadow puppets on the wall before drifting off. He said I could have taken one, but did not recommend doing that now since it was so late. I took one as soon as he left.

He woke me up two hours later and gave me a glass of orange juice. I almost passed out several times on the way home, but I had given them 2 hours of deep sleep and enough evidence for a diagnosis (which you already know if you’ve heard the spoilers). I’m not totally convinced of their competency, though, as there was no mention at all in the report of when I was wide awake, but began to fake-snore for about 10 minutes to see if I could fool them. I guess I did.

Sure,  I woke up a bit hungover, but I’ll probably be too drunk to read later, much less proofread, so I’m writing this now.  What a day! It started off kind of on a downer by looking at Facebook photos of vacationing “friends” in South Carolina, Portland, and Ecuador… whatever, I’ve got a bowl of cereal and a movie about post-partum depression on Lifetime.  Seriosuly, don’t leave her alone with the baby – she’s already cut off the tip of her finger “accidentally”. Well, it was time to go to Target – I needed to pick up some new swimming shorts.  What better time to eat some thick, greasy corrugated fiberboard? Sadly, the personal pan pizzas at the snack bar had to suffice – hardly on the same level.  I came home, and while in my boxers and listening to L.A. Guns, replaced the LCD screen on a Macbook for a lady at work (I wonder if she’ll pay me?). Then, I realized it is stupid for me to ever have self-esteem issues. I also watched the end of Cocktail and the entirety of Overboard on A&E. An entire bag of pretzels and slices of extra sharp cheese are delicious. In the shower, a song from Twisted Sister came on off the album, Still Hungry. It is a 2004 note-by-note re-recording of their seminal album Stay Hungry. Isn’t that the best thing you’ve ever heard of? If somone will pick me up, I’m supposed to go to Toby Keith’s bar in Mesa called I Love This Bar. I love this life.

An e-mail for the other Nathan Fuller accidentally landed in my inbox the other day.  Apparently, my shadow Nathan is experiencing some heartache… or something…

Hi Mr. Wall

Thanks for the email. =) I see your reasons and I respect them, that is ok.  I was actually praying that whatever you would say would determine what I would do.  I am content to be just friends, and if sometime in the future if the interest is still there we can continue are friendship at a better more logical time.  Essie is young, and your right about her not needing anything official with any guy while at NCA.  I appreciate and respect both you and and Essie =) thank you for the email.  Essie did say that if I wanted to talk/email her after I left that I needed to ask you first.  Do I have our permission to email/chat with her?

~Nathan Fuller

His response…

Yes, that would be fine. Thanks for taking the time to write as well.

Dave

And my response to Mr. Wall, in hopes of getting a restraining order taken out on somebody…

Fortunately, I have had a change of heart via the transmission of God’s Will through my daily prayer sessions. Ultimately, I must do what God says, not (like I had hoped) what you say – I’m sorry.

True love is a gift like the holy sunshine and we must bathe in its warmth – so I will follow Essie to NCA! If we cannot live together right now, then I have found a small room for rent  in very close proximity to campus. It is under a bar – technically a basement – but the rent is cheap if I agree to work as a busboy and I share my space with unopened palettes of beer.

I understand your concern that Essie is young… very young… but there is no age requirement for love. I mean, legally, there might be one according to man’s law, but that is not the Law I follow… anyway, I don’t think that necessarily applies here. How old is Essie again?

I have yet to make it official with Essie but as soon as she logs into her IM we will chat about it. I’m sure she will be happy to here my decision! I long for the day when she sends me the “love emoticon,” which is a little throbbing heart – I must say I’m getting frustrated by the constant smiley faces.

Sincerely,

Nathan

The stripper wasn’t on my list. I was just supposed to pick up helium balloons and maybe a birthday card. The goal was to buy as many balloons as it would take to fill a bedroom so they would spill out when the door was opened – surprise! It turned out balloons, especially three hundred of them, cost a lot more than I was willing to spend. Still, I got everything on my list and made it Abbey’s surprise party just in time (stuffing two dozen balloons into the cab of a truck takes some work… another reason why three hundred would not have gone smoothly). Some other people had some lists, too, and they were just as successful – chips, streamers, beer, and as you may have inferred, a bronzed hard-body named Emmanuel.

The birthday girl, Abbey, was a friend of mine from work. She has a roommate named Val, who organized the whole thing… and yes, by “thing”, I do mean penis. The “thing” did not arrive till later in the night. The reason for it for even being there had more to do with Val’s love for good times than Abbey’s love for man junk. Earlier in the day Val had ripped the entire back of her dress open but continued to run errands (sans underwear), often proclaims to pee herself when excited (I know from my mommy friends this not unusual if you’ve given birth, but she was childless and I think she was kind of serious), only stops drinking to take vomit time-outs, and tried her hardest to order the midget version of Emmanuel (he was already booked) – that’s just who she is.  She does what she wants.

Around ten o’clock, Abbey was informed a cop was at the door and there was a noise complaint. This had the ring of authenticity because they had gotten several of these before. Not so authentic was this policeman’s overpowering cologne and boom-box. Abbey was too drunk to notice, though, so it seemed to come as a shock to her when the young patrolman took off his shirt and backed her onto a stool. He quickly disrobed down to his thong, and while he was quite muscular, he was not as endowed as I expected. Never having seen a (male) stripper before, I just assumed this was a job requirement and he would make us all call him by his nickname the “Hispanic Horse”.

His dance started off with a gentle waltz of tease and insinuation, but that did not last for long. He then spanked, humped, face-crotched, straddled, and did a bunch of other things to her whose names can only be found somewhere in the dark corners of the internet (Melon Dive, anyone?). While I cannot say I found this appealing, someone sure did. Val. After Abbey, she took her turn that involved even more positions and an even more alarming proximity between the buttocks and face. She also did some flashing. Did I mention that her parents were in attendance? They seemed pretty nonplussed by the whole affair. Once the performance was over, Val’s dad shook Emmanuel’s hand and expressed his respect for the fact he could perform and chew gum at the same time.

Overall, my first experience with erotic male ballet was… eye-opening. And I’ll be having another birthday of my own someday. I’d put Emmanuel on my own list… but I think I want the midget.

Every two months or so I get an e-mail for someone with my name, and from what I can judge about the inquiries, he is apparently a furniture mover in California. Whatever business card or napkin he accidentally put my e-mail address on – he has not made much effort to correct it. I’ve held my tongue even though I’m sure, somewhere out there, he thinks he’s better than me just because he can maneuver a right-hand turn in something larger than a Toyota Tacoma. The latest e-mail was from someone giving rates for vans and the required insurance to rent them. No one tells me what insurance I need (besides my state government), and I was bored at work, so I was forced to respond:

Dear Sydney “Penske” Larson,

First off, I don’t remember talking to you, but that is not necessarily unusual, so I’m sure it was a nice conversation, and I appreciate you getting back to me with some info it seems I may have asked for.

The way it looks, I would not mind renting several vans from you for many years. Do you not have yearly rates or 5-year rates? Is there any charge for removing any carpeting I might install?

I do have some concerns about the insurance requirements. I, of course, do not have any insurance at all, much less a “minimum combined single limit of $1,000,000 for tractors and $750,000 for straight trucks”. How do I go about getting something like this? Are
there driving tests involved or do I also need an official license? That could be somewhat of a problem – let’s just say I ran someone over once… but at least one of us was drunk! Ha, ha, jk – it was only him (wink, wink). No really, I’m joking, you would have to be crazy to rent vans to someone who admitted to alcoholism.

Sincerely,
Nathan

To my surprise he actually wrote back and informed me that “legally, you do need an official license to drive the vehicle, as you would need driving any other motorized automobile/truck on CA road’s and highways”.

Hey Penske,

Hmmm, it seems we may be getting closer to an oral agreement (I, of course, will not “do written contracts” as I have had my fair share of hassles with those in the past). The carpet could be a deal breaker, but I could probably rip it out myself. And while I assume you do a standard inspection of the vehicles upon my return of them, I must insist a forensic-style black light NOT be used.

I did not realize you came by my facility… I’m a little creeped out. Did we meet? Also, I’m suprised you would assume I have insurance on the vehicles parked in the lot, or that they are even mine. You know what they say you do when you “assume” – you make a real asshole out of yourself. It’s all good, though, because I have plenty of insurance. I am not sure if I have a “certificate”, so I will need you to send me (via postal mail) a certificate just exactly the way you need it except for the name part empty – just so I can see EXACTLY what you are looking for – then I can go through my filing system and find it. Sometimes, dealing with all this beuracratic mumbo-jumbo so the feds can have their goddamn paperwork can be such a hassle. This next part is a joke because my brother told me once its illegal to talk shit against the government over e-mail, but sometimes it makes me want to fire bomb a DMV.

Unfortunately, as you probably know, it seems the only legal way to protest our government is not to file taxes.

Sorry, I am going off on a tangent. Talk to you soon, Syd!

Nathan

Well, he wrote back again informing me that “standard procedure for all rentals require a ‘rental agreement contract’ (his quotes). I wish you the best of luck with your business.”

Syd,

Why does this always happen to me?!

Sincerely,
Nathan

This is one of the first videos I made in college. It introduced me to the joy of long hours spent alone in a dark room huddling over a VHS to VHS editing bay. While the bays have been replaced by computer systems, luckily, the long dark hours have remained the same.

I shot this video of my roommate and her friend while spending the day in their leasng office. I mostly only remember Misty (the friend) offering to do a "private shoot" in one of the apartments after work, and I also remember me laughing it off. They did not call me The Lady Killer in college for nothing (it was, instead, for irony).

I drove two hours south of Tucson to capture this video from one of the state’s most popular tourist attractions. I had been there 6 six times prior so it went very smoothly.