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Thursday, July 22, 2004

I hate being alone because then I am left with my thoughts and when that happens, sadness usually follows.


MOOD: soreand congestedbutcontent

BACKGROUND:Eddie Izzard's "Circle" DVD


It's not that I'm depressed. That is not me. Don't get me wrong. My life is good. It is very good. My daughter, my incredibly funny and beautiful two year old daughter Emerald, says more and more words every day. It's incredible to watch a little baby girl become a young woman right in front of my face. I never ever wanted to be a father and to be honest when I started dating Natasha over a year ago I knew that she had a child but I didn't let it sink in my mind. I never thought that I would become a dad and a father and have a young girl's life in my hands, but now that i do, it is the greatest gift in the world. I am a father. I am a dad. And I would not give that up for anything in the world.





My work is good. My work is excellent. As far as I'm concerned, my job is "the greatest and best job in the world (tribute)" and no other job can come close to being the manager of the children's department of a Barnes and Noble bookstore. There are some negative aspects of it, I will admit. There's a manager or two there who think that employee satisfaction means talking down to their employees and not caring about how they feel. And occasionally there runs a slight scent of Machiavellian political maneuvering throughout the breakroom, but those things are slight flaws. My employees support and respect my work with Woodism and that is utterly incredible. I could not ask for better people to work with. Plus, my job is the best. I read children's books, get some free stripped copies of cool sci-fi and teen series stuff, I run a Harry Potter club for kids that meets once a month, I get to do two ultra cool storytimes a week, including a Pajama storytime that allows me to be at work in pajamas and a t-shirt and socks. Apart from the occasional fat white trash lady and the asshole yuppie businessman, no one has a better job than I do.





I have, sadly, grown apart from my family. I love them and care for them and miss them, but I never see them or talk to them. My parents occasionally call me up when they're drinking and into a talkative mood, but since they're obviously drinking when they call me, I feel like I am the equivalent to a "Hey, whatever happened to ..." conversation, like they only call me when they've had a few and go, oh crap, we have a son named Steve, don't we? And my brother, I love and care for and all that stuff, but I also don't see him. There are a million things I could say at this point but I decide not to. My brother is a strange, unclassifiable entity. I miss them.


Natasha and I have been through a gauntlet recently. We have been tested on how strong our love for each other really is. We have been severely tested on our love and our trust and on how far we want to go with each other. there's been some pain and there's been the divulgence of some hidden stuff that stings and weighs down on a person, makes them struggle, makes it hard to breathe sometimes, but after almost three weeks of heartache and drama and tears and emotion, I think that Natasha and I are finally ready to be with each other, and with only with each other, for the rest of our lives.


I am afraid that I might become famous. This is something that I've had a really hard time talking about to anyone, not like I have any friends anyway, but I thought that by talking it out here I might feel better. I don't want anyone to think that I'm cocky or that I have a big ass ego, because I am one of the most ego-less people you're likely to meet. I'm skinny, nerdy, shy, quiet, nice, and I watch a lot of Ed Wood films and pro-wrestling. But I'm scared nonetheless.


I've always been a sort of semi-celebrity because of my website. I have a little cult following. I'm big in England and Germany and especially Italy. I've had the Church of Ed Wood since 1996. I've been preaching and promoting my religion since back when I was nineteen and I'm twenty-eight now. And I've had some minor successes. I've been on ABCnews.com and I've been on Mark and Brian and that asshole jerkoff piece of crap Howard Stern-wannabe Mancow's shitty show and I've been on a little bit of tv and I've had a lot of ink done and I've garnered a little bit of success. But I finally feel on the verge of something big, something monumental, something that will change my life forever.





First off, I was interviewed for a piece about me on Film Threat.com, the leading world's leading internet movie site. It was a great inverview that I feel perfectly encapsulated everything that is important about the religion I created. Click here right now and go read it because it's really good stuff. And that brought with it a lot of parties interested in what I was doing, which felt good to finally have some major recognition. But last monday, I was interviewed for an article that is going to run in the October issue of Premiere magazine. I walked over the phone with the interview guy, the editor of the Action section of the magazine, for about 45 minutes about Ed Wood and Woodism and everything. It was an amazing interview and it's going to run in one of the world's major entertainment magazines. And the reality of that scares me.


I am going to be published in fucking Premiere magazine. I am going to be known. My religion is going to be known. Joe Six-Pack in West Memphis who beats his wife and fucks his daughter is going to know who I am (BTW FREE THE WEST MEMPHIS THREE). Almost everyone I grew up with is going to see who I've become. Every ex-girlfriend I've ever had is going to see me as Reverend Steve Galindo. That is amazing. That is fucking crazy. Wow. Pick up a copy of the October issue when you get a chance.


As for me, I need to get ready for work. See you.


Friday, July 2, 2004

I'm sitting here eating up the positivity and the good music and trying not to think about those annoying little things that are trying to sneak back into my life.


MOOD: sweatyandconfusedbutquietlycontent

BACKGROUND: Authority Zero "Andiamo" (ass kicking album)


My daughter is watching the Powerpuff Girls Movie. My girlfriend is getting ready to go to her other job. Long story. And there's a new cat in my life that's scratching my feet to a bloody pulp as I type this. And there's some strange things going on in my life, small, annoying little things that are almost on the verge of pissing me off and bringing undue drama into my life.


No way. I refuse to let that happen. Positivity and happiness isn't something that you wait to come to you like sitting and waiting for a bus. It's something that comes to you via being proactive and optomistic and refusing to let all that pent up bullshit drama anger bickering get under your skin.



Which Sifl & Olly Show Character Are You?


Like my stupid piece of crap Hitleresque German car that has decided to engage its own anti-theft system. So the ignition is locked and the only way to unlock it is to use the SECOND ignition key that I don't have. I believe that my parents have it but they don't really talk to me and I have no way of getting hold of them. They live in Phoenix somewhere and I don't know where they live or what their phone number is. Sure they call my older brother about once a week but I haven't had any contact with them since Mother's Day.


Then there's my shy loneliness that I go through on a fairly daily basis. Sure, I'm the founder of my own religion and I have over 3,000 followers worlwide and all that, but in the real world I'm a shy, scared sort of guy and I can get really nervous and freaked out when I'm around new people that I don't know very well. That almost seems like a contradiction but sometimes I'm a walking contradiction.


I'm a loudmouth, angry, fast, wild, silly punk guy who's also quiet and shy and emo and nervous and easily panicked.


That and I don't really have too many friends either. I have a lot of aquaintances and a lot of people that I know but I don't really have anyone that I can call and go to the movies with, you know? I guess this also comes partially with being a father but I don't really have too much of a life out of my job and my religion and my family.


Then there's the fact that I've really been spending most of my time either at work or babysitting the baby while my girlfriend works. Her other job is something I can't really talk about. It never really bothered me until about the third night in a row that I spend alone with the baby watching old Space Ghost episodes and falling asleep on the couch alone. If I wasn't the nice, kind person that I am, I would swear that she was cheating on me or developing feelings for some other man but I know that she would never do that or do anything to hurt me or betray my heart's eternal, undying feelings for her and only her.


And then there's this cat. The cat. The fucking cat. My daughter's cat, the one that helped her cry-free through her cast, the one that she got from bouncing up and down on her cousin's bed. I said we couldn't have a pet. I said that I was allergic. I said that we could not get one and that I could not live with one, and that everyone who lived in this house could never ever in any way purchase or even think about purchasing a cat, THE cat, the feline who is presently trying to digest my ankles. That makes me feel like what I say doesn't matter, that I have no voice, that no one cares what I think.


But what pisses me off the most is that the cat is cute and cuddly and so amazingly beautiful that I don't want to get rid of it. Therefore it stays here in this house as a constant reminder that I had loud, strong feelings that were ignored.


So here's my big literary money shot. I went to last week's opening of the entertaining yet ostentatious punk rock fashion show Hot Topic-fest that is the Sacramento Trash Film Orgy. It's worth the money and it's incredibly fun to hang out with good friends and watch some strange films on the big Crest theater screen. I love it and I never miss it. But with widespread popularity sometimes comes widespread negativity. There's a lot of drunken negativity and loudmouthed anger assocciated with the shows lately. There's a fog of attitude, too, of teenage-to-twentysomething punk elitist attitude that hangs around the entire event and it can be tough for someone that's quiet and shy and positive with normal hair and has never paid $70 for a fucking steel punk belt and the goddamn mall.


So I was there with flyers for my religion. Now, I'm shy and easily frightened and eternally scared, so walking up to complete and total strangers handing out flyers for Woodism is actually a tough thing for me to do. Before the intermission, I was in the bathroom freaking out. I was dizzy and out of breath and I was puffing my inhaler like I was taking hits from a bong at a Cypress Hill concert on April 20th. I was really losing it.


So when Mr. Lobo of television's Cinema Insomnia told me that he would help me pass out flyers, I felt really good. It was like someone actually cared about me and wanted to help me and it almost made me cry, I was moned that much. Mad props to Lobo for that one.


The flyer passing out experience was both good and bad. It was good in that two-thirds of the people I passed out flyers to and talked to were open and friendly and took the flyer with actual positive feelings. It helped that I was wearing an old school WCW Diamond Dallas Page t-shirt that a ton of men, even punk rock looking skinny black eyeshadow AFI-looking mofo's responded to. That was positive. There was even a woman there who had already been to my website and wanted me to baptize her right there, which I did.


What hurt was the asshole elitist punk people who denied a flyer, the people with the $300 outfit that they bought at Hot Topic, the people who look punk just to piss off their parents, the people who think that just because they look punk that they're better than everyone else who ISN'T punk. The people who laughed at me, who looked past me, who scoffed and gave me a wave to go away because they couldn't spare two seconds to take a flyer. The looks of these Rocky Horror Picture Show rejects thinking that I was someone who they couldn't be bothered with, well, it hurts the innards of a shy guy like me.


And lately, especially tonight as I face another night alone as my woman does her other job, I try not to think about my broken car or my missing parents or my cat or the looks on those Magenta and Dr. Frank-looking motherfuckers at The Crest who laughed at me.


Float on, man. Float on.


So me and Emerald are going to take a bubblebath and listen to Modest Mouse now. See ya.


If you have some good broadband, then click here for Modest Mouse's video for their wonderfully positive song "Float On."