NOTE: If you are easily offended by offensive things then please go somewhere else. I suggest or, you wuss!


Saturday, December 25, 2004

Remaining positive and finding myself filled with coffee and happiness this X-mas season.

MOOD: coffieduphappyandhungry

BACKGROUND: loud Barbie toys

I'm here at my soon-to-be wife's parent's trailer and suprisingly I am smiling my skinny brown ass off. Sure, bad things have happened to me lately. What the fuck, man? That's life. Life is an endless stream of happiness and pain and you need to swim past the bad shit and learn to surf on the happiness. Bad things always happen and the important thing of life is how well you get back to living your life. Float on. That's what the song says. So I'm here just floating on past the sad, depressed, sitting at Denny's writing bad poetry and smoking cloves vibes of this past month and I'm just smiling, just laughing, just relaxing. Feeling life cover me like a blanket, warming me up, making me feel energized.

So now I'm finally happy with just being happy.

I'm sitting here in the computer area wearing an official "CHEAP ASS ED WOOD IS MY SAVIOR T-SHIRT" available for only $11.00 right now at Tasha bought it for me for X-mas (as a practicing Woodite, I refer to all non-Woodian holidays with an X - for example, X-Giving, X-Entine's Day, Saint X-Tric's Day, ect.) as per my wish to actually own some of the products I now sell on-line. And damn if this t-shirt isn't the coolest fucking t-shirt I own.

I am also drinking my first cup of coffee with my official "PSYCHADELIC ED WOOD IS MY SAVIOR COFFEE MUG" which is sweet because it has the web site, a drawing of Ed Wood, a picture of him, and a picture of me. I am actually on this coffee mug. Is that amazing or what? It's like I'm drinking myself.

I swear, man, I just can't believe how far my religion has come over these past eight years. Over eight years ago I was alone in a computer commons at Arizona State University creating a stupid page about Ed Wood and religion and now I'm wearing my official Church of Ed Wood t-shirt, drinking from my Ed Wood coffee mug, and waiting for the little blurb about the church to run in the March issue of Playboy magazine. That's right. THE Playboy magazine.

Life is sweet.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

We've had a miscarriage.

That hurts. A lot. I have this detached, isolated feeling inside me now, like I'm outside in the cold and everything's just a strange dream. It feels not like I'm dealing with this big, massive pain but that I'm looking at it from afar, like the pain is in a store window and I'm just looking at it in the cold, in the snow. Which is strange because I've also been feeling really happy. Work has been really good. It's been busy enough so that I don't have to think about things, a steady sort of busy that doesn't allow me to stand around feeling bad emotions.

But I'm afraid to look people in the eye, especially my co-workers. I don't want them to know. i don't want to TELL them, you know? I don't want people to tear up and feel bad for me and hug me and ask me if everything's ok and tell me that if I ever need someone to talk to, that they're there for me. I don't want them to try to cheer me up. I think that would just make me feel worse. There's pain around, sure, and I'm dealing with it but it's quiet and slow and isolated. And it's frightening. But i don't need sympathy hugs from co-workers I barely know, you know?

Going through a million things in my mind right now. There's things I don't want to think about. A lot of them, actually, and not all of them are the miscarriage, too. I'm dealing with a lot of emotions and trying to admit some things to myself while trying to forget others. But I also have this careless, lazy asshole cocky Shawn Michaels feeling tome, you know, and I feel like I'm an asshole for that, that I'm going through so much pain but I'm still laughing and joking and being a prick. Which is strange. I have guilt because I show no guilt which makes me feel guilty. So I'm a walking emotional impossibility. I could cry or go to sleep or pass out or faint at any time.

It's strange. It's all strange. I feel really strange, like I stand out, like everybody who looks at me knows. My life feels like a strange sort of dream. I have to sit down and try really hard to realize that the events of last night weren't some dream, that they did happen. Wow. Crazy stuff. And I just read my girlfriend's livejournal and it came as a kind of a shock to see that she has been feeling pretty much the same way that I've been feeling throughout all this. She feels like she has to be strong for me. I feel like I haven't been there for her and that I'm a bastard for not feling worse than I feel, like I should be punished for not crying right now.

I love my Natasha and I never want to lose her. That is the most important thing in the world to me right now. Me and my family - Natasha, Emerald, the fucking cat, and even Marisa. They are my entire life. Especially my tasha. I don't want her to have to feel like she has to be strong for me. I feel the same way she feels. I just want to get drunk and pass out and forget. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to forget. I want to feel again.

I'm afraid that I could get to a point where I don't care about a lot of things right now. I care still. But I could see myself not giving a shit. And that's frightening to me.

Wednesday, December 1, 2004

Natasha and I are five weeks pregnant. We are going to have a baby. This is an amazing feeling I have. I'm going to have a baby.

Monday, November 22, 2004

As soon as things finally start to get back to normal in my life, I have to do something as crazy as fly to Phoenix to visit my family.

MOOD: frightenednervoushungry

BACKGROUND: my daughter pretending to be Princess Fiona

So I'm here trying to pack. I'm here at my future mother-in-law's house. I WOULD be watching wrestling but, as I learned the hard way through the works of the Debby administration, professional wrestling is depressing as all hell to watch alone. Even with beer. Even when the Hurricane is on.

So I'm here in front of their computer (the girls - Emerald and her cousin) are using the big people chairs and instead of kicking them out I'm sitting in a little toddler chair trying not to panic. I am so scared of flying. I am so frightened about tomorrow. I am so scared to get on that plane. I'll probably have to down myself a few Steveweisers before I get on the airplane.

What makes it a bit more difficult is that even though I am deathly afraid of flying - and this is my first flight at night - I will have to act brave because this is Emerald's first plane trip. She is so excited, too. She is a million times braver, as two years old, than I will ever be in my entire life. So she's excited and I'm frightened. Great. I'm being pussied out by my own daughter.

Added to all this is my own fear about going back to Arizona and staying with my parents. This will be the first time, really, that I will be a parent around my parents. Because as I have been becoming a parennt, becoming a father to Natasha's daughter, my parents were moving to Phoenix and barely speaking to me. So I'm nervous. And frightened. And trying to pack. Well, in all reality it's my future mother-in-law that's really doing most of the packing while I type and try not to cry.

Wish me luck.

Saturday, November 6, 2004

It's frightening to think that after eight years of what seemed like yelling at a brick wall, the wall is finally beginning to crumble and my message is finally starting to reach a large amount of people .

MOOD: toothachefromhell

BACKGROUND: loud kids and arguing

The big news is that there's an article about me and my church in the November 15th issue of the National Enquirer. That just blows my mind. Literally. I just have absolutely no concept whatsoever of what's going on in my life right now. My life has started changing. Changing for the better. It's changing the way i always dreamed it would but, now that its happening, I never actually though it would happen.

I've been running The church of Ed Wood for eight years now and for most of that time no one has seemed to care other than a very small minority of like minded people who agreed with me and with what I had to say. But suddenly, out of nowhere, it seems as if the whole world is listening.

Most of my life is exactly the same as it has been. I hardly eat anything. I have the world's worst toothaches. I've been losing myself in my work at the bookstore. I'm in charge of the children's section. It's my own personal cave where I can hide from the rest of the world. I get to read kids books and do storytimes and color and forget things. And my family life is wonderful. I'm engaged now to my wonderful girlfriend Natasha. We're going to get married and have a child so that our daughter Emerald can have a younger brother. So things have been great.

But things are changing for me. I have my picture in magazines we sell at my work, for shit's sake. I'm in THE National Enquirer. That's so big that I can't even begin to put it into perspective. Suddenly, people are starting to recognize me. Suddenly deals are being made. Suddenly I'm scheduling interviews with major magazines. That's scary to me. That's frightening. I don't have a single clue how to even begin to deal with all this.

So my life is exactly the same except with me screaming into the night sky except now people are actually listening to me scream. That's frightening to me.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

I'm scared of being a success.

MOOD: blankandsore


First off, major apologies to everybody and everyone for not being on-line or updating the church recently. I know I need to update the website and post pictures from my live festival and answer e-mails and a whole lot of stuff, but my life has been hectic as hell lately. My computer, my crappy little laptop piece of shit computer, committed suicide on October 17th, the MORNING of Ed-Woodstock, which has made these past weeks absolutely horrible for me, especially since I've been finding myself recently making a name for myself.

In the past six months, I've been covered, mentioned, interviewed, covered, and whatnot by Premiere magazine, Film Threat, Rue Morgue magazine, Canadian radio, the San Francisco Chronicle, the American River College newspaper (whatever that's called) and the Sacramento News and Review. And that's not all, either. I have an upcoming interview with Bizarre magazine, England's coolest and probably most disturbing magazine. And a week from tomorrow, the National Enquirer, as in THE National Enquirer, will be running a little article about me and the Church of Ed Wood. This, all of this, scares the living shit out of me. Seriously.

Plus, adding to all the crazy shitstorm surrounding me lately, I can now officially say that I have succeeded in my childhood dream, my lifelong dream, Ed-Woodstock, my live music and movie event that I've dreamed of doing since I was a kid. It happened. It actually happened. It was everything I had ever dreamed of and more. I still can't believe it happened. It took every bit of courage and strength I have not to cry all the times that I was on stage. It's a rare thing to see your lifelong dreams fullfilled, so personal thanks go out to every single person who was there, especially all the bands, my future wife Natasha and my darling daughter Emerald, my brother Jose, and everyone from my work, with special thanks to Lisa, Jessie, Ian, Michael, and my wonderful Marisa.

So, that, all of that, is why my computer crashing is a million times harder. I'm finally being successfull, being known. Things are happening to me. Things are actually happening. In less than three weeks, my church will be eight years old. Eight years old. That's a long time. And in 1996, once I first started talking my wild thoughts about Ed Wood and God, I knew that this could one day be a success, that I could see myself writing a bible and being interviewed and going on "tour" and being successfull. And now, once I don't have a computer, it finally happens after eight years of trying.

But now that it's happening, I don't want it.

People have started to come to m work to talk to me, to see me. And The National Enquirer? That's big league shit, not that Premiere isn't, you know? But this is the National Enquirer. If they can find nude pictures of Marlon Brando, they will have no problem with ruining my entire life in a quarter of a page. No, man, just a few sentences. It's like, suddenly people are calling me and e-mailing me and writing to me about all these ideas and deals and whatever.

I'm trying not to break down. Man, I'm just a skinny twentysomething mexican guy from Phoenix who hates himself and works at a bookstore. I'm nobody special. I am of no particular interest. I mean, I do have this mad plan to save the world, but that makes the plan special, not the person who came up with the idea. I'm scared. I'm frightened. I don't know about my life anymore.

I'll tell you more when my computer gets fixed.

Friday, October 15, 2004

Wow, I actually feel important, like I am somebody worthwhile.

MOOD: excitedbutallasthma

BACKGROUND: The Format "Interventions + Lullabies"

So this weekend is the culmination of almost half my life's work, my dream ever since I was fifteen years old, to have a festival in an actual movie theater that brought together great music and Ed Wood movies, to call in Edwoodstock and to be on stage talking to people and making them happy. And in order to have this happen successfully, I've been forced to crawl out of the hole that I usually hide underneath and talk to people and schedule interviews and meet with people and a whole bunch of other stuff that I usually try not to do seeing as how I'm so shy.

So yesterday the November issue of Premiere magazine ... yes, that's right, THE Premiere magazine ... came out and it had a little article about me. It was frightening to see that my article and interview shared the page with Matt Parker and Trey Stone, the creators of South Park. That was a bit of a mindfuck for a shy, skinny little mexican boy from Prestcott, Arizona.

So, to sum up, I'm in the November issue of Premiere magazine, the 7th Anniversary Halloween issue of Rue Morgue magazine, this week's Sacramento News and Review with a big two-page spread, and Film has an interview with me and a bit of news as well.

And my life still hasn't changed. I though it would but it hasn't. I'm still having nosebleeds. I'm still having asthma problems. But somewhere deep inside me, I have this unshakable feeling that I'm important. And that feels really cool.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

This is going to be the most stressful week of my entire life and I will spend this entire week trying not to freak out or cry or just completely lose it, all because my childhood dream is about to come true.

MOOD: nervous

BACKGROUND: Ed Wood soundtrack

I'm talking about Ed-Woodstock, my childhood dream which in one week's time is going to become a reality. I could talk for days and days about how important this next week is for me, that my childhood dream is about to come true.

It is absolutely incredible and humbling and simply mind-boggling to me to think that I first had the idea for Ed-Woodstock way back in 1992. I mean, where were YOU in 1992? Me? I was a nerdy fifteen year old virgin with very little friends other than my old movies. And now I'm twenty-seven with a daughter and a family and my lifetime dream is about to happen and I have so much to do and think about and plan and write that I feel like my heart could explode from fear and happiness all at the same time.

And, technically, this isn't the first Ed-Woodstock. I actually had a makeshift Ed-Woodstock in 1994 in my parent's living room in Glendale, Arizona. Joey Karas was there are Telle Jarboe and Jamie Wedow and John-O. My older brother Joe sat in with us for most of it. My old catholic school buddy Greg was there for seemingly nothing more than to temporarily make out with Michelle, his girlfriend whom I crushed on for my entire senior year of high school, right on my parent's couch. That was strange. I think Daif was probably there as well. And I remember being really, really upset that my best friend Tom was out of town and couldn't come. And a part of me wishes that he could come next week but I know he probably won't.

We stayed up all night and watched bad movies. All of us. We laughed and ate bad food and drank soda and had an incredible time. It was incredible. It was amazing. It was like my high school friends were meeting my childhood friends, my movies. And especially Ed Wood. To me, he was like a childhood friend. I looked up to him and admired him and in my mind he was really my imaginary friend. And why not? He was a misunderstood maverick rebel who tried to reach the spotlight and got nothing but laughter and ridicule. And yet he never stopped trying to reach his dreams. Other kids had G.I. Joe as their imaginary friend and I had Ed Wood. No wonder I turned out this way.

For the first few hours of the first Ed-Woodstock there was almost 30 people there, various friends and whatever. It was fun. It was a nice little get-together of people having fun and being peacefull and watching Ed Wood films. But by one am there was only about five of us left, drinking Jolt and feeling like the night was perfect and that it could go on forever and that WE could stay up forever and never grow up and just screw around and have fun until the day we died.

And someone, Joey I think, said, wouldn't it be cool if we could have a big Ed-Woodstock with bands and movies in an actual movie theater. And I laughed and nodded and thought that it could never happen, that even though that would be my ultimate dream, to feel that happiness and love and unending fun in such a massive scale as to fill an entire theater, that there would never be a way for Ed-WOodstock to ever happen again.

And now, I find myself about to cry from thinking that, over twelve years later, that my Ed Wood dream is about to finally come true.


... and I hope to see you there!

Monday, October 4, 2004

I hurt really bad inside and I just can't seem to make it stop.

MOOD: dead

BACKGROUND: Socialburn "Where You Are"

I know I shouldn't be this way. There's no reason for me to feel sad and depressed and down and hurt and alone. Fuck, I should feel on top of the world right now. I should be happy and partying and getting tore up and feeling absolutely fabulous, not feeling sad and angry and detached like I've been feeling these past few weeks. But no matter how hard I try I can't shut off or deny these feelings that I've been feeling. Because I've really been feeling like shit lately. I feel slow and sad and completely detached from everyone except Natasha and the baby. I feel completely and absolutely exhausted like I've been wrestling with a handfull of demons all by myself.

I mean, my life's work, my religion, is finally starting to take off. People are really finally starting to talk about Woodism for once in my life. I should feel really happy and proud. I mean, I've gotten into Rue Morgue magazine with a sweet two page article, Premiere magazine's doing a little article about me that comes out this month, and my director friend Mr. Michael got a paragraph about my religion into the San Francisco Chronicle and might get some screen time to preach Woodism on IFC. And I just had a photo shoot for the piece that the Sacramento News and Review is setting up to run about me in their October 14th issue, just in time for my live movie and music festival event on October 17th.

Things are going absolutely great for me. My life has finally started moving. The ball is rolling after all these years I've spent staring at it, wishing it would move. Things are finally happening in my life.

So why do I feel like shit and how the hell do I make it stop?

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Nothing worse than coming home from a long day's work to an empty house.

MOOD: blank

BACKGROUND: "What We Saw" CBS documentary on 9-11

Natasha has been working two jobs and I've been doing my work running the kids department. But one of her jobs has !finally! stepped up her schedule, so she has something like 15 straight days of work. So we haven't been seeing too much of us. And I've been going through some serious stress lately. So, yes, sure, we still both love and care for each other and we were still meant to be together. It's just been a bit difficult lately.

So I just got off work. I was closing tonight. Horrible night. Lots of running around and idiots on the phone and a lot of dumb, ignorant rednecks being assholes. Lots of craziness. And my mind was seriously elsewhere all night. So, what was GOING to happen was that I was going to come home, cuddle with my baby, and fall asleep, the two of us holding each other. But this guy at work is turning 40 and Tasha is really close with him because they're both cool and both into the same sort of stuff
(meaning they're both freaks)

So she decided to go to his birthday party tonight. She told me that she'd only be there for a little bit and that she's be home when I got off work but right before I got off work she called and asked me if I wanted to meet her there. I could have gone but I've been working all night, I'm tired, I'm sore, my stomache hurts, my feet are on fire. Last thing I want to do in this tired, exhausted state is to hang out with Amanda and Sema, no offense meant to either of them.

Now I'm vaguely upset. I've been vaguely upset a lot lately. I've been here for over a half hour and no Tasha at all. That's sad. That's really sad. I'm feeling sad and lonely and all sorts of sniffling over here.


So if you're going to do something, you might as well go all the way with it. You only live once and only for so long, right? So right now I'm watching a documentary on the events of September 11th, 2001 and it's depressing the high holy fuck outta me. I bought it at work for exactly $3.78 and I did so because, like I just said, I figured that if I was going to be sad then I might as well go the full nine and not pussy out about it, you know? You might as well go all the way with whatever you do, including sadness, so I here I am in a lonely house drinking bad mexican beer and watching a 9-11 documentary. Here I am going all the way with my sadness. And why the fuck not, right? Hell, it was either watch this or watch Schindler's List.

Which would still make a kick ass musical, Tom!

Tuesday, September 7, 2004

I'm so anxiously awaiting Natasha coming home from work that I think I might have a heart attack before she gets here.

MOOD: excitedasallhell

BACKGROUND: Spongebob Squarepants

The all new 7th anniversary Halloween issue of Canada's Rue Morgue magazine, which came out TODAY in
local Barnes and Noble bookstores in Sacramento and therefore I'm assuming should also be available wherever you are, has a two page article about The Church of Ed Wood and me, Reverend Steve. There's a few pictures, including one of me, and there's a bar featuring my own personal top five Ed Wood films. Can you believe that? Me, a skinny, nerdy little mexican guy drinking coffee and watching Spongebob, has a two page article in Rue Morgue magazine.

The thing is, I haven't read it yet. I am here at home with the baby watching movies
and cartoon and eating popcorn and drinking soda. Actually, I knew that it was coming out today for weeks and for weeks I've been going crazy, but once I woke up this morning I TOTALLY FORGOT about it. I was watching Spongebob, washing dishes, making food, doing normal things while being completely oblivious to what was going to happen today. I put the baby to bed for a nap (and ended up accidentally having an hour and a half nap myself). I watched a bit of Goodfellas, the greatest movie ever made next to Plan 9 from Outer Space. And then, out of nowhere, Tasha calls to tell me that she had the magazine in her hand.

That was four hours ago. Now I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack with antici ... say it ... pation. For a while there I was having a fit like my two year old daughter has, stomping my feet and saying "I WANNA READ IT!"

See, I would totally be up for driving myself and the baby to my work and pick up my own copy of the magazine but Tasha has the baby seat, not me, so I'm basically trapped here at home until she comes home with the article. It's driving me crazy. I'm chewing my fingernails off here. I hear that it's really good stuff A-A-A-AND, in the kinda weird department, right after my article it has an article about local Sacramento punk band and my FAVORITE band ever, the Groovie Ghoulies, which is weird since we both have articles in Canada's leading movie magazine.

So basically all I can do now is wait with baited breath.

So the California State Fair ended yesterday and Tasha, Em, and me went. Marisa was going to come but she was sleeping or having a headache or in some wacky drama, one of those or maybe all of the above (love you, 'risa). But the all new Galindo family versiom 1.0 had a great time, thanks in part to my father buying us all season passes, which rocked. We went something like six or seven times. Here are a few pictures that I took of us ...

That is my beautiful daughter Emerald with a goat. The petting zoo was cool and Emerald went around hugging all the animals and kissing them on the forehead. This really scared me when she walked up the the badass looking llama behind her wanting to hug and kiss it but thankfully she skipped that animal.

Here is the ALL NEW GALINDO FAMILY version 1.0 on the world's largest moveable ferris wheel in the northern hemisphere. That thing was huge and it was a major test of my fear of heights but thankfully it wasn't that bad with Emerald and Natasha there with me. Natasha is pointing at the camera so that Emerald would pose for the picture but it soon became a point of someone afraid that a very expensive digital camera would fall off the world's largest moveable ferris wheel in the northern hemisphere.

So Nikara gave us all these tickets and Emerald was riding rides instead of what Natasha and I USUALLY do, which is sit at that one damn bench in front of the water game for a few hours, then go to the mexican section and drink some beers and then look at county exhibits until it's time to go. So Emerald wanted to go on this kiddie swing think that went really fast and Natasha got in line to go with her. Well, once she got to the front of the line the (pick any two of the following descriptions) dirty/crack-addict/retarded/deaf/crippled/ignorant/foriegn/white trash/black/stinky carnie told us that she had to ride alone. Emerald is only two and a half and she had never rode on a ride alone, but they waited in this big ass line for forever and Emerald really wanted to go so that was her first ever ride alone. Tasha and I were completely freaked out but Emerald had a great time. She's laughing and smiling and waving hello while her mommy and daddy are near tears watching her grow up right in front of our eyes.

This one is Natasha and Emerald in line for the bumblebees. The bumblebees. Those damn bumblebees. The ones that Emerald !HAS! to ride every time we go to the fair. Those damn bumblebees. The line was something like nine million hours long and almost half of the bumblebees didn't work but it was all worth it to make her happy. Check out the fat white trash chick behind Natasha who had kids who wanted Tasha to pick her up. What? Yeah, some strange little cracker girl wanting a complete and total stranger to pick her up. Weird.

And this is all of us on the merry-go-round at the end of the day. Fun. That damn thing goes FAST! And I was yelling out "MIKE!" even though there wasn't anyone I know there. I like doing that, yelling out names of people in crowds and waving as if I;m trying to get the attention of someone I know. It's fun. Near the end, Tasha and Emerald were yelling for Mike too.

Well, not only was that fun and educational and really cool but it also killed over 40 minutes of waiting-for-magazine time. Man, I think I should drink a few beers tonight. Hell, I might have to just to go to sleep. Maybe I should stop drinking coffee, huh? Maybe. Well, bye for now.

Sunday, September 5, 2004

I get so depressed whenever I have to close at work.

MOOD: notwantingtogotowork

BACKGROUND: Magnetic Fields "69 Love Longs vol. III"

I get so sad and angry down and depressed and self-loathing and lonely and shy and quiet and mad at work whenever I have to close. I stand next to my desk all alone in the cavernous children's depertment watching white families start to walk into my section, see me, then turn around to find a nice looking white person that can help them find what they need. So I stand there and write in my little red diary and find things to do. I just get so sad and lonely and that always leads me towards thinking about how stupid I am and all the mistakes I've ever made in the past and then that sends me down an even deeper road.

So I'm updating my blog because I don't want to take a shower because I don't want to get dressed because I don't want to go to work. Mornings are fine, nice, easy, productive, busy. But the night shifts just kill me. And they have me closing every sunday night now, which usually means that the only people I see in kids are white families after church who give me the UUGH face when they see a skinny long-haired mexican man in charge of the kids department OR I get the assholes using the kids tables to read wedding magazines or study. I used to kick them out and now I don't care as long as there's no kids in kids.

So I've made me some coffee and I've whipped out the Magnetic Fields and I'm trying to get myself mentally prepared for work. I mean, I'm not depressed or suicidal or anything. My life is fine, as fine as it can be. But closing shifts crush me.

You know what would cheer me up? Besides Natasha and Marisa in a bra and panties match?

If you were to go out right now and buy me the 7th Anniversary Halloween issue of Rue Morgue magazine with the article about me that my store won't have on sale until this tuesday, forcing me to wait with baited breath and eaten fingernails.

That would make me feel better. That and the wrestling match. Wish me luck at work.

Sunday, August 29, 2004

Last night I drank like I had something to prove.

MOOD: tiredandabithungover

BACKGROUND: Bootleg DVD of "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"

Natasha and I decided to throw our friend Marisa a surprise birthday party. Marisa is a very sweet, very beautiful woman and someone who I honestly and sincerely love and care about. And Natasha is all about her. We both are. She's been through a lot of painfull stuff, some of which reminds me of what I went through with The Big Him, so Tash and I both wanted her 21st birthday to be something really special. So we had a modestly sized suprize alcohol fest for her. She seemed really touched and suprised and moved by the whole entire thing. I thought she knew that we weren't really taking her to the movies, but apparently we did suprise her. It really made me feel good about myself to know that she was touched by what we did.

Then the alcohol started flowing pretty fast. I hadn't eated a single thing all day so the Red Stripes and the Smirnoff and the monstrous punch went straight to my head and the next thing I know I'm detached from myself, watching myself enjoy the entire party in sped up slow motion. Hard to explain. Strange night. But unlike the last party I went to at Nikara's house ... actually, it was Nikara's party ... I was shy and reserved and lonely. It was so nice to be in a party situation and be able to laugh and be myself and not skulk the whole time.

I'm sure that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Now we all need to have another going away party over at The Place That Never Cards. That last one I went to was fun as hell. It's just that, in order for that to happen, someone at work needs to leave.

"Hey Kevin, here's a pamphlet for Kent, Ohio. Doesn't it look nice?"

I'm going to a taping of WWE Smackdown this tuesday. I'm psyched. I've been to four Raw taping but this will be my first Smackdown taping. So I'm really excited. I feel like a child before Christmas. Silly, I know, but that doesn't change my feelings of excitement. But Smackdown won't come to me without a hefty price. First I have to close at work tonight then open up tomorrow. It's like in Shawshank Redemption how he had to crawl through the sewage pipe to break free of prison. That's me with work and Smackdown. That sucks ass that I have to do this but I'm willing to do it to get my hands on an Eddie Guerrero t-shirt.

On a random note, I am deathly afraid of both flying and snakes, so why is it that I'm not scared of airplanes flown by snakes? "This is your captain speaking ... hiss." That doesn't scare me at all.

Monday, August 23, 2004

I'm tired of finding out all these things about her past.

MOOD: blank

BACKGROUND: Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Vol. 2

See, my past is vaguely boring and unexciting. I try to overdramatize my past so that I can look back at a wild and crazy past life but all that is is me overexaaggerating everything. My past is boring and uneventfull and it's only the events that have happened recently like, say, the last four years, that would make a really great novel one day. Shit, I hadn't had sex until I was legally able to drink. Ok, yeah, I'm a nerd. That might come as a shock to you but not to me.

And I have days like this when I'm left home alone with nothing to do except take care of the baby and watch my dvd's and feel lonely. And this is what happens ... I'm looking for something, like a movie or a patch or a comic book and I accidentally find something from her past that makes me feel like an idiot.

It shouldn't matter, right? Because it's in the past. But it still stings a little. Like "Chasing Amy." That's a damn good movie. Fuck I'm lonely.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

It's past one in the morning and I can't sleep.

MOOD: sorebittiredandbuzzed

BACKGROUND: old Newsradio eps.

I've been getting extremely depressed at work lately. I don't know why. I think it's because, working in the sort of detached children's area that I am the manager of, it can be very quiet and lonely working all alone in there. It can be sad and depressing sometimes and after lunch I get hit in the stomache with an all too familiar sense of sadness and loneliness and fear. It stinks. But today, perhaps in anticipation of going out with Natasha and our coolest friend Marisa, today was the least painful day I've had in a long time.

Emerald was yelling and screaming tonight. It was tough. Sometimes it's a good fatherly day and sometimes, like tonight, she won't want to leave her nana's house and scream until she gets sick. My daughter Emerald is incredibly sweet to me when no one's looking. As long as there is no one else around other than her and me, then she treats me like I am her best friend and her mom and her dad. It's amazing. She'll make me feed her. She'll cuddle with me. She'll sing songs about how much she loves me. She does, too. It's fun. We'll sit down and watch old Sifl & Olly episodes and Aqua Teen and Spongebob and we'll play and have fun. Really sweet but only occasionally.

Went to a party a few days ago. I thought that we were only going to stay "for an hour or two" but we ended up staying there for over seven hours, Tasha seriously getting her drink on and me alone in the house being all quiet and antisocial. The thing is, I'm quiet and shy around people that I don't know well so you throw me in a birthday party with a bunch of too-cool-for-school tattooed young people that I don't know and I'll just freeze up. I can talk to Ian and Marisa and Jessie and Gwen forever but I'm always shy and reserved around new people. So the bad time that I had cannot fully be attributed to Natasha. I just need to try to open up more.

I just, and I mean !JUST!, got an e-mail from my reporter friend in Premiere magazine. They were going to print an article on me in the October issue of Premiere and now it looks, last minute decision, they're pushing the article back to November. That hurts a bit. That hurts so much that I think I'm going to go have myself another beer. Thankfully, though, Stuart, the INCREDIBLY sexy-voiced writer for Rue Morgue magazine and now legally baptized Woodite, is still planning on running a major article on me and my religion in their October issue. That should actually be better off for me in the long run. This way, my web site won't freak out and crash when the two mags run articles about me at the exact same time. So, hey, smile and look happy.

If you or, let's get realistic here, ANYONE IN THE GODDAMN WORLD, actually LIKES what I write and how I write it, then go on down to Bowling for where I will soon, eventually, one of these days, when I get off my manic depressive, obsessive compulsive, skinny brown ass and do me some actual work for a change, be a contributer. One of these days. I totally promise.

Now don't get me wrong. My life is very good. I have a great new family, the all new Galindo Family, Version 1.0 featuring Reverend Steve, Woodian Angel Natasha, and introducing Emerald as the bah-bah! Natasha and I faced problems recently regarding things that I really can't talk about, but we've gone past them now and we're incredibly stronger and more secure in ourselves and in our love for one another.

And guess what> I can officially say that I actually have ONE FRIEND! Her name is Marisa and we go out and I lean on her, literally, and she has a wild and crazy life with washing machines and ponies and stalkers and sometimes she hugs me and sometimes she tells me bedtime stories. She is the best and I can honestly say that I love and care for her. I just hope I don't scare her away with my freaky Latino Heat.

And the "Second Coming of Wood" is almost upon us as well. The First Coming of Wood happened right before the end of the century when an article from the Associated Press led to me being interviewed in more than 30 radio stations all over the world. The highlights ... "Mancow's Morning Mayhem" is a dumb jackass and nothing more than a cheap Howard Stern wannabe. "The Mark and Brian Show" was great because they are INCREDIBLY friendly. was really nice, too, despite being a crappy internet radio station. And Buck Wolf with ABC News was and still IS the coolest man in New York City. That was fun. A lot of press all over Woodism and all over me. Cool stuff.

Now here I am, a twenty-seven year old skinny little Mexican guy with a girlfriend, a daughter, a cool and also occasionally depressing little job, and two articles about to me that are set to print in both Premiere magazine and Rue Morgue magazine. This is exciting and a little bit unnerving. Suddenly all these questions pop up. Will things change in my life? Will I change? Will my job remain the same? Will I ever have enough money to make my dream of regularly being able to afford eating at KFC come true? Will my damn brother ever drop off those season passes to the State Fair that got sent to his place? Will my shitty little '86 Mercedes ever stop acting like fucking Hitler and run for a change?

These are the questions facing me. They are pretty huge, confusing questions, ones that are so massive, so epic, that I can't even begin to think of answers.

Friday, August 13, 2004

I hope to GOD and ED WOOD that Natasha doesn't go out clubbing with the girls tonight.

MOOD: worriedhungrynervous

BACKGROUND: Flaming Lips "Do You Realize?"

I absolutely, positively, utterly fear the "girls night out" and so does every man, although most men simply hide it in themselves. I would imagine that, if I still had a ton of friends, that I would go out tonight and down a few tall boys with some guy friends, but that's not me. Not anymore, anyway.

This is the reason why I don't want her to go out tonight. No, that's wrong. It's not that I don't want her to go. She can if she wants. I am just afraid of her going and this is why - a man has to struggle to find someone to be with, someone to date, someone to love. It is an effort. It is work. And yet all that Natasha would have to do to cheat on me is to do is go to the club. Natasha is going to be hit on a million times by a million different guys and each and every one of them will think that she's single and that they can have sex with her.

And I have such a low self-esteem that it will be a miracle if I survive the night with all my fingernails intact.

Tonight is going to consist solely of me and the baby and my Space Ghost episodes. Maybe I'll pop in my Ed Wood DVD or my video copy of I Woke Up Early the Day I Died, get my Wood on. I can't say that I'll be alone because I'll be here with the baby, but she'll be asleep around eight or nine, so that pretty much leaves me here with three beers, two dollars, and very little food.

I DO have "Super Chunky, Extra Crunchy" peanut butter. So yay me!

Another lonely day for Reverend Steve.

MOOD: tiredsoremoodyandfullofgas

BACKGROUND: Get Up Kids "On A Wire" (good lonely day music)

And therein lies the strange, bizarre conflict of my life, the fact that I have 3,000 followers worldwide and a stupid little semi-quasi D-level celebrity status but I only have about five real friends and I will be spending most of this day alone. Natasha is at work and the baby is at her nana's house seeing her "real" father, an geeky emotionless cracker jackass whom MY daughter calls by his name, not by "daddy" or "father" because those names are reserved for me, her father, the one that tucks her in every night and plays with her and makes her smile, not that I'm angry or bitter or anything. Sometimes this father thing can be tough.

Woke up at ten in the afternoon to an empty house. It felt so sad to roll over and have no body there to hold on to and drool all over. But on the negatively positive side, it felt so damn good to wake up that late. So now I'm here watching hours upon hours of Adult Swim and listening to my cds. Authority Zero, The Beta Band, Get Up Kids, Common Rider, Groovie Ghoulies, Digger, Kill Bill Vol. 1, AFI, The Format, The Big Lebowski. Drinking coffee, which in retrospect seems strange seeing as how I have absolutely nothing to do today, so why am I needlessly getting myself all wired and awake? I don't know. I'm just lonely. Another lonely day for Steve.

So anyways, guess who has an eating disorder! Right here! It's not that I don't like eating. It's just that in my head I have so much to do with my family and my work and my children's section and my church and my writings that I can't slow down to eat. And then, when I or somebody else forces myself to eat it's usually a MASSIVE amount of food to make up for all the food I hadn't eaten. So I'm basically torturing my stomache. It's insaine. Maybe that's why I'm drinking the coffee, to feed the beast anything but food.

Entertained company last night. Marisa from work. I love her so much. She reminds me of every girlfriend I've ever really loved but with all the mean annoying bitch parts surgically removed. She is the best and I really do see us being really wonderfull friends. She sat on the couch, I leaned against her, and Natasha drank beers on the foot of the couch as we all DIDN'T watch wrestling on tv. It was fun. It rocked.

I have to go pick up the baby now.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

I feel, after working long and hard to fight old demons and try to strengthen our relationship and finally succeeding, like I'm back in high school feeling that bold rush of a new relationship, even though we've been together for well over a year now.

MOOD: happyandcontent

BACKGROUND: Channel 13 News and Sneezing

My life is good. My life is damn good. My parents are talking to me. My work is good. My twice a week storytimes for children are starting to be packed house, standing room only sort of things. My daughter is talking like mad. I'm going to be in both Premiere magazine and in Rue Morgue magazine as well as an interview on their radio show in Canada. My live show in October is still a go. I am making friends. (Marisa rocks my sweet, sweet ass) And I am in love.

Plus the sex is amazing.

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 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, 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."

Sunday, May 30, 2004

I'm finally getting used to being happy and it feels excellent.

MOOD: feelinggreatasallhell

BACKGROUND: Ed Wood's "Orgy of the Dead"

I just read my entire blog, this entire thing, all the archives right from the beginning on to now.

And man, did I ever had a rough 2002-2003, man, Jesus fucking Christ!

I was happy and sad and happy and sad and then I found someone but she broke up with me something around nine times and then I had a bender and got sobered up and then I got laid a few times and then I was depressed again and I wandered lonely through the streets of Sacramento looking for love and finding nothing and then there was "the cable guy" situation when an ex tried to come back to me and her guy found out and tried to kill me and then I got frightened and scared and that got me even more sobered up.

It's messed up stuff, my archives. It's full of beers and violence and love and sex and depression and happiness and a few funny parts in the mix as well. It's entertaining, if anything, even if all the painful stuff happened to me. Go ahead and read through it if you ever have a spare hour or two. It's the stuff that bad romance novels are made of.

I like how it ends, though, or at least I like how it's been going for the past year now. I've found a woman who actually loves me unconditionally and won't get angry with me when I ramble on about Ed Wood or when I get really into Animal Crossing and, most importantly, a woman who won't leave me for their ex. I've found Natasha and I've become a better man and beyond that I've become a father to her daughter Emerald, and I can honestly say that the gift of fatherhood is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.

Suddenly my life, which was once filled with closing the bar every single night, getting five hours of sleep, getting to work, and then sleeping the day away until it's time to go to the bar, has been replaced with potty training and an endless supply of Spongebob Squarepants.

I would trade that shitty kareoke music for Spongebob any goddamn day!

So now I'm happy. I am! I am actually happy. And that is just amazing to me, smiling and laughing and having fun and being a daddy. It's almost scarry to see myself having a good time. Being happy is so shocking to me that I'm actually consciously trying to get used to it. So let's go through this ...

First off, no more loud, smokey, depressing nights at the bar. Nice one! Now don't get me wrong. Ddon't read this the wrong way and try and kick my ass. The people at the dirt bar are all wonderfull people and I miss them each and every day. It was great, especially during my depression phase, to be able to walk into a bar where everyone knew who I was and was willing to talk to me. That is a precious gift and I was glad to have it. But at the same time, I would rather be changing diapers than smoking and drinking right now. Sorry, guys. One day, I'll come back and see all you guys again. One day in the far, far future. But now, I'm watching Spongebob.

Secondly, no more "guy wanting to kill me" crap. That was just pathetic, that whole "cable guy" situation - and, by the way, click here for the start of the story and when you're done with that, click right here for the rest of the story, the part that has to do with the anger and the violence. I'm not going to say that it wasn't my fault. What WAS my fault was falling for a woman who was already taken (their broken-up status changed hourly) whose man was a violent, crazy madman. But that is all the past and finally I can laugh about it and raise my arms high in victory because all that bullshit is over.

I feel better about myself. I feel like I can take over the world. I feel like I could take on the entire empire myself, is what some Star Wars extra once said and that's how I feel. I feel like Ed Wood must have felt when he was making Glen or Glenda. Nothing can stop me. I feel invincible.

Before I go, though, I have to share this with you ...

There's a web site that calls itself Dei Gratia. It's a Catholic-stinking website featuring Jesus-humping news, Jesus-humping blogs, and various other Jesus-humping bullcrap. They say that they provide "daily thoughts on Catholicism and Church life." Gee whillikers, that sure does sound like a gosh darn hoot, don't it? That's Catholic-ese for bland, boring, unexciting and I'd be suprised if there's one single picture of a black or asian person on the whole web site.

Well, some ignorant little bitch put a little blurb on their web site about my web site, the eight year old Church of Ed Wood. They linked to my main site, my list of holy days, my page for on-line baptisms, and my rocking Ed Wood music site. They even linked, very smugly I might add, to my own blog, the page you're looking at right now.

They finish it all up with this quote ... "Someone please tell me they're not serious."

So I posted a comment at the bottom of all that. Now, at the end of it, signed Reverend Steve Galindo of the Church of Ed Wood, it says "We're serious."

Check it out here for a laugh!

Keep it real, Woodites!

Friday, April 9, 2004


1) WWE Raw and Smackdown Plotlines - now first off, I have to say that I am a loyal, diehard fan and I always have been and I always will be. I saw Hulk Hogan wrestle the Macho Man Randy Savage at the veterans Memorial Colleseum in Phoenix, Arizona when I was a little kid and from that point on I will watch wrestling every second its on and I'll buy the occasional pay-per-view and buy a shirt or two and see them live if I can. With that out in the open, wrestling plotlines have gone from wonderful to utter crap lately and it is starting to piss me off. As a fan, I want to see wrestling and I want to see extreme sportsmanship, not people making fun of a retarded person and blatant racism. And this all started back in 2002 when Triple H, dressed as Kane, mimmicked having sex with a dead corpse on Monday Night Raw. I watch wrestling to see wrestling, not to see the overrated, overhyped Triple H fake sex with a dead body, then scoop up a handfull of meat in his hand and say, "I just screwed your brains out." It was the sickest, stupidest, most pointless thing that wrestling has ever put on the screen and the late, great Vince McMahon Sr. is obviously rolling in his grave and damning the McMahon family name for putting that shit on the tv screen. Being a lifelong fan, it takes an awful lot for me to even CONSIDER never watching wrestling again and that horrible story line brought me THIS CLOSE to turning the television set off and never watching WWE ever again.

But after that the WWE seemed to gently roll over that storyline and quietly try to forget that it ever happened. And things seemed to get a lot better. But then things happened recently. A mass firing lost some poised, young, talented wrestlers while two of their most overhyped performers, Goldberg and Lesnar, left. So things are seeming to revert back to pitiful high school-level humor and the world's most stupidest plotlines. I commend the WWE for finally putting the ball in the hands of two of their most talented and UNDERlooked performers, Chris Benoit and Latino Heat. But although Benoit faces opponents like Triple H and Shawn Michaels, Latino Heat is being held down in Smackdown by facing a low level performer whose one note song is making fun of Latino people by being racist. So, great, I tune in to Smackdown and I get to see a half hour of actual wrestling, a half hour of commercials, a half hour of horrible speeches, and a half hour of racism thanks to John Bradshaw Layfield. Who, other than dumb southern hicks with no teeth, is actually enjoying this? And why is WWE using racism to further one of their performers? Why not make Layfield a fucking KKK member and lose the badly conceived "New York millionare" facade? And what does Raw have? They have a wrestler named Eugine pretending that he's a retard. FUCK YOU, WWE! I WANT TO SEE THE HURRICANE, not people making fun of Mexicans and people pretending they're retards. Where is their collective heads? It looks like their heads are up Vince's old, trite ass.

2) J-Lo's Mom - there are a lot of reasons why you should hate Jennifer Lopez. First off, she is the first woman to ever become famous solely on the basis that she has a fat ass, a big fat brown ass. That is it. She has a really big butt. That is all she's famous for, because lord knows she isn't known for her repetative, bland, lifeless music or her piss poor acting ability. But dumb little junior high girls and ignorant white people (who should know better) just throw money at her, causing her to get richer and richer and more and more evil. Now she has become this multimillionare diva bitch whore who has lost all track of her roots and lives in a mansion completely shut off from the normal thinking people who work for a living and still have their souls. And now, this past saturday, her mother Guadalupe Lopez wins $2.4 Million dollars in a New jersey casino. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT? I think, honestly, that Bitch-Lo's mom, the mother of a millionare, winning millions of dollars on a slot while poor people struggle every day and yet still put a quarter in a slot and pray to God that they win so they can have food to eat and clothes to wear and having their prayers go unanswered, that this actually disproves the existance of God. A just and loving God would never allow J-Lo's mom to win millions. That is bullshit. That is crap. That is like the brother of Bill Gates winning the lottery.

3) Kurt Cobain - he KILLED HIMSELF and because of that one simple fact he does not deserve our praise and worship. Suddenly everyone in the whole world is sanctifying the guy and calling him a genius. Well, let me shock you - he's not a genius. If he was a genius, he's still be alive. If he was a genius, then he wouldn't have SHOT HIMSELF! A genius doesn't give up on life and take the coward's way out. A genius doesn't kill himself because he's full of pain and woe. A genius takes the pain of life and deals with it. he is not a saint and he is not an angel and he is not in heaven right and he is not a victim and he was not a tortured soul. What he was was a drug addicted singer who got famous, freak out, and killed himself and that's it. Don't compare Kurt Cobain to John Lennon. That's like comparing Evanescence to Jesus. Here's a quote from John McLaughlin, the host of The McLaughlin Group ... "Kurt Cobain will not be remembered as the John Lennon of his generation. He will be remembered as the Sid Vicious of his generation- a loser." And he is right. Just because a man was in a band that made one or two pretty good albums and then kills himself doesn't make him a genius. All he is is a sad, pathetic, deceased casualty of drugs and that's it. YOU, the reader of this angry rant, are BETTER than Kurt Cobain. You know why? Because you are ALIVE!

Monday, March 29, 2004

I'm sitting here with an ice cold Coke, a wonderful woman beside me reading the greatest book in the world by Bradley Denton, I have a wonderful daughter watching Spongebob Squarepants behind me and above all I have a feeling that everything is right with the world.

MOOD: contentwitheverythingaroundme

BACKGROUND: Spongebob Squarepants singing "Inflatable Pants"

For a long time there, I had forgotten what it was like to be happy. For a really long time I actually thought that happiness no longer existed. Look back at previous writings here and you'll see a sad, pathetic little triangle scene painted out before you, one of violence and anger and sadness and crying and drunken false emotins that was all a bunch of pathetic bullshit in hindsight. Read it if you want to. It was painfully embarasing back then but now I see it all for what it really was - stupid drunk bullshit.

Ever since the new millenium the only thing that has been cheering me up was my work with Woodism, the religion that I created in 1996. It should have come from friends and family and loved ones but I was lost and confused and drunk and my life and priorities were completely out of whack. It took a lot of sobriety and a lot of relationship troubles to finally find a life worth living, a life full of happiness and comfort with my beautiful WoodianAngel and our incredible little daughter. Now I am happy. I have crawled my way out of the deepest pits of hell, crawling through my own manmade pain and anger and blood and tears and I now find myself smiling, quietly content with my life and everything around me.

That's not to say that my life is 100% happiness and joy. My life is perfection inside our little apartment where it's just the three of us. It's once we leave our home and exit into the real world that everything goes to hell.

First off, I want to thank everyone who sent me their warm birthday wishes, even those special people who I haven't heard from or seen in what seems like a really long time, for even you are still in my heart. My birthday was a wonderful one. I ate a ton of food and watched a ton of wrestling and played a ton of video games and opened a lot of kick ass presents including that unaired season three of "Sifl and Olly" that I've always wanted to watch.

Sitting there watching new episoes of my favorite show, I couldn't help but feel like it was 1997 and me and Tom were sitting on the barstools of my parent's kitchen at 11:30 pm on a thursday. It was a great feeling, one that wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day. It was a great birthday, one that I will never forget.

And yes, I got my tattoo. Don't tell my parents about my tattoo. Not that I care at the present moment about my parents and their feelings. I still feel a bit cross about my parents last visit. My father didn't seem to have any time to spare for me, which is the story of his life, and my mother did nothing but criticize me about how I look. HELLO!! I'M TWENTY-FUCKING-SEVEN!! I have my own place and my own car and my own fucking FAMILY now, so could you please stop telling me to cut my hair for one goddamn second like I'm fourteen years old, mom.

I am happy to announce that, with the help of officially cannonived Woodian saint and host of television's Cinema InsomniaMr. Lobo, that we are nearing closer and closer to having a specific date to announce for ED-WOODSTOCK, an all-day festival of punk and rock bands and Edward D. Wood Jr. movies that will happen sometime in October at Sacramento's legendary Crest theater. Yes, it WILL happen and it will be hosted by both Mr. Lobo and myself and it will be a happy, upbeat festival for all ages and all people of all kinds, a real Woodian gathering of positivity!

There is a wacko late night summer cult movie festival here in Sacramento, California called the Trash Film Orgy and it's an irreverant, outrageous, offensive late night movie festival that really brings in the goths and the punks and the stoners and the artists and the rockabillies and the Bettie Page chicks and it really is a great time, but unfortunately it also brings out the assholes and the drunks and the dicks and the tweekers and the yuppies and a whole bunch of undesirables. So you get all those groups together and what should be a wonderful time usually turns out to be a horrible time that suddenly becomes centered around getting high and yelling and getting drunk and screaming "faggot" and getting violent. And that's not what Woodism is all about.

So what we hope to do with Woodism is to get the rockers and the punkers and the mall people and the art lovers and the hipsters and the ravers and the goths and everybody and bring them together but not under an umbrella of anger or ostentatiousness. We will bring them all together under an inviting umbrella of Ed Wood. It is my dream and soon we will be able to announce it officially. Untill then ...

Thursday, March 4, 2004

I'm going to get a tattoo today and ain't nobody going to stop me.

MOOD: hungryashellbuthappy

BACKGROUND: oldies radio station

My parents screaming is what I hear right now in the back of my head. I've been hearing them a lot lately over things. It's strange how they move away and yet I still hear them every once and a while in the back of my mind saying that I need to shave because I look ugly or that I shouldn't wear that to work because I look like a bum. I love my parents and I will always love them and this is in no way me making fun of them. They just have spent a long amount of time getting under my skin about keeping up appearances whereas I've spent my entire life preaching and promoting being happy with being yourself.

So I'm getting a tattoo today. An Ed Wood tattoo. Since I am the founder and leader and legal Pope of the world's only Ed Wood church, I'm going to get an Ed Wood tattoo that shows off my love and respect and lifetime of adoration for Ed and his meaning right now. In a few hours after I've had some food and a little bit of pro-wrestling pumped into me, I'm going to go down to Back Door Studios here in Sactown and get the holy Woodian cross tattooed on my back for everyone to see with a halo around the cross and the words "ED WOOD SAVES" in a banner above and below the cross. This is what I want. This is me.

And despite what I hear my mother and father screaming in the back of my brain, yes I KNOW that it will be something that I will have to live with for the rest of my life and no I will NOT regret it and I won't eventually get it removed because this cross, this religion, this is what I live for, what I am here on this earth to preach and promote. I fully believe that Ed Wood will save the world one day.

Wish me luck. I'll put some pictures up when it's done and healed.

Friday, February 27, 2004

It's a beautiful sunny day outside, a well deserved break from the horrid storms of late, and I am comfortably sitting here in my kitchen typing on my computer and eating chocolate covered marshmellow eggs while my daughter plays with toys and my girlfriend makes pancakes and sausages and I take this time to think to myself what a wonderful feeling it is to finally hyave found happiness.

MOOD: teethhurtbuttheycanthurtmyhappiness

BACKGROUND: No Doubt "Tragic Kingdom"/Gameface "Three to Get Ready"

For most of my life I've always been haunted by my memories of the past and all my mistakes, as if there's a list of my stupidity that keeps appearing at random intervals of my day as a mental pop-up ad. It has always seemed that I've wasted a majority of my life worrying about the stupid, trivial mistakes I've made in the past that I just can't seem to forget.

But as I sit here, far away from my brother and even father from my mother and father, who are now yucking it up back in Phoenix YET AGAIN, waiting for breakfast and drinking some juice and staring at a beautiful woman who has allowed me into her life and act as both boyfriend and father, I thank the stars above that I have found someone who has allowed me to live in the moment and leave the past behind me.

And yet the struggle doesn't stop there.

There were these pants that I bought for myself roughly about two years ago in an ignorant, vain attempt to try to be what my mental image of a cool Californian guy was. They were thirty dollars and they were kahki and they had millions of pockets and despite the "ignent" reasons behind their purchase I feel in love with those pants. I did a Classic Steve and wore them every waking second of every day and it was great.

Then they developed a slight, small tear just above the left knee and my mother ... yes, I lived with my parents after my ex-fiance and I broke up, nothing I'm proud of but I paid NOTHING to live there so I can't complain ... had to throw them out because you CANNOT wear clothes with rips of any sort because then you look like a bum.

Other asanine Galindo rules incude not ever being able to wear a bandanna because someone will mistake you for a gang member and shoot you and you cannot wear a beanie, a knit cap, because then you look poor and you have to shave or else your job will fire you for looking like crap because no one wants a bum with facial hair working for them.

And so scene after scene of fighting progressed and eventually my mother reached a compromise wherein she would not throw the pants out and instead sew a patch over the rip so that people wouldn't see the hideous rip and think, once again, that you look like a bum. So she sewed a "U.S. Border Patrol" patch over the rip and everything seemed to be settled.

But that was back in a different time and in a different life and it's taking a lot of time and effort to try and get out of that "do as your told" mindframe. I know this paints me as a complete tool but it's taking a bit of effort to remember that hey, I don't HAVE to shave and I don't HAVE to cut my hair because now I am in my own house starting my own family and now I live by a new set of rules.

So the other day I ripped the patch off the pants and the world didn't end and I wore the pants to work and I wasn't fired and everything turned out okay. One small step for Steve, one giant leap for [insert funny statement here].

Friday, January 30, 2004

I'm moving into a new place and a new neighborhood and a new apartment with new people and I'm doing it all tomorrow and right now I'm tired and sore and coughing and dusty and cranky and I've got a headache of the gods and a runny nose that could kill a small child ... but I wouldn't have it any other way.

MOOD: badasthmatiredbutexcited

BACKGROUND: They Might Be Giants "Flood"

Right now I'm going through dusty old boxes in storage that I haven't fooled around with since the old days at Deer Valley High. Graduating class of 1995 which seems further and further away the more times I move. My asthma is going crazy from all the dust that has travelled to Sacramento from Glendale, Arizona, dust from last century. Lot of memories, lot of past, lot of pain and a lot of laughs.

Old lettters and patches I never put on my letterman jacket. Old ass video tapes Tom and Joey and Wedow and I bought (or stole from that one fucking lamp shop) at a whim that maybe I've watched once or twice. Shit that I stole from Heather, that fucking bitch. Old bullshit awards I won during high school for my journalism or speech or theater work. Stuff that I stole from my job at the worst Hollywood Video ever wroght by man. Thousands of pictures of Sarah and Matt and Saint Mary Snow, may she rest in peace. Old notebooks where I spilled my soul about pain and suffering that in retrospect was nothing less than growing up. Some stuff painful, some stuff a happy rememberance of brighter times.

Tons of old casette tapes of music that I can't believe I used to rock out to way back before I gave a crap about music. My musical tastes, now that I've finally had my musical awakening, are wild and bizarre, just like myself. Finger Eleven, Outkast, Authority Zero, Jim's Big Ego, Groovie Ghoulies, Rolling Stones, Bowling for Soup, White Stripes, Primus. But I see all these casettes and I just wonder why the hell did I ever get myself into this crap. Grateful Dead, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles band, Digital Underground, Neil Diamond, Paula Abdul, each one bringing back a flood of memories. In fact, listening to "Flood" by the Giants right now, I can't help thinking about Tom and Joey and Kevin Williams and "Daif" and that one short chick that I made out with in the back of the set of "Once Upon a Matress" that wanted to blow me. Good times.

Backstage, opening night of the play, nervous as all hell, but still cranking up "Birdhouse in your Soul" and throwing fear to the wind. And all of us not being afraid, not being scared. All of us dancing. Just dancing and singing and not giving a goddamn about the sold out crowd outside because all that exists is the moment and the moment is you dancing and singing and a Birdhouse in your Soul.

Does anybody out there know if "The Underground," that store that sold all the illegal shit, is still open in Tempe on Scottsdale Road? I spent so much time and money at that place, buying and renting nasty TOO FAR german porn videos and bootlegs of tv shows and nasty driver's ed videos and their "information packets" which taught me how to rob vending machines, although I've yet to ever try my knowledge in that field. Well, since my parents are moving back to Phoenix, I'd totally spend a fortune at the place if its still around, buy some stuff to get back at some people. Basic stuff.

But memories are only rememberances of things that already happened. I'm always haunted by my memories of the past and all my mistakes. That's what really ruined most of my relationships. I was with Sarah and I was missing Susan. I was with Debby and I was missing Sarah. THAT was stupid seeing as how great Debby is and how much of a cunt monster Sarah is. Then I was with Collyne and I missed Debby, but that was ok because Collyne was ... well, I won't say. You get the idea.

Its seemes as if I've wasted a majority of my life worrying about the mistakes I've made in the past. I just have such a hard time forgetting all the stupid mistakes I've made and all the times I've been hurt or rejected or laughed at and so every second I'm awake I have all those mistakes replaying through my head and it hurts sometimes.

But not now. Now I'm happy.

I spent so much time in regret, sad and drunk and depressed. But here in Sacramento I have been reborn in happiness and in strength and in the joys of finally maturing. I have a great and wonderful girlfriend named Naleen and she is my entire life, her and her two year old daughter Emerald. She calls me da-da now. The other day she snuck into our bed to sleep with us and she put my arm around her. I woke up and she was just looking at me, touching my face, smiling. It was amazing. I almost cried. I've never been happier than I am being a father to Emerald and a boyfriend to Naleen. And people ask me if I'm nervous moving in with her tomorrow. And I say no. I'm happy. I have a family now and I wouldn't give it up for the world.

And the rest of my life is doing great as well. As soon as my director friend gets his white anglo-saxon protestant ass gets off his San Francisco chair, I have three films in pre-production, one of them being a thriller set to be shot in Alcatraz penitentary, the other being a comedy about bad "Rat Pack" impersonators in Vegas. And me, Esteban Galindo, I'll be Joey Bishop. A skinny, manic mexican guy playing the jewish Joey Bishop. I'm such a mensch.

And beyond that there is a very strong relationship happening between myself and Mr. Lobo, the host of television's "Cinema Insomnia." After helping him with a special midnight showing of "Ed Wood" at Sacramento's own Creat theater last October and acting my own special brand of scenery-chewing for his "Bucket of Blood" episode (now available for sale - go to Mr. Lobo's web page for more info.), Mr. Lobo and myself are in talks to stage at the Crest theater this October a massive festival of rock and metal and punk music and Ed Wood films. It's a dream I've had since I can remember. It's going to be called "ED-WOODSTOCK" and its going to happen at the end of this year. Its the culmination of a dream I've had for a very long time. Joey knows about it. Michelle knows about it. I know Tom knows. and finally it will happen, music and Ed Wood's films coming together in a way I've only dreamed about until now. My dream is finally going to become a reality. I am so excited.

Mr. Lobo and Reverend Steve talking Woodism

Plus, on Feb. 15th, I'll be at "No Way Out," my first pay-per-view event. Live. I'll be there live. It doesn't sound real. It sounds like some sort of dream. That's why I love my little Naleen. No other girlfriend I've ever had would have ever bought me tickets to go see a wrestling pay-per-view live. I can finally say without any sort of hesitation that she loves me and she would never hurt me and she wants to be with me and make me happy. I feel so much joy and pride and love in my life now that sometimes I feel like my heart might explode. I've never been happier.

So some of my memories I throw away and some of my memories I put in a box and wait to unpack at my new place. I think that I've finally got to a point in my life where I don't have to lug all my pain and suffering from the past around with me wherever I go. And that rocks ass, just so you know. Now, on the eve of me moving in to a new apartment, a new neighborhood, a new place, all my cares are being thrown away with the Glendale dust. Maybe I should bre worrying, but I'm not. I'm cranking up "Birdhouse in your Soul" and I'm dancing. Just dancing and singing and living for right now. Just dancing.

Saturday, January 3, 2004

The past is a boomerang, but not in a boring, stationary sort of way ... the past is a constantly moving, constantly recycling, always in motion boomerang trown by Chris Pontius on the South America episode of "Wildboyz" when he threw the boomerang and it came back and slashed his head wide open.

MOOD: wiredexcitedupsettoothache

BACKGROUND: "Four Rooms"

Right now I'm watching the movie "Four Rooms" in my kitchen drinking coffee and eating Jack in the Box, whom I will never forgive for taking their Philly Cheesesteak away. Watching this movie gives me such a mad rush of emotions. Back in the day me and Tom and Joey must have watched this goddamn movie a million-plus times in the theater. Room two has started, which is great because apart from seeing the red-headed chick's duct-taped titties, the first room is shit. We talked about that, Tom and Joey and me, probably while at a Denny's somewhere. No. Perkins. Tom fucking loved that Perkins.

I lived in Phoenix for about eighteen years. Then out of nowhere my parents move to Sacramento and I stayed in Phoenix until a year or two later my financial status forced me to move in with my family in Sacramento. I remember the time I spent alone in Phoenix. I mean, I know that I wasn't alone. I had friends and a girlfriend and her family and it was good and all but I just missed my family and after a while I started to feel that I was left by my family, that my family didn't care enough about me to do anything for me and simply left me in Phoenix thinking that eventually I'd run with my taiol between my legs to them in Sacramento, which I eventually did.

Now it looks as if they're moving back to Phoenix. Ain't that funny? Now that I'm here with them, I've been here almost two years, now my parents decide to move back to Phoenix. That's hillarious. And as much as I miss the sun and the heat and the feeling of a hot sun just scorching your skin and hot sweat just dripping down your face, there is absolutely no way that I could move back there right now. So I'm not going to.

There's a lot of things I miss about Phoenix that are nowehere to be seen in Sacramento. Whataburger. Atomic Comics. Metrocenter. Zia Records. Cine Capri. Bennigans. Peter Piper Pizza. The pinball machines at Castles and Coasters. Kenrda Wake. Big Surf. A Big Juan at the Chuck Wagon. Being able to smoke inside a Denny's. Ferrets. The kick ass Phoenix Zoo. Harkins Cinema. The Drive-Ins. Fuck, I even miss the stupid, ignorant, ostentatious yelling match that is "The Rocky Horror Picture Show."

And the heat. Oh fuck how I miss the heat. I would kill to have some of that heat back here. Last night I was with my girlfriend at her place and we both fell asleep and I woke up and it was 3am, right? So I get dressed and go to the car and it was COVERED with ice. I couldn't even unlock the car because the lock was frozen stiff. I spent like ten minutes carving ice off the windows with an old CD case I had in my back seat. It was crazy as hell. I spent twenty minutes trying to unfrost the windows. The temp gague in my car said it was 29 degrees and for a second I prayed that those numbers would reverse themselves and I'd be back in 92 degree weather.

But my life is incredibly exciting here and the year 2004 seems to be one that is just full of infinite possibilities, all of them involving both my great girlfriend Natasha and her/our daughter Emerald. I have a family here and as much as I miss the heat I'm not going to leave my new family here in Sacramento to follow MY family back to Phoenix.

I love Natasha and my little Emerald and I love all the things that are happening to me here in this crazy ass town and I am not moving. I am way too happy here to move. I'm just going to sit here and watch "Four Rooms" and when that boomerang comes back, I'm just going to duck.

The third room is the fucking best!