Friday, February 28, 2003...

Bamboo Plants...

My name is Kevynn Malone. I am 5' 11' and a half inches tall. I weigh 138 lbs. My hair is dark brown. I have one brown eye and one light brown eye. My hair is short. I have a scar on my eyebrow from Ian punching me in a drunken fight club night. I have a scar on my nose from throwing it through the glass on a front door. I broke my wrist playing football in fifth grade. I have bad knees. I play Bass guitar. I draw one picture every three months. I write everyday. I am horrible at paying bills. Children like me. I have too many friends. I have too many enemies. All of my friends are talented and insane. I barely drive. I hate freeways. I like to read. None of my family lives in California. I have a girlfriend and two cats. My father used to work for a secret branch of the government. My mother is very short and could drink you under the table. She's a fucking scrapper in a fight. My father is shy. I am not. I sing a lot out loud. I used to skateboard a lot. I like comic books again. I want to be a movie star. I want my screenplays published. I did meet one of the studio heads from MGM yesterday, though. I want to be a Calvin Klein model. I like to buy action figures. Tonight I am going to Jen's house, then I am going to see Tony and Tom play at a bar. Tomorrow I am going to the library. Sunday? I don't know. I am looking forward to Kevynn Malone Day on March 5th. I encourage all to AIM me. We can all hook up that talky-to-talky option on it and drink together. I don't drink anything else but Bud Light. I'm a puss. I don't like to get in trouble anymore. I like to be awake when I drink. I should be getting ready right now, but I'm not. I'm talking to you and singing to Soul To Squeeze by Red hot Chili Peppers.........


I am happy. Mostly. I won't complain. I'm trying. Maybe not hard enough. I need to ignore you more and concentarte on all of the movie and book shit that I attribute 4% of my time to. I taught my girlfriend's niece all about Pez today. I gave her a really cool one today. We ate candy and filled all of mine up. I broke one. But it was a stupid one, so who cares. I need to hook up my photo scanner. I need to get business cards printed. I can dance, but don't. Much. I don't have a Play Station. I have a cool backyard. My neighbors are my friends. I buried my old cat in the backyard. I am friends with an eighty year old man. My youngest friend is four. I am twenty-seven. I believe aliens have visited Earth but don't believe in any of your gods. I don't like to watch wrestling. I like basketball and nothing else. I am unorganized. I think a lot. I wave to planes and helicopters. I don't like to kill ants, but will punch you in the face if you piss me off. I have to remind myself to breathe deep. I am more apt to look up or down than left/right or forward. I don't have a cell phone. I carry around a Moleskin in my back, left pocket. I hate coffee. I smoke. I have Buddy Holly-type glasses, but I need new ones. I paid three hundred glasses for these four years ago. I think I got my moneys worth....My vision isn't horrible. I am nearsighted. I eat a lot of salads. I hate sharks. I like monkeys.


I'll be back soon, nigga...

ENOUGH. The Sovereign Of Asgard Has Greater Tasks To Attend Than The Subjugation Of One ALREADY Brought So Low. Take Him To The Dungeons, And Let Asgard's NEW Age Begin Forthwith...



Living life through the gray area. I see my reflection on the computer screen. It looks blurry and dark. I'll try to change it, to adjust it and to give the picture more clarity.

I spit hard outside before I came in here, trying to get rid of the excess that was in my system. A Buddhist mantra also came to my lips – but I cut it short. No matter how beautiful it is to cultivate peace and meditation – it still takes action and a little physical force to move things. If I can cut the roots of a heavy tree, because it’s blocking my way - then I’ll try real hard to move the damn thing. Even if it makes me more tired than I am now.

Now I don’t see my reflection. The page that I’m typing on is a blinding white. I’m trying to darken it with my words. To blend it into something...in-between. Grey. Then, after I’m done. When I’m ready, I’m going to turn this damn thing off.

Let it go black...

They Might Be Wil Wheaton…



Went to see They Might Be Giants on Friday. Thanks to Cartoon Pig for the tickets. It was at the House Of Blues in Anaheim. I’ve never been to this one – only the one out in L.A. I like the layout of the L.A. one better, but this one was nice and simple. Cool in my book. Nice and simple always works for me. Concert venues, stores, diffusing bombs…stuff like that.

I met Wil Wheaton at the bar. I noticed the T-Shirt that he bought first, actually. I thought to myself, “smart guy”. None of that waiting in line crud after the show. Then I noticed that he looked like my friend, Brandon, then I noticed that he looked like Wil Wheaton, then I noticed that he was Wil Wheaton. I introduced myself, and then later, introduced him to my girlfriend. He was a very nice guy. Not that ever expected him not to be. We talked for a bit about writing and whatnot. He had just finished his book that day. Good for him. I’ll buy it. I like his writing. I tried not to bend his ear too much, even though I had a million geeky questions about small press publishing, writing habits, influences, comic books, voice agents, role-playing, and Warhammer 40k. The show was about to start, Cartoon Pig was already inside and a $4.50 Bud Light can of beer was calling my name. That might be the first time that I’ve actually met a real, published writer. Ray Bradbury was speaking at the library right down the street from my house years ago, but I couldn’t get tickets. I talk to myself a lot – but I don’t count because I’m a hack and wouldn’t want to ask myself anything anyway because I’m rude, condescending and always have food in my teeth.

On Saturday, I played poker with some friends and ended up splitting the pot. I dug myself out of a hole and ended up with $180. Not too shabby. Maybe I’ll email Mr. Wheaton and invite him for some poker, beers and geek talk if he’s ever in my neck of the woods. I don’t think that we live that far from each other. One famous geek, one not. I’m not the famous one – but I will take his money. Ha.

Sunday, I worked fourteen hours straight.

Today…I wrote this.

The end.

Stop It. C'mon, You Can Do It...

Someone has found Fat Free Milk through Google about a hundred times in the last couple of days by typing in Obsessive Compulsive disorder. Dude. Get help. And give me a dollar. You must. Seriously.

They Might Be Giants...



Tonight.
Drinks.
Geeks.
No fights.
Well, maybe - y' never know.
But how much harm can a geek do with a slide ruler?
Shit.
Maybe a lot.

A Testimonial From My Friend Baxter...

"When he has his first book published in a format that requires a barcode on the back jacket, I will undoubtedly add the title to my favorite books list. I would also like to point out that Kevynn is an early example of what happens when our troops go to a foreign country for no reason, get their ass kicked and f*ck the natives. We should be seeing more recent (and hairier) examples in about nine months."

Droopy...

I love flat tires after you get off of work.

I'm SO horny about them.

John Wayne Was A Prick...



Big, tall racist, cowboy ass. All of his movies are outdated and worthless now anyway. Tell us how you really feel, Bub? Props to his son for selling his image out on those old Coors Light commercials too. I used to think that his offspring sucked for doing that - just like Fred Astaire's too - but when you think about it. They were both pricks probably and the kids needed the money to pay for therapy. No. That's not fair. Yes. Yes, it is. I really don't know about Fred, but John Wayne was a crap head. Now, Robert Mitchum...THAT'S a real fucking cowboy.

I have no idea why I started writing about this.

You and me both.

And Spellcheck.

No More Reading About Star Wars Stuff For Me...

I mean...even my nerds are growing nerds.

What?

I don't know either.

Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain...



Thank you to The Jesus Bunny for giving me the day off on Sunday. No bartending for me, folks – so that meant serving drinks to myself. Which is cool, but not as financially lucrative. So it goes.

I bought fourteen dollars worth of Halibut that nobody ate. Joe bought enough steak to feed an army – which everybody later ate. Played poker, and then ended up getting drunk with Tony and taking pictures into the wee hours of the night. Gay. Yes. But fun.



I've reached an all time low.
My pic's on the internet.
Might as well log on to a Star Trek message board now...