dispatches from a reckloose

liberty for the holidays.

2003-10-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

I just found this on a forgotten disk: Last year I wrote
a letter to the editor of the San Mateo Times to protest
Liberty Bank of South San Francisco for their parking lot
morals, or lack there of. It never ran. Maybe I forgot to
send it. I am that special kind of moron.

Once a year Peninsula Neighborhood Services, located
on Linden Ave. in South San Francisco, facilitates a
Christmas Aid program in which families in need within
San Mateo County receive not only food for the upcoming
holiday, but are also given gifts for their children to put
under the tree. This modest and subsidiary program helps
bolster those less fortunate than us, so they can celebrate
the holidays in the way most of us take for granted.
Across the street from this social service center is Liberty
Bank, who has been serving the community of South San
Francisco for the past 21 years. Now like most banks, there
is a parking lot for its customers, with concomitant signs
announcing the specific rule of employee/customer parking
only. Makes sense. You want your customers to have a
hassle free environment when they patronize your place of
business, and walking short distances from your car to the
front entrance is surely par for the course. If you were to peer
outside one of bank’s windows on Thursday morning, you
would have undoubtedly seen a phalanx skirted along the
perimeter of Neighborhood Services; men, women, and
children waiting humbly in the rain for their largesse. You
also would have noticed that the parking lot had all of 5
cars in it; two of which were being towed. Now parking in
downtown South San Francisco during the week is scarce
to say the least. Exacerbated by the rain, not to mention
over a hundred people converging onto Neighborhood
Services, you get yourself a virtual parking debacle. Like
most of Liberty Bank’s customers, these people saw a
large (and mostly empty) parking lot, where they could
park for a moment while they took care of their business.
Now I’m not advocating that people park their cars without
regards to rules and laws, but what I do find disturbing is
Liberty Bank’s austere reaction. Especially when taking into
consideration the nature of the situation. They contacted
their towing services and began to tow these people’s cars.
People who can’t afford to put Christmas dinner on the table,
let alone pay to pull their cars out of a tow yard. Obviously
the onus lies with the people who illegally parked their cars
in Liberty Bank’s parking lot, but I can’t help to wonder why
Liberty Bank couldn’t proffer some arrangement with these
people. It seems like quite a nubile deal; one that reflects
the charitable spirit that is supposed to be at the core of
this Holiday Season. Fittingly the word ‘liberty’ when looked
up in the dictionary gives us the following definition: “an
impertinent action or attitude.” Liberty Bank could have
been more gracious and let those people park in their lot
for a few minutes. It didn’t have to be a city announced
edict. Perhaps just a little de facto philanthropy.

curbside etiquette.

2003-10-24T13:15:00.000-07:00

I drove down to San Jose two weeks ago, had a few drinks,
was ignored by the general female population, and stayed
over a friend's house instead of driving under the influence
of alcohol and misanthropy. I received a parking ticket from
parking overnight on the street. I sent the City of San Jose
this letter contesting the ticket:

San Francisco, Ca 94122
October 24, 2003

The City of San Jose
P.O. Box 11023
San Jose CA, 95103

Dear City of San Jose:

On the evening of October the 11th I had the pleasure
of visiting your fair city; catching up with an old friend,
and browsing for some of the excitement I’ve heard
touted from its citizens and some arbitrary transients
who often feel compelled to invoke irrational harangues
to unsuspecting passerby’s. Now rumor had been spread
that your city’s uniformed enforcers mean business and
that they run the proverbial tight ship. Streets are reported
to be littered with police officers starting around 1:30 a.m.
to aid in the subjugation of ‘clubbers’ and their alcohol fueled
loitering. There has also been admonitions indicating the
existence of checkpoints and barricaded streets to prevent
drunk driving, which I may add, is good city planning. Here
is where the contesting of my parking ticket plays in. Now,
I admit that I didn’t notice the sign indicating that overnight
parking would not be tolerated. That said, I would like to
pose the following question: In a city that is obviously very
regimented and aligned towards preventing drunkards from
getting into their cars after a night of tippling and dancing,
why are the streets a silent enemy preventing responsibility
and sleepovers? In other words, I decided that, although
I only had three drinks during the course of the evening, the
safe thing to do was to stay over my friend’s house instead
of driving home at 2:30 a.m. I would like to think that the city
would foster an environment that allows these situations to
see fruition without penalty and fines. Perhaps my ignorance
of the city layout prevented me from seeking asylum within
these avenues, but again I am only a humble visitor trying to
be a responsible citizen. Please consider this when reviewing
my case. I know that I will be acutely aware next time I park
overnight in your city.

Best Regards,

Tim M. Cordell

correspondence.

2003-10-19T02:42:00.000-07:00

My friend Alexandra wrote:

good evening

...due to the inevitable generosity of hotmail
introducing me to helpful folks with such offers of
debt consolidation, penis enlargements and young naked
girls, i'm changing my email address.

I responded:

Alex,

Without such offers I would have two broken legs, an
infant's penis and I would be dating grannies who
never took their clothes off, so before you prophesize
your antipathy think of my improved lifestyle.

sincerely,
timothy

ecological diversity.

2003-10-12T01:25:00.000-07:00

In most businesses there are never enough ways to tell
someone that they're an idiot. That in itself validates my
word-a-day calendar for the misanthropic if it were not
for my refusal to participate in such idioms. Shoppers
want to be coddled and convienced and chastise those
brave enough to mutter the word sloth or beast. I
haven't worked retail myself in several years, but spent
several hours today lost in the goddamn maze they
ironically have named the "Mall." You do get a great
sense of the word, albeit I opt to drop one of the 'L' in
favor of a 'U.' Out into the bleaching sunrays, from that
air conditioned hive of landfill guilt, I walk towards my
destination. I stop of at a Starbucks in the homogenized
perimeter surrounding the tire center at my local Sears,
hoping my vehicle is resting on it's new Goodyears. The
old ones will soon be on their way to some factory in
Mexico to be melted down into padding for our children's
jungle gyms or sewage systems. I order a double
espresso and another chapter in the book I'm reading
is quickly finished. My pace quickens. I hum a tune for
all those insatiable pricks out there in pursuit for bigger,
faster, and esoterically knobbed, but my mind roves in
splintered directions. Goddamn caffeine. Instead I try
to create a theme for these jerks on my piano when I
get home. One they can dance, drink and shit themselves
to. It's usually an upbeat tempo that gets them weak in
their ambition-stained knees. I have been banging away
at my piano for too long now, trying to figure out this ego
forsaken tune. Every time I close my eyes, all I hear are
fragmented notes and a voice telling me to pour another
bowl of Cocoa Pebbles, but we all know one a.m. is no time
for a second helping of vitamin-fortified sugar. It's like some
goddamn tug-o-war. One the victor would need to be insane
to accept the spoils.

total recall 2003?

2003-10-08T11:40:00.000-07:00

Arnold is our Governor, and aside from the moniker, 'The Govenator'
I see nothing amusing about this turn of events. I keep waiting for
Rod Sterling to walk forward as a camera pans away from this voter's
salvo, with a smoldering cigarette gripped between his two fingers
to introduce his cautionary tale. "California, a state afflicted with a
misappropriated budget deficit, propagated by myopic revenue
projections, energy speculation, and cronyism, consolidates under a
banner of votary paparazzi; tonight, on the Twilight Zone."

arnold quotes from www.welovearnold.com

2003-10-05T22:50:00.000-07:00

- On Multi-Culturalism -

"I don't understand how they can call me anti-Latino,
when I've made four movies in Mexico."

"After watching mulattas shake it, I can totally understand
why Brazil is devoted to my favorite body part, the ass."

- On Past Indiscretions -

"Bodybuilders party a lot, and once, in Gold's--the gym in
Venice, California, where all the top guys train--there was
a black girl who came out naked. Everybody jumped on her
and took her upstairs, where we all got together."

"I think that I don't remember the details. I just know that
the '70s were outrageous kind of a decade, that we promoted
bodybuilding, that we said outrageous things in order to get
the attention and all that stuff, and I have the utmost respect
for women and I have not meant to hurt anybody or anything
like this. I don't even know what it says. I've not read the
article." [on the 1977 Oui interview]

- On Family Values -

[on why he was speaking at an event] "Since I had nothing
better to do. I can't get any jobs and my wife is too pregnant
to fool around with"

"My mother would spend time with me, saying read out loud.
When I stopped, with a yardstick, she would hit me over de
head. Do you know how fast I read again? I was reading so
fast, let me tell you."

- On the Status of Women -

"Whatever I thought might hold me back, I avoided. I
crossed girls off my list -- except as tools for my sexual
needs."

"But no one that has been around me would believe that
a woman would be complaining about me holding her."

"It was a handful. I never know if my wife's watching. I'll tell
her it was a stuntman." [after touching British TV host's
breast on air]

[discussing a scene in T3, in which he pushes the female
cyborg's face into a toilet bowl] "I saw this toilet bowl.
How many times do you get away with this -- to take a
woman, grab her upside down, and bury her face in a
toilet bowl? I wanted to have something floating there ...
The thing is, you can do it, because in the end, I didn't do
it to a woman -- she's a machine! We could get away with
it without being crucified by who-knows-what group."

Join Arnold huh?

pejorative.

2003-10-03T00:36:00.000-07:00

Still, she danced there in a white dress that left the need
for imagination rotting in some children's playground. My
mind, deeply mired in sexual perversity, managed to
displace the descent exterior I had managed to lobby earlier
in the night. All in all I gave up and stood transfixed by her
presence: Some possible high school drop-out with
great legs and a penchant for dancing on stage in a
bizarre rhythm that gestured both sexuality, and the need
for a hair cut. As we walked outside the club, cigarette
butts, empty beer bottles, and some pornographer’s wig
littered the street as vestiges of tonight's performance.
Everyone seemed to be honoring some unspoken curfew,
which kept the local Protestants off the street until dawn.
The soulless grab-ass of daily existence went without debate in
the absence of flesh. I told my friend that I would
severely harm the next person that was willing to risk
walking down the same dark alley we were occupying.
He wanted me to restrain my emotions, but it was too
late for that now. I already had one too many
concoctions that would have been better off locked
away high on a shelf; out of arm's reach. Whatever
the case was, I knew the tribunal would hold me
accountable for any movement after such words were
threatened. No jury nor judge would pass sentence on this
bravado. Only cockroaches and feces to remind me that
subsistence was consigned to such depravity.

scrap book

2003-10-01T21:33:00.000-07:00

Where the hell is she? Down in some drunkard's bedroom
mixing cocktails and voicing flirts. She left the television on
again. Why does she do that? Why is she never home?
You need my comfort and all this leads to pretense and
pretext. Sex. Dirty sex. I need a shower and a massive
erection to satisfy you with. Great shit! The dog is
watching again!

press play

2003-09-29T00:29:00.000-07:00

Elia Kazan died today. This venerable director lived to the
ripe-old age of 94, his autobiography ran some 848
pages, and oh yeah...he named names during the McCarthy
hearings. (John Ashcroft, although only eleven at the time,
was reported as saying, "Kazan's a true Patriot!")
He was known to boast about his "educational affairs"
throughout the years with his actors. This included
one with America's favorite moled beauty, Marilyn Monroe,
who unlike some assholes out there didn't write children
books towards the end of her career so some other assholes
can go out and buy the book for their kids because they saw
it on some list from New York. (Of course having theories
floating around your corpse about Mob assassinations and
Presidential affairs doesn’t look so good either.) On point,
Kazan’s most recognized films are On the Waterfront, Streetcar
Named Desire, Death of a Salesman, and Rebel Without a Cause
(thanks Hayden - I blanked). He of course butchered Steinbeck’s
East of Eden, but novel adaptations are usually an exercise in
failure. (Fight Club is an obvious anomaly in that category.)
So, what am I going to do? I’ll probably head down to Le Video
and rent some of his films like some groupie asshole. Come on.
You can do it too.

medicinal merriment

2003-09-27T17:19:00.000-07:00

I awoke this morning to the unmistakable chill of an open window,
and thought that perhaps I had passed out in the goddamn
vegetable crisper. My grandfather always slept with an open
window (much to the disdain of my grandmother) regardless of
the outside climate. He often spoke in a pompous harangue that
left you longing for the sunlight. He diagnosed that an open window
ensured a long life. (Obviously he never lived in LA) My family would
drive eight hours every summer and every other winter to his farm
in Oregon, where an open window allowed the elutriated country air
to drift into our inert, diurnal bodies at night. My grandfather was
replete with these boastful nostrums that characterized his daily
existence, and consequently attached to the back of my brain like
some depraved bat. I rarely close my window now, even when the
extra blanket is failing. So what does any of this mean? Nothing
probably, only thoughts to help bolster the age-old axiom that if
you really believe something, chances are that is all you need.

surrealism

2003-09-19T22:49:00.000-07:00

I just returned from the New York Independent Film and
Video Festival in Los Angeles where the film I helped out
on (Open Up!) was being promoted. There were
approximately 30 other booths set up, all showcasing films
that have been selected for the steel-cage death match that
will laud or hemorrhage (or both) several egos in the next week. Our
film premieres on Wednesday the 24th, and hopefully an
audience finds their way to the screening that is comprised of
people besides the cast , crew, and loved ones of such.
As I sat at our booth, enterprising and full of righteous
indignation, I spot none other than one Mr. Ron Jeremy.
Now, those of you not familiar with this iconic legend, Google
his goddamn name and re-read the preceding sentence
with an exchanged sense of veneration. Anyway, he had
apparently made a cameo in one of the films, and was making
his rounds. A couple of the actresses from our film approached
him and he agreed to a Photo op. He was, in addition, decent
a man enough to accept a DVD of our film.
The best part though, was that hanging out with him was Sean
Astin; AKA Rudy. AKA Sam the Hobbitt. And of course who can
forget his ground-breaking role as Michael 'Mikey' Walsh from
everyone's favorite pirate movie: The Goonies. One of the
actresses from our film approached him and gave him a copy of
our film as well, after flirting with him and some sort of ego hand
job. (to be fair we all love this guy, and who in their right mind
wouldn't) He made me want to be an explorer when I was a kid
for chrissakes; and although I never found a organ manufactured
out of human bones or a ship full of pirate's gold, I did find my
share of beer caps and porn zines discarded by the local
teenagers up in the hills near my house.
The best part was that until that moment, I was unable to say the
following: A porn star and a Goonie has our film. And now...well,
I think I just said it.

moron's metier...

2003-09-15T15:47:00.000-07:00

My housemate's father is living with us temporarily;
until he finds his own accommodations. One of the
consequences to this situation is that he has installed
cable television to the stillborn wires that harbor in between
the floorboards and basement ceiling. I don't really
watch much television, but I happened to turn it on this
afternoon. As I stagger between channels of court room
stand-up judges and leased access info-tainment I discovered
The Outdoor Life Network, or OLN if you're into that whole
acronym thing. Anyway, on screen was a man dressed in
fautigues and an orange vest whispering to the camera. He
had a buck in his rifle scope sight and was closing in on the kill.
The man, who was perched in a tree over a hundred yards
away, seemed very tense and excitable. He tried to regulate
his breathing to calm measures, but seemed ready to
spontaneus combust from sheer excitement. Finally he turned
the safety off, exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger. The bolt
action flew backwards and so did the deer. Now, down on
the ground, pacing furiously towards the fallen beast he
starts the self-congratualtory word parade. He has gunned
down a buck from a safe distance, up in the reaching
branches of an oak tree, but somehow feels that he has
displayed great skill and valor. Skill maybe, but there was
nothing brave about his method of hunting, as there would
be for any reckloose sniper on a college campus. Leaning
over the buck, he grabs it by it's lifeless, careening neck,
and brags about how proud he is of that buck. What the hell
is he so proud about? He didn't raise that buck; nurture it.
He didn't contribute any of his genes to help create that animal.
All he did was put a bullet into its neck at 200 yards away. But
he's proud my friends. Proud, as he drives off into the sunset
on his ATV with that buck tied to the back, heavy with death.

peddling.

2003-09-14T13:16:00.000-07:00

My friend just returned from the dentist incoherently babbling
with a mouth full of gauze that would make Don Vito Corleone
jealous. Even with the least invasive procedure the nurse
is likely hand you a party favorbag with a six-month run of
vicadin. That sure would have made my double hernia operation
at 5 a lot more memorable than just that wobbly wagon ride to
the car. Christ.

frequency shift.

2003-09-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

Everytime I tune into NPR lately, there are nothing but fashion advice
segments, warning of the dangers of exposed midriffs, or there is
some retired military officer touting the supreme endowment of our
armed forces. If I want sex and violence I'll turn on Discovery Channel.

collecting things.

2003-09-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

I want to witness a ravenous pack of wolves feast on Ronald McDonald
groin; that depraved procurer of Happy Meals. His geopolitical quest for
world domination includes a free toy. How can you resist that?

rebates

2003-09-02T10:52:00.000-07:00

I've been thumbing through my appointment book this
morning only to discover blank pages. Even a widow
would have more to do this week with all those super
savings coupons to clip, and there is nothing more
depraved that a lonely old woman with scissors and a
fixed government income.

aegis.

2003-08-20T21:16:00.000-07:00

Munition building is very important in this littered planet of
pederasts, salesmen, and placated government officials.

malignment.

2003-08-15T00:13:00.000-07:00

I received an e-mail once, thanking me for joining the Britney
Spears Fan Club. Now I have nothing against that hard working
denizen of pop culture, but it was a spurious enlistment. Here is
the letter I sent them:

Dear hacks,
Perhaps I shouldn't blame you, for how are you to
know who legitimately subscribes to your fan service,
but I nevertheless need to be removed from this list of
pederasts and prepubescents. At no time had I signed
up for this and if I ever come across the cretin who
placed me in your database, there will no doubt be
kicks to the groin. Good luck in what must be an
indisputably rewarding employment opportunity. If you
ever come in contact with Miss Spears, tell her I loved
her Pepsi commercial.
Best regards,
TMC

stage indifference.

2003-08-07T00:10:00.000-07:00

I saw Phil Elvrum perform a solo acoustic set of his Microphones
material at Bottom of the Hill last year in May. He arrived at the
show with no instrument and ended up borrowing a guitar from
fellow rocker John Vanderslice. I appreciate that disregard.

shameless advertisment.

2003-08-02T23:54:00.000-07:00

I helped my friend write a film. It made it into a couple film festivals.
(one in LA and the other NY). It's called Open up! and the link
is to your right.

bank deposit.

2003-07-31T18:56:00.000-07:00

During Bush's ninth press conference since taking office (Clinton had
done 33 at a comparable date, and Daddy, 61) he referred to the
West Bank as the, "East Bank." Now don't think I'm always aware
of which direction I'm spitting into, but something that prevalent in
the news, and quite frankly, historically salient, should not be a
point of befuddlement. What a creep.

you and your cronies.

2003-07-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

The political agenda is heating up back here in the
States like a hiking blister. Blair is under fire
once again by his own government. Fresh ink reports
that a scientist who worked as an adviser for the
Ministry of Defense, has been found dead in an
apparent suicide. Scientist David Kelly has been the
BBC’s main source in its accusations that the
government hyped the threat posed by Iraq with its
weapons of mass destruction. With no weapons, nor any
vestiges of an operation being discovered, the
international community is screaming for vindication.
Blair states he will take full responsibility if in
fact his government is shown to have been responsible
for the death, but we all know how these things turn
out. Any possible turncoat will be dragged into an
alley kicking and screaming as pack of vicious dogs
are let out of their cages.
Even Bush has been snared by the media’s
contentions that the war was waged through illegal
means. He of course backpedals with as much grace as
a trout flopping on a sandy shoreline, and we’ll all
be damned if we ever get passed the funded motivation
for which this war started. There is much ire within
the administration whenever some poor scoundrel holds
these politicians to their words. Advisors and
analysts have begun to make their Vietnam analogies as
the American soldiers are being picked off one by one,
like some demoralizing carnival game. And now the
Koreas are turning their rifles at each other once
again. We live in an age of weapon envy.