Today, Thursday September 18, 2014, there will be a vote on the question of Scottish independence where, with a simple majority, Scotland will either move towards full sovereignty or remain a part of the United Kingdom. If independence is the choice, the Scottish government will aim for a March 24, 2016 independence day, following an interim of treaty negotiations, constitution writing, and other orders of business. The choice, by all indications, would be permanent. British PM David Cameron stated “It’s a decision about the next century.” That’s motivation enough to create one of the more extraordinary numbers born of the situation:

97% who are eligible to vote are registered with an expected 90% turnout.

That’s crazy. Crazy because it’s such a populist decision, crazy that such an important decision is trusted to a populist vote, crazy because… wait, isn’t that what democracy is about?

For some perspective, during the 2012 Presidential elections the voter turnout rate was about 58%, a dip from the 2008 rate of 62.3%, THE 2008 which, as I recall from my sweaty college days, was then hailed as a great reinvigoration of the voting masses. Obama, you may know, is black, and that was a big deal at the time. 

Still, while low 60’s might be a good winning percentage for a baseball team, it’s a D- in school, which is fucking failing. I contributed to our collective fail in 2012. I didn’t register, had some Chipotle AND McDonalds on voting day, and watched the numbers come in on some google app. But I saved the economy with my chubby food purchases. Go USA!

This isn’t anything against the US. For additional perspective, Scottish turnouts for the 2010 Westminster election (the UK government which allegedly does not represent Scottish interests) was a cool 63.8%. It dipped to 50.4% the next year for elections to the Holyrood parliament, Scotland’s own legislature which negotiated for the current independence hullabaloo. So grade school failing rates in voter turnout is not strictly an apathetic, fat American problem. It’s also not a problem that directly correlates with particular forms of government, electoral college, parliament or whatever. If you ask a person who didn’t vote ,”Dude, why?” … hey I’m qualified to answer that, so I’ll answer it:

"What’s the point?"

California just IS a blue state, for truly and forever. Every politician is less than 2 degrees of Kevin Bacon away from being in bed with Comcast. Oh, and House of Cards is real. 

Seriously, though, what’s the point? I’d do more good with my time cleaning garbage off the streets than researching which websites gave unbiased commentary, listened to said commentary plus additional commentary for perspective, read up on the issues, figured out why they were issues in the first place, and then found out that fuckall legislation is reactionary and takes ages to do diddly… I’d rather clean up garbage in bright colors, at least to give people something silly to glance at on their drive to work. 

Or I can do both. No one said education was easy, or that college means you’re smart, or that smart even matters. You gotta do your best or this brave new world will stay an old fool’s club forever. 

So Scotland, what will you choose? Further Devolution, Independence, or Status Quo? Will your 90% turnout rate dip back to 60% or 50% after the big day? Will you be romantic, practical, or both (because you can totally be both). Whatever you choose, go with gusto. 







Photo From the  LA Times:

Illustration by PD Eastman


A quarter spent is a quarter splurged- 
My clothes still aren’t clean.

Moved to a new house- Flourish
Started a new job- Clarence
Write out checks to the steady beat:
           acquire, achieve, repeat.

No girl I won’t date online girl
I can wait-
           and I don’t wanna party.
We can meet but not while working
We can meet but only lunch
We can meet but You look tired
We can meet and I would listen

Heard my own voice and it sounded weird-
Don’t think I grew up right.

The monsters are men and
not monsters anymore.
ISIS, Rural New Hampire Police Tanks, 
Big Fat Force-Field Banks.
We are not orcs.

Where is the Bill Gates money going and
Why is it so hard to see 40 billion dollars in charity?
Charity is ghost?
Society is host?
See what wants seeing most.

Drove through route 66,
Toyota-canned man in a fenced-lined intestine.
Must’ve been 8 years since I peed outside-
now I can afford a hotel.
Camped for a night in my car on the beach-
called ahead about legality.

This is the age when declarations are made-
I don’t know shit.
Buy a ring- wear it
Tattoo Ink- sear it
Sushi- eat it’s expensive so my minds on my
money goes my money in my stomach
flush it. pump it. gorgeous.

All my dreams are foreign
All my strength’s employed
All my friends are growing
All I am is boy


Happy birthday September 8ths! And to all the 20s- good luck have fun

Jupiter Calls


I’ve been dreaming a lot these days. This morning Jupiter was really close, like if I climbed a mountain to the top, I could jump out of this earthly realm and find a nice vacation home in the Great Red Spot. Also I wanted to take some pictures to instagram for friends back home.

Anyways, it appeared that the ideal spot for the jump was off a particular peak across this wide basin, perhaps 300 dream miles wide. The Advent of Jupiter also threw the folks living in my trailer cart town into a Burning Man like frenzy. I have never been to a Burning Man (in real life) or any other music festival, but if it’s anything like what I saw this morning, I will remind myself to bring extra TP. 

Something else about such large parties… It gives me the willies. Not that there’s anything really wrong with painting bodies and naked prancing about set to music (totally allowed in my new house’s rec room, the Carnal-val), but in groups one never really knows when the spark of madness can turn peaceful hippies into a pranky mob. When I left trailer town I could sense there was something amiss, but it was one of those back-of-the-brain feelings rather than a full frontal lobe observation.

And then I looked back…. PS. You should never look back.

I think they were witches, and/or zombies? Not sure if they were converted Burning Men or if Jupiter had some astral, demonic summoning powers. Either way they had a terrific human-sacrifice vibe about them… and they were chasing me! so dream-me moseyed liked the fastest flightless fatty he could be. Zoom-zoom across the desert basin (while take a few nice photos), past the dry river bed, and up the cliffs towards the mountain… 


The witch/zombies were fast on my heels. Being a film student (now film pro; I graduated, baby!) there were a lot of those close shots, narrow escapes followed by inexplicable new-found distance in the very next shot, inexplicable given the comparative rates of our vastly difference velocities. At one point I reach a new level on the cliff, turned around and rock-smashed a witch’s face, which obviously only made her angrier. I apologized since a rock to the face isn’t exactly enchante, but I kept running anyways when…


The cloak, the staff, the hair, the benevolence! I had to ask:

I’ve never been very celebrity-crazy, or had even a mild case of celebrity goo-gaga. But by saving my life, I think the man in the hood might’ve wanted to be just mildly acquainted. At the very least, I ought to thank him properly. So sir Gandalf…


Well Gan-DAMN.

And this is when I woke up. I never climbed the top of that mountain.

SO first I had a dream about parental infidelity that spiraled into a raging college depression, but then I met Ann Perkins and we are compatible!!! We started looking into real estate from a man named Saul Goodman… It’s been a crazy Sunday morning.