save the last blog, i don't believe there is one instance of blogging in which i have not referenced a bandito of the karlito variety. for those of you (really just karl and bj b/c i know you are the only ones reading this crap, possibly some jen character, but this may be one of karl's alter egos) who read this crap who may not know the reasons for which karl becam karlito bandito you will no doubt be entertained, or at least distracted by the following:

it was a hot, wet night. the way every night in the jungle seemed to be. there were VC everywhere and tracers were flying over my head like...

wait, wrong story.

it was hot, however. it was summer of 1997. now this fact is a source of much debate, but it is in fact accurate. i was working at Days Inn in the ville. BJ was working at "the shop." (if you don't know what i'm talking about, you don't deserve to know.) i believe karl was working at the chinese restaurant, no doubt the cromagnan phase of karl's culinary evolution, but i digress. if you can believe it, we drank frequently, and by frequently, i mean a lot, and by a lot i mean 6 days a week for 6-8 hours a day (sunday being reserved for the lord). i don't mean we sipped beer while watching sportscenter and curling, i mean we had our cocktails served in fucking pint glasses. in any event, BJ (and this was before he legally changed his name, anyone who knows what the B & J stand for are sure to receive a $5.00 gift certificate to the gap or other useless retail venue) was not limited to rum and diets. instead, he would close the shop just in time for me to start happy hour at the days inn, of course the only happy hour special was anything BJ ordered, and the price was approximately 4 cents for every drink. (coincedently beth also worked at days, but for some reason didn't come drinking with us that often. i believe she lived in la plata or some other dreadful place.) i had concocted the ultimate summer drink, i think i called it summer breeze or something, it was pretty much vodka, vodka, vodka, vodka, and a splash of some secret ingredient that i don't remember. i was drinking prince loco's (crown and coke w/ a splash of rose's lime juice). karl, big surprise, gin and tonic; unless of course he was depressed or happy, in which case it was long islands; occasionally it was guiness. anyway, i was in a fraternity, which means i spoke loudly. the cultural mileu was such that jock rock vol. 2 was available and the announcer for professional fights was included in a techno song and the emphamis phrase "leeeeeet's get reeeeeeady to rumbllllllllle." beej and i would typically meet karl at the dukum, damn dukum, round about 9:00. during one of these drunken stupors karl walked in and i said, loudly of course, "karrrrrrrrlito banditooooooo," in hommage to jock rock. no one really appreciated my sentiment. being the jackass that i am, i found the lackluster reception of the new nickname to be just what i needed to repeat it ad nauseum. since that time, karl is forever known by me as karlito bandito. fascinating stuff, yeah?

that summer, was very much the catalyst for what has become two of the greatest friendships of my life. we are each pompass and egotistical in our own rite and it is fantastic. i have learned much from these individuals, and more importantly have forgotten much more. what is unmistakable, however, is that memories, even obfuscated ones, are divine. there is no substitute for a genuine connection and trust among humans. more on this later, but for now let us not forget:

dirty dianna
two for tuesdays
"i want you to take your barbeque, your friend, and get the hell out of here"
st. peter saying to dolly parton "everyone knows a royal flush beats a good pair"
krazy kerri
roseanne
tyler (the bartender)
pat (and 2 am chicken strips)
i'm a starvin man's breakfast (karl knows nothing of this b/c he always passed out drunk before we made it to shitty)
police trainer (see above)
the fat old townie in overalls that ALWAYS whooped our ASS at pool
hereditariness runs in my family
bj shooting on the 8 ball (and never, never making it)
karen kuehnle (sp?) "i think i just peed" (she was on bj's back)
linda seidel
"i tap two mana and cast counterspell"
jed and his elementary teacher girlfriend that he never had sex with
no boob awareness kelly
the etymological history of mug
preacher comics
chess
"heeed"
"are you chris knight?..."
4-point pitch
big red in the pubes
ponderosa, 4 a.m.
keep this in your hearts, i want this said at each of our funerals:
"here's to another night of drinking in this damn town,
a bottle of rum, a bottle of gin, and a bottle of crown,
i've loved a lot of women but that's no sin,
got most of 'em in bed with just a boyish grin.
and i've fallen in love by the way they were walking,
and they would be perfect if i could keep them from talking,
but since it's against the law to make her mute,
i'm gonna drink all night long until she gets cute!"

cheers

mike figgis... a crappy director

don't ever watch cold creek manor. one of the worst movies i have seen in a long time.

tedium

i too, sing a song of synovial sadness. i don't have the posts in view, but* bandito has been commenting on purpose and purposeless. its wonderfully reassuring to know that others still endeavor or struggle to understand or grasp this notion of consciousness in a temporally finite existence. reassuring indeed. and i same damn you Milan Kundera. before having read the unbearable lightness of being, i was very purposefull-- very tennyson. (and now i digress b/c these lines are a rose that proverbial wisdom says we must stop and smell:

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.


3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.)

but after having read Kundera's crowning jewel (although i actually prefer immortality), i simply don't care. i came away from this book with the sense that intellectuals should see as bullshit the dramatic interludes of behavior and the accoutrement of emotions that follow. wanting to fancy myself as an intellectual, therefore, i too rejected as hollow or superficial the many behaviors of cultured exsitence. but Kundera provides no adequate remedy, it is very much a kick in the balls followed by a sharp kick to the balls. faced with a series of primordial choices which are categorically dichotomous: live - don't live, every event resolves into mundane process. the mindset really is utterly baseless and amoral, not even action and consequence survives the caustic nature of "nothing matters." fortunately, by the time this sociopathic tumor has taken hold i have been preprogrammed to conform and to accept as appropriate standards the ideas of stability and wealth. i believe sincerely, however, that stability is a narcotic and not a panacea.

referencing once again to karl's blogs, i quote from wargames "the only solution is not to play." but the game is not life in this scenario, the game to be avoided is the search for purpose in life generally. if everything feels purposeless, then certainly there are far more gratifying behaviors than finding or creating purpose.