Portrait of a blogger who has never played well with others.

This damn blog has represented a roller coaster of manners of expression over the 5 years it’s been “on.”

I notice that I’ve been decidedly less autobiographical in the past couple of years. There was a time I spend nearly half my posts embarking on random personal tidbits concerning my self-maligned life and all the Charlie Brown bullshit that plagued my insignificance.

Then I started spouting angry stuff.

Posts became cathartic vehicles of spiritual cleanse.

Lately, I have no idea what theme I can use to summarize my written behavior. This blogger is aimless and no longer personally involved to the degree that the blog even represents him. I come here and shout and exclaim and verbally gesticulate with chaotic passion, but sometimes I wonder…where the fuck am I?

Am I even the one writing?

I’ve never maintained a singular focus and that is the recipe for insignificance. I’m not very social, in life or in the cybersphere. I don’t cozy up and I find many comment threads across most blogs intolerable because of the commenters’ inexhaustible recitations of arcane bullshit that strikes me as the attention-starved ramblings of shut-ins who just want to hear themselves type. I’m not a joiner in any respect. I don’t play well with others, digitally or not.

I am putting together a new blog project and at first I thought it would be faintly tethered to this Socially Extinct persona, but now I’m having second thoughts about that. It could very well be that my new blog will be completely anonymous. I guarantee and promise this: it will be a drastic departure in the respect it will be very Aspie and emotionally disconnected and will have nothing to do with politics or the gender wars or class warfare…but, perhaps, it may. A tiger cannot change his stripes…

In this vein, it’s been a while since I took the personal route here, and in the past few months I’ve grown a new facial pattern, my infamous loose dental cap finally fell into the drain, and I bought some really large sunglasses at Target a few weeks ago.

I’m cutting a new swath of doucheness and I don’t give a flying fuck.

I don’t mind anonymity, but if this secret castle were to suddenly crumble, oh well, what can I do?


The most liberating thing about growing “older” is the fact I just do NOT CARE about things like I used to. I read all the younger dudes in this blogosphere worried about women and career and status and I laugh and think “fuck that shit.” That was me then. Not anymore. I’m a modern urban ascetic. I feel disconnected from all the egos that populate my world. I have nothing in common with anybody. I’m so alienated from common hang-ups, but people don’t get it because they are only capable of imprinting their own world upon yours while defining your shortcomings as personal failures on their part, and they react thus.

It’s a massive sense of solipsism, one of the greatest upper mind traits of the human animal.

This is not a farewell, it’s a countdown to slow dissolution.

Posted in L7

The United States is a vile, nosy whore, and you will never escape her electronic glare.

There’s a rather classic axiom about women that men (and women) would do well to heed. It basically states that, “You can tell everything about a woman by how she treats men who can do nothing for her.”

Now this can be applied to men and women alike in theory, and many do blanket it over men, but for reasons I won’t delve into in this post, I think it is particularly and more powerfully appropriate as applied to women in their treatment of men.

Perhaps I’ll go into that another time, hopefully before I hang up Social Extinction’s gloves and move on to my new blog project. Who knows.

Anyway, this aphorism sums up the character of woman, which in today’s world, is not the subject of an exceedingly high bar.

On a slightly related tangent, I read this story that is emerging from the intrusive bowels of our powerful elitotechnocrat government.

It seems that a a slightly electronic Big Brother goon firm called “Persistent Surveillance Systems” talked the swampy inner city ghetto of Compton, California, into allowing a test run of what is really nothing more than a nuts and bolts crude marriage of light aircraft stamped with some very high-tech photographic equipment. The suburban Los Angeles banana republic community allowed the big brother firm to scour their streets, alleys, yards, parking lots, and every other civic nook and cranny for a period of time back in 2012.

Compton residents weren’t told about the spying, which happened in 2012. “We literally watched all of Compton during the times that we were flying, so we could zoom in anywhere within the city of Compton and follow cars and see people,” Ross McNutt of Persistence Surveillance Systems told the Center for Investigative Reporting, which unearthed and did the first reporting on this important story. The technology he’s trying to sell to police departments all over America can stay aloft for up to six hours. Like Google Earth, it enables police to zoom in on certain areas. And like TiVo, it permits them to rewind, so that they can look back and see what happened anywhere they weren’t watching in real time.

And not shockingly, this trial run did not take place over the skies of San Marino or Beverly Hills or Palos Verdes, or even Silver Lake. It happened in the big ol’ lower class cesspool called Compton which doesn’t boast nearly the crime levels it did just a couple of decades ago after its racial make-up slowly turned a lighter shade of brown in the Hispanic direction. Once Hispanics move in, the crime drops but the blight stays.

Still, it is Compton, and the renowned name offers all the attendant “ew” reactions from elite Whites who find it easy to turn a blind eye to the slow dissolution of privacy and individual autonomy because it is so easy for them to shake their heads meekly like kittens about something they feel obliquely is wrong in principle, but still doesn’t arouse great emotion because it’s not even close to home, geographically, and definitely not spiritually.

This represents a progression of the destruction of our privacy that has been in place for centuries. Technology is an exponentially increasing wave of global shrinkage. Our lives will be entwined one day. We will live in a collective human cognitive hive. I’ve postulated this before on this blog (search “hive”).

This shrinkage of technological existence is being exploited and perpetuated by government and commercial interests. Who would have thought otherwise? What are you, an idiot?

We directed the technology at enemies in the desert but ignored its ramifications because we lost a bunch of capitalist suits in NYC about 13 years ago. It was for the “greater good.” Let’s hand the government and private enterprise all the tools it needs to “protect” us. We handed it to them and they roundly flaunted it and now…

The enemy meme has worn thin. Now it’s time to move on to the domestic dredges of American society.

Let’s aim the weapons inwards.

No one will care (no one who matters, I should say). Compton? Bah. That’s a crime-ridden shithole with a bunch of miserable Latin immigrants and swarms of violent black thugs. No one gives a shit if you intrude on their privacy. The elites enable it by retreating to their own silent, mute private toils of gluttony.

Judge a woman by how she treats men who can do nothing for her; judge a nation in the same way by how it treats those with no voice.

Our nation is a vile whore.

Posted in L5

Skinny White skater kicks Mexican hoodlum’s ass. Another day in SoCal’s shithole IE…

I gotta say that coming from the clannish ethnic Hispanic perspective, it makes me cringe to see this.

As much as I hate cholos and other assorted Mexican gangsters, I have to admit there is a vicarious sense of toughness the weaker ethnic segments bleed off the bad boy fringes of their population. It’s human nature and I’m not too ashamed to admit it. I’m Mexican and slightly nerdy, weird, metal mental (LOL), alienated…so it is bothersome for me to admit that it’s kinda “cool” when I see the more violent fringes of my ethnic countrymen act like beasts. It strengthens me in a thoroughly psychic measure because ultimately, I garner no physical strength when a Mexican guy beheads someone or kills the member of a competing gang, yet, something clicks and makes me think that maybe I share some of that displaced macho acclaim, if not for myself, at least for others (ie, women).

It’s an Alpha thing. Alphas are able to intellectually and physically spread their strength, thus winning the allegiance of their ostensible competitors. Alpha appeal is physical for the opposite gender and mental for the same sex.

So when I see that a Mexican hoodlum gangster raises hell and talks like Scarface with the obligatory “pistol pose,” I expect that he will have his way. Especially when the victim is a skinny White skater twerp.

Uh. No. Doesn’t always work out.

Check this out.

The skater slowly demolishes the Mexican white t-shirt gangster. I hate those baggy jeans and white t-shirts. Some of these cholo dudes seem to have reached the point where they derive too much strength from their signalling props, but this is only because the meek allow it.

Not this skater! He is not meek.

Fucker has balls of steel.

I’m posting this on Youtube for now. It could very well be torn down soon.

Posted in L2

Getting profiled by the Mexican chick at Target.

I need (needed) a lawn chair or some sort of outdoor seating apparatus for my patio. When I moved into this place, I had one, and I sat outside most nights and read or drank and stared at the sky.

This is before I went all-out wireless, so I didn’t even surf “the web” at the time. It’s been 5 years since that post and a lot has changed. I am more open to wireless surfing, though I detest the concept. In fact, the true reason I don’t have a smart phone is because I see no compelling reason to be in touch with this big cluster-fuck called “humanity” for 24 hours. There are moments I truly enjoy leaving the house and all that comes with it, and being apart from all you fuckers.

This is what I don’t understand about smart phone users. Why do they even want to be in touch all the time? Who needs that. I don’t want to be accessible (or access) when I’m not home. Wireless sucks, but whatever, I caved when it came to surfing wirelessly at home.

Five years later, it’s occurred to me that I can surf outside now, but I have nothing to sit on. The old patio chairs I had when I moved here are now tattered remnants of the distant past. I didn’t have the presence of mind to bring them in each day, so they sat basking in the sun and the fibers slowly disassembled with exposure. Those old lawn chairs are now naked aluminum frames offering no support to your ass if you should choose to sit in one.

So I decided it was time, now that summer is approaching, to invest in a nice lawn chair so I can sit outside and enjoy the fruits of wireless surfing.

I know nothing about Goddamned lawn chairs. I went to Target since I presumed they would carry such ridiculous items.

Lawn chairs are trivial and a waste of mental time. I refuse to spend more then 2 minutes on selecting the “right” one. I drove over to the beautiful Target in East Los Angeles and paved my way through the hordes of Mexicans (the crowd was easily about 99.9993% such) and found the “gardening” section where they carry such shit.

I found a plastic-smelling fold-up contraption that looked relatively comfortable and walked it over to the register. The store was packed with all sorts of my people. Shouting children, overzealous mothers in whore outfits, loudmouthed ghetto broads with make-up, a real sordid microcosm of Tijuana. My element!

And there I went with my little new electric blue lawn chair. The price ticket said $21. Acceptable. I’m the cheapest fucker you saw this side of NYC. Still, I saw no serious problem with paying this to sit on my forlorn patio.

I hoisted it onto the conveyor belt and awaited my turn at the register. Now the poor cashiers at Target in East LA are faced with a conundrum. They must greet each customer in that kind customer service manner, and in this environment, they probably all know Spanish and they all know to resort to it on a customer-by-customer basis. I get spoken to in Spanish a lot because everyone is East LA is Mexican. Customer service in this town is simply playing the odds. If I’m in Seal Beach, I will get spoken to in English; in East LA, it’s mostly Spanish, wey!.

The minute the cashier saw me and my chair, she launched into some serious Spanish which I didn’t understand. Her voice and its lilt was quite beautiful, and it turned me on a little. But I understood little. I can get by with rudimentary Spanish, but this chick was talking some serious Espanol jargon and I was stumped. But the gist of her question was “how will you be paying?” I replied, “credit card” in English, and she commenced speaking to me in my native language. But she acted as if I was a Spanish speaker based on, 1) my appearance, 2) my purchase. And she was wrong on all counts.

The guy behind me looked just as Mexican as me, but the difference is, he was about 5 inches taller than me (what guy isn’t?) and she opened him up in English. I heard it clearly as I walked away with my lawn chair.

I got profiled because of my height by a Target cashier. It’s all I can think.

On the Red Line train that goes through downtown, there are 2 consecutive stops:


Now 7th Street/Metro caters to the downtown high-rise-sphere and the LA Live complex/Staples Center crowd. These are pretty White people and other high-achieving professionals. They dress nicely and stand erect in the train. They stare clear-eyed at the horizon.

And then, you have the Westlake/MacArthur Park crowd…It is uh…shady, swarthy…criminal? They live in the Pico Union district where the population is largely Central American. Truly a shithole.

I get off a bit later, so I can watch them all disembark and the most notable thing is that the crowd that exits at MacArthur Park is noticeably short and dark compared to crowd that exits at 7th Street. The people that head to LA Live and downtown are tall; those getting off in the Union District are very, very short, shorter than me even.

Bottom line is, I can’t blame the Target chick for thinking I only speak Spanish.

But now I have a nice lawn chair.

Posted in L3

Who’s killing all the great Hispanic girls of Los Angeles?

Sometimes the eeriest story is about what didn’t happen. It’s about the faceless and abrupt circumstance of…nothing.

I am frequently struck by plot ideas while reading the news. I think “what if” and my mind flies ahead, conjuring layers and levels of vague convoluted plot development.

What if…

Earlier today, Los Angeles police announced a $100,000 reward to anyone who could help them solve the murders of a pair of Hispanic girls in 2011 which occurred about 8 months apart. The scope of the cases was small and relatively confined to the local police blotter. Not much media play here even though the cases promise a nice dose of that morbid Los Angeles backdrop to the assorted evil deeds of men and women.

Michelle Lozano, 17, was murdered in April of that year. Her body was found in the brush by the side of the Golden State Freeway in Boyle Heights. She had been strangled, wrapped in plastic, and shoved in a plastic container which the murderer dumped over a concrete barrier. When the container hit the ground, it broke open and Lozano’s corpse fell into the brush.


The second girl, Bree’Anna Guzman, went missing on December 26 of that year after failing to return from a quick trip to pick up cough medicine from a local Rite Aid. Her family reported her missing and it wasn’t until a month had passed that her body was found dumped by the side of the Glendale Freeway in Silver Lake, near the Golden State Freeway.


Both murders had various geographical elements in common: both originated in Lincoln Heights, both bodies were found close to the Golden State Freeway, and the location of the bodies was only about 4 miles apart and part of the same congruent freeway chain. The fact that both girls disappeared from Lincoln Heights (near Dodger Stadium) set the neighborhood on edge. They were young, Hispanic, and for the longest time there was speculation that the cases were related but no one would or could confirm. Various stories surfaced that maybe it was a disgruntled boyfriend, or that a serial killer was loose in Los Angeles. There was talk of a white van.

From CNN transcripts:


JESSE CAMPOS, LINCOLN HEIGHTS RESIDENT: We seen a white van going really slow and there was a girl across the street. And me and my two friends walked up next to it to try to see who it is, and they just drive off real fast.

DOLORES RUIZ, LINCOLN HEIGHTS RESIDENT: They actually had her, but being as she was yelling and screaming that they released her, they threw her out of the van and told her that they would be back for her.


Now three years later, almost to the day, of Lozano’s murder, police have announced that forensic evidence indicates the two murders might be related.

It did not appear the two victims knew each other, according to Capt. William Hayes of the LAPD.

Investigators, citing forensic evidence, announced that they believe the same person was responsible for both slayings.

However, officials said that with no surveillance video, eyewitnesses or a description of the killer, they have little to go on.

Hoping to generate fresh leads, investigators along with grieving family members addressed the media in front of the Police Administration Building in downtown L.A. on Tuesday.

The rewards, totaling $100,000, were being sponsored by Los Angeles City Councilman Gil Cedillo, according to the release.

As I said, the eeriest stories are those left unsaid. Is there a serial killer roaming Los Angeles yet again? And why has he not struck since 2011? It’s been three years.

Did he die?
Is he incarcerated for another lesser crime?
Did he move operations to another state?

For the police to link the killings leads me to believe there may be DNA evidence present. In which case, it’s merely a matter of time while they scour national databases looking for a match.

Or what?

Now this is the story I speak of. A story about someone who began his illustrious serial killing career only to have it stopped short, and the possible reasons are the genesis for the story I’m thinking about.

It can be a horror story. A malevolent evil spirit slasher killer haunting the foothills of Eastern Los Angeles.

It can be a political story. The white van has been traced and the police know who the killer is, but the killer has…connections which result in a massive cover-up.

Or it can be a strange little existential morality play. The killer experienced a dramatic epiphany after killing Guzman (the day after Christmas) and made a New Year’s resolution in 2012 to never murder another person. So he embarks on killing animals to sate his evil dementia. The story examines the method by which he traps and tortures the animals and the parallel human-animal theme is the weird tension that drives this story.

When a chain of serial killing stops, psychologists will tell you that serial killers don’t just consciously “stop” killing. That there are probably other circumstances that have rendered the killer unable to kill. Where is he…?

Maybe outside your door.

Or inside.

The killer is a misogynistic HBD blogger who despises crude, unrefined, and decidedly unsophisticated Chicano culture, but finds a cathartic outlet in blogging and no longer experiences the urge to kill Mexican girls anymore. Until Word Press shuts his ass down, then the killing begins again, in earnest this time.

That’s it. My pitch!

Or…are my plots all foiled because he’s back?

Lorenza Arellano

Lorenza Arellano

**Postscript: interesting that Lozano and Guzman were killed/found around the 25-27 of each month, as was Arellano. Excuse my armchair detective quarterbacking.

Posted in L2

Our parched layers of despondency; measures without prediction

I frequently reckon meself a philosophical poet.

And I live this out in excruciating amounts of gore on Facebook.

Some people like to argue with me. I get swatted down, and I win. Ultimately, it’s all in fun. One must fine tune their mental motors. If you live among those who agree with you, you will stagnate and turn stale.

The mind must be enlivened with opposition and piercing petulance.

Earlier, I was arguing with a guy who sounded like he sprouted from the HBD ranks of numbers and methodology. We debated numbers, statistics, and their significance (or -in).

He got me.
I got him.

Ultimately, it was all in good fun.

The game is better than the hollow outcome.

But I did (spontaneously!!) volunteer a tidbit of wisdom I was rather proud of in retrospect. To the degree I made a post of it!

FB 040714

We are a big fucking dry, arid pasture of humanity, man.

We suck up the rain into our parched layers of despondency.

Eat me!

Posted in L7

My new timeless blog project, part 1.

The most jarring, beautiful thing about these old photographs and videos is not the images they offer of an unfamiliar Los Angeles monochromatic vision of antiquity, but the sense of harsh, frightful mortality they present.

As one watches these videos and studies the photos dating back 40 or 70 years, the one overarching realization is that most of the people in the visible frame are dead. Old photos and old videos make real the incessant march of life and death, which we, ourselves, are part of. The old images taunt us with our own fatalism. We will go the way of discarded images, too, and in decades we will be fodder of the deceased past.

But for now, these few delicious moments, we are alive and we can realize this consciously.

This is why I love the old images.

Of course, it is interesting to see Los Angeles as it pulsed languidly in the 1940′s or 1960′s, but the deathly bleakness that the photos remind me of is what draws me, mesmerizes me. There is no shortage of old stock footage and photography of the City of Angels.

This old noir-style filmed footage of Los Angeles from the 40′s has been digitized and posted over at the Internet Archive project. Apparently, this particular footage was intended as stock footage for potential use in a theatrical production as automobile “rear window” scenery.

This classic footage originates from a drive along the Sunset Strip in 1964. Many of the landmarks are gone, some have generally remained the same, but the ghosts of time’s passage hover over this 4-minute cruise.

And on Facebook, there is a wonderful “Vintage Los Angeles” page in which users are welcome to donate/upload their own museum remembrances of Los Angeles past which has proven to be a great source of historical photography.

Looking southbound on Vine.  Ansel Adams, 1945.

Looking southbound on Vine. Ansel Adams, 1945.

Folklore in Los Angeles, The Witch's House.  1920's.

Folklore in Los Angeles, The Witch’s House. 1920′s.

Venice Beach, 1970s.  No further explanation required...

Venice Beach, 1970s. No further explanation required…

It all looks vague, indecipherable, oblique, foreign. Mysterious.

I can’t touch feel these photos thoroughly because they are so old and unidentifiable.

At best, we’re lucky to know the approximate year the film or photo was taken. But I’m a precisionist documentarian.

I just made this up. But I am.

I absolutely enjoy old visions, but I want to know when and where they occurred. Landmarks help, and second-hand accounts of approximately “when” but they were snapped, but those who left us posterity didn’t consider this important. Rather, it was not emblematic of the time of be this precise.

Precision is the curse of our age.

Everything we do must be data compressed and data confined. Our mind is now shaped thus.

In 1940, they weren’t concerned with the unique geospacial/universal identifier that would place the coordinate of the photo within an infinite particulate of space time for us to consider. This is fine. I’m still delighted that they bothered to leave us something.

Even the antique “dash cam” footage was sorely lacking in metadata.

Those of us familiar with Los Angeles might be able to piece together the geographical location based on familiar recognition, but it is never a sure thing.

In fact, as I studied the old black and white 35mm dash cam action and the Mad Men-era color Sunset Strip footage, it occurred to me that we have always been intrigued by the “dash cam” concept. A car moves and covers so much more territory than a person on foot can. Doesn’t it follow that we should film our travels through the windshield?

I bought my dashcam in October, 2012, following a small fender bender with a driving skills-deprived Sino Californian. I’ve periodically transferred most of my driving footage to a hard drive. I have hours of driving footage archived. It’s all marked with GPS tags of time, speed, geographical coordinates…all the juicy data I love.

It would be interesting to pore through this digital footage museum of mine and pull out snippets of random footage and still shots and paste them in the netherworld of blogdom.

Since Social Extinction is self-hosted and I’m hardly a master of code, and I really hate battling with the incessant speed drains I’ve been experiencing here, I’m going to start a “sister” blog devoted to snapshots and footage from my dash cam history.

Since it will be based on a dash cam, it will be stamped with all the pertinent meta data. Plus, I don’t really give a crap if someone spends useless time and effort dox-ing a no-name blogger like me. I won’t hold back.

Here is an example of screenshot I might use:

Exhibit 1

In 75 years, someone might be looking at this putrid East LA alley and awe at the exotic spectacle.

Time rewards, and time kills.

One of the greatest gifts we can leave our progeny, our future generations, is the gift of our moment, uncapturable and never liveable, but frozen and molded in visual memory to sustain the decades of time’s passage.

In leaving my dash cam photos and video clips, I will cement a past that will hark back to my perished soul for those who might stumble upon remnants in 50 or 100 or 200 years.

The internet is the largest archive in the history of man. Everything we say, write, present, will be engraved in a non-physical medium for eternity. Once the digitized traces of our humanity seep into the atmosphere and have left our Earthly boundaries for good, they will linger in an ethereal disembodiment that other sentient beings can capture until the ends of time.

So when I post photos of innocuous automobile footage, I will capture much of this life that I cannot capture in my living room. A broad horizon of civilization through a motor vehicle.

And why do I write all this?

I will be embarking on a new blog soon devoted to nothing but dash cam video- and still-footage (as in the example above).

I will occasionally link or cite the new site from here, but I will not cite or link Social Extinction from there. It will be a one way street.

It will be a wonderful, strange project. More to come.

Posted in L5

More Hollywood thuggery and its continued enabling by the media.

Hollywood is under attack from ghetto infiltrators.

Many weekends don’t pass before you hear of yet another shooting outside a club here, and those involved are always the usual suspects. Some media outlets don’t seem to relish being the messengers of that bad, dark news. In fact, some even wipe it from their initial posting slate, but Feedly will always catch ya.

It catches every spelling error (and I can attest to this!)

KTLA on Feedly:



And on the current KTLA page, 3/30/14, 1942 hours:

..and after

..and after

Over at KABC, they played it safe and passive by telling us the truth by illustrating extraneous descriptions we can use for the sake of deduction (only if we dare be honest).

When you describe the victim, it might say a lot about the bad news without having to smash barriers of liberal, 2014 civility:

Hollywood shooting ABC

The news does a terrible job of describing the big white elephant because they are consumer outlets subsisting on advertising and are prevented from stating an obvious fact. You can only allude to it with raised eyebrows and raised overpriced champagne.

Live your fancy life and pretend no one is bad until they do bad.

Hollywood is going to the shit because it’s been overrun by thugs.

Posted in L3

My future time orientation co-exists with a hellacious dose of don’t-give-a-fuck.

It’s common knowledge that most of the IQ-obsessives who clutter the pantheons of this blogosector are fond, and even committed, to the concept of “future time orientation” as an intrinsic denotation of human intelligence.

Their perspective presumes that intelligence is the only precursor to maturity and responsibility. Most HBDers lack the nuanced honesty which makes obvious the falsity of such postulations. Intelligence does not correlate absolutely with responsibility, maturity, or any other quaint manner of describing what I call “giving a shit.”

Obviously, most intelligent people do give a shit. Most people in general, smart and not smart, give a shit. Giving a shit is human nature.

Conversely, not giving a shit is a character void dominant among those who do not seem particularly bright because they value the external and the rash. But giving a shit is a byproduct of intelligence…like an exhaust valve. It is a causal result of having an intelligent nature which usually accompanies timidity and neurosis.

Lack of intelligence usually accompanies a bold, unrefined nature that does not dwell in details or indecision.

To cite future time orientation as an integral aspect of intelligence merely illustrates the correlation but denies the (non-existent) causation.

I consider myself (ahem) rather intelligent. And in fact, my future time orientation is occasionally neurotic in nature. To the point where I worry about contingencies and plan for them in ways most normal people don’t. And yet. I also shrug off so many niceties of mannered civilization that I find I have more in common with some of the scrum of the Earth than so-called civilized folk.

Most of the time, I don’t give a shit about a lot that mature people should.

I don’t take care of things when I should. There are a host of adult responsibilities I hate dealing with, and you know how I respond? I simply don’t do them.

Yet, I work selflessly at my job, I conduct my personal finances with the obsessiveness of a psychiatric patient. Yet, I hate, hate, hate dealing with 401k and other retirement items because they bore the living fuck out of me. I hate learning about financial investments and real estate. This stuff is about as exciting as…golf?

Sometimes, I just don’t give a shit.

But in the minutiae of daily life, I’m horribly, mentally, future time oriented.

Just don’t ask me anything about my retirement or medical plans because you will get the blankest stare.

Posted in L6

Quake shit in LA, 2113 hours

Nice shake-up for a Friday night.

Posted in L5