Another Generic Update Post

Yeah, I know. My lack of updates is pretty disgraceful, and I agree. But see, there's stuff brewing at the moment that I'm not necessarily at leisure to discuss at the moment. Nothing too earth-shattering or life changing at the moment, but still, exciting nonetheless for me.

Anyhow, let'a go through a little laundry list of what Bill has been up to over the past little while since he last wrote a passable blog:

- Been to a handful of shows, the Morning Benders and Spoon being the highlights of the past few weeks

- I've watched almost the entirety of Cowboy Bebop again (I'm just three episodes from the end of the series as I write this)

- got new glasses finally. Don't get me started on that one. All I'll say at this point is to be wary if you happen to do your eyewear shopping at West Portal Optical. The glasses are fantastic and well-constructed, but I'll be damned if I didn't wait for about a month longer than promised for the damn things to show up.

- Caught the A's home opener, which unfortunately they lost, but we still had a real ball. Gotta love how the season has started for the old boys in the green and gold

- Music, music, music - as if that were any different. I'm averaging three band practices a week, and a whole mess of other band duties outside of that. Speaking of which - if you want to get your hands on the new Hello Monster buttons, be sure and let me know.

Generally speaking, you can keep up more with the minutiae and links that my life are filled with, check out the Twitter feed or my Tumblr account, both links are off to the left. I do miss having a more regular blog, but when you're hardly ever home, it's hard to find the time to churn out compelling content. Hopefully soon enough...

Gawt Damn

I'll set the scene for you: about two weeks ago, I was meeting a friend for lunch at the Ferry Building. (For non-San Franciscans, that's a big complex with frou frou food and other delicacy options) It was a relatively boring Friday not unlike any other, and as he got held up at work and was running late for our pre-determined meeting time, I had a little bit of time to kill. I decided to kill it the best way I know how: by drinking coffee! Since there is a Blue Bottle kiosk right there in the Ferry Building, I could happily go about that very task.

So I proceed towards the line, and can't help but notice a cute girl on crutches sitting near the espresso machine. She kind of perfectly strikes that balance between cute and hot. Like, you know she's good looking, and she knows she's good looking, but there's something in her overall look that doesn't emit that "Yes, I know I'm hot, please leave me the hell alone" vibe, which is very refreshing. So I'm standing there, staring at her while not trying to make it blatantly obvious that I'm staring at her. The whole time I can't shake the feeling that there's something slightly familiar about her.

At this point I feel it bears mention that I have a memory somewhat like a steel trap. I remember people. I remember a ton of people, and have much more ease remembering people if they happen to be attractive females. Some would call it a gift, I just call it a knack. But I digress.

The more I look at this girl in a polite way that is both non-stalkerish as well as non-pervy, I convince myself more and more that I have seen her before somewhere. In particular, her smile really strikes a chord with me. It could be that it's one of those incredibly cute smiles that somewhat coyly turns up just like so at the corners, but I can't help but feel there's more than that.

I'm still two people away from the register when they call her name to collect her coffee: Rachel.

Rachel.

Rachel..... hmmm....

I start scanning the memory banks, hoping for any flicker of recognition so that I can possibly strike up a "hey, I think I know you" conversation. Nothing. Granted, I had probably ten seconds to dig it up, but there wasn't even a little spark of recognition as she got up, gathered her coffee and hobbled away. I proceeded to order my coffee, and had a few minutes to let the name rattle around my head. Still, by the time my friend showed up, it still hadn't come to me.

Flash forward maybe twenty minutes or so, we're sitting at the table having lunch, and suddenly it hits me like a bolt out of the blue: Rachel! Rachel who was in my short story class my junior year of college! Rachel who used to have reddish hair, but now has it a sort of chestnut brown! Rachel who still wears glasses and still has that amazing smile that used to drive me nuts back in the day! Rachel who was friends with the two baseball players in the class, who may or may not have been an athelete herself! Rachel who I thought was awesome but it didn't matter because I had a girlfriend at the time! That Rachel.

The moral of this story: if you're really cute, chances are I will remember you damn near forever. Also, Rachel is incredibly cute, and got even cuter over the last eight or nine years.

That 'burns.

Damn, Kat Dennings. I thought we had something. I think you're one of those fun cute, quirky actresses. I am even moderately amused by your love for all things hamsters and other quirks. I'm willing to overlook the "I don't really drink" thing, and a handful of other eccentricities that come with fame and stardom and all that.

But then, on an otherwise fine and dandy kind of a day, I fire up the ol' Twitter machine, and what do I read?

This tripe.

Yeah, for serious.

What the hell? Sideburns? You're going to take issue with sideburns? Think about how many great and handsome fellas had sideburns: Elvis, James Dean, Don Mattingly, Dylan McKay, Justin Pierre, Morrissey, Chester A. Arthur, and yours truly just to name a few. I mean, with the exception of me, those are all pretty good lookin' fellas, all of whom have their distinctive facial features enhanced by sideburns.

Apparently, I was no the only person out there who read that and was somewhat up in arms about this whole sideburns-gate issue that arose on the Twitters. The uproar was so large that good ol' Kat had to post this follow-up, to which I say "Feh. I wouldn't want to be kissin' on anyone who didn't like sideburns anyhow. No matter how much of a tiny celeb crush I may have once harbored, it's gone now." Next thing I know she'll be bashing on bass guitars, Kerouac, black hoodies, and Wes Anderson films while she's at it.

So I say to all of you out there, grow your sideburns, rock those mutton-chops, and just dig into whatever kinds of facial hair accent you feel is right. The Sideburned Human League is there to get your back, no matter what celebrities might say about them!

The Voices in Your Head

No no, not schizophrenia, nor in that talking to yourself and getting lost in the thought of what you're saying inside your head. Rather, what I've been curious about lately is the phenomenon of people reading, particularly fiction.

See, apparently I happen to be a bit of an anomaly: when I read books, I do next to nothing when it comes to envisioning characters beyond what the author describes or applying any voice to the characters I read. Apparently, when most of my friends that I've talked about this with, and the majority of the people I went through the master's lit program with at SF State have primarily said that they assign some kind of voice to the characters in what they read. There is part of me that fears I am somewhat missing out on this. On the other hand, it could be argued that by eliminating a voice when reading, I can more freely receive (and in an academic setting analyze) what is being said and by whom.

Now I won't try to say that I am completely immune to this; I clearly distinguish mentally when a narrative voice is changed. I also realize that in some situations I certainly attach a voice, namely when reading writers whose voice I know, or whose voice is such a strong part of their work, for instance with Bukowski or Kerouac, but I don't know if that really counts, since each author writes from a somewhat autobiographical point of view.

Still, it hasn't been until recently that I've become more cognizant of this fact. I suppose part of it would relate to hearing something read out loud. As I said before, I don't attach voices to the characters, but still, from time to time I'll either hear of an actor cast to play a part, or I'll happen across an audiobook rendition of something I've read, and I can say with complete certainty whether the person chosen is "right" or not.

So how does this work? Do you have distinct voices for characters when you read? Do you adhere to regional accents? Inflection? Do you picture characters a certain way, other than what is listed in the descriptions from the book? Have we become so centered on multimedia experience that we can't simply take literature at face value? Or am I missing out, desensitized by all the reading I do on a day-in-day-out basis, plowing through books and not being able to distance myself from the academic pursuit of reading? Leave a little something in the comments - I'm curious to hear what you have to say.

So Bill, Why Are You Looking So Confident Today?

No kids, it's not my masculine scent. It isn't the fact that I know I brushed my teeth extra well this morning. Nope, it's not even that the rash finally cleared up (I kid, I kid, relax). No kids, that devil-may-care, mothers-lock-up-your-daughters look can only be brought about by one thing: new underpants. That's right kids, good ol' Bill was just gifted a fresh pair of undies, and I couldn't possibly be any happier. Let me also tell you, that this is no ordinary pair of underpants, kids, this is a pair of special travelpants.

Inspired by the Rumdum Las Vegas "One Suit, One Weekend" trip that was such a resounding success, my wonderful friends the Desimone sisters decided to get me a gift that would take the whole thing one step further: one suit, one weekend, two pairs of underpants. See, these babies are not just lightweight and moisture-wicking, they are insta-dry, and they are meant specifically to be worn, washed, wrung out, and worn again. As the instructions on the packaging told me: "wash them, wrap them up like a burrito, stomp on them to dry them, and enjoy." While I have been washing them in the traditional way (you know, that modern marvel we call a washing machine). Still, the fact that I could essentially wet myself, run to the bathroom, wash up in the sink, and be almost ready to go in no time. I'm not saying I would consider wetting myself, least of all intentionally, but still, I sleep a little more soundly know that if I so desired, I could, and in the end, isn't that what really matters?

But I digress. Anyhow, new underpants. Good stuff. It makes me happy, they fit like a glove, and they keep me comfortably dry.

PS - yes, those are the underpants I have, but no, it's not my junk.

Man, I'm Terrible at This

Blog, did you miss me? Well, I missed you too. I'm not making excuses about the lack of blogging recently, I just have been lame. And by lame I mean going out a lot, and keeping somewhat odd hours, oh and I got an Xbox, which is never good news for free time at home. But yeah. Blog.

See, here's part of it, and I've been thinking about this recently: I talk to lots of people all the time, I tell stories, I shoot off silly emails to my friends that are of an almost bloggy nature, but this way if a story involves something or someone, I don't have to make it 100% public. Now I know you're wondering what I have to be all secretive about, and I promise you, it really isn't anything. I just find that by the time I get home from work I tend to be a little worn out on typing out my life again. Chances are I've done it already once that day, not to mention the whole "I write blogs for a living" kind of thing I have going on from time to time. I know it's an age old joke, but damn I'm glad I'm not a gynecologist. Wocka wocka wocka.

So, for instance, I emailed some of my buddies today with this little tidbit that's an amusing anecdote for my usually mundane everyday life. So part of my team's job at work is to generate content for our weekly newsletter. With our Valentine promotion in full swing at the moment, the three single kids have to riff on and on about all the wonderful things you should be getting for that special someone without really having special someones of our own. Well, that and my general hatred of all things Valentine, except the SF Pillowfight. But I digress. My coworker was working on a top ten Valentine gifts lists, and was stumped as to what men want for Valentine's Day. Chances are if you know me or happen to either possess or have regular access to a pair of testicles, you already know where this is going. Here we are, verbatim conversation via instant messenger:

Coworker_1: morning
bill_bergstrom: hey hey
Coworker_1: what do men want for v-day?
Coworker_1: top ten is not easy for a single gal
bill_bergstrom: honestly, I have no idea what to say
bill_bergstrom: men only really want sexual favors
bill_bergstrom: but you can't exactly offer cash back on those

See, this is the kind of knowledge I be droppin' day in and day out. We don't need a blog full of this silliness, now do we? And we sure as hell don't need me griping about MUNI any more than I already do. Hell, have you seen my Twitter account? I should get sponsored by MUNI, except the complete opposite. Which is really what it's like - I talk a load of shit about how badly they fail at doing anything, and they take my money all the time. Reverse sponsorship. Boom. Patent it. Trademark by me, 2010.

It's evident that it's late and I probably stopped making sense after the first few sentences of this blog, so I'll wind it down. But still, blog! Hopefully I'll be loopy tired and sitting at home tomorrow too so I can do this again. You know, like back when I used to blog all the time.

Not to be derivative, but....

"Look at this fucking love connection."





Happy Thursday, y'allz.