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Wet Dream

Somewhat Daily Whoroscope
You will dream that you are on your knees giving a billionaire head on his private jet while he watches golf. When you wake up you will realize how this is the perfect metaphor for the fact that you are currently sucking the dicks of your creditors while they are out playing golf. Take it all in stride. Remember to count the blessings you DO have and then remember to count the 30,000 children who will die today from starvation. When the creditors call, tell them you are currently working on repaying your karmic debt and you’ll get to them as soon as humanity is back on track.

Osama Bin Laden?



If you answered Tom Cruise you are correct.
We don't doubt that you don't do anything half-assed
Tom Cruise
because you are 100% crazy!
(To interpret Scientology acronyms and figure out WHAT THE FUCK TOM CRUISE IS SAYING click here and be very afraid.)
Now that you've seen the real thing...check out the funny.
(Although we think the real thing might be funnier.)


This life's dim windows of the soul.

Distorts the heavens from pole to pole.
And leads you to believe a lie
when you see with,

not through,
the eye.

- William Blake

Years ago when I lived in this building, my friend Koi and I celebrated what we dubbed “The Church of the Unmade Bed” every Sunday. This was back in the days when Joe Frank did his radio show on KCRW called “The Other Side”. We would hit the farmer’s market for breakfast, come home, get stoned, kick back and absorb the genius. For those of you who have never heard this show, or of Joe Frank, you are missing out on one of the great minds of our time.

Mr. Joe Frank is a magician with his words, taking sound bites and seemingly disconnected ideas yet somehow weaving a tapestry of brilliance with them. His dark, cynical monologues (the voice in my head), contrasting the calm words of Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield (the voice in my heart) laid the groundwork for the PHETASY PHILOSOPHY. Sarcasm, despair, hilarity and spirituality can all exist together. In fact, not only can they, they MUST.

At the end of every hour with Joe I felt enlightened, disturbed, uncomfortable…any number of complex feelings would usually be occurring simultaneously. No matter what the feelings were, I felt that my soul had been rearranged during the course of the broadcast and I was somehow different.

It is in the spirit of Joe Frank and “The Other Side” that The Church of the Unmade Bed (CHUB) has been revived here on Phetasy. I am not even attempting to come CLOSE to being Joe Frank, but I am going to try to post nuggets of wisdom every Sunday. Hopefully these thoughts from the Masters bring you that much closer to, for lack of a better word, The Source. All from the comfort of your own bed.

Pinball Wizard

There are moments in your life when you say something so dim-witted and unintelligent that you know you will never, EVER live it down as long as you are alive. And it’s never around your dumb friends you watch football with every Sunday. Ohhh no. Moments of humiliation are reserved strictly for the people you want to impress the most. It’s usually when you are sitting around a table with a bunch of creative geniuses hell bent of saving the world that you will say, quite possibly, the dumbest thing you have ever said in your life. Jessica Simpson is infamous for her “blonde moment” when she questioned the true nature of tuna. After last night, I will be notorious for mine.

I vividly remember the first time diarrhea of the mouth struck. I was 15. I was visiting my dad for the summer on the East Coast. The local golf course happened to be hosting the US Amateur. I got stoned with my gay uncle and went to go check out the scene. Right around the 18th Hole I bumped in to my dad who was having a chat with another man I didn't recognize.

My dad: (lovingly) Oh, hey Bridge, I was just talking about you. I wanted you to meet John. He is in charge of the X-Games. Maybe you can get a job when they are here next summer.

Me: (stoned) Yeah. Cool. Cute guys.

Silence. The sound of a golf ball getting driven through the Grand Canyon echoes through my head for what seems like an eternity. My father is speechless with mortification. John is embarrassed for me. Just writing this still makes me sick to my stomach. I am praying that the Lord might smite me with a quick bolt of lightning to put me out of my misery, spare the planet any chance of my reproduction and answer my father’s immediate prayers.

That was single-handedly the most humiliating moment of my life. Until last night. I was invited by a very good friend who is quite possibly the most amazing human being on the planet, to a dinner with a bunch of his other amazing business partners and artists. I made up a word for this: entreprenactivists. Let’s just say I was definintely the least remarkable person present; a kid at the grown up table.

I got to talking about my favorite local pub.

Me: (excitedly) It has shuffle board and pool tables and jenga and fusbol!
Genius 1: Does it have pinball?
Me: (confused) Fusbol?
Genius 1: No. Pinball. With the ball and the flippers and the blinking lights.
Me: (I can’t get the image of fusbol out of my mind. It sticks. It won’t let go. I want to go play it immediately). Fusbol?
Genius 1: No. Pinball.
Me: What’s pinball?
Silence. A fork clinks on a plate. An ice cube rattles in a glass. A plate is cleared in the other room. A homeless guy sneezes across the street. Time stops.
Me: OH!!!! Pinball!! Yeah of course I know what pinball is!
Genius 2: (the one who invited me…utter disappointment) Bridge….
Genius 1: We almost had to kick you out of the dinner party.
Genius 3: OK Jessica Simpson.

I hang my head in shame, embarrassment and disgust for myself. Jessica Simpson ain’t got shit on me. What’s pinball? What’s pinball? Did those words actually come out of my mouth? I. Am. An. Idiot. I laugh and laugh and laugh at the hilarity of the statement. I’m just mad that this time I can’t even chalk it up to being stoned.

In fact, I am still laughing. I was brushing my teeth as the question “What’s pinball?” ran through my head over and over and over again. It cracked me up every time until I was reduced to uncontrollable fits of the giggles. I laughed myself to sleep.

Being good people, the geniuses were good sports and “the pinball moment” became an instant classic. It was used to describe any stupid thing that was said for the rest of the evening. It will probably forever be the way I describe any foot in mouth, Freudian slip or Tourette’s Syndrome outburst for as long as I walk this blue planet.

I have been working like a maniac. Particularly writing like one. Simple things like how to read, pronounce words and speak English have been going out the window. As humiliated as I was, the pinball moment made me remember a simple truth: The brain is a muscle. You can’t do 1000 sit-ups and keep going. Eventually, you have to give the muscles a break or they start to show signs of strain. And if you don’t give the mind a break, you might be able to write a fuckin’ novel--but you won’t even remember what pinball is.

No matter how self-conscious the pinball moment might have made me—it sure was a keeper.

I got two parking tickets today. That about sums up my day. Sometimes, no matter how optimistic I struggle to remain, I can’t help but feel like “What’s it all for!!!” But instead of telling sad, sad stories, I am going to make a list of the things I am grateful for—things I take for granted, big and small, necessary and superfluous—to see if it makes a difference (supposedly it does when you’re feeling sorry for yourself):

A roof over my head. Running water. Food. The health and safety of those I love. Electricity. My health. Air. Seasons. Birds. Live classical music under the stars. Legs. Toes. Trees. Gorgeous sunsets. Castle Hill. The ocean. Gentle breezes. Water. Trail mix. The internet. Music. Live rock and roll in a dive bar. A family. Toilets. Refrigerators. Lobsters. Cousins. White wine. A working vehicle. Doctors. Friends. Good friends. Kind words. Mentors. Constructive criticism. Nurturers. Gentle urging. Homemade soup. Big cities. Mountains. Healers. Time. Apples (the fruit and the brand). Live Jazz in a downtown hotel. The five senses. South Park. Cameras. The other senses I cannot perceive. Breath. Heart beats. Road trips. The kindness of strangers. Eye contact.

I feel better already and I barely just started. To anyone reading this. Thank you. Genuinely. You keep me going when I feel like, “Why bother?” Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Pre-Yoga: 6:45 pm

I’m panicking. Life is just too good. Things can’t be right. I don’t deserve this. It’s all just a dream. I’m going to wake up and the bubble will burst, the other shoe will drop, the rug will be pulled out from underneath me. Everything is too wonderful. Everything is just right. How can this be? I’m nothing but a bartender. A college drop out. A drug addict. A slut. Who am I kidding? Everyone is going to find out that it’s all just a big scam. I am dying. I have throat cancer and I’m going to need a voice box. I have SARS. The Avian bird flu. The black plague. There is going to be an earthquake. I’m going to get attacked by a shark. A atom bomb is going to be dropped on L.A. An asteroid is headed for Earth.

And it will be all my fault. Because that’s what I get. I deserve it. I am being punished by the gods for all of the wicked lies I’ve told and wicked things I’ve done. For my excessive hubris, my weakness, my addictions, my indiscretions. I am being punished for every pleasure of the flesh I have ever enjoyed since I was 13. Every cigarette. Every beer. I am being punished. I am being judged. I am being condemned. And I’m guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

Who is doing the judging? Who is doing the condemning? Who is really the tyrant?

It seems to me (and drives me crazy) that the closer and closer I come to experiencing the life I have always dreamed of creating, the more afraid I become...and the louder that tyrant’s voice gets.

Post-Yoga: 10:30 pm

Wow. Those negative thought patterns are the persecutors that keep me enslaved to my past, and from fully embracing the me of the future. The irrational fears I am too embarrassed to express and too ashamed to admit are what keep me from fully experiencing the present moment.

During yoga, after reading a poem about “excess, beautiful excess,” the instructor said, “Take it all in, embrace it—the good and the challenging. It can be just as hard to embrace the good, as it is to accept your challenges. In fact, sometimes it’s harder to believe you deserve the good at all.” If we are listening, we always hear what we need to.

My throat has been bugging me for a month. My brain automatically jumps to worst-case scenario, but I think I damaged my voice. And I bet I'll get put on vocal rest.
Which makes sense because I talk too much.

But the gods aren’t punishing me; they’re telling me to shut up and listen. I’m not wicked, I’m human. And the only person condemning me--is myself.

Stay Epic

Tinkle Toes

I think this picture says it all.

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