Facebook & Twitter

I cannot help you with your washed-out driveway, although now that I think about it, I probably can. Nope, changed my mind...this is a different eroded road completely. This is my Facebook "Robin" to help out my ErodedRoad.com's "Batman” ... (And something funny about Cat woman)

Here at the Center for Idiocy, we help guide you down that eroded road in hopes of making your travels...unique. Man! Why'd I do that? ~ Chris Aparicio, CEO

February 6th

Kicking and screaming I leave the last century behind, along with the old Facebook page. If you don't already know, haven't figured it out, or just don't care I have created a new website at and because it seemed like the right thing to do, I have created a new Facebook page to ride along in the Bat car with its boss. So, I say adieu with fond remembrances of being ignored, hated and yelled at for my brand new "home"...which I will expect to be ignored, hated and yelled at. "I can't wait" (he said emotionless).

I am slowly finding out why everyone doesn't have a website. Up until 4am this morning and just like Super bowl Sunday an expletive echoed throughout the "Eroded Roads" household, waking the neighbors and scaring the out of place, early morning Ocelots that roam around my front yard. But then morning comes, and I anxiously run from my bedroom, still in my clothes from yesterday, to see what kind of genius was created last night (earlier this morning). Another expletive is heard down the street by my neighbors when I find that the stuff, I did make it through the computer/human interface was boring and all the genius I thought had made it through...was gone. So, here's to another useless day of toil at the old grinding wheel. Today must be better.

February 7th

A little unapologetic apology for those of you who are just now joining me...As you know I am a walking miracle, to have no brain and still move about life in a manner that would prove I have one is nothing less that monumental. So, if you did get 4 or 5 invites to come here...it not my fault because as I've previously stated: I have no brain. But welcome nonetheless. I am, and have been, working on my new website but as you all know, at least by now, that I have no brain...and that makes it kind of tough. But like all rebellious zombies I will muscle through this continuing to prove to modern society that I have no... Well...you know.

Well, after 4 straight days of screwing things up ALL over the internet, my website, 3 Facebook pages...no wait, 4 Facebook pages, yahoo, Microsoft, both my computers, MY HEAD, and other assorted inanimate things, I think I might be getting the hang of this. Probably not but might be. So, I've posted some new stuff on http://www.erodedroad.com/, including some embarrassingly interesting photos of my trip back to the rock where my idiot friends, Mike Beedy, Dan Hale, Ashley Hale and Steve Keller made the historic jump...same place I took the incredibly talented picture of "The Jump” that adorns my new-found media.

February 11th

It’s all about the fall. The mind is a dangerous place, especially if you've lost it.

Somehow, I get a kick out of telling people that my hair is a wig, convinced a couple today that it was pure Armenian horse hair. "It looks so real! Can I touch it?" the woman asks. "Of Course, but don't pull too hard, my glue is a day old." I say with a straight face as my friend the bartender laughs out loud.

February 12th

I was thinking last night about adding an "Interview" page to the website. That way I can try out my interviewing skills while making you feel semi-important. I think I will try it; we can do it right over the line like now. Now the question is...Who wants to go first? Drop me a line either here or

This is all moving WAY too fast, and like always, I am more than likely screwing something up. But that is the joy of being me.

February 13th

My Eroded Road is almost complete, at least in theory. And as expected nobody "wants" to be interviewed...but that's ok with me, I'll just do it to myself until someone breaks. I have a new obsession called Twitter and I... can’t...stop! So, I'm off to get new phone to continue this maddening spiral of neediness. To Recap: http://www.erodedroad.com/ for website needs. http://www.facebook.com/erodedroad for Facebook needs. https://www.twitter.com/erodedroad for Twitter needs. And believe it or not, I am looking into podcasting, just in case this other crap doesn't drive me over the edge...

I was going to give Sareet a nice little cute answer when she asked what it would be like if she was forced to spend an evening with me, then this spilled out of my head..."In the olden days, when I tempted fate so frivolously, I would warn people about losing not only their youthful innocents, but their useful internal organs, i.e. liver, brain, heart from overindulgent overuse. But now that my body is breaking down from my youthful, path-eroding experiment, I am no longer a threat, just a ghost of youth that can only recount the scary stories of a past life." I think being on Twitter and always having to condense my thoughts to an appropriate character count formed a backup or logjam in my head. Like right now I am pulling the finger out of the dike and babbling on like bruised baboon. Ok, so...um...there.

I fear I am using Twitter wrongly, but then I think Screw Balls! (Add to list of things I might be arrested for)

Even the road less traveled has eroded away from use during this odd & somewhat disjointed 45-year journey. Trying to understand the old familiar tobacco stains on my fingers, remembering what used to cause them before, but that case is solved.

Facebook, Twitter, Website...you have to wonder if I'm lacking in something unforeseen in this so-called retirement. Podcast beckons!

February 14th

I put some new stuff on the website today, I think tomorrow I will write again. Fear of Falling - Moonlight Mile and maybe something else...but now I concede today's fight for a more profita...promiscu...promising day.

Awfully uneventful day, considering my day just started. What's with all the hearts all over the place...did I miss something, again? This option out day is filled with doubts about me, past and present. Reading posts and tweets about love and the representation of it commercially...and privately, I feel that I am ill equipped to participate in this ritual. Maybe one day I will be a little less narcissistic, less consumed by the mistakes made by others, less of "add character flaw here". And move beyond the want of sex and breakfast. Hmmm, that sounds like a new page for me...yep, perfect. Coming soon to the website..."Sex & Breakfast"...stories about love's version of the 24-hour flu...your welcome.

I squint with horrified anger at this stupid computer screen wondering how I lost some of my writing...AGAIN!

15 years of living in the wonderment of an unexplored city, never wanting to come in for dinner and never wanting to go to bed. I miss that.

February 15th

Back road to Tahoe is a safe bet, once I get there, those and others are off.

February 16th

Tahoe has an altitude that ruins hangovers for the average bear, but I am not the average bear. Dan, Terry, Heidi, Scott and kids all wave hello. Conducting interviews, adding last night’s conversation (which might not make sense) and other assorted stories maybe today, if the evil clear liquid doesn't creep into my glass.

Slowly but surely this medium is becoming my new addiction. And like an addict I will eventually abuse it to the point of many failures.

I live in the unenviable position of writing about my antics while all the interesting stuff happens when I'm drunk and can't remember.

I've decided that I use the word "Man!" WAY too much. "At the end of every sentence, Man!" ~ Chris Aparicio

February 17th

So far so good, 2 days of NOT locking myself out of the cabin. And barely escaped the evil plans of Heidi's kids running and screaming down the driveway that they had locked me out. But I should keep my mouth shut because today has not started yet. Wish me luck.

Today is a moment in time that I will never remember, so before the "Royal Pussies" begin to continue to roll, I must tell you that I gambled today and won 165 dollars over 4 hours on the video poker at the bar. "All in all, how much did you win?" Scott asks me. "Well, 135, 165, 142 dollars were my big winners...and I have 76 dollars in my pocket." I say somewhat dejected about not being able to stop. "76 dollars and free drinks, not a bad deal." Scott says, reminding me that I was drinking for free. "You're paying for lunch." They say together, reminding me about a mistake I made, telling them that I would pay if I won over 100 bucks. Dammit!

A picture of the very rare northern Californian "Sauce-Squatch", see here at Mosquito Lake...his natural habitat, aside from the bar.

There is no explaining the mental-ness that hangs around me, like a cloud, telling me to say ridiculous things that only make sense to me.

Why do I still sleep on my side of the bed? Always on the left, wherever I stay from Mom's house to hotels. 9 years of wasted space.

February 18th

Nothing like a skull rattling hangover that says Presidents Day. Celebrate today by being smarter than you were yesterday and say NO.

February 19th

Very few things make me content, why am I confused when they all happen at once?

February 21st

There are times when nothing/everything I read or write inspires me. The drought of an insane man begs...never mind.

February 23rd

Testing 1...2...3...this is for my Mom, who still thinks the internet is like a VCR...She's sitting right behind me now trying to see what I'm writing...shit...got to go.

A day of drinking Fernet and beer leaves me with a quick breath from the mountain, and somehow, I keep replaying the Elvis Costello song that adorns my homepage. Melancholy? Sure, but for some reason I still miss my friend, wishing he could call me up and rail me against my way of life and the choices I've made. That's not the way the world works, which is why I will always fight against unforeseen foes and insurmountable odds. Until I win the fight and slap God in the face for the things, he's taken away from me.

"Some people never go crazy...what truly horrible lives they must live." C. Bukowski & C. Aparicio

Stories from the past haunt you like everything else does. It just sucks when you care about said story.

February 28th

Holy Jesus! My goodness...like the Phoenix I arise again with a better understanding on how to completely screw up computers. Diligently writing about my latest trip to Tahoe, something catches my eye as I save my last little bit of genius. Confident, after successfully installing my Sky-drive, I gleefully venture down that "Outlook" road to connect all my crap information into one stupendous appointment. In the back of my head "windows8 & exporer10" scream at me to stop what I'm doing but I don't listen...again. Feverishly I work like a fiend through the night, going to sleep at 8am, waking up at 4pm and starting over the next day (night). I can hear my neighbor’s thoughts as they pass my house "He's on drugs!" But they are wrong, drugs would have gotten me off the computer and sent me to other places and kept me halfway sane. I screw the pooch in my computic travels once again not even learning NOT to do both computers at the same time, so I would have something to fall back on. I rip the innards out of my computer, figuratively, like a mad doctor, putting things back in where they don't belong hoping that I've accidentally fixed my problem...which creates more problems. But today I get lucky and things begin to work...kind of. I learn that there are problems with certificates and authenticity with windows8 and explorer10 while they both laugh at me and point which was a big part of my problem. So, here I go again, blaming my problems on something else and continuing my unofficial schooling on how to become a computer programmer. I will update everything else when it starts working.

Does your brain take a break occasionally, or are you on a continuously weird adventure like me 24/7?

March 2nd

"Like all good things, my latest lesson in computer fuckupery is almost at an end. Just a few clicks here and... what...where'd it go. Awwwwwwwshiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" Overheard last night around 11:30pm from the mouth of a very stupid person. At least this time I only screwed up one computer. Facebook is resilient to my mindless workings, but everything else is on hold...again. (Announcer John Cleese) Just like the man that was lost for two years because he didn't ask for directions, there sits Christopher, working non-stop through the night, braving the cold like an ancient Nordic Prince, eyes filled with hopes of working in a new medium while ideas drop from his pockets forever lost in a sea of ones and zeros. For him the road will be long, desolate...and eroded. And so, as the sun sent sets on his little house in the woods, we leave the so-called storyteller looking out into his meadow as he bangs his head into his dining room table.

March 3rd

Slowly but surely, I make almost no progress in this wicked little desktop machine.

March 7th

Weird feeling on the mountain so far away from people with my computer down. Generation X feeling the tech-hurt.

March 10th

This tragic young life of mine is not back on its tragic path. Computers fixed.

March 11th

Once again into the cold mist of the morning I travel, wondering where the hell I've been and what the hell I've been doing. "Busy, busy, busy" as the Devil would say, and I have been, just not in any kind of productive way. But with this new cold morning I write to you with working electronics and a new mind set on what I should be doing, so write I will...in between naps. The mood my house changed this weekend with an unusual number of visitors, some newly met, some so old they are used to me and my way now, apologizing to the others when they crinkle, their eyes wondering what the hell I just said and why. But they are still asleep, letting the ongoing party wear them out. I have been up since "daylight savings" o'clock and have already drank my fill of coffee and ate my burnt toast and all I hear in my kitchen is the fire keeping me warm, crackling its comments to me about what it's seen over the past 72 hours. I've never heard a fire laugh before, but it seems to be making a louder type crackle this morning. But the yellow pads are calling, along with all the new "metro apps" that I had installed with the slightly "reworked" innards of my babies, so I bid you adieu. Good morning.

Showing my Mom twitter this weekend and I felt vaguely important when one of my tweets fell in between Albert Brooks and John Cusack.

March 13th

This friggen snake of a road that I travel leads me to a bevy of dark places. This past weekend was a primer to that. Luckily, I relented and stayed on this path of anonymity and plaqdetude. (That last word hurt thinking about)

March 14th

Post-op for my sister computer is going well, along with 50 gigs of free space that I thought I needed. Who knew? Well, everyone now.

The perils of computer fuckupery continue...but this time the thing works after surgery. I... am... amazed!

March 16th

Traveled roads are easy to remember, and I do without exception. But this latest road has not yet eroded from my use and I find it confusing. The turns are the same as I let the math of them guide me, the signs are the same warning me against any wrong turns, always letting me choose to follow them, the scenery is the same giving me a false sense of security about what I see and what I know but now I drive this vehicle with a different purpose than my inevitable finish line goal. Now my goal is hidden by some impossible imagined fog that I can't clear. I have my trepidations about the gas pedal and how I should use it and my brakes fail without warning making me wonder if it is me or someone else that controls them. I say this after a night of goodbyes. Unwanted, unneeded, heralded and awaited I say a phrase that I've used time and time again, a phrase I am not proud to be associated with nonetheless it is mine to keep as my own... "You've made your choice". This is a destitute path I travel but only because I do not suffer fools or their mis-logic (chrisism).

Again, I hear the arguments that I am pompous, elitist, stubborn, self-centered, narcissistic...and stupid and once again I get to say my standby goodnight..."I've been called worse by better people" that either ends or prolongs said goodbye. Tonight's case ends it and I am left in my sobriety to work on my newly accessible webpage that has sat in limbo for a month or two while I blindly coasted down that lightless mountain path waiting to miss that inevitable turn. So, goodnight or good morning and cheers to continuing my old shenanigans tomorrow.

I hope, in coming months, that my 1 follower becomes a better, smarter person because of my posts. Alas, I fear, that they will not.

February 18th

Waiting for someone to show up at your door without you calling them is foolish. So foolishly I wait.

February 20th

O...K... So... I broke out the old video tapes this morning in an effort to post some to my website and what did I run across first? Well my very embarrassing episode when I lost all contact to reality. In my head I always kind of looked back at that 7-day adventure as a learning experience or a writer’s rite of passage, but I never watched the whole 3-hour video tape of me running around my house, talking to myself, Floyd and other assorted people that were never there. I just finished watching me chase ghosts around my yard and in my cul-de-sac, nearly trampling Floyd in the process. I watch with both eyes open for the first time and I am surprised that I didn't shoot the neighbors houses or at least get the cops called on me. I wish I would have kept the tape running when the police, that I summoned, showed up. This gives me measure to complete "The Limit" which I started somewhere around here. Man... I creeped myself out today. All in all I did learn what my limit was and now have a nice mental reminder of how I almost didn't come back.

Oh, the things I've seen during my overnight writing binge walk breaks I cannot help my imagination along more than it does itself.

March 21st

So, another day of failure lightens up my life as I try to magically transform old software and hardware to work with the new platforms. Why? So, I can show you the late 80's on my website. But with my failed attempts I found hidden gems. A lost day of golf with my three stooges: Mike, Steve and Dan somewhere in Monterey. Videos of my ex-kid and Austin Hale, Dan's Kid, when they were 5 and so many lost parties...even one from the Old Booksin house - the place of legend. The biggest surprise was all the video of my Ex. She was happy, and it reminded me that my marriage wasn't all that bad, then the cynic inside reminded me that we didn't videotape the bad times...dammit!

A clear morning in the Sierra's contains immeasurable beauty, I just wish it contained the same stuff sleep has. I fear I am addicted.

March 22nd

Good morning to all and here's a well-deserved "shout out", in the form of a profane yawp, in the direction, yet slightly skewed, towards maturity and the bang-up job it's done to me. How I relished the feeling of "rocking the boat" or "shaking the tree" or "scaring the fish" when it came to other peoples "knowing" thoughts on life and how it should be dutifully lived. But now I find myself passing up said situations, letting them float over me like lily pads over complacent pond life. And to that I say "Crap!" But the long drawn out fights, unfollowable rants and inhuman tirades that had become part of my persona are now confined to an incomprehensible jail inside my booze addled brain. But like the many inmates on death row awaiting "justice"...they are not dead yet. So, I give you a little insider information. If I don't comment on something someone says, chances are the warden that calls himself maturity has more than likely jailed another hurt filled diatribe aimed directly at your asinine views. (Insert dramatic music) Other than that epiphany, have a nice day!

I love the animal in people when push comes to shove...it is invigorating to see this sleeping specie fall back on its roots...

What is it about clean mountain air? I'm worried because I'm beginning to like Justin Timberlake. Man, I need some smog or something.

March 23rd

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow overwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock Overhang and Jutty his confounded base, Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to his full height. On, on, you noblest of men. Whose blood is fit from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many heroes, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonor not your mothers; now attest that those whom you called fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood and teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in fire, show us here the mettle of your pasture; let us swear that you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; for there is none of you so mean and base that hath not noble luster in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Me, Pioneer, and Saint Christopher!'

March 24th

Another experiment gone horribly wrong. Studying the human condition is a tricky thing sometimes...and other times it's impossible to figure out.

March 25th

Yes, a new medium has accidentally fallen into my evenly balanced lap. I laugh a hearty laugh that echoes throughout the Center for Idiocy as I stare at my new adventure. Looking back is Spotify, a recently discovered tool that will put me an inch closer to world domination. Big Brother is watching and judging your taste in music now...beware...and gaze upon your new leader.

March 26th

Another day ending, another night survived (barely) welcoming a new battle for the property known as the "Center for Idiocy" that’s deeply hidden in the web like back roads of Pioneer, California. "I will not go sweetly into that goodnight!" Heard moment's ago, echoing through the woods and against the walls of the sleepy, upcountry business's storefront windows. The local Sheriff turns his head for a second, then forgets about the barbaric sound, knowing he cannot help the situation.

Rah Roh! The VIN on my '64 is different from the registration..."Here at the Center for Idiocy, we aim to make your travels more...unique!"

March 27th

“Here we are in the amber of the moment, there is no why." ~ Kurt Vonnegut

For some reason a memory popped into my head right now. Do you remember the first "Home" bar you went to, the one where you became known as a usual? Mine was "Foxworthy Lounge". Man, that was a good bar. Small, hidden, faceless hole in the wall with good looking bartenders that poured heavy. That was my first group of "adult" friends. Man, o live we used to get into some weird situations there. I n fact, when I write about a bar, I use it as the primer.

March 28th

Have you ever uncontrollably sneezed in mid swallow of a tuna fish sandwich? Then taken a drink of milk and did it again? Good Morning!

March 29th

I have changed the interview page on my website to "Chris's Conversational Corner", cute...I know. On it you can find "A Candid Conversation with the C.E.O. of "The Center for Idiocy", a couple of "Stupid Things Mike Says" conversations, the first of a three part interview that gave me a reason to FINALLY use my time machine, then I bug a girl I know about a song I didn't know in a short and sweet mini-conversation and finally...so far...a mystery guest interview, where I've hidden some of the text to see if my Mom, since she is the only one that goes to my site, can guess who it is. Plus, some minor changes that I worked on for 12 or 13 hours yesterday...enjoy!

March 30th

Made a few changes to the website last night, hope they are good ones. Today I get to see some of the old crew in San Jose for a birthday party and It reminds me when the late march early April birthday crew would show up at Branham South, the amount of Cherry Bombs that crashed over the bar were innumerable and I remember every next morning, from 36 to 43 years old, I would say that I was never going to drink those damned things again, then someone would either wake up on the couch or call on the phone and say "Marmist!...Hurry!" By 8am it was too late, by 10am we were all back at the Branham drinking those same friggen drinks. I thought I had escaped them and for a couple years I did, but I have a funny feeling I might find one of those rotten drinks either today or tomorrow. Then Wednesday is the all-day event at the Buckhorn, to break in my first birthday up here. The faces are different, but the people are the same and luckily for me they don't know what a cherry bomb is. So, I say adieu and, owf veeder zehn until later today.

There was something I had to do today...Oh, yea, pollute my brain and body to the point right...before...complete...body...shutdown.

March 31st

Ungh! Finally, home after a well-used weekend. Traveling with pen and paper again, and this weekend did not disappoint...AT ALL! The words are being put to paper not as we speak but pretty darn close. Starting with some guy trying to back door me asking Val why she was "dating" a white boy, then peaking at "the fight" and then ending, always... (finish reading post at erodedroad.com)

Home after a very interesting? Weekend. "Hey, move over there if you want to fight...I'm sitting in front of the fire here." ~ C. Aparicio

April 2nd

...dead by other awfully mundane, worldly ways, which is how our kind go. It doesn't matter if you're strong willed or high I.Q.'d... or any other kind of personality trait that a doctor can label. You need an understanding in the abstraction (actual word) of the human condition. Plus, you need a willingness to continue the journey even if you've seen the result because there is no turning back once the world knows you've begun the trek. So, I am telling you, as a friend... (For the rest go to erodedroad.com.

I really did work a lot on the website yesterday and today. Posted the Limit, my 7-day crazy story. Also, a bigger blog of the blurb from a couple minutes ago. Changed some things on the site too. "Editors Notes" on stories, comment section on "Conversations" page and other stuff I can't remember. It was a busy day and night yesterday and today. Getting ready for the celebration tomorrow. Come by the Buckhorn and have a drink.

It almost feels like we've evolved a little bit now that something tangible from our civilization has left our solar system.

A first edition, single pressed, autographed birthday photo (glossy) goes out to my one and only follower, Sue. See what you're missing!

April 3rd

Stranger Walking by a Yellow House on Cedar Heights: Ok, I don't know if anybody is listening, but I just saw some naked guy running off into the woods. Anybody know who he is?

Of course, I'm up waiting to see who the first one will be to wish me a happy birthday. God, would you expect anything less creepy?

Woke up on my birthday with a quote in my head. "The 90s will make the 60s look like the 50s” I hope that isn't what killed Dennis Hopper.

I think at this point I may have to play some "Tenacious D", and I can't post it because Mom doesn't like the song...Boo!!!

Ok, just because I feel bad about the last couple posts...here is yesterdays...but just because I feel older today for some reason

...you're stupid!

The trials of growing older are still skewed to me. I do not learn well, but what I do learn seems to be comical to friends and police.

April 5th

This is what I got. Today I re-wrote the story whose picture adorns my Facebook, twitter and website. "The Jump", has now been updated and published on said website. The best thing about today is that I found the original pictures from that day. Posted them as well. So, read up, enjoy.

Oh yea. By the way people I need to take credit for the term "Pretty f**king Good Milkshake (add adjective)." I have been using it for a while and like all other things that have been stolen from me (like grunge) I want to get in on the bottom floor here and get the acceptance I am due. I am a trend setter and awfully diluted or is it deluded...well any way when someone says that, soon, you can say that you know the guy that said if first. It is Friday, I am drinking (obviously) and I approve this message. Final note - I am playing golf with Eleanor Roosevelt tomorrow afternoon.

You know what sucks and is cool at the same time. Re-reading your drunken posts from your birthday while drunk again. You want to cringe but then you say, "I’m pretty "f**king good milkshake" Cool. I don't know whether to be embarrassed to not care. I am torn.

It takes a special woman to bring out the dirty bile from the base of your dark soul. I do not drive angry, but boy there is something to be said about taking walks before your hand begins to curl in the same shape it does when it grabs your favorite gun. (By the way for anybody watching I am kidding, before I get a bevy of "Don't do it Chris’s) And by the way I want to remind myself that you can be the king of the Deer's and still be called Bambi...keep that in the back of your head Chris.

Oh man...I got to do this AGAIN? A special follower "Good Morning" to my 2 followers Sue & Karin - You will get a first look at new writing!

April 7th

To ongoing battles against foes that don't exist. I thought I won, but today I find out there is never any true winner in my fights. Bleah!

I always wonder which people will miss my message seeing my steely point that always points true as old, rusted and dull. Such is life.

April 8th

Alright, fine. So, your first "Home Bar" wasn't a good question for all you frightened lemmings. How about..."When did your signature change? Did you keep the one you had in Jr. High, or change it over in High School? Or were you like me, when you got a job and it couldn't look like you were signing your homework anymore. My Mom kept her signature from kindergarten which back in the "olden days", was always perfect.

"I think it should go out the same way it came in, frivolously." (Hunter S. Thompson on how he manages his money)

It's a treacherous, ageless drug." Hunter S. Thompson talking about cocaine. Yes, listening to old interviews from the 70's.

If I had twins, I would tell one of them that they were adopted...and see what happens.

April 10th

I am too busy, honing my quotes for a different, famous, troublesome, life to be bothered to write something interesting in this one.

April 13th

A long-forgotten note to the editor of a long-forgotten lifestyle. I apologize to you, my other personalities, for being so deep into being responsible that I have forgotten how to have fun. Fun is a relative term it seems, because that is what I am having with my second finals week in full swing. I can't believe that I missed out on this experience 28 years ago, just being able to say that I am a student makes me proud to be one. But as we all know my personality doesn't let me do things the way the rest of the cattle do...fucking lemmings. So, a tip of my very short hair hat to you and I will try to get back to the debauchery of years past that you all seem to like hearing about but not experience. (if you notice, finals have gotten me a bit discombobulated).

I see half buildings and half streets that make half sense to me, but the whole picture is tragically lost in the fog and the drug addled parts of my brain that remain inaccessible. I accept that fact, like I always do, stopping at light on a semi-familiar looking street. It’s not the street that’s familiar though, it’s the cemetery that sits on its side. “Could this be the cemetery?” I wonder out loud and look for the marker. This marker specified a special night, where I escaped death three different times…The Pyramid.

After a month of school, I get an update out. This one from my travels down to SLO.

I think my phobias are getting worse. I went to Berkeley yesterday for a book signing and the directions lead me right down the main thoroughfare. Suddenly I forgot all rules of the road, going up 1-way streets and nearly running over pedestrians, who were too polite to say anything. There were so many people...just walking around and looking at stuff, it was unsettling. If people would stop having things for me to do, I could finish off this time by being a recluse. No air, no ocean, no people, no talkie talkie...I am ready. Nah, I'd probably get bored with that too. (Disclaimer - I am not really thinking about becoming a recluse, so take a moment and calm down)

How to eloquently talk about death has been a talent that I have become too accustomed to. But in the days that have passed since I last found out about more close passing's, I for the life of me (no pun intended) cannot bring myself to ramble coherently or incoherently about my last two friends that no longer see the things I do. I am lost in school, rigorously re learning things I should have learned decades ago. But it is the place I have put myself. And in time I will find a place for their stories, just not now. I am also rethinking this public forum trying to put my overall hate of people aside just so I can know when the next fucking party is. Got to have priorities, right? So, as some of you know, I haven't been on the website lately, but I have been writing quickly, in between studies, so I will continue that vestige of my personality and try not to disappear completely.

...something unproductive and anti-social with the passion I had for drug use, looking for a subject, or character, I could reflect on. Typing away on a re-write of an old story I stop and listen to the incredible quietude of my house. I've already been outside, and it is as dark as it is quiet, even the old Tiger Creek Damn is shut off for the night, making the outside air compress around you. From my dinner table I could hear the “nocturnality” of the woods shift and sway behind the blindness of this tolerable day.

It’s 2 o’ clock in the morning and I am dutifully working on some old stories, rewriting the language of my younger self to a more progressive, mature elicitation of facts and fundamentality’s. I bask in this fantastic setting, smiling as I write when a sound erupts from underneath my chair. At first... (read the rest for free @ erodedroad.com - buy today, save tomorrow!)

I look out my front door, the sun is just barely making through the tops of the Pines behind my house, giving the street a weird zebra-like look to it, but I don’t see her. “She’s gone commando.” I say to the girls before I begin my hunt. Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck ring in my ear as I walk down my driveway. Rabbit Season, Duck Season, Rabbit Season, Duck Season, Loony Season…I smile knowing that I will always have my internal voice saying stupid things to make situations like this enjoyable. A hundred yards down the road, I turn to see the girls at the door and wonder why they aren't helping me look, when a twig snaps on the north side of the road. “I hear you wabbit.” I say in my best Elmer Fudd voice, following it with his trademark laugh, realizing a second after that it probably wasn't smart to do that. (You can read the rest of the 7000 word "short" story on my site).

Hey Folks, sorry about all the late tags, been away fighting dragons or demons or something. Posted new crap on my website, working on a couple other short stories. School Orientation is over and my teacher said that I didn't have to describe what was happening when I came up with the answers. 150-word essay, 500-word answer...DOH! I just wanted to make sure she was entertained.

10 seconds into my new trek. Feeling like someone is trying to wave me down, I make a quick U-turn to see Heidi, 6’ into the street, waving her arms like she is drowning in an invisible pool. “I am here, finally!” I say, trying to put some “Bad Ju Ju” that has been interrupting my self-analysis during this road trip. I can hear Missy, who is out on the “porch” of the bar say “Well, it looks like he’s walking straight” to Scott. (been away for a while, put some new stuff on the website, still working on a couple things.)

I’m afraid that my passion is stretched to the point of mundanity and the things I write won't have the same feeling to it. But still I will tarry over the grindstone just to get the structure...

I love the little secrets I hold, so deep inside my head that they can't be accessed by torture, treachery, titillation, trinkets or even time. They will die with me, but I can still enjoy them for now. Reliving the "sins" of my friends, my family, complete strangers and myself, popping them in my mouth like tasty little tidbits to munch on when I'm bored. The dalliances, the deceit, the dangerous dances and debauchery somehow keeps me human, knowing that even God-fearing people have something inside them that turns their head away from the straight and narrow seeking to live life like I think it should. But to argue I hate the little secrets I hold, so deep inside my head...because I want to be the standard of what not to do, I want to be able to say that I know some saints and they call me friend, I need to be the original sinner, because without that moniker, I am just another person that has a story to tell about whatstheirname while getting drunk in a bar. So, I am writing them down, sealing them in concrete, ready to be broke open on the day I die. So, for some of you, you'd better start praying that I live a long, uneventful life or protect my headstone as long as you can, because this "devil may care" list will be incased in it. (I don't know where this was going when I started it...still don't)

A hairy couple of months culminating in a brazen blitzkrieg of ignorance and self-importance has ended its pillar rattling temper tantrum here at the Center for Idiocy. Things are calmer now steadily moving back to my quiet hermitudinal life. I forgot a good lesson about people and the way the really good one’s work. That lesson will not be forgotten this time. So, partially free to begin to think again, I move forward on my elusive final act of "The White Horse." I have mixed feelings about this story now, due to revived anger and hidden information that has been kept away from me for all sorts of asinine, thoughtless, baseless reasons. And I thought I had exchanged that drama for the drama at hand...silly rabbit. I am who I created to those who have no time to think and it is too tough to convince someone that the sky is falling when they don't believe in the sky. I have no time to worry about any of that or those anymore because all my important time is trying to pick out some new Icons for my computer. So, with that heavy shit out of the way I am free to tell you that I have updated my website. New update, new music, new blog, new "Center for Idiocy", new "White Horse" excerpt, new "Conversation", and some more mystery guest revealed. It's all short due to the fact that I am still coming back from the above blitzkrieg. During the quiet moments, which were few and far between, I did manage to start "Dead Woods", and "Zero Deer", two brand spanking new stories filled with all sorts of lies and self-absorption.

"Here at the 'Center for Idiocy', we strive to make the stupid understandable, or at least tolerable. Our classes are transferable absolutely nowhere, but that doesn't mean that they aren't useless...in a practical way. Although we have been away on winter/spring break for two weeks, that doesn't mean that we stop our lessons in idiocy. In fact, this is when new classes are usually thought of and/or practiced. This is exactly what happened up here at our beloved campus during break. These classes are being honed as we speak and will be ready for the next tri-mester. Our newest classes will be 'How to be ambivalent', 'The act of nonstop conversation' and 'How to get lost in the minutia of being right.' Although open to all, these classes should be attended by the veteran idiot, well classed in the art of being stupid. Then for a highlight, I have decided to hang up my Dean 'robe', and teach a class in 'How to completely ruin the ambiance of your home, a metaphysical look at houseguests'. I have great faith in this class, because I have actually become stupider after studying it. So, come one, come everyone and join me as we stick our tongues out at the proverbial 'smart person', that never seems to do anything wrong. Drive safe and have a nice thanksgiving." ~ Christopher Aparicio, CEO, Dean and now Teacher at The Center for Idiocy.

Oh my God. I'm at the grocery store and there is a guy in the frozen section "tweaked" out of his skull on some sort of hallucinatory drug. I'm in the next isle, meowing softly through the cereal boxes where he can't see me and he is rapidly losing it, pulling pizza boxes out of the freezers, yelling "I need to save the POPSICLE CAT!" Am I a bad person? (stolen)

I've come to a better understanding, not complete, of other people’s interests and ideas on "things". I can even appreciate their fight to prove that their point of view is viable, if not correct.

Even though I am always right in mine I always take a step back when challenged, to see where they went wrong in their analyzation of the subject at hand. (disclaimer - facetious) So I sit, waiting for the opinions of others on my latest "life choice" event, but nothing shows up. No cries of concern, no mundane salutations with hidden distaste, no blatant opinions on my mentality, not even an "Atta-boy". Narcissism raises its perfectly shaped head making me think that the internet must be down, because everything I do warrants some kind of response. I check and re-check my webical connections, re-check my post, and call my Mom. Everything seems to be working correctly and when that happens, I go back to something I learned this year, and that is that I screwed something up. I begin my check list again, starting with my post. It's here right where it should be...in my draft folder. "I wonder why it...DRAFT!" There is no one around to slap me in the head, so I do it to myself, for the betterment of our community.

So... I have decided...to go back to college and learn something new. I enrolled on Friday, got my classes, got my student loans, got my books, got my "Pee-Chee" folders and extra pens, I even got some "back to school" clothes. (this would be the first year Mom didn't buy them) Just the thought of me having student loans to pay off when I'm 50 makes me laugh, although I know there are some of you who are secretly not-laughing with me. That's it, just checking to see if I am out of "draft", and good.

…as the train of procrastination rails on down the track, I find myself a passenger once again, looking out the window at the countryside wondering when my stop is and praying this time to get off. Only in the dream do I ever succeed at this and only if I can fool myself into believing it’s too late.

Ah, the magical things you find when you aren't looking for them. While putting together my "White Horse" monstrosity, I unearthed about 100 pages written from one of my times as a best man for Danny. Re-reading those pages were amazing, I was in another place, writing wise, and through my pages I could feel the old Mexican ruins and my want to run up the steps and take my place. So, another found project that I need to re-introduce to the public...but later. For now, you will be able to read, later tonight, about the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse: Dan, Mike, Steve and I, with an assortment of others sprinkled in for good measure while on our 12-year jaunt through towns from Coeur D'Alene, Idaho to Carson City, Nevada. Like I've said before I have not led a boring life, but somehow with these three...it was always extra special. Also, on a side note, a fellow writers book came today in the mail and before I could get through the first chapter, I had christened it with a cigarette burn and bourbon mark. Apropos for "Junkie Love" by Joe Clifford. So far, a good read. That's it for now, later updating the website with the new section and other assorted pleasantries. Enjoy.

Through drunken tears I fight to get through another re-write of the "White Horse". But the familiar feeling of being in the place I'm writing about is evading my temporal lobe. I've named it Lisa, for no justifiable reason except to call it "Lisa Lobe". But there is not enough blood in my system to make any more sense than this, if this even made sense. So, I relent to finishing the bottle in front of the fire while trying to make my outline work. it is an impossibility, but I have come across tougher odds than that. Good Night.

"My time here is done." I remember saying that 2 years ago...I want to say it now, then I remember that things are always not my fault. So, I will stay and "clean house", so to say. Staying away from the bar has no respite for me, but I will find a way to get back to my favorite writing...somehow. Until then be patient and keep a light in the belfry for me to know that you are waiting for something interesting to read, because I will NOT disappoint.

Here is yet another apology for me being away from entertaining the now 50 people that rely on me to help them through the day. I have needed some time to fix things and change my thinking on how to complete a promise I made back a little more than two years ago. That promise was to finish "The White Horse", which is the story of Me and the other three horsemen of the apocalypse. The promise was made to Dan, Mike and Steve. I have a way to go, but I have finished the final chapters and the epilogue. Tomorrow I will clean it up and send it to those special followers that shall remain nameless.

...does not mean that I still continue said practice. Alcohol, nicotine and the occasional second hand smoke from pot is the extent of my experimentation nowadays. The way I live may be the primer to the problem here. Because I do not have a job, I am free to work on my stories as I see fit, or when the moment takes me, which does not fall in the 9 to 5 every day workweek. I have been approached by friends, family and neighbors about my midnight oils burning, worried that I have fallen back into that decadent lifestyle and to that I can only say that I am a writer. If it is not understood, then... (good blog today, read the rest at my website)

I just heard a blurb on the news that we are now planning on banning dodge ball in elementary school? That along with the already banned swing sets, tug of war, tag and running at recess I can't wait for this next generation try to pull me out of the bar when I've had too much or in my words "Just getting started", that will be a Youtube viral video to see...if Youtube is still around. Reporter for channel 1220 News: And here you see Mr. Aparicio, a man born in the "Savage Age", Slowly walking toward the seven governmental "People Helpers", and there! There is the first low level electrical "mood changer" device deployed. Um, Mr. Aparicio is laughing, now he's picking up the device, which seems to have no effect on him...and he throws it at the innocent, friendly governmental patriots. 2 are down, the rest are running away...he's stopping at one of the downed, friendly people helpers and takes his keys out of her pocket. His evil smile is menacing, he is a Neanderthal of a human. He is now making his escape with one of the P.H.'s all electric, power saving vehicles and pulls out. Oh my! Watch out! (the sound of people scrambling and a huge crash is heard as the camera flitters around like the new generation of Americans. The camera stabilizes on Mr. Aparicio, like he's filming himself) "See, THATS what happens". (He spins the camera around to show the wrecked P.H. car and wrecked news van, then drops the camera which crashes to the ground and rests on the car and van. His low maniacal laugh is heard over the cries of the news people) "Ok, can you get the shot? Good *sniff* so ends the horrible 2-minute rampage of a fossil of a man, born in the age of competition and band aids. (Final scene of the reporter visually stunned and crying while in the back ground the governmental people helpers poke their heads around the corner of the bar).