Wanna Feel Embarrassed for Me?

Have any of you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a disgrace to your heritage?  You have?  Well let's pretend you said "no" so I can explain to you what that's like.  Here in what I like to call "Mexico Jr." I have several "biggest fears."  I know what you're thinking (you're so predictable).  You're thinking "you can't have more than one 'biggest fear' as the word 'biggest' implies singularity."  First of all, don't tell me what I can or can't have.  Second, you don't have to use big words to make me think you're smart.  I love you just the way you are.  Third, please let me finish my story before you try to interrupt me again.  Okay?

Anyway, one of my big fears is that a native Spanish speaker will come up to me assuming I have a complete grasp of the language and try to start a conversation with me.  I, of course, remember bits and pieces of Spanish that I learned in high school.  My reaction is usually the same every time.  It's like this.  Imagine what it must be like to be a baby, completely new to the world, and have a complete stranger come up to you and start speaking sounds you've never heard before.  Yeah, that's what it feels like for me.  And I generally react the same way a baby would.  I'll stare at them for a few seconds, blink a couple of times, make a cute spitting sound, and then I poop a little bit.

I don't know what it is that even makes me seem so approachable.  Whenever I'm out in public, I try to look tough or at least act like I don't want to be talked to.  And it NEVER works.  I think they see the glasses and the gut and immediately think "Yeah, this guy's harmless.  Unless I come at him looking like a bag of candy, I'm probably gonna be okay."  It's crap people.  I like to avoid public interaction as much as possible.  This is not to say that I won't help you if you ask me for it.  I'm just not a fan of the attention.

The scenario today occurred as I was buying a ticket for the subway.  The moment that I stepped up to the machine, I felt this presence over my right shoulder.  Someone just standing there, staring.  It made me more uncomfortable when I realized there were at least three other open ticket terminals.  I was even more frightened when, as I reached down to grab my ticket, someone tapped my shoulder and started speaking Spanish.  I even had my headphones in!  Come on.  I call foul.  I pretended I didn't feel anything but he persisted.  So I popped one of the ear buds out and he starts talking at me a mile a minute.  I pick up the word "ticket" and notice he's holding a coin that looks like a peso.  "Great," I'm thinking "he wants to give me a peso for some real change."  After closer inspection I realize that it's a subway token.  So I ask him if it's one way.  He says "yes."  I show him how to pay for his ticket.  He says "thanks" and I wave and walk away because I can't even say "de nada" without feeling like an asshole.

I don't get how that works.  I helped someone today and I still end up feeling like a jerk.  Weird.  Anyway, seeing as how I'm going to be taking the train a lot more frequently, I foresee this sort of thing happening somewhat regularly.  I've either got to learn to look tougher, or learn how to fake a seizure.  Somehow I think that last one would cause more problems.  Oh well.  

A Mexican looking guy that doesn't speak Spanish.  This is my curse.

- The Bean

Welcome Home!

Or, I guess, welcome to MY home I should say.  I made another vlog.  I never thought I'd use that word, so you have my permission to punch me in the neck the next time you see me.  You should only watch this video if you've got like an hour and a half to kill, because it's long.  Seriously, it's like a movie.  I only had a 1.3 million dollar budget to work with though, so it's nothing special really.

Kidding, of course.  My budget was $0 and the movie is closer to 9 minutes long, which is still pretty lengthy, especially if you find it boring.  Though I don't know why you're always complaining about stuff.  Geez, just watch it.  I'm trying to give you something to help you kill time at work.  Be appreciative.  

I start school next week, so we'll see how regular I can be with the updates and whatnot.  Thanks for taking an interest.  Or, at the very least, thanks for somehow stumbling upon this page and accidentally clicking play.

- The Bean

Rene Goes to Hollywood

No, seriously.  I moved there.  It wasn't all just a bunch of talk like that time I said I'd kill myself if I ever moved to Los Angeles.  I left on Friday October 9th and got here October 10th.  Below I've actually included a small video blog of the trip.  It's pretty dumb and boring but, then again, so are you.  So I don't see what the big deal is.  The trip left me a little beat up.  Oh, and the pill you'll hear me refer to a couple of times in the video is actually something called "ProVigil" which is totally legal (in Mexico).  So here you go:

When I get all settled in, I plan on giving a video tour of the new place.  But be forewarned, my relationship to this apartment is like a kid wearing his dad's suit.  I don't fit quite yet, but I might before too long.

Also, I realize this entry isn't necessarily funny, but as I actually start attending film school, I figure I'll just turn it into a documentation of my experiences.  My guess is that it's gonna last about a week.  Anyway, here's the video.

- The Bean

Let's Have a Lazy Contest!

Okay, so I was thinking earlier today about scenarios in my life that might make me feel as lazy and useless as is humanly possible.  Actually, I wasn't even actively pursuing this thought process.  I realized it as it was happening.  It involved the following:

Me watching Olympic Judo while eating a "S'mores" flavored Pop-Tart.  Hang with me for a second as I explain the full reality of the situation.  Me, an unpolished lump of a man, watching humans at the pinnacle of their athletic prowess competing with one another to prove that they are the best in the world.  Them: holding the hopes and dreams of a nation on their shoulders.  Me: holding a Pop-Tart.

And to stretch that extreme a little further, I didn't even toast the Pop-Tart.  Reasons include the following: 1) I don't have that kind of time and 2) the toaster was all the way downstairs.  I wasn't about to pull a hammy over it.  

I later noticed that my delicious breakfast treat (that I was enjoying around 2:00 in the afternoon) came with a temporary tattoo!  I almost pooped!  But then I hit a snag.  As most of you well know, temporary tattoos involve a small amount of water and some type of washcloth to apply them with.  The dream was over.  I wasn't about to get out of my chair and walk three or maybe even four steps outside of my bedroom door and into my bathroom.  I was already situated people!  But lo and behold, I devised a plan.  I grabbed my water bottle and an old napkin I found on my desk.  The dream was back alive!  

So now I sit alone in my room with a tattoo that looks as dumb as you might imagine.  It says "Pop-tarts" and has a picture of a girl hiding behind a toaster that says "fitting rooms" on it.  She's waiting for the unsuspecting anthropomorphic toaster pastry (also pictured) to hop on in.  Sick bitch.

And that pretty much sums up my existence to this point.  If you're skeptical of my actual laziness, allow me to present the following.  In writing this blog I've actually been somewhat annoyed that I've had to both capitalize and hyphenate the word "Pop-Tart," so much so that I even paused once to try to think of a different word to use.  Before I started I even contemplated not writing this blog at all.  My fingers are weak and tired.  I'm going to bed.

- The Bean

Scars

They say chicks dig scars, but I'll bet you any woman that's ever had a C-section would disagree.

- The Bean

Update 7/31: This quip was actually featured today on College Humor's '105%' article on their website.  I actually modified it a little bit as I knew they'd be looking for an "edgy" or "twisted" submission.  Sure, mine was among many others featured, but I'll take a small victory wherever I can get it.

Double Standard

Why is it okay for a baby to stare at someone it doesn't know for as long as it wants, but when I do it, it's considered creepy? It's like some kind of crazy societal double standard. Is it because I'm wearing a diaper? I only do that because it seems to work pretty well for the baby. Is it the excessive body hair? Because that can't be helped. It's my curse, but it's also a bit of a blessing as it constantly reminds me of how manly I am. I suppose it could also have something to do with the location or the time. Maybe outside your bedroom window at dusk isn't as good of an idea as I originally thought. I always just figured it was kind of flattering.

Anyway, if you happen to notice a dude in a diaper outside your bedroom window tonight, just go about your business. It's only me and, like a baby, I'm just curious.

- The Bean

The Smurfs Visit the Museum of Modern Art

Papa Smurf: (elbowing Handy Smurf) Wow, look how much Picasso accomplished during HIS blue period.

Smurfette: Fuck you.

- The Bean