tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24057913613400905292011-07-07T19:36:46.425-07:00Age 28Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.comBlogger161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-79463631604559219862010-05-21T10:39:00.000-07:002010-05-21T15:13:51.089-07:00

As 99.9% of anyone who will ever read this already knows, I play in a band. We meet twice weekly, every Monday and Thursday. Our rehearsal space is one of many inside a Costco-size warehouse just east of the highway 101 overpass on Cesar Chavez (or, as it says below Casar Chavez on the sign "(army)") street. We have occupied this space since Q4 of '07.Compared to many rehearsal spaces in San

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-25619475806163059802008-11-21T08:38:00.000-08:002008-11-21T11:04:31.531-08:00

Men of Principle watched in agony as their portfolios tumbled amid the economic collapse of 2008. Their fortunes, built upon Greenspan-approved economic bedrock (in reality subrpime landfill), crumbled as Atlas Shrugged. In the ensuing panic, men resorted to desperate measures. The shantytowns of 2008 exist not in the city's outskirts, but in boarded up Netflix accounts, Budget Gourmet lunches,

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-25365253265685687772008-10-27T13:06:00.000-07:002008-11-02T18:29:26.263-08:00

I pull a boot out of my duffle. The hand-to-sole contact transports me to the last disgusting place the boot was. The men's room. As this sinks in, its implications become tactile. Starting at the point of contact, spreading up my forearm, my shoulder, my neck. I'm overtaken by the sensation of drowning. Drowning in an abyss of old, cold, stinky urine.Sinking deeper. I can still see them. Backs

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-7414090121614743142008-09-16T09:20:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:10:51.075-07:00

Waiting in line for the port-a-potty's outside a performance of "Pericles", I stood behind a group of strangers. Smarting a few up-and-downs, I suspected these folks -a straw hat here, overalls there, Crocs everywhere- are now, or were at one time, involved in The Theater. An overwrought response to a flowery 'yes or no' validated my hunch:"Will you join Alex next summer when he hikes the

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-6875165415895661952008-09-10T10:00:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:14:47.416-07:00

I introduce to you, fellow reader, the inimitable stylings of one Ryan Scott. A close personal friend of some years, Ryan brings to this blog a tenacity and earnestness to writing heretofore unseen. Ryan knows more about writing code, building a bar in his apartment, installing a blue-tooth enabled MP3 player in his car, and Meshuggah than you. Much to the relief of his lovely girlfriend, he is

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-2870792463648782562008-09-09T12:59:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:09:29.330-07:00

Alongside the clamor surrounding John McCain choosing Sarah Palin for Vice President comes the emergence of a positively sexy word; 'vet'. A transitive verb, 'vet' means, "to subject to thorough examination or evaluation"; as in, before selecting Palin, McCain's staff scrutinized (i.e. googled, and called her mother) every detail of Palin's personal and public life, "[they] vetted [the shit out

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-21517218405082224912008-09-09T08:31:00.000-07:002008-09-09T08:56:31.440-07:00

One night I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there were one set of footprints. This bothered me because I realized

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-21883584067485028542008-09-08T08:59:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:15:52.366-07:00

On the evening of September 6, 2006, 51 year old Portland nurse Susan Kuhnhausan came home from her shift wanting nothing more than to relax. Her right arm cradled a grocery bag. Her right hand clasped a stack of bills. Her left hand removed the keys from her purse. She unlocked the door, nudged it, and entered. Her right foot shut the door behind her. She set the mail and the groceries on the

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-60293419985983376192008-08-28T08:57:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:18:47.431-07:00

Starting a new job is difficult, settling in takes time, and the interim between "new guy" and "that guy" is cattywampus. Determining when and where to take a shit -creating a "poop schedule"- is essential, as not establishing one prolongs "uneasiness". In the long-term, not having a consistent "window of oppurpoonity" can lead to disillusionment, despair, and the possibility of shitting your

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-68429692446487482922008-08-27T09:49:00.000-07:002008-08-27T16:13:07.401-07:00

Normally, I'm not one to boast about my latest-and-greatest, so what I'm about to say may surprise you...(Drum roll, please.)I am now, and have been for some time, the proud -proud- owner of a luxury automobile.You read that correctly. Luxury.I know what you're going to say..."Luxury automobile? You can't afford a luxury automobile."You're right: I can't. Not now; maybe never. That I can't afford

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-32878220171012084022008-08-25T10:29:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:22:45.601-07:00

Walking down Irving, I see two dudes. One: tall skinny black guy, The Other: little fat white fuck with a beard. Both of them shitfaced (it's 10am) with that signature unwashed look about them. Take that back: One's filth was more by association to The Other. All that was missing from my checklist was the unmistakable fragrance: "Churn," I think it's called; the scent of a full grown

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-28051648494667230322008-08-22T08:57:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:27:49.306-07:00

Really, it's that simple. To find out who's who, here's what you'll need: a three-storey ascent, and the option of a) stairs or, 2) escalator.Caveat: I haven't taken an escalator anywhere outside North America, and I don't spend my weekends riding the escalators in Bakersfield. As such, I am limiting my area of "expertise" to what I observe five days a week: the eastbound escalators on the north

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-390018711982249082008-08-21T08:31:00.000-07:002008-09-17T20:26:24.135-07:00

" the Best Tri-Tip on the Planet!"Reads the advertisement outside the Buckhorn Grill. From a few feet back, "the" and "on the", both paler in color, and smaller in type (as I have so faithfully recreated above) almost disappear, while "Best", "Tri-Tip", and "Planet" jump out. I pass this advertisement daily. Each time, I can't resist ignoring "the" and "on the" and imagining the sign says "Best

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-642522307041341742008-08-20T13:31:00.000-07:002008-08-21T10:23:47.493-07:00

Listen Up, Men: Yer all Hella DumbIn today's "MSN Today" section, an article entitled, "The Male Brain Explained: Why He Can't Remember Your Birthday And More", Laura Schaefer -with the help of today's leading neuroscientists- breaks it down for the ladies; explaining why us men are, like, so fucking stupid. Let's examine this fine article piece by piece; so we may appreciate all its depth and

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-90216764521190008582008-08-20T10:37:00.000-07:002008-08-20T16:29:06.890-07:00

If part of your morning routine consists of taking various drugs and washing them down with fruit juice, well, you'd better sit down. According to a recently published study, fruit juices (grapefruit, orange, apple, et. al.) inhibit a drug's absorbency.For a complete list of drugs whose parade fruit juice rains on, click this . If that doesn't work, I can save you the bother: if you're a geezer

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2405791361340090529.post-6506294417681209972008-08-19T14:05:00.000-07:002008-08-21T13:48:24.266-07:00

From this rather weak attempt to blow your mind:"Something on Mars is ingesting nutrients, metabolising them and then belching out radioactive methane"Goddamnit. Not even one sentence into my first (and at this rate, last) blog post and already I'm A) wrong, or B) lying. Great start! OK, so according to super-smarty-pants guy, Gilbert Levin, (aka: dude who thinks Mars' surface is a litter box for

Bill Hansonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17917667047618412606noreply@blogger.com0