This is the first post in my big project (Operation-Project: One Year From Now). This project will be about shaping my entire presence on the internet towards a series of goals. Goals are cool. Here are a few of them!

By three months: I will have all of my blogs up and running, and I’ll have contacted David Niel, Eric Dzinski, and Manny about doing comedy stuff. Also, I will have contacted at least THREE different doctors and gone to the dentist

By one year: I’ll have a well-established comedy site related to Whittier College. I will have also taken care of some stuff (psychologically). And I will be well on my way towards getting published on Cracked

By five years: I will be published in Cracked at least five times. I will know a programming language.

The point here is that I want to do something with my life, and my time. I want this to be an expression of who I am, but more than that, who I want to be. I don’t quite know that yet… and it’s scary. But I have a few ideas. And that’s enough to start with. And here it goes!

HUGO GUZMAN walked out into his living room, fresh out of the shower, completely naked, except for the plain black t-shirt, slim fit jeans, and pristine white boxer briefs.  He put on an earphone and started to play a song on his phone.  “Well Thought Out Twinkles”:  His perfect morning song.

Why am I thinking in third person? I thought as I walked back into the bed room and retrieved a pair of socks and my trusty white converse.  I then noticed my phone vibrating.  I waltzed (yes, waltzed) over to the other side of my bed. I lost my footing and stumbled a little too close for comfort to the massive window.  I righted myself and unplugged my phone.  SIX NEW MESSAGES it read.  I started chronologically, and the first message was from Amber, at 10:42 last night.  Can’t believe I didn’t- well, Mat does have a tendency to over-party, must’ve been too busy making sure he didn’t die… I though, as I wondered why I didn’t notice her text last night.  Wonder what else I missed… I read the message:

Hey Hugo, sorry to text so late.  Remember when you asked me to check up on some guy for you?  About an article?  Well I mentioned it to a friend, and she knows something you will not BELIEVE.  Call me.

Amber.  My best friend since kindergarden.  More that two decades of epic adventures.  And now she’s my lawyer. I smiled at the irony, or perhaps appropriateness. Better follow up on that.

Next message is… Kenneth’s?! Suddenly I was swept up in a whirlwind of nostalgia.  I remembered all of our crazy adventures in high school, all the times I begged him for inside information from the forensics department where he worked, his going away party, the ONE post card I got from Go-Knows-Where, Colorado.  I don’t know why I kept his phone number, and why he sent me his new one whenever he changed it.  I opened his text nontheless.

Hugo.  I’m back in town.  I’ll call you.

No sense in getting all hung up over that… although it’s plenty weird… and now it’s… Bryan’s turn. I expected an invitation to breakfast after that Sunday’s mass, as we usually did.  Instead…

Hey man.  Remember your prostate exam?  Don’t worry, everything came back ok.  It’s your blood test that didn’t.  We… found something.  Don’t call.  Stop by at 12:15 got it?  EXACTLY AT THAT TIME.

I was shaking.  He found something?  The hell does that mean?! I sat down, taking a sec to chill.  I suddenly questioned the wisdom of having Bryan as my personal doctor.  I shook my head, trying to calm myself.  Next message, praying for good news.

Hey mate!  So, you’ll never guess who called me last night?  CAT!  She’s back from Japan dude!  We started talking, and, well, we’re getting the band back together!  Just one more time?  Anyway, call me, or something.

Good news indeed.  More nostalgia hit me.  Our band.  The Sound and The Fury.  A good name, a good dream and some scribbled music here and there.  Till we actually got to it… I wandered out into the living room, where two autographed vinyl’s adorned the space next to my television.  One was titled An Overture. A simple title.  The red lettering contrasted with the blue cloudy background I still remember the day I took the picture for it.  The next was titled Love Is Destructive. A rudimentary anime screenshot served as the album art, probably from Evangelion.  Both were signed by us, in silver sharpie.  Next to these was a lone newspaper clipping, or rather, a magazine article.  It wasn’t stapled to the wall, but framed.  From an old issue of Entertainment Weekly, the headline screamed “Sound, Fury, and A Lot of Luck: Love is Destructive goes Gold”.  I beamed at the reminder of our early success, and wondered why we didn’t keep going.  I shrugged, and let it go.  Most of us had, the five of us from An Overture and the seventeen who worked on Love is Destructive. Except Alex, and me to a certain extent.  We always silently hoped to restart somehow…

Alex.  I smiled yet again as I looked back on our friendship.  How I basically humiliated her the first time we met, that time I touched her left boob in PE, how I had that insane crush on her for the first eight or nine years I even knew her… Maybe… this time…I shook my head and banished the thought.  We still got together pretty often, as mates often do, but that’s it.  That’s it! I chuckled at myself.

Just who are you trying to convince here?

I jumped, and looked around, making sure no one was in the room with me.  I suddenly grew very worried.  What the hell was that…? That… wasn’t… I was officially freaked out.  I wasn’t schiozphernic.  The yearly mental health screen I made myself take made sure of that.  But I was pretty sure it was my thought… I was out pretty late… and waking up at 6:00 wasn’t the best idea… I relaxed.  Probably just tired… I made a mental note telling myself to sleep more, and then another telling me to disregard it.

Two more text messages.  First one, from “Number Unknown”.  I frowned.

Hey Hugo!  So, in case you hadn’t noticed, the LA Times went bankrupt, AGAIN!  Now, normally, that would be BAD for you (though, as a great writer, a journalist such as yourself should have no trouble finding work!), but I work for a man named CHARLES BENNET.  Mr. BENNET is very wealthy, and has been looking to expand into journalism for quite sometime now.  So he bought LA Times!  And put me in charge!  Awesome!  Anyways, I was hoping you could pop by the offices today, say, ‘round 7:15?  Thanks!

-Your New Boss, Victoria Dunham

1)      I had noticed that the LA Times was bankrupt.

2)      I thought I was going to lose my job, so that’s good.

3)      Now I have something to do.

4)      Also, this new boss person seems friendly, if somewhat hyper.

I smiled, glad that I still had a job.  I wondered why she would call us in so early, though it probably was nothing serious.  Bennet… what an evil sounding name! I laughed, imagining Bennet as some sort of all-powerful white-guy with a huge jaw line, and decent hair.  I knew I knew that name, but from where, I did not know…

The final text message was from my good mate Mat, and read:

YOU BASTARD.  YOU LEFT ME ON MY PORCH.  I HATE YOU.

I love that guy.

You were drunk, mate.  I go for your keys and you damn near beat my brains out, Eva-style.  I don’t know how the hell I got you in the cab…

I sent the rebuttal, remembering the circumstances that led me to leaving a half-mad, half-dead Matthew Medrano on his front porch…

Some unknown movie.  I honestly did not know what it was, was being filmed by Universal, and Mat, being some sort of… agent, was it?… had scored the girl he represented the lead role.  In other words, it was party time.  And Mat was in desperate need of designated driver, so guess whose night he ruined?!

“Bastard.”  I muttered as I stood.  Hooking up the phone to a nearby dock, I looked around my living room, feeling like I was missing something.  A massive television hung on the wall, and underneath was an entertainment system, consisting of some video game consoles I rarely used, the corresponding games, and a DirectTv DVR.  ‘Cause I was rich.  A bookshelf stood nearby, filled with books, whose topics ranged from Quantum Metaphysics to Traditional Pakistani Cookbooks.  A sofa laid behind me, facing the TV, and behind that some random stuff.  I glanced at the time on my phone: 6: 20.  Still enough time for breakfast… I took time to look at myself again (yes, LIKE THAT), and I skipped happily to the kitchen, stumbling somewhat, but righting myself and reflexively looking around to make sure no one was looking.  Seeing as I was, sadly, alone, no one was.   I got to it, and decided upon boysenberry pancakes for breakfast.

————————————————————————————————————

6: 40

Walking.  What a strange way for creature to move from place to place.  Totally efficient, but strange… I interrupted my brief Rei-moment and stepped out of the elevator, arriving in the parking garage just underneath the apartment complex.  The pancakes were heavenly, by the way.  I made my way to my parking spot, or just the one I used everyday, really, but mine nonetheless.  Some vaguely Japanese-looking business men stepped out behind me, lazily finding their cars.  Not me.  Everyone knew what my vehicle was.  There wasn’t much variation in all the other ones, just sedans, good for important businessmen.  Some people had last year’s election stickers still on their cars, and one had an Iced Earth bumper sticker.  I smiled at this, and came up to the only motorcycle in the building.  A nimble, Japanese-made Ninja, quick and sexy, stood at the ready, as if it were just burning to take off.  The Ninja was flawless, with bright green coloring, orange highlights, and barely visible chrome plating underneath it.

“Morning, Asuka.”  I greeted it as a passing waitress shot me a weird look.  She was ugly, though, so I didn’t care.  “Sorry about last night.  Mat insisted we take a cab, and in retrospect, it was a good idea.”  I opened the small trunk underneath the seat.  A custom ultra-light engine meant I could keep a helmet and leather coat on the cycle itself, rather than carry it with me and look like a-

“That one’s yours?”  I voice behind me asked, softly, but with strength.  I turned to face the person, and noticed something new: behind me was another motorcycle, a similar model, and black but without the extensive modifications.  The asker (technical term) was a young woman.  She had longish, dark brown hair, wore a leather jacket over a simple tee-shirt with a logo on it, and black jeans.  She had a kindly face, one that showed interest, but… aloofness?  No… It was different.  She looked interested, but not in the answer… it seemed as if she had asked me that simply in order to talk to me…

“Yeah, her name is Asuka…” Deciding she was attractive I quickly added “It’s that color cause I lost a bet.”  I mentally kicked myself.  For some reason, my formidable bullshit powers were being thrown off by this woman…

“Heh heh…” She giggled, but nicely.  It was a lovely laugh.  “Don’t worry about it.  It looks… pretty.”  I turned bright red.  “I love it.” She added, seeing my shame.  “I’m Eva, by the way.  Well Evangeline, but that sounds like some ghetto chick’s name, so please, Eva.”   I smiled at that.  “And, yeah, I know how awesome that is, seeing how your motorcycle’s name is Asuka.”  She flashed me a smile as she extended a hand to shake.  I put two and two together and made five as our hands met.

“Wait, YOU SAW EVANGELION?”  I beamed a huge smile.  She returned it.

“Yeah, are you kidding me?!  Eva saved my life!  I love it!”  We broke our handshake, not realizing it had gone on for quite a while.

“You just moved in here?”  I inquired of this woman, who was growing more and more attractive by the second.

“Yes- well no, but yes- well…”  She searched for the right word.  “Technically.”  She offered.  “It’s a long, complicated story.”  I heard her phone vibrate.

“Wow, that’s a loud vibrator.”  I said before I could stop myself.

Awkward silence followed… Silversun Pickups kept playing in my ear … until…

“That’s what she said.”  We both blurted out.  I laughed, she laughed.  It was awesome.  “No, that’s me being late to work, is what that is.”   She looked at me and reached into her back pocket.  On it was a business card; she took a pen out and scrawled onto it ten digits.  “I know we live in the same building, but call me later, yeah?”  She handed it to me.

“Yeah, definitely!”  I answered.

“Oh, wow, I wish I had that kind of energy.  Heh heh… I’ll grab a Monster later…”  She waved as she hoped onto her motorcycle and rode off.  I waved back, thinking, knowing I forgot something…

“My name…” Crap.  I didn’t give her my name…  I shrugged. Pulling on my helmet and jacket, I hoped on my own ride, and headed out.

Suddenly, the music stopped.  The built-in Heads-Up flashed the Bluetooth symbol.  I answered my phone, thankful for the 1500 dollar helmet…

I looked over to my right.  On the nightstand next to my bed was the damned alarm clock.  It’s shining blue digits pierced the dim penumbra of the room where, mere seconds ago, I slept.  I lifted my hand over it, held it in place for a few seconds, and brought it crashing down on the device.  I sat up and looked around.

Nothing out of the ord- I noticed a slight bulge on the bed next to me.  A beautiful, subtle female form lay there, still asleep.  I didn’t know who she was.  The only thing that betrayed her identity was her short, brown-

“Aw, fuck, I’m fantasizing again, aren’t I?!?!?!!?” I asked God in utter dismay.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

I looked over to my right.  On the nightstand next to my bed was the damned alarm clock.  It’s shining blue digits pierced the dim penumbra of the room where, mere seconds ago, I slept.  I lifted my hand over it, held it in place for a few seconds, and brought it crashing down on the device.

“Jesus-Frakin’-Christ” I looked at the time and date on the clock: 5:47— 19 JUNE 2021.  I sighed, and got up out of bed.  “I gotta tell Mat not to make me go drink with him so late…”  I sat up and looked at my little corner of paradise.  My room was an utter mess.  The floor near the closet was littered with discarded clothes I kept meaning to clean up.  A metal book shelf stood near the door.  The wall next to it was covered in newspaper clippings. To any sane person they wouldn’t make sense.  Even the titles: “Turtle Flu: This Year’s Fashionable Epidemic” “Project Chanology Claims 0 Victims; Scientologists Still Butthurt”  “Guess What?  Jews and Black People Are Pedophiles Too!”.   No-one could possibly tell you what they all meant.

“I wrote these…”  I mumbled, taking some time for an egotistical belly rub.  I smiled as I saw my first real investigative article in the corner.  “Sweating With the Cheer Squad”… “Haha… that sounds like a porno…”  I giggled and walked over to the room’s window, taking in the view.  The early morning sun shone of to the left, and down below me, Little Tokyo was waking up.  Another I shrugged as I got towel from the closet.  I frowned, looking at the mess at my feet.  I stooped and heaved up the mass of clothing, dumping it into the closet’s laundry chute.  In a few hours, 200 dollars of service charges would pay for it to be cleaned, ironed and delivered.  I marveled at my laziness… and promptly wandered over to my shower…

Lying on the floor next to the bed was a cell phone, the seventh generation iPhone.  Three hours of standing in line last November, in the rain and thunder.  And in two weeks, wit would be obsolete.  FIVE NEW TEXT MESSAGES the phone read.  FROM: ALEX, AMBER, BRYAN, KENNETH, MAT.

———————————————————————————————–

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

I looked over to my right. On the nightstand next to my bed was the damned alarm clock. It’s shining blue digits pierced the dim penumbra of the room where, mere seconds ago, I slept. I lifted my hand over it, held it in place for a few seconds, and brought it crashing down on the device. I sat up and looked around.

Nothing out of the ord- I noticed a slight bulge on the bed next to me. A beautiful, subtle female form lay there, still asleep. I didn’t know who she was. Only that she was the most beau-

“Aw, fuck, I’m fantasizing again, aren’t I?!?!?!!?” I asked God in utter dismay.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

I looked over to my right. On the nightstand next to my bed was the damned alarm clock. It’s shining blue digits pierced the dim penumbra of the room where, mere seconds ago, I slept. I lifted my hand over it, held it in place for a few seconds, and brought it crashing down on the device.

“Jesus-Frakin’-Christ” I looked at the time and date on the clock: 5:47— 19 JUNE 2021. I sighed, and got up out of bed. “I gotta tell Mat not to make me go drink with him so late…” I sat up and looked at my little corner of paradise. My room was an utter mess. The floor near the closet was littered with discarded clothes I kept meaning to clean up. A metal book shelf stood near the door. The wall next to it was covered in newspaper clippings. To any sane person they wouldn’t make sense. Even the titles: “Turtle Flu: This Year’s Fashionable Epidemic” “Project Chanology Claims 0 Victims; Scientologists Still Butthurt” “Guess What? Jews and Black People Are Pedophiles Too!”. No-one could possibly tell you what they all meant.

“I wrote these…” I mumbled, taking some time for an egotistical belly rub. I smiled as I saw my first real investigative article in the corner. “Sweating With the Cheer Squad”… “Haha… that sounds like a porno…” I giggled and walked over to the room’s window, taking in the view. The early morning sun shone of to the left, and down below me, Little Tokyo was waking up. Another I shrugged as I got towel from the closet. I frowned, looking at the mess at my feet. I stooped and heaved up the mass of clothing, dumping it into the closet’s laundry chute. In a few hours, 200 dollars of service charges would pay for it to be cleaned, ironed and delivered. I marveled at my laziness… and promptly wandered over to my shower…

Lying on the floor next to the bed was a cell phone, the seventh generation iPhone. Three hours of standing in line last November, in the rain and thunder. And in two weeks, it would be obsolete. FIVE NEW TEXT MESSAGES the phone read. FROM: ALEX, AMBER, BRYAN, KENNETH, MAT.