the tiger beat questionnaire

how would your mother describe you in one word?
immature.

what is your favorite flower?
a tulip.... like the joke, "what's better than roses on your piano? tulips on your organ." bah-dum-dum.

what is the most insane question you've ever been asked?
"would you be into peeing on me?" i don't want to talk about it.

what word in the english language do you wish you'd invented?
flagellum.

where would you like to live?
in the hearts and minds of my friends and family. just kidding. chicago. chicago, illinois.

what is the first quote that comes to your mind?
"i want a lover i don't have to love, i want a girl who's too sad to give a fuck." sorry, i was listening to that when you asked that question.

what animal best describes the kind of girl you'd be into?
a kitten. a kitten that likes baseball.

what do you miss most about your childhood?
my batmobile big wheel. oh, and watching dumbo's circus.

if you could change your name, to what would you change it?
cervantes queso, my central american traveling alias.

what is the main fault in your character?
i care too goddamn much about people. goddamn it.

who is your favorite historical figure?
teddy roosevelt.

describe how you kiss in one word.
earth-shatteringly.

if you met the right girl today, would you propose tomorrow?
no.

what in the world do you least desire?
to lead a boring life.

why do you think most girls date you?
because i'm hilarious... or a charity case. one or the other.

finish this sentence: "happiness is a thing called..."
winning the lottery and moving to an island far from everyone.

what i really wanted for christmas

but didn't get:

• 1 large pack of thumbtacks
• 1 large bag of marbles
• 1 utility belt that shoots out oil slicks (like data from the goonies had)
• 1 spool of high test fishing line
• 1 set of booby traps from the any of the indiana jones flicks

just so i could take out all of these little bastards and their annoying little wheelie shoes.

a driving to the beach for new years playlist

1. billy bragg & wilco - california stars
2. citizen cope - bullet & a target
3. amy winehouse - just friends
4. bright eyes - four winds
5. the ink spots - if i didn't care
6. my morning jacket - golden
7. the album leaf - the light
8. citizen cope - hurricane waters
9. the shins - sleeping lessons
10. junior boys - in the morning

see you in salvo, bitches...

an obituary, of sorts

it's a sad christmas season for many throughout the southeast as they mourn the loss of two well-loved singles. robbie burkett, 27, and lindsay smardon, 25, bid their youths, and bachelorhood, a tearful farewell.

burkett, a charleston, sc, native asked his longtime girlfriend, leah, also a charleston native, to marry him on dec. 24 during a private ceremony. mr. burkett is remembered fondly throughout the columbia, sc, area for his hard-partying ways during his time at university.

"'ol' broken-neck burkett', as we lovingly referred to him on the rugby team, lived life to the fullest," lamented burkett's roommate of two years, patrick lorentz. "when he wasn't drinking, he was laughing, and when he wasn't laughing, he was probably trying to steal something. why, robbie? whhhhhhyyyyyy????"

burkett's decision to make an honest woman out of leah marks the twilight of his youth. he will be missed dearly. arrangements are pending.

smardon, of baltimore, md, accepted the proposal from her boyfriend of two years, sean, early on dec. 25. the memory of smardon still resonates across the university of south carolina campus. many still recall, with joy, the night smardon discovered the nude hide-and-seek game she was competing in had only one competitor - miss smardon.

"when it came to getting down, lindsay got down," laughed smardon's homeboy, lorentz. "i can only imagine the party that will commence when she takes that long walk down the aisle. holy shit. seriously, we're gonna get fucked up."

arrangements are still pending, however there will be an open bar.

these feelings won't go away

citizen cope
9:30 club
washington, d.c.
dec. 27

un año a vivir

kids suck. fact.

christmas has shown me that, while i'm at school, i really don't come in contact with very many kids. it's for the best because i really hate them. a lot. here's why:

1. they're filthy. just filthy. with their filthy little hands getting your stuff all filthy.
2. they're loud, but not in a good way - like concert loud, or drunk loud. they're loud in a screaming right in my hungover ear way.
   
3. they turn perfectly good people into class 1 a-holes.
   
4. they're selfish. "feed me! wahhhh!" "change my diaper!" "look at me throwing up on your stuff!"
   
5. they're terrifying. kids are somewhere in my future, i'm not sure how near or far, but that's some scaryass shit.

seriously. the look on the faces of i see dads at wal mart, or the airport, or church says it all. that longing look in their eyes as i pass by in my party pants, with some hot dame on my arm. for a brief second they recall the good old days. then they're brought back to earth when they realize they're dragging their future around, kicking and screaming, by a tiny little hand.

but not me. that's not in the cards for me.

want to throw a tantrum? cool. see you at home. you want to stomp around and make a scene? that's fine. come find me in the dvd section when you're all finished.

i understand that tantrums and dragging your kid around is part of fatherhood, so i've got a solution.
no hand holding. instead, take a lead from all those crafty world travelers.
that's right. i'm talking about carrying your kid around like a piece of luggage. well, not your kid... my kid. and why not? you can put a leash on your kid. you can put them in one of those backpack things. throw them in one of those rolling carry-on luggage bags, and zip it up. done.

a christmas miracle

ASHLAND, Ore. - Even in death, Chet Fitch is a card. Fitch, known for his sense of humor, died in October at age 88 but gave his friends and family a start recently: Christmas cards, 34 of them, began arriving — written in his hand with a return address of "Heaven."

The greeting read: "I asked Big Guy if I could sneak back and send some cards. At first he said no; but at my insistence he finally said, 'Oh well, what the heaven, go ahead but don't (tarry) there.' Wish I could tell you about things here but words cannot explain.

"Better get back as Big Guy said he stretched a point to let me in the first time, so I had better not press my luck. I'll probably be seeing you (some sooner than you think). Wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Chet Fitch"

A friend for nearly 25 years, Debbie Hansen Bernard said, "All I could think was, 'You little stinker.'"

"It was amazing," she said. "Just so Chet, always wanting to get the last laugh."

The mailing was a joke Fitch worked on for two decades with his barber, Patty Dean, 57. She told the Ashland Daily Tidings this week that he kept updating the mailing list and giving her extra money when postal rates went up. This fall, she said, Fitch looked up to her from the chair.

"You must be getting tired of waiting to mail those cards," he told her. "I think you'll probably be able to mail them this year."

He died a week later.

i cried for you on the kitchen floor

old friend,

first, let me say that it hurts me deep how our long and glorious friendship had to end. we traveled thousands of miles together. saw sites that others only dream of. all the while, you carried me, even during those times when i didn't want to go any further.

who was there at mount rushmore when that mountain goat came ominously close to me while i tried to snap its picture? you were.

who stood toe-to-toe with me when i first laid eyes on the pacific ocean, that one amber summer? you.

who kept me safe while trekking through the costa rican jungle - safe from armadillos, monkeys, lizards, and poop? you, you fantastic bastard.

then... well, you left me.

i don't blame you. far from it, in fact. i'm not the easiest person to get along with. i'm demanding. i smell. my jokes are corny. and worst of all, i shuffle my feet.

my only hope is that you aren't bitter with how we parted ways. i wanted to honor you in a way only fitting of one of my best friends - by throwing you in a volcano, or setting you adrift in the warm waters off the coast of costa rica. i guess you'll have to settle for the trashcan of a tiny hotel room in playa del coco.

just know that i hold you in the highest regards, and that it will be a long while before i can bring myself to replace you.

with all my love and respect,
p.

r.i.p.

if.you.don´t.love.me.let.me.go.

how.can.4.fuckups.manage.to.stay.in.a.$160.per.person.per.night.
all.inclusive.resort.for.$60.each?that.includes.drinks.and.lunch.and.
dinner.and.a.pool.that.overlooks.a.secluded.cove.

sunday´s.going.to.be.cold.and.i.don´t.want.to.go.home.

p.s.-for.$60.a.night.the.spacebar.on.this.computer.should.work.

thank you bbc´s planet earth

can you really be that upset with being woken up by a howler monkey´s call while sleeping on a surfboard bag?

jacob lake is a wordsmith

while playing gameboy tetris on our hostel´s deck:

"sometimes i´m so good at this shit, i think i´m autistic."

oh, and bananasnblow is updated, albeit briefly. hope you all miss me as much as i miss your smiling faces... whoever you are reading this.

taco saludo

we made it. somehow. check bananasnblow.blogspot.com

everything will change

in fourteen hours.

8 glasses of holy per day

for pennies a day you can not only drink pure holy water (blessed by a roman catholic priest in a california warehouse), but you can also be the coolest looking water bottle toting person on your block. thank you spiritual water.

costa rican fun fest '07

for the record, you can catch up on all of our costa rican adventures starting thursday, at http://bananasnblow.blogspot.com/

flying buttress

a couple of months back i had the great fortune to be sitting on the beach during the peak of the orionids meteor shower. for hours i sat in my chair, beer in hand, gazing up like a five-year-old as meteors streaked across the night sky. i enjoyed the solidarity, but couldn't help to think of a few people who i knew would have enjoyed the sight as much as me.

luckily for these people, the night of december 13th is supposed to offer up what astronomers are calling the best meteor shower display of 2007 - the geminids.

expect to start seeing meteor bursts in the eastern sky around 8 p.m., with the best of the shower coming around 2 a.m.

digital cameras are booooooooring

remember when cameras were really cool? when i was a kid, insta-matic cameras were so thrilling. there was nothing like taking a picture, then being able to see the image magically appear in about a minute. now, it's instant and we've become so desensitized.

so how do we make digital cameras more fun? i think adding an old fashioned gunpowder flash just might do the trick.

separated at birth?

playlist for monday, dec 10, 2007

1. japan cakes - when you sleep
2. !!! - myth takes
3. cake - let me go
4. glen hansard - this low
5. butane variations - find it a sound
6. ween - piss up a rope
7. the silent years - lidocaine
8. cake - no phone
9. the sea & cake - crossing line
10. lemon jelly - ' 75 stay with you
11. cake - she'll come back to me

i’m coming only up to hold you under

i hate this spot. i also hate band of horses for lending such a good song to such a corny concept.

science.

"Contemporary scientific theories tell us that what we may see as vacuum is only vacuum on average, and actually thriving with vast amounts of particles and antiparticles constantly appearing and then annihilating each other. It also suggests that the volume of space enclosed by a light bulb contains enough vacuum energy to boil every ocean in the world. Therefore, vacuum energy could prove to be the most abundant energy source of any kind."

neat.

marmalade

LONDON - Paddington Bear will be arrested by police and interrogated over his immigration status, it emerged today.

In a book marking his 50th birthday to be published next June the stowaway from Peru will be interviewed about his right to remain in England.

The appeal of Michael Bond's Paddington books, which have sold more than 30 million copies and been translated into 30 languages, remains undiminished after half a century.

But Mr Bond, 83, was said to be reluctant at the prospect of writing his first novel about him for 29 years - unless he had a strong contemporary storyline.

The new book is again set around their home at 32 Windsor Gardens, Notting Hill, and revisits the stalls in Portobello Road where Paddington shared cocoa and buns with another immigrant, Mr Gruber, the Hungarian antiques dealer.

After being arrested, Paddington has no papers proving his identity because his Aunt Lucy had arranged for him to hide on a ship's lifeboat from Peru after she went to live in the Home for Retired Bears in Lima.

Mr Bond was working as a BBC cameraman when a bear he bought in Selfridges for his wife on Christmas Eve inspired him to write the original novel, in which the Brown family adopt the homeless bear when they spot him amid a pile of mailbags at Paddington station.

Mr Bond has continued to write occasional short stories about his best-loved creation since the publication of Paddington Takes the Test, the last novel, in 1979.

He told theBookseller.com: "One of the very nice things about chronicling Paddington's adventures is that although the world has changed considerably over the past 30 years, he remains exactly the same; eternally optimistic and ever open to what life has to offer. It makes writing the stories a pleasure."

Paddington Here and Now will have a cover illustration by Peggy Fortnum, 85, who did the first drawings of Paddington.

The 50th anniversary will also be marked by reissues of the novels and picture books and a new title, My Book of Marmalade.

Sue Buswell, who bought the rights to the new book for HarperCollins Children's Books, told The Times: "We started talking about it several years ago and he had a twinkle in his eye.

"This novel chimes with where we are now rather than 1950s Britain. It's about the nature of what makes a place your home, where you belong. These are important questions and they are less clear-cut than they were when Michael wrote the first book."

She added: "I think (writing it) made Michael reflect on the people who have come to live here and how their lives have been built in a new country.

"There's a lot to say about that and it's very moving. It feels bang up to date, although Paddington himself is unchanged."

all of the captain's cards are kings

sitting in the commons lecture hall today, it occurred to me that the next month could be one of the greatest of my entire life. peep this itinerary:

1. two concerts – cake in richmond and citizen cope in d.c.
2. ten days in costa rica
   
3. christmas
   
4. new years in an enormous house at nags head with some of my best friends on earth
5. a couple of days in chicago

i finally feel like one of those people that has the awesome break, and everyone else is jealous.

cracker, please

sometimes i feel like i wake-up on groundhog day, everyday. not because i'm forced to repeat february 2nd over and over until i convince andie macdowell that she loves me. it's more like there are parts of my day that occur so regularly, it's like i'm trapped.

again, i'm talking about race. race is so fucking important. race runs so many facets of my life, both directly and indirectly, and i can't figure out how to make it blend into the background where it should live.

we sit in class, and one small slip of the tongue will send one student over the edge into a 10 minute diatribe about how whites are responsible for all that is wrong with the world. i don't want to have to deal with race anymore. i don't want to hear about the scum of the earth, and how they treat others, because those people don't represent me.

having said that, i thought this shit was hilarious:

NFL Meteorologists Warn Steaming Black-Guy Heads Occurring Later Every Year

NEW YORK—Steaming black-guy heads, the traditional sign of approaching winter for generations of football fans, have been occurring later in the season with every passing year, a fact that may be evidence of a climatic change with long-term effects on football itself, top scientists in the meteorological department of the National Football League said in a study released Monday.

"The phenomenon of weather-related African-American supracranial vaporous emission, or 'Steaming Black-Guy Heads,' as it is colloquially known, occurs when cold dry winter air comes into contact with hot, humid, shaven heads of football players, causing their personal water vapor to condense and rise on a column of heated air," the statement read in part. "It is then observed by network cameramen, who overwhelmingly choose to film African-American players due to the dramatic contrasts that result—especially when the player in question is backlit—and beamed to millions of households during time-outs, replay reviews, and other stoppages of play. The viewers then realize that winter has come to America."

"However, film review reveals that steaming black-guy heads, which during the 1970s were commonplace in mid-September, have in recent years not been sighted until the weeks after Thanksgiving," the statement continued. "Although further study is definitely called for, we conclude that the pronounced trend for steaming black-guy heads to occur progressively later every year—coupled with the phenomenon of giant triangles of ass-sweat persisting well into November—is a possible indication of a slowly warming climate across the entire NFL."

League commissioner Roger Goodell was not available for comment, saying that, although early-season instances of steaming black-guy heads were obviously preferable, the NFL had no official stance on climate change, global warming, or other meteorological phenomena that did not directly affect the scheduling or outcome of games.

Reaction among coaches and players has been mixed.

"When I came into the league with Tampa Bay, steaming black-guy heads were everywhere in October," said longtime NFL veteran and current Carolina Panthers quarterback Vinny Testaverde. "The Bucs were in the NFC Central back then, and we played in Chicago and Green Bay a lot, and to me, they always meant Halloween was coming. But these days, the rookies think of them as the first sign of Christmas. You can't tell me that's not global warming."

"Early on in my career, I saw them a lot, even in September," said Packers quarterback Brett Favre, who still has fond memories of the steaming heads of such Packer greats as Sterling Sharpe, LeRoy Butler, and Reggie White. "But this year we only started getting them just this week, and it's December already. Listen, I don't know anything about climate change, but I'd hate to see my daughters grow up in a world where steaming black-guy heads are just something you see on ESPN Classic."

NFL climatologist Lee Orfordson, one of the authors of the report, advised caution among those worried about the dwindling instances of steaming black-guy heads around the league.

"Remember that there are more domed stadiums now, that Northern-tier teams are being scheduled for more away games in Southern-tier cities during the winter months, and above all, that steaming black-guy heads are a single, if dramatic, phenomenon," Orfordson said. "There are plenty of numbers still to crunch here before we can say the steaming black-guy head has gone the way of the dodo."

Still, for generations of fans for whom steaming black-guy heads were an important symbol of seasonal change, the announcement has inspired a definite feeling of foreboding.

"I was the very first of the steaming black-guy heads," said former Raider defensive end Otis "The Grandfather Of All Steaming Black-Guy Heads" Sistrunk, whose own vigorously steaming head was noted by ABC color man Alex Karras in the early autumn of 1974 and began a winter-onset sideline-camera tradition that continues to this day. "And I'm very, very proud of that. I just hope I don't live to see the last."

the blizzard of '07

today can't be that bad, can it?

phrases you should use, if you're cool

1. chockablock (n.) - meaning: huge or full.
"damn, that house was chockablock during the 'christmas morning' party!"

2. knocking boots (v.) - meaning: the act of having the sex.
"damn, ____ and ____ was knocking boots at the 'christmas morning' party!"

3. junks (n.) - meaning: pretty much anything you want it to mean.
"damn, i guess we're all out of junks at the 'christmas morning' party!"

porn movies you should skip

1. the porn identity
2. shaving ryan's privates
3. the porn supremacy
4. harry pooter and the prisoner's ass cabana
5. dick
6. the porn ultimatum

i am in the twilight of my youth

2:00 a.m. at the adcenter. working on a powerpoint deck. i probably should be done by now, if only i could stop thinking about a phone conversation i had earlier today. here's a choice little nugget:

bailey: so how's school?
me: eeeeh, it's not so bad. just busy busy.
bailey: what are you working on?
me: all sorts of shit. putting together a powerpoint deck, image searching, writing, etc. etc. etc.
bailey: hmmmmph. that doesn't sound interesting at all.
me: tell me about it. what are you doing?
bailey: writing a lesson plan for class tomorrow morning [she's an elementary school teacher]. i'm also writing up a lesson i did with friday's classes about crickets and jumping.
me: crickets and jumping? that sounds cool.
bailey: i know, right? it was an experiment to see who could jump further: them, or the crickets.
me: i used to love school.

leslie nielsen will kill you

yum. drugs.

when you're just a kid, nothing makes you look cooler than pretending to smoke. for millions of kids, candy cigarettes helped create a false sense of cool the likes of which many non-smoking children will never experience.

what they didn't tell us was that candy cigarettes are just gate-way candies. eventually you're forced to try harder candies just to get that same "buzz." case in point, ice breakers' new dimebag heroin candy.

i have never, in fact, had it in the ear before

i will never go on a cruise. the whole idea does not appeal to me at all for a couple of reasons. first, i hate being sick, and i find it hard to believe that i would return from a cruise without suffering from diarrhea, scarlet fever, and/or scurvey.

second, i don't do heroin.

according to the royal caribbean television spots, going on one of their cruises is just like battling a heroin addiction. i mean, why else would they use iggy pop's song lust for life as their theme song?

ho, ho, hooooly shit

i hope when i'm sixty i don't resent 25-year-old me for spending a friday night at home, cooking spaghetti, and watching the polar express.

have a politically correct december 25th holiday

i recently read that department store santas in australia are being asked not to say "ho, ho, ho" anymore, because it could be found offensive by women. retarded.

today i read that the u.s. surgeon general is also picking a fight with santa. what's the issue now? santa is a fatty, and apparently that makes him a terrible role model for kids. i'm sad.

night driving

from an interview with cory murchy of minus the bear...

Akron/Family, "Meek Warrior"

CM: Ah, this is good. This is one of those great albums to listen to when you're driving around at night. I'm not totally familiar with it; I just put it on every once in a while in the background, but I'm always floored by it.

AVC: What are some other good night-driving albums?

CM: One of my favorites, period, is Perfect From Now On by Built To Spill. That's the perfect driving-at-night music, or make-out music, or go-to-sleep music. [Laughs.] It fills many vague, wonderful voids.

i really hate snoop dogg

but, holy fuckface, he might have redeemed himself...

career decisions

i should've been a hitman. i doubt hitmen ever have to put together powerpoint decks.

we're too young

i find people watching to be an interesting past time, as i stated in an earlier blog entry. in a matter of seconds, just from looking at a person's face, or clothing, or actions, my mind creates a whole lifeline for people i've never met before. where did they grow up? do they have any brothers or sisters? do they hate their job? what makes them happy? do they love the cubs? instantly i find something in common with these people, even if this common bond is completely fabricated.

sometimes i'm lucky enough to see people who i think look like much older versions of people i know. this morning, on the way to school, i passed by a woman in her 50's. her hair was wild. she had little black glasses, and a loud jacket. i smiled as i immediately thought of kasey foster - only 25 years older.

virginia is for lovers, south carolina is...

for badasses. peep this motherfucker:

CAMDEN, SC – A man whose hand got caught in a corn harvester cut off his own arm with a pocket knife after the machine started a brush fire.

"I just told myself, 'I'm not going to die here,'" Sampson Parker said Monday on NBC's "Today Show."

"I just kept fighting, kept praying. And then when I did get loose, I jumped up running, I had blood squirting from my arm," he said of the September incident. "It was pretty scary there for a while."

Parker, a construction supervisor in Kershaw County about 20 miles east of Columbia, farms as a hobby. When he tried to remove a cornstalk stuck in the rusty harvester, his hand became stuck.

"I went up with my hand, and the roller that takes the shucks off the corn had grabbed the glove and pulled my hand into the rollers," he told WIS-TV in Columbia.

Parker called for help, but no one was around.

After about 90 minutes, his hand went numb. He jammed a rod into the machine and started cutting away his fingers, but the rod and machine sparked a fire. He used his free hand to fight the fire but knew he was in even more trouble.

"My skin was melting," he said. "Like melting plastic."

It was then that he cut off his arm to free himself.

"I could feel the nerves as I was cutting my arm off," he recalled.

Parker ran to his truck and drove to the front of his home about the time firefighter Doug Spinks passed by. Spinks wrapped Parker's arm and called for help.

Parker said he is doing fine now and has tried to put the ordeal behind him.

"It really wasn't the corn picker's fault. It was my fault. It was just a mistake I made," he said.

Parker did not immediately return a telephone message Monday from The Associated Press.

"holy fucking shit," responded richmond student patrick lorentz.

night driving almost makes global warming worth it

i can't help it. i love jumping in the car late at night, and blasting down the highway. the windows down. the stereo up. everything in the world matters less when it's late and i'm on the road.

for my senior prom i borrowed a friend's convertible – partially to impress my date, partially because convertibles are one of god's greatest creations. we went to the dance with the top up, because my date had spent so much time on her hair (angry). afterwards we changed clothes, and with my date's permission, i cranked the top down (the top i'm referring to being the car's top, not my date's top... my date's top got cranked down later, but that's a story for 'round the campfire).

so we tore off down the road, heading towards the beach. the road connecting the highway to the beach is a long and narrow two-lane road, with towering trees lining either side which create a sort of tunnel over the roadway. a small strip of stars was visible where the two sides of trees parted. we didn't talk on that drive; i think we were both too busy enjoying the scenery.

7 years later i still consider that to be my favorite night drives.

triple toe loop

so what if i just got caught watching male figure skating? tell me that it's not the most ridiculous thing in the whole wide world. i found it to be on par with passing a bad car accident on the side of the highway – you really want to look away, but... IS THAT BLOOD? I THINK I JUST SAW BLOOD! WOW! THAT CAR GOT FUCKED UP DUDE DUDE DUDE LOOK AT THAT! HOLY SHIT!

o.j. simpson's got a girlfriend

let me repeat that. o.j. "i murdered my ex-wife, and her boyfriend, with a shovel" simpson has a girlfriend. o.j. "i won the heisman, starred in one of the best films of all time (the naked gun), then decided i was going to rob a hotel of some sports memorabilia" has found someone. i'm going to drink myself retarded tomorrow night.

review of the new film "hitman"

i think it was written and directed by a 16 year-old boy.

soundtrack:
butane variations – goldie hawn

25 going on 5

to my relatives, i am still that 5 year-old kid standing out on my grandmother's back porch, in his pajamas, singing "highway to the dangerzone".

today, i'm 20 years older than that version of me. i'm 4 feet taller. i have a lot more facial hair. i can drive. i've worked real jobs. i've kissed girls. i've had my heart broken. i've travelled through europe. i've been in fights. i've seen a person die right in front of me. i've graduated college. i've voted in 2 presidential elections. still, everytime i see my aunts and uncles, they remind me of a time that i don't remember, when i was much cuter, and dressed less shittily.

maybe they harken back to 5 year-old me because those memories remind them of a better time in their own lives. or maybe they don't think i've matured much in 20 years because i showed up to thanksgiving supper with a cap gun, and spoke to my cousin and roommate through walkie talkies all afternoon.

soundtrack:
the violent femmes – american music

growing up is the worst

last night, while i was at home, i got to hang out with my best friend from high school, will. i can always count on him for two things: 1) he keeps me grounded, regardless of where my ego starts to take me; and 2) he always reminds me of how fragile life is. you see, will's dad fought in the first gulf war with the u.s. army rangers, and now suffers from a debilitating case of gulf war syndrome. at just around 50 years old, will's dad can no longer hear, cannot walk on his own, and cannot perform basic human functions without great aid. when i first met him, will's dad was a solid ex-military specimen, with a vise-like grip. one month ago he was placed in an assisted living facility. his condition had taken its toll, not only his body, but also on the bodies and minds of his family.

we sat on will's couch, watching a television show packed full of the greatest home video follies, lazing away the night. the fragility of our lives never once crossed our minds. then came a montage of elderly people stumbling, tripping, slipping, and falling, all to the beat of some random song. the audience roared with laughter, while an overwhelming sense of guilt hit me. before i know it, i'll wake up at 50, and wonder where the fuck my life went. luckily i'll be able to look back at those hours spent in front of the tv, or spent behind a desk, or spent thinking about people who don't give a shit about me, or spent complaining. at least i'll have those memories.

soundtrack
snow patrol - somewhere a clock is ticking

i'm a classy fellow

according to my cousin's blog, on august 2, 2005 i said, "i'm thinking about getting a girl pregnant so i'll have someone to hang out with." god damn i am classy.

soundtrack
the frames - happy

it's a treacherous road with a desolated view

the weather's overcast. there's a chill in the air. fall is here; winter is right around the corner. you know what this means? it means you can officially listen to depressing music and not be ostracized by your friends, colleagues, fantasy football league, or alcoholics anonymous chapter. if you're not already a sad music connoisseur, might i suggest the following songs to get you in the mood...

golden age, beck


fade into you, mazzy star


come pick me up, ryan adams


place to be, nick drake


fuck family. fuck turkey and stuffing. fuck football, ice skating, changing leaves, holiday decorations, caroling, luminaries, santa and dreidels. fall and winter are about listening to depressing music, feeling mopey, and seeing your breath when you're walking outside. enjoy the tunes.

matt damon = sexiest man alive?

ah horseshit! that's what i say. everyone knows that [until he kicks the bucket] robert redford will be the sexiest man alive. i mean, fuckin' look at those baby blues. one more piece of libelous reporting from your friends at people magazine.

ohhhh donna

i submit that the greatest scene in the history of american cinema comes from the 1987 ritchie valens biopic, la bamba. the scene i'm referring to comes at the very end of the film, right after ritchie, buddy holly and the big bopper buy the farm in a plane crash. ritchie's half brother, bob, stands on a bridge mourning his loss; his slow-motion memories of racing up a hill with his brother flash across the screen. santo and johnny's sleepwalk plays in the background. just as they reach the crest of the hill, the camera cuts to bob, alone the bridge, letting out a heart-wrenching "rittttchhhhhhieeeeee!"

i dare you to watch that film and not tear up.

happy birthday, zoë bell

no, not that one. i think that zoë's birthday is in may. i'm talking about the zoë stuntwoman from quentin tarantino's movies. the big 2-9. i can't lie – i have a huge crush.

there goes the fear again

if i died today, i can't help but think that i'd look back with regret...

• i never learned to play the pedal steel guitar
• i never made, and kept, a new years resolution
• i have a stack of half-read books as tall as me
• i never made it to japan, new zealand, or russia
• i never even attempted to hike the entire appalachian trail
• i never mailed that letter i wrote to kurt vonnegut before he died

a heart just can't contain all of that empty space

guilty pleasures - i've got a couple. my favorite? people watching.

since high school i've loved heading out into public, finding a seat near a group of people, and observing (pronounced jud-ging) total strangers' interactions. early in my people watching career, i didn't head too far out of my comfort zone to find good people watching environments. i wish i had.

the airport is a people watcher's dream spot. grab a seat, pop on your headphones, and enjoy the show.

i live on a chain

one of my more annoying qualities is that i tend to listen to the same song over and over again for hours, even days, on end. sometimes i do it as an attempt to get songs un-stuck from my brain. other times i do it because a certain song will conjure up images, thoughts and feelings from another time, or another place. for the last week it's been this song:

the worst of all fears is the fear of living

"it is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

"citizenship in a republic,"
speech at the sorbonne, paris, april 23, 1910

once i knew how to talk to you

we are this low

racecaracecaracecar

i don't understand why everything always boils down to race. work trumps skin color. creativity trumps skin color. ideas trump skin color. good ideas trump everything.

your rocky spine

I was lost in the lakes
And the shape that your body makes
That your body makes

And the mountains said I could find you here
They whisper the snow and the leaves in my ear
I traced my finger along your trails
Your body was the map
I was lost in there

Floating over your rocky spine
The glaciers made you and now you're mine

I was moving across your frozen veneer
The sky was dark
But you were clear
Could you feel my footsteps?
And would you shatter, would you shatter?
Would you?

Your soft fingers between my claws
Like purity against resolve
I could tell then there that we were formed from the clay
And came from the rocks for earth to display

They told me to be careful up there
Where the wind rages through your hair

five and alive

call me a hypocrite.