flashfiction

here is something i wrote for another blog. the method is called flash fiction, and the rules are that the piece cannot be more than three hundred words. i had twenty four hours to write down what the voices inside my head were saying. the theme was "the main character is trying to justify a lie".


“i’m sure you have a passion for something: dandelions, wit, keanu reeves? it all comes from the same place. it is balancing delicately upon purpose. without purpose fires burn less bright and edges cut less sharply. i think that energy once put into pursuit becomes stagnant with circular thought that goes something like, ‘i should be doing something. but what difference does it make?’ i felt the first twinges of this purposelessness in high school, around the time that i started questioning everything. i remember using the word ‘why’ more than anyone else in my classes. when i turned that curiosity upon myself the answer came back all-too-frequently…”

“because that’s the way it’s always been.”

“yeah. i got sick of that phrase pretty quickly. at first it felt like a great weight made of metal and uniforms and politeness had been lifted from me. we all crave freedom in at least some form, right? well i got high off it. my idea of happiness became entwined with freedom so much that everything else became background noise. but what i thought was contentment was only a thinly veiled attempt to justify complacency. i can honestly say that i was happier before i grew up. before i embraced the bleakness of existence. nihilism makes me think but it doesn’t make me happy.

“even so, i can’t believe in god.”

“i don’t either. but my children are christians.”

“huh. want to grab a martini?”

mental illness

i’m fairly certain that i’ve contracted orthorexia, the latest hip-to-be-square mental disorder. i’ll let you decide by my answers to this foolproof quiz:

1. Are you spending more than three hours a day thinking about healthy food?
is whiskey healthy food?

2. Are you planning tomorrow's menu today?
yes

3. Is the virtue you feel about what you eat more important than the pleasure you receive from eating it?
i get no pleasure from eating. so yes.

4. Has the quality of your life decreased as the quality of your diet increased?
yes, but i think it’s unrelated. the quality of my life has been decreasing since childhood.

5. Have you become stricter with yourself?
self flagellation is common.

6. Does your self-esteem get a boost from eating healthy? Do you look down on others who don't eat this way?
i look down on others, but food is only one of the many reasons for this.

7. Do you skip foods you once enjoyed in order to eat the "right" foods?
i never enjoyed food.

8. Does your diet make it difficult for you to eat anywhere but at home, distancing you from friends and family.
it’s hard for them to be any further from me. psychologically, that is.

9. Do you feel guilt or self-loathing when you stray from your diet?
i never stray.

10. When you eat the way you're supposed to, do you feel in total control?
birds do obey my command. so, yes.

creep

the playstation three commercial with the plastic baby is so disturbing that it has quickly become my favorite. it reminds me of a dream i used to have, the kind in which i didn’t know that i was dreaming. it is etched in my subconscious, appearing at lengthy intervals. plastic babies, i think, are this generation’s pet rocks. they are a symbol of our collective condition. as close to leprechauns as to humans, these unblinking idols incite as much fear as joy. their redemption is also their curse: sterility.

contrast

yesterday i returned from a decidedly adolph-lundgren- in-rocky iv-like training session (minus the steroids and contact). and i believe that, as far as maximizing the vividness of life, nothing beats contrasts (especially firsts). so i had no choice but to listen to the banjo-infused whining murmurs of hellogoodbye’s ”oh it is love” on repeat. as the song’s tender wussiness counteracted my adrenaline the world just seemed less dull. the moral here is that sometimes we must endure hardship in order to make the big picture brighter. and that’s really what it’s all about.

mouthwash

this weekend i finally reached the point where i am using ketel one vodka as mouthwash. this was in reaction to the disagreeable taste left in my mouth after mixing heineken light and candy canes. that idea stemmed from a chance perturbation of my holiday tree whose effect was fallen candy canes, and whose cause was me cheering when johnny utah caught his first wave in point break. i wouldn’t recommend living like me.

rufus, brint, and lohan

i normally don’t like making fun of our celebrity betters but these corrections to lindsay lohan’s incoherent email brought a smile to my ruggedly feminine face. they took me back to a time when red pen(cil)s ruled and i was derided for being smarter than everyone. already almost fully delveloped, my wit was met with blank stares and fists. and i was at one of the better schools. i weep for america’s education system.

thoughts at the salon

“…it’s december already. i’m not going to be back here until next year. i need to tip my stylist… fifteen, no, fifty per cent. wait, do i tip the owner? i don’t think so. but my stylist is the owner. this is a nightmare… just don’t panic, stress is bad for you. o.k., the eucalyptus shampoo feels great. why am i worried? always err on caution’s side. except during drinking games. note to self: pick up some bailey’s for my coffee table center piece. i really need a rug for my sitting room, not too traditional, not too modern. i’m not going to be able to decide before new years…. "

walk the sanity line

i keep watching that levi’s “walk the line” commercial over and over on my dvr… in the glow of my holiday tree.

i don’t care about lust, i just care about love… i don’t care about trust, i just care about love…

of course, i would never wear levi’s jeans. but even so, i keep a close watch on this heart of mine…

liez

i often wonder if we must lie to be relevant for any period of time. does the truth contain enough nuance to be a lasting bedfellow? take, for example, the medium of web logs. i relate my version of the truth to my two and a half readers, but not a day goes by that i don’t scribble down some fiction as well (i’m assuming that i can still distinguish between the two). it is sad that pitchfork, one of my favorite music review sites, seems to believe provocation is more important than honesty. from slate:

Altruism, though, doesn't necessarily exclude the possibility of a political agenda—a provocation aimed not at readers, but at the music scene at large. What else is a 3.3 review of an otherwise-lauded Dandy Warhols album than an attempt to poke holes in an established critical consensus? In this case, it's the numbers that speak volumes and not the writing. A recent post on the blog Crooked Timber opined thusly: "[Pitchfork's writers] want to preserve their own role as … arbiters of taste." Therefore, Schreiber must continually "inject certain amounts of aesthetic uncertainty into the marketplace, by deliberately writing reviews which suggest that bad artists are good, or that good artists are bad." In that case, there's only way to cancel out the Pitchfork Effect: Read a different Web site.

ellipsis

it’s dark, and canvas hangs on the walls. some beat up wooden and steel chairs loiter underneath. greasy hair curls in great quantity over cotton and polyester and all of the worn converse sneakers in the room speak to me in unison. they plead for assisted suicide. as i glance down, my three hundred dollar jeans seem slightly at odds with my seven dollar t-shirt and the forty ounce malt liquor in my hand. i sip slowly, as if i were savoring the bitterness. glances occasionally land on me but i pay them no mind. i only break from my trance when a girl asks to sip my drink. i reluctantly agree, deciding that art would have done the same were he here. it is a monday.

nothing (just one thing) on our minds

wednesday was the big meet-up among wandering friends, drawn back to the lead core of this radioactive city. i am not victor ward was there along with a girl who was certainly not chloe byrnes. the early part of the evening was spent drinking college-flavored rolling rock, with a gradual move to home-flavored mid-label scotch. i spent the night wandering, in search of something that wasn’t clear to me. first i followed the friends, then i followed rebecca. eventually i followed my conscience, and still the experience wasn’t quite right. passing out was a blessing, like an abrupt stop to a long train of thoughts going in circles.

meds

during my daily spiritual self reflection yesterday i pondered my current status in life. the “cool down” side of whitney houston’s greatest hits double album steered my meditation toward the social aspect. questions such as “why is it that i know many people but few if any know me?” and “what is love?” were thrown out by my subconscious. these musings led me back to a single thought, though. what is it that i am looking for? the best answer i could come up with clunkily follows: a man/woman who is an amalgamation of bodhi from point break, jane from the mysteries of pittsburgh, and jem from jem and the holograms, who is both spontaneous and fleet footed, and who can out drink me in a showdown.

the rest of the session was spent meditating on the true meaning of winter.

this and that

the difference between loneliness and freedom is mostly semantics. in fact, the two are mutually inclusive. i’ve experienced this in different levels, most recently in its purest form. it has allowed me to both wallow in the past continuously and listen to basement jaxx records while i drink diet rockstar and gin and complete sudoku after sudoku puzzle. naked. i am unsure at which level i prefer my loneliness. perhaps lower than now, but certainly never gone.

snap

i’ve lost it. i mean, i still have sanity in some capacity, but priorities have changed and closets have been cleaned. i no longer apologize for trimming my shrubs in a way that violates the homeowner’s association’s by-laws. i revel in being alone, and look adversity in the eye. he is the kind of guy you want to drink with and then beat up. i no longer fear death. i fear only thread timers in symbolic debuggers.

workaday

i spent a good chunk of this sabbath working at the office. as i was the only one there, i played some profane jams out loud and got hyphy in the halls. whenever my progress was halted by either fate or my own lack of intelligence i jogged around the building singing call-and-answer army chants. somehow time flew by in this manner; type, type, sing, sing, dance, type. in the end, however, i got the result i had been working toward for three weeks. whether it was isolation of the empty office or the cardio workout breaks that were responsible i can only guess. what is not in question, though, is that i pulled an eriq lasalle-in-e.r.-like punch of satisfaction move when i reached my goal.

winding

…and then i go out to the parking lot to find the vehicle adjacent to mine on the right is parked like four inches from my car. parking asymmetrically makes baby jesus cry. as i head home for another night of sudoku and coke blak, i consider how great it is that i can roll my window down in november. the semi-warmth of the evening dulls the urge to close my eyes and drive blind on straight stretches of road. owen’s harsh lyrics juxtaposed with his softie-like voice bring a smile to my face as i listen to “bad news”. as the world gets darker, everyone else’s headlights grow stronger but mine…

genesis reunion tour!

break out the champagne. although, i am a bit worried due to statements like this:

”Genesis has another side to it, a more complex area of music," he said.

i never really understood any of their work before nineteen eighty’s duke. it was too arty, too... intellectual. they had just better play "invisible touch".

increase my killing power, eh? let’s do it!

i have begun a cycle of creatine monohydrate in order to gain muscle that i lost when my shoulder broke. this compound is amazing, in that after three days on it i’ve already noticed marked improvement in my weight training. it also looks like coke, so i’ve been taking it to work in baggies and leaving it out on my desk to arouse suspicion. no one has asked me to sell them any yet, though, so i’m starting to regret cutting it with nutri-sweet.

losing the corpus

i attended a celebratory gathering in the late afternoon yesterday. as is almost always the case, the discussion around me devolved into booze and real estate. apparently, while my liquor collection is gaining value, my house is stagnant. i don’t even try to talk about music anymore as it is about as productive as having a discussion about which religion is the correct one (scientology). more disturbing, though, is that i was barely participating in the conversation. it seems my mere presence has begun to affect people, and my devil-may-care attitude and cock-sure stride may soon infect others.

speak when you're spoken to

the moments in the fall where a deserted, leaf-blanketed street seems to cry lightly with its dampness are perhaps more in number than this nation’s glut of emo boys deserve. after all, i just experienced two such moments this weekend. one of these was special, however, in that the background noise of the occasional wind gust was by-and-by infiltrated with the trebly notes of brassy depression-era music. as i found my footsteps falling in 4/4 time i considered walking back and forth for a while along that same strip of road. the main reason i decided against doing so was not because i would have appeared demented to any passersby, but rather because repetition corrupts memories.

fibrous

i keep track of time using events and markers rather than eight digit dates. there are basically two eras: mtv and pre-mtv (usually referred to as the cereal era). before nineteen hundred and ninety-one, when i was given my first compact disc player and first allowed to watch mind-rotting mtv, i mentally kept track of things by what cereal i had a crush on at the time the event occurred. i’m not sure if this is telling in some ways but my personality lends itself to diving in deep when something piques my interest. thus, when i found a cereal i liked, i tended to eat no other until it’s course had run, be it two weeks or three years. and during that era it wouldn’t be surprising to hear me mutter, “yeah, i was just starting on corn flakes” in answer to a question about when i’d first solved the legend of zelda. i was reminded recently of the rice krispies ii period. those were the good times when i started eating bananas with my puffed rice. and no mention of a j-lo video was needed to specify the date.

what i'm into right now

what is it about british accents that enhance indie pop rock so? i can’t stop listening to the kooks simply for the choruses where the word “i” sounds like oy (but not the australian kind). headlights is an above average indie band, but their song “put us back together” is so chilly-autumn-night-y that it’s gotten extended plays on my mind’s soundtrack, overtaking the kooks while i took out the trash in the midnight chill.

summary of saturday skipping lots

i met all kinds of characters saturday night. i was first at a nerd-themed party at a white and turquoise house. add a rabbit and carroll would have been quite at home. though most of the people were in costume i feel like the attractiveness level was sub-par and that reduced my happiness quotient. the punch was also made with vodka and not everclear, making my eye tear up for just a second. there was good nineties music, however, and microscopes and flashcards, the foundations of every good box social. the best part of the evening was when we left the house fifteen strong to drink at a bar. we may have looked like dorks with our glasses and brains and whatnot, but no one can deny we drank like hardcore geeks.

in writing

"it's been a while"

isn't that what you always say?

"nevertheless...it just feels different. where have you been?"

busy

"the others. they managed to participate"

i've changed my lifting routine

"really?"

it was time

"what were we talking out?"

my body

"before that"

how glad you are to have me back

"yes, that sounds about right"

anthems for a 26 year old boy

if you’ve never seen broken social scene in person then you are now officially not as cool as me. actually you never were, but at last i can say that i’ve experienced the bss magic. these canadian superheroes have the power to change my mood faster than any drug or single person. it was unfortunate that my friend rebecca couldn’t make it (she’s allergic to fun now), but it gave me a great sense of joy that i made a convert out of the person i did take. introducing persons to good music and having it stick gives me the feeling that evangelicals must get when they convert a sinner.

the show was opened by do make say think, an instrumental ambient/mood/indie band with a lot of wacky time signatures and tempo changes. they were good enough to make me annoyed with the people talking around me. but none of that happened when the eight-strong crew of bss began their set. the pin-drop silence reflected our deep reverence for this band’s songwriting (in my opinion their arranging is the best in the indie scene) and musicianship (they all played more than one instrument). while favoring the newer self-titled album, they played a few songs from you forgot it in people as well. one of the highlights was “anthems for a seventeen year-old girl” sung by feist herself. “fire-eyed boy” and “7/4 (shoreline)” were amazing as well. and throughout the set they kept claiming that mr smalls theater is one of their favorite places to play in the world, which is cool because it means they will come back some day.

explanation of the gap in posts

after a thoroughly enjoyable weekend spent in the state of pennsylvania (that’s not a typo) i am left with the slightly sweet taste of day-old bellini in my mouth. a surprisingly pleasant drive on friday through autumn-y tree-lined country brought me to the eastern portion of the state. crossing the proverbial railroad tracks into philly for the first time was fun, like the first time one walks into a new thrift store. i.a.n.v.w. and i went hopping from bar to bar downtown early in the evening, giving me a taste of the history of freedom in between sips of booze. they complemented each other like darryl hall and john oates. we stopped for a while at a nice restaurant with garish halloween décor, topped by a two foot spider among wisps of asbestos webs. the drinks were free and the conversation good, however, and after we ate we headed to see minus the bear at the trocadero theater. they always play well, but there seemed to be an excess of annoying teens in the area in front of the stage. there is never a reason to wear a backpack whose girth you can’t wrap your arms around to an indie rock show. overall drunken impressions of the show were positive, however, even though mtb did heavily favor the new album for their set list.

saturday was a true day off for me. we went to the art museum in the late morning, passing some sort of crew event on the river. i’m not sure when art is best viewed, but fall-like weather seems to be ideal. later we went to a small record store which i enjoyed mostly because it only carried music that we snobs consider good. thus we spent the better part of an hour perusing the small store, as every inch was interesting. next amstel light and playoff baseball and envelopes for the early evening, until we left for a small town for the night. a couple mutual friends were hanging out there and the timing was too good to pass up. so we went out hopping again. first was a wine bar where the belinis were not complimentary but flaming all the same. of course i had one. next on to a higher end restaurant slash bar where middle age people were dancing to pop music. after a few mixed drinks and meeting lauren’s local friends we went to a local dive-ish bar. i was challenged to an unnamed sporting event by a sober girl which i readily accepted but will probably never happen. i’m not sure what happened when we got back to lauren’s place but i think nachos were involved somehow.

this sort of thing needs to be repeated. yes, i think that’s a grand idea.

what makes a city

charles barkley, seventy sixers, brotherly love, g. love, i76, moses malone, a.i., liberty bell, east river drive, balboa, shootin’ b-ball outside the school, schuylkill, delaware, mike schmidt, len dykstra, phanatic, lindros, franklin, hancock, and t.price.

up curve

i am pretty excited about the next week. put yourself in my converse sneakers for a minute. now pretend you are more attractive. now assume that you are scheduled to see minus the bear live on friday, and then broken social scene the following wednesday. even though you’ve seen too many shows to count, you have never seen any of the bss lineups before and that makes you anxious. and though you’ve seen mtb many times, this show is in a city you haven’t yet visited. yes, you have reason to smile, don’t you, fake-t.price?

muse chaining

in my line of work there is a theory that nothing is impossible. in other words, progress is limited only by creativity. nevertheless i am stuck in a rut of circluar thinking. neither minus the bear nor broken social scene could help me break this ring. what is the next logical source for inspiration? i suppose tv on the radio.

foley's not as bad as he looks

this post from the poor man institute is the funniest thing i've seen since i videotaped myself doing the twist to chuck berry's "you never can tell" opposite a very uma-like kitchen broom. people should lay off mark foley for messaging a minor with impure words. because, like everything else besides religion, it has a logical explaination.

look

i am tired. there are leaves all over my back yard from a storm. i just met art last week, but it wasn’t summer. we acted like it was. i think what i really want is some confirmation. a hint from people i’ve almost forgotten. they remember the most detailed things of no consequence about me. i want to know what i used to be like and retread that ground. i think it involved a girl and a bottle. one thing is certain, however. i am tired. and the leaves are everywhere.

not quite canada

portland this week. but, not the maine version, which is probably nice this time of year. oregon is the niche state in the united states, hands down. the state is impossibly appealing to a very specific mind set, and undeniably invisible to the rest of the world. more accurately, like g.love or marathoning, it also suffers from a part-irony, part-vicious circle phenomenon. people like it because it's different, maybe a little new, definitely a chance to define themselves in. so album number one, race number two, visit number three, those key components are consistently present. fast forward to lemonade, to your fifth running of the albuquerque marathon, your twenty-fifth year of living in the woods. now you know for sure if it was worth it. now you know if you wanted different, or loved it for what it was.

when you continue to excel in a competition that nobody else is participating in, what level of accolades should you expect? it's nice here. i think we can all agree that we expected that.

loosly related facts

it appears the talented and handsome bret easton ellis has fractured his ankle in a decidedly lohan-esque move. this is what happens when you attend dinner parties. i, on the other hand, stubbed my toe on a coffe table this weekend. however, i was drinking hoegaarden semi-naked by myself. and that’s clearly the difference.

vinyl engagement ring

i have finally acquired a turntable. after a few years of hoping one would fall into my lap i just bought one. she’s very pretty and we talk a lot about things. i end up listening far more than i talk though. we hang out after work and on weekends, but i never take her out because her counter-weight and other settings are far too delicate. so far she’s only sung pop music from two to four decades ago because that’s all she knows. i’m in the process of getting her some more recent vinyl accessories, however, and that will only bring us closer. i need no promise ring, nor engagement ring, nor marriage certificate. just my turntable. and some whiskey.

informers minus the snow

ain’t it cool is reporting that bret easton ellis’ the informers has been optioned for a screenplay. the director will be nicholas jarecki. considering the seemingly infinite loop of delays for the glamorama movie i’m not holding my breath for this project. the informers is even more fragmented than the rules of attraction and while i was very happy with that screenplay i am wary of this new project. but perhaps that will work in this film's favor, as it will be kind of an underdog, without the atlas-like burden which weighed upon american psycho and rules.

memories

a music-buying binge revealed this clip, and i was instantly happy:

http://www.twogallants.com/video.html

underwhelmed

this is a relatively busy time of the year with regards to my non-professional interaction with the world wide web. the start of the football season sparks my interest on a number of levels. most notably, i have made it my personal goal to wager my way above the government-imposed poverty line, legitimate income notwithstanding. there is a philadelphia band, human television, whose latest l.p. continues to act as the soundtrack to my newly established goals. just coincidence, but in my mind they connect. i'm beginning to impulsively blend. everything. i debate wedding reception sites while purchasing music on my couch during the usc game, place nfl bets while perusing the mercedes lot, and develop new triceps routines while reviewing my firm's latest policy on the licensing of our proprietary software. all of this helps to give the impression that my life is moving, and in a way it is, though conflicting vectors routinely drop me off in painfully familiar territory. lack of progress can be achieved without stagnation...delusion works just as well.

save me jeebus

although evangelical jesus camps have been around for a while it is still frightening to think about. but while islamic radical training camps have been called "difficult" and "intense", we can take heart that the christians are "kinda being trained to be warriors, only in a funner way." one of the many reasons that religion x beats religion y.

emotional square wave

the crest: the bees' chicken payback video
the trough: jeff buckley's forget her video

these played in succession at the gym. it is very hard to work on abs when you are sad (vengeful is optimal, but happy is good), so i had to stop for the "forget her" video. things like this should be considered before a gym is built.

disgusting

i don’t care if this is “just for amusement”, it is disgusting like puking grain alcohol and marshmallows. why does the world keep doing this to me?

Of Montreal's Kevin Barnes confirmed that yes, it is indeed his song. "We were approached by Outback Steakhouse's ad agency asking about making their own cover version of 'Wraith Pinned to the Mist (And Other Games)' for one of their commercials. We thought it would be totally amusing to hear their take on one of our songs as a jingle."

the only thing that could have made this worse is if it were applebees, the "hitler" of mediocre restaurant regimes.

outrageous

The Madrid show is using the body mass index or BMI -- based on weight and height -- to measure models. It has turned away 30 percent of women who took part in the previous event. Medics will be on hand at the September 18-22 show to check models.

this is outrageous. i mean, i… can’t even… we may as well get ready for the four horsemen. first, i’ll concede that there is such a thing as “too thin”. but there is also such a thing as “too fat”. and i don’t see madrid banning “unhealthy” (and unattractive) high body mass indexes. i also find this ironic from a european country that could conceivably ban smoking in movies but chooses instead to persecute innocent goddesses. there is a line between government guidelines and government decisions made on citizens’ behalves. that line was just snorted by logic and she was subsequently banned from modeling in madrid.

route

as i drove down the road this afternoon i started singing along to the music playing on my stereo. i think it was track ten from the last doves l.p. it was clear and seventy-five degrees. however, i have no recollection of any time from that point until i stopped the car in my driveway. i think i have become complacent. can you ever appreciate things too much? i guess i just want to know if someone with something left to prove ever loses time.

prayer for 26

listen to “heart and soul” by huey lewis while remembering your undergraduate days. follow this with two cycles of “yesterday never tomorrow” from the stills. the first time through think of how your life was better in the past and the second time through convince yourself that having money and knowledge could bode well for the future. finally, give the rapture’s “house of jealous lovers” a spin because, hey, you need to get up and dance. follow this with an amen. NB: do not listen to sufjan stevens, denson witmer, sigur ros, or boys II men.

proem

in the beginning we were out for fun. free and without explanation, without plan or thought of then we glided along. this was before we knew, when questions had answers in favorable proportions. we’d go up and down and back and forth, and although we ended up the same we never caught on. and the backgrounds and our names all blended into one. but just as we had begun we would lose momentum, the saddest of ends. the light stayed inside while the heavy sentiment was forced out. and time sped up. and we slowed down.

update: don't worry, i quit listening to denison witmer on loop. these words are more about the human condition than anything specific, i.e. me being one year closer to death.

who's the boss

can someone explain how the killers have “traded synth-pop for springsteen” on their new record “when you were young”? first, i don’t like springsteen at all. while pop rock ‘n roll can (should) be simple, his is just uninteresting. and though the killers’ new song trades synthesizers for strings, i fail to see the connection with the boss. i’ve watched the killers’ mtv video music awards performance four times now and i really like the song. i am almost in a panic over these comparisons, however, for they might not bode well for the l.p. sam’s town. and i can’t be let down now. not after hot fuss. not after brandon said their album will be “one of the best albums in the past twenty years.” not after amending my will to leave the band my collection of liquor.

forget it

it was one of those dreams in which the narrator knew it was too good to be true. even so he wasn’t convinced that it was totally fake. people like him still believe in magic, and people like him can still be happy. although he got the distinct feeling that something was waiting for him he paused and looked around. without reason he felt strong—even arrogant--in terms of humanity, but quite humble in terms of the universe. his feelings were clear even though his mind was cloudy (as it has to be in situations such as this).

these things he thought about when he awoke, for they were all his memory would reveal of the dream. and he went about his business. and he longed for the certainty of emotion even at the expense of his mind.

saturday nights

“you see molly?”
“no, i was upstairs.”
“why were you up in the balcony?”
“bon jovi rises. i needed to drink it in.”
“why do you even come out to this place?”
“i’m a cowboy.”

life apart (from logic)

the thing with planning a wedding is the complexity-to-product ratio. look at the detail, the effort, the planning. compare with the possible outcome. take the best-case, if you'd like. the results are still painful.

emotional and sentimental significance, regardless of their existence in a particular arena, have nothing to do with this ratio. every day (thus far), i have chosen not to drive my car over the side of a bridge. not to combine such an excessive amount of narcotics with my diet that it stops my heart. for these decisions, i do not make plans, to make plans, to consider the possibility of hiring a planner to buy or not buy the pills. to analyze the bridge structure. to pull braking statistics from each of audi's last four independently run factory tests. no, in a decision that ultimately means more than any other in areas involving my involvement, my continued breathing on this earth is decided every day, by a split-second decision. countless numbers of them. low complexity, meaningful product (debatable, i know). what more do tangerine colored roses have to offer than this?

i can live without marriage. literally. figuratively. shouldn't that be visible in the details? or lack thereof? spare me.

My Very Evil Mother Just Served Us Nothing

what does it mean when a planet gets demoted? i had a friend once (or twice), who became a girlfriend. that didn't work, and she fell back to friend status. she lost all of the associated benefits, just like that. sometimes, athletes get sent back to the minors. more busses, less planes. more day games, though. an altered relationship with the sun, you might suggest...

pluto never had a chance. the plutonian olympics...well, they were in a category of events best kept to planetary situations. and what about the residents? shit, people left cuba when castro took over. could this apply to an oft-dissed former planet? believe it. be prepared for delays on the outer rim of the solar system, inbound. and let's try to make this wave of immigration work. the intra-planetary variety is fucked up enough. and don't call them black. plutonian-earthlings is the description these days.

i actually bought pluto three years ago. well, received it. as a gift, you know. the star people ran out of...that's correct, stars. somebody had the idea to offer up pluto. apparently they were expanding their product line outside of the gaseous/plasma market. that same friend, she bought it for me. $29.99. and pluto, it was dynamic. because my very educated mother, she was always serving something in someone's eyes...you just had to pick something that started with a "p". now i've got a static non-planet, and momma went back to the pipe (a more permanent "p"), like the evil bitch she is. and that's just fucked up.

observation for the kids

i often wonder about the balance between knowledge and innocence. this is perhaps the most influential factor in human happiness and yet many people don’t take an active role in its determination. their casual treatment of this issue is expected, however. For some the decision is too difficult and therefore passivity flips nature’s coin for them. For others this lies deep in their “blissfully unaware” mental cavity only to emerge when and if they start pondering things other than the next pop idol.

for the few who consciously decide this balance for themselves or others (children) it is a difficult battle between ignorant happiness and melancholy wisdom. in my experience more people lean towards knowledge for themselves and happiness for others, for knowledge is very powerful and human curiosity is hard to contain. the trickier road, of course, is the opposite. some would argue that once you understand the choice you’ve already committed to one side – that you can’t know you are ignorant. but i think it’s possible to catch this at a point where you can take the other path and be at least partially immune to agonizing over the human condition.

b.p.l.u.

having attended one of the five most diverse schools in the nation, i know the importance of being color blind. so when my buddy johnny asked me to plug his site, i cut two per cent off my usual fee.

this is art?

jon foster

bonjour

it isn't as though i couldn't see any of this coming. there comes a time in nearly every week (though lately, closer to daily) where i find myself catching up to the point that i had reserved for myself at an earlier moment in time. think large scale here, because that's essentially what i'm talking about. i need to see progress, and this does not change. i need to want more, which i do, but in a way that consistently runs away from its parallel to my reality. today, i feel behind. inadequate. today, i need to drive 150 in traffic. today, i need to make big plans. for tonight.

tonight, i'll catch up to today.

aloha

i’m not sure why life in bed played before camera last night. they were two to three times better and even got a favorable review from my sister (not an easy feat for indie or prog rock). i’ve seen them many different places but there’s just something about an art gallery with no stage lighting.

after those two bands came rahim, a three piece from new york. i was really impressed with the dead on vocals and the complex percussion. they reminded me of a cross between we are scientists and the apes’ bass driven rock, but better than their sum. aloha headlined with their unique mix of pop and experimental. they also utilized drums and repetition, only to offset that with a xylophone-type instrument. if the mix wasn’t so bad (vocals low, drums high) they might have been the best of the night. the sparse but familiar audience stayed through the ninety-five degree heat until the end of the set, however. it’s somehow comforting to see that the cheap, b.y.o.b. shows are still happening in this city.

hello

i remember a day when the world wide web included nothing but porn and electronic printouts from government data warehouses...that is a lie, of course, though i won't tell you which part. and change is good. it's been a long enough wait for this site to feature an estrogen-filled narcotics merchant. t. price, on the other hand, should realize that the states on the west coast are best appreciated on wednesdays. between the hours of 3 and 4 pm. eastern. you do the math.

i spent last week on a deserted island. not to say that there were no other people, but rather that the combination of lacking geographic size and non-existent included points of destination reflected a similar image upon my senses. i became engaged. this is not up for debate, contrary to the now popular response of others providing opinions that would (though never fully explained) negate my previous decision. conversely, engagement may top the "events that provoke the word 'congratulations' for no apparent reason" list. where were those people when i bought my first finely crafted german automobile? invoking a 'yes' response hardly took the planning and intellect included in the events leading up to my writing of that check to the dealership. come to me in fifty years, and i will accept your congratulations, with regards to my life-to-be (err...wife-to-be).

two minutes into writing this post, and the amalgamation of requests relating to the first week back in my office and non-stop correspondence relating to a wedding event at a point in the distant future has made carrying a single train of thought nearly impossible. d.e., if you find yourself on the east coast, i'll buy whatever it is that you're selling. i need the assistance. the exact amount that i will need can best be measured in text, as too much. and wear something nice. you're prettier than that.

guest blog (it's a girl!)

in order to keep this site's content as fresh as a slap to the face i asked d.e. (don't ask what that stands for) to write a guest blog. she brings some much needed femininity and class to the phlox loves arthur franchise. feel free to either prop her up or push the glass down upon her head in the comments section. enjoy:


So I walk into the office—more nervous stumble than strut. It still feels like Halloween in this stiff suit—so heavy—and my voice shakes from the bulk of each pinstripe. I ask the 'Blocker' if I can see Him today. By 'ask,' I mean that I actually beg, flattering, beseeching, and essentially charming my way into His office while banking on the potent, fatal combination that is highly caloric baked goods and the pudgy Blocker's sweet toofff. As usual, I struggle with the knowledge that the skateboard outside is mine (or so it feels that way at times in this new game of grownup) and if I should indeed inform this Marge Simpson (the Blocker) in front of me (Marge, in terms of her bad voice and hair) of this. I don't, throwing some more compliments the Blocker's way instead and getting them stuck in her big hair. With my proverbial skateboard so far away now, I think I am in the door!

I am in, as Blocker's lifeless rasp accepts my starch and lard offering despite her clearly not needing them. In exchange for my boxes of diabetes mellitus, Blocker opens the golden gates to me while saying her usual silent prayers to her scrubs—magic scrubs that conceal years of doughnuts and Philadelphia cream cheesed bagels so well. Alleluia! —A less-than heavenly chorus of coughing and elderly complaints and conditions reverberates before me. At times, it is strange how much it sounds like the Mormon Tabernacle choir on Christmas morning to me; after all, it means that me--and my drugs--are in.

If you haven't noticed by now: I sell drugs…legal ones. And behind your and your brother's uncle's dog's neighbor's cousin's friendly neighborhood PCP, there is always a me and my fake smile. Do you know where your pills come from?

Good, because neither do I. (*Fake smile*)

So suffice it to say that I was in your brother's uncle's dog's neighbor's cousin's friendly neighborhood PCP's office today with your/his/her/their/its pills when—Alleluia! for once —The PCP actually had time to see little old, well-suited-but nervous-me. Sweet! Not only was I inside the practice, but I also was in His office amidst framed degrees and Kodaks of (presumably) his happy little trustfundites! Getting out my detail piece on the fine products that-shall-remain-nameless-and-that-I-so-love-to-market, I finally felt ready to "put on the Ritz" for him and sell sell sell...

...but certainly, I was not ready to take 'the Ritz' off! "Turn around," the Doctor calmly but firmly ordered. Flabbergasted, I recalled a training urban legend about a female rep requested to do some sort of similar, heinously pervy thing. Oh no, not me, I thought. Never! Outraged, I gathered my samples and dignity and turned around in a huff right out the door--away from a shocked Dr. Gross. For Abigail Adams, Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Stanton, Gloria Steinem, and Mary Wollstonecraft, I walked out. I walked. I stomped. I scowled. Let my people go! I was woman and I roared…

That is, I roared only until I heard a "Hey lady, yous got gum on your rear end" from a Mr. Yinzer in the medical complex parking lot. Oh yes, not only did I ruin an Ann Taylor (gasp!), but I also ruined a relationship--and all because I turned around a bit too quickly that time. Feeling foolish, I collected my "skateboard" and left.

~~d.e.

water colors

the sky was the color of the cover of third eye blind’s second album in the afternoon. that was strange in itself, but stranger was the clarity that the day afforded. normally when i drink outside in the sun it is for fun or inspiration, but today my three dollar lawn chair from aldi became a temple of sorts. i made several semi-important decisions and one character adjustment in only a few hours. i don’t like being on the fence too often, but it is usually so hard to recover that status that it becomes worth it to analyze. and sometimes the fence is comfortable too. and nice, if it’s painted a quaint mint green.

the long road

well, i have finally recoverd from the california trip. physically. i may never recover my previous mental state, one of ignorance with regard to the spirituality of the pacific, and one of sanity.

the last day of the trip we went to san francisco by way of oakland. i can't describe how different the two cities are. oakland reminds me of cleveland before they started cleaning it up while san francisco appears to be some sort of gay utopia with a disproportionate population of deranged homeless. it was great. we walked almost the length of market street, pausing only on side streets occaisionally to walk up steep hills for the fun of it. as we passed 13th street we began to get a feeling. a kind of radiation, but also a notion of being watched. later we realized that it was just castro street, the heart of the gay district, exerting its pull upon us. while i got a few long stares, the thing that was most intriguing was the feeling of being out of place. chris, his wife, and i walked among the mostly gay population feeling as if we were wearing sandwich boards. we stopped in some stores and at one point i purchased a scissor sisters album in medium rare records, one of the gayest records stores ever.

the flight home was awful, including delays in some texas city i'd never heard of before and not being able to get off the plane for seven hours. as delightful as that was, i am certain that i will go back as soon as possible.

san jose through song

after the first full day in california i think i finally understand what the beach boys were talking about. Well she got her daddy's car And she cruised through the hamburger stand now. Seems she forgot all about the library Like she told her old man now. sometimes you just get caught up. and it's easy to place the blame on california, but once in a while you just need a hamburger.

my friday and saturday expressed through the crap-tastic random selections on chris' ipod:

hellogoodbye - i saw it on your keyboard after flying in and driving to chris' house, i finally get to see his living conditions. i like his new wife and his room/house is significantly cleaner than i thought it would be. later i learn that this is because his wife cleans up after him.

dashboard confessional - dusk and summer we meet up with a couple other duke alums and have dinner at chili's, followed by a trip to the cinemas. in the time between we stop at spoon's apartment on a street three stories above ground. it's pretty surreal, but i guess that's how bad space is getting out here. his apartment is jealousy-inspiring, and i can't seem to get out of my head that his t.v. is bigger than mine for the remainder of the night.

j lo. - waiting for tonight(clubland remix) we get up early and arrive at santa cruz for surfing at 9:30am. my first time in a wet suit was pretty cool. i receive basically no instruction and am simply tossed out into the (medium to hard, man, beginners shouldn't be here) waves. despite warnings we head out into the water and surf some pretty good break. while chris is pretty good, i am awful. but i hear that most people suck their first time. right? anyway, i don't stand up at all, but i do get to one knee a couple times. in the process i get flipped and beaten and pretty waterlogged. but it was pretty close to one of the greatest things ever. the sun was shining and the other surfers weren't being assholes. if this is what california life is like then i may leave the east pretty soon. i have to say it was a good day.

summer in phoenix

phoenix came to the rex last night and brought throngs of sweaty young adults. to be fair, they weren’t sweaty when they arrived but the rainforest-like conditions inside the theatre made for some damp kerchiefs. if everyone was about thirty percent better looking then i’d have said it was for the best. as it was the crowd was exceptionally attractive for pittsburgh. what is it about french bands?

the french kicks opened but i only caught some of their set as for the most part i was drinking out in the lobby (which was no cooler than the stage). so far we are was the first song they played, and a personal favorite of mine. they played some others from the new album, but overall it was severely average. there was nothing average about phoenix’s set, however. it was nice to see the crowd really get into it for what was apparently the band’s first pittsburgh show ever. white people were dancing and carefree (always a good sign) and i was singing along to a few songs. it’s pretty amazing, but that band just doesn’t have any bad songs. and the singer’s voice is somehow soothing even while emotional. one should never underestimate the soothing power of rum and good vocals.

smurfette is hot

as you are probably aware, this blog's official stance on smurfs is one of sincere, wide-eyed admiration. we love the little androgynous guys (and the one hot blonde counterfeit). so i try to pass on any news of them when it comes my way. from new zealand:

Two blue smurfs were left with red faces on Saturday night after they were arrested by police for stealing a trampoline.

Senior Sergeant Brian Benn told NZPA two drunk 19 year olds, "dressed as smurfs", were seen carrying the trampoline along Richardson Street, Dunedin about 1am.

Smurfs are fictional small creatures who featured in the 1980s television series The Smurfs.

by the way, don't believe that last statement. smurfs have never been proven not to exist. and i think they may be mentioned in the bible.

kinda faded

this morning i realized just how little the years have aged me. my second thought upon awakening was, ‘i can’t believe it’s finally happening.’ my first thought was ‘whatever happened to soul decision?’

while some contemplate knot tying i do research on how to win board games while watching breakfast at tiffany’s on amc for the tenth time. while others live with their wives in california i live with ellis and sallinger in anyburb, u.s.a. i had a discussion last night about turning twenty nine. i feel like that is my cutoff, and i will almost certainly panic in late 2009. not because i lack a wife or maturity, but because i will feel too old. and because i will finally realize that soul decision has broken up.

ugh

this terrific article from cnn has everything i look for: brevity, humor, and pointlessness. here’s an excerpt:

KFYE-FM hasn't budged from the Fresno-area dial, but it's about as far as you can get from the Christian music, sermons and Bible stories it was broadcasting until about a week ago. Now it calls itself "Porn Radio" -- "all sex radio, all the time," with a suggestion that people under 21 not listen. Songs with little in common except suggestive titles and lyrics fill the playlist, including "Why Don't We Do It in the Road" by The Beatles, "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye and "Nasty" by Janet Jackson. Tamer songs are heated up by adding recorded moans and groans.

The change, made after the station was sold this month, was met with several non-sexual groans from some residents.

the non-sexual groan is actually the majority response to this blog, according to a recent poll. but don’t worry if you get turned on reading this text. i think a lot of people were lying.

keep dreaming

there is nothing american about a hot dog. take representation as far as you would like, and you still come to the same conclusion. obese fans at a cubs game, wife beating nebraskans on the fourth of july, yes, i understand your reasoning for why the lines had a chance to connect. why simplicity allows you to be as cynical as your limited resources can comprehend.

now understand this. we are surrounded by an idea. a practical implementation of a single glimmer of hope: that the act of being better than everyone, simply being the best at anything, is worth reward. we derive our worst case /best case scenarios from this, not because we know that anything is possible (because you cannot become whatever you choose to be) but rather because we calculate our chances to destroy those very same scenarios from another mind. to mold them as negatively as possible, in hopes that our own abilities may fill the void. sometimes, it happens. nobody owes you anything.

dead air

subtle are the advances that certain thoughts make in one’s head. barely noticeable until the fragments become coherent paragraphs. this is what some call a moment of clarity. some people spend their lives counting the hours in between these events, and i am not sure this is at all a waste. the conscious mind is strong, but subconscious thoughts may prove greater still. imagine how much better this paragraph would have been if i hadn’t thought about it first. or if someone else had written it.

heat wave

this is a nice summer read, in addition to being on topic with my post. according to media outlets it is hot outside. so i decided to do a little experiment…

i’ve spent the last few days without air conditioning in my house. by choice. normally i don’t’ use it much considering my ideal temperature is around 80F, but i’ll turn it on when the thermostat gets above 84 or the humidity reaches a north carolina-like 110 percent. recently i stopped cooling my house artificially (note--ice cube trays sprinkled about the house are naturally occurring) to see what would happen.

the most immediate consequence was a tendency to sweat most of every hour, followed by the tendency to put on tennis shorts and a headband (and pretend to serve every once in a while). i discovered the best use yet for rolling stone -- as a crude, inaccurate fan. also, drinking in the heat is not as fun as drinking in the sun, one of my most favorite pastimes. the sun increases your buzz and tan, while heat just makes you ill. as the temperature got to a humid 86 (its peak) i was on the verge of madness. not even the cosby show could calm my anxiety, and i’d begun alternating ice and towels over my skin. i made it through the night by humming genesis songs repeatedly and making synth drum sounds at appropriate times.

earning and taking

people are generally upset with air attacks. people don't like to be aimed at. people think, hey, what ever happened to life being predictable? what ever happened to consistent improvement?

this is how cnn depicts life. they don't talk about reasons, or desires. nobody comes out and says, hey, war is what prepares me for worse. starving is what lowers others' expectations of me. if i get out now, will they still want to interview me? no, leave me here.

most people want to feel entitled. they want air attacks. they want to be aimed at. they think, now i deserve it. now, give me what you have, because i've earned it. destruction improves both ends of the socio-economic spectrum. unless you live in china.

it's july, and i bend priorities

friday in philadelphia:

drinks at tonic, because the music was supposed to be better than it was. nobody voluntarily listens to house at 8pm, but apparently there are those that are willing to force the issue. we were there with a friend of mine, and a boyfriend of hers. this one was visiting from vienna, and possesses an occupation loosely describing a manner of time spent, but not so directly related to any manner of revenue generating professional activity. the austrian, as i referred him throughout the night, has spent ten of the last ten years in a state of constant travel-based leisure (there were two semesters at duke in the time period, which i knew to explain his relationship to my friend...having a mother on the un's board of atomic energy is apparently worth 24 credits at a respected american school...will i use this rate in the future?) . because i could not decide between jealousy and boredom over this fact, i moved the conversation to the subject of new york traffic. automobile patterns of eastern europe were widely ignored, due to a palpable level of unimportance surrounding the issue.

dinner at buddakan, which has become disturbingly routine of late. reservations at 10 were promptly ignored until 10:15, which furthered my desire to stay away for the foreseeable future. we were placed in the center of the ground level, which made up for certain transgressions. to the left sat two men with shoulder length hair, sternum length beards, and the recognizable attire of two parts of a well-known country band now more commonly described by their artistic output of 2 decades past. i have no idea what their band is called. a woman with impeccable facial structure sat with them, and caused me to notice: she was openly nursing a child at the table of one of the city's most desirable dinner locations. how many albums sold does it take to make this ok? will i use this rate in the future? not knowing how to react, we moved the conversation to the subject of property costs in the northeast. nobody had an excuse for boston. the hungarian wine chosen by the austrian was nothing short of tart in taste. this seemed like an unfortunate way to spend 2 hours and a day laborer's paycheck.

a saturday invitation to a client's beach house had me pushing for a cab ride back to my girlfriend's apartment. i was thinking of the morning. the girls suggested a club, hinted at a lounge, and generally wasted an undisclosed number of minutes in finalizing an opinion. none of this was discussed at dinner, because of the breast in full view and my discomfort regarding the wine. the girls walked us directly through the waiting lines of three venues, which the austrian and i agreed upon as being a positive thing. in no case was the girls' desired hit track being played, and while i did not know the song that we were in search of, two things were certain: one, that the odds were not fantastic of this event occurring at any point during the quest, and two, that there was a late-night establishment within walking distance that would have the album.

the cab had a cd player, which was a pleasant surprise. i've taken to making decisions for other people, and this is another example of why. in bed by 3, up by 8, and passed out on the sand by noon. 15 dollars spent for an extra two hours of sun. will i use this rate in the future?

futility

“why don’t you come hang out?”
“because the more time i spend with you the harder it is to go back to normal.”
“so don’t go back to normal.”
“i have to go back.”
“why?”
“because that’s where the rest of my life will be.”
“it doesn’t have to.”
“maybe not now, but it’ll end up there. it always does.”
“at some point there is no more later. you just have to do what you want now.”
“that’s not how i work.”
“i need some scotch.”

ticky-tacky boxes

i rented the first disc of weeds’ first season last night and i’m already hooked. er, as i am a man of many vices but no addictions let’s just say that i’m eagerly awaiting the next half-hour, not jonesing for it. either way the first four episodes were terrific, blending good storylines with good dialogue inside a bleak, nihilistic shell. the show is basically desperate housewives only good. oh, the materialism, gossip, and despair! ellis would be proud of this series. i’ve always had a fascination with the decay of the upper class, and this satisfies me on a spiritual level. even the show’s theme song during the credits is great. it’s that song that uses malvina reynolds’ poem “little boxes”. i watched the credits five times yesterday before i even saw the first episode. this is what’s been in my head all day:

Little boxes on the hill side, little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky, and they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses all go to the university
Where they all get put in boxes, little boxes, all the same.
And there’s doctors and there’s lawyers, and there’s business executives
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.

compressing automobiles

humidity. i don't get it. i mean, i get it, but what...who...well, i suppose that i understand now.

just drive through it. it's a form of efficient learning.

it's not a fish that you can catch

i found this article from new york magazine both entertaining and thematically relevant. in an attempt to let you glance inside my head, i’ll share my thoughts on some of these happiness-increasing strategies.

Decide where to go to college by picking two decent schools and flipping a coin. The relatively unexamined life is worth living. Barry Schwartz’s The Paradox of Choice documents numerous studies in which thinking too hard about multiple choices leads people to preemptively regret the options they’re going to miss out on. This triggers a stress reaction that tends to focus narrowly on random variables—producing unwise decisions, paralysis, and superfluous law degrees. Those who seize the first option that meets their standards (which don’t have to be low, just defined) are happier

i used average temperature, but you get the idea.

Don’t go to law school.
Lawyers are 3.6 times more likely to be depressed than members of other professions…

enough said.

Fire your therapist if he so much as mentions your childhood. Contra Freud and pro common sense, much of Authentic Happiness author Martin Seligman’s research suggests that rehashing events that enraged you long ago tends to produce depression rather than sweet closure and relief.

this is just common sense. don’t think about things that make you angry or sad unless you have a compelling reason.

On a day-to-day basis, caring for children creates roughly the same level of satisfaction as washing the dishes. In fact, surveys of parents invariably find a clear dip in happiness after the Blessed Miracle of Childbirth, which continues unabated for twenty years—bottoming out during adolescence—and only returns to pre-birth levels when the child finally leaves home

i like washing the dishes, but something tells me that is where this analogy ends.

avoid any bar named after an Irish person

now that’s just silly.

virtual threesome

slashdot has found its way onto google's personalized homepage option list. what does this mean? well, my friend, absolutely nothing. although...

i just happen to estimate that over the last few years, my personal web browsers have hit these two sites with more frequency than any others. this new development consequently conjures up an image of venn diagrams from the fifth grade. or that time i visited the u of kentucky during sophomore year, and my favorite two brunettes allowed me to explore with them. yeah, it's kind of like that.

the view from inside

it has occurred to me, though not as often as one may be inclined to assume, that a certain level of perception management is the simple and efficient solution to influencing levels of personal enjoyment. you see, i am mostly in favor of writing off, if you will, the majority of the world's population that has the scheduled occupation of connecting with me on one level or another. i am cynical, i am skeptical, and many times i simply despise the available offerings of those around me. extended to specific locations, events, and other such entities of interaction, i have come to expect very little of many connection strings containing my life as a node.

with that said, i return to my initial statement. because, through all of the disappointments that come from doing anything, there also exists a subset of emotions that drive me to want more from everything. i spent the past weekend with the ocean. i also hate most of what there is to know about new jersey. restrictions brought these two elements to a meeting point, however, and what i needed to know about the situation was this; that i need the ocean, in spite of the sacrifices necessary to bring it to me, and me to it. i need to feel certain things, at certain times, and this comes as a desire above and beyond the capabilities of limitation imposed by my deepest disappointments in the world around me. understand this, because it changes things. i am justified by it (as if justification were necessary). thank you, in advance.

descriptive

in the event that i die tomorrow i can at least be happy about the scene from my patio during the afternoon hours today. as i listened to agaetis byrjun i lay on a reclining chair. the sun, directly above me, cast golden light and spots across my eyes. the warmth of the concrete on my feet and the faint waxing and waning of traffic in the distance gave the impression of a summer day on the coastline, waves foaming and dying. as sigur ros played electric guitar with a bow a young doe came out of the trees and stood for at least a minute, catching my eye once. she knew what i was thinking. why should i ever be afraid in the suburbs?
on second thought, i can’t die tomorrow. i promised baby that we’d go dancin’ tomorrow night. she said it was cold out there, and i replied that it was warm in bed. they can dance; we’ll watch mtv instead.

red eyes

so perhaps it has been longer than i had originally realized. my apologies, of course, but european hotels make getting online much more difficult than it should be. and i'm speaking in absolutes. regardless, i am back to the homeland of the world cup's least attractive step-child, and tomorrow i'll even set foot on last week's flooded victim, also known as the east coast.

what i would be terribly interested in, if at all possible, is a decent vacation. vacation, in this case, should mostly be defined in an inverse comparison with the amount of time spent in front of any of the computing devices that i own. my recent international excursions, by the way, do not fit this category in any way.

subjects that will drive the content of my upcoming posts include north korea, the world cup, english women, ayn rand, mtv, and the funerals of billionare theives. for now, i'm just happy to have a wireless connection without a firewall.

the fight over the regulation of the web is this century's cold war...shiiiiiit daddy, even the russians know that.

va-ca

the last four days have been great. just lazy, hot, and damp – much like myself. i’ve seen so many temporary faces, all of whom will be gone very soon. i feel like those kinds of encounters make for the best vacations, although i could deal with seeing a lot more of one of those people during real life. but you can’t fight city hall.

i made real margaritas on monday using 1800, cointreau, and lime juice. these things are quite strong being that eighty four per cent of them are eighty proof liquor. they are good for warm drinking since the sun enhances the effects of tequila.

i can only assume that i am not victor ward has finally taken his vows to become a quaker and can no longer post on phlox without being cast down to hell. therefore i will take over as the condescending pessimist as well as my normal duties of witty observer/philosopher.

the hampton hills

jason is a fortunate dude. He gets to use the term “gnarly” and have the hot lauren keep wanting him after he plays the asshole character on both her shows. And he gets a set of golf clubs from lauren on his birthday. she’s either the perfect girl or really wealthy. maybe a little of columns a and b. the hills also played a feist song on the last episode. so that’s respectable. i wonder how my life would be different if my name was jason or i used less italics.

i won't bore you with the details baby

i will be off for the early part of next week, celebrating independence from britain/my parents. here are a few of my ideas for spending that time:

• listen to entire george michael’s greatest hits double album without stopping
  
• starting at noon, have one drink per hour for twelve hours. then anything goes.
  
• bring a change of clothes and live at the gym for a day.(they have music videos and plasma t.v.s) .
  
• hang out at a friend’s pool with PBR, and don’t drink but rather pour out can after can of it after i remember that i have standards. then get some whiskey.
  

rubber plants

i have a rubber plant at work. it’s leaves are sleek and glossy and their color is marriage of green and burgundy. lately the leaves have been falling off at a disturbing rate. i’ll grant that i lack in some areas of care giving, but it never wants for water and it seems happy on our weekly walks. so i wonder if this is a metaphor for life, that the prettiest things fade the fastest, or a warning about my ability as a caregiver. only the future blessed with either premature wrinkles or children that are falling apart will tell.

g-dub's d.c.

i spent the long weekend in d-of-c visiting a friend. i love it there in the summer. while some dislike the palpable humidity, i have become fond of it (and partially immune thanks to living in north carolina for some time). there is so much to do at night, and the city is made up more of residential buildings than commercial, which makes it very quaint and unimposing. i saw david bazan at the black cat on friday night. i'm not a big pedro the lion fan, but he played well using just his voice and a guitar. i really liked the venue (i'd never been to the black cat before). it reminded me of a rich man's club laga (see deceased pittsburgh venues), with an upstairs, and comparable dimensions.

saturday we pre partied at ana's friend brent's condo in the "u" district. it was pretty much a smaller version of paul allen's apartment, which is to say it evoked a jealous reaction from me when i saw it. he pays more in rent than i do in mortgage each month. then we went out to this great bar that looks seedy from the outside but is kind of hipster inside. there were four d.j.s spinning vinyl and it was so good that it seemed like the playlist was coming from my own subconsious. a mixture of white-kid dance/funk and nineties and eighties tracks, the artists included lcd soundsystem, le tigre, franz ferdinand, and soul coughing. just imagine my delight with those sounds in my ears, whiskey in my hands, and no obligations.

lost in text

i’ve started reading camille, perhaps the best love story of all time. the fact that it is about a lady of questionable morals should not surprise you, but that i am relishing dumas fils’ moral judgement might. i think this can be explained by my recent (re)reading of the great gatsby and glamorama. the contrast is beautiful and simple. life has more meaning from the right, and letting yourself be convinced that morality exists and is meaningful is like remembering back to when you believed in magic or santa claus.

the society section

inspired by this prettier than napoleon post, i wonder whether it is selfish or immoral or both to never have children by choice, setting aside what your higher powers command you to do. i’m of the mind that i owe a debt to society for sacrifices that were made on my behalf over the years by my parents, teachers, and many other unnamed persons. even my nihilist contemporaries can understand wanting to settle a debt even if the outcome is meaningless. but i feel like this does not have to be done by procreation, but rather by any means of helping society (most likely those younger than you). barring god’s finger wagging i don’t think that leading a childless life is wrong.

review review

only once or twice a year (if you satisfy the attractive lady luck with an ever growing set of superstition rituals) do you have the perfect weather / dreamy band combination that makes you reconsider your nihilist attitude. that sort of thing happened last night at mr smalls theater, and so early in the season no less. rogue wave and the stills played for a surprisingly small crowd that was reverently quiet with occasional bursts of static electricity. zach rogue and company played their changing-dynamic angel rock well, and the pretty vocals mellowed the space behind the eyes. although they didn’t perform “eyes”, they played mostly newer material including the haunting “publish my love”. after that the canadians (the stills) increased the volume slightly for their set of half old / half new songs. it was a great surprise to hear so many of the older (and in my correct opinion better) tracks from logic… which they didn’t play at south by southwest because of a shortened set. the highlights were “lola”, “changes are no good”, “helicopter”, and the most appreciated song of the night, “yesterday never tomorrow”. even after the show the temperature was in the high sixties and it felt like time hadn’t progressed at all. driving home at eleven with all the windows down in pittsburgh is something you never get used to or tired of.

a song for the suburban adventurer

think about driving down a highway in the middle of summer. the air is hot and dry and the wind whips through the quartet of gaping windows. the doobie brothers’ “listen to the music” blares, but you only hear patches of trebly sounds through the wind. mile after mile of flat farmland come and go. the only event of any significance occurs when you wipe the hair from your brow at each horizon. the future is unknown, your rearview mirror is broken, and you shift positions slightly as “dixieland”’s initial notes sink into your skull.

why i fear for the future

what i need is to have a long conversation with someone. like, an hour long. then maybe my headache will go away. it seems to be made worse by the phrases dave matthews and working with children. it is made temporarily better by working out and alcohol. but the cure still eludes me.

washington, george

this clip is the funniest thing since colbert’s press secretary speech. it combines absurdity, intelligence, british children, and profanity in the ideal 40/40/5/15 comedic proportion. this formula has been proven by rigorous testing,

wait, i meant paper. no, no, rock.

finally. progress in the american legal system.

and to think...all of those wasted years of mine, spent pushing for the legalization of caning. a little RPS truly does go a long way.

i should mention, however, that i once viewed a televised rock-paper-scissors event. perhaps it was a championship of some sort. probably the world. yes, it was the world championship. i'm sure of it. ok, a quick search yielded a series of results that are reported like so. regardless, there did (and probably still does) exist a man whose winning percentage was so statistically impossible, so dominant from a mathematical-to-psychological perspective, that he won the tournament nearly every year. with the new and inevitable shift to this sort of conflict resolution, what kind of power will a man like this have in the new america? the ability to harness perceived chance. i'll go out on a limb and say that i'll need a friend like that. and that i can give up my practice of canoodling with otherwise worthless columbia law students. if only those pretentious bitches knew...

teen age hope

omg. arianne caoili, the nineteen year old australian chess phenom, is not only hot (pic in article) but is also inspiring fisticuffs like a world champion. aside from using the possessive case instead of the plural case on occasion she may just be the perfect girl:

Caoili, 19, has listed her likes on her website as: "Funny stories, The Cream, arguing, getting up to no good, shopping, quotes, tea, Pink Floyd album covers, dancing (all forms), chocolate, blitz, theatre, Karpov's games, Oreo's, black and dry humour, singing, good music, gravity (without it we're doomed), sunsets, sunrises, fine food (and fine boys), stars, moons, water, Edward Norton and Johnny Depp, grace, green lights, cooking, pina colada's, vodka, red wine, Kahlua, dwarfs and the odd Cuban cigar.

now i don't know what "the cream" is, but i love water and dwarves!

mao once played dodgeball

perhaps you've heard of the chinese baby, jie-jie, born with three arms. from the most recent update on this story comes one of the more bizarre sentences in recent memory, in the category of non-fiction:

"Jie-jie cried when either of his left arms was touched, but smiled and responded normally to other stimuli, the reports said."

clearly the chinese are on to something here. or at least they were, until removing the child's clear dodgeball advantage, demoting him back to the same level as everyone else. oh communism...that's so you.

comforted by the recognizable

sitting in my living room...it's been a while since i've been around.

i have american psycho on the lcd. it feels right, and i realize that i may have missed this sensation in past weeks. i find myself wondering, in my apartment, what would the soundtrack be composed of? immediately confronted by the notion that it doesn't matter, that people don't understand, and wouldn't, i drop the thought. where were you on the night that paul allen disappeared? people pass up observing things that require perception.

for the love of...

regarding the duke lacrosse situation:

A university investigation also found a history of disciplinary problems involving team members, including underage drinking and public urination.

was anyone else expecting the words "assault" or maybe "rape" instead of "drinking" and "urination" there? listen, if those other things make a team or individual "troubled" then i guess i need to begin worrying about myself immediately, as my "troubled" past treads dangerously close to the lax-ies'. it's a wonder that i've managed to graduate, find non-government employment, keep off food stamps, stay out of jail, and use many fewer cliches and double speak than the duke executives. i must be the anomaly.

fence theory

it seems to me that, aside from physical differences (the vain must qualify this immediately), there are two types of people. one type values loyalty and the other type values honesty. as complex as humans are they can certainly value both at the same time, but never equally. this distinction allows one to make certain generalizations about a person that come in handy whether trying to befriend them, swindle them, or just drink with them. and you know my ugly fondness for generalizations.

testosterone-free action

the new batwoman is a lesbian.

i didn't know there was an old batwoman.

ultimately, that seems fair.

thursday

at the gym going through my cardio routine i look with disgust over at the three hundred pound man on the recumbent bike humming/mumbling along to the new rob thomas video. i can’t tell whether he thinks no one can hear him or that he just doesn’t care. as the song progresses my ire follows a similar linear curve until i can no longer stand it and make the motion of putting on fake headphones. i then proceed to close my eyes and hum along to s.w.v.’s “i’m so into you” --to the bewilderment of the middle aged lady on the stairmaster to my right-- until the next video shuts him up. it is robert palmer’s “i didn’t mean to turn you on”, whose video is a shoddy reproduction of his “addicted to love” classic. the song itself, however, is sheer genius. this is what my life is like.

tyler vs. she-ra

though widespread fight clubs are over six years old now, i think there is still a tri-monthly quota for articles about this “savage” trend among modern day men. this article reads more like a satire, due to genius/stupid statements like this:

"Real-life fight clubs are the male version of the girls who cut themselves," he said. "All day long these guys think they're the captains of the universe, technical wizards. They're brilliant but empty."

now, i understand “brilliant but empty” quite well, but i think the author was going for “masters”, rather than “captains” of the universe. what the hell is a captain of the universe anyway? someone ranked below major but above lieutenant on the scale of everything in the physical world? we all know what a master of the universe is. i wanted to be one when i was little. but, not counting 2003, you don’t see me trying to ride tigers and panthers and buying a castle and naming it “greyskull”.

smile

give me a backyard where the sun shines directly in mid afternoon. give me bottle after bottle of beer so light and gay that it almost tastes like seltzer water. give me a hideous neon blue tri-fold beach chair with sand from last august still holding its ground like aging freckles. give me skin that soaks the sun like a car sponge and hair that longs to be lighter. give me these things, o great fate, and i’ll give you a happy young man.

rally

you know the feeling you get when you’ve met someone that you really like and have an idea that they like you too? i’m getting that feeling right now from phoenix’s it’s never been like that. the first few tracks have been so good that i just want to stop time and live here for a while. we’ve established a frighteningly solid background in a short time and yet there is still mystery in the form of the many songs un-listened to. i dare say this album could approach emblems territory, and that album was the only one i’ve ever considered settling down with (we broke off the engagement but it still weighs heavy on my heart).