acknowledgement

it is both poor form and a shirking of responsibility to blame one’s own failures on alcohol. is it not, then, fair to leave liquor uncredited for it’s role in the creation of certain prose? i assume most writers think so, as i have never yet seen it mentioned, and i am an avid reader of acknowledgements. i am, however, of the old-fashioned mindset that quantifiable sources must be credited.

p.s. thanks to frank bartles and ed jaymes.

contrarily

here is what is so funny about this situation. the more i am denied something, the more i want it for the sake of getting it. even if the end result is worse than the beginning condition. i have the potential to regress substantially given the right set of circumstances. and i will relish it as a conscious choice to buck logic. for those whose religion is rationality, this sort of thing feels like free falling while on fizzy narcotics. or love.

friday again and again

it’s friday. i have complete freedom. i can used fabric softener on my taupe-colored laundry. or not. i can listen to the same song again and again and again and again and then listen to a different song with the same chord basis but an altogether different singer. anything goes! except this vague feeling of anticipation. that never goes.

kol

is anyone else terrified of what will be on kings of leon’s new album? because of the times could single handedly make or break my april, which is a pivotal month in transitioning from pants to shorts. from their website:

…Because Of The Times (the title refers to an annual preachers’ conference the boys attended growing up) contains Kings of Leon’s first-ever album track that clocks in at longer than five minutes (“Knocked Up”), the first song with vocal effects (“On Call”), and the first one you could verifiably call an arena-rock anthem (“Black Thumbnail”). Then there’s the breakneck “McFearless,” the chiming “Ragoo,” the scuzzy “Charmer,” and the waltzing “The Runner”

the first single is “on call”, and although i like it i am wary as it lies in the gap that they had successfully wedged between themselves and everyone else with their first two albums. i am worried that their new-found eclecticism may not tread new ground but instead the worn paths of others. the words “arena-rock” also scare me like the thought of naked clowns. there is so much potential here. aha shake heartbreak is one of my favorite albums of all time. i’m not sure i can deal with a letdown.

intra-state reflection

last weekend was spent in the past
going "home" often is

saturday night proved satisfying
visiting the home of t.price
good music
quality alcohol
and a rubik's cube

a friend argued virtues
of old music
of old ideas
of history
to him
the past is all that we have

it used to be
that others made choices for you
that good was the same as great
that what you heard was all that existed

observing now
that there is less good
that we need to decide
that intelligence is necessary

progress
independence
i'm ok with this

eating soap

i have noticed over the years that people tend to forget much of beginning and middle of events and recall their end in much more detail than any other part. this is partly due to temporal concerns, of course, but even with short duration events the last thing one sees/feels seems to be etched more clearly in memory. that is why it is important to make a good last impression. while “firsts” are the things that make life worth living, “lasts” are the things that make life bearable in between. i devote a good deal of thought to last impressions. i like to leave others with a good taste in their mouth. dry, nutty, and just the slightest hint of fruit.

another sxsw post

the 2007 austin music festival’s lineup has finally been announced. i am especially excited to see these bands:

a band of bees, beach house, the apes, cold war kids, the dears, dosh, do make say think, thomas dybdahl, field music, girl talk, grand buffet, emily haines, headlights, the honorary title, junior senior, lily allen, limbeck, panda & angel, saturday looks good to me, snowden, someone still loves you boris yeltsin, the walkmen

i will not, of course, get to see them all, but this is like christmas to me. only instead of being about the birth of santa, it is about how music isn’t dead yet. which is a very real reason to cling to a bit of hope. and get drunk at the same time.

purity

…however, i can’t help but think that every time i walk by some shitty bar playing alt-country a small piece of that moment rubs off on me. if we are the sum of our experiences then this prospect frightens me, as bad art tends to stick in my head for as long a time as good art. i want to be pure. i want to have knowledge of something without it changing me. i want to be immune…

i-fficiency

and the easiest way to learn that your favorite acoustic nickelback song will be coming live to a stage near you...>

dead soda

as a teenager i used to put an empty surge can in the middle of the snow and then yell, “surge!” and race to it, eventually diving for victory. i’ll grant that it would have been sweeter if i’d have had any friends to race with. but not only was surge a great drink, it was the most extreme soda of the late nineties (sorry faygo). that is why i enjoyed this article about dead sodas so much. i remember almost all of them. and, yes, i too was an orbitz poser for a while. of course this was all before it became hip to be square, before i gave up soda for diet snapple, heineken light, and occasionally pomegranate juice.

mondays are best for unpackaging small items

today, at the store
i'm buying almonds
unsalted
dry roasted
a must for muscle development

candy is available in the same section
per piece
people steal it
per piece

today, a girl
beige burberry scarf
same as me
grey pinstripe pants
same as me
dark hair, wide collar, confident stare
same as me

she takes something
wrapped
chocolate
i'm thinking
you're not nearly hot enough for this
i'm thinking
things aren't always what they appear

rap ture

i went to the rex last night with mikey and rebecca, and we met up with d.e. and her friend. i was delightfully buzzed in a happy purgatory between sober and drunk, which was an ideal state for whiteboy dancing. i was also happy because i hadn’t hung out with rebecca in a while, and seeing the rapture is the perfect thing to do in her company. the best realization of the night was that d.e. is just as fun to hang out with in person as she is to hang out with in your mind. the next best is that i totally didn’t look out of place dancing poorly at the show. luke and the boys played all their great tunes, and i even got to sleep in a bed last night.

*update* i almost forgot to relate the fact that luke eye-checked me and pointed his guitar right at me during the show. this was probably either because he could see the coolness and liquor emanating from me or because he recognized me from the topless photos i sent to him. finally.

paris-rama

the tapes (one here) taken from paris hilton’s storage locker are difficult to sit through, mostly due to her voice. but that doesn’t mean that i skipped over one minute of the hours of night-mode footage. it’s oddly entrancing, like some sort of bizarro glamorama with less good-looking people. paris is totally the allison character, and the dude doing blow off his stomach could easily be bentley. while i neither condone nor endorse this type of behavior, i have to admit i’d most likely fall into that pointless lifestyle given the opportunity. it is, after all, the american dream (if we still have that ability).

important checkpoints on dimly lit roads

i am nearing the attainment of my recently targeted hair style
others seem impressed
they look.
they nod.
they ask.

it's possible that i don't provide what they are searching for
after all, what is there to say?
(refreshing) i know.
(impressive) of course.
(i'm actually...) you can't.
(but for you...) inevitably.

everyone competes somewhere
some attempt everywhere
it would be much simpler if that were the extent of it
it would be much simpler if we had the script ahead of time

taking is the new giving

people are no longer impressed
you need to prove that you can help
when innovation is expected
relevance reigns supreme

the details have become...irrelevant

xylophone and 4/4 time = 1959

this remix of lily allen’s “smile” from who killed the mixtape? makes me daydream. it is always the same dream. i am in a scene from the sandlot, walking by a transistor radio on my way to the pool. taking stock of the situation i feel both safe and scared. no h.i.v., no global warming, no locking doors, but also no diversity, freedom, or mtv. i think i like it better now. but still, the sun feels good on my skin.

define: networking

this story talks about secrets >
and that seems strange

if i had to publish a secret
it would be that i

see more
feel more
understand more
than anyone willing to listen

so where does that leave us?

saturdae

saturday night i was at a private table in a v.i.p. area, sipping two-hundred-dollar bottle-service vodka. it tasted alright. i was wearing a ralph lauren vertically striped fitted polo shirt underneath a marc jacobs crewneck wool/microfiber sweater. denim longpants by diesel and shoes by kenneth cole rounded out the ensemble. even with the free bottles, i still felt the need to buy a drink from the bar, which i then gave to someone i didn’t know. i’m not exactly sure why. mostly, i just wanted someone to look at met instead of through me. mostly, it was a good night.

why we love jessica stam

surprisingly, we love ms. stam more for her mind than anything else. even if she doesn't know her thread count (we sleep under nothing less than 650) we would totally vote for oprah. see if you can guess what our favorite part of this ny mag interview is. hint: the quote, “i make clothes look good” is our second favorite::

name: Jessica Stam
Job: Model
Age: 20
Neighborhood: East Village
Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional?
Patrick Bateman from the book American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis. "Don't just look at her ass, EAT IT."
What's the best meal you've eaten in New York?
Macaroni and cheese with truffles.
In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job?
I make clothes look good.
Where do you get your coffee?
Starbucks.
What's the last thing you saw on Broadway?
Wicked.
Do you give money to panhandlers?
No.
What's your drink?
Iced tea.
How often do you prepare your own meals?
I order in.
What's your favorite medication?
Midol.
What's hanging above your sofa?
A light.
How much is too much to spend on a haircut?
That depends on the one holding the scissors.
When's bedtime?
Bedtime is eight hours before my alarm goes off.
Brunch: pro or con?
Pro!
What's your thread count?
I forget.
What do you hate most about living in New York?
Walking through a group of slow-moving tourists.
What's your brand of jeans?
Trash & Vaudeville.
When's the last time you drove a car?
December 27.
Who should be the next president?
Oprah.
Times, Post, or Daily News?
New York Post.
Yankees or Mets?
Yankees.
What makes someone a New Yorker?
It's not a matter of time, it's more like a feeling one gets. You'll know when this is your home.

state of the union

there are
guidelines
to saving face
to admitting wrong
to asking forgiveness
to not having to relocate

if you
let a 29 year-old enroll in 7th grade
if he
behaves in a predictably unacceptable manner
if we
find out about this <

no interviews
the level of your intelligence is no longer up for debate
no astonishment
experiencing surprise assumes a prior collection of thoughts

somehow
i remain convinced that life is not nearly as complicated as advertised

dream boy

i spent an hour thinking about whether stereophonics’ “dakota” or band of horses’ “the great salt lake” was the best song to listen to if one were driving alone through the midwest on a sunny warm day with the windows down. i have never been in this situation in real life, but i have dreamed about it a few times. i cannot, however, remember what i am hearing at the time. i think that the edge would have to go to “the great salt lake” because i could listen to it for a longer time. “dakota” evokes strong emotions so it gets tiring.

these mediocre repetitive-landscape dreams are troubling. i wonder if endless hours of desensitizing mtv programming have made reality a fantasy to me. i can only imagine one night i will wake up sweating after a fantasical dream where after a middle-class upbringing i settled down with a wife and two and a half children.

twenty-three years late

at&t is the new cingular
oceania is now at war with eurasia
oceania has always been at war with eurasia
the proles will believe anything

think don't drink

when i am left to think with full freedom my mind wanders pretty far. it will first consider what my senses are registering at the time and then radiate outwards. these new thoughts will mix with what is familiar to me, memories i have of the past. eventually, however, my thinking always comes back to one of three things: inconsistency, repitition, or realization.

inconsistency leads to more thinking and, if i am not smart enough, also leads to questions. usually there is some piece of missing information that i need. if i can’t get to that information, though, this line of thinking is hell because there is no resolution.

repetition means that i’ve been down this thought path before. at least some things in this chaotic world are predictable. although it is usually less of a comfort and more of a feeling of emptiness. boring, numbing emptiness.

realization is the best place to end up. and the worst. it can either be discovery or despair, but at least it is something. it is rare in its true form.

this is why i drink.

wtf

i’ve recently been swapping hip hop albums at the used record store since i missed much of the non-singles from albums released before college. it’s a pretty fun thing--like doing research with a professor who uses lots of profanity. a few days ago i traded for capital punishment, the dirty version. every song has the sweet, sweet cursing that i expect aside from “still not a player”, which was the clean radio version. what’s the use of buying the record if i can’t listen to a five hundred pound cassanova rap about his six foot dick? for all i know, you couldn’t measure his kayak with six rulers. i mean, i like boats and all. but i like lyrical integrity more.

misplaced trust

snow this morning
a first in the new year

there are people who
jump the gun
arrive before the plows
park between what they hope are lines

the sun shows
more than we would like
mistakes that people make
but only half of the story

we guess often
and while rarely correct
there is always the chance
that the sun stays away

day old blues

a landslide almost hit my car today. luckily it stopped just short of the road. i was listening to kings of leon, fleetwood mac would have been disastrous. the side of this particular road was carved out of a hill. it appears that humans fucked with nature and then nature fucked back. with a passion sorely lacking in modern humans. it was really quite a beautiful thing if you don’t pay any mind to the tragic aspect of it.

simultaneous disharmony

on the news
more about a midwestern teen
kidnapped for 4 years

why did he stay?
they ask
how is this possible?

sometimes people believe
what is convenient
sometimes nothing is convenient
so they ask each other

sometimes people stay
when it's convenient
sometimes convenience has its price
but they didn't ask you

did they?

anniversary edition

the anniversary of this blog has come and gone in unheralded fashion. i am happy with the quality of the proetry and ranting displayed on these pages during the past year. however, this is not exactly feminist-meets-fratboy origami blog i envisioned so long ago. here are some aught-six highlights and aught-seven resolutions:

best of last year:
--p.l.a. comment: “avante-garde chili cupcakes... cubist reflections... introspectives on entomologists... a christmas eve brunch with t. price... priceless.” by george michael (a pseudonym for a teenage girl, no doubt) this comment, in response to my december post about thoughts inside a salon, is as close to perfect as i can imagine.

--show the blog attended: the thursday barsuk records showcase at south by southwest in austin. two gallants, mates of state, and nada surf. this was also my drunkest show. it was so good we stayed at that one show all night and drank with what had to be a high school girl.

--p.l.a. guest blogger: d.e. the only guest blogger of ’06. however, open invitation to her exists.

--t.price post: this nihilist post about anyday u.s.a.

--i am not victor ward post: this well written post about a nada surf show.

resolutions for sophomore year:
-more frequent, less-sensical posts from me.

-i’d like to get back to this blog’s core mission: being a magnet made of anti-truth, thus attracting fragments of truth out of today's nonsense. also, more collaborations, theme days, etc.

-to fall short of everyone’s expectations.

misplacement

the thing about being at my office at 1am on a sunday night

is that it's quiet
is that i'm on fire
is that deadlines fade
is that accomplishment solves
is that disappointment waits for light

something went wrong
i'm sure
but it's 1am on a sunday
i'm sure

re-drawing the line

dinner in manhattan, which was enough
two points surfaced quickly
my gambling habit has increased
long rides in the towncar should occur more often

i was told
stop checking the internet
relax, baby
you're not seeing the story

habits aren't all bad
drinking on the highway can be legal
categorize this night as positive
more is more

early sxsw post

even though this year’s south by southwest music festival is not announcing its final lineup until february (last year it was december) donewaiting has done some investigative work for us. The most notable likely candidates include mates of state, rahim, saturday looks good to me, headlights, and snowden. i’m already starting to hear anticipatory buzzing in my ears.

to get you in the mood, here is a remix of metric’s monster hospital (mp3)(mstrkrft remix) via let’s sexy fighting. emily haines is super hot for a variety of reasons: she is canadian (canadians are hot this year), she sang with the stills at last year’s sxsw, and she sings for broken social scene.

also, for all of you fans of 80s casio synth and 8-bit nintendo sounds here is the best remix of 2006, beck’s ghettochip malfunction (hell yes) remixed by 8bit (mp3). by the way, princess zelda was my first girlfriend.

the iLife

steve jobs (chris’ boss and father-figure) and apple unveiled their iphone prototype this week. i was amused by this paragraph’s use of the apparently colloquial phrase “face dial”:

The phone is rectangular, and the entire front surface is a touch screen. All of its functions are activated by touch, but when you bring your iPhone to your face, a proximity sensor will turn off the touchscreen so you don't accidentally face dial.

face dialing, as well as face humping, has plagued me for some time. but until now i thought i was the only one. i will probably end up getting one of these phones but it looks so big in the photos that i will most likely end up throwing it in the corner and face dialing a one-nine-hundred number.

when rewind doesn't work

this weekend there was no plan
actual activity occurred nonetheless

a man in his twenties spent seven of his hours
upgrading my car
he wanted to get it right
electronics are difficult, he said
not one to care, i considered rather than asked
why my time was taken by such a confusing situation
it's german, i thought, but you're in america
make your life easier

pottery barn can fit in your hand
scan the whole fucking store if you'd like
after all, i'm getting married
and those candles certainly won't buy themselves
oh, i could take care of it
but what type of surprise is that?

the nas album accompanies my workouts lately
nostalgia plays a part, but the music has its place
less is more
his complicated experiments, my bmi
not that people started disliking either one of us
lean is the new robust

high deterioration

mtv hd has sucked what is left of my free will. i used to be able to get three hundred words out per night. high quality drivel. now i either play sudoku in that station’s glow or curl up into the fetal position and listen to hall & oates, remembering past things. with mtv hd muted in the background. this year is starting out too much like last year. nearly indistinguishable, i would say, other than the warmer temperatures. they are keeping me sane for the moment.

cumulus validation

find yourself a niche
routine breeds results
predictability is admirable and necessary

i've attempted comfort in the past
see: routine scheduling

better options exist
see: remaining dynamic

nothing is unexpected
chaos can be a balance
complacency applies only to a philosophy

in the northeast, it's raining
it's warm
i have calendars and history
neither of which agrees

learning is holding on

january fights back; it always has
there are reasons for remaining passive
personally, i always hold out for march

potential clients worry that i own their stock
conflict of interest, they say
very true; we turn failing companies around

it's cold and we're tired
you're failing and i'm not
i think we all knew these things in the begninning

most of you simply forgot along the way
as if that could be complicated

abstract puppet reference...check

hello.

resurfacing seems to be in my best interests
please be careful to look out for your own
does any of this seem familiar

we're all so hip
connected, even
cool, baby. cool

kermit wants to be blue
dependency can be depressing
i'm green. participating to the fullest

hello.

the last ten days

note: thanks for the outpouring of concern over the lack of posting. i was overwhelmed when i received literally ones of messages inquiring about my health and the chance of acquiring my television if i died.

i’ve had some vivid dreams over the past week and a half. contrarily, the realty in which i lived was slightly dulled. i’m not quite sure where the line is, but i’ll relate the goings-on anyway.

friday was fun in that i got to see chris and his wife in the dreary gloom of a pennsylvania december. though we had a good time it’s clear that i overdosed on chris by sheer proximity in under twenty four hours. my only explanation for this is that i didn’t leave enough buffer/recovery time since my august visit to santa clara. nevertheless, he and taisa arrived in the early evening and i took us downtown to see the warhol museum. this was a good choice for me since i like modern art but i didn’t really inquire as to whether chris would enjoy the excursion. as it turns out we both have an interest in the alchemical properties of urine and its affect on silk screen and paint. after the museum we got some food and then returned home to discuss the pros and cons google’s acquisition of youtube over heinekens.

we also decided to drink some absinthe. after scanning youtube and listening to genesis and unk while dancing eighties-style i believe i passed out watching family guy. my guests spent the night in the denim room of my house, an experience i’m sure they will never forget.

saturday i met up with old friends as is our tradition. brad and his wife came to hang out at my place before we left for town. they gave me some amaretto, which is why i feel bad that all i gave them for the holidays was music advice. in my defense, though, both gifts are valuable and increase one’s quality of life. we watched music videos on demand and listened to neko case and tv on the radio, then we headed out to see some old friends. one from boston, one from chicago, one from philadelphia. all were reminders of a better time (for me at least). i didn’t sleep in my bed that night.

well after one a.m. on sunday i am lying on a couch with the room spinning, but slowly, in non-uniform rotations. mitch hedberg’s voice plays over a soft speaker. i want to laugh, but can only muster crooked crooked smiles.

sunday and monday were spent cleaning bathroom fixtures and acting out family holiday episodes. mostly the same as the past years, these episodes only vary in the tone and delivery of lines, as the script is unchangeable. the cinematographer can be persuaded once in a while, but the lighting is usually only good for one angle.

tuesday was spent doing more cleaning and playing electronic sudoku for hours. the old friends and i went out again, this time to a piano bar constructed from a converted church. i was superliminally coerced into ordering double-liquored drinks by means of the waitresss continually repeating the phrase, “doubles are only a dollar more.”

later back at my house my buddy, his girlfriend, and myself are all in the living room. i play them a record. they eat some triple-distilled peppermint candy. hopefully i was not slurring my words.

wednesday, thursday, and friday are a blur of bad television and sudoku played to a soundtrack of americana (neko case and two gallants). the pull of these sinks was greater than my desire to write, which is why you are hearing about this only now. friday night, however, i put away mind-sharpening games in favor of mind-altering fun. i am not victor ward and i went out into the city to drink expensive drinks and discuss business. we went from a martini bar to a cigar/martini bar to a jazz club. i believe the only thing he drank all night was vodka, which he paid for later. but not before we witnessed a fight in the second place and made friends with a cool lady in the jazz club. since the music was over by the time we got there, there wasn’t much else to do except make conversation and drink vodka. i succeeded in one of those, but ianvw succeeded in both.

from what i can recall, new years eve was a great time. chelsea would be proud of me for making that statement. given the choice, i went big instead of going home. we danced to some sort of music and played pass the bottle. there’s not much else left in my brain and even that is fading fast. word.

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.