(Almost) alliterative illiteracy.

**originally posted on February 2nd**

One thing I never inherited from my dad was his voracious reading appetite. My dad probably goes through two or three books a week, while I go through that many maybe in a month or two. And that’s during the school year. It’s not that I don’t like reading, because I do. In fact, when I’m engrossed in a good book, I can sit on my ass for hours on end until I’ve peeled back every last page. I love moments where I read a sentence, or the way the author phrased something, and lean back in my seat and think, “Wow. This guy knows what he’s doing.” But I don’t experience that often enough, and no, it’s not my fault. I’m passing the buck. I blame my environment for my literary laziness.

The digital age has reduced my attention span to just seconds longer than the time it takes Jared Lorenzento make me laugh. If the letters on the page of the book I’m reading aren’t singing, or dancing, or telling me witty one-liners, there’s a good chance I’m paying zero attention to it. Why would I immerse myself in a world that I play no part in? I’m never going to be able to save Gatsby, no matter how many times I read him. But RazzAdi and furstify and Paxt0n? Well, I CAN save them from zombies with the flick of my right joystick and a punch of the right trigger. Those three don’t dress as nice as Gat, but they’ll also be there to respawn with me and live another adventure. My point is, the lure of technology has superseded the lure of the book. For some people, reading is a slow, tiring process. By watching Lord of the Rings, you trim your time-expended down to “only” 9 hours. And you don’t have to think about ANYTHING that’s not in front of you. Who cares if the philosophical deeper meaning of a work is sailing (maybe it’s even whistling) above your head? That’s just fluff anyway, right?

I wish it wasn’t this way, because it’s easy to follow this train of thought and see a day where books are ancient relics of a culture more civilized. Imagine a world where Holden Caulfield, Boo Radley, and Arthur Dent are all redundant. Of course, no one will care. They’ll be too busy hooked up to their Holovision IVs, getting pumped full of precious attention-sustaining liquigel.

Exit, stage left. And Binsy.

Back when I was younger and more talented, I was something of an actor. You may have heard of some of my better works. Mystery At Shady Acres, anyone? How about when I was nominated for a Golden Globe for my role as the tortured Benjamin Scrimp in Eagle Cliffs’ A Christmas Carol? No? You haven’t seen that either? Well, then.

This story revolves around the last play I ever acted in. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

To be fair, I should never have even auditioned for this play. It was a musical. Any of you who’ve heard my voice can attest to the fact I sound similar to Michael J. Fox in the basketball scene in Teen Wolf, and believe it or not this was also the case when I was 13. Somehow they were short some extra roles though, and I garnered the role of the Magic Mirror. It was a pretty easy part; I spoke in couplets to the queen, telling her how fugly she was compared to Snow White, etc. Memorizing my lines was never tough for me, and because no one on the cast liked me, I was pretty isolated on the wings. No distractions to prevent me from missing my entrances. Also, Belinda the Costume Nazi had shot for the moon with my outfit. A bejeweled wooden frame outlined my boyish face—a face unblemished of facial hair for a good 5 more years. My tights were more looses, as she was unable to find any size that would cling to my chicken legs. My hands held the rectangular fence up, so my head could thrust through the center of the fabric stretching the length of the frame. This “fabric” was actually the strangely patterned, shiny fabric you find on mattresses. That’s right, MATT’s costume consisted of a MATTress cover. I was called many things: Matt the Magic Mattress. The Mattress King. Queerboy. (Some names were more clever than others, thanks MB.) Belinda was also a heavy chain smoker, so each hour spent in my costume was roughly equivalent to secondhand smoking a pack of cigs.

It never occurred to me to wonder what grievous crime I had committed to wind up looking like the offspring of Bobby Brady and a mattress locked in medieval stocks, a cloud of Nicotine constantly swirling around my head.

The first few shows we put on went smoothly, I came out, made an ass out of myself, got some laughs, and walked off the stage. Rinse, repeat. But on the last night, something horrible happened that irrevocably scarred me.

As I came out in the first act, I got the usual look-at-the-slaveboy-in-the-mattress-painting laughter that my appearance allowed when I first walked on stage. So far, so good. The queen gave me my prompt, I delivered my line. As she responded with her usual wicked retort, I suddenly heard a burst of laughter from the front row. I can still hear it. It started out like an explosion, than quickly guffawed it’s way to absurdity—he sounded like a first-rower at a Foxworthy concert. I tried to identify my assailant, but the lights burned my eyes as I looked outwards. My self-conscious preteen mind struggled to comprehend the laughter. Why was this assclown laughing? I’m sure I thought. I didn’t do anything funny. …On purpose. Oh, God. I did something wrong. What did I do wrong? God, why is this guy laughing? Seriously! What the hell! Oh, Christ. I’m going to ruin this entire play. Did she say her line? What was her line? What’s MY line? Shit, why did that guy LAUGH? Who does that? His mother should be taken out behind the auditorium and beaten with a sock full of marbles. Ok, this is bad. I’m pretty sure the play is still going on, and I don’t know what to say. Jesus, come ON! Who laughs like that?! He sounds like a carnie getting his toenails removed!

As the battle raged in my ADDesque mind, I became dimly aware that the Queen was burning a hole in my mattress. She said her line again, but for all I know it could’ve been for the twelfth time. I looked at her and said my line with a burst of relief. Whew. The scene continued and I scampered off stage as soon as I could. My mind kept running back there though. To the unidentified Man Who Laughed Inappropriately.

I’m convinced to this day that that man’s delayed sense of humor is the reason I’m no longer in acting. The fear of screwing up is still too great for me to get over, and a part of me will always remain a little self-conscious no matter how comfortable I get. I auditioned for one more play after Snow White, but I called the director afterwards and withdrew my name. I was out of the game for good.

There’s not much of a moral here, I’m afraid. Just a sad story of a boy who dreamt big but was cut down before his prime. Incidentally, I saw the video of the play some years later (yes, I do actually own a recorded copy of my most public failure! Jealous?) and it wasn’t nearly as bad as I remember. I still look like a ridiculous eight-year-old Mattress Mona Lisa—who completely forgot his line, I might add—but it wasn’t as epic a failure as it was in my head. My voice could shatter windows though. Prepubescence wasn’t kind to me.

On to my Top Friends!

Name: Binsy

*Yoda voice* The manlove is strong for this one.

Dude, Jake. Honestly, I wish I would’ve met you way before I did. ‘Cause every time I hang out with you I have a really fun time, and to be honest, we don’t hang out nearly enough. You’re a pretty cool person in almost every aspect I can think of. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was jealous of you in my earlier blog. On the outside you just seemed so laid back and cool, and when I got to know you I was surprised at how introspective and thoughtful you are. You are also the furthest person from a douche bag that I have ever met in my entire life. Plus, you’re a badass at golf.

How We Met: I’m sure we met through Taylor at some point or another.

Favorite Memory: “Naughty hottie with a body” Hahahaha! Also, your dad was hilarious on New Year’s Eve.

Cheers.

The early-idea special. And Molly.

**originally posted on myspace way back on January 19th**

Ideas for writing hatch periodically throughout the day for me. It’s up to me whether I want to give those ideas a nest, let them grow into fledgling ideas, feed them, spend time with them, let them grow into fully-fleshed thoughts and push them out of the nest; Or, I can neglect them, and ensure they’ll never leave the drafty impermanence of my mind. Sometimes it’ll just be a line or two or character description I think sounds particularly good, other times it will be an “I’ve noticed that…” dealing with eccentricities in our decidedly banal lives. Whatever degree of usefulness the thought holds doesn’t matter. The good ones always survive in twisted, Darwinian fashion.

Sometimes you have to indulge a little. Humor me as I “countdown” my top friends here on Myspace, listing how we met, my favorite memory of them, etc. Mostly this is for my amusement.

Starting at the bottom, first up is Molly.

Wow, Molly. You’ve always been one person I can trust, run to, complain to, confide in, and rely on. You’ve taught me a lot about what being a good friend means, and the impact you’ve left on me is more of a crater. I’m sorry for the way things turned out, Molly. It’s not enough to say that they happened because they were supposed to happen, that that’s what fate had in store. I don’t believe in that. For whatever reasons, things got FUBAR. I’ll miss you.
How We Met: Haha, I don’t remember exactly meeting Molly, but I do remember she told me she loved my family before even knowing me.
Favorite Memory: Plenty to sift through, but I have to say my favorite memories I have of you are when you were in Pennsylvania and I was in Mexico. That seems like it happened decades ago.

Next blog gets Binsy. And more ideas I’ve pushed from the nest.

Cheers.

Big 10: Whistle Songs

“You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.” While whistling was around long before Lauren Bacall, her husky voice did nothing to make it less popular. There’s a certain clearness in whistling that can make or break a song. Guns ‘N’ Roses went overboard with the whistling, using it in “Civil War”, “November Rain”, and “Patience”, the last being utilized the most effectively. Flight of the Conchords’ “A Kiss Is Not a Contract” features a great whistle solo, proving that comedy is just as warm a bed for whistling to crawl into at night. And if you really want to see just how vital whistling can be to a song, look at Monty Python’s “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” The following are the best songs with whistling in them as decided by me. No specific rules this time. If it has whistling, it’s fair game.

10. Jungle Love (Steve Miller Band) – “Jungle Love” has aged well. When Steve Miller’s oft-sampled rock ‘n roll gem hits the airwaves, any male in the car is required to pump up the volume and roll their heads from side-to-side, singing along to all the words they know (which had best include the crate of papaya line.) The whistling occurs mostly near the end, and this song would be higher on this list if it was more pronounced. It takes the finale to a new level, though—the guitars fading early and letting the shrill whistle have center stage to end the song.

9. Goodbye Stranger (Supertramp) – The chorus harkens back to the Bee Gees, but the rest of this song screams Supertramp. I don’t typically like or listen to anything that screams Supertramp, but the blog must go on. And while the legacy of this song has been largely reduced to the argument of whether the lyrics are about a one-night stand or quitting marijuana, it still boasts a killer guitar solo and the pre-req whistling just before the 2nd chorus. Also, it deserves a spot on this list for no other reason but this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ky_c-YYMO8s

8. Young Folks (Peter Bjorn and John) – The hipster anthem of 2006 made whistling cool again. Anchored by a solid thweet melody that, like the Centaurian slug, latches on to the brain stem and refuses to let go even hours after a listen to, PB and J (I totally just got that) broke the indiepop wall and made it mainstream. With lyrics that glorify teenage apathy and preach the importance of living in the moment, its success is more satisfying than surprising. Plus, bongos?! Rad! The Kooks made a really good sans whistle cover of this song that’s worth checking out, too.

7. Walk Like An Egyptian (The Bangles) – Ok, so the whistling in this song isn’t real. And Susanna Hoffs’ looks may have propelled this one a little high. But it was voted best song of 1986 so it’s good. And it was banned after September 11th for mentioning Egypt so it’s edgy! And did you see Susanna Hoffs?! Finally, don’t forget it spawned its own dance craze. And I can’t think of a single song that spawned its own dance craze that sucked. Not. A. Single. One.

6. Sittin’ On the Dock by the Bay (Otis Redding) – Otis died in a plane crash shortly before this song came out. Wiki says:

(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” was released in January 1968 amid the fall-out of Redding’s death. R&B stations readily added the song to their playlists, which had been saturated with Redding’s previous hits. The song shot to number one on the R&B charts in early 1968. By early summer of that year, “Dock of the Bay” topped the pop charts. The album, which shared the song’s title, was released and became his largest selling to date, peaking at number four on the Pop Albums chart. “Dock of the Bay” went on to gain success in countries across the world, and brought Redding the greatest success of his career. The song went on to win two Grammy Awards: Best R&B Song (for songwriting) and Best Male R&B Vocal Performance (for vocals).

Wow. The whistling near the end adds gravity to the song’s carefree message.

5. Bad Sun (The Bravery) – Masters of irony, The Bravery seem to always combine melancholy lyrics and boppy melodies to fantastic results. “Bad Sun” is just a slice from The Sun And The Moon—their most recent album—that marries the two so effortlessly. The thweets in this song are 100% real, as evidenced by the live clips on youtube, and if that weren’t awesome enough it has a whistling/mandolin solo! Like “Young Folks”, this song should come with a warning. Should the tune get lodged in your head, nothing short of a lobotomy can get it out.

4. Centerfold (The J. Geils Band) – Two memories are closely tied to this song for me. When I was about 12, I told the lyrics of this song to Ashley Furstenberg and I remember us both being thrilled by how naughty it was. Sixth grade Matt couldn’t comprehend how something this blatantly filthy could make it on the radio. Had I heard “Darling Nikki” I think my head might’ve explode, a la Scanners. Secondly, the whistling bit always has me singing along, “Do you know the Muffin Man?” because that melody is so similar. Other than that, just a great all-whistle outro. Man, the 80’s loved their whistling.

3. The Stranger (Billy Joel) – Billy Joel just turned 60, so let’s start out with some congratulations. For a man who once tried to kill himself by downing furniture polish (he said it looked tastier than bleach), he’s certainly outlived all expectations, haha. 1977’s “The Stranger” starts slow and reflective, turning to that tried-and-true whistle/piano combo, before launching into a more guitar-centric pop rock standard. The tone of the song stays reflective though; the lyrics explore the idea that everyone has a stranger in them, a part of themselves they take out only when everyone else has gone. Then the piano and whistling kicks back in to bookend the song. Taken as a whole, one of Billy’s best, imo.

2. Games Without Frontiers (Peter Gabriel) – Possibly the scariest music video I’ve ever seen. I guess he decided that if the song itself didn’t make a lot of sense, why should the video? There’s actually some deep meaning behind the lyrics about government ideologies and agendas, but why get into that when instead we can focus on an armada of whistles that barrage us at each chorus? It makes its way this far up the list on the whistling alone. Bonus for having lyrics about whistling: “Whistling tunes we hide in the dunes by the seaside / Whistling tunes we piss on the goons in the jungle.” I still like Phil Collins more.

1. The Fishin’ Hole (The Andy Griffith Show Theme) (Earle Hagen) – It put whistling on the map, in Mayberry to be precise, and made it popular to put that shrill noise your face makes when you put your lips together and blow into songs. No tolerance for vocals.

Honorable mentions:

sweet georgia brown (Harlem Globetrotters Theme) – brother bones
nervous tic motion of the head to the left –andrew bird…check him out, he’s insane
don’t worry, be happy –bobbi mcferrin
daydream – lovin’ spoonful
me and Julio down by the schoolyard – paul simon

Cheers.

The Gunslinger: First Draft

**DISCLAIMER – This blog is entirely sports related.**

I have to put something like that because it always seems like when guys talk about sports girls get mad. They roll their eyes, and shake their heads and don’t understand us.

Once upon a time, deep in the heartland of America, a skinny high school boy decides to go out for football. He plays well enough to walk on to the University of Northern Iowa where he sits on the bench, buried deep in the depth chart. Finally, in his senior seasion, he gets his chance. He strings together a great set of games to secure the Gateway Conference’s Offensive Player of the Year and lives happily ever after, the end.

But what if it doesn’t end there? What if that kid didn’t give up on his dream? He tries out with the Green Bay Packers in ‘94. They cut him. He goes back to Iowa to be an assistant graduate coach, getting a second job working the night shift at a local Hy-Vee grocery store, all the while keeping his fingers crossed the scouts will call him. When the opportunity to join the Iowa Barnstormers arises, he takes it, just happy to be playing football. He finally achieves vindication in ‘97 when he leads the Barnstormers to back-to-back Arena Bowl appearances. He rides out into the sunset and lives happily ever after, the end.

But what if it doesn’t end THERE? The dude gets signed by the St. Louis Rams in 1998. They ship him out to Amsterdam to play NFL Europe. He turns in a solid performance and gets called up to the big leagues. Finally getting the chance he’s always wanted and only after Trent Green gets hurt, he goes NUTS–turning in one of the best seasons a quarterback has ever had. He wins the NFL MVP award, dominates the playoffs, and clinches the Super Bowl (and the Super Bowl MVP award) by a yard against Tennessee. Out of nowhere. Ok surely this is the end of the movie, right? Nope.

For whatever reasons, injuries get to him and he’s forced out of his starting job by another anonymous gunslinger–Marc Bulger. Bulger’s performance (he currently ranks third alltime in completion percentage: only Chad Pennington and, what a surprise, *Kurt Warner* rank higher than him) renders our hero obsolete and he loses his job. Picked up by the Giants, he quickly loses his job again to rookie Eli Manning. Next he’s shipped out to Arizona–where quarterbacks go to die. Instead of rolling over and letting the last few seasons of his career twinkle out, he stays resilient and often tagteams with the supposed next-big-thing in Matt Leinart. After Leinart coughs up his starting job, the now-aged gunslinger who we’ve followed through the whole movie gets one final shot at redemption….

Gives me goosebumps, and I don’t even really like Arizona. His story is just amazing. I think the Steelers will win the big one, but I hope it’s Warner. It would be a great way to end a crazy career.

As for the Lakers…not much to say, other than it’s lonely at the top. =]

Cheers.

Big 10: Piano Songs

This blog comes with a few strings attached. Obviously narrowing down the top songs that are based around a 17th-century musical instrument is unrealistic and impossible without first establishing parameters. The songs that compose my list:

- All came after 1970. Sorry Ray Charles and Jerry Lee Lewis….and Beethoven.

- Exclude what I call PianoCrap. You see, when I was doing the research for this blog I noticed an eerie but consistent trend: during the musical debauchery that was the 1980’s, nearly every elite rock act put out a hit that featured a piano intro. I’m not sure who pioneered this trend, but I feel bad for them. Because although it was a great idea, it’s like watching a Will Ferrell movie. The first time it’s great, but they all sound the same and so many flood the market it’s embarrassing and ridiculous. Don’t believe me? How about “Beth” by Kiss? “Come Sail Away?” Try Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”, or Van Halen’s “Right Now”. Even Bob Seger succombed with “Old Time Rock ‘N Roll”. Maybe the most famous of all is “Don’t Stop Believin’”. These songs, while they must be individually judged for their merit, can all be labeled PianoCrap.

- All are by different artists. If I was honest, this list would quickly turn into a Billy Joel / Ben Folds battle, and while those pianists kick ass, it’s no fun to write about seven different Billy Joel songs.

On to the list!

10. Somewhere Only We Know by Keane – The members of Keane are masters at modern piano-rock. Here’s a band that until their third album never used a guitar at all–and they’re one of the UK’s most-popular bands. “Somewhere” showcases their ability to center an emotive lyric around a steady, catchy piano riff. While some of their other stuff has more of a rock crunch, this song worked because of the softer melody. It’s a very introspective and awesome song.

9. Butterflies and Hurricanes by Muse – Another UK trio, Muse’s jam is definitely a far cry from Keane. Part of the reason the piano is so great is its versatility. It can be easily meshed in with rock instruments, or stand alone, to powerful effects. The former is on display in this gem. The title of the song comes from the idea behind the butterfly effect: That the flap of a butterflies’ wings can cause a hurricane across the world. The soft piano represents the butterfly, while the smash of the guitar… you get the idea. Muse often compliments their powerful sound with a piano, but this is the best example.

8. Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon – This classic 1978 has been more recently bastardized by Kid Rock in his “song” “All Summer Long”. The piano riff Warren created is extremely simple, but catchy, and the whole idea behind the song is really cool. Every time I hear this song I think of Tom Cruise in The Color of Money. “His hair…was perfect…” I kinda resent giving the link to the video because I know it won’t be taken as seriously, but I couldn’t resist. Just a great piano song.

7. Maybe I’m Amazed by Wings/Paul McCartney – Paul McCartney has always been a beast when it comes to writing love songs, but this one stands head and shoulders above the rest. The passion in his voice is reflected in the piano which anchors the song. While the guitars fade in and out, the piano is always there with Paul’s voice. The video for the song is also something special–a sort of scrapbook of Paul’s family. It really emphasizes just how honest he’s being in the song. It’s surprising when you consider that Paul’s most poignant love song didn’t surface when he was with The Beatles.

6. Imagine by John Lennon – As good as Paul’s song was, his Beatles-better-half tops him without question. Here’s a song that may have been unfairly elevated in pop culture due to John Lennon’s untimely death, but not by much. A top-notch song by all standards: “You may say I’m a dreamer / But I’m not the only one”; that, ladies and gentlemen, is classic. And besides a few drum beats, it’s just a genius and a piano. Rolling Stone gave it 3rd Best Song of All-Time. It was the UK’s 1 song for ALL of 1981. And Bob Dylan performed this song in Times Square on the eve of John Lennon’s assassination. It’s a magical song.

5. The Scientist by Coldplay – I’ll forever be sorry I once hated these guys. While they use the piano on a lot of songs, including all of their hits pre-Viva like “Clocks” and “Speed of Sound” and Yellow”, “The Scientist has the deepest lyrics, and a brilliant music video. Seriously, if you were planning on skipping all of the videos in this blog, please just watch this one. Chris Martin at his angstiest propels this song into the top five.

4. Brick by Ben Folds Five – Wow. Where to start on this song? It’s so powerful, I get goosebumps. Ben Folds is a brilliant pianist and songwriter–two or three of his songs could’ve maybe cracked the list, and everything comes together so well on this track it’s spooky. Unlike his usual humor-laced piano rock badassery, Ben softens the ivory-pounding on this one and lets the true story of his high school girlfriend’s abortion slowly sink in. Listening to the song intently, it’s impossible not to be moved and the build up before the final chorus is the emotional high-point (or, rather, low-point) of the whole four and a half minute masterpiece.

3. Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen – Dad, this is for you. The Boss topped my top songwriters list and any argument there can be quelled with a listen to this song. The opening piano sets the mood of youth’s desperate escape to a place beyond and the piano invokes a certain continuity throughout. The powerful ending couples piano with sax and fades out into a dusty night on Thunder Road. Never has a non-pianist rocker ever so effectively used a piano.

2. Your Song by Elton John – When you think of legendary piano rockers two names usually come to mind. One has yet to be featured on this list. The other is Elton John. “Your Song” is one of the greatest love songs of all-time. It’s just him and his piano out there, singing a heartfelt tribute. This song exemplifies the piano’s beauty–because of that, this song edges out “Rocket Man” which I really wanted to put on here, but just couldn’t justify. Other Elton hits that just missed the cut were “Daniel”, “Tiny Dancer”, and “Levon”. The dude is a such a beast on the piano. In fact, only one is more beastly. Sorry people, no surprising ending here….

1. Piano Man by Billy Joel – At first glance, Piano Man is just a good-feeling, piano-centric rock anthem. But really, it’s a window into the lonely life of a traveling musician. The lyrics are pretty literal but also hint at the wistful nature of the whole scene. There’s an underlying feeling of underachievement, of not living up to potential, that’s inherent in being at this bar. The bartender wants to be a movie star. The patrons “slowly get stoned”, while “sharing a drink they call loneliness / But it’s better than drinking alone.” All of this under the umbrella of a fantastic, driving piano pop melody by a man who’s made his niche in piano pop melodies. While “Miami 2012″ and “Angry Young Man” maybe better showcase Joel’s talent on the keys, it’s the message behind the song that matters. It’s a tribute to the instrument that made Billy Joel something, and it echos far beyond the final classic note.

Honorable Mentions:

November Rain by Guns ‘N Roses would’ve made the list…if it weren’t PianoCrap.
On The Radio by Regina Spektor
How To Save A Life by The Fray

Cheers.

New Year’s Accomplishments III

**Originally posted on Myspace on January 1st, 2009**

I went all Detroit Lions on my New Year’s accomplisments for 2008. 0/5. Pretty shameful when you consider that the previous year I had hit them all. Let me retell the story behind my New Year’s accomplisments, for posterity’s sake. In 5th grade our teacher asked us if we had made any resolutions, and I raised my hand and said I wanted to lose weight. I wasn’t such an image-conscious 5th grader as I was someone eager for a pat on the head for knowing something. Nowadays I’m both, but neither here nor there.
Last year I had to make a movie (technically it happened, but not in the way I wanted), donate blood (not my fault, I got waitlisted), exercise more regularly (c’mon, I didn’t even make a conscious effort), be more selfless (ooh, that one stings a little), and read the whole Bible (surprisingly, this one was the closest to being done).
This year I trimmed down my list to three and hopefully that will translate into me not sucking so much.

–Write a complete short story–I’m excited about this one. I think my writing is to a point where if I actually sat down and revised and edited I could really like the product.

–Learn guitar–Ok, I have a guitar. And a tuner. And friends who know how to play. No excuse for not following up on this one.

–See at least three concerts–Hopefully going to the West Coast for college will open my possibilities to see bands that are actually good.

It’s really bizarre for me to see the blog I posted exactly one year ago. I guess it’s a reminder that for every major change in your life there are hundreds of little things that we take for granted on a daily basis that remain permanent. It’s also really fun to look at how we’ve grown. My, how we’ve grown. *cheek pinch*

Cheers. And Happy ‘09.

“‘Cause I really wanna chance….”

Only in dreams
We see what it means.
Reach out our hands.
Hold onto hers.
But when we wake
It’s all been erased

-”Only In Dreams” – Weezer

She looked like a radiant zebra. Propped up on one elbow, she had layed on my bed all day, waiting for me to get home. The warm sun shone through the Venetian blinds onto her tan skin in stripes. She grinned that famous grin—the grin boys have sought after for as long as I or she can remember—and brushed a lock of gold from her face. I felt compelled to say something, anything, but I think she caused a sensory overload in my brain. Some cog deep in brain turned dutifully, affording me a smile in return. It wasn’t a sexual dream, not by a long shot, but I couldn’t think of another reason for her to be in my bed.
And then I was sitting next to her on the bed, laughing. My dream-sloshed mind wondered why she had never looked so beautiful at school before. After all, she had never crossed my mind outside of those seven hours a day. Ever. She just layed dormant, there on my bed, waiting for me.I wish I knew what dreams meant.

In other news, I now rest my entire hopes for fandom glory on the shoulders of Kobe Bryant and the Lakers. Apparently the weight was simply too much for Tony Romo. I don’t blame him for packing it in early, he’s got Jessica to go home to. But come on, dude, at least make it look good for the cameras. Now it’s up to Sasha and Pau to make my senior year just that more memorable.

Cheers.

Looking into a tinted-glass mirror.

**Originally posted on Myspace on December 18th, 2008**

Once in a while, life affords us glimpses into the future. Never more than a peek or a glance, these moments nevertheless can be incredibly profound. Sometimes it can hurt, granting a false sense of security in a future that’s anything but secure. I’m a firm believer in the ever-changing future; our actions constantly write and rewrite events far beyond our perception. So when I recently caught sight of a, let’s say, “unsavory” version of myself, who with a lot of douchebaggery and not a lot of effort, I could become, I took note. I’m going Sarah Connors. It’s disheartening and embarrassing to see the worst in you manifested, but it’s even more shameful if you let an injured pride or self-pity stand between you and self-improvement. It doesn’t take much, a couple of degrees humility and dogoodedness, to correct your course and remember your ideal destination.

So lately I’ve been pretty stressed. In addition to coping with my miserable time-management skills, I’m floundering in Physics. No one told me I’d have to try senior year. My problems stems from a lack of caring. I cannot focus on anything that I absolutely do not care about. Unfortunately the coefficient of friction falls into that category. Oh, my friends, but the whining doesn’t end there. I’m actually lucky enough to face some “grown-up” problems, mainly money. There’s paying for the dent in the parked car I slid into (un sello para mi!), paying car insurance, paying for Christmas presents, and paying a little extra each paycheck to a savings account for me–which, by the way, I wholeheartedly hate. Before, all of my paycheck (minus maybe sixty bucks) would go into my savings account already. Why should I have to pay more of my money to a separate savings account? I guess it has taught me one lesson, though not the lesson this whole business was intended to teach me, I think. Sometimes, no matter how ironclad and bulletproof your logic is, your argument can be veto’d with a simple shake of your parents’ head. I guess the moral of the story is I should consider myself lucky now. I’m just getting a nibble of what it’s like to be crushed with financial burden. I’m really not looking forward to the whole meal.

Cheers, and Happy Holidays.

Snapped necks and train wrecks.

**Originally posted on Myspace on December 8th, 2008*

Occassionally at work, when we’re slow and my mind starts percolating, I come up with some pretty good blog ideas. Because my mind is a sieve and hardly anything stays put in there, I write down these ideas on scraps of receipts and wedge them into my pocket for later. My boss Dave noticed this one time, and I asked me about it. I told him about my habit of brainstorming on the job and he asked me what I had just written down.
“It’s funny how some people give advice when they are in no way qualified to,” I read. And then the irony began. He agreed with me, and then launched into this lecture about how peoples’ ignorance and arrogance blind them to the wants and desires of those around him. I wanted him to stop talking to me. I desired to beat him with a sock full of nickels. On and on he went about “those people who think they aren’t too drunk to drive” and “those people who think they’re invincible.” I chuckled to myself, realizing that he wasn’t even close to understanding what I meant, and went back to work.
Dave is a pretty good guy if you’re a personable intelligent person. Luckily I inherited both of those genes, and Dave and I have never really had a problem with one another. It’s funny though, because he can be perfectly classified as someone who not only gives advice when they’re not qualified, but gives advice without asking. He walks around Fuddruckers like he owns the place, (Ok, he’s got me there) and just oozes arrogance out of each pore of his 6′6″, 230 frame. He hates that “president with an asshole for a mouth” (Bush) and “those towel-headed sand n****** over in the Middle East.” Mormons, Gays, Jehovah Witnesses, the man is the posterchild for bigotry. Because the guy could snap my neck with a twitch of his wrist, and also because he signs my paychecks, I’m pretty much forced to agree with him on most issues. It’s hard to hate a guy for being self-righteous when he lets you hold his sniper rifle though. Oh man, that thing was cool.
And don’t get me wrong, I mean I like the guy. We talk football and girls and he’s taught me a lot, not only about business, but about managing people. More than once his lessons have come in handy with my Fantasy Football roster or the poker table.

Theoretically, what happens when you never get to be with the person you were meant to be with? Like what if fate and predetermined outcomes and destiny were mere guidelines for us, and it was up to us to set the wheels and motion. All we have to do to be with our soulmate is coast, and our lives will intersect and everything will be for the best. Yet some people derail themselves, grinding their train to a halt on the unforgiving unknown. The unpaved road. Or maybe not unpaved, rather unpreferred. See: Spinsters, crazy cat ladies, and the lonely man in the plaid coat who comes in to Fuddruckers every Sunday for breakfast. Classic breakfast, eggs basted, bacon, English muffin, and a coffee. Back to my point though. What cosmic consequences ensue when you mess with that track–be it through your own weaknesses, doubts, insecurities? What if someone derails it for you, long before you even get there, inadvertently pulling that lever that switches the train tracks? It’s no secret what massive damage a seemingly subtle movement can do. How cool would it be to view different versions of yourself based on those subtle decisions that at first glance mean nothing?

Holding certain people to higher standards than others is an inevitable, yet unwieldy monster. It stems from caring, and sort of mutates into this twisted, judgmental inferno that threatens to corrode friendships and family ties. When people fall short of these expectations (and all people do), there’s a big depressing, resigned sigh. As if you expected nothing but absolute, unconditional perfection from them–forever. What’s the consolation prize for them losing? You receive an inflated ego and an I-told-you-so condescendence seed planted in the back of your mind.

Cheers.

P.S. J*** In My Pants. Subpar. No Lazy Sunday, that’s for damn sure.