how to get to Chicago while trying very hard

I made it to Chicago. It is a wonderful city. I am using someone else's computer, so no pictures or anything fun. Here is a summary of my trip pulled from myspace bulletins I was able to post while on the road. My shitty phone could access myspace, but not blogger. Strange. Enjoy. (I was going to clean up the spelling and everything, but this is more exciting.)

Dec 26, 2007 11:37 PM - i'm in bosie!
it is 1230 bosie time and i am sitting in a bus terminal. Bosie doesn't seem to be very awesome, but at least i'm not one of the poor folks waiting. there is no room on our bus and greyhound apparently likes to over sell. i don't know if it's the awesome lighting or what, but the world looks sad here. the buses are running about two hours behind, so i'll probably miss my transfer in denver tomorrow at 6pm. if you live there send me your number, i might need someone to drink with.

Dec 27, 2007 7:20 AM - salt lake city - homeless lady on the bus!
Someone gave a homeless lady a ticket, maybe. She has too much stuff to be homeless, so i think she just talks outloud a lot! We're supposed to be out of here at 730, and i think its 8 right now. There has been rumours about wyoming being fucked by snow, so we might be here a while. Greyhound is like the government, it doesn't tell you much, and he it does it's probably a lie. Anyone live here? I need a beer!

Dec 28, 2007 12:42 AM - and with that, the hero's journey changes suddenly
Apparently it snows in december. So much so that the entity known as greyhound has decided to send no busses east or north for at least 24 hours. From denver i still have 22 hours left on a bus. So instead of staying with the pigs in the sty and possibly missing the bears game sunday, i bought a plane ticket. Yup, the bus journey is over. It was better and worse than i had hoped. Expect a full recap when i can use a real keyboard and not my phone. I now must kill 5 hours in an airport. Easy!

Dec 28, 2007 9:19 AM - 36 HOURS, 3 TIME ZONES
i typed that and got that lip gloss song stuck in my head. strange. anyways, i'm in columbus ohio. they tried to land in chicago, but it was too awesome. so here i am. pretty much my life has turned into a holiday travel movie. the guy sitting next to me right now is big like john candy ;)

a very complete list of airports visited in 2007

in chronological order (repeats not shown)

• Burbank, CA
  
• Oakland, CA
  
• Seattle, WA
  
• Redmond, OR
  
• Eugene, OR
• San Francisco, CA
• Ontario, CA
• Tampa, FL
• Orlando, FL
• Los Angeles, CA
• Dallas, TX
  
• Salt Lake City, UT
• Denver, CO
• Columbus, OH
  
• Chicago, IL (Midway)

I think that is it. What a year for flying. Going to try to hit some new ones in 2008. Any suggestions?

pressed for time

As referenced in the title, I am pressed for time.

I'm on my way to sell my car, then to the airport, then to oregon.

When I get there I'll feel in all those holes of the last few weeks.

I love you.

a farewell to peppers

Oh peppers, how you made my days go by, how you filled my pockets, how you helped my middle class attempts at smashing the state. You made me drinking buddies and bowling friends. You brought people to sing with in karaoke bars. Dry-run-thru's of taxes were done at your bar. Surprise visits to lovers too. Peppers you were the backdrop to some of the best and worse days. To some spirited debates and colorful outbursts. You let me outlast more than I should, but I go before many others who should already be gone.

So here's to you peppers, to the people that you let me meet, the beliefs you reinforced, the money you allowed me to make, and the friends I will never forget, even though they have already started to forget me. Thank you for these folks - Whit, Tricia, Miska, Carey, Juan, Randy, Tommie, Kelly, Red, Louis, Harper, Wayne, Bryan, Anderson, Keisha, Sam, Heidi, Donna, Deanna, Ashley, All the hosts with their sexy teenage butts, Vicki, Gina, Kevin, everyone I ever drank with, everyone I ever made fun of, and everyone I will never miss.

Peppers, You hardly knew me.

a little request

I don't know who still reads this. I had a punk rock principles attack a few months ago and took off all the tracking information. "you don't blog for other people, you blog for yourself." I don't know how many visitors I get, I don't know where they come from, and I don't know where they go after. It's ok. The traffic and my quality of posts were both on a steady decline.

So to the few people who read this, I would like to ask a favor...

a mix.

I'm going to be spending two days on a bus to Chicago. I am talking a discman, because I am old school.

So if you could make me a mix and email it or post it or just send me the list of songs, that would be awesome.

And in return I'll promise not to die and I'll put more stuff up.

Deal?

Deal.

lancaster sends me off, without even trying

It finally happened. I have been going to these parties for years. There had been cross words thrown around, idle threats in passing cars leaving the scene, to maybe, or maybe not, mingle at another place or time, but tonight, it happened. I stood in a living room drinking a beer. I used to live at the house, and now it seems a lot longer than the two years it was. And a guy almost got beat up. He had pulled a knife before, or twice. And why not tonight? Who knows, but I'm glad he didn't. A friend was involved in the scene. It was a fucking shame. A cycle that doesn't seem to come close to ending. Not on nights like these, in these homes, in a town so dead, or dying.

And the Antelope Valley put on it's best clothes. It has been doing it all week. The people I served ribs to at Peppers. The girls I talked to at bars. The christmas lights that didn't burn as bright as before. All the kids who showed up at this house on a friday night. To drink free beer. To smoke others drugs. To start fights that shouldn't have happened. No one here walks away.

But I do.

things i would rather be doing then going to work

which is what I am doing.

bikes. music. fun.

dead to me - special professional

what i did last christmas

I spent part of the day drinking beer with bill and whit, then some gin. There's Christmas beginnings happening in the living room and I'm sitting in my room debating between whiskey and soda and whiskey and ice. The soundtrack is a collections of songs recorded in about 12 hours over one Saturday. We consumed a lot of drinks, some of us fell asleep early, and we all recorded an original and a Christmas cover. We put it on the internet. Marleigh was kind enough to do some art for it. If you aren't doing anything in the next few days, get a bottle of something sip-able and check out our efforts. A year removed, a lot of it is sad. Sorry, it is Christmas after all.It's a Wonderful Lie - A Drunken Bicycle Christmas - http://drunkbike.com/lie.zip

things are falling into place

As of today, december 6th, at 2:06, I have a plane ticket to oregon, a bus ticket to chicago, and an apartment to move into in logan square. To say I am happy is an understatement.

And my crazy 85 year old grandmother thinks I am gay.

Good thing she doesn't know how to use the internet, she might think I love machines!

the secret life of woman

this has been rattling inside my head for a couple of days.


One, two, three. A midori sour. A bud light. A lemonade for the pregnant friend. Ten children between the three women sitting at my table, but those kids are somewhere else. It might be eleven, I can't tell when they think it's life or not. Husbands being stay at home dads, at least for the evening, at least by the look on the rings on their left hands. Another midori sour, sides of ranch for the table. They giggle and smile and swear like sailors. They talk shit about another lady, about an ex husband, about the government. Another midori sour, more bud light. Flirty comments about after work Saturday night plans. Elbow touches and subtle winks. No more drinks, more laughing. Cash on the table and cash in my hand. Back to the car seats and formal living rooms that see no living. Back to families. Back to the responsibility, the doctor visits, the tax man. Back to the medications, back to preschools, back to happiness, of a different kind. The secret life of these women is over for now, an hour or so of distraction left like a french fry in a bucket of ranch. We have more in common than we know.

to california to texas witha belly full of whiskey

In twelve hours, I will be in an airplane. It will have been in the air for probably an hour. I will be trying to convince Bill to drink something silly with me. It will be like most thursdays.

We are going to Dallas, to hang out with my Dad and StepMom, to attend the impending slaughter of the packers by the cowboys (GO BEARS!), to drink lone star, to celebrate my stepmom's birthday, and thanksgiving, and christmas.

If you aren't doing anything tomorrow night, and you are lucky enough to get the nfl network, watch the game. We'll be sitting in section 101, seats 3,4,5 and 6. We might show up for field goals. We made shirts tonight. My parents get cowboy colors. Bill and mine are Orange and Blue. They say:

"Tank's Gun Club"

Go BEARS!

i put 25 years of living into 3 days.

Friday - up by 10, drinks by 11, lunch with whit, shots, beer, football, beer and pizza, shots, beer, shots, karaoke, shots, beer! bed by 3:30

Saturday - up by 6:45, yard sale, pizza, beer, brandy, beer, shots, hip hop, beer, shots, dancing, beer, shots, beer, party, more party, more dancing, more beer! bed by 3:00

Sunday - up by 8:45, little cleaning, mimosas, football, beer, pizza, BEARS!, beer, fries, beer, coffee with whiskey and kahlua, grilled cheese, football, beer, bed by 12:30.

My body is close to being recuperated. Of course I drank some beers and jager and watched football. I have today off, not from work, but from being awesome, and then it should all pick back up tomorrow.

The move is coming up pretty fast. Working on roommates or rooms and jobs and everything. Its going to be very exciting. I got about 5 weeks till I'm out of here.

I'm going to take a long shower. I might be filthy.

I put a bunch of pictures on the old flickr, from the party and florida.

check it - http://www.flickr.com/photos/iambooth/

a few songs for me on my birthday - mix

So I put together these songs because I like them a lot. I hope you enjoy them too.

Now I must go convince my roommates to do a sake bomb with me.


a few songs for me on my birthday - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=E7FHT467

The Disaster March - The Lawrence Arms
Love Story - Lagwagon
Anchor - Osker
You Must Be Willing - Against Me!
Hollywood Cemetery - Strike Anywhere
Little Dawn - Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
Fuck You Larry Koesche, I Hope You Starve And Die Someday - The Broadways
Your Child Is Dead - Off With Their Heads
Sun Belt Scars - Banner Pilot
A Song With No Words - Burning Airlines
jack of all trades - Hot Water Music
Always Have, Always Will - The Impossibles
Anchorless - Propagandhi
Broadway - Pteradon

five hours...

I should be at work. They are assholes. We all know this. Instead I am counting the minutes to midnight.

Lately I have taken to referring to my birthday as the end of my life.

It's funny, but not the case.

Things will only get more exciting and awesome.

I'll do my best to keep this place up to date the next couple days. Pictures, recaps, guest posts, whatever!

I'll be putting a mix tomorrow. I haven't decided what will be on it, but it will be good.

If you are bored you should make one too. Or send me something to put up here. Or do a shot in celebration.

Or hump a volkswagen...

the neverending battle of will and want

the want: a pile of my possessions in the desert catching fire.
the will: a dirty bedroom floor.

the want: a single-finger salute to my bosses.
the will: a reverse goatee.

the want: writing new songs and singing them in circles with friends.
the will: practice? are we talking about practice?

the want: a family dinner.
the will: fake chicken, plastic plates, dr pepper.

the want: more life moments from john cusack movies.
the will: more life moments from a bootlegged movie.

the want: more.
the will: less.

Pepper's Hates Beards

Saturday I was told to shave off my beard for work. That I couldn't have it anymore. The same beard I had when I was hired, and when I worked at the pepper's in sacramento, the same beard I had for almost the whole time I worked there. SO saturday they told me I had to get rid of it.

Right before my birthday.

Motherfuckers.

So this is what they get!

4 more days.

choose or loose

Does MTV still do that? I know they don't show videos anymore, and they cast maid of honors for reality weddings, and they continue to perpetuate stereotypes that lead to affluent white kids having shittily themed parties. (And I gladly leave my birthday plans out of that one. Seriously. How many of those bastard kids know about the five percent nation? That's what I thought. Besides, drinking a forty isn't ironic, its cheap.)

Now that is out of the way. Karaoke songs.

I have been trying to figure out what karaoke song would "do it for me". Its a good question. As mentioned previously, I am not super excited when a woman sings some sort of woman empowerment song. Not because I am anti-women's liberation. But because I don't want to hear a woman scorned singing a song by a woman scorned about being a woman scorned. Call me old fashioned.

When I karaoke, I like to sing songs by women. To some segment of the crowd it's shocking. Maybe. Probably not. But it opens the door to theatrics more than a korn song. Most songs by guys are warbly and screamy and growly, and I am not good at those things. I'm not even good at singing. It is easier to stumble through a song by a lady because my vocal gymnastics are limited.

So I think the criteria for a song that would do it for me would be this. Anthemic. Not too short. A breakdown. And by a member of the opposite sex. So if you really want to get me, you should probably brush up on your meatloaf. And if you want to get your shy friend to duet with you on "Paradise by the Dashboard Light", well, I might have to buy the two of you breakfast. ;)

whose excited for a quarter life crisis?

I am definitely. On the 16th, I will be aged 25. I am looking forward to it. Not as much as 27 and the whole return of saturn thing, but 25 will do for a year. I basically just wanted to show off the flyer I made for the festivities. If you're interested, show up!

my first sin was a young american girl

A couple of days ago Bill and I hung out. We got my money back on a car battery, we had lunch, we went shopping. Our shopping consisted of a single stop at a LEVI outlet. I bought some pants, some skinny jeans, something I have been enjoying lately. Bill bought some pants too. I knew the girl who rang up our purchases.

It was Kimmy Martinez. The first girl I ever kissed.

And by kissed, I mean kissed. Behind a church, after a youth church meeting; tongue, teeth and erections.

(For the longest time when I was making out, I was aroused. It still happens today. Some women inspire the hardest erections with the slightest touch. I am fourteen.)

So there she was, working part or full time at a retail establishment that saw less than 35 customers a day. And she looked the same, how I remembered her. Her body was slimmer, her face was the same. I caught her looking at me the way she periodically did back then; head down a little, eyes pushed up as high as possible, as if she was a librarian looking over her reading glasses. For a second I was thrown back to those days, being 14, knowing nothing about women, but wanting to know everything. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her now, but that thought soon left with the realization that it could never happen again, and it shouldn't.

See, she has a boyfriend, and a child, and what would appear to be a full time job. Her parents live in San Francisco, one brother is married, one is toiling away in a horrible band, at least the last I heard that was the case.

And me...

Some ways I am the same. Parents in different places. In some ways I am different. No children, no siblings, no significant other.

So we said goodbye. Said it was good to see each other. Said we hoped to see each other again.

And that was probably the biggest lie of them all.

For Hilly: of Scorpios and Blogging - MIX

Yesterday was Hilly's birthday. I didn't go have brunch with her. I didn't tell her I couldn't make it. I didn't send her an e-card. I didn't send her a real card. I didn't do anything to actually acknowledge it was her birthday. So here is a mix for her, on the occasion of being old enough to drink in bars. You're 21, right?

Sidenote. I don't watch Grey's Anatomy. Apparently one of these songs was on it. Whatever. Fuck TV. My friend told me about it and I think it's good. So there.

So celebrate Hilly's birthday with me. At 5:00pm pacific I will do a shot in her honor. You should too.

For Hilly: of Scorpios and Blogging - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=0W3WV5GY
The Navasink Banks - Gaslight Anthem
Secret Letters - Erin Tobey
For Esme - Jawbreaker
Modern Love - The Last Town Chorus
A Sunday - Jimmy Eat World
Wait At Milano - Tim Barry
Fear and Tera and Scarlet O'hara - Dan Padilla
Old College Try - The Mountain Goats
Overkill - Dashboard Confessional
The Temperature is Dropping - Defiance, Ohio
Uncorrected Proofs - The Weakerthans

why i grow a beard

for the same reason i...

• drink malt liquor from paper bags in my bedroom
• my throat is sore after I see my favorite bands
• don't vote
• rent a home with my friends while people I know are buying them
• can never find a bad time to put on a good record
• write songs and sing them without knowing how
• ride a bicycle in a tuxedo shirt
• am jealous of people who spend most of their year in a van and on other people's floors
• have a hard time making it through every work day
• cry at weddings
• tell my parents I love them
• don't answer email even though I have 100 different things I want to say

Friday is a day off, after one day on, after 8 off.

Even if I don't tell you, I love you.

our (almost)hero returns from abroad

I've been back in California a few days. Halloween came and went with much less then a mild yawn. Spending four days in a row seeing some of the best bands ever, drinking some of the best beer and singing and shouting with some of your best friends will make you forget about halloween.


So, about this announcement. Yes, I decided where I am moving to. I am very excited. Very. Excited. I'm looking forward to not driving and going to more shows and not slanging peppers' margaritas and hopefully sitting next to a fire place.

Chicago, here I come.

My expected departure date from California is December 23rd. Mark your calenders.

I am walking to the liquor store. We will speak again soon.

on fires, death, and unpopular music - mix

I have 4 or so hours of work tonight, then it is officially vacation. I'll be getting a ride to the airport in the morning from my good friend Gabe, and we should be getting to see some fire action. If I couldn't use the 40 bucks I'd make at work tonight I wouldn't even go. I have my clothes spread out on my bed like tomorrow is the first day of school. My cold is almost gone. Things are going to be getting awesome way soon.

I still can't check in online for flights. I'm on one of those lists. I wish they would tell you why you made the "make sure its them and not someone else before they get on the plane" list. An employee once gave me the paper that had the number to call to try to get off the list, she told me it doesn't usually work, so whatever, fuckem.

This mix is kind of about the fires, kind of about my life, kind of about the passing of Lance Hahn of J Church, and kind of about the fest I am going to. We are going to be seeing a few of these bands, and we will probably miss a couple too. I might have computer access while I'm there, so if it happens expect some pictures and updates. If not, you'll get it all when I come back. So enjoy and have a great week, I will.

As always, pray for turbulence!

On Fires, Death, and Unpopular Music - Mix - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=KQPE2L4L

Trains All Talk - Small Brown Bike
Visiting Day - Dead To Me
The Light From Your Window - Bottle Rocket
Books About Miles Davis - The Ergs!
Do You Pray - Chuck Ragan
Rock For Sustainable Capitalism - Propagandhi
November - J Church
Bad Intentions - Broadway Calls
Into Your Eyes - Lucero
Hard To Admit - Off With Their Heads
No Surrender - One Reason
On Tracks Beneath the Snow - The Riot Before
Dead and Broken - Alkaline Trio
'Dozer Rage - Latterman

just come see me again when it burns.

California is on fire.

I can walk outside and look south probably 30-40 miles and see some flames on top of hill. That sentence sounds more exciting or dramatic than it could ever be. I usually enjoy a good fire. I see all the smoke, the sky is red, i can smell it, sometimes there is ash in the air. But not today, not the last couple of days.

Before my senior year in high school I read a collection of short stories by Joan Didion. One of them spoke of fire and "the santa anas", winds that nontraditional go out towards the ocean. (That's probably not the best description, I'd apologize if it mattered.) Those winds are one of the few things giving the firefighters so much trouble out here. And me too.

With the normal wind all the smoke and fires would be blown my direction.

So instead of sitting outside in what has become a quiet night at the house I am laying around listening to every song in my itunes folder that has "smoke" "fire" "burn" or "flame" in the title. It is 4 hours long. I am also battling a cold that needs to hit the road before I hit the road on wednesday. A few hours ago I almost choked on a cough drop and realized no one would probably found my body for a few days and the cat would try to eat some of me and I got really depressed for about 5 minutes. But then I realized that someone would put my myspace profile on deadspace and everything was ok.

A few years ago california was getting fucked by fires. Santa Clarita was getting it pretty good. We had ash at our house, the way I like it. A group of friends went down to the big LA and saw some bands play. The "14" was closed so we had to take windy mountain roads to get there. There was ash in hollywood, the way I like it. The band Smoke of Fire (from Richmond, VA) was here and they wrote this song about it. The video is at the top.

I'm thinking a mix should be in order for tomorrow. Maybe a fest mix. Maybe a fire mix. Probably both.

If I burn up, I'll figure out a way to tell you.

its time for a wedding

Tomorrow there is a wedding. People will be sharing memories of the participants before they ever met, and how much they have changed since. There will be children undoubtably making noises at inappropriate times. Whit will be drinking. So will I. And I will be playing DJ.

I need to come up with a song for the money dance. It should be long and slow, to achieve maximum currency collection. Stairway to heaven maybe?

Anyways. I have a couple nights of slinging drinks and setting up trays of food, then I am flying to Florida. I'm going to spend almost a week watching a hundred bands and drinking a million beers. And hopefully I'll see the Atlantic for the first time in my life.


When I get back I'll tell you where I'm moving.

phil muthafuckin collins

Phil Collins watched a man drown, right? Actually, I'm pretty sure he didn't. I just needed a title...

I've never seen anyone drown. I've seen some people almost drown. I've almost drown myself. Not intentionally. I'm just not very skilled in the art of floating.

But I think I am watching a friend or two drown, figuratively.

Someone is spending most nights in a home that doesn't want them as much as they don't want it. I can see it in their eyes. Arms flailing in a see of money, family and youthful ambition.

Someone has a hard time saying what they are feeling, if there is anything left there anymore. I can see them running and running, talking out of both sides of their mouths, being torn in 7 directions of happiness, and getting none.

Someone is burning their bridges and turning off the porch lights. The inside lights are off too. No one is home, they don't want you to know they wished you still showed up unannounced.

Someone struggles with loyalty to people with faces and names to loyalty to faceless names.

Me?

I'm a little bit of all of them.

who wants tea?

I was going to blog the other night. Instead there was an impromptu whip undie party. Enjoy.

the royal we

I dated this girl for 5 years. We did a lot of things together. You know, went places, watched bands, etc. I've noticed lately that when I talk about some of the trips or bands or restaurants I still say "We" even though we aren't together anymore, she isn't present for the conversation and she lives in another state. It is strange.

Rush?

So there is this gentlemen who likes to talk on the radio and express sentiments I don't agree with. He is a bastard. I knew people who got his newsletter. I knew people who watched his television show. Most of them were closet racists. Apparently he said something about phony soldiers that if you missed it is hard to find in context. Also, from what I read, there are a bunch of cunts in ties authoring legislation to condemn said fat bastard. Don't get me wrong, I don't use cunt gender specifically. If you are a cunt, you are a cunt, male or female, sorry. If the cunt fits...

Anyways.

There seem to be a group of people who make decisions, or lack thereof, in our country who would rather spend their time creating glorified extra large going away cards for a piece of shit who spreads his subtly racist rhetoric to a group of people who spend most of their time in cars then actually do anything in terms of making the U.S. a better place to live.

I know, I know, the United States is the best place to live in the world. I'm just saying.

So you have a man with a microphone, and he talks shit, into the car stereos of people who, if they could, would dress and act like Michael Douglas in "Falling Down" every Friday instead of wearing Tommy Bahama shirts. And then there are a group of people, who are are about as effective as abstinence education, holding press conferences about how horrible this bastard is and how he never served in the military and he doesn't support the troops and blah blah blah.

This is a guess based on some quick research - combining the house and senate, about 29% of them spent time in the military...

All of this gets pretty redundant at this point. You have people who didn't/don't support troops or the idea of serving accusing people of not supporting troops or the idea of serving.

Let's be honest, they are all assholes, and they don't give a fuck about you or me.

You know how I know?

Every year from 1995 to 2005 there was somewhere between a 2% and 3% raise for members of our government.

LOOK.

It must be pretty rad to make 160,000 bucks every year. And it must be awesome to get a raise every year, especially when it is 4000 dollars. Or about that, sorry. When was the last time you got that sort of raise?

Fuck Mr. Limbaugh. Fuck Mr Distinguished Gentlemen from Wherever. And Fuck us, because we are fucked.

Shots anyone?

Every chance we get

I spent the evening at a bar full of karaoke. Some friends of mine were supposed to meet another friend or two of mine there, but they didn't show, and we had a good time. Some women were celebrating either a co-worker or a friends birthday. Some men had brought their other halves out for the evening. Some people came out looking for love, some came out looking something that would feel better than the love they have. I came looking for more drinks and maybe a song.

Science journals and science teachers around the country probably say things about people's true character when they are alone. I challenge them to not make the same assumptions at a bar filled with karaoke. Don't get me wrong, many a folk do their best to impress the crowd. Some succeeded, most fail. But really, the person that you would hope to be comes out at karaoke. You may lean more in the area of shy than normal, or not. You may lean more in the area of gospel than normal, or not. You may care more than normal, or not. The perfect you shows up to sing that song, and the perfect audience, in some cases, shows up to sing along.

Karaoke has almost exclusively been involved in the times in my life when I have been single. Why? Ask Freud. It might be like a peacock showing it's feathers, or it might be like a camel showing it's ability to spit. Do I hope my karaoke skills would catch someone who would appreciate every minor crack in my surface? No. And would I want to fall in love with someone who would sing "You Ought To Know" to tens of strangers? No. But would it be cute to be a touring karaoke team that hops from bar to bar to bar to bar for cash prizes? Not really. But it is better than sitting around your house for the fifth night in the row? Sometimes.

What it comes down to is this. Go karaoke. Go with an open mind, and an open heart. Sing the songs that made you feel young when you were young. Sings the songs that you wished made you feel young. Just fucking sing.

whiskey is soon again my friend

Things had gotten bad around these parts. I had started to have recurring disagreements with a friend of mine. Whiskey. He didn't want to stay inside anymore. He wanted to go out and mingle with the lawn, or the concrete, or the asphalt, or the sand, or the water.

Basically, Whiskey was making me puke.

But not the last few days. We have reunited and continue to enjoy eachother's company.

The last time we fought was sunday. And it wasn't even about us, it was about the Bears playing football like a crew of assholes, well, at least one of them was being an asshole.

Things should be fine this sunday, things should turn around (my friends and family hope so, I'm sure).

the days grow shorter

As previously mentioned, summer's over. That is still the case. If the other areas of my life hold true, then soon I will miss it.

But I don't know if I will.

Summer is everything at once. Summer is overload. Summer is excitement. Summer is death. Summer is the worst decision you have ever made followed by the best. Summer is endless nights of endless drink and endless conversations. Summer is everyone you ever wanted to be with and no one at the same time. Summer is the crowd your parents warned you about. Summer makes a man mean. Summer makes a man strong. Summer makes a man.

And it is over. The hibernation is setting in. The fatigue is here. The late nights are fewer. The empty beds spring up more often. The jokes we told don't get the same laughs, the love the same looks. Less people come around. They don't stay as long. They don't try as hard.

And neither do I.

I pray for apocalypse or armageddon or terrorism or strokes. I take a little longer to apply the brakes, I wait a little longer to push the gas. I say less and less and less to everyone from random faceless names to my parents.

I cried last night. In the middle of a small crowd. Just enough. A friend of mine played some songs, for probably the last time. And he played this song that showed up at a time when I was finding my own bearings and missing a lot of things. A time when nights were spent at places I used to live with people I used to know and the world I used to live in was changing, and I was on a couch or in a guest room. And the song was about a man who I didn't know, with a problem I didn't have, but a coping mechanism I could relate to.

So I cried. Enough to have to wipe tears away. Enough to feel a little better. Enough to say I cried.

I can recognize this feeling in my chest. And it spreading to my arms and my head. Things will be different soon. Smiles will be had by all.

Hello fall, I don't think I recognize you.

all it takes is technology

I had a friend send me a message over my cellular phone last night. She asked me if it had rained here.

I told her no, and called this place a shithole.

Then it started raining.

Thank you for sharing.

you ain't done nothing with your life

This gentleman, I don't know him. But what he stands for, what he represents, with his suit, and his crew cut, and his model rocket; no thank you.

I stood outside of Pepper's yesterday with two men who should have been wearing suits. Their briefcase bags were heavy with reports and findings on consumption and waste. They ran numbers in their heads of where they were succeeding and where I was failing. And it wasn't just the ability to raise money for charity. Or the ability to get other people who should have been wearing suits to drink at our restaurant. The areas where I wasn't failing counted for nothing. Any amount of commitment I had so far displayed to the company had no further bearing. He didn't say it, but he didn't have to.

I am no company man.

I may have shown flashes in the past. But not lately, not anymore. I have holes in my shoes. I don't wash my shirts as much as I should. I don't shave. I don't care. I am Robin Hood of the drunks, giving from the rich to anyone who will take it. Salads, Chips, Steaks, Guacamole, Beer and Shots.

When mediocrity is being embraced and hard work is being ignored. When the men and women who should be wearing suits are screaming in ears every 2 minutes about charity so they can have a larger bonus. When minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of work go unaccounted for to save on benefits and vacation pay. When your place of employment ruins your ability to enjoy yourself while you make them money. When these things happen, I am holding the back door open and profits are running out the back door.

It will end soon. I won't come back for a break, or won't show up for a shift, or they will ask me to never come back. There will be tears of joy and high-fives at my employment's demise. Drinks will be shared, stories of the good times passed around. I will continue to exist. Pepper's will continue to exist. Those men will get their suits, and they will have them taken away. And there will be more tears with less joy and high-fives of a stronger sort but by many more people.

And that day will be glorious.

i didn't forget about you, and i didn't forget about me, i just did a lot of this

Summer's Over

When I sat down to make this I realized I didn't have the patience for it. So here is a mostly chronological slideshow in celebration of the end of summer. The song is by Latterman.

youtube is the new crack

meaning it was introduced to innercity neighborhoods by the CIA.

I watch some of the most ridiculous things on youtube. I just watched the first 45 seconds of a "summer's over" slide show video set to an Atari's song. Nothing like anime drawings of beach volleyball to let you know your life is slipping out of your grasp.

I will now go make my own "summer's over" slide show. It will be a first.

a post that was started two days ago

My computer is next to my bed. It is on an upsidedown milk crate. (They were out of cinderblock.) A night or two ago I decided that instead of sleeping I would drink a 32oz beer and try to find something on the internet about the Antelope Valley that would make me want to stay, or at least appreciate it. My jumping off place was Flickr. I searched through tags, looked at profiles, went to people's myspace profiles, went to their blogs, looked at groups and sets, picture after picture after picture.

I had seen it all before.

I'm ok with it, actually. The Antelope Valley is familiar. Too familiar. There are probably little pockets of interesting that I haven't found, but I don't even care to look anymore. It is the same people doing the same things in the same places.

I know that my new home will eventually become the same thing, but there is the possibility of it not turning into that for at least a year, and that seems nice.

There was a fire down the street today, that was nice.

i keep wanting to blog....

about how the antelope valley is stuck in 1986 with the amount of blow that seems to be going into people's noses, but then I realize it's probably not that interesting to anyone who isn't from here or isn't doing it. It seems people who enjoy their coke enjoy the fact that they do it almost as much as doing the actual drug, and that doesn't even compare to how excited they are to tell you about it.

Which is funny, because I like being a drunk, and talking about it, but I don't see it as that big of a deal. Must be all of that christian hypocrisy left over from the glory days.

God bless the Antelope Valley, I wish it was closer to the ocean so my dreams of it falling in wouldn't be so far fetched.

I was going to blog about insider trading...

But instead I went to get the mail. I passed my car in doing so. I have a flat tire. And no spare. Time for a bike ride to the store for insta-fix-a-flat or whatever it's called.

Awesome.

It took all I had to not quote that live song.

I left two bars tonight.

Both times there was lightning, but it was far away, somewhere else.

And it is always somewhere else.

I want to drive to the lightning, be rained on, hear the thunder, see the flash.

But I am stuck in this valley. No lightning, no thunder, no rain, nothing.

This valley is dead and it is dragging me with it.

the one where i finally get around to doing something

I did it. Finally. I spent the 25 bucks and got a pro account at flickr. Now there are a bunch of pictures to look through.

Enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/iambooth/

rinse. repeat.

I have a really good memory. I store lots of knowledge, some useful and some not. I remember a lot of things that happened when I was pretty young. I am glad I still remember this story.

I went to preschool at the same school that I went to for elementary, junior high, and high school. From being around 4 till 17 I spent most of my days at a private christian school. The original building was two stories and had a bunch of classrooms. In the middle was the playground for the kids in preschool, me.

In our classrooms we each had our own nap mats with our names on them. And we had coat hooks with our names on them. And we had clear boxes stacked high up out of reach with our names on them. Those held our emergency change of clothes.

My class had one set of teachers. The other classes had their own. There was this one teacher, man she was HOT! Tall, skinny, blond, gorgeous. (Funny how at 4 I already knew what was supposed to be considered attractive.) Knowing know about the hiring practices of the school, she was about 18-20 years old.

When I had recess and and her class hat nap time or some other activity I would stand outside and look into the window at her. Creepy. Then I would go run around and swing and slide and whatever, then go back and stare at her.

One day I was standing outside of her window and the urge to pee hit me. Like a ton of bricks. But I stood there. I crossed my legs and watched. I did what some have referred to as the pee-pee dance and watched. I pinched myself and watched. Then I gave in.

I pissed my pants.

And I stood there, watching. After a minute or so I went up to my teacher, feigning embarrassment, and told her I had an accident.

It was no accident. I knew I was going to, but I would rather stand there at the window and watch this teacher.

So I got to use my change of clothes. My pants had velcro instead of a zipper. I was awesome.

And a creepy bastard.

Now that essentially went on to repeat itself in very differing situations, no more piss, but definitely social awkwardness or discomfort, for the rest of my life. It still happens. And when I realize it, it makes me laugh.

It's been a few days, no?

Nothing to exciting going on over here. We got hot water back at our house after 5 or so days, so I'm smelling a little better. The Fair opened, which is the like 11 day long drunken high school reunion with gang fights, underage pregnancies, tractor races, the Charlie Daniels Band, and a demolition derby. We are high class. Going to the fair is the motivation for posting again. I have some fun stuff in the works, but that is for another time.

Today I need your help.

As mentioned previously, I will be moving somewhere at the end of the year. I have some cities in mind: Seattle, Chicago, Minneapolis, Eugene, and recent newcomer Austin. Boulder/Denver dropped of the list because I couldn't bear to attend Broncos games. Here are my criteria for my new home, in order.

1. Good public transportation/No sprawl. I will not own a car. WILL NOT. I'll have a bicycle though, so a little sprawl is ok.
2. A "Scene". I would prefer a good punk rock/underground/whatever scene, or at least a place to see live shows, and hopefully play.
3. Football. Being a Bears fan, a city with a NFC team would be nicest, but almost any team will do. Also, college football would work. That's one of the things that got Austin involved in the mix.
4. Bars. Both for employment and entertainment. Everywhere has bars, but some places only have shitty bars.
5. Studio apartments. I will 99% be doing this by myself, so I would like affordable housing. I wont have much in terms of possessions, so it won't have to be big.

So there you go.

I know about Chicago, I've been there a couple times. I sort of know about Seattle, from the couple of nights I spent there recently and from hearing Whit's stories. But as for the others on my list, I'm pretty much limited to info on the internet. That is fine, but I prefer hearing about it from someone who lives there and might have some similar interests to mine. So if you live in any of the places, or have, or spent a bunch of time, or have friends who live there, give me some info, please? Or if you know of a place that might fit me, let me know.

You guys are great, whoever you are.

Tomorrow, one story that sums up my personality/life's path. It's a good one. There's no Lita Ford.

the mild disapointment in job retention.

I didn't get fired yesterday.

And it was a little sad. I had put together a nice little post-Pepper's bus trip of the country that would have made me the envy/laughingstock of the adult world. I was going to sleep on couches all over the place. I was going to see family and friends. I was going to go see bands play in small clubs in cities I always wanted to go to. I was going to track down a blogger or two and use the shower. But alas, I still have a job.

There's always today though! (I was going to put a wink here, but that would have just pissed me off when I read it over.)

someone sound the overreaction alarm - mix

I got woken up by a phone call this morning. A fellow bartender at Pepper's was fired last night for giving away free drinks. I give away free drinks. I probably give away more free drinks than anyone else. I also give away chips and salsa. And salads. And soups. And sodas. And once a whole steak dinner. So I should be on my way out. I'm curious if they give me the ax tonight at work, or wait, or don't fire me. I don't see how they can't seem to know. Maybe they don't.

Whatever.

I made a mix for the feeling in my chest about the whole thing. If my pending letting go happens, and is turned into a movie, this would be the soundtrack.

If This Is It - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=1CRZVBAX
Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis - Tom Waits
A New Name For Everything - The Weakerthans
Justin - Against Me!
Nature Of The Experiment - Tokyo Police Club
Never Trust a Man Without a Horribly Embarassing Secret - Bomb The Music Industry!
Save Our Ship - Broadway Calls
Time Bomb - The Dismemberment Plan
Perfecting Loneliness - Jets To Brazil
Are You There Yet Margaret? It's Me God. - The Lawrence Arms

the tyranny of winks

;) - that is a wink.

What does that mean? It's not like a live wink, where I know if you want to fuck me or punch me or steal my wallet. You could mean one of those things, or all of those things, or none at all.

So what to do?

I ignore it, usually. Sometimes I throw it back. Like "Oh, really? Well, I feel that way too!" Too bad I have no idea if I do feel that way or not.

I am more of a sarcastic winker, I think.

Actually, I am just trying to keep up with the winking Joneses. I pretend that whatever you think I meant was what I actually meant.

Now I have some winking text messages to send, ;)

I post on other peoples blogs

Thought I would give a heads up. I totally blogged about Lita Ford at Snackie's World today. Go over there!

the crunch of snow underfoot

As pointed out by whit pointed out, it hasn't rained in a fucking long time. This desert is taking whatever it can from my body to make up for it. I thought I liked the rain, until I spent for months in Sacramento, and it rained every day for about 6 weeks. I miss every one of those days now. I miss a lot of things lately. So I am going to go to whit's house and share a beer or 5, then I will celebrate my exroommate/current friend amanda's birthday. Champagne anyone?

the distance between us is minimal, from myself to my heart is miles

Things are things. Feelings come and feelings go. Possessions break down. Suns rise and suns set. The world turns. Our savings gain and deplete. We consume. We waste. We rot.

That ran through my head, over and over and over and over. The room and my head were spinning in a sea of champagne. Someone was pulling out of my driveway, I could see their headlights on my blinds in my window.I didn't want them to leave. But then I did. I took off my shirt and pants and threw pillows back from the floor onto the bed. I put on a mix. I pushed off the sheet, I pulled up the comforter. I arranged the extra pillows around my body like women who had yet to have enough of me. The light was off and the room was blue from the computer screen.

Things are things. Over and over again. Things are things.

I revealed a crush that had existed. Or it hadn't existed. It could have been made up. It could have been the adding of layers to a thirty-one second thought while standing next to someone in a line. Or it could have been consuming me whole, just under the surface. But, really, that is not the case.

I opened my phone to make things right, with the recently departed, and realized nothing had gone wrong. I pushed forward thinking "NO! She doesn't understand!", but what was there to understand? That tonight I sat in the yard and told her things I have told someone else in her chair days before, and will probably tell someone new the same things again in a weeks time? That this excitement I was feeling in seeing her exists only in the pursuit, and that once I see her the excitement fades? That someone somewhere would give much more than I am willing to part with someone of lesser quality than her? That I honestly don't really care?

Things are things.

And they are. And everyday people are creeping closer to sharing the label of things. And is that good? Or bad? Or neither? When do I start assigning worth to people? When I know there names? When I know there phone number? When I know their house? When I know how there heart breaks?

Things are things. Heartbreaks are heartbreaks. I love the people I love.

I need to stop thinking I I am some sort of hunter/gatherer and get back to falling in love.

The Interview Threesome

There is the MeMe going around, the "interview me" MeMe. And you don't actually tag anyone for it, but you volunteer. Now that you know the basics, here is what happened.

Lovely IslandGirl did it. And supersweet ImPerceptibility did it. And I thought I should do it too. With both of them. So here is the blog equivalent of a menage a tous. I'll alternate like any good threesome participant should, but I won't tell you who wrote which question. It almost adds a nice bondage/s&m aspect to it.

1. You, either by chance or fate, land on the blog page of the woman you will spend the rest of your life. What are the titles of her first five posts?

One of the best questions I have seen, ever. In no particular order.

• On the receiving of my new grand piano.
• Sorry I'm late, I was out spoiling my liver.
• On Holiday From The Holidays.
• When my feet hit the road. Or how I learned to hold on by letting everything go.
• What I actually felt last night in the basement.

2. Would you give up the drink for the love of a good woman? Or would you give up a good woman for the love of drink? Which is better? Which is wetter? Which has made you the man you are today? Make of this question what you may, and answer at will.

I've known both good women and good drink. They have both been there to comfort me and have both been there to break my heart. I have stood on rooftops with both. I have ridden bicycles with both. I have made bad decisions with both. I would like to think that a good woman would love me, drunk or no (her or me). If at any point a drink seems more appetizing then a good woman then I have become my father, and I am fucked. I have been greater affected by both the love and hatred of good and not-so-good women more than drink. So would I give up drinking for a good woman? Yes. Would I give up a good woman for drinking? Yes.

3. Who pops out of your birthday cake and what do they say?

John Cusack. He says "Here's to you, Booth". We toast. It starts to rain.

4. Are you an accurate example of your own zodiac sign?

I am a Scorpio. My birthday is November 16th. I believe that makes me a Scorpio III. I use to hold a lot of stock in the zodiac and read all about it. So much so that when I meet someone I almost always check are sign compatibility. Everything I have ever read about Scorpios are true about me. I am complex, loyal, sexual, secretive, jealous, aggressive, inquisitive and prone to extremity. Pretty much anyone who knows me can vouch for this.

5. What do you think is the most important thing I should teach my children?

DIY. Do It Yourself. Not that shitty television network about putting new concrete steps in front of your house. Teach them the value of their own ability to make anything happen that they want to happen. For me it is mostly associated with punk rock and creativity, but it is something that the whole world would benefit from. They want to write a book? Write it and publish it themselves. They want to make the roads in their town safer for people who aren't in cars (you know, pedestrians and bicyclists)? Don't wait around for the politicians to do something about it, make it happen. That and punk rock is dead, so they create their own version of it.

6. If you do decide to leave the Antelope Valley, which city is your number one destination choice right now, and why?

Chicago. The reasons, in order. I won't need a car. I can go to Bears games at Solider Field. The music scene. And I have wanted to live there for about 5 years.

7. What is your favorite Booth! song?

The next one that is going to be written. I love all of the ones that already exist. Some are shitty, some are not. But the unknown is exciting. What's next fills me with joy!

8. Are there really antelopes in your valley?

Just the students of the worst high school in the valley.

9. Are you wearing pants?

When I started this, yes. When I got home from work, after drinking tall cans of beer and a bottle of champagne, no. Just me and my glasses and my boxers. I don't like wearing clothes that much. And I enjoy the activities that require a little bit of clothing very much. (Swimming, bodybuilding, sex, hostile takeovers.)

10. Poetry. Do you read it? Do you write it, outside of your rather poetic and elliptical blog? If you feel this question compromises your masculinity (although it does not!), I will accept a Hard Man's Answer such as "only in rock songs."

My poetry reading/writing is much like everything in my life. I do a lot of it, then I don't. I have a very addictive personality. It is pretty much all or nothing. I fancied myself a poet when I was in high school, but didn't anyone who wasn't getting laid and received some sort of shitty look from someone else about what they thought was cool? I used to write poems for girls/women. I don't do that much anymore. It could be because I haven't had those strong of feelings lately, or it could be because it just ends up getting you in trouble, but it probably has to do with a conspiracy I have entered into with all of my ex's to make money off of my poetry once I die a tragic death.

11. Please describe your favourite tattoo - when and where did you get it, what is it, what does it stand for, etc.

Better yet, How about a couple of pictures.

This is my molotov cocktail. It is on my left arm. Nate Hopewell did it, he did all of these. I got it right before my 22nd birthday. It is a molotov cocktail. It stands for that.


This is my dead lady and upside down crown. It is at the top of my left arm. The crown is for my distaste of government, the lady for my love of women.


Yes, this is the Morton Salt Girl. It is on my leg. The script says "When it pains, it roars". It is a tribute to one of the best bands ever, Jawbreaker.


This is my second most recent tattoo. It is on my right arm. It is a Kurt Vonnegut tribute. It is also a tribute to my nomadic lifestyle.

Most of my tattoos are music related. They are band logos, or representation of song lyrics, or just a mark of some point in my life. And all of those points in my life have a band attached to them too.

12. Please describe your favourite meal. All courses, dessert, drinks, everything. Then your lovely lady fans can make it for you if you are ever in town. Your lovely man fans as well, not to be sexist!

To be completely honest, food doesn't interest me that much. I don't crave things very often, and those craving have slimmed down especially since I became a vegetarian 6 months ago. I like food. And I like dessert. And I like drinks. But I like the people who consume those things with me more. I love the conversations, the strange revealings of the first few meals with someone, the learning of likes and dislikes, the stories that are shared and the stories that are created. Some food that is always awesome: asparagus, pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, popcorn, and edible panties. (the last part I am not a first hand taster, but, really, they have to be great!) Give me any of these things, or anything tasty for that matter, and someone who wants to talk as opposed to watch tv or be shallow, and I will be a happy man.


There are a bunch of rules for this thing, but they are bullshit. So if you want me to interview you, I will. If you want to steal these questions and answer them yourself, do it. And if you want to be a travel partner buy a greyhound bus ticket from Bend, OR to Chicago, IL on December 26th. 14 days in advance and it will be 81 bucks. Show up to oregon early and you can have christmas with my folks and snow.

the loosing of ties that bind

You remember people moving away. There were kids who would move in the middle of the school year. One day you are teasing some poor kid with them, the next they are telling you about Kansas City. The ones who moved in the middle of the year always moved to a "City" of some kind. Then it was the kids who you had shared a couple of years of school with, and this would be the last June you saw them. They would say goodbye to third grade, the Antelope Valley, and you. Then the family would move. Grandparents, retiring from work and constant showering of you with affection, would hit the road. Aunts and Uncles would soon follow. The cousins of course would have to go, even if their parents hit them with belts, even if they promised to come back. Neighbors would come and go, a better job, a better house, a better neighborhood. Teachers you had hoped to have the next year would be gone before Independence Day. Soccer teammates would leave just as soon as you started to remember their older sister's name.

And that was life. Person after person, family after family, crush after crush, best friend after best friend would leave the Antelope Valley. And you? You stayed.

You got the keys to your house so you could come and go as you pleased while your parents did anything BUT parent. You would sneak drinks, or pills, or porn. You made plans to join the masses, to get out! You were never coming back once your feet or tires hit the asphalt. You categorized the things that made you happy, the things that made you sad, and the things that did nothing at all. You knew what was going in you backpack/trunk/cardboard box that would help you keep living. And you planned. You put maps on your walls. You put push pins in possible destinations for your wandering heart. You ranked all of your friends in order of likelihood to join you in a cross country bus trip to a strange town. Every girl you met, you would picture them standing with you next to some lake you had only heard about on television or read about in books, hoping the picture looked right. It would consume your every thought. And one day you did it. You got out.

You left at the end of one season, and were home before the next season was finished. You walked out of your front door for the last time and the leaves on the trees were still a magnificent green, and you were back before they left the branches.

Some of your friends had moved on. Some had stuck around. You would tell stories of the things you saw and the things you did, and no one knew if you were lying, but you didn't have to. You had been ALIVE for 3 months, and these poor suckers didn't change at all. The reasons you came back? Not important. You would tell anyone what they wanted to hear. It was a girl. It wasn't what you were looking for. Your roommate was a bastard. Your band was more important than whatever you were doing there. You didn't fit in.

But really you were scared. It wasn't as easy as all of these people had made it out to be. But, really, you weren't in their heads. You didn't know anything of the sleepless nights, the empty kisses, the warm drinks. You just knew they were gone and you would never see them again.

So you tried again. Or you tried to make plans to try again, but you didn't go anywhere. You told your girlfriend you were moving, and broke up with her, only to have to admit a month later that you weren't going anywhere and you still loved her. And that was life.

Till you tried to make plans again. And they fell through. And again. And again. And again.

You still lived here, but your address changed faster than you could, or wanted to, forward the mail. You made new friends, and you lost old ones. And then one day you made it happen. You left again, but this time not for good, just for a while. And you missed everyone you left behind, until it was time to come back. And you don't know if you wanted to. Not because this new place was anything special, but because where you were heading was nowhere special either.

But you showed up that afternoon. And nothing had changed. Hair was longer, or shorter. Friends missed you, or didn't. Your bed was warm, or it wasn't. But you lied in it. Your old routines became new routines. Your old fights became new fights. Your old life became your new life.

Until it wasn't your life anymore.

So you jump from a couch to a guest bed to a borrowed bed to your own bed. And you make new friends. And you meet new women. And every morning you wake up alone. And sometimes there is coffee. Sometimes there is breakfast. Sometimes there is nothing.

And here you are. Your almost 25. And your friends are hearing the same rumblings they have heard a thousand times before. Some new city. Some new plan. Some new life. And you understand if they don't believe you. And you understand if they think you are crazy. And you understand if they think you will fail. Because you have all those same thoughts every time you tell anyone what you want to do. You look into eyes of lovers and friends and strangers and hope to see some sort of encouragement, some sort of support. But it's not there, and you don't blame them. You won't hold it against them, because you'll probably need their couch in a few months anyways.

wordless wednesday - ...if you’re really finally mine

More Wordless Wednesdays at wordlesswednesdays.com

maybe just a minute - mix

This mix is for my friend Bobb. It has bands we talked about last night, and it has songs that hit my melancholy of late. I'm not finding the words right now, so I'll just let the mix speak for itself.

Maybe Just a Minute - http://www.megaupload.com/?d=XLH3GK9M
Mystery Achievement - The Pretenders
Your Little Hoodrat Friend - The Hold Steady
Every Man Has A Molly - Say Anything
When The Heart Breaks Deep - David Dondero
Christmas Lights - Paul Baribeau
Soft Pyramids - Q And Not U
Consequence Of Sounds - Regina Spektor
All Your Faithless Loyalties - Two Gallants
Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven - Saves the Day
Martyr Me - The Get-Up Kids
Wont Be The First Time - As Friends Rust
Happy Birthday To Me (Feb. 15) - Bright Eyes
Excerpts From Various Notes Strewn Around The Bedroom Of April Connolly, Feb. 24 - Cursive
The City - The Dismemberment Plan
Reptilia - The Strokes

somewhere there is a wagon

I own a large package. It is not my dick. It is a box of self-destruction. It manifests itself in areas of addiction: booze, women, writing, music, using people for my own happiness. I make horrible decisions. I say horrible things. I look out for only myself. And that is me. There is no hidden aspect of my life. Ask me, and I will tell you. I don't worry about coming off as a sinner or a saint, because I am usually both. I just worry about living. It gets me into trouble. It makes me feel alive.

I have spent the last week thinking about the same thing. How to approach it. How to handle it. How to respond to it without being crazy. But I am crazy. And it is wearing me down. And I think they know it. And I think I am playing into their hands.

I owe bobb a mix, it will show up tomorrow.

seven things i "dig" about whit

so, about this "digging" thing. to be completely honest, I am not a big fan. When someone says they "dig" something I think they are just trying to relate to me to convince me to not do drugs. But for the sake of the MeMe, I will continue to refer to it has the seven things I dig about Whit.

1. He invites me to dinner/cocktail parties. As you could probably guess, I am not much of a dinner/cocktail party guy, I tape bottles of malt liquor to my hands for shit sakes. But Whit still invites me over, and to show my appreciation I wait until the third round of drinks to suggest shots. And I keep my pants on.
2. He is ALWAYS listening to music. When I lived there and when I didn't if he was awake there was music playing. All sorts of styles, all sorts of awesome.
3. He yells. He yells at co-workers. He yells at patrons. He yells at the Steelers.
4. The story of the popsicle-corndog. Ask him to tell you about it. It is a gem.
5. He is the type of dad I would want to be if I ever became a father.
6. He never lets an opportunity to make a joke pass. Especially if it is about girls from the local high school.
7. He is a great friend. He has already help me when I was in one self-imposed jam, and I know when I get into another, self-imposed or not, he will be there to help, or laugh at me, or buy me a beer. It all works for me.

I tag people with these things, and they don't do them. But then again it took me forever to get around to this. So I'm giving this one to ImPerceptible, she'll do a kick ass job.

movie rain is just water in a pipe

My understanding of how rain is obtained in movies is this: person pulls up a truck filled with water, hose attached, turned on, "it rains".

My understanding of how decisions are made in my life are this: person pulls up a truck filled with ideas, I become attached, turned on, "it rains". (it's not as sexual as it sounds, I promise.)

I've touched on this before, but I am going to try to expand the thought process this time.

When looking back on the things I did when I encountered the fork in the road I see a pattern, a way of thinking. I never pulled over. I never asked for directions. I just put on a blinker and went. Deciding on which colleges to apply to? Yup. Deciding to move? Yup. Falling in love? Yup. Falling out of love? That one too.

This has led to many days in unfamiliar places. Sometimes I wished to go back, and I tried, and I just ended up leaving again. Somethings I don't miss at all. I can fill a column of accounting homework paper with homes and jobs and friends and lovers that I have not and will have no problem never seeing again. (double negative? probably.) Then I also have a column that I miss tremendously, some weeks more than ever. I want to go back to those things. Some I have tried. And some of the time it didn't work out. And other times it did. And other times I haven't even been back, because the opportunity presented itself and I couldn't take it, or it never showed up.

I exchange other people's happiness for my own. I am a selfish person who requires a lot of attention and a constant update on what the people around me are feeling and thinking. Something may work for a while in keeping me happy/together/in one place, but once it stops I am done. I don't try to fix things. I don't try to figure out why that thing no longer works for me. And I don't try to figure out if I am the cause of the problem.

This all comes from my dealing with some feelings the last few days I have woke up. I feel I have been pushed into dissatisfaction with life, but really I have just been waiting for an excuse to drive that car into a lake like I'm a Kennedy.

Tomorrow: WHIT!

the new late night phone call

3:15 in the morning. My eyes are about to go on strike. We are in last minute negotiations, they want rest, I want more work. I am prepared to hire scabs. I know some people, their families are hungry, they wouldn't mind reading blogs and myspace pages all night long. In fact, they would love to. I hope if my eyeballs do strike the other unions don't try to show any solidarity. The brain seems into not letting things affect him, at least lately. And the liver, he's on a leave of absence. Sort of like Joe from Joe versus the Volcano, just no sunkist or whatever. (I just realized I don't know why Joe stops working in that movie, oh well.) It's those pesky fingers that I worry about. They are always trying to rally all the other unions together. They are some real motherfuckers, could be why I like them so much.

BREAKING NEWS: EYES AGREE TO KEEP WORKING. WORKDAYS 23 MINUTES SHORTER!


Now that all of that is settled, the post. My life is nothing but late night phone calls. At least now it is. It's either calls from friends to warn of cops, or calls from cops to warn about friends, or guys who don't like my taste in things, like blog titles or figures or sports teams, or girls wondering where I am, or people looking for money, or my dad looking for money. My life is all of those things. And for good measure there are also the late night calls I wish would be made. But my phone doesn't ring with those numbers or names. And I don't use those numbers either, even though it is all I think about. (side note: good to see being sober doesn't hinder my poor decision making abilities or curb my tendencies of crazy.) I don't wake up thirsty for water, just someone's voice. Someone who wants me to be with them, wants me dead, or wants me to die with them. It's not a horrible thing to wish for. Besides, I have free nights and weekends.

blogs=1, drinks=0, shit=tons

ok, ok, ok. I haven't put anything up on e-bay. And I haven't updated this. But come on, I've been busy not drinking.

It's a lot of work. Not because I crave it, but because it is such a common part of my life. But I have been doing it. I have been tempted, that's for sure. I've stayed strong though.

Just wanted to let it be known that the not-drinking hasn't killed me. I am going to bed. I have an idea for a post. It makes me smile.

on your last night in town

So tonight is your last night in town. You'll spend it in a house with ugly blue carpet with friends and drinks and your dog. You'll probably be doing some last minute packing. There will be some tears. Part of me wants to be there, but most of me knows it is better if I am not.

We spent some horrible times together these last few years. And we have spent just as many wonderful ones. There's been nights I wish I could never forget, but I will, and nights I want to throw away, but I will never be able to.

I've known of your existence for probably 15 years. We were friends for close to 10. We were more for 5. And now I don't know what we are. It is sad, but it is reality. For every mean thing I ever said I thought two sweet things. And for every time I broke your heart I broke my own too.

I've heard that you have said I am no longer the person you fell in love with. I agree. I haven't been that person in a couple of years. You are no longer the girl I feel in love with either. But you can't be nineteen forever, right? If there is anything I have realized in these recent months is that we constantly reinvent little parts of ourselves, and if you are too close to the fire you don't notice it getting stronger or dying out. Piece after piece, thought after thought, love after love, they all add up and before we know it we are different.

In 24 hours you'll be on the road with your now ex-roommates, in another state, on your way to another one, and more after that. You'll see things you have never seen before, and things that are familiar. Days will pass. Then weeks, then months, and years. And we will forget the things we said that we meant, and the things we didn't. We'll forget the sunsets and the trips and the fights and the songs. And one day you'll wake up to realize you haven't thought of me in a long time, and you will smile, and you will be happy.

Or you won't.

I don't want to tell you to be safe, I want to tell you to be strong. I don't want to tell you to be careful, I want to tell you to be consistent. I don't want to tell you to forget me, but you should. I don't want to tell you good bye, but I will.

Goodbye.

announcements

I am taking the month of August off. From booze, from women, from a good portion of my life. I will also be trying to get rid of all this useless shit that is crowding my life, a thing a day on ebay for 31 days.

I'll be keeping this updated more often, especially since I won't be spending all that time drinking.

monday, sunday, whatever.

I understand what it is to be an adult. I mean, I know how to postpone things. No new insight into life or anything exciting like that. Sorry.

I am also sorry I never got around to recapping my trip. It was a really good time, and it was exactly what i needed.

I've had a bunch of crazy nights. The trip to the lake started it off. It has been just short of completely ridiculous every night since. I think I've been to bed before 4 once since Tuesday, and that was 3:30. Tonight should be no exception. Yesterday was a going away party. Tonight is the going away after party (her last night at her favorite bar). Isn't it comforting to know I am not waist deep in alcohol alone, but I have friends to wade through it with me?

My body feels like I did any sort of strenuous activity for a week straight. I am old man sore. My body hates me.

I am hoping to put up something tomorrow. I started on it today and it will probably be pretty emotional. It should turn out good, or at least the way I want it to.

And I have something pretty exciting planned, and I will announce it tomorrow.

This video is of a song on the mix Tony made for my trip. See you tomorrow.

there are such a thing as man hands

I am sitting on a flight from Seattle to San Francisco. My row has myself and a couple sharing an I-pod. We are all drinking bloody marys. He has man hands, I do not.

My hands are small (not like Jewel's hands though). They have very little hair and the hair that is there is very light. There are a couple of callouses, nothing exciting. My fingertips and parts of my palms look like I slice them up with razor blades. They are smooth and soft. They are not man hands.

Which is fine. I like my hands.

late nights at lakes and loose ends

This is no proper summery of my vacation. It is something.

About 30 minutes ago I got home from a lake. I sat on a log with a girl and participated in the sort of conversation/flirting/self-deprecating humor that would have Anthony-circa-1998 proud. I had been at this lake before, and I was the same person. It had been years.

I would like to think I know what I am doing. I don't. I react with the same sort of rush to judgement that has put me into many a pickle before. I don't think, I feel, and I act. Most of the people I know are used to it by now, the ones who don't call to make sure I am not dead.

I see cycles repeating themselves as I look around my room. To part of me it is ok, comforting, to part of me it is scary.

I saw a lot of stars tonight. I am going to try to remember that feeling, along with the feeling of disappointment with the unreturned small advances and the one-arm-hugs that end an evening, far too long after it should be over, but just before it should begin.

Now, the loose ends.

• Daniel, I received your mix in "the post". (Am I right?) I listened to it while some friends and I got in on some slip-and-slide action. Also, a little during a fantasy football draft. Whit was there, he can tell you. (p.s. Ash - one of my favorite bands in high school. That cd, 1977, soundtrack to the unintentional rapid growing and dismembering of my heart. I love that song.) Thank you very much.
  
• Speaking of Whit, the however many things I love about him will be coming soon.
• My gangster name is silly. It confuses me.
• I un-quit my job. My vacation realigned my mind. Too bad it popped other parts out. More to come.
• It was nice to stay up to date with all of the blogs on my vacation. I am sorry you didn't know I was there, but I was.

I have all sorts of interesting things lined up. I actually made notes of things to blog about while on my vacation. Surprise, surprise.

The video is The Mountain Goats. They will make your life better.

p.s. - I will fix the banner, promise.

sometimes a mix is just a mix

I used to make mix tapes. I made them for everyone. I made them for girls I loved and ones I hated too. I made them for my friends. I made them for my parents. I made them for myself. I was great. Sometimes they were just songs I liked hearing, especially if it was for me, and others every single song meant something.

I didn't like the transition from mix tapes to mix cds. Its too quick making a cd. You don't have to sit and stare at your collection for 45 minutes, trying to decide what will flow good into eachother. You don't have to set apart the time to listen to every song as it is being committed to tape. You don't get to change your mind halfway though a song because you remembered something will go better with the song playing than what you had lined up.

I want to get back to making tapes. But that's not the point.

I am in Oregon. A couple of days before I left I solicited mixes on myspace. I got two. I listened to them both waiting for my two planes and on them. I listened to both three times through. Why?

To figure out which songs mean something, and which are just for the sake of a good song.

I put myself in the "I" role of a song, then in the "you". Sometimes I am a part of "them", other times the "them" is against me. And sometimes the songs are about people I know, shared situations with the mix creators. And sometimes the songs are ones that I would put on a mix for them. It is a fun little game, but it can drive you a little crazy.

Oregon seems to be doing good things for my body and my mind. It hasn't been a full scale detox in either area, but I am getting little bits and pieces of clarity.

Here's to exciting days ahead (a weekend in San Francisco!).

(don't) go chasing waterfalls

I am in Oregon. I went to this waterfall yesterday with my parents and their new puppy. There is a trail that takes you about 60% of the way down. We walked down it, then I hop over the railing and hiked closer. I got to where the dirt patch on the right narrows into the skinny darker path. I sat on a rock, took some pictures, and let the mist of the waterfall spray me in the face.

The vacation is nice. Life is slow up here. That's ok.

Just wanted people to know I was alive.

the more things stop the more they must go on

That is Tim Barry, he is good.

It's 3:15ish on a saturday night. I am alone in my bed for the first time in probably about a week. The days seem to be bleeding together. That happens when you do the same sort of things everyday. I wake up about 11. I eat some lunch. Some music gets played, either live or on speakers. I go to work. I almost break down. I drink. I spend my nights with a lady. Everyday. That is what I do. No ties, but it might as well be a nine to five. No wife, but it might as well be a nine to five. Sometimes it feels like no life, but it is still better than a nine to five.

I am in life reimagination mode right now. I put in my notice at work. I shaved off my beard, which I've had pretty non-stop for about 4 years. I am putting mental price tags on all of my possessions, in case of a fire sale. I am assessing my personal value, in terms of how much my time is worth, and if I can turn my time into a place to live and food and time with friends. I am making decisions with little to no thought. I am wondering if this is it, or if there is someother path, or door, or window, for me to take.

Dan said the other night that women were prone to trying to fix their lives by running away, by moving to a new town, finding new friends, new thoughts, new loves, but not doing anything different.

My X-chromosome must be acting up.

wine and propagandhi

I drank some wine last night. Bill's parents came over, Crystal cooked, I sat around and drank beer. I should really develop some sort of usefullness. The wine was served with dinner, it made me sleepy. So Bobb came over and we did some sake bombs. I love sake bombs. LOVE THEM. Then we did some Van Halen inspired acrobatics in the backyard. Video's to come.

After dinner and before sake bombs the house watched a Propagandhi DVD. It was glorious. Now, Propagandhi wasn't the first "political" punk band I listened to, that would be Bad Religion, but did it so good! Most of my exposure to radical politics, thinking and lifestyles came from the hours of sitting in my room, door locked, pouring over the lyric sheet with the cd screaming, trying to figure out what was going on. I owe alot to them for influencing the person I am today. So I'll give you a video of those wonderful fellows at the end of this.

I can feel my body starting to wear out. I've been doing a bunch of living, and by living I mean mixing alcohols and beer and vomiting and sweating and playing music and yelling and sulking and crying. This Oregon vacation is going to be nice.

karma police

Last night at the wonderful hellhole that is Peppers a family brought in their 16 year old son to celebrate his birthday. There were parents, a grandparent, a sister, and some friends. I was their waiter.

This party of 10 was filled with a good cross-section of typical restaurant patrons.

• The fatty who wanted ranch on everything. EXTRA RANCH at that. And an appetizer. And an extra side.
• The kid who drinks water and doesn't eat.
• The lady who asks where the salads are on the menu while looking at them.
• The lady who doesn't speak english.
• The drunk.
• The toothless gentleman.
• The guy who wants his check split off, then changes his mind.
• The guy who asks for a refill after you announce to the table that you will be right back with their refills.

Basically, I hated them. But I kept my hatred hidden while doing my job. And I did a very good job too, even getting a very spirited birthday song out of my co-workers for the birthday boy. They had three checks, all paid with credit cards. As the father was paying for his, which was the bulk of the bill, he told me "Don't worry, your tip is on the table". So they all left, and sitting amongst the dirty dishes on the table was six dollars.

There bill was 185 bucks.

So when the drunk mom and toothless gentleman came in 5 minutes later to look for her glasses that she had lost, and they weren't on the table or the ground, I couldn't help but go to the back of the restaurant and air high-fiving the thing in charge of karma.

Thank you good sir, thank you.

I hope your glasses aren't prescription...

p.s. I totally put in my notice at Peppers yesterday too! I will be joining Whit in the ex-pepper employee box checking.