NEWS FLASH!

Tom Brady is the greatest quarterback in the history of the NFL. Greatest. Period.

Greater than Dan Marino. Greater than Brett Favre. Terry Bradshaw. John Elway, Roger Staubach, Bart Starr, Peyton "Gay" Manning." And after cementing the greatest regular season in the history of quarterbacks, he has now passed Joe Montana as the greatest quarterback in the history of the NFL.

I really hate living in Indiana during football season. Not because Colts fans are ignorant morons who A.) Know nothing about the team they root for, other than 'PEYTON MANNING IS THE GREATEST FOOTBALL PLAYER EVER! and B.) Cannot shut the fuck up about how great their team is, but because of their lack of respect for Tom Brady.

I completely understand that Colts fans should hate anything associated with the Patriots because of how many times Brady and company has stomped their heads in. But that doesn't excuse the constant disrespect throw at Brady. Watch a fucking interview the guys gives. He's completely selfless. He always puts his team first. Look at tonight's interview after their win over the Giants. The reporter asked him about Randy Moss's dropped pass, and Brady said, "He made a bad pass, and wanted to make up for it on the next play," which was completely false, since Randy Moss dropped the pass that he should've caught. Brady didn't want to put the blame on anyone else, because he sees himself as the leader of the team.

On top of that, Brady isn't like 99% of the other stars/"faces" of the NFL, like Chad Johnson, Donovan McNabb, Terrell Owens, and anyone else who's the face of their team. He doesn't mouth off. He doesn't complain about bad calls, or if his team plays poorly. He's a consummate professional who only cares about winning football games and performing for the fans.

Plus, it doesn't hurt that he can flat out play. The guy's football IQ is phenomenal. And his balls are pure brass. He cannot be shaken. But again, unlike everyone else, he doesn't sit there and cheer every time he completes a pass. He just goes out there and tosses a 30-38 game for 320 yards and four touchdowns. Oh yeah, if my memory serves me.... he's got three super bowl rings. How many other slingers have at least three? Three: Terry Bradshaw, Troy Aikman, and of course.... Joe Montana. All three: Hall of Famers. But don't worry, Colts fans! Manning does have his allusive ring.... but Doug Williams, Trent Dilfer and Brad Johnson also have a ring... so that doesn't say too much.

Sure, Manning is cast in the same light as Brady, but I will still never be able to get over his interview in the 2004 playoffs where he threw his entire team under the bus after he played a HORRIBLE game. Because, as Colts fans will let you know, Peyton Manning cannot blow a game! And Bob Sanders makes EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TACKLE! Even when he breaks his ankle and sits out six straight games, because he's a bigger bitch than Marvin Harrison.

Don't worry, Colts fans. Manning is still great. He's the second best quarterback in the NFL today, and when he retires... he very well could be the third best quarterback ever. Behind Joe Montana and Tom Brady.

I just want people to get over their egos for crying out loud. You can hate Brady for beating your team's head in year in and year out. But quit pretending like he's not great. He is great. He's incredible. For some reason, people knocked the fact that Brady never put up massive numbers, or that his supporting cast was better than Manning's.

Errr... yeah: two number one receivers? Check. The most disciplined offensive line in the NFL? Check. One of the best all-around running backs in the NFL? Check. And now that Brady has Moss, Welker, a solid offensive line, and a coordinator that knows how to run an offense with the talent around them, he's apparently had these guys since day one. Sorry people... Brady just works. He gets the job done. Instead of talking about how shitty he is, or how big of an asshole he is, or how much you hate his team, why not embrace the fact that you're getting to see one of the greatest football players of our generation shattering records, and supplying us with great football.






Get ready for ring number four. It's coming. Doesn't matter who the NFC sends, they have zero chance. Zero.

I'm crippled.

Since I was about 15, I've had back problems. Nothing too severe. I was originally diagnosed with scoliosis, and an extremely mild case of it, at that. But now, as a 21-year-old, I find myself in the most unabashed pain imaginable. There are days where my back doesn't bother me at all. And there are times like right now, where I'm simply sitting at work in an office chair, and it feels like somebody's digging a high heeled shoe into the small of my back and they continually jump up and down.

Seriously, I can't sit still. I'm constantly moving around, trying to find a comfortable position to sit, but nothing is working. Aleve and shit like doesn't do anything. Heating pads.... ice.... nothing. I try to stretch out my lower back, and pop it, but it only works for a few seconds. I really hate being broke, and without insurance, because I'm fairly certain these issues would be cured with some routine visits to the chiropractor. I'm still on my parents insurance plan, as a full-time college student, but they don't cover chiropratic work. And hell, both my parents have back problems (I know I've voiced my dad's issues on here a few times before) so God knows that it sure would fucking help if I could get something done about it.

Usually I don't complain about whiney problems like this. Like, if I'm sick, I deal with it. It's gone in a few days, anyway. But my back is starting to get unbearable. At this point, it would be weird NOT to have this pain, since I'm so used to living with it on a regular basis, but honestly, this shit needs to stop now. I can't even sit without my back killing me.

Total bull shit.

An Issued Challenge

I will give anyone $5 if they can give me a legitimate, believable reason as to why I have to work today. It's Muncie, a college town. I work in the library. It's the day after the birth of the J-Man (Son of G... Died on the C....)


Today's Quantum Math Lesson, presented by Stephen Hawking
No students + Christmas break = the library doesn't need to be open

Seriously, there has not been a single person down here in two hours, and it's safe to assume that nobody is going to come down here anytime soon and inquire if they can check out Chinatown on VHS or see if they can use a viewing room to watch a film reel of two elderly foxes have butt sex underneath a huge banzai tree.

I'M WASTING MY TIME! Disregard the fact that I'm making a whopping $5.90 per hour down here. This is torture. I'm so bored. Absolutely nothing to do. Amanda's bored.... April is bored.... Mandy is bored... Justin is bored. Why the fuck are there four people down here? I'm about to brandish a cigar cutter and start nipping the tips of my fingers off and try to re-adhere them with masking tape or something.

Somebody please come down here nude and demand something completely ancillary, like some old shitty UDC or something. PLEASE. I can't last four more hours. I honestly can't. I can only watch Meatspin or the BME Pain Olympics video so many times before I start crying.

And not because it's bothering me either, or I feel morally compromised.

Merry Pot(Christ)mas

This is exactly why I love pot. Sure, these pictures are kind of funny now (sober) but my God... last night... I have never laughed so hard in my entire life. My favorite person in existence AKA friend since age 7 AKA the Flyin' Hawaiian, Kris, came over to visit last night. We're both only in town for a few days, so it was nice getting to spend an evening of brain cell destroying fun with him. We played XBox (imagine that) and lambasted some herb on the patio. It never gets old.

We talked about growing up, too. We'll be be done with school and trying to find jobs over the next semester, and it's just weird to both of us that all the fun and complacency of college is soon going to end, and 40 hour work weeks, ass-kissing and full insurance benefits are going to be the reality. I keep telling myself that I want to keep putting it off... and just have college last another semester. But truthfully, I'm really getting tired of Muncie. The weather flat-out sucks, the scenery is now stale, and it's just time for a change of scenery. I just want to move back to Southern Indiana... or maybe Louisville. I want to find a job, and start enjoying my "adult" life.

I know having a job and all of that jazz really isn't fun, but I'm over college. I'm ready for the next challenges in my life. Bring 'em on.

Smoldering Sack of Crap

So its Christmas Eve, and it's finally starting to set in as 'Christmas Break.' I'm finally just relaxing and sitting around, doing nothing. I spent last night with some of my friends. Most importantly, my pal Sarah, who's leaving to go to Iraq soon. It was nice getting to spend time with her and a few other folks I haven't seen in a while. We went and saw Sweeney Todd, which was FABULOUS. Go see it, the embodiment of Johnny Depp. It's seriously the tightest cast in a film I've seen in quite a while. Everyone fit their roles so well. After that, we hit up the new bowling alley on Talyorsville Road in Louisville.

Not to mention, it's been a fabulous 24 hours of sports. The Bears RAPED the Packers for the second time this season. Tom Brady sat back and jump roped with his cock, while leading the Greatriots one game closer to perfection. And the cherry on top occurred this morning, when the Bulls sacked coach Scott Skiles after their pathetic 9-16 start. It's a double edged sword. I like Skiles, but his tendencies just weren't working anymore. Plus... his team was starting to hate him. Hopefully the Bulls bring somebody in to jump start their season, because there's no reason why they shouldn't be the #3 team in the East. They have the SAME fucking roster they had last year, plus the additions of Joakim Noah and Aaron Gray.

And today's just been relaxing. I've did more sitting around, playing video games, reading, listening to music. I have some relaxing time during the week during the school year, but it's almost impossible to enjoy it with having to balance a jillion other responsibilities.

Christmas is tomorrow, and I really no idea what I'm getting. I think movies, maybe? Maybe some other stuff. I have no idea. Needless to say, it'll be exciting.

Now quit reading this and go spend time with your family, ho.

I absolutely hate "male product" commercials

You see a jillion a week, especially if you're like me and have ESPN on all day. And even after seeing thousands of the "male enhancement" or "your prostate looks like a God damn walnut on steroids" commercials, I still don't understand how they work. Like, what's the appeal? Why on Earth would a grown man by like "You know, those guys on that giant fishing boat look like they're having fun, despite not being able to pee. I think Flomax will help me fix my bloated wiener!"

The prostate medication commercials are bad... but shit, the "male enhancement" commercials are like watching your mom shove a ham into her brat making place and trying to shoot it through a hoop. The most common one, Enzyte, features some jerk-off that looks like he's straight out of a 1950s sitcom, doing the most inane things. The advertisers try their best to throw in tons of 'hilarious' sexual innuendo that 50-something year old men and their sexually estranged wives will find HILARIOUS, in hopes that the husband will finally bend, buy the shitty prescription, and maybe be able to sustain an erection for more than 11 seconds.

NEWS FLASH: Guys- your dick is small, it's skinny, and you probably have an offset urethra. Your wife can get over the fact that you're packing a Bic downstairs. She loves you, after all. What she hates you for, however, is your lack of sexual coordination. You know, the fact that you look like a meercat trying to shove a piece of pencil led into a folded piece of taupe carpet. Or maybe the fact that your stamina is nil, and you can get in three pumps before you shoot your throat yogurt in her pubes.

Here's some tips to get your girlfriend/wife to, you know.... want to see your wiener.

1. Quit laughing at the gay commercials. Trust me, they won't make your wiener any more efficient or exciting.

2. Trim your pubes. For real, you don't have to go the distance and get rid of 'em all. Not only will she appreciate that she can actually find your dick now, but she'll lick your balls, and it'll be your new favorite thing.

3. Bathe. Or at the very least, cover up your smoldering sack with some Axe or something. But don't spray it into your but hole. I know from experience.

4. Show interest. Give her a hug for crying out loud. Tell her you love her. It makes sex THAT much better.

5. When you see a commercial or ad with a hot chick, or some hot celebrity you think about when you jerk it in the shower... quit reminding her, "You don't look like that, hun." Duh asshole, she knows it. Regardless of how ugly she is, she's the best you can do. Be grateful she didn't dump you for her dentist or the copy guy from work.

6. This is the most important: try. That's right, sex is a two way street. You actually have to exert some effort when you romp in the sack. Don't let her just sit there and make her grind all over your trouser snake, move your hips, moan... make a fucking face, SOMETHING. You can't do any worse then just lying there and think about that hot girl who slipped you some nipple at junior prom.

VISUAL SUPPLEMENTS
Here are these terrible commercials.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=mS9xwV2qaBg

http://youtube.com/watch?v=kDZUvPjxyzA

Be proud of your hairy back, small dick, and lack of sexual coordination, guys. Mainly because... I DON'T DEAL WITH ANY OF THESE PROBLEMS... SUCKERS.

God, I'm awesome.

Home

So I got to come home today. Thank God. The ride home wasn't too bad. Plus, the weather at home is at least 15 degrees warmer then in FUNcie, so you can't complain about that. I spent the day with Brianne. We went out to eat and I got to introduce her to both of my parents. I got her this.... sweatery-doo thing and some movies.

It wasn't without hitches though. The traffic in Clarksvegas was absolutely atrocious, not to mention some dyke in a piece of shit tan metal sled almost backed into my car at an intersection. We got our DVDs at Game Stop because they had a buy 2-get 2 sale, which essentially meant we were stuck in line for a literal hour.

Bull shit.

And I was upset that she couldn't stay the night, but my cousins never tell my parents when they'll be home, so there was no way to know if anyone has a place to sleep. Not even my, and I fucking live here. Either way, it was great getting to see her before Christmas. She's (potentially) going to visit her mom tomorrow, so I'm hoping everything goes well with that.

You know what time it is? Halo/Heidi time.

Top 10 albums of 2007

This year was a really, really good year for music. Here's my top 10 for the past 12 months.

10. White Stripes Icky Thump
9. Spoon: Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
8. Iron and Wine: The Shepherd's Dog
7. Joan as Police Woman: Real Life
6. Wilco: Sky Blue Sky
5. Dinosaur Jr.: Beyond
4. Black Dahlia Murder: Nocturnal
3. Radiohead: In Rainbows
2. Wu-Tang Clan: 8 Diagrams
1. Queens of the Stone Age: Era Vulgaris


Listen to them all, especially the top 3. They are absolute must-buys. STOCKING STUFFERS, PEOPLE.

New shoes.

Straight baller. Oh yes.

Reading Books

My worst habit as an English major is that I refuse to read books. More specifically: novels. It's not that I dislike novels, or don't appreciate novels. It's just... I guess my creative writing niche has transformed my scope for literature. My attention span has really narrowed. Generally, I can't stay interested in literature if it lasts for more then 30 pages. Truthfully, the last novel I can say I read from cover to cover was The Great Gatsby and that was only because that was assigned to me as a freshman in college.

A lot of times I'll read a novel synopsis, I'll immediately look at the page count. Then I'll sit there and ask myself, "Couldn't you have told the story in half the time? Or less? Maybe 10 pages?" What upsets me is that most popular authors refuse to write economically. Tons of useless information about characters and settings. Pointless bull shit. And the best part is: relevant information is left unattended.

Don't get me wrong, I read. I read a lot. Tons of useless shit, especially when it comes to sports and music history. That type of knowledge seems tangible to me. Discussing pedagogy or theory... or even your general opinion about a book with somebody is beyond trivial. Most people never forget that "opinion" is just that: it's opinion. Not fact. So you end up getting into a ridiculous shouting match or pissing contest about the most inane garbage.

That's why I just stopped reading novels. Give me a nice collection of short fiction or poetry. Or a 32-page chapbook (kinda' like the one I wrote!). The reading is much brisker. The actual procession of time seems more plausible. Plus, if you hate it, you don't have the undying obligation to finish reading 200 more pages: you'll be done in like...5 more.

Don't get me wrong, I actually had planned on buying a few novels are giving them the old college try. But then I remembered how much I hate struggling through crap. Although, Hemmingway has never disappointed me before.


***Side note: mad props to the NFL for honoring Sean Taylor posthumously on the NFC Pro Bowl roster. He was having a monster season, and whole heartedly deserved this recognition.

Bo.red

This is what you do at work when you're bored. I work at the library, and with an overwhelming majority of the students home for Christmas break, it's pretty much senseless for the place to be open. Coupled with a half foot of snow on the ground, and poorly plowed roads, and the place was empty. Seriously, there were maybe 10 people in the entire library (outside of employees). I sat there today with Josh, a pretty cool guy, and we did less than nothing. Which doesn't bother me one bit, I'm glad to finally get paid for doing absolutely nothing.

We sat around and talked about sports. About movies. But most importantly, about the most revolting things we've ever seen on the interwebz. Of course we shared the horror stories of popping our Goatse cherries and other sickening images of small Asian women shooting a fountain of watery shit into their own face. The newest additions to the shock site legacy has been the "scat" outbreak of 2007, such as 2Girls1Cup and other damning videos that make you want to take a dull, rusted paint scraper to your pupil and dig until you reach the back of your brain.

I let him know that, "For me, it's not necessarily the poop that grosses me out. Poop isn't too bad: it's the presentation."

He whole heartedly agreed.

But nothing is worse then "Pain Olympics," easily the most haunting thing I've ever seen, and probably the only video/image on the internet that I wish I could actually erase from my memory. It makes Mr. Hands or any Harlequin baby photo look like the fucking cover of Beauty and the Beast

Do yourself a favor: don't visit any of these sites. Ever.

Except for Goatse.... and maybe Meatspin.

Days of congestion

So I've been sick the past few days. I guess it's the whole "winter" sickness crap. First your head hurts, then you have an upset stomach. Then vomiting, a body ache, a fever. And now, I'm congested. This is the last leg of everything... I think. It's been nothing but soup, coughing and Sprit for the past few days, so I'll be glad when this all has passed.

Last night I met up with a bunch of my Volkswagen friends from Indianapolis for a pizza snarfing/video game shindig. Most everyone from the club showed up, so that was nice. It was nice getting to just hang around and BS for a night. I didn't get sick while I was there, which was a plus. Ryan had his video project finished, entitled "The People's Car," so we got to watch that: totally cool stuff, he did a great job with it.

And today: completely shitty weather. It's been snowing non-stop for a while now. There's probably a few inches on the ground and there's really no signs of it letting up anytime soon. Although, the roads aren't too bad, so if for some God awful reason I have to leave, I shouldn't have any trouble driving my Golf/snow plow around Muncie. Hopefully today will just consist of cleaning the apartment a bit, doing laundry, video games, and getting to relax with Ms. B.

The semester is finally over, and it'll be nice to just relax and not really have to conform to a constant agenda. Plus, all of the nub kids should be home from school, which should equal some free wins on Halo.

When in Rome...

...eat a queef.


Okay, maybe not. Anyway... four finals down, one left. Tomorrow at noon: Geography. And God almighty, I could fucking care less. The end of the semester is two inches in front of my face. I just took my film literature final, and I'm not kidding when I say I needed every bit of two hours to take it. Pat Collier sure knows how to cram a two footer into your ass. I got a C in that class, but you know what, it's the greatest, most fulfilling C I've ever gotten.

I'm not even upset with getting a C either in there. Point blank, that class was tough. It really made you critical about films and their ideological involvement with society, something I'm extremely interested in as an English major. Plus, it's the first non-A I've gotten in an English class ever, so I'm not going to lose sleep over it.

Tomorrow is Volkswagen night in Indy with the gentlemen from ND Dubs. I promised to bring my XBox, and I think a few other guys are, too. So needless to say, it's going to be Halo 3 and Forza 2 non-stop until I pass out. You bet your sweet as I'm going to be handing out free headshots VIA the sniper rifle like they were kittens.

OHHHH... You want to lighten the load?

One project down.

I finished my chapbook last night with some help from Ms. B around midnight. The last week has been spent fine tuning all of the literature and editing shit, which was enough to me to never want to look at anything I'm including in the chapbook again. I'm just sick of looking at it.

And I feel the same way about the chapbook, too. inDesign was proving to overcomplicate everything, mainly because my skills with it are limited, so it was senseless for me to sit there and spin my tires while the clock slipped away from me, and nothing got accomplished.

So what did I do then? With some help from Dan, one of my English buddies, I set up a layout in Microsoft Word and pounded out everything in there. Was the process pretty? Not at all. But will the results be pretty? That's yet to be determined. I finished the cover too, and just hope that it turns out well when I take it to get printed and bound later today. I'm not sure how many copies I'm going to initially print, but I'm going to save the files in the Word document format as well as convert it to a PDF is it'll be easier to get new copies made in the future.

Honestly, this book is all I've really cared about, outside of my film essay (which, by the way, turned out pretty well, I just need the grade now DAMN IT). I have three finals, and I could honestly care less about them. Yes, it's that point in the semester where nobody cares. They just want Friday to get here so they can pack everything in their car and go home.

Not me. Friday night is Volkswagen night in Indy with some of my buddies. MMMM, Donato's pizza and root beer. Fuck yes.

Being Grateful

I'm not rich. I'm not upper class, or snotty, or anything like that. When I receive something nice, I make sure to say "Thank you." I'm patient when I go out to eat, regardless of how long it takes for me to get my food. I always smile, I'm always cheerful, and I try to make people's interactions with me as easy as possible when I'm at work (even if there a Colts fan.... well, sometimes.)

And the thing that's ironic about it: I'm spoiled. Not on purpose, mind you. My girlfriend spoils me. I don't deserve it, not at all. Sure, it's nice getting fun presents that you don't expect, but still, it's weird for me. I wasn't spoiled as a kid. When I got my Golf on in September of 2002, I cried. I couldn't remember a time that I was ever that happy about getting a present. Not even my Playstation 2.

But maybe when I got Grand Theft Auto III, the video game that changed my life.


Digression....

I just wish people were a little more grateful about things. Example: earlier tonight at work, some uber dyke with a stupid zit-covered face and retarded snow boots comes downstairs flailing like an asshat. She walks up to my desk, exclaiming "Hey dude.... I need a laptop."

I get up, smile and ask, "Would you like a PC or Mac?"

"I don't give a shit. Whatever is fastest, just don't give me one of your old crappy ones."

"Okay...."

So I walk into the back, hoping I'm forced to give her an old piece of shit. I'm thinking to myself What a fucking ungrateful bitch. Christ, you could be in a fucking wheelchair, or retarded. You could not have one of your legs, or have cancer, or be in jail. Or in overseas shoved in a fucking Hummer in 100 degree weather fighting for something you don't even believe in. You're sitting here.... bickering about being able to log onto a computer in three minutes instead of four. Jesus Christ, you miserable wench.

I just can't stand that kind of shit. Like when people come down here and bitch about not being able to check out a black, more "modern" looking pair of headphones as opposed to the brown "Studio 54" replica most people get to use. What is this, a fucking fashion show? They're headphones people. Not a God damn Gucci accessory.

Or when stupid bratty kids scream at their parents because they won't buy them a new toy. I want to run up to them, elbow them right in the throat and body slam them right into a garbage disposal.

I just hate materialism. Sure, people have to buy things in order to be happy, but doesn't anything free make you happy? Like laughing or taking a nap, or a huge shit? Or hugging a family member. Think of it this way, you could be damned to watch The Cure for Insomnia for the rest of your life, a movie that's nothing more then poet L.D. Groban reading his piece of crap poem sharing the same title, occasionally spliced with music videos and uncircumcised boners.

People are worthless.

Winding Down

The semester is done. Well, almost done. I only have two finals next week and my chapbook is due on Tuesday. It should be a slow week. I'm just glad everything is almost done. This semester has been relentless, and it'll be nice to just have time to relax and work a few days a week.

Today was nice. Brianne and I went to eat lunch at a Japanese hibachi place (Domo) in Muncie with a few of our mutual friends. The food there is great, plus Brianne freaks the fuck out when the chef makes an onion volcano and catches shit on fire. Plus, he juggles an egg and chops it in half, which is pretty awesome. Jake spilled tons of shit all over himself and Molly, to which Molly responded with a wonderful "I want to sand your face off" look that every woman can bust out at a moments notice. After that, we went to the mall and I pointed out at least 50 million things that I wanted for Christmas. I feel greedy because Brianne has already spent close to a jillion dollars on me, plus I got two presents early.

But Hell, it wouldn't be so hard to resist if the fucking holidays didn't bring out the Scrooge in everyone.

Then we went and got ice cream. And now we're just sitting here, relaxing. I really want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings and watch the Ricky Hatton/Floyd Mayweather fight tonight, but I'm sure that place is going to be a zoo, and I'll want to leave in fifteen seconds because the place will be packed. Plus, going alone won't be too exciting. We'll see though.

I'm sure tonight is going to turn into a sit around and do nothing kind of night. Which is fine with me, because tomorrow is gonna be nothing but chapbook grinding and me working at the library. The 14th can't get here soon enough.

Stoney Lonesome

Love as many people as your heart will let you love.

Crazy cop shows

I know it's white trash. I know they're terribly written, with terrible punch lines, and even more terribly cliche hosts.

But I absolutely watching these shows.

I have no idea why, either. Maybe I love laughing at the misfortune of others. Maybe I just love watching morons do the stupidest, most inanae shit imaginable. Like right fucking now! I'm watching one of these shows, and this asshole just ran his truck through a highway sign, blew all four of his tires, and spun out.

You figured he'd stop, right? No.

Not even close. This asshole gets out of his smoking pick up truck, and brandishes a fucking AR15 automatic assault rifle, and proceeds to obliterate a slew of cop cars.

The best part? The retarded was fatally wounded by a cop. Stupid ass.

And yes, I don't feel bad, not at all. Although there have been a shit load of "copy" shows, none of these come close to replicating the splendor of Cops. that's probably because Cops actually has, you know... a narrative. Plus, you can't help but wish that you could experience something crazy like this, even if it's just once. It'd be exactly like Grand Theft Auto.

Just think about it.... you'd have a life bar over your head and everything.

A meeting with Collier

I met with my ENG 425 professor today about my final project: a cultural symposium about Martin Scorsese's 1976 film Taxi Driver. Although this semester's been an academic train wreck, this has easily been my favorite class. Tons of great pedagogical tidbits about film, plus I've gotten the chance to see some great movies. Not to mention, I'm excited about this project.

Collier flat out worked my thesis and outline, but you know... it was definitely for the best. He loved my ideas, but like most teachers, felt I needed to hone and polish my direction. "You're trying to do too much with this paper, which is good. Most people never do enough. You're definitely on the right track." It was nice hearing that from a professor who is generally considered one of the hardest graders in the department (not to mention, he's the assistant chairman of the department...). He really seemed to like my ideas, and had positive things to say about everything.

It was a solid half hour of bad-assery (that's my new word). It looks like a complete mess, but you know, it's going to be a lot easier, now that somebody's looked at my ideas (and essentially picked them apart). Taxi Driver is a deep, enriching film that has a great Vietnam War subtext. Plus, it just looks killer on the screen, and has just an outstanding script. ****FILM NERD****

Even though the semester's coming down to a crunch, and I have roughly eighteen jillion things due in the next two weeks, it's all working substantially better then I had originally thought. The next few nights should be me tweeking my paper, and a few other projects, but it shouldn't be too bad. I'll just crack open a Vitamin Water, give Ms. B a hug, and put my nose to the fucking grindstone.

Eat my dick, college. I'm going to rape this paper.

Pre/Post Haircut

Pre

Apt to swearing and smells like a vegetable market in some third-world country.
Appears uneducated, wry, almost ancillary.
Hair like stingy, old livestock feed in a field
of wilting daffodils and muddy puddles.
Animal hoof prints, aged cheese.
Inadequate social skills, finds talking to women
Tiresome. Never using the right words
“Foxy” instead of “Delightful.”
Appreciates music in many forms.

Post

Perch of the head in the shape of a sleek neo-noir bullet
racing through the sky into a large field, which appears in the same
light as a Hollywood duchess’s lavender eyes.
Almost like a landing strip for cruise missiles.
Smells wealthy, the scent of the upper echelons of a French-named department store.
Women find the bristly coarseness of his hair permissive yet inviting.
Although, they kind still melt candy bar lies down to syrup.

Retroactive Painful Conversation

I'm growing up. Everyone's aprehensive about it, especially me. When I actually allow myself three our four seconds to sit there and evaulate this semester (I guess since my 21st birthday, in general) , all of the irritations, quandaries and unforgiving situations are appearing as a necessity. There have been times when I would sit on my couch, cradling a beer in one hand, an XBox controller in the other hand, and ask myself "Why the hell does all of this terrible shit have to happen in succession? Can't I get a break?"

To put it bluntly, I've had to deal with a lot of unpleasent, bull-shit riddled situations since I turned 21. My Uncle John passed away from a two-year long battle with various forms of cancer. I ended a five-and-a-half year relationship with a fabulous girl with whom I spent a majority of my "grown-up" life with. I've reacclimated myself with a new living situation (which actually has been the easiest and most enjoyable part of the past six-ish months). Made new friends, lost friends, watched friends dismantle themselves. Quit a job, acquired a new job. Began (potentially) my final year as a college undergraduate. Celebrated two weddings between two good friends and my cousin (who's the daughter of my deceased uncle.

And in the past few weeks, I started dating a good friend who I'm absolutely in love with, and also dealt with my dad losing a job that he's held for nearly 15 years because of his recent diagnosis of Meniere's Disease.

Good and bad, totally fucking overwhelming and ridiculous.

But necessary.

I think I'm finally out of my October funk completely: a month of total hell. I seriously didn't want to do anything. My free time was spent smoking pot (moreso then usual) and playing XBox. That was it. I didn't want to socialize with anyone, outside of my gaming circle. I didn't care about classes or doing work, and I've been paying for it, having to go at a crazy dead sprint through the rest of the semester. It all seemed to be for the worst, and it's pretty obvious to say that anyone was going to react this way, with all the negativity and uncertainty.

On my part, it seemed to be my discontent of being forced to change that was throwing me through such a rut. Shit happens, and it's unavoidable. We're creatures of habit and when we're forced to adapt or change, we get pissed off. And it may not even have been the change that was making everything so difficult. Maybe it was having to reevaluate everything.

Having to rethink how certain emotions work. How relationships work, what you value, creating a hierarchy within your life. I guess having a new relationship has been the best of both worlds: making me ridiculously anxious and pensive, but optomisitic and serene at the same time. It's been nice having a fresh relationship, mainly because I've been rediscovering what originally made me happy in my prior relationship: enjoying the other person's company, being able to share things with them, having disccussions that don't degenerate into an argument over pointless friviloty in twenty-five seconds, and I guess, most importantly, appreciating what the other person offers you and that their feelings towards you are mutual.

I guess it's not foreign to me, because I've felt this way before, but not in this sequence, I guess. Reacclimation sucks. Hard. But it's all been for the better. I just hope this train keeps moving in the right direction.

***

I've been doing a lot of writing lately, so I'll post up some of my shit periodically. And I'll try to update more then two or three times a month, too. I promise.

Kinda.


We're cute. And happy.

Volkswagens

After two straight weekends of Volkswagen saturation, I realized that they're the only thing I care about in the entire world. Even when they break, they still don't complain. And even if you wreck and lose one, you can always find another one that means just as much as your first one.


(Oo)=========(oO)
Forever.

Loose Change

It's been exactly one month since I last updated, so why not give you something big?

He had six minutes to bathe. To shave the patches of weekend stubble from his chin, and to find a suitable, pressed outfit that was casual enough for him to maintain comfort, while still withholding the lofty expectations of the La’ Madeleine dress code. Amy had called earlier to ask him for a coffee at their French bistro nestled in the downtown alcove.

"Twenty minutes, max. That's all I need," she said.

His closet was arranged front left to right by color, brand, and style. It resembled a work of art, something you'd find in a metropolitan museum, framed by two French doors that slid open with a creak on the uneven floors. While he gathered handfuls of brown tweed and examined the creases in his tan slacks (the same slacks that wouldn't loosen up no matter how many times he ironed them), he looked through the foyer into his hallway bathroom: it looked the same as it did two weeks ago when Amy left him.

The orange toothbrush holder's rim was outlined and caked with toothpaste residue and a thing ring or green shaving scum. She could never spit into the sink without making a mess. They would brush their teeth together on Sunday mornings, smiling at each other. Amy's mouth was small, so the foam would tumble out of her mouth and run down her chin. Sometimes she made childish growls, as if she was trying to emulate a furry electric green closet monster. He always laughed, and wiped away the foam, so he could see the small mole resting beneath her lips.

"Your lips aren't real," he would say, "they're small, like a porcelain doll's lips." Then he'd call her a pet name, probably something a young girl would call her doll.

On the toilet tank rested a stack of ancient car performance and home improvement magazines, all their favorite articles creased. The tile right in front of the sink was still unattached from the ground. Several months ago, they came home after a night of drinking, and stumbled into the bathroom, furiously ripping their clothes off. They made love twice. He was too concerned with fixing the tile, so she ripped the floral print shower curtain from the brass rod and wrapped it around their bodies.

---

He returned to the bathroom and hung his clothes neatly behind the door. The water ran for twenty seconds. His fingers maneuvered under the tepid current, creating the scalating sound of sheets of water crashing against huge slabs of Gibraltar. It reminded him of the fountains in the park that he would go penny diving as a kid with Amy's brother. Her brother convinced him it would be a fun idea to steal the dirty old pennies and nickels that people had tossed into the water.

"People make wishes on those pennies and nickels," he explained, "My dad said they never come true, like they’re throwing money away. So we should just take them and spend all the money on a new bike!”

They traveled to the mall each weekend, rainbow colored snorkels and small glass jars in hand. After a few years, they each bought new bikes, with shiny metal everywhere, and a free football card for the spokes. He kept most of the pennies, and eventually gave it to Amy as a prom gift. "Cute," she said, and kept it in the trunk of her car. The car still ran, even well after they graduated.

---

"I want to take a bath."

He made sure the plug was secured tightly and stepped into the water. It was unbearably hot. Every few seconds, he attempted to lower himself into the water, but was drawn back from a burning sensation that traveled through his buttocks. Eyes closed, he slid down the tub bump into the water. A washcloth raced across his body, planting beads of water that glistened like stars in his stubble beneath the single forty watt light bulb flickering overhead.

The bath made him feel dirtier. “Why would anyone take a bath? You’re just reattaching the filth to your body since you’re sitting in it.” Next, he lathered his hands and applied a generous coat to his chin and cheeks. The razor glided effortlessly on his cheeks, only catching itself on the crook of his chin. It stung, but didn’t bleed.

While tying his shoes, the cell phone on the nightstand began shaking and illuminating.

From: Amy

Hurry up. You’re always late. I’m going to order in 10 minutes.

Amy~

He raced into the living room and watered the plants. The two ferns with wilting brown stems. The pink orchid with buds that looked like tiny rock candies. And the small lemon tree. Only Amy could get a tropical plant to grow in an eight-story window in downtown Boston. He slid the shades down and twisted them open.

The door closed behind him.

He arrived at the restaurant and was greeted via the nostrils with the pungent aroma of garlic, red cooking cherry, and triple digit perfume. Amy got their usual spot at the northern corner of the restaurant. A small bistro-style cherry wood table with two stools, two daisies in a lavender vase. There was still a spot of red wine on the wall from when Amy spit up everywhere last Valentine’s Day. He surprised her with

The host seated him near the window, with a plate of steam slowly rising from the edges. It was a poorly constructed pile of elbow macaroni smothered in a garlic butter sauce. Chunks of broccoli floated through the sauce like uprooted tree stumps or something like the scene of a graveyard after teenagers went through it with a half dozen ball-pined hammers.

“I like your hair, Amy. Who dyed it?” He said in between chews, bunching his lips together so the sauce wouldn’t run down his face.

“I can’t keep doing this. This break might need to be permanent. I don’t know what to think about you anymore.”

He raised his glass at the waiter, and he returned with a pitcher of water.

“I don’t even know what I did.”

“What haven’t you done?” She grabbed a hunk of bread and pushed it through the remaining sauce like a sleek jet boat with green speckles in the paint. “I just need a change. And I hate your bed. It’s too small.”

They said nothing for a few minutes. Amy took several more scraps of bread and raced them through the sauce, leaving the face of her plate clean.

“I’m coming over tomorrow to grab some of my things,” she reached into her purse, tossing tubes of make-up and gum wrappers to the ground.

“Here, take this jar of change that was in my trunk. Some of it is missing. I’ve been using it to get a candy bar on my breaks at work. I think I used all of the quarters and dimes.”

He slid it across the table, and it felt into his lap, jarring the lid.

“I’ll call you later tonight.”

She left, without waving or saying goodbye. He watched the tail of her brown pea coat drag against the ground, the corners tattering on the grout. He watched her maneuver herself next to a mail box outside and makes a phone call. Two semis drove in front of where she was standing, then she disappeared.

He unscrewed the lid and poured the coins on the satin tablecloth. There was only one quarter left. He rolled it off the table in between his thumb and index finger. Worn edges, the face on the front was yellowed with age and appeared to be scratched with a finger nail. His eyes burned, but didn’t cry.

He stood up, leaving the pennies and the jar on the edge of the table. He slipped the quarter in his sweater pocket. The waiter made his way from the kitchen to the adjacent side of the table.

“I assume you need your check, sir?” He placed the receipt face down on the table.

His started chewing on his fingers, as if they were just another meal. A crisp fifty dollar bill was placed on the table.

“Keep the change.”

If you have the chance to be the sheep or sheppard, be the wolf.

Time to split fuck the old lady.

Ha.

Mom: Alright, I love you bunny.
Me: I love you too, Mom.

Solitude

Solitude

Your stomach is killing you!
Like you're holding a cumbersome shit
in the pit of your gut.
So you hum a song that you like, hoping your Gibraltar shit subsides
into two or three slivers of brown ribbon, flowing like that boring waterfall
Mom and Dad dragged you to in the sixth grade.
You smell brewing hazelnut coffee in the kitchen,
and the percolator sounds
as if marching soldier toys chirp with merriment,
with tin feet clacking against concrete.
Two or three cups fall out of the broken cupboard, probably cutting someone's feet.

You like being locked in the bathroom.
Unrolling toilet paper into piles on the floor, running all the hot water until it's all cold.
Shoving disposable razors through the door's threshold so that
the sounds of robot's making love and blenders on frappe bleed together.
And the air is always damp and burdensome, like after you get out of the shower.
Filling your lungs, real thick.

The juicer is going now, so is the stove timer.
It's loud enough keep you awake.
You wrap yourself in a green bathrobe
and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.
The toilet looks uncannily clean, but time is passing through pinched fingers,
Slow enough so that you know that it's still ladened with filth and dirty
enough to put you in the hospital.
Still, you're thirsty enough to dip your hands in the water,
as if receiving a Communion wafer.
It's cold splashing against your face.
Half bars of Irish Spring feel gritty against your skin,
You bathe anyway.
Wrapped in a clean towel, you press your face against the shag rug.
Encompassed with the smell of wet dog and cinnamon toothpaste,
you're able to fall asleep,
Alone.
For a change.


First draft-_

I hate my family, hate my school, speed limits and the golden rule.
Hate people who aren't what they seem, more than anything else, American Dream.


I hate my job, I hate your God, I hate hypocrites and common slobs.
Hate people who aren't what they seem, more than anything else, American Dream.


...because neighbors! Nobody loves you like Heloves you.

zOMG

Seriously.

Queens of the Stone Age, August 4th in Indy. Murat Egyptian Room.

Yes. I love you Josh Homme <3

Volkswagen conversation

Joey: Nick, I saw that you got an aircooled! Looks sweet.
Nick: Yeah, got a deal on it. 69' Super Beetle. Very little rust, the carbs need work, though.
Joey: Nice, what does it sound like? Bet it sounds like-
Nick: Complete dog shit. Well, when it runs...
Joey: Oh.

Popping my XBox Live cherry

I finally popped my XBox Live cherry today. Logged online and did an hour or so's worth of racing against virgins and total strangers VIA Forza Motorsport 2. Needless to say, I was the lucky one in each racing room: stuck with people who couldn't speak a lick of English, twelve-year-olds who think it's a great idea to not use their breaks through a chicane, and run their RX7 into the back of your $450,000 Ferrari, sending it into a wall. Fiberglass shrapnel spraying everywhere. And you still win.

Well, some of the races, can't complain. Three victories, and placed no lower then 4th in every other race. Not too bad. Plus, I got 26 "points." Whatever the fuck that means.

Wrong laser WRONG LASER

The man layed his hat on the table
Hung his coat up on the wall
Sat down to dinner said as soon as I am able
I’ll say something nice to you all
Then he took a deck from his pocket
Spread 'em so I saw 'em all
Then he turned his back to me shuffled em and drew me
The card that said I never would fall
Oh Mary Lou won’t you tell me what to do
I got a dollar on the corner and a laser in my shoe
If I don’t get an answer gonna split myself in two

He spun till a ton was glistening
Turned to me and gave me a smile
He said, "I’m leaving now but I want what you owe me
I’ll be back in a little while."
That was the last time I saw him
Hope I never see him again
I know it sounds funny but I owe him some money
And I really don’t want him for a friend

Relaxing

I'm sitting in a brown recliner, surfing the Internet, while my cat sleeps in my lap.

I couldn't be happier.

A thank-you

Wow, my blog has a whopping 54 hits! I never thought it'd get THIS BIG.

As a thank you to the 3 or 4 people that have stopped here roughly 13 times each, here's a visual thank you for your dedication to my meaningless blog.

Here's to 54 more views from the same handful of people.

*cheers

Big Money. Big Prizes... I LOVE IT.

And it's a get together to tear it apart
Gave my middle finger a brand new start.
I got a greeting can't say what it's all about
but my middle finger is gonna carry it out.

Everyone has one of those stupid epiphanies when they're doing something and then BAM, the light comes on. "Holy crap! This is what life's all about isn't it?! Wow, this is it!" Maybe they're helping homeless people and shit by providing meals. Maybe they're volunteering, or spending time with family, or partaking in housework, or whatever. I had one yesterday, and I can certainly deduce that it isn't helping people. Or being charitable.

Well, if by "helping people," I mean "smoking pot." And by "being charitable," I mean doing it with arguably the greatest human being to ever walk the face of the Earth, Bryan "Tenchi" Reed. Then yeah, I definitely mean it. That's what the past three-ish days have been. A cannabis-ladened haze filled with Gradius V, fighting an ocean of zombies in a shopping mall while wearing a horse head, talking about metal, and sitting in a chair in your pajamas with the a cat who's named after a sweet and tangy beverage. Oh yeah, and work, too. But nobody wants to hear me talk about my job (all three of you who read this stupid blog that I should stop doing). BR is going to be up here soon, and I can't wait. He's the most timid member of "Us featuring CR," which is probably the main reason why I'm so glad he'll finally be up here, doing shit with his life.

Oh, who am I kidding! He'll be doing the exact same thing he was doing in his parents' house: drugs, Half Life, and drugs. The only difference is that he'll be in Muncie only about one minute away. Which is more enough for me to offer a huge sigh of relief. I've missed those three guys, mainly because I would've preferred to share a majority of my college experiences with them. Just growing up and shit. Hanging out, stoned on weekends, talking about video games that we've all beaten a thousand times before. And Kris fucking that Indian chick. Or rubbing her boobs. Or whatever the fuck he did.

Lately, Muncie has been thrown into an ocean of ball sweat and ridiculous drama. Everyone. Every single resident. People being mad at other people. The whole "You're wrong. No, YOU'RE WRONG," persuasion that I generally can't stand. It's been getting to the point where you can't look at somebody without giving them a rash, without causing miscarriages (kind of like Grand Theft Auto IV will) or reducing their face to a soupy paste. Seriously people, what the fuck?

This is a call Muncie. Calm the fuck down and lay the fuck off! That's right, you at the MT Cup sipping on the shitty chai latte while your fat wife greases up your Harley for take-off. Beef's customers, quit coming in 10 minutes before we close and cause me to take an extra half hour to close. Quit driving bad, quit being a dick.

Just calm the fuck down. Please. I seriously don't care anymore. However, I can share what I dostill find a great deal of pleasure in.

This.

And this.


Relax yourself, girl. Please settle down.

A Brick of Heat

So that last post was supposed to be a thank-you and a vocal expression of my appreciation for everyone I interact with in Muncie, not a personal attack. After reading it another time, it kind of came off as shrewed and a little emotionally front-loaded, which wasn't my intention. If you weren't included in the post with a name representation, please don't assume that I don't A.) care about your contributions to my well-being or B.) don't care about you period. It was just me writing something quickly in order to post.

On a completely unrelated note, you probably need to buy this album. To go along with the new album, the Meat Puppets are going to be playing in Louisville on August 27th, and you better bet your sweet ass that I'll be in the front row. There have been some killer shows over the past three or four months that I've missed in Louisville (Sebadoh....), so I'm making it my goal to go to this show no matter what. Plus, my pre-order for the Pups new album should be on its way. It's supposed to have an autographed poster, some buttons and shit, and some other cool stuff. All for only 13 dollars! I feel like a 46-year-old housewife buying shit off of QVC. Only I can hide my child bearing hips much better.

----

Needless to say, the last post I made was completely misconceived. I apologize for that, to whoever it may have upset. Now, if you'll please excuse me. I'm going to get dressed, drive to McShittles and eat lunch. Then play Forza Motorsport 2 until I have to go to work.


Zap Boobada Bop*

A call to arms

I haven't updated in over a week. Why?

I really don't know. There have been times where I've pulled up my blog homepage to write an update, and I just don't. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing, mind you. Recently, I rekindled my love for my iTunes "So, you're writing..." play list, consisting of my drug-addled, low-fidelity indie anthems, 70s space rock, and Descendents, because let's face it: EVERYONE likes to write while listening to Milo Aukerman wail.

Thinking and writing. Thinking about relationships. Thinking about my last year in Muncie, my last year in college. Thinking about my dog. My sister. My filthy apartment. And I'm torn by it all.

Around this time next year, I'll (hopefully) be done with college. Packing up my tweed pants, knit hats and striped sweaters into beat-up cardboard boxes and getting ready to move back to southern Indiana. Knowing me, I'm going to be stubborn, say goodbye to no one, and lift my middle finger at Muncie as I merge onto I69 south, "Statue of Liberty" or "Kabuki Girl" blaring out of my broken front speakers.

My cat will be sitting next to me, clawing at the door on her cage. It'll probably be raining, which'll cause my mom to call me two or three times, assuring me that "I has terrible vibes that something is going to happen to you on the way home." So, I'll keep driving. Pass the Bloomington exit. That stupid red bridge which housed that cataclysmic fireball that was once a red Ford Probe that I passed on my way home on my last day as a freshman. (Unrelated, but that last sentence is really choppy and poorly written. I could do better). The roads will wind up to my parents house. The park is going to be empty. The swings barely moving. "Tab" will be playing, and I'll forget that the song is 32 minutes.

I'll start some life that I can't describe because I don't know what's going to happen. I'll have some job that probably won't matter, and I'll have to start trusting new people all over again. That's when I'll miss Muncie. 10 minutes after being home. I'll miss my dirty fucking apartment. I'll miss everyone telling me how I'm supposed to go about my relationship with my girlfriend because they have a richer, more idealistic idea of who I should be dating. I won't have Jake sitting in the brown chair, downloading pictures of cats with their head in between hamburger buns.

I'll miss my roommates never cleaning the kitchen. I'll miss flipping burgers in some shit-hole restaurant that I continually dismiss, but can't seem to quit. I'll miss talking to Ryne about video games we'll both never play. I'll miss hearing him laugh. I'll miss Juice doing flips off the doors. I'll miss sifting through a mountain of Magic cards with Mike and talk about decks that we made when we were 12. I won't have Deanna to talk about David Bowie with, or that creepy movie that Tom Cruise is in where he's this crazy elf guy who fucks some chick with small tits.

Nate won't be there to do Carl's voice, and Martha won't be there to talk about Josh Farris and his gut-wrenching body odor. I'll have my family but no second family. And it took until I was 21 to realize that having a second family is just as important, if not more important, then your real family. No matter how far away I am, I'll always have Mom, Dad, Jen and Heidi, but I won't have "My Muncie People." There were a few times this year that I seriously wanted to take all of my shit out of the apartment and live in my car because I was fed up with them. I didn't deserve to get treated the way I did by any of them. Neither did my girlfriend.

But it doesn't matter, because I forgave all of them because they're all too important to me.

I'll end it here, because I don't know what else I want to say.


I don't even know anymore.

"My friends are all dying, and death can't be lying. It's the truth and it don't make a noise."

I'm tired. My body hurts. And I need more money.

But, my birthday is in six days. I should be more excited.

SWEEETHEARRRRT... Ain't goin' out like that.

So I'm sitting here, watching highlights of Ken Griffey, Jr. back when he played for the Mariners (i.e.: when BOTH of his hamstrings were fully operable), and all I can really say is, "Wow." Now granted, The Kid was never my favorite player growing up, but as a young adult, you really have to admire how hard he's played throughout his entire career. Sure, his trade to the Reds in 2000 probably ruined baseball in the new millennium by destroying an icon and legend's potential stay in one town for an entire career. To me, that's the biggest draw back to living in the free agency era of sports. I could really care less about guys being greedy and wanting 150 million dollars to play a "kids game." What I've always loved is seeing players that withhold a level of loyalty to a city. When you think about it, most of the true legends (especially in baseball) played all of their years in one city. George Brett, Robin Yount, Tony Gwynn, Ted Williams, Stan Musial, Bob Gibson, Sandy Koufax.... just to name a few.

In all seriousness, I just miss seeing guys that spend their entire career in one jersey. Think about it: Frank Thomas in a fucking Blue Jays jersey? Karl Malone dawning Lakers colors a few years ago? As a fan, it's just weird to see. We have expectations, and I almost feel greedy saying this, but some legends just aren't destined to win a championship, but that's part of their appeal. They play the underdog. Look at Indiana's own (and one of my LEAST favorite athelets, simply because he had to face my Bulls every year) Reggie Miller. One of his appeals is he's the guy who got there, but could never win it. Same with Charles Barkley, or the aforementioned Karl Malone.

**BREAKING NEWS: Miguel Tejada just got placed on the DL for his wrist injury, ending his streak of 1,152 consecutive games played. As one of his admirers, I'd just like to thank Miguel's hard work over the past seven plus years, staying healthy and remaining one of the best players in the league. Just like my man Vladamir Guerrero, Miggy puts up monster numbers and plays his heart out without running his mouth. A few more solid years will solidify his place in the Hall. He's quietly positioning himself as one of the best offensive shortstops in recent memory.


Meh... so I need to pop this huge fucking blister on my hand. Yesterday at work, I had a nice grease explosion engulf my hand and leave a nice quarter-sized blister on the palm of my right hand. I looked like a moron yesterday running around for a few hours trying to keep it submerged in freezing cold water. Just to make yesterday even better, Take-Two had decided to temporarily halt their plans to release Manhunt 2 for the Wii, one of my most-anticipated games of the year, due to "Adult-only" content. Read more about it here. Luckily, I still have The BIGS coming out on the 25th and Mario Strikers: Charged coming out at the end of July.

Good thing listening to Descendents makes everything so much better! Go buy Milo Goes to College, because you have nothing else better to do with your money.

Horse Sticker

So, that title has nothing to do with this post. Yup.

Essentially, this summer has been a wash so far. I'm not working 40 hours, thanks to the restaurant I work at not being able to afford to pay anyone for more than 25ish hours of labor. I shot myself in the foot by not going home and working at Home Depot, knowing full well I would've been working 40 hours a week and been pulling home 600 dollars a pay check to boot, which is about twice as much as I make on one now, and since me finding another job seems to be next to impossible at this point, I'm being forced to bite the bullet and stay at BoB's through the rest of the summer, at the earliest.

My 21st birthday is coming up soon. July 2nd to be exact. I'm usually not one to get excited about birthday's. This neck of the woods isn't too enamored by huge expensive presents and getting completely tanked as an appropriate way to celebrate the day I climbed out of my mom's snatch. Heck, this year probably isn't going to be any different then year's past. At this point, I know that only two of my Muncie pals (one being my girlfriend, the other...Red) even know that my birthday is in 9 days, so I'm expecting to wake up on July 2nd, get a phone call from my parents and probably my grandmother, and then go about the rest of the day like nothing else is happening.

If it was up to me, I'd wake up, get stoned (HA! Notice how I said I didn't want to get "drunk" on my birthday earlier in this post. Never said ANYTHING about recreational marijuana use), play the Wii with Jake and Kris, if he can make his way up here from Bloomington, eat Taco Bell, play with Juice, and fall asleep. That'd be great. Spending time with the people I care about on my birthday is really the only thing I care about, but again, I'm going to toss all of my chips on the "not going to happen" spot on the roulette table. Hell, half of them are home from the summer, or working huge hours. Oh yeah, not to mention, half of them aren't speaking to me right now, for reasons I can't fully comprehend, but this blogspace isn't the time nor place to discuss that bag of fun.

Oh well, there are still some huge Volkswagen shows that I'll be attending this year. Midwest Dubfest should be awesome in late July. Plus, it's in Indianapolis, so I won't get COMPLETELY left behind when I cruise down there with the VR6 crew. Later this summer we have Treffen in Chicago, H20 International in September, and my absolute FAVORITE European car show, DubDash, in October.

Oh, and I finally got to do an acceptable job of cleaning my car yesterday. I'll post visual proof later today.


Each day has been a giant wave of shit flying all over the place. I'm still blown away that it hasn't capsized my ship yet. (terrible figurative language)

End.

Fucking bad ass.

Lust

I decided to start writing music/poetry again. Maybe I'll have an incentive to fix my bass, too.

I meet friends at the bar.
We sip on domestic beer and watch the clusters of tired clouds
rain stars.
Which tumble down stairs downstairs into an open counter.
We watch small smart girls wear whatever they please
and buy drinks with their tits.
Time slows down and semi-trucks blare buckram dreams.
It creeps by and everyone talks low and watches facial hair grow.

But I always watch one girl,
who sits alone.
Chewing on her nervous fingers like sticks of gum
and she hums some dead Pavement song
that nobody listens to or cares about.
She wears her clothes well: denim skirts that used to be jeans
sewed together with red stitches.
And I still eavsdrop, and hear, beneath her spattered breath Pavement song
about the two room conduit shes renting downtown two blocks from here.


I think about meeting her there to talk about naps and those clouds
which poor that rain that never stops.
Or our mother's trees which bear no fruit.
Or draw pictures of Harlequin trees that scab.
I'll ask her to take a trip with me to Germany
so we can drive down the Autobahn in some rust-colored car
while talking about nothing in particular.

The Velvet Underground

I seriously cannot stop listening to the Velvet Underground. God almighty.


Which reminds me, I still need to pick up Lou Reed's newest album, which is apparently this huge task of solo instrumental/relaxation/meditation music.

What a fucking bad ass.

Jumping into the fire: Why rookie QBs need to start from day 1

Alright, so I'm on the ESPN website reading some polls. A recent one I participated in was asking the country which rookies would be the most successful this season, which position is the hardest to adjust to in the pros, etc. It was actually a bit harder for me to decide on who was going to have the best season. This past draft was one of the deepest in recent memory, especially in the first round. Guys like Calvin Johnson, LaRon Landry, Adrian Peterson, Jamarcus Russell, Joe Thomas, and Patrick Willis all seemed poised to have great careers in the NFL and should make immediate impacts with their new teams. Oh, you mean I forgot to mention everyone's favorite golden boy, Brady Quinn, and Ohio State's human blur Ted Ginn Jr.? I'll get to them later in my rant....

The poll had some pretty interesting numbers, the general consensus was that Lions receiver Calvin Johnson would have the most success on the offensive side of the ball, while Patrick Willis would handle his own for the 49ers on the defensive side. I can definitely see Willis, who's physical skills will be a welcome addition to the Niners, and could be just enough to push them into the 5th or 6th spot in the NFC playoffs. While Johnson is a complete freak, and I think he could be staring a potential Hall of Fame career in the face, the fact that slinger Jon Kitna has to feed the ball to Roy Williams, Mike Furrey, and Kevin Jones may not help his cause right out of the gate. I personally feel that Marshaun Lynch of the Bills is going to have a solid season and will be near the top of the Offensive Rookie of the year voting.

Don't worry.... I'm getting to my point. Later in the poll, the nation had the overwhelming belief that quarterback is the most difficult position to grow into (which I completely agree with), but nearly three-fourths of the 75,000+ people that voted said the best way to have the quarterback learn and grow is to have him ride the bench for a few years, learn the offense through observation, and finally jump into the fire when the time is right.

WHAT!!!?!?! Are you kidding me? Firstly... think about what you were asked. If the quarterback is the hardest position to make the transition to, what good is it going to do somebody to sit for two years, take 25% of the snaps in practice, and just look at film, and then get handed the keys to the Corvette and have the coach say, "There you go, have fun."

I've never understood this reasoning, for a few key reasons. First, you have to consider the fact that most teams that are drafting quarterbacks (especially in high rounds) are doing so in order to build their franchise. Take the 2005 draft, for example. The Niners drafted Alex Smith, and didn't make it a big secret that he was going to be starting right away. But hey, that makes a lot of sense. Are you paying the guy 50 million dollars to ride the bench, or to win your team games? Sure, when a guy's a rookie, you can't expect a Ben Rothelesberger season. But again, your team is probably sitting in the cellar of your division and doesn't have too much of a chance to win 12 games and charge straight to a conference title game. What do you have to lose? Again, do you really have that much faith in your back-up.

Think about the Bengals a few years ago when the took Carson Palmer first overall. Do you really expect Jon Kitna, their starter at the time, to pass for 4,000 yards and tip toe his way into the post season? Highly doubtful. This is exactly why I applaud the Raiders for making it clear to both their players that number one pick JaMarcus Russell would be handed the torch and start in Week 1. What I like about this decision is that the team isn't being thrown any curveballs. They know right away who's gonna be the captain. There won't be some stupid quarterback controversy that consumes the entire training camp. Players can concentrate on getting better, and preparing for the season, instead of answering questions everyday about who they think will start. Plus, think about this.... is Andrew Walter the quarterback you want to represent your team? No knock against Walter, but I think his skills can't touch Russell's potential and it really doesn't seem too far fetched for Russell to have a solid rookie campaign.

Now, I know you're thinking "Well, earlier you said that players like Rothelessberger are 1 in a million and rarely happen. So why would a team pretty much concede an entire season in order for ONE player to get better. Isn't that a bit selfish?" I do understand that your chances of winning double digit games is pretty slim. Sure, fans might be impatient, the team execs might want the coach to ruffle some feathers and keep things the way the used to be, but I still cannot see how a player gets better by sitting on the bench. The old saying goes "Practice makes perfect," not "Riding the bench and doing nothing makes perfect." Plus, you simply cannot win in the NFL without a strong quarterback. Sure, every successful team doesn't have a Tom Brady or Joe Montana behind the helm, but it's pretty safe to assume that no team has much of a chance with Jim Druckenmiller or Todd Maranovich taking snaps.

Oh, and here's a nice little tid-bit to digest: what do Terry Bradshaw, Peyton Manning, Dan Marino, John Elway, Troy Aikman and Ben Roethelessberger have in common? Not only did they ALL win Super Bowls, but the one that might be a little less obvious is they all played as rookies. Sure, their numbers might not be the kind of lights up, stat page busting numbers we expect from those names, but it was a start. And you know what, a guy can't win you games on the bench.

Can I get a revision?

Okay, I'm watching ESPN. Some baseball highlights are on, and it got me to think about my early season predictions.

God, what the fuck was I thinking? Seriously....

Chien-Ming Wang winning 20 games? The NL Central being more competitive then the NL West? The Cubs..... winning? I feel sooooo stupid. On one regard, a few of my predictions, the Blue Jays being near the top of the AL East all year, the Cubs winning, Wang and Beltran's success have been hindered thanks to the unforeseen injuries. Although, Beltran has been outstanding when he's been on the field, and his injuries have all been minor. He's still gonna' play 140 games which could still get him an MVP, as I had originally predicted.

But it hasn't been a total shut out. Dice-K has pitched well enough to be considered the best rookie in the AL. Both Bob Jenks and Billy Wagner have been lights out, and are arguably the best closers in their respective leagues. Oh yeah, and the Red Sox are running away with the AL East.

I'm giving myself the chance to redeem myself. Here are five hot topics so far this season, as well as some of my favorite performances.

-The Red Sox best player's been David Ortiz. Yes! Just like I predicted! Wait.... you mean... he's not. Mike... Mike Lowell is? Yup. While Big Papi has played great and is clearly in the AL MVP talks, Mike Lowell's numbers have been just as impressive, and he actually plays in the field everyday, unlike his DH counterpart. Check out these numbers: .332 batting clip, 11 bombs, 45 ribs, 30 runs scored, and an on-base percentage right around .400. Like I said, those aren't David Ortiz's numbers, those are Lowell's. I should also mention that Lowell has played stellar in the field and has made several appearances on ESPN's Web Gems. Mike Lowell is a good player. Look for his string of solid play to continue

-I have absolutely LOVED watching the Devil Rays play. LOVED. Sure, they aren't 10 games over .500. How can you expect that? A team whose average age is around 25 playing in the tough AL East is actually staying competitive. This team is friggin' loaded with future all-stars. In all honesty, I could see several of their players making the cut this year. If it was up to me, I'd drop 100 million dollars in front of their front office, because these types of players deserve to grow together and play on the same club for a dozen years and win championships together. B.J Upton, Ellijah Dukes, Delmon Young, Rocco Baldelli, Carl Crawford, James Shield and Scott Kazmir can all be something special. Heck, look at the year Upton is having right now. He could (might be a long shot) run down a 30/30 season and hit .300. And he's only 22? Christ, that's sick. Appreciate the way these guys play.

-Remember how I said the Mets weren't going to have stellar pitching, except for closer Billy Wagner? Ummm, can I take that one back? Okay okay, I shouldn't be too hard on myself. The Braves have played great so far this season, and the rest of the division has kept it interesting all year long (Hell, look how well the Nationals have played lately!) But that's not my original gripe. I busted pretty hard on their starting pitching, dismissing everyone besides Tom Glavine. It's pretty funny that he's been the THIRD best pitcher on his staff. Oliver Perez has stifled his control demons and pitched outstanding. John Maine has continued to develop into a solid big leaguer, and even El Duque has pitched like a 24-year-old during his 7 starts this year. Each of these men is sporting an ERA under 3, and has piled up a high strikeout total. All I can do is tip my caps to the Mets. They're the most complete team in the National League. And if you consider the Diamondbacks second, they're a very distant second.

-The Brewers young power tandem of Prince Fielder and J.J. Hardy are slowly turning into the next great 1-2 punch in baseball. They're both running 1 and 2 in the NL for home runs and they're also both in the top 5 in runs batted in. While the Brewers pitching has stepped it up in the young 2007 season and really put this team atop the NL Central. Much like the Marlins and Devil Rays, I love watching the Brewers play. They're extremely fun. They run, they play defense, their pitching always makes it tough on opponents and they produce runs. Hats off to them. I hope their success continues.

-I've reserved this spot to talk about how much I hate the Yankees. I truly can't express in words how much I hate this franchise. Whether it's seeing George Steinbrenner's stupid face, or watching the team somehow blow a three run lead in the eighth inning, or even seeing each one of their overpriced aging superstars flounder at the plate, my face lights up with a smile that could power the Vegas strip for 24 straight hours. Oh, and their pitching.... can't forget the pitching. You know, I truly love getting a bio on the night's starting pitcher, because it seems every other day, we're getting introduced to their newest AA-prospect who has to be brought up prematurely because somebody on their major league roster can't stay healthy.Thanks for the great season so far, New York! The AL needed a punching bag.


Joey's favorite performances
#5 Cole Hamels: Pitcher, Philadelphia Phillies:8-2 | 91 K| ERA 3.55 | WHIP 1.15
-Right now, there's no young pitcher in the bigs dominating like Hamels. His stuff is flat out ridiculous, especially his change-up that handcuffs even the best NL hitters. I'm blown away that he has an outside shot to win the NL Triple Crown. He's on his way to an 18-win season, and is proving to be the best player on the Phillies. Yes, right now, even better then Ryan Howard.

#4 Magglio Ordonez: Right Field, Detroit Tigers: AVG .362 | HR 13 | RBI 52 | OBP .436 |
-It's conventional wisdom that Maggs is an outstanding player when he can stay healthy. But, is he honestly this good? Leading the bigs in batting average, pounding homeruns out of the park on a regular basis, and he's even made some flashes of his leather out in right. Certainly you have to point to Gary Sheffield's addition to the lineup as a huge plus for everyone else. This is definitely a return to form of his 2002 season with my Chicago White Sox, when he finished with 38 home runs and a .320 batting average.

#3 Dan Haren: Pitcher, Oakland Atheltics: REC 6-2 | SV 0 | ERA 1.70 | WHIP .87
-I said it back in 2004 when the Cardinals included Haren in the Mark Mulder trade that they were going to regret this three years down the road. Welp... it's been three years. And look what Haren is doing on the mound. Looking at his WHIP is making me dry heave. In 90 innings, the guy has only allowed 57 hits. Not to mention, of his 12 starts this season, 11 have been at least 6 innings. Oh yeah, he's won his last 6 decisions, too. As of now, this guy right next to John Lackey for the AL Cy Young award.

#2 Victor Martinez: Catcher, Cleveland Indians: AVG .316 | HR 12 | RBI 50 | OBP .379 |
-Martinez is one-third of the Hafner-Martinez-Sizemore offensive machine in Cleveland, and is arguably the most well-rounded at this point of the season. He is already going to obliterate his 2006 home run total, and is well on his way to having his biggest offensive season in his career. I'm calling it right now.... 29 home runs, 119 ribbies... we'll give him that high on-base percentage, as well. Not to mention, he's thrown out 25% of potential base stealers. Not too shabby, V. Keep it up

#1 Vladamir Guerrero: Right Field, Anaheim Angels: AVG .357 | HR 12 | RBI 50 | OBP .460 |
-YESSSSSSSS! Vlad the Impaler is number one on my list. Not just because he is my absolute favorite baseball player. Not because he's spearheading the AL West's best... but because he's having a monstrous season. Third in the AL in batting average, second in RBIs, number 1 in on-base percentage, sixth in homers, and second in OPS. What blows me away is that Vlad does this every single year. And what's even more amazing is that he does it so quietly, on a team that offers very limited protection in the lineup. All of that aside, I just flat out love Vladamir Guerrero. I love the fact that he doesn't wear batting gloves. I love the fact that he has arguably the best arm in baseball, but nobody ever talks about it. I love the fact that he flails at first pitch fastballs in the dirt, and has the brute strength to smash them 440 feet into the upper deck. And how he does all of this going completely unnoticed, with a huge smile always plastered to his face. Sure, he doesn't get the attention like Albert Pujols, Derek Jeter, or Johan Santana, but just like the first two, and possibly the third one, #27 is on his way to the Hall of Fame. He's without question, a first ballot player. And I'm proud to say I root for him day in and day out.

Honorable Mention: Matt Holliday (LF, Colorado), Kevin Youkilis (1B, Boston), Trevor Hoffman (RP, San Diego), Ichiro Suzuki (CF, Seattle), Jose Reyes (SS, New York)


Phew, that was a mouthful. But so worth it.

Recovery slash life support

Sorry for the lack of updates, but I've seriously needed the past 36 hours to rejuvenate myself. Physically, emotionally... My God, the past few days have been literally insane. Being me, I waited until the last second and decided that I was going to drag Jake, Nathan and Brianne to the Fucking Champs concert in Detroit. I could bore you with all of the specifics of the trip, but I think it'd be more than acceptable to not only plug Brianne's blog, but push off the responsibility of scripting our adventure to her. Read about our escapade here.

Wow. All I can really say about the performance is 'wow.' I should make it clear that I have spent the past five years trying to mosey my way to a Ch4M95 concert. Whether I simply couldn't get off work, or they didn't come close enough... I could simply never get to one. I finally said "Fuck it." We bought the tickets, we drove nearly 300 miles one way, and we watched an amazing concert. Red Fang and Birds of Avalon opened up for tFC.

When we got into Detroit, it did suck having to wait nearly two extra hours for the doors to open to the concert. Apparently there were some travel issues. I probably ate too much while we were in Muncie, and when I finally got there, I was fucking sick. My stomach was killing me, my head was killing me. I felt like somebody was continually stepping on my face. However, as the night trekked on, I started feeling better. My anxiety began to plummet as the concert grew closer.

And then the doors opened. The concert was intimate... the crowd wasn't too big and I got this feeling that everyone was there because they loved music, and they wanted to be entertained. Not simply to go to a show because there were three "fresh" indie bands that nobody's ever heard of.

Red Fang walked onto stage and played a spirited set for a little more then a half hour. I hadn't heard too much of their stuff previously, but what I heard I had liked a lot. Honestly, their recording didn't do them justice. God almighty, amazing. Tons of energy, great power, great riffs. And a 45 second bass solo that made my asshole pucker like a fucking balloon knot.

Birds of Avalon took the stage, and they were definitely underwhelming. I'm gonna contribute that mostly to their sound being so overstated, it was almost impossible to keen your ears on one thing, because it all meshed together into a giant sonic mess. The lyrics weren't completely unintelligible. Although... they did have this backdrop that had tons of birds and shit flying over them. Oh, and I think the singer played a harmonica at one point. Very ambitious, but that's not always a good thing.

The fifteen minutes leading up to the CH4M95 set was like having somebody pull out every one of your teeth without any anesthetic. But when they finally took the stage, I was overwhelmed. They're one of my favorites, they're "my" band. I love the Champs. Just like Red Fang, hearing their sound recorded onto an album simply can't do their live tone justice. Filled with raw energy that punches you in the face. Their second song "The Loge" was played a level of intensity that completely dwarfs its recorded counterpart.

What I loved about the show is that there was no set list (the legend is true, apparently, the Champs never have and will never use a set list, except they have to end every show with 'Flawless Victory, unless there's an unavoidable encore.) It's funny... they don't have any lyrics. Just pure metal, but that aside, all of the fans know each song. Whether it was 'Extra Man,' 'Spring Break,' or 'Forgotten Chapter,' everyone knew what was coming. Everyone was nodding their head. It was like we were a machine. No words can really describe everything... it was amazing. Pure metal. My only regret is that they didn't play "What's a little reign?"

But who can complain? The show was flat out awesome.