Monday, December 21, 2009

Hey Ya

I love that Outcast song. I heard it over the weekend, alright, alright, alright, alright... It never get's old... I am your neighbor.

I think I've lived in a pretty good musical age. My brother's got me into the Police and my sister Erin got me into the Cure. Those are good places to start. If you don't know the song "Lovecats" find it and fall in love. Then there was Pearl Jam and Sound Garden, the pansy rockiness of Oasis, Dave Matthews before he sucked, and so much Death Cab. So much Death Cab.

But really this blog is about snobs. People who expect you to know something you don't know. Blah. Those people suck man. I think it's a funny gig to expect people to be aware of something they're not aware of. I mean, awareness, isn't it just inherent in the meaning of awareness that you aren't aware of well, what you're not aware of? Maybe that's too tautological. But if you're still reading this blog, since I write so sporadically, you've probably already gotten my point. Tokyo Police Club is not a band everyone knows, neither is Bon Ivar (however you spell that). Those guys aren't the Beatles or Obama. Anyways...

Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

305 C Street

They made me a receptionist at work. I cover the 3:45 to 6:00 shift. It's hectic. Very tide like. Constant, but definitely has sets of waves that kill me. I've grown in my respect of phone answers, they really do a lot.

Well, it was Friday night, a couple back, and I was just lounging, waiting for things to explode, and in walks this guy, Willy. I'd seen him once before. I helped him get to another floor to deliver flowers, so I figured he was back for the same kind of favor. Oh no, this time he was on a mission. He said, stuttering and staring at his feet, "Do you remember me?" "Yeah man, you deliver flowers." "Right, well, uh..., well, 305 C street." "Uh, what?" "305 C street." "I don't get it man." "I have a message from God." Pause. Longer pause. "You're serious? Well, come on, let's hear it." I was surprised that that was my first reaction to my first messenger. "You're supposed to go see a girl who lives at 305 C street." I was so stoked, I thought, "This is going on the blog for sure." I prodded Willy the Messenger a little bit, tried to get some stats on this "celestial" hook up. A height, maybe an opinion on her looks. He had nothing. I asked how he gotten the message, all of it a garbled mess. He left. Came back, started into why he needed to breed with a blond woman, and thankfully he left again. On the third heavenly visit, I felt pretty blasphemous but I had to say, "Will, bro, if you come back again, I'm going to have to call security."

He didn't come back. I tried to find 305 C street, nothing there.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Carabiner Keychains

The last couple of days I've spotted a funny phenomena: everyone seems to drop their keys. I drop my keys, and you know what? I drop my keys so much that the carabiner on my key chain is banged to bits. And there it is, the stupidity of having a carabiner on my key chain and never ever using it to prevent me from dropping my keys.

Then I saw somebody who did use their key chain carabiner. I thought to myself, "He understands the meaning of things. A smart man who doesn't let things go to waste. More than I can say about myself" I went on my way. Then I thought, "Man, maybe that guy just cares about his keys too much." What the crap do I care about how many times in a day I've dropped my keys? Or how banged up my carabiner is? Everytime I see somebody drop their keys and can spot a carabiner on their key chain, I don't think, "You moron, you should have put that thing around something." Na, it's more like, "Dude, me and that sucker who was about to get in that beemer have something in common: not using our carabiners."

It's forced me to think a little bit more on how much I put people above me, or below me. If I just spent my time leveling with people then the world would be a little better I think. I guess it all revolves around the fact that Everyone (the capital E is to draw emphasis to the general claim I'm making) drops their keys, Everyone. There are some that want to escape it and actually put the carabiner around something, but really, they're just suckers who drop their keys more than everyone else. I just think if we could see other people's little flaws as things that could bring us together, than the world might not be so terrible.

Boo ya.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Bullbumps Again

I have something to say about guys and movies. I really didn't notice it until I was watching that chick flick with J-stone, but it's the odd anomaly of the "safety seat". Yeah, safety seat. Defined: The seat that two men keep between themselves when sitting in an uncrowded theater. I guess it's just funny because it took me so long to notice it. I mean, how long has the safety seat been there and I not know it? And if it was there all along, why did I notice now?

I wonder how many things in our lives go perfectly unnoticed for 24 years. I wonder what the next thing will be? It's an interesting thought to try and be aware of things that you aren't aware of. Is this blog putting you to sleep? Alright, I'll get to the point. The point is that I also didn't know about Rhode Island, yep, I remember how amazed I was when I realized it wasn't an island. Who knew? I don't know.

I guess it more has to do with handing out doubt benefits on the basis of, "Dude, I didn't know about the safety seat for 24 years, maybe this person just doesn't know."

Thursday, August 27, 2009

My Bones Ache, I Feel Cold

So I went to this get together tonight. People everywhere. All pretty entertaining. But I noticed something that I thought was funny, I'm getting old. No, seriously. Everything that used to be good about these events seemed so dismal, so trite, so lame. I didn't really know where the feelings had come from. I mean, I'd been to these beginning of the semester meet-girls type of events before, but tonight, man, I just wasn't feeling it.

I think it has to do with what has happened between the last beginning of the year and this beginning of the year. I feel different about my approach, because I realized that my approach was really, really pathetic. I feel differently about the follow through, only because I saw that nothing was going in the hoop. Tonight, I felt like I had seen the light and was now observing, pleasantly, mind you, others running around in the dark. Watching guys go for girls that were way out of their league, like not even in the same sport. Watching girls sneak glances for immensely too long. I even saw a failed attempt at the old, "Hey, I'm going to act like I didn't see that girl there and then introduce myself after I practically tackle her." Seriously man? People are so rad. They're good in every way, at least when it comes to cheap entertainment. Just put them together and let them go, and the story always seems to be incredible.

But my awareness remember, was that I was getting old, out of touch. I looked around and I was the one guy, me and my wing man Ben of course, we were the two guys not approaching girls. We were the ones looking too cool with our arms folded just talking to ourselves. I asked myself, "Have I become too old for this?" And sadly, if the answer is yes, where do I go next?

Thursday, August 13, 2009


I think I watch more chick flicks with dudes than with chicks. I sit there in the theater cuddled up with myself, laughing all all the cute parts. I get goosebumps, but maybe for the sake of my testosterone, I'll call them bullbumps, yeah, bullbumps,. Regardless of the name, yes, I have them. I want to cry when the inevitable break-up happens, and I'm always stoked when he/she comes waltzing back. I feel like such a fairy. I dig chick flicks. I do. I don't know why. I don't know why I always seem to find myself in the company of other "chick flick" minded men doing what we do, but there it is. Us and our bull bumps.

I guess this summer has just been one. I mean, look at it like this. Somewhere, somehow, a chick flick occurred. Some twenty-something fell in love with some other twenty-something and low and behold it's weeks/months of bliss and then just as everything is amazing, she has to run away for some piece of sh** reason that is completely lame in the view of their seemingly world-peace causing love. Then, just as you're about to go punch the manager of the production company for ever letting such a rancid film make it to screen, they get back together because of some fateful twist. This first story of the twenty-somethings must have filled telephone lines, swept over cubicle wall after cubicle wall until one day, long ago, the story of the twenty-somethings made its way to Mr. Chickflick. He knew it was gold the moment he saw it, and I've been laughing in the theater, bullbumps and all, ever since. But my summer, here, me, this summer has been one to watch. Somebody write this down, it's going to be a blockbuster.

I have seen it. I am seeing it. The twenty-something story. I guess what I'm trying to say is that no matter what man, you've got to go for it. Life isn't for diplomas, or perfect plans, or neatly categorized fate, it's messy and gross, and often needs a kleenex. But dude, in the end, he/she always comes waltzing back. It works just the way it was always supposed to. Just the way it always was going to.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

So Much, So Fast

I don't actually know how many people read this thing. I mean, I got the counter and everything but it really doesn't make much sense. I wonder if they just tell you that people read it to make you feel good. I'd be okay with that. I think sometimes thinking something is there and something being there in actuality yield the same result.

My life has been crazy town. It has. Another semester gone. Another girl that was the one, and then, for some reason unknown, wasn't the one anymore. Stress that once was acute seems obtuse. Reasons that seemed so profound have drifted into the common. Job offers, raises, debts, homework, tests, grades, all of it just seem to be the scenery on this road trip. If there is one thing I know its that I don't really know where I'm heading. I like the trip so far, the company, the surprises, the pit stops, but my destination is some kind of whisper. I wonder about a plan. An underlying purpose. I wonder about how I'm supposed to know, and once I know, whether I'm supposed to follow or run the other way. Sometimes it feels like a vacation and sometimes it feels like a very long day where you aren't getting overtime. But still the question of purpose. The question of why.

And sometimes I think that it may not matter in actuality.

I'll write more, I've just been busy.


Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Just a Little Sabbatical

Its not as though I didn't want to write, its just that I couldn't. "Everybody needs a little time away." I think Chicago, or maybe Journey, na, Chicago said that. These last seven weeks or so that I haven't written have been kind of like the time you hit your head on the corner of a cabinet you forgot close, and the moment you realize that it didn't kill you. I was just shocked.

I think in life we keep up the front. That may be the most commonly believed thing I've ever said on Effects but that's where this is headed today. I just feel like when we are sad we put up the happy front. When we are happy we put on the calm front. When we are angry we put on the forgiving front. And so on and so forth. But I wonder how much of the time we are honest, when we leave the front at home. Those are the times when people tell us to cheer up, or settle down, or relax, but really maybe people should say, "Thanks for not being a liar." I mean, I am a man. My cultural role is to be tough and sturdy, but like I've said a thousand times, I feel like a seventh grader. Given, a fatter, hairier seventh grader, but a seventh grader regardless. Just as emotional, just as spontaneous, just as likely to not embrace new responsibility, its just now, as an adult, I'm a master at the front. I can lay it on so thick that even I get confused on whether the front is the real thing or the emotion I'm feeling is the front. Its confusing.

But today's post is more about friends. Its about people that know the front. They let you have the front in front of everyone else, and then ask you later what's wrong. They are more excited than you when you are putting up the calm front and they know that you're faking. And those friends that ask for the suckers name so they can run out and kill the guy, cause they know that's exactly what you want them to do but the front won't let you. I don't know if there is anything in this whole jacked economic depression world that has a value that increases so rapidly. Friends are like canned soup.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Soak Them in Vinegar.

'08 was good. Na, '08 was rad. Filled with everything my little twenty-three year old heart could desire. But I think of all the things I'm going to remember about '08, its definitely going to be how many pairs of jeans I bought. The total was six. Not too bad. Really not even as bad as I thought. For me, its either buy a pair of jeans or take lithium. So, I buy jeans.

Most of the time they're boot cut. Low rise, boot cut actually. I've liked dark blue for a little while, and I've been working out, so I've gotten daring and started to buy the ones that hug your butt. What I've noticed though, is that jeans are like designed to fade. A friend of mine, Kyle, he loves blue jeans, like dark dark blue jeans. Even told me about soaking my new ones in vinegar to set the dye. And well, since then, I've been thinking a lot about setting the dye. Making it so things don't change. Everytime you put them on, its like you just got 'em. I think a lot of things in our lives we wish could be soaked in vinegar. Love. Friends. Stock prices. Housing Prices. Gas Prices. The fact that our hearts beat, et cetera et cetera. But you know, for some reason, I've decided against the vinegar. I think it has something to do with the new year and something to do with the getting old. I mean, when was the last time old love was out of fashion? Or old friends? I mean, if stocks were always up, no one would ever buy. If housing prices were always up, no one would ever sell. And the fact that your heart is guaranteed to stop gives everyone a little tiny tiny bit of urgency. I like it when my jeans are old. They're a tribute to my butt staying the same size. Them being in style enough to wear them to the breaking point. And that feeling when they swipe your credit card and you take those new dark blues out of the store? Nothing really compares.

I mean, I know six is a lot. I guess I like the swipe feeling maybe a little too much. But the reality is that I had to buy them because my other ones got too big. And really, guys like jeans as much as girls do, we just keep it on the down-low. We'll see how long I last on these next few.

But the important part is that I've decided against the vinegar.