southwest texas introspection

Give;Keep

2007-10-01T23:13:00.000-07:00

The drive down to Texas was among other things, introspective. Or as I like to think of it: quiet think time. Really, it was something more in line with a detox clinic on wheels. My behavior, and myself, indeed, had become toxic. Just look at pictures of me from that going away party at 215 Park Street and you can see what kind of bad-way that I was stuck in. Stuck in? I lived in a bad place; but my place was exactly where I put myself. No regrets…buy the ticket, take the ride.

Illinois was long. Arkansas was hot. Little Rock—the Clinton Library—was cool. I found it easy to smile out the window at the unfamiliar look of Texas' dirt because I had successfully escaped the North without ohio getting in the way. And the long, speechless silence that was the norm on our drive South was some how the best time of my life. I've never been more terrified in my life. Dad couldn't hear shit anyway, and we drove across the country from North to South with the windows down so the music was loud. I thought a little each time I put a new CD in, and then explained a little bit about it to Dad; he doesn't need to know good things about a band to like the music. It only need be music, and loud enough to hear over the wind blowing up from the freeway. Dad was dropping me off at kindergarten again. I remember sitting in that tiny-assed little seat attached to his bicycle. I remember how hard I fought when I thought that my Mom didn't need me anymore. But strangely enough, I also remember how excited I was to go back the next day. That could be Dan and Mikey's doing, but that's neither here nor there…

ACL Fest is long. Hot. Dusty. The women by far out shine the 8 stages of music that fight each other for dominance. It could be that I had been thinking about the drive South two years ago. It could've been Bart, who asked me many months ago why I always defend my Jewish heritage and not my Catholic. I had been thinking about, the defining moment of a cross country outline for a future Chautauqua, was when all the errands were done. It was when we could do nothing else to busy ourselves. It was when for the first time in 3 days of silent thought dotted with honest inquiry that we experienced our first awkward silence. "Now Dad, we go to the bar." So I did the only logical thing: I sat and drank beer with my Pop until it was time for Uncle John to come get him to take him to the airport. His eyes said "My baby. My son." Tears.

I really wondered for a time about that whole Bart thing: why do I defend my Jewish blood more than my Catholic? I came to the conclusion that I never had to defend my Catholic blood. Bart accepted my answer at the time, though I don't think it was as in-depth as he was hoping. I wondered right up until I was walking down the street toward downtown Austin and the bar, with Pop, and I just asked him. "What happened to Grandma and Grandpa during the Holocaust?" I never got any of that from them. Jess got more than I did. But still. I guess it doesn't really matter. It's a matter of what you are willing to give, and what you are stout enough to keep. That may or may not be what gives you an identity. No digression necessary. The little I did know about my Pops' folks, and what happened to them, before ACL Fest and the long walk back downtown were more important to me because it was borne from the fiercest hate that can come from men.

Turns out, that my Pops' blood line started out in Romania (Itali-roma-garian?). Funny how you can have ties to a place that you have no conscious awareness of. But I'm not getting into that. It must have been a peculiar conversation to listen to while you were sipping on something cold to drink, under that tent, last day of Austin City Limits while a guy in a red Bob Marley shirt and his son with all his tattoos and shaved head talked for hours about Hungarian Jews. Grandpa getting drafted into the Russian army after they liberated Auschwitz. And so on, and so on…It may have even been a learning experience for them? It was for me.

Like I said: it comes down to what you'll Give, and what you'll Keep. What I Keep.

El Estado de la Unión 07

2007-01-23T21:20:00.000-08:00

El Estado de la Unión 07

The Cowboy’s guns are no longer smoking. He appears to be out of bullets; his sneer turned to a grimace; his enemies breathing down his neck at all times. Footsteps in the hallway at nighttime; a dictator and his generals suddenly and for the first time leery of the noose. Things have changed. Things have changed.

Talking Heads…that’s what I like to call the guys and gals that get all dressed up to talk about stuff. Political Pundits is what they might call themselves—or experts even. Just as the State of the Union address was getting started with all the grandiose entrances of the Joint Chiefs and the Supreme Court the politicos were saying that this year’s speech is going to be greatly different than the last six—this time the president is decidedly not sitting at the cool kid table.
One guy went as far as to say that W’s position is weaker for this address than Clinton was for the one he gave during which he was being impeached. At long last, some evidence that a president should be under more fire for starting a war based on lies and deception rather than getting some head in the oval office. But I digress…

In previous years, last I think, W was all about bashing me over the head with and shoving down my throat as much “faith based organizations need federal funding.” This year, he barely mustered a “god bless America” at the end. This was a speech lacking any of the fire and brimstone sensibility of the previous years. No more smug, self-assuredness. This president has shown me how much T-U-F-F-E-R he is than everyone else, including the Congress, every day of the week—up until about two hours ago.
By my count there were thirty (30) standing ovations this year. From the time Pelosi introduced the president till he walked off the podium. Although this year, the majority Dem’s made it more apparent, regardless of how the cameras tried to crop the shot, that most of those standing O’s were not extended throughout the house. I also counted about seven (7) or eight (8) “I asks” from W. “’I asks?” you say.
Well, in the past, W wouldn’t “ask” for a damn thing. He would say “you must” or “we must” or “Congress must” because up until two hours ago, there wasn’t anyone standing up to him. Even Cheney was falling asleep behind him. (And I think it was funny that during the W’s spiel on reducing our dependence on gasoline as a fuel source, Cheney wore a scowl, and refused to join the standing ovation that followed the W’s declaration of increased support of alternative fuel sources. Hilarious.)
Lieberman, what a douche bag. And for that matter, Cheney laughed in his chair when the W suggested a twenty (20) percent (%) reduction in gasoline use within the next ten (10) years.

“Twenty percent less gas? That’ll never happen—I got one word for you: it starts with an H and ends with ALIBURTON! I’m gonna go eat some souls…” Cheney wears his heart, his cold, black, soulless heart on his expression.

This year, less by a few days than one year later, I realize now how much of a disconnect there is between how I was during the last State o’the Union and now. Although I look at how last years speech affected me, and I can see the seeds had already begun to germinate. I haven’t become a person who doesn’t care about politics, there is simply no more pieces of my heart left to break on the subject. I have lost the faith.

During the Dem’s rebuttal, Sen. Webb said a quote from one of the Andrew’s, Jackson or Johnson, I forget which, but the point was that we should measure the greatness of our nation not by the apex, but by the base of our society. There is a similar saying in all sports: “you’re only as strong as your weakest player.” For us, after electing a president to satiate our own need to hate each other, one of our most fabled and unique cities was smashed by a storm and left to fend for itself. I am one of many who think that New Orleans was more indicative of how ill-equipped we are as a nation to provide the most basic services to our own people. Hey, Detroit has been under water for decades; many great cities, once great cities, were hit by a title wave of poverty and have been bailing out the dingy with a little bucket ever since. Finally there was no more room for metaphors, and what was necessary to make us see what we were doing to each other came in the form a hurricane and storm surge. The real tragedy about Katrina wasn’t that a fucking storm destroyed a city, it was that a city filled with citizens of the “greatest nation in the world” was so unimportant to us all it had to be washed out of existence for us to realize how badly off the people who lived there were.

To sum up: maybe in the next few years, some one will bring Humanity to the United States. We already have democracy…which is probably why W isn’t concerned with us at all.

Peace.

how heavy is heaven?

2006-06-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Well, what can I say? I think it strange when I apologize for not posting—in a post. But I do it anyway. My time is much regimented theses days: up about 830 or so, eat breakfast, pack my shit, out the door. Class from ten ‘till four-ish. Justin, Brendan and I are playing music again at camp so I’m flyin’ home the night before we’re playing with the intention of a smash and go practice session the morning of, followed by dynamic and invigorating show Friday night. Funny. I haven’t played my instrument since this same show last year. I’ve been so occupied with moving, and starting my life over—figuratively speaking—that once again I’ve forgotten how much I love playing music. I get to play with my friends, and we play for people who are not there to examine us, but just to sing along and dance. Pretty kick ass.
Being that my kit is buried in the basement of mis padres casa, I have no way of practicing down here. So I got hold of the right person over in the music building, and gained access to a practice room—with a whole week and a half left of the semester! It’s cool, a couple hours a day should be enough to sufficiently prepare me for a hard nights rockin’.

So I gotta say that while last semester sucked, this one is pretty kick ass. With the exception of my lame Mass Com teacher (mass com? Who expected this class to be interesting/worth my time?) my Spanish and Psych teachers are fantastic. My psych teacher is a funny guy who has been teaching for over fifteen years, he’s published, and he does the same thing to his son that mom did to us: he tests the theory in real life. I remember doing all kind of “games” as a kid which mom had learned in class. Good times. He teaches in a manner which is easy to stay connected to. And overall, he gets a little giddy about the subject matter: he still thinks this stuff is cool. So that’s pretty groovy. All I’ve done in my Spanish class is learn more about the language and culture in four weeks than in the past thirty. All it takes sometimes is a teacher who relates the content to you in a way that makes sense to you. No se. pero este semestre yo no quiero me mato.

So before the last semester was done, I felt a serious absence which needed to be filled: I had no book to read. So I decided that this summer I would pick some books to read and then when I was done with the worthless, shitty, semester, I would have time to expand my mind (bro!). I chose to spend the summer reading about my favorite musicians. Originally, I looked up John Coltrane, but by chance—not chance, I mean every library probably keeps all their related material together—all the biographies of musicians and bands were together. Before I could get to anything about Trane, there were several books about Bird Parker, and Dizzy, and Ella, and every one from Carlos Santana to the Beatles on down to Mozart and Tchaikovsky. There was also, one I hadn’t considered until the moment I read the name: “Heavier Than Heaven” in faded gold lettering on the dull black spine of a hard cover book—what a title; what a book.

Charles Cross, the author of this particular biography, chose the right title. I wouldn’t have read this book otherwise. The title dragged me in before I had even put a finger on it; this is a biography of Kurt Cobain. Someone for whom I’ve had many years of anger built toward. But I knew I had to read this book, so did. I finished it this afternoon after my Spanish test.

Here’s my thing about Nirvana: when I got to high school, there was a massive worship for this band, and the lead singer and song writer. I had heard this band in 80’s when our neighbor and good friend Kelly played a bootlegged copy of what was probably “Bleach” for my sister. I was just a kid, like six or seven years old. But by the time I got to Community, all my peers and many of my old friends were enamored with this grunge god named Kurt. You should’ve heard the shit people said about this guy, and seen how we modeled ourselves in his image. We ridiculed ourselves and each other for trying to fit a mold, but ostracized any one who didn’t fit neatly inside it. (See also: why punk rock is bullshit and punk rockers can suck my balls.) But I digress…

I didn’t get into Nirvana as intensely as my friends did. I liked them well enough, but I didn’t see them as this great artistic exodus from the mental slavery of the 80’s. At this point, I hadn’t even started listening to Jazz. I had a bootlegged tape of Bob Marley songs which fed me all I needed from music. (Thanks dad) Gabe had done a favor for this girl named Lauren: he carved the name “Kurt” into her arm. Apparently it was important for this to happen in her mind, as she was in so much pain over his passing. I shouldn’t make light of someone who felt so intensely about someone that they hurt themself. But for me, when he died in the spring before I was even out of Jr. High, I didn’t care what any one said about why he did it.

I really started to love Nirvana around ’95 when I started playing music and we jammed out, at one point or another, just about every Nirvana song ever. But by this point, I was well beyond any connection to the person who was Kurt Cobain.

The book about him that I finished today was pretty good. Really, I began the first chapters with a nagging uneasiness as it described the horrible situations that he faced as child. His folks divorced, and he found himself homeless frequently as he couldn’t live with either of his parents and their new spouses. The author may have been pushing me to feel pity for the circumstances of Cobain’s childhood, but I’m not that easy to sway. Many of the situations that Kurt was the “victim” of were situations that many of us have looked at. But for what ever reasons, maybe his artistic genius maybe, he was unable to eat shit in order to have a roof over his head. Many people don’t get along with their step father or mother; many people try to live with surrogate families. I don’t know where I’m going here, I just don’t buy that his crappy life growing up is what caused him to eat a shotgun at 27.

In this book, as it detailed his last moments on earth, and even shared the note he left behind (as well as many excerpts from his copious journal entries) it was hard for me to keep myself from crying. (picture me sitting at a table in the library eating my Tupperware dish of pasta and choking back tears at 1 in the afternoon) I found myself right back where I was when he had killed himself over a decade ago. I remember watching the vigil that took place in Seattle. Where thousands of people stood in the rain, sobbing and broken, while Courtney Love read pieces of his suicide note over a P.A. system in a prerecorded message. She spouted answers to each statement he made in the note as though she were addressing him directly: “why didn’t you just stay?” I remember so vividly. It makes me so mad, even now. Some one who loved US so much that he had to leave.

Toward the end of the book, through many excerpts from his private journals, all the proof I need was presented. The only thing that killed Kurt Cobain is drugs. A few of the things that he wrote, particularly about the addictions which had estranged him from almost every one in the world including himself, read like a road map to suicide. Fame didn’t kill Kurt. Courtney didn’t kill Kurt. Depression, family, chronic illness, traumatic past, uncertain future—none of that shit killed Kurt Cobain: Drugs killed him.

I’m glad I read this book, although I feel like all my nerves are raw all over again, like I just got broken up with or something. This guy made music that sounded like I felt, but then he crossed a line I wasn’t willing to follow him past. I wish he was still here; I wish I had the music he was going to make, the musician he was going to become. But I don’t.

thoughts are fleeting

2006-04-23T22:49:00.000-07:00

I thought about the weekend that the poets came to town; a hundred poets from two dozen universities and colleges all converged on my school for three days. I thought about how it made me feel like I was in high school again: full of ideals and creativity and piss and vinegar. I thought about how a hundred people all absorbed with words, all with ears fixed to the stage and a pencil burning a hole in their hand found inspiration in each other.

I thought about how making music so closely mirrored the feeling that a hundred strangers brought to light from a dormant place inside me. I thought about how much better off musicians would be if they dropped the egos that divide them and became a support structure to each other rather than a hindrance. I thought long and hard about the days when I played music for three or four of a seven hour school day and was not satisfied. Not satiated.

I thought about the night that my roommates sat in the basement and painted all over the walls in bright colors. Murals and doodles in all the colors that passed through thought while I sat in Gabe’s reclining chair and wrote because nothing inspires creative thinking like the actions of creative people. I thought about the countless words and the nearly completed screenplay that sit idly in my room unused and unread and unfulfilled and neglected.

I thought about how I used to feel better than I do now. But when I really think about it…I’ve always felt this way.

I thought about the days when I could walk up and speak to any person I set eyes on. I felt as though I was a representative of the many people who were just as fucked up as they looked…the more a person tried to avoid eye contact the more I spoke to them. I thought about the closeness that I felt to every person in this world. Thought of the closeness that I felt to every tear that rolled down every cheek and every laugh that rumbled from every gut and every sigh that filled every silence from every mouth that draws breath.

I thought about how close I came to madness…I thought about how much pain there is in the world…

I thought about the faceless and the voiceless who couldn’t care less about what I think; those who never think about anyone, those who can’t think of anyone but themselves, those who have more important things to think of.

Then, I took off my headphones, and went into class, and thought about Shakespeare.

who knows where this is going? not me, that's for sure

2006-03-06T20:50:00.000-08:00

For the longest time, I thought I was uninspired to update this here blog-a-migiggy because I was basically uninspired. And I still think there is something to that. Since then, a whole bunch of things have happened that are blog-worthy to say the least. But the simple fact is that as amusing as Shotgun Cheney jokes are, that old, rich, white, guy is not nearly as important as the thousands of young, diverse racial and financial women and men whose deaths and dismemberments Cheney is partly responsible for. John Stewart and Steven Colbert are funny and all, but they’re bleeding this one a bit dry: Dick Cheney is one of many people who have taken actions to make death more prominent than it needs be; the less I have to look at his smug face the better.

Now that I’m past that bit of ugliness, on to more happy musings…

I went to Dallas for the first time: and contrary to what I’ve been told, it was a good time. I spent the bulk of my time lost, and driving past, around, and past again every location I wanted to find—but that was the type of light hearted, random silliness that makes a vacation successful. A good long nap in the afternoon, effectively wasting the day on purpose, followed by making very good use of the clear nighttime is at the very least an underrated formula for sight seeing. We did make it to The Sixth Floor Museum which is where all the artifacts pertaining to the JFK assassination are kept. And it overlooks the scene from the film. We made it an hour before closing time, so we were unable to dwell for too long and become bummed out on what appears to be a colossal bummer. We hit some of the local color, drank some of the local color, and some of the foreign scotch, and all in all had a very low key yet still kick ass time.

Midterms are this week, all mine are on Thursday and Friday; I’ve been studying Logic for the last while, but still feel very illogical. I have the sinking feeling that I’m on the crest of a multitude of bad decisions. I don’t know if I’m about to start, or have already begun, or am smack in the middle of a bad decision making shit storm—I’m a bit disconnected these days. Kind of drifting, foggy, adjective, adjective, simile, adjective… I was sick, so I went to the doctor; he gave me pills, now my stomach hurts. Counter productive if you ask me; I would ask someone else; my answers are vague and loaded these days. Maybe it’s the reading: communist manifesto. Talk about a good way to mistrust and dislike the world around you…man I’ll tell you what, with all the hippies that adopted a more socialist view point about sharing and working together for the good of all who are working, the violence inherent in communism can be lost. I always looked at communism through the lens of civil rights, more specifically the American civil rights movement of the sixties. Non-violent protest, that sort of revolution. Marx and Engels are for the violent, physical destruction of the bourgeoisie. The more I read the manifesto, the more I feel like they are asking us to practice the same hateful actions that their enemies espouse and carry on. Such is life I guess: just when you think you found something to get behind, it turns out that a German philosopher and politico revolutionary might not be the best choice.

Its election time here in Texas. They elect their judges here, and although I believe in voting, all the candidates seem to be republicans with “the conservative values that we need!” in order for the locals to feel safe from all of us “questionable” students who are learning and supporting the local economy—and some how simultaneously making all the locals’ lives suck. We can keep their businesses flourishing, and we can generate tax revenue, and we can provide growth from maybe the largest supplier of work (the University), but if more than five of us are in a room, then we must be a nuisance. Some things never change.

El Estado de Union

2006-02-01T00:13:00.000-08:00

Typically, this is where I make a long winded bash-fest about the “Presidents” State of the Union address: but I don’t feel like it tonight. No, there’s nothing wrong—or maybe it’s that everything is wrong. Or at least more than can be fixed by, or blamed on, one inept and probably crooked politico and his cronies/handlers/puppeteers.
I like to think that this country is great, and the people therein are the reason for said greatness; I like to think that people are inherently good, and given the proper circumstances every person would like most to be happy; I also say, often, that people are by their very nature flawed and ethically crooked. I like to say that the reason Communism didn’t work is because the most important ingredient in that recipe is human nature. If we all could be truly satisfied with just enough to get by then there would be enough for everyone to get by. We all want health care, a job, a home, some type of formal education—I sure as hell don’t want to pay for yours. And historically, you don’t want to pay for mine either.
I’ve taken my share of guff from a select few people who I take guff from about my quiet appreciation of the communist view point: mostly because there has been little support for communism to be found in the cases of its practice. There is a fear inherent since the birth of the USA which dictates the mistrust of any over zealous government involvement in our lives. We don’t like the “man” holding us down; we do like the “man” to show up and rebuild New Orleans when it gets knocked down by a storm. And we sure as hell like to string the “man” up by his huveos if he doesn’t put every person without the means to do so, on a bus and ship them somewhere safer before said storm knocks down said city.
The point…where did it go? But there is something to that. The point of all this grandstanding, soapbox discourse we call the State of the Union address was once to put the chairman of the government corporation (perhaps more so today than ever) in front of the share holders and consumers to give us, in his own words, his definition of how well he’s done his job thus far. [the use of “his job,” “his def.” and such will be used until a female president is elected and shows us that a woman can be just as corrupt and greedy as a man] Immediately after…shit before, during and for days after we will be inundated by spin from both sides of the fence and from the fence builders, the fence jumpers, the fence painters, the anti-fence defamation league, and of course the Peoples Republic of the Fence who are simultaneously trying to expose every hole in the president’s speech and dam up any leak already exposed by others. Using political jargon and biased data to suggest that broken policies are not broken and that the policies were not broken until our enemies broke them even though they are sound policies still…when will this madness end? Probably never.
Our political system has become Junior High: complete with a school principal who is only held accountable for his decisions if he is found with either a dead girl or live boy, and a host of guidance counselors who are banned from giving any realistic advice to those who need it most. For example, our political system is now akin to the guidance counselor who was unable to grab me by my smart assed face and tell me that I might be smart enough to make something of myself by following my own rules, but all that fighting I was doing would damage much of my potential unless I took some time to figure out how to fight. You will never hear a president stand up and deliver a speech which chastises the citizenry for being as greedy as we are and demanding that we evolve socially and start paying higher taxes so that our neighbors can have heat this winter.

“My fellow Americans. It’s time to face facts: you are all a bunch of greedy bastards and every time you receive a refund of tax revenue you doom your nation to a long, foodless, heatless, and healthcaredless and educationedless life…”

Even in fantasy land our Commander in Chief likes to make up words. And why not, any one who said something like this to the people of this country would surely bring about the first military coup on this soil since the guerilla insurgency of the late 1700’s frustrated the crown.

“…in a democracy, people usually get the kind of government they deserve.” Adlai Stevenson said that. And I think it is proven by the hash bash in Ann Arbor.

Every year, copious potheads and politicos get together to protest for the reform of marijuana laws. And many times I was there. It was a big deal for many years as thousands of people got together and burned joint after joint on the University of Michigan’s main campus without being arrested. A few years hence, the city fathers have managed to snuff out an event that was ongoing for decades. Now I think I get it. I read in the paper, maybe a year before the city began to deny vendors licenses to be in the streets during the bash that the original cause of the bash was in town. John Sinclair was sentenced to 10 years for being in possession of two joints back in ’69. He was back visiting and surprised to find that none of the kids attending the bash knew who he was. People like John Lennon and Alan Ginsberg showed up to the first protest in 1970; middle school kids show up now. But as much as the city fathers would like to take credit for dismantling the bash, it’s pretty clear to anyone who ever attended that the life of the Hash Bash has long since been extinguished by a culture that has lost its focus.
There is no need for an omnipresent government to smash individual rights and force complacency on us: we do it to ourselves just fine. I like to make fun of stoners as much as the next guy, but the hash bash was an event that was recognized nationally as a hold over from the revolutionary political activism that swept the nation back in the day. But as its relevance waned, the irrelevant took center stage. Thirty years of people organizing an event to protest the undue and unnecessary actions of an obsolete law matters. At least there could be some glimmer of interest visible to the naked eye. Now all we can do is complain that Lost is not on tonight because the president is making some speech about something…

“…the course of human events, even the greatest historical events, are not determined by the leaders of a nation or a state, like presidents or governors or senators. They are controlled by the combined wisdom and courage and commitment and discernment and unselfishness and compassion and love and idealism of the common ordinary people.” -Jimmy Carter, 1974

We decided that the actions of homosexuals were more important than those of our elected officials. And now we are reaping the produce. Corn mostly…virtually no nutritional value and only there for the destructive production of ethanol because of subsidies.
And those people who are inconvenienced by the presence of a preemptive speech are most likely the same people who rank on my list of “people who suck the most.” The assholes and morons who only know two things: “god hates fags and if you don’t love America, leave!” These are the people whose sons and daughters joined the military because they suddenly felt a kinship with NYC despite living in Montana, or Arkansas, or Idaho for their entire nineteen years because some brown people crashed planes into some buildings. These people don’t even think about the Pentagon; they do now because they are getting their legs and arms and faces blown off due to the decisions made in a five sided building in DC that they’d never really learned about before boot. I’m not sensitive…deal with it. The last election showed me, and you, to the world as a part of a hateful culture which continues to espouse hateful beliefs but only finds new ways of convincing themselves that they are not hateful. See also: law students fighting against affirmative action down the street from one of the longest running political activist events.
Every day we make decisions which shape the culture which supports us. By doing things like donating blood, time, money, food, blankets, clothes, books, musical instruments…we actually create an environment that sounds like the place our elected officials wax philosophically about on television. Tomorrow, I’m going to class. And I will spend one hour trying to learn Spanish. And in that, I am doing more to ease the immigration problem with Mexico. Sound silly? Do you think that if every Texan, Zonie, Nuevo Mexican y Californian spoke fluent Spanish there would be an issue? We can wait for the elected body to save us from whatever it is we need to be saved from, or we can just say “fuck you, I’m doing this because it makes my life better.”

it's hard to hear with all these bibles thumping!

2006-01-24T11:44:00.000-08:00

So I was flipping through the channels last night, and I happened to stop on the “Jesus channel.” The one with the old nuns and even older programming dedicated to Catholicism and greater Christian beliefs. Yeah, well, apparently for the 33rd time, the “March for Life” happened a few days ago. I’ve never paid much attention to this event, being that I don’t believe a single thing that it espouses, but for some reason I just couldn’t turn away from the train wreck. It just so happened that I tuned in just as the MC, Nellie Gray, was stuttering her way through an introduction for one of the many Congressmen (and women…sadly) that were in attendance. Here is an excerpt from a site I found with a list of the politicians in attendance:

“It is expected that some Members of Congress and others will speak at the rally, including: Sen. Sam Brownback, and Rep. Christopher H. Smith (R-N.J.), Jeff Fortenbury, (R-Neb.), W. Todd Akin (R-Mo.), Todd Tiahart (R-Kan.), Steve Chabot (R-Ohio), Melissa Hart (R-Pa.), Mike Pence (R-Ind.), Steve King (R-Iowa), Mike Fergerson (R-N.J.), Scott Garrett (R-N.J.), and Jeanne Schmidt (R-Ohio).” (Letter written to USNewswire.com)

This intro for a man affectionately known as, “Mr. Pro-life” was a Rep. from N.J. But, before she gave up the mic, Nellie made mention about how he was trying to stop people from denying “personhood” to “millions of pre-born children.” I guess I’m not the only one who likes to make up words. They’re not fetuses anymore; they’re “pre-born” children. I guess since they’re now considered “pre-born” that means they no longer rely on a “mother” or “post-born organic host” to ensure their livelihood.
Some of the highlights from Congressman Smith’s (R-NJ) speech were things like “we need more fundamentalist truth policy makers” and “faith filled public policy makers” and who doesn’t grow a big rubbery one for a Congressman who quotes Matthew: 25.

Other notable quotes:

Nellie Gray who said “feminist abortionists” no less than a dozen times in the thirty minutes of air time I observed.

Christopher Smith (R-NJ) “We now know that from 20 weeks of development, probably sooner, un…pre-born children feel pain, probably twice as much as we do…”

Jeanne Schmidt (R-Ohio) “Rain is Gods way of cleansing evil.”
(She apparently hadn’t considered that the rain that had been ever present during their march may have been…well, evil. Follow with me now: rain is God cleaning away evil; it is raining on us :. We must be evil! Ramah Ramah Ding Ding.)

I don’t want to get off track here, but this involves two things I hate the most in this world: religious zealots, and Ohio. This time, two Reps. From the big Zeros couldn’t make it for more than a sentence without declaring their intentions to govern as the bible instructs them to. If it wasn’t for Cher and Milt, I would probably have joined Al-Qaeda by now and been the leader of a cell bent of destroying every inch of that vacuous hole in our gene pool.

Old Nellie liked to talk about how Roe v Wade was “not the law of the land” which is kind of silly: that’s exactly what it is. She felt that God’s laws are the law of the land. However which God is still up in the air…and when exactly God spends any time on this land is not yet being considered. Speaking of God abandoning all of us: now is when I like to tell you all about Rabbi Yehuda Levin of New York.

I’m going to say this as gently as I can. The sight of an orthodox Jew standing on the stage with copious anti-Semites is beyond me. He must have forgotten that all these people blame Jews for the death of Christ; believe that unless all Jews convert to Christianity they will all burn in hell. His agenda, which was decidedly more about being anti-homosexual, implied that Katrina, the Tsunami, Rita, Bin Laden, the Iraq War (part dos) and some other catastrophic events were to blame on abortion, or homosexuality, or both. He failed to mention the unbelievable earthquake in Kashmir which aid workers are challenged to even negotiate supplies through the mountainous region let alone the civil war with India. Maybe he overlooked that one due to the undeniable Muslim ness of that region…the good Rabbi would likely not consider me a Jew. But that won’t stop me from considering him an Uncle Tom.

The whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And the spectacle of the march makes me wonder why it is that these people felt comfortable making parallels between the Nazi party and those who support choice? Nellie Gray talked about the Nuremberg trials and suggested that a similar fate was in store for all of us “feminist abortionists.” She sounds like the white power skinheads who talk about the fall of the “Zionist Overrun Government.” Careful there Nellie, you don’t want to align yourself with that movement. Keep it to a kinder, gentler sounding fascism.

In conclusion, I’m going out now, to get an abortion…maybe two. (Breakfast at IHOP—I like my eggs over-hard, over-easy, scrambled; a fetus to feed us, that’s what I say!)

holiday wrap up vol. 1

2006-01-16T22:15:00.000-08:00

It’s been exactly a month since I last posted. I haven’t really known what to say. I needed some space between what just happened and what the inevitable conclusions were going to be. But here goes a few:

-I accomplished nothing in the visit. I didn’t work nearly as much as I should have, or wanted to. But this is because in less than a few hours off the plane I slipped effortlessly back into the horribly unhealthy life I was living before.

-I laughed so hard for so long that I was surprised at how absent that type of reckless abandon of a serious demeanor had become in my life. Shit, I almost choked to death laughing with Bruce at work every day.

-It sounds bad to say it out loud, but I was counting on one thing above all else: I thought when I got back to MI I would feel like I was finally back home. But I never felt that way. I was constantly aware of a misplaced center from day one to the day I left. I walked around in a dream state, asleep at the wheel more like it, and I’m partially to blame for that.

I was back for a month, that’s a long time. Especially when I’ve been in my own little space with no one to disturb the ruts I have so carefully worn. The shock of living in my parents house was enough to send me reeling…imagine four OCS people living together. Then picture that I Am the only OCS person and that it was so hard for me to handle sharing my personal space that I slept on couches three of four weeks. I’m a weird guy—more so than before. Now that I’ve got my own little Petri dish here in Texas my bizarre behavior is truly idiosyncratic.
The way that my friends all seemed to slip back into their previous roles that they played made me feel a bit like I’m a bad influence. Bart said to me last summer—or maybe two summers ago, it’s all so blurry—that the FBI would classify me as a “catalyst.” That’s about the size of it. Every day, whom ever I was with, gave up a little bit of the progress they’d made in their life and took two steps backward with me and in 99% of the time a large amount of booze as well. This was what it must look like when a couple makes a last ditch effort to rekindle or preserve a relationship as it had previously existed. All that time I was carrying on like I was partying, when I was just adding a fog to cover the deep sense of not belonging anymore. We, as a peer group, could not continue on as we had been. There needed to be some growth, and some space so each member could build a life independent of the whole. I feel a bit like I had to be absent for that growth to take place…
We can’t go back to the way it was. The future is so unsure, the past so steady and reliable. I got pushed forward last month. I’m rolling ahead now, and the view in the mirror is so faded that I have to stare at it for too long and almost crash.

Home...

2005-12-17T17:31:00.000-08:00

I don’t really know where to start. I mean for one thing, I haven’t seen the sun since I was about 30,000 feet in the air above the clouds on Wednesday. We descended through a thick layer of clouds to find about three, maybe eighteen inches of snow on the ground. I’m exaggerating, but there was enough snow on the ground to make the ground look like a bucket of moose tracks ice cream from that high. As the plane came down, I was wondering if we were still in the clouds until we touched down. But despite the grey sky, and grey everything-else, I walked off the plane excited to be here.

It was fitting that Gabe and Kelly picked me up from McNamara, those two know something about coming home from sunny climates to MI with the x-mas weather we all love so much here. Gabe actually left MI back in 2001 to escape what he called “the most depressing place ever.” I resented him a little for talking so badly about Michigan, because I loved it so much. Alas, now I see what he meant. Although I will not ever speak of where I’m from as if it is a bad place to live, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been some where with enough color that it has changed the way I see every thing around me. I hope the sun will come out eventually; I remember many days with the clearest skies and brilliant sunshine from every year of my life. I could use one now.

Readjusting is hard; I guess that’s the point. The first week or so in Texas, I started the count down until I came home for the holidays. Now I’m here, and time went so fast that I feel like I’ve been gone much longer than I have. Until today, I felt like I was dreaming all this, and at any moment I would wake up. I don’t think I will live here again. Maybe I’m just feeling the culture shock right now; maybe not.

On a lighter note: I stayed at Anna-Maries house last night, after about 13 strait hours of drinking. It was a simple pleasure: scratching the daylights out of two giant Rottie’s that I call my own. I don’t think there is a more basic way to feel loved than when two dogs that I rarely spend much time with (not nearly as much as I should any how) hit the roof the second they see me. That’s love man, two hundred slobbering pounds of face licking love. They say that petting animals is therapeutic, and maybe there is something to that. My folks’ dog Dexter is wandering around the house right now. He apparently can’t choose between his bed in my folks’ room, and the big ass bone in the living room. One day, he’ll figure out that he can take that bone with him into their room and chew it to death in bed: on that day he will probably also apply for welfare, disability/unemployment benefits, and truly understand what being an American is all about. I’ve got high hopes for that dog.

Well, I’m hitting the shower now; gotta party like its 1999 again.

note on the eve of my triumphant return

2005-12-08T23:52:00.000-08:00

So, at the cusp of my first bout of finals at TXST, I find myself a bit concerned. But really I should say that I “found” myself concerned: finals are done man! For me anyhow. All mine were on Wednesday and Thursday. So there. Tomorrow is the game:

Texas State vs. Northern Iowa

ESPN 8:00et/7:00c be there or be square

So I have to stand outside and be “the man” and not let people inside the gate to the visitor lot and such. I get to stand there and be security…Jess put a picture of me doing so on her blog during her visit. This game, aside from being the furthest in a 1AA playoff for the ‘Cats (as far as I’ve been told) will be a new experience for most in attendance: it’ll be freakin’ cold.

Yes, last night, there was a bloody ice storm. That being said it was more like freething dritthhule. But it was enough to shut down I-35, Mopac, 21, etc and not only that, but since you know I was out driving in it, I got to witness first hand Texas-winter driving skills. Heh-heh.

My friend Jennifer, left work, and drove cautiously home. About fifteen miles away, she ran out of gas. As I told her, and some others, of all things Texans should not run out of gas being that it is about a thousand miles to every damn where in this state. It’s a friggin’ huge state, so they should know better than to run on E. She called me while I was studying, said she was stuck, and we found out that a tow truck was a good “hour or two” away. So hearing Jessi in my head, I went and grabbed her. No shit, there was some ice on that freeway. The hills were really shitty in some spots. This was illustrated by dumb ass after dumb ass that sped past and then either nearly lost or totally lost control of sus vehicle. I looked one person sitting shotgun in the eyes while they did 360’s across three lanes into a ditch. Naturally, my formidable (albeit small) truck was victorious. We got Jennifer’s car today. Then I went and got some thermal gear for the game on Friday…hey it’s 25 down here all of a sudden. That’s cold. It is worth saying that when I got back from the “ice storm” adventure that it was literally twice as cold in Ypsi, and five times colder in the Deuce.

It’s the end of my first semester here, and I’m pretty set on summer classes. At least the first session: I should be able to make the 4th; I don’t want to be in school for the rest of my life. This session went so fast, hard to believe it. Seems like just yesterday I couldn’t believe that I was in Texas. I pinched myself every day; and “no mames wey"’d too. Things are okay though…things are good.

I guess I’ll be seeing you guys soon enough. Looking forward to it. I spent so much time in the first weeks thinking of nothing but how long until I got to come home, now I’m sure that I’ll be coming back to SM for sure. So I think that while I’m back, it’ll be good, maybe I’ll finally figure out why people still live in MI with all that weather? Man, looks horrible on the news. I don’t know how you guys put up with it!

Keep the fire burning, I’ll be up shortly.

random facts about this exact moment in blogging

2005-11-28T01:30:00.000-08:00

I live in Texas.
I moved here because of school…
I have become extremely proud of being from Michigan because of these Texans
When I make a typing error, I must retype the word from the start
I am nervous about coming home for “I killed Christ-mas”
I talk with Dan for at least an hour during every Michigan game I get to watch
If you have a story about being terrified by my dad, he has told me that he likes you
Most things I do, that are fucking stupid, I do, so I can have a good story to tell after
It’s more important to me that you chew with your mouth closed than if you actually act like a good person
I would rather suffer than change my habits/routine
I think about every one back home every day
When Gabe sent me a picture of the Red Leaves on a maple tree back home, it made me so homesick I had to leave the table
I am an exact fraction of every person I have ever met…the fraction is as of yet undetermined
I worry about the same stupid shit here that I did there…
The Mexican-Americans here are the only people I have heard use the word “nigger”
I hate the thought of missing something
The last time I really talked to Alain, he had a huge interview about med school
The last time I talked to Justin, I was apologizing for being a hard person to live with
The last time I talked to Bruce, he, and I, were drunk, and we were both happy
The last time I talked to Shane, his dad was doing well, and he, and his brother, were still great. Still are.
The last time I talked to Anna-Marie, the kids were figuring out the pecking order, again. Plus, she was doing her part to keep thirsty Thursday alive at Braans…er Farmingtonish
The last time I spoke to Gabe, I teased him about my new tattoo
The last time I spoke to Corey, I was drinking Jack Daniels, and had no shirt on, in November
Mike T made me join another friend site, so I did, because at any moment, I miss him
I joined another blog site to stay in touch with my mom and dad
Alain doesn’t return his messages.
I have made some friends here that help me want to stay in Texas

holiday-schmoliday

2005-11-23T17:53:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving…or happy genocide day depending on how you look at it. Down here, I haven’t gotten any connection between Native Americans and the Thanksgiving holiday. Maybe it’s a cultural thing…maybe it’s because the “Native Americans” in this area were actually Mexican. Either way, I’m still happy about the pumpkin pie…god I love pumpkin pie.

Earlier, I talked to Jess about her arrival and what we’re planning for the weekend; unfortunately that includes school work: thanks a lot Dr. Morrison. Out of curiosity, how many of you thought Dr. Morrison is a man? That “Dr.” prefix seems to be masculine for some reason; people seem to assume that a “Dr.” is a guy…yeah, I’m including a feminist section in my final paper—gender means nothing to me.

I’ve been thinking about Mikey Thompson a lot this week. It was his birthday on the 15th, and although I only played phone-tag with him, it’s always good to hear his voice. And since Jess is coming here as I can’t really afford to go home (or justify the cost of flying home for a few days for that matter) it reminds me of when Mike was a freshman at USC and in the same situation, and I went to him, for the same purpose. At the time, it meant a lot to me to go out there and see how he lived and existed in an alien situation—I think that maybe (and I’m hoping so) it meant a lot to him too having a close friend come out to be with him so he didn’t feel alone. I’ve got Meme and John down here, but I don’t think he had any one in Cali. Man, he just goes out and does what ever he wants and succeeds. Way to go Mikey.

I guess this is the time of year that people start to think more fiercely about their family because of the holiday season. But for me, it’s not quite like that. Thanksgiving and Christmas are pretty much the same thing for me—it’s a day that all other distractions are put aside for my Dad, Mom, Sister, and I to eat Grandmas smashed potatoes and pick on each other. We’re a tight group us Elders’. Thanksgiving dinner isn’t that dissimilar from any other family dinner, because we have been able to appreciate every moment of peace we can share for as long as I can remember. I am thankful of my folks, my beautiful Bear, and my friends every moment of consciousness. Fuck a holiday: I want these people in the front of my mind every day, so I keep them there. People call me a Grinch because I don’t like x-mas, and this holiday season in general gets on my nerves. Well, that’s fine. Any period of time that is designated for us to celebrate each other should be looked down on: if the end of November to the first of January is the entire span by which we feel it necessary to express our affection then maybe Al-Qaeda is right.

Although I don’t anticipate any body getting angry at me for the Al-Qaeda thing (being that it’s hard to type when both hands are thumping the bible) I don’t mind clarifying that while some people hold on to the belief that we as a nation are being attacked because we are “free” it might do some good to look at it as if we are being attacked because we place value highest on shit that doesn’t apply to us: see also: anti-gay marriage laws. U.S. citizens (“American’s” include all three of the continents thank you very much) still choose not to vote because “my vote doesn’t make a difference any way” and at night, when they put their happy heads on their pillows, for some reason (comma splice much?) don’t think “hey, doing nothing has changed nothing—ever. Maybe I should try doing something?”

Yeah, this is the shit I think about during “thanksgiving” wait till x-mas, that’s when the shit really hits the fan. Fucking jesus and his “store-wide sales events.” Was the “son of god” really meant to “die for our sins” so we could get “great savings” on man made plastic toys that our bodies interpret as false estrogen and thusly promote the growth of cancerous cells and destroy the only home we are ever going to have? (that’s earth for all you non-sci-fi people…or for all you sci-fi people who think we’ll get off this rock when it finally can’t take it anymore).

Well, for what it’s worth: I hope all of you out there have told the people you love that you love them a hundred times already this year. Because you are contractually obligated to do so now until January, so it doesn’t mean as much. And in conclusion:

I still say the entire state of 0hi0 sucks. Though i suspect I’ll be hearing about it until next November (Cher and Milt).

I am Batman. Would you like to be my sidekick?

2005-11-15T22:26:00.000-08:00

As it turns out, the tread mills that I run on at our little fitness center are not invincible. This is best illustrated by the fact that both of them are broken…one of the elliptical trainers has trouble with the timer; the fake bicycle-thingy is falling apart…yeah; it’s time to go outside. And as luck would have it, there is a perfectly accessible football stadium across the road from me.

So, at the expense of my knees, my previously torn ligaments and tendon, I’m doing the bleachers and stairs of our little stadium. Which I should say, has an upper deck, so it’s not vertically little, just capacity-wise…ain’t no big house. But then, what is? (Ohio sucks).

There is also a track, which is, I think, a quarter mile track going around the field, so I run all the stairs, and then I do maybe three miles on the track depending on how I’m feeling. I know that right now all the freakish marathoner’s are scoffing at me, but don’t lose track of the fact that I’m not training for anything, save intramural soccer next semester. The best part of this improvised work out of mine is the ending: ten or so 100 yard wind-sprints across the football field. It’s been so long since I have pushed my legs that hard, that it’s kind of like revisiting the past. Blood gets forced deeper and higher into my quads than I can remember, nor can my muscles for that matter. There is great ambiance in our football stadium. And being that I’ve been able to get out on to several fields and run I feel like I can say with some certainty that working out on the field that comes to mean something to you is worth the effort.

I’ve played soccer in Spartan Stadium, I’ve played touch football, and run the stairs at The Big House, I’ve done snow angels on the Lion at Ford Field, and now I’ve streaked across the field at night in Bobcat Stadium. All of these have an air to them that is inspiring. I mean, so many of you who might read this are in some way or another affected by college football. Many of you like to watch it, and have emotional ties with what the teams represent. Most of you even refer to your favorite teams as “us” or “we” without really thinking about it. So if you get a chance, make the effort and go to the stadium that your favorite team plays in, and work out on the field. Run the stairs, go out on the field and do wind sprints from goal line to goal line. That vast emptiness of seats is powerful. The surface is topnotch for running, and it’s just as much yours as alumni or a non-athlete student as it is theirs. Even if you live in Ohio, and run the risk of God swallowing the stadium whole with you in it because it is truly an unholy abomination against all that is right and true, (Cher and Milt…this means you) it’s worth the risk to feel the connection with something you love.

After dark, the bats that live in our stadium come out to do what they do. So as I’m sprinting from endzone to endzone, there are small bats swooping back and forth snatching up insects that I can’t even see. I like to think that when I go running past, the bats around me think “that’s a big fucking dragonfly, maybe I’ll wait for the next one.” For a person who doesn’t get high on running, this is what keeps me exercising.

As for this Saturday, I’ll be at work for most, if not all of the game. The Bobcats are playing for an SLC championship, and a birth in the playoffs, but I’ll keep an eye on THE game while I’m at work. Here’s to Penn State, may they represent the big ten well in the BCS. And here’s to Ohio State, without whom we might never truly understand the depths of the fallen.

Shit yeah! I love this time of year! Even in Texas.

Go Blue, Go Cats.

the weather...

2005-11-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

I got a sunburn today.

p.s. go Bobcats...

2005-11-03T10:44:00.000-08:00

I was told to send a brace of telegrams, to the right people, explaining
My position
So I did
I do, and I do and I do

I was told to take a stand, take a stance, take a view, take an interest, take life by the horns, take all I could get while the getting is good, take a moment, now and then

To reflect, and enjoy

Take me for instance, take him for example, take a look at how they do things—
Take your vacation time whether you want it or not, it’s yours
Take our vacation time, if we’re gone, we’ve earned it, you’ll need it, take it
Take into account how they understand their world,
Take into account how she has been treated her whole life,
Take a minute, and consider what it takes to feed a family, like he has to,

You’re taking too much time to decide,
You take turns too fast,
You take a nap now, and there won’t be anything left when you wake

Take advantage now when you’re young
Take advantage now before it’s too late
Take advantage of this while you can still afford to be
Looking
For
Yourself

Donate blood, but take a look at your schedule first
Stop by the food drive; take what you’re not eating to donate
Be a big brother; fit it in somewhere, it looks great on a resume
Fuck the future, I’m cold now

When they tell you where they’re from, you feel like you’ve been kissed:
They came from a hateful place; you’d never know
All the films in the world can change your life; 15.99 a piece
Even Jews read Mein Kampf

Taking is good—Donation is burdensome—Votes don’t count

Believe(ief(s))?

Life is reconciling the differences

halloween...doesn't feel like it to me.

2005-10-30T17:44:00.000-08:00

A long Saturday, which involved getting up at the crack of noon, followed by three or four hours of studying while half paying attention to football on espn/2, and ABC, I decided to go work out. Four and a half miles on the tread mill, weights, the usual. The people I meet while working out are always cool; frankly, any more than four hours of literary criticism and I get a little crazy. Suddenly, and with out warning, I will be inclined to analyze every word that comes from any person’s mouth with a preternatural ferocity as if they are the physical embodiment of narrative. And as a matter of fact, if you ever listen to what people say, there is a tendency for all language to be in some way anti-woman, anti-minority, anti-male, anti-poor, anti-homosexual, anti-geographical, or other wise against a group or belief structure. Maybe the whole English language in action is truly deconstructionist…a whole nation of haters—but that’s neither here nor there.

After working out for two hours or so, I was back home, bent on staying home and doing the school thing despite the fact that it’s Halloween and Saturday night. Sure, I have no costume, nor did I attempt to create one, but still, many parties abound. I made it till around eleven, and then the fact that I couldn’t get hold of anyone forced me to go ahead and not go out. Duh-duh-na-na-nuh…I drink alone….yeah with no body else…I’m not going to the bar alone, not crashing any parties—I didn’t feel much like a party anyhow, just feel obligated to go out on a Saturday is all.

But really, there are some things in the sports world happening that reflect real life. Teddy Bruschi is doing something that resonates with me for some reason.

Teddy, who has had heart surgery to repair a hole in his heart, and a mild freakin’ stroke in the last year, has decided to return to the NFL. For some reason, I have trouble seeing this in the normal awe-inspired cloud of reverence that most sports-guys are looking at this through. I am a huge sports fan, in particular football, (duh) but still, a hole in the heart? A fucking stroke? It’s just a game. And yes, he has been defined by this “game” for maybe his entire adult life, that’s not an easy thing to walk away from. But what about the rest of his life? I remember dad saying something about a study of O-linemen where they were able to find that when the ball is snapped their hearts skip a beat—stress comes in all forms, and the kind that most of us are used to is the kind that wears us down over many years. Causing lesser men to lose their hair, which may greatly improve their looks, but still shows us why men die before women. But in the case of these guys, the stress is instant, and exponential. So, why would you, after being a world class athlete, put yourself back into the lifestyle that nearly killed you

Hang on, there’s someone at the door………………………..*

[Editor’s Note]
At this point, Dom has decided to go out with his work friends Adrian and John. He left this blog in limbo until around three in the morning and was quickly aware that his fingers would not allow him to continue. After a long walk home from the party, and a long talk on the phone with Dan’o, he called it a night. We now rejoin his blog which is already in progress.

…………I think the point was something to the effect of how we as a people arbitrarily decide what is acceptable to die for. I guess it just seems to me that all this admiration for Bruschi is a bit misled. It’s all: “can Bruschi’s return help the Pat’s win another Super Bowl?” but no one wants to talk about what happens if the hole in his heart suddenly reopens, or he has another stroke, on the field. What if he dies on the field in front of millions of people? Undoubtedly, he would be considered a hero. But how that makes any one a hero is beyond me. I hope he does okay.

I hope y’all are doing okay too.

pawn brokering...a can of gas and a match wanted...you're not greek, your just an asshole...goalll!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-10-14T17:28:00.000-07:00

So after about the nine-millionth time I saw the commercial for the pawn shop up the street, it dawned on me: I still have Shane’s stereo. I mean, lets face it, if he wanted me to give it back, he’s had something like two or three years to ask—and actually he forfeited that right the night at the Tiki Bar when he offered me a hundred bucks to yell “show me you tits for a beer!” at some girls going to their car in the parking lot. So I did it, of course, and he welshed, of course…ipso facto the stereo is mine. But the point is that I don’t need it any more, and I could always use an extra fifty bucks so I went off to do the old “I didn’t steal this, it belongs to me, truly” dance with the pawn shop man. But apparently here in Texas, or at least San Marcos, they want the stereo to be hooked up so they know it works. Because I am certain that every body in Texas drives right up to the pawn man and yanks the stereo out of the dash and runs inside for extra dip-money. But alas, I am still burdened with a stereo I don’t need, so I guess that’s that. Although I was tempted to say that they should be ashamed of themselves for denying the drug addicts and alcoholics of the area their god given right to sell off every possession possible to feed the monkey—surely that’s how Jesus himself intended it to be! He might as well get married to a man and kill a fetus for the wedding reception meal! But the wall that contains “100’s” of guns preempted any such shenanigans.

Normally I wouldn’t go into a pawn shop any how; no reason to. But the Charles Reinhart Co. has decided that despite its Ann Arbor address, they are in fact just another Ypsilanti slum-lord. I mean, most property owners would be tickled by their tenants putting a multi-thousand dollar paint job on the interior of their house. More still would rejoice in the fact that after four years of rent paid in full, and a now usable basement complete with painted walls (walls formerly known as “bare cinder blocks”) and carpeted floors(don’t forget the floor that was built over the worn mortar-mix floor of the past). But not this management company. No, they want to do things like take two-thirds of our security deposit from us. They charged us for the graffiti in the basement—the same basement that was unusable when we moved in. They charged us for “trash removal” not once, but twice. Justin went in and cleaned the house after he and Bruce were all moved out…so the amount they sent me (in Texas) was about the amount I was owed for my share. But as for Justin and Bruce (in Michigan), they don’t get a phone call. Mind you, that I told, and Justin told, the sketchy bitch that took over our account, mysteriously, just weeks before the end of lease, that she should address anything to Justin (in Michigan) because I, am in FUCKING TEXAS!!!!!! Disappointing. Truly. Now I am currently rolling around a crazy idea that falls under contract law in the “quasi contract” area where in there is protection against unethical enrichment at the expense of the contractor. I bet an invoice for 4 to 6 thousand dollars worth of services rendered would illustrate to the wonder Reinhart Realty CO. exactly why you don’t put a person who knows nothing about the situation to settle an account that has been built into a relationship between the tenant, property manager, and even Dick Pierce, the property owner.

I talked to Shell this afternoon, apparently there had been some concern about me dating sorority girls or something. Although the thought has crossed my mind, “dating” isn’t the verb I would use to describe it. Have you every noticed that for the most part, and there is very few exceptions to speak of, my experience with speaking to so-hoe’s is that I try to make the language colloquial enough to emulate their frat-like counter-parts without having to drink enough lead paint to actually make the transformation complete. All the while, their strange preternatural commitment toward unrealistic politeness keeps them engaged with me in conversation long enough for them to figure out: “did he say he was a Sig Tau, or Sig Ep? I hope he’s not a Teke.” I usually lose them when I tell them I’m a member of the Fraternal Order of the Kindergarten Crew…like a led zeppelin, that’s how it goes over.

In fact, I don’t even know where the Greeks live around here. I mean, it seems to me that from coast to coast, there is always a row full big house's, falling into disrepair, held together by only caulk and dried beer with giant letters on the façade. But not so much around here, not that I can see any way. But they probably do exist; there are so damn many people rocking carbon copied Greek-T’s on campus that I can only conclude that they must live here or else they wouldn’t bother with the major commute. Honestly, you know if they are coming in from out of town, they all live in the same place outside of town.

Bizarre things go through my mind in the one-man show that I call “my apartment.” Things like: if they’re so proud of their cowboy image down here, why am I the only one wearing a big cowboy hat around here? Must be the fact that I’m not in touch with my hair follicles…they packed their shit and left town when they found out I had committed to my beard back in high school.

What the hell happened to Michigan football? 3-3? Honestly, I leave town and all hell breaks loose. I was operating the score board at the Women’s Soccer game last Sunday, and part of the job entails counting shots on goal. As the ref was calling a bad game (and he was) the Louisiana-Monroe fans were a bit restless. One of them, probably in his mid sixties, turned to me and commented that he thought I wasn’t keeping track of the shots correctly. “Home cooking” is what he said. Shots on goal? I told him not to worry about some kind of rivalry, “I’m from Michigan” I said. “Your Wolverines are sucking corral water!” was the strange Louisiana response. My boss was stabbing me in the side from behind; “those aren’t the official stats sir” is what my boss said. I was ready to say something more along the lines of: “when you are the most winning team in division 1A history, you don’t sweat a bad season” or “you should talk about drinking corral water, you would be the foremost expert—hello? Katrina? God hates Louisiana as much as I do!” But I think that would likely have resulted in my losing my job…and having to beat the mortal shit out of an old man and many other people at a Women’s Soccer game. What football has to do with soccer I don’t know; why drive from Louisiana to Texas to talk about football, in a division that your school is not a part of is beyond me. The Bobcat Women’s Soccer team won the game in the first overtime…I know you were wondering.

not Missing, just In-Action...or why my mom feels neglected

2005-10-04T19:59:00.000-07:00

well, despite the fact that i had to work for just shy of twelve hours on saturday, ABC didn't broadcast the UM-MSU game any how. i couldn't watch it even if i had the day off. Dan and Mike were in Ann Arbor at "The Arena Bar" where we like to watch the big games if not at Dad's. so there are my brothers, watching the second strait year with overtime ending in victory for my suffering (if not a bit dissapointing) wolverines without me. Dan was my only connection to the game, leaving me somewhere around fifteen messages throughout the game. i was at the varsity women's vollyball game against Nicholls State University, followed by mens Football against South Dakota State. it's cool being able to combine sports with the absolute nessesity that is a job...i just feel a bit lonely when i can't watch my team play the big ones.

really, i had to stop maintaining connections so closely with home. i mean, mom isn't the only one giving me a hard time about being "neglected." Gabe stopped leaving me silly messages about me not calling enough, because: "I know it's hard to make a new life so far from every one when every one is constantly reminding you that you belong back here." Gabe's insight was bitter sweet: it's accurate, and i miss thursday night dinner and 100 oz beer towers in farmington...his wife ain't bad either.

i guess it's just important for me to say that i'm not trying to ignore any one, or push any one away. it's been hard for me to drag my ass out of my apartment and do things alone. i don't feel like the most approachable guy in the world (think large, tattooed, skin-headed appearance, with a resting facial expression of anything from total dismay down to flat out furious). but i'm here, and i like it here.

so. i'm not trying to be neglectful. i just hope that everyone can go for a few weeks without an update and still feel confident that we wont have lost our connection, because i feel like all my connections are stronger than that.

oh yeah, too many places to keep track of.

2005-09-23T00:17:00.000-07:00

sure, i already post to my friends on myspace.com, but i get the feeling that my folks would like updates too. and beside that, you guys talk about some funny stuff...

p.s. some one please tell cher and milt i send my..uh hem...condolence's about the texas game. never get board of hating ohio: the grander canyon! that's my platform for president when i turn 35. ohio sucks.