1382

Decisions and Delusions.

2011-04-02T00:45:00.000-07:00

It is 1:46 in the a.m. and I can't sleep. I am moderately ill and I can't breathe very easily. I'm waiting for the sudafed and the niquil to kick in and I have no idea how to spell the names of those two medicines.
As of late I have been weighing the pros and cons of two career options I may or may not have in the future; finding it nearly impossible to figure out which is the better choice. And the contenders are: Option A. teaching high school history. This is something I have wanted to do for some years now and is what I am pursuing as a bachelor's degree. This job would allow me to do something I like and am passionate about, while possibly allowing me the summers off to write (which may or may not be a complete waste of time). Unfortunately, teaching will pay very very little and will not allow our family to live a very comfortable lifestyle and will most likely lead to a lot of stressing over finances.
Option 2. (those who know me will realize that the discrepancy between "A." and "2." is intention and how I roll). Taking over my dad's business. This career option would allow us to give our kids many more opportunities in life and allow for a much more comfortable lifestyle, though it is something that I have never really been interested in and I usually find quite boring. Choosing this option would make me feel like I am selling out. I wouldn't stress about money with this option, but I would probably stress over having to do something everyday that I am not fond of, dislike, am bored with, and/or hate.
Option A would make my family experience mostly negative aspects of the path while I would be the only one who would enjoy the benefits of such a career. Option 2 would leave me suffering the negative aspects, but allow my family to enjoy the positive things associated with the career.
I fear I have little choice, but to opt for my family's well-being and prosperous future. Anything else, though morally superior, professionally stimulating and thoroughly satisfying, would make me an extremely selfish person.
I must choose to sell out. I doubt either will be an option in the end.

Winter's Curse

2010-12-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

Michael sat barefoot on the white sand, digging his toes into into the fine grainy ground. The cool ocean breeze kept his hair out of his face and filled his nose with that familiar scent of ocean and beach, smelling slightly fishy, yet pleasant. He watched as the dark clouds of grayish blue and purple blanketed the sky which watched over the ocean. He knew the rain was coming and decided it was time to head home, though he didn't mind getting caught in a downpour while riding his bike. He'd always liked getting soaked by rain; it made him feel alive. But it was a long ride and he planned on taking his time, so he grabbed his backpack and set out along the sand towards his bike.
As he walked along the sand he saw the little crabs disappear into their little holes in the sand. When he reached his bike he unlocked the chain and put it into his bag. He then took out his ipod, pulling the earphones up into his ears and selecting his summer mix. For as long as he could remember he had listened to music by season. There were just certain songs and styles of music that fit better with certain seasons, not to mention all the memories from seasons past that went along with each album. He jumped on his bike to Whiskeytown and set out along the bike path along the esplanade.
He cut through a small part of the city, passing the Pancakes in Paradise, which served the best pancakes in the area, and made his way to into the neighborhoods where the scent of jasmine hit him with all its overwhelming sweetness. Memories filled his mind. Memories of visits with the McGregors and even earlier ones of riding home through the back streets of an unfamiliar country he'd just arrived in, his companion having sprinted home on his bike, thus breaking the rules and leaving Michael alone to find his way back to the flat. He'd not remembered the route they'd taken, but only the general direction of the flat. Luckily he'd always been good with directions and finding his way back to places. But that ride back to 3/4 Broad Street alone had been one of the best he'd had in the two years he'd spent there. That was the first time he'd really smelled the jasmine as it filled his nose and senses that night.
But that was years ago...so many years. It took years for him to return to that country he'd loved so much, but he had finally made it. After a long life spent away he had returned and it seemed like little had changed. The ocean still gave him a peaceful feeling. The fruit bats still hung in swarms from lone groves of trees during the day and filled the evening skies. He could still eat all the meat-pies, vanilla slices, mangoes, and fish and chips that he wanted.
And so, he made his way back to a newer flat, through the hills and back roads, with the palms and jasmine lining his way and the Southern Cross to watch over him. It was his return that made him realize that those memories, with all the happiness and comfort they held, were somehow incomplete. His earlier experience here wasn't perfect. It wasn't until his return to Australia that he felt right. It was Marguerite that made the difference.

Holidays are all about undoing all the dieting and excercise you do leading up to them.

2010-12-27T13:10:00.000-08:00

Oliver walked for the first time last night. We were visiting Andy, who'd just slipped on ice as he ran to get the present he'd gotten for Oliver, smashing his skull into the side of his house, when Oliver stood up. I moved a away from him and held out my hands. He took three steps, me pulling my hands away with each to keep encouraging him, before he fell. He took two more shortly after, but three remains his current high.

My Professor hates my title.

2010-03-12T22:27:00.000-08:00

In no way do I mean to offend anyone who smokes, but I have always hated the smell of cigarettes. To me, smoking is a habit I've never understood. It offers no actual benefits (people claim it gives you a buzz at first, but only a minimal one), instead offering only destruction to senses, appearance, and health. Smoking cigarettes turns fingernails and teeth yellow, deadens the senses of smell and taste, destroys the lungs and throat, and makes the smoker smell terrible.
That having been said, there are certain movies/actors that make smoking look like the coolest freaking thing to ever have been done by humans. Good Night, and Good Luck is the perfect example. Or Rebel Without a Cause, Fight Club, Stay, Rushmore (or any other Wes Anderson Movie)... I think you get the idea. Anyway, just sayin'. Not that I'm going to take it up, but I would be closer to looking cool if I did, right?

Happiness.

2010-02-26T22:43:00.000-08:00

There were lyrics running through his head as he walked out of the school and into the bright, sunny spring afternoon. "The sugary smell of springtime," he thought; it seemed so fitting. Thanks, Ben, he thought, walking slowly and calmly down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. It's lyrics like yours that create the soundtrack to life's experiences. The cars in front of the school were parked in a semicircle, creating a sort of blockade between him and the parking lot. The sounds of life had faded and left only the chirping of a couple of robins and, what to anyone else would seem an uncomfortable silence. The lawnmower that had been running when he walked into the school ten minutes earlier lay quiet and abandoned on the nearby baseball field.

The man found the silence comforting, after all, he was the cause of it. He looked up, closing his eyes, and let the warm sunlight wash over his face. It was then that he heard the voice of the bullhorn, muffled at first, then growing in volume. This was quickly accompanied by the voices of what must have been dozens of people. He looked at the cars that separated him from the rest of the parking lot and saw the flashing red and blue lights, and about twenty pistols pointing out from the open car doors. "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!!!"
He looked down at the MP5 submachine gun in his hands. The noise of the crowd of people from behind the police cars was building and he felt the pressure again inside his head. "Why can't you be quiet," he said softly, his annoyance growing. "I just want the silence."

He sat down on the grass of the school lawn near the sidewalk, the gun still in his hands. He looked down at the gun, examining the side of it with seeming curiosity. "PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON OR WE'LL SHOOT," came the booming voice again, the bullhorn making it sound like it was coming through a radio. "There's just too much noise," he whispered to himself. "I had to stop the noise."

He stood up slowly, the gun still in his hands, though pointed at the ground. "I just want some peace and quiet," he said, looking to the cars lined up in front of him. "I JUST WANT SOME QUIET!!," he said, raising the gun toward the bullhorn. Dozens of bullets tore through his flesh before he had time to raise his gun completely, each exploding out the back of his body followed by sprays of blood and pieces of organs, bone, and brain matter. His limp body fell to the ground, blood pooling instantly around it in the grass. The guns had stopped firing. No one spoke. There were no sounds. Just, silence.

A Wish for Oz.

2010-02-02T15:06:00.000-08:00

The text came from Michelle this morning when I was in the lab at school attempting to print off the dramaturg I'd stayed up all night writing. I'd left our warm flat no more than twenty minutes before to venture into the cold air of early February. Apparently our son decided to wait until I was gone to roll himself over for the first time. Figures.
He'd come very close to accomplishing this feat a few weeks before, but hadn't quite gotten his weight to shift. It was then that I realized that this is what fatherhood is. You may have seen the saying that, "Motherhood means touching poo." Well, fatherhood means missing out. I was lucky enough to be there for the first time he smiled at us, but I will most likely be at work when he crawls for the first time, or at school when he says his first word, or conducting research on quantum theory when he says his first word.
Anyway, along with a severe lack of sleep, this merely added to an interesting day.

Change and Heaps of Grape Soda

2009-12-26T10:39:00.000-08:00

For the details of Michelle's labor and delivery experience, please refer to her blog. My experience was that of sleepiness and boredom, though I was quite happy to be able to get some reading done. It was nothing like they show in the movies. Whenever Michelle wasn't peacefully napping she was laughing and carrying on as if it was any other day.
At this point I'd like to give a shout out to God for blessing us with medicine and technology to make life and all it's experiences more pleasant and pain free. Epidurals are the best. She didn't feel any pain at all, just pressure, even during the pushing part.
I'm putting a couple of photos of the offspring on my photo blog. But here's how Oliver turned out.

AutoCare is evil and is located @ 1240 South State Highway 89 91 Logan, Utah

2009-10-04T13:54:00.000-07:00

I was hoping that I would somehow become a successful author who's stories would be read by millions, and that that would be the time to share the following true story and thereby slander the company in question. But, just in case this doesn't happen, or I die before I get the chance, I'm writing about it here so that at least two people will know.
The following is the statement I wrote as soon as I got back to my flat after the incident. Keep in mind that this was written right when I got back and so if it seems incoherent, choppy, or like a bunch of incomplete thoughts it's because I was so shaken up and angry. Plus I was freezing cold from being out in the snow with only a hooded sweatshirt. Oh yeah, and the language may be offensive but I'm not editing it.

"April 24, 2008
Statement

My brother got pulled over while riding my unregistered motorcycle. Turns out there was a “Bench Warrant” out for his arrest because he went to pay his ticket one day late and didn’t have enough money to cover the $100 late fee they imposed for the 20 hour difference. This warrant allowed the officer to search Trae, my brother. Upon this search he found some crumbs of marijuana in his pocket, at least that’s what Trae told me. So he was arrested. He asked the officer if he could just call me, the rightful owner of the bike, who lived not far from the spot, to pick up the bike. The officer said no and the bike was impounded.
After a hectic ordeal with a very rude woman at the motor vehicle department of the courthouse, we finally got it all sorted out. The bike was to be commercially towed. Trae wanted to see if we could just put it in his truck and drive it home.
We met at AutoCare, handed the release form for the bike to the lady at the desk, paid for it, and she handed me a receipt. I was about to ask about towing but she said, “It’s around back.” I said, “Just around this corner?” I wanted to make sure I had heard her correctly. “Yeah, just around the side,” she said, pointing to the north side of the building. I was relieved because, from the sound of it, they were going to let us load it ourselves, saving us about $65.
We drove around back to the corner of the lot where my bike sat, being pelted by hail-type snow. Mat Rowley came out saying that Cody or someone, wanted to talk to Trae. Trae said, “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” Mat went inside. Trae told me that he used to work here, until the week before when he found a better job and quit, without contacting anyone or coming in. So he thought Cody wanted to chew him out about that. We put down the tailgate and Cody comes running out, yelling and swearing. He said that we couldn’t take the bike, it had to be commercially towed. Trae yelled, “Oh, don’t do this just because you have a beef with me.” To which Cody yelled, “I have a fucking beef with you because you can’t use a fucking phone!” I tried to explain to the man that the lady at the front desk said, “Okay, it’s just around back,” implying that we could just transport it ourselves. Him and Trae yelled and swore at each other. The man yelled that it has to be commercially towed. I calmly asked him how much they would charge to tow it. He ignored me. Him and Trae continued yelling.
The man said we had to leave. I said, “We just paid to get my bike, can we just get it towed?” Trae said something and the man said to one of his employees, “Call the cops, we’ve got trespassers!” Trae and I were shocked. By this point Trae had calmed down, but the man hadn’t. Trae said they should just talk it out, but the man ran to the fence and locked the gate, locking us in. The fence had barbed wire. I said to him, not believing what I was seeing, “You’re gonna hold us prisoner? I just want to get my bike.”
By this point he had his cell phone out and was calling the police. I tried to explain to him the misunderstanding with the girl at the front desk, that I just wanted to get my bike, and that we can just get it towed, but he wasn’t really paying attention.
The police came. Trae told them the story, accurately, though he forgot to mention the fact that the lady at the front desk made it sound like we could just take the bike. So I filled the officer in on that. He gave us witness forms. We filled them out.
“What now,” Trae asked as he handed the officer the form. He told us that no charges were being filed right now. He said that the forms that we and the stack that an employee handed to the officer, (despite the fact that only 3 or so of their employees were present, it seems they filled out forms) would be read by the county prosecutor or city attorney, and that he would decide if he wants to press charges on either side.
Within less than 2 minutes we were accused of trespassing then held hostage. If we were trespassing, why would he lock the gate? The whole idea of trespassing is that the owner of the property doesn’t want people there, but instead of kicking us out they locked us in. This seems to me to represent the opposite idea of trespassing."

I distinctly remember, and apparently was too anxious to get this written and forgot to include, that, while the man and my brother were yelling back and forth I told him we just paid for the bike to be released. He said it needed to be commercially towed. I said, "Fine, how much do you charge to tow?" He ignored me and proceeded to lock the gate. In the end they made us leave and said we'd have to get the bike the next day. Since they charge something like $20 a day for holding the bike, they added this to the bill. I'd driven separately that day so my brother left and I got in my car. As I started pulling away the guy that locked us in waved me down. He informed me he had no problem with me but that my brother has a really bad temper (he came out of the building yelling and swearing at us). He said that if I wanted to have them tow it the next day he would wave the extra day's fee. Otherwise we could get another company to tow and he'd have to charge us this additional day.
I went back the next day to meet a guy from another towing company to tow the bike. I'd had enough with AutoCare and I didn't want to pay them towing fees. I wanted to sue AutoCare for what their employee had done to us, but I didn't have the money. I thought I should share my story so you know what kind of people you're dealing with when you go to this company.

I feel sick, so I'll write about how I'm excited.

2009-09-22T10:10:00.000-07:00

In the late afternoon of yesterday I felt it was time I make my switch from summer music to that of the fall persuasion. As I selected my "Fally Fall Fall" playlist dozens of memories flooded my head with feelings from years past. Autumn, and October in particular, is one of my favorite times in the yearly calendar. I love the dark, eerie, comfortable feeling that belongs to this season of dying and decay. Plus it's one of the best months for Movie Night!

Matchbook Numbers

2009-08-09T19:44:00.000-07:00

How do babies think? Obviously they don't think in terms of language. Life must suck for a baby. I've written about this before but I still find it interesting. Infants experience some extreme things and have no way of working it out in their minds and no historical knowledge to base these experiences on. No wonder they cry so much! They have no other options. One of my best friends, who's a bit of a musical genius, addressed this subject when he wrote a song years ago making references to a child teething, implying the confusion and strangeness of the experience from the perspective of the child who has no idea what is happening to their mouth. His band's name is Code Hero, check them out.
Anyway, Michelle suggested the possibility that they just experience pure emotion and don't really have firm cognitive thoughts. Perhaps. I think they probably do think, but I really don't know. I can't possibly go further without making this religious. I believe we were alive before life on Earth and I believe we will live after our physical bodies die. And I believe we were intelligent enough before this life to use and understand language, so maybe babies think in that language but lack the ability, and knowledge of how to use their new muscles and body, to create speech.
When I started writing this I didn't plan on leading it to this area, but here we are. I just don't know what goes on inside the minds of children. I don't remember. But I bloody well wish I could.

No one will read this.

2009-08-03T21:55:00.000-07:00

Henry was vegging out at work the other day I he thought to myself, "Maybe it should be: Live everyday as if its your first. Then you'll be in awe of everything and want to experience more and more." To which I told him, "Henry, I think you're onto something! You're the best brain I've ever had."
I would love to say that I'll try to make this my new motto, my new paradigm, that I'll try to live everyday in wonder of its beauties and try to experience new things and appreciate all that I've already experienced, but I think we all know that I won't.

Yeah mom, we've already had dinner.

2009-06-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

Dear old people,
I think its about time we go over some basic rules of pronunciation. I'm sick of hearing a lot of you pronouncing things wrong. The letter "h" seems to be your toughest obstacle, so lets settle some things with that. There have been so many times I've heard human said as "u-man". Another thing is the way you kids have been saying what, where, when, why, and other various words starting with w and followed by h. In these words the h is silent, or at least, as is obvious by looking at the word, follows the w. Please stop saying hwat, hwere, hwen, and hwy. Its just plain annoying.
Please correct these problems as soon as possible, thank you.
-The management

A headache, an overpriced b-day present, and a fetus.

2009-05-26T22:02:00.000-07:00

Today a doctor did an ultrasound on Michelle. This is our healthy 12 week old parasite.

UpD8

2009-04-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

I'm putting up some pictures and whatnot on another blog. And here's the address:
http://picsfromatron.blogspot.com/

A dreary day along the border of some far off country a woman sells eggs and razors to a large Sumo wrestler.

2009-04-19T02:18:00.000-07:00

I noticed on a box of spray adhesive today: Addison, Illinois 60101. I wonder what it's like there. Where is it? Is the production of Spray Adhesive the main export from this spot on the map? Is it big enough to have a spot on th map? It's not so interesting to think that i will probably never see Addison, Illinois or millions of other places around the globe. I've trapped myself in my own little world by making attachments with friends, family, my job, school, getting myself caught up in the idea that life has a specific road that must be traveled in order to live a successful and happy life. I just finished reading On the Road by Jack Keroac, and by reading I of course mean that i was listening to it as I've recently discovered the convenience of audiobooks. On the Road gave me an itch for traveling, though I'll never do what Paradise did, and made me realize how much there is to see in this world. I suppose, in a way, I've seen a lot of this world through stories. That's one reason I like books and movies and the like. I mean just in the past 2 months I've visited Paris, watched the running of the bulls in Spain, taken multiple trips across the U.S. then down into Mexico. I've tramped through the middle east and visited worlds that exist only in the minds of readers who care to see Cairhien, Andor, Tar Valon, Illian, and everywhere in between. And this is only from the literature side of things. Were I to include the movies I've seen lately the list would be far longer.
Thus I've concluded that I'm content to visit these places without the complications and discomforts that come with traveling the world, but instead from the comfort of a couch and my mind.

Beautiful scenery and good times

2009-03-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

This is revenge.

2009-02-22T15:23:00.001-08:00

A cold balcony at the Quality Inn.

2009-02-05T20:41:00.000-08:00

I recently realized that there are several things I will never experience in life. For example I will never give birth. I will never know what it feels like to murder someone. I will never know the rush of ecstasy that comes from pushing a syringe into my vein and injecting heroine into it. I will never know what it feels like to sleep in outer space, being completely weightless. I know I won't experience some of these things due to conscious choices I make but the fact remains that I will be deprived (and in some instances: deprive myself) of certain experiences. I just thought it was interesting.

Turn Left at the Painted Indian Face

2009-02-05T20:24:00.000-08:00

I'm currently sitting, alone, at a table in a hotel room checking my email and listening to a large group of girls celebrate their friends' last night of virginity and...singleness. In addition to the fact that it's freezing cold in this room, despite the heater that's raging in a hopeless attempt to warm these quarters, I'm typing with cut fingers that refuse to heal. I've hardly slept in the past few days, though I shouldn't complain seeing as Michelle slept for only an hour last night.
I have little reason to write tonight. I suppose I simply feel the need to update anyone who might find their way onto this site.
There's an inevitable longing for summer that comes to those who choose to live in places with extremely harsh and dreary winters. Every winter, without fail, I get sick of the ugly scenery, the frigid temperatures, the unforgiving lack of sunlight, the depression of winter. Luckily I work a job that requires a minimal amount of thought, so I have plenty of time to daydream about warmer weather and all it entails. Only a couple more months of this hell before we've earned another few months of heaven.

Filth the Female Condition

2008-12-13T20:55:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry, it's gone too far. I can't take anymore of this fecal matter. That stupid b!@#$ Stephanie Meyer has to be sorted out. They turn women into giddy little morons, and that's just infringing on male territory. Listen ladies, we've got the moron thing covered, we don't need your sad attempts at trying to stoop to our level.
Every time I hear women talk about the Twilight series they begin to sound less and less intelligent and more and more like ditsy, pathetic, air-headed high school girls who lack any novel personality traits. From what I hear (from my wife who is addicted to the abomination), the writing in these books is not even good. Turns out the author just throws in largish words to make it look like she's good at writing. Apparently the one thing she is good at, other than bringing people down, is making the reader (and the demographic of which is female) feel like a high school girl with a crush, which explains how the readers act when they talk about the books.
What happened to good literature? What happened to the Catcher in the Rye, 1984, and Small Island? What happened to Tyler Durden, Boo Radley, and Soup?
What kills me most is when women think that men would like these books. Yes, it has been known to happen, but for the most part these books are for women. They were written by a woman for other women. Men don't write about sparkly, shimmering vampires. For guys, vampires don't sparkle, vampires don't shimmer.
I'll probably write more on this as it continues to bother me, but for now I'm tired and losing my train of thought.

The Blender out-golfed the Puma.

2008-11-25T17:30:00.000-08:00

Last night I found out that some people, even those closest to me, may not be aware of something that has always been a large part of my life and who I am as a person. This saddened me and I feel the need to bring this funfact to the attention of all three people who read the crap I write. Alright, so here it is: I love Koolaid.
Since I was a young chap sucking on the stretched out neck of my t-shirt I've loved the stuff. For years Grape was the ruling champion in the fight for the coveted position of favorite flavor. That was until one faithful summer morning 6 years ago when I stumbled upon Mango. Actually I don't remember exactly when I met Mango, but we've been thoroughly fond of one another since. For years and years Koolaid has been my primary source of nutrition, a fact that seems to have taken those closest to me unawares.
I suppose it's not their fault. I go through stages of foods. Such phases include but aren't limited to: Mint Hershey Kisses (which were ingested in disgusting quantities), Koolaid, KitKats, ButterFingers, Baby Ruths, doughnuts, granola bars, bananas, toast, popsicles, Rice Krispy Treats (a personal favorite), and the current obsession: peanut butter (by the spoonful).
All of these have a very special place in my heart and stomach.

There aren't enough mint brownies to keep from eating my hand.

2008-11-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing about the subconscious: I don't buy it. I obviously don't know that much about it but it seems a little too fantastical for me to swallow. If I do in fact have a subconscious making decisions without my consent, having thoughts without my being aware, and doing things in secret from my world of conscious thought, then I'm a little creeped out. It's like there's another person inside of me, someone who's keeping things from me. That's just plain weird. This idea sounds more like Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder).
Maybe I've got it all wrong. In fact this is highly likely. Obviously there are things that the body does without conscious thought like the beating of the heart, the maintaining of certain bodily functions that, were it up to actual conscious thought to initiate, we wouldn't last very long. But is that proof enough for the existence of a part of my mind that is doing things and influencing and motivating my decisions without my being aware of it? Just let the insanity sink in. I think I'm just tired so I'm talking crazy.

2008-11-23T12:27:00.000-08:00

"Nothing else will fit right,
Or seem so directly applied,
Than fitted shirt hung on me,
Fitted shirt alright..."
-Spoon

This is one of my favorite Spoon songs. And it's also an eternal truth. Throughout my entire life I've had dress shirts that were too big; the sleeves big enough to fit two or three of my arms through at once, the shirt ballooning and bunching up around my waist and torso...hideous and uncomfortable. I'd find and purchase random fitted shirts now and then, but it was always difficult to find a white one, which would be of most use.
Yesterday I purchased a white fitted dress shirt. It fits perfectly. It's hard to fully explain the elation that comes from wearing clothes that actually fit. Hoorah and kudos for clothes that aren't mass produced to hang off of various body types, but are made with care and purpose for individuals who enjoy clothes that fit right.

The Death of Conscience

2008-11-22T12:59:00.000-08:00

When I was young I loved animals. Then my parent's got a shitzu and my feelings changed. Maybe it's because I just woke up but this video made me so angry, so I thought I would share it. You should know that this footage isn't appropriate for kids. I don't know how to put this video on my page, so you might have to copy and paste.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2p6lyRZ66-s

I know it's sick, but whatever, it sounds good.

2008-10-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, here's another top 5. I realized a long while ago that there are a lot of really good songs that just happen to be about murder and/or murderers. So here it is, again, in no particular order:
1. Westfall, Okkervil River.
2. John Wayne Gacy Jr., Sufjan Stevens.
3. The War Criminal Rises and Speaks, Okkervil River.
4. Black Dirt, Sea Wolf.
5. Turn, Smile, Shift, Repeat, Phantom Planet. This one was difficult, there are so many good ones. This is my tentative 5th choice.

Our Latern's O' Jack rule.

2008-10-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

Is it weird that I find Garden State a comfort? Is that weird? Yeah...yeah, I think that's weird. Maybe it's the soundtrack. Or the fact that the weather is autumn-ish and stormy, that's always been comforting to me. Anyway, here's a picture for your viewing pleasure.

So tired it hurts.

2008-10-20T22:47:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching one of my favorite movies, which I hadn't watched in years, with my baby baby sweet baby. Movies are one of my favorite things...ever. And one of my favorites is The Shawshank Redemption. This movie has it all: great performances, nice score, it's emotionally stimulating (for better and worse), it has memorable quotes, and it makes me happy to be alive. For those of you, if any, that haven't taken the time to watch this film I highly recommend the 2 hour or so investment.
The only problem with the movie is that it makes me homesick. It gets me thinking about where I'd like to be if we weren't confined to the routine of school and work. So now I just miss the ocean and wish I was on a white sand beach watching the waves crash against the shore, the water pushing it's way up to carefully wet my feet, dark storm clouds gather across the water in the distance. I'd say something stupid as Michelle sips her Peach Daiquiri, and I'd laugh as the ice cold liquid would shoot out her nose. Ahhh...delicious dreams.

I suck as a student, but I'm great at watching movies.

2008-10-17T17:36:00.000-07:00

I feel it's time for a list. Today's topic: A few Top 5s. Now keep in mind, these have no particular order, just the top 5.

Actors:
1. Christian Bale.
2. Daniel Day Lewis.
3. Ryan Gosling.
4. Brad Pitt.
5. This spot is a tie between many actors including John Cusack, Jim Carrey, Dustin Hoffman, Mark Wahlberg, Jason Shwartzman, Bill Murray, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Ryan Reynolds, and others. It may seem like cheating to include so many people in a top 5 list but it's my list, so whatever.

Books:
1. The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger.
2. Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris.
3. Soup and Me, Robert Newton Peck.
4. 1984, George Orwell.
5. The Fires of Heaven, Robert Jordan.

T.V. Shows:
1. Seinfeld.
2. Arrested Development.
3. The Office.
4. House.
5. Simpsons.

Songs:
1. EZ, Pete Yorn.
2. Jacksonville Skyline, Whiskeytown.
3. Raining in Baltimore, Counting Crows.
4. Right Here Waiting, Richard Marx.
5. Used to be Alright, I Mother Earth.

Albums:
1. Musicforthemorningafter, Pete Yorn.
2. Beautiful Midnight, Matthew Good Band.
3. Secret Samadhi, Live.
4. Blacksheep Boy, Okkervil River.
5. Nasty Little Thoughts, Stroke 9.

Places I need to see before I die:
1. Egypt.
2. Ireland.
3. England.
4. Israel.
5. Savannah, Georgia. (In spring, summer, and fall.)

Things I want to be when I grow up...when I was 8 yrs. old:
1. Scientist.
2. Archaeologist.
3. Fire Truck.
4. Ninja.
5. Chef. (And I only became one of these things.)

Favorite Seasons:
Ha! Almost had ya.

Things that make life worth living:
1. Michelle.
2. Lightning storms and storms in general.
3. #6 Biggie-sized with Mr. Pibb.
4. Candy.
5. Hanging out with friends.

Software Softball

2008-07-20T20:55:00.000-07:00

Class ended late today. He stepped out the door and into a world he recognized only from dreams. The air was clearer than it had been in weeks; crisp with a slight breeze that felt strange against his face. The setted sun still lit the pale eastern sky above the mountains with a faint light. The rest of the sky was covered with dark grayish purple clouds, parts of which were painted a soft orange color by the city lights. He began his walk down the sidewalk, towards his flat, but paused at the top of the stairs that led down the long hill. He looked out again over the valley, taken back by the foreign familiarity of it all.
To his left was an amphitheatre that looked out over most of the valley. He stepped off the shoveled sidewalk and into the snow. The first six inches of snow had been frozen solid by the preceding weeks of sub-zero temperatures, so his shoes only sunk through the top half-inch of powder from earlier that morning. He made his way to amphitheatre, across the second row, walking on the bench until he reached the middle aisle, then turned and looked out across the valley. He could see the trail of lights from cars heading toward the canyon to the Southeast. Cliffside hill, the long steep road that led to the house he grew up, in was illuminated by the streetlamps reflecting on the snowy hills. The scene felt surreal. He couldn’t get it out of his mind; he just stood there in awe.
The soft breeze kissed his face and he closed his eyes, pretending it was a cool summer breeze, relieving him from the hot summer evening. It felt like a dream. The cars drove through imaginary streets to their imaginary homes. Streetlamps, pale blue or creamy orange, lit little sections of the scene, making a cartoon of the town. The valley looked like a Christmas tree, dotted with lights all over.
“This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” he thought to himself. “No matter what I do I can never share this with anyone. I’m the only one in the world with this view right now. God made this scene for me and me only. Even if I had my camera there’s no way I could capture this.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then looked up. “Thank you.”
He looked out again over his view, wishing he could stay there forever, then turned and slowly started back towards the sidewalk. He made his way down the steps to the path that led down the hill and to the underpass. His steps sounded hollow as he walked through the tunnel. It was this that turned his attention to the sound of his footsteps. He’d always loved the sound of shoes on pavement or loose gravel or dirt. These particular shoes made a soft thud when the heels hit the sidewalk. He continued out of the tunnel and to another sidewalk that was covered in snow. His path was lit by a tall streetlamp and the orange glow made the snow bright and alive.
He closed his eyes, looked to the sky, and held out his arms as if they were wings, tilting them side to side slowly to adjust his course. As he put his left arm down his right arm went up and, with his head back, he couldn't sturdy himself when he stepped on the ice. All of his weight conspired with gravity to pull him to the ground and into the snow. A spike from a small, iron-wrought, garden fence went through the back of his neck, dislocating the top of his spine and piercing his brain. Pinned to the ground, unable to move, unable to feel. He was unaware of the halo of red saturated the snow around his neck and head. There he lay, looking at the soft orange light from the lamppost. The light began to flicker. He strained to focus his eyes. The light flickered again then, went dark.

I was tagged, so I had to.

2008-07-06T13:40:00.000-07:00

4 Places I Visit Over and Over
1. Smiths. What can I say, the best grocery store ever.
2. Brett's house.
3. My spot. Most don't know where it's at.
4. Wendy's. If I'm at Wendy's that means I'm with friends and that means
guaranteed laughs and good times.

4 People who call/text/email me regularly
1. Michelle, my baby baby sweet baby.
2. Brett (V).
3. My mum. She's kinda crazy.
4. Don Juan.

4 Favorite Foods
1. Spicy Chicken Combo Biggie-Sized w/ Mr. Pibb. And of course, honey-mustard for the fries.
2. Philly Cheese Steak. Mmmmm......
3. Poppy seed chicken, cream-cheese corn, baked red potatoes with specific seasonings, and my grandma's cake for dessert.
4. And PIZZA!!!!

4 Places I'd Rather Be
1. Australia.
2. Savannah, GA.
3. Heaven?
4. Egypt.

4 Movies I'd Watch Over and Over
1. This one is easy, Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
2. I Heart Huckabees.
3. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
4. Stay.

4 Bands/Groups I love to listen to
1. Matthew Good (Band).
2. Counting Crows.
3. Code Hero.
4. Okkervil River.

4 People I'm Tagging
1. N8
2. Michelle.
3. Lisa.
4. Anne.

An Inciteful Look Into the Mind of a Crazy.

2008-06-07T09:24:00.000-07:00

I don't remember exactly when it all started but I can tell you it's been happening for some time. I'm talking years. I finally came to the realization that my thoughts were almost always in an accent other than my own, usually Australian, English, or Irish. It was at this point that I realized that my mind had a mind of its own and thus deserved a name, and Henry seemed as appropriate as any, after all, he came up with it himself.
Henry isn't the best at filing and we often have difficulty remembering things and retrieving those files. But, as I've come to find, if we think about something long enough we're bound to remember. I realize that referring to myself and my mind as "we" makes me sound like someone with Dissotiative Identity Disorder, but it's really not like tha...no, no actually you'd probably be right. But it keeps life interesting.
Anyway, I figure it's a good idea to have Henry around because I can always blame things in him. I suppose that, since I'm talking about it, I should introduce the rest of the gang. My stomach was the first of my body parts to receive a name and that name was Chunk. After Henry was christened, I decided that my heart had been around long enough and caused me plenty of trouble, grief, and pain that it needed to be given a name as well, and so it became known as Esteban.
I hope this will be helpful in reading any further stories found on this site. Thank you and farewell.

Chunk was pissed, but Esteban was on the top of the world.

2008-06-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

I hardly slept the night before. I think it was the excitement; the anticipation. That or the fact that I didn't take my sleeping pills and I'm an insomniac. Either way, I was exhausted. But when I stepped out the front door into the most beautiful morning I'd seen in months, I was in awe. The sweet smell of the blossoming trees mixed perfectly with the smell of the coming rain. The dark bluish gray clouds blanketed the sky, giving a comfortable, slightly melancholy mood: my favorite. Were it a real day off from work I would have stopped to enjoy this moment for a lot longer, but I had things to get done.
I've always had a habit of planning things out in my head. From lists of things to buy at the store to the 'to do' stuff after work, I'll plan and recite and repeat the order over and over until I've accomplished what I'd listed. Sometimes I'll even say it out loud to myself. And it was the same on this day. ATM, bank, leave town, shop for pants, pick up ring, ask dad, head home before I'm supposed to get off work. After I accomplished the first two things on my list I downed an energy drink and hit the road.
Just over an hour later I got out of my car in the parking lot of the New Gate Mall in downtown Salt Lake City and the delicious smell of summer hit my nose. I smiled and continued on with my list. After a disappointing visit to several stores in search of slacks I found myself at the strange, yet fun, company that held the ring I'd ordered. I then dropped more money than I'd ever spent on anything, and all on an object that was the size of a nickel.
This is taking too long...let's see...skipping...skipping...ah, so I'd planned a romantic evening with Michelle, my skirt, and I got back from SLC with just enough time to get a hair cut (so I could look presentable) and get ready before she came over to my place. We ate at Hamilton's, probably the nicest restaurant in town, which completely pissed off my stomach because I hadn't eaten all day. So we came back to my place and I laid down for a bit. I looked out the window a little while later to find the sky in a absolutely beautiful array of colors. I decided we needed to go to our 'spot' and watch the sun set.
Now, I must preface this by saying that I had no intention of asking the babe a question, in fact I'd been planning on faking her out all night by kneeling to tie my shoe, kneeling to pick something up that had fallen off the table at dinner, and the like. However, with the sky painted varying shades of red, orange, purple, and yellow, I realized the setting was too perfect to pass up. As the broad in question wandered away from the car to inspect an uprooted tree nearby, I pulled a small, black, velvety box from under my car seat, knelt down on one knee, and said, "Question." She turned around to see me there holding a box that held a diamond ring. She covered her mouth and proceeded to hyperventilate. I continued with my question, which, if I remember correctly, went something like, "Will you marry me?" I know, I know, I'm very original, but I didn't have a quirky way to ask. I didn't have any fancy words or funny lines. All I had was a my life savings in a little black velvety box and a hope to have this babe as my wife.

Cream Cheese and Poppy Seeds

2008-06-02T18:27:00.000-07:00

When I die you guys better bloody well just chuck my corpse into a homemade, plywood box and throw it in a hole, because I can't imagine spending mucho dinero on something as worthless as a coffin. Better yet, get a cardboard box, that way you won't have to waste the time and money on making one out of plywood. Or you could just wrap my lifeless corpse with plastic wrap or tinfoil. I suppose that one would be considered littering, but no one really cares about the planet anyway, and I'll be dead and gone so I won't give a pooh.
I was watching the movie Eulogy, a hilarious movie with an all-star cast (a tad crass, but funny), while eating noodles and it got me thinking about the subject of death. Well, that and burning boats. At any rate, if I look down from that waiting room on high and find that someone wasted more than say...$75 on my funeral and burying expenses, I'm going to come down and personally haunt them until they loose their mind and take to barking at the wall.

Three, three sticks.

2008-05-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

I stayed up late the night before our flight, packing and preparing. As I stuffed my CaseLogic cd case in my suitcase I couldn't help but imagine our flight crashing into a mountain or exploding in midair, the tattered remains of luggage and bodies falling into some farmers field in the middle of Oklahoma. Flying had always been a bittersweet experience for me as during the take-off and actual flight I had to concentrate on anything but my approaching, imminent death, and the landing was the relief that freed me from the burden of unimportant thoughts.
So there I was, stuffing my baseball glove between my church shoes and binoculars and thinking of how it will feel when the pilot announces that we're going to crash and what it will be like to know that death is moments away. Then it came to me: I should write my will. Where would all my stuff go if I died unexpectedly? This was my chance to write a note to my surviving friends and let them know that I'll miss them, that I saw this incident coming, and how exactly they could divide my assets. Thus, at 1:30 am, in my basement room, with thoughts of watching the seats in front mine rush toward me as the nose of the plane smashes into a mountain side, I began writing my farewell note.
"Dear Friends," I started. No no, "To whom it may concern," yeah, that's it. "To whom it may concern, and to whoever may find this note, if you are finding it then our plane must have crashed and we must be dead." What if someone robs our house and finds this note? After considering this as a possibility I decided that is was highly unlikely, and went on with my letter.
I told of how much I would miss each of my friends. I left my baseball cards and baseball memorabilia to my best friend Brett, as he would appreciate these most and because these were my most valuable possessions. He would also get my photos. I've loved pictures all my life, mostly because I love to reminisce and partly because I like to see how things and people used to look.
As I finished up the note I realized that I should include something daring, something I would never say while I was alive. I would declare my undying love for a girl. Now, saying you were interested in a girl and talking about girls at the age of 14 is something that is fairly common for boys to do. However, I'd been teased at a young age by my mom and older sister about liking a girl and this did not bode well with my already shy nature and lack of confidence. So instead of casual conversations in the confidence of my best friends about the girls I liked, I avoided the subject and refused to offer any information or clues leading to the discovery of my feelings. Accomplishing this, while trying to solidify my role as a heterosexual, became more and more of a challenge. But I'll save that for another day.
Assuming that if anyone read my note I was dead and thus I wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of allowing others to know my feelings, or that I would survive the plane rides to and from Georgia and find the silly letter lying on my dresser, I continued to write of my romantic interest in a girl I'd only talked to once. Nicole Clark must know of my feelings for her so she could mourn her loss appropriately.
In all the excitement of lying around my grandparent's house, and the stressful flights surrounding those events, I'd forgotten about my unnotorized will awaiting my return. I picked it up and smiled, laughed at my insecurity, and tore it up into tiny pieces so no one would find my incriminating testimony.

Home Sweet Freakin' Home

2008-05-10T10:59:00.000-07:00

There's a relatively small city in a mountain valley in northern Utah. It's in this cozy little place that one might come across some interesting people. These people vary, but it's their unique quirks that give this place it's character.
First of all there's Bert, a man with a slight mental disability who rides his bike all around the valley for no apparent reason, waiving and smiling at everyone he sees. I've seen him riding his bike since I was really young, and he may have been doing it a lot longer. I'm not sure what his story is, but it brightens my day to see him smile and wave and honk his little horn. I always wave back, trying to match the size of his smile as best I can to show my appreciation. I've long suspected that he's getting paid to do this by someone or some company, but I have yet to attain any evidence. Bert passed me in the grocery store once. We exchanged salutations but other than that I haven't really met him or had a chance to interview him.
Then there's the Latin-American guy that stands on 10th North and Main all day preaching what he believes to be the "word of God". From what I've heard, he was converted to the LDS church then had a dream or feeling or something that convinced him he should stand on the street corner and call the people to repentance. I admired him for doing what he thought God wanted him to, though it seemed a slight ineffective. All summer, all winter, there he stood, yelling from his corner to people driving by. Then, one day, I noticed he wasn't there. My friend informed me that the word on the street was that he had been deported due to his illegal residence. Weird.
And of course, lest we forget, there's the man who brings a smile to my face just thinking about him whom we've come to affectionately refer to as: Francesco, or Kevin for short. This man can be spotted riding an adult sized tricycle up and down center street wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, a thick, dark mustache, and sometimes...yellow rubber dish gloves. His hog is decked out with a basket on the back, upon which is mounted one of those little windmills often purchased for children.
These people, and many like them, provide the residents of this little mountain community a special and unique form of entertainment, one that might be difficult to find elsewhere. Hoorah and kudos to these fine individuals who make our lives a little happier.

Those Chucks won't fit Anne.

2008-04-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

I've been doing grocery shopping for my mom since I was really young. The setting was always the same. She needed things from the store but didn't have her makeup on, so she, obviously, couldn't go in to the store herself. Thus, she did what any responsible, loving mother would've have done: she gave her eight year old a list of things to get and a blank check and had him shop for her at 1:45 am. She'd wait in the car with my little brother or sister, whoever else she'd brought along for this nocturnal outing, listening to Abba albums or the black Rolf Harris cassette tape my Grandpa had sent her. I didn't mind doing this little chore for her because I had a sweet-tooth and I knew, if I was going in for her, I could get a treat for myself. In fact, she'd always tell me to get myself a little something, almost like a rich person tipping a valet. "And a little something for you, Alfred."
So week after week I found myself piling groceries, cleaning supplies, and personal-care products into a shopping cart in the wee hours of the morning. I enjoyed the time I spent, by myself, in our local Smith's store, pushing my overflowing cart with all my weight down the aisle to the checkout. The cashier would always give me an interesting look as I unloaded the contents of the cart onto the conveyor belt. That look was nothing compared to how they looked at me when I pulled out the check and began filling it out. "How much was the total," I'd ask.
"Uh...ninety six dollars and 14 cents," they said, incredulously.
"Is it okay if I write it for twenty dollars over?" They never answered right away.
"Um...yeah. Yeah, you can do that," they'd finally spit out. "But twenty is the limit."
I was eight when Home Alone came out. I remember watching it in the theater and not understanding why the cashier questions Kevin when he buys some groceries at the store. It wasn't until years later that I realized the novelty of the situation.
From canned soup to dish soap to feminine hygiene products, I got it all. I didn't really know what mascara was, but if my mom told me the brand, color, and what the package looked like, I would get it for her.
As time went on our family grew and the shopping list got longer. I remember one time I completely filled one cart and had to get another to put finish with. I had to carefully maneuver my cart to the checkout and unload the mounded one first so the eggs didn't fall from it's place high atop the mountain of other junk I'd thrown in.
My employment ended when I turned sixteen. I'd found freedom in a driver's license and a job of my own. That's about the time my dad starting doing the grocery shopping.