My Own Monster Is Born

At the request of reader Tay, I have set up a last.fm account for my musical endeavors. I have also come up with a name to play under, My Own Monster. Though I have recently found out that this is the title of a Katy Perry song, I dig it. It's based on a poem I wrote a few months ago. Anywhoo, the site is up, running, sparse, but active. Check it out at:

http://www.last.fm/music/My+Own+Monster

The Gringo Demos are placed there, free downloads of course. So if you didn't get a chance to download it before, feel free to get it there. Seriously, be my guest. Hopes are to record an EP including full versions of the tracks off of The Gringo Demos, as well as a couple new tracks. Look for that in the coming weeks, both announced on this website as well as last.fm.

"Nebraska" by Bruce Springsteen is a haunting record

Whew, that was a hell of a month or so. My procrastination based lifestyle has a tendency to come back to haunt me around finals time every year and, big surprise, it happened again. For the second semester in a row I ended up churning out well over 4o pages of fiction/essay/response/other academic bull crap in the final three or so weeks of school. But as of about 8:30 last night I am officially done. I submitted my final essay, a beast of an essay on Emily Dickinson's "A Light Exists in Spring," threw together a couple last minute online forum postings, and kicked back to enjoy my final couple days on campus. I picked up some extra hours at the library, and I have a few tasks to take care of for my Writing Center job on campus before I can take off. Not to mention all that packing and moving I have to do, what with going abroad in a little over a month.

I finally have a solid idea for my independent study while I'm in Asia (although I still haven't had a chance to meet with any professors to get it approved). The (tentative) plan is to write a poem a day on a postcard and mail them (a week or so at a time to save on postage) to my good pal Dexter back here in Iowa. He did this same program a couple years ago, and has been a big component of my writing over the last couple years. Also, he's responsible enough to hold onto them. Who knows, someday maybe he'll make a boat ton of money off of those things.

Since last we spoke I've come to the conclusion that I don't actually want to become a high school English teacher (a career I had chosen many years ago). I was sitting in a high school classroom, working with many students on an essay they were writing, when I realized that I don't want to teach people how to write, I want to help them with their writing. The strict functions, the proper grammatical structures of composition aren't what interest me. The liveliness, the breath of writing is what gets me going. I want to help people allow their writing to breathe. As such, I am beginning the grad school search, looking for a good creative writing program in hopes of eventually becoming a creative writing professor. St. Louis seems to have some good ones, but I'm still on the look.

Speaking of St. Louis, there's a lady there. She's wicked cool.

Watch Me!

So remember how I put out that Gringo Demos CD a few weeks back? Here's a video my man Dexter made of the prep work. Check it. Download the CD. Do it here.

Life's Not a Bitch, She's Just Sick of Being Personified

My current favorite rap name: Edgar Allen Floe.

Lengthy update in the works.

Out Playa

I'm peacing out to Vegas. For free. Be back Sunday.

If I Told You Your Child Was Love, Would You Listen?

I have homework to do. Lots of it actually. As such I'm here.

This is funny shit:


As of lately (and by that I mean over the last month or two) I have been hopelessly addicted to party hip hop. 50 Cent, Chris Brown, Ludacris, Lil Wayne, Eminem, Mike Mictlan, it doesn't matter. If it has a beat that makes me want to move, I seem to be moving to it. Maybe it's the upbeat nature, I'm not sure. But it's enjoyable.

I'm craving a sense of stability. The college life doesn't exactly provide that comfort, with its constantly revolving schedule and demanding requests. I suppose this is a fruitless craving, especially with my departure for Asia next semester. I'm hoping that the time away from here will renew my passion for education (though I've been told it does quite the opposite). I just need new, different, better.

Sometimes I rediscover my poetic tendencies. Those are the times I smile.

If You Click the Link, You Get Free Shit

Remember those songs I wrote? Remember how I said I might record them?

Enjoy The Gringo Demos.

There Is an Ocean In My Soul

I'm sipping a 24 oz. energy drink. That's how things are going.

Ever had one of those weeks where everything hits at once? Certain things you've seen coming for awhile, others swoop in from your blind spots and all of a sudden you're left sore and tired. That's been these last few days.

Avid readers may have noticed the disappearance of the mention of dating someone in the last post. Things didn't work out and, at first it ended amicably. Things have since changed and I've had a hard time pretending that I respect the person anymore. Hopefully things will work out in the end and the friendship can be restored in some form, but it's going to take work.

My initial proposal and my secondary proposal for independent study projects in Asia have both been declined. Over the last few days I've been trading increasingly frustrating emails with the chair of the Teacher Education department at my college. The department isn't willing to allow me to take care of one of my requirements in Asia because none of their professors are accompanying us on the trip. It's aggravating, as most independent studies that happen abroad happen without professors following. I'm feeling utterly disrespected by the department, one that has screwed over all four of us in my grade level attempting to obtain our secondary license in language arts. I'm still going to Asia, it's just going to make graduating and my entire senior year far more difficult.

I had initially planned on going home this weekend. I would have been able to see all three of my brothers and spend some real time with my mother again. That was before I realized how many commitments I have this weekend. As such I'm staying here. It's disappointing, especially considering how much a relaxing weekend could have helped all of this.

I only caught part of the final debates, but I did manage to hear McCain's Troops for Teachers program. It's frustrating how ridiculous some of his plans are and seeing how many people still support him. My friend over at Cranberry Justice (The Blog) had written at one point about how he'd almost like to see McCain win just so in Obama's concession he could tell us how badly we had all just fucked up.

This made me laugh. It came under the title "Embrace the Absurdity" over at Eyeteeth:

Not bad advice, embracing the absurdity.

I Bless The Rains Down in...Asia?

Jeesh, it's been ages, I know. So just to catch y'all up:

First off, I'm going to Asia. I know, right? Fucking Asia. Why, you may ask? Um...why not? It's only costing me an extra $1,500 added onto my college costs already, and all my scholarships follow me. So yea, next semester. Fucking Asia. The original thought was to do my Educational Practicum over there, but that has since fallen through. So we'll see what exactly I end up doing. Other than being ridiculous in Asia, of course.

Also, Timmy Troubadour (formerly Dos Equis, and formerly of Walking Is Still Honest, now of Cavalier Eternal) and I have started a music blog. Everyone and their foreign exchange student has a music blog, I know. But we like to think of ourselves as special, so we're doing it. Yea. It's called Mockingbird Music. Check it out. Hoot!

Remember those songs I was telling you about? The ones I was writing? Yea, totally finished those. The hopeful plan is to record those using someone's Mac Book (aka Garage Band) sometime this weekend, seeing as it's fall break. Fall break of course means I won't annoy nearly as many of my fellow dormers with my repeated retracking of a handful of songs. So yea, maybe I'll throw those up here for download when they're done. Or maybe I'll make you suckers pay for them. Doubt it though.

I may be getting addicted to ebay. But that's okay, mainly because it fuels my vinyl obsession. Is it bad that I use one crutch to get my fix? Eh, whatever.

I'm getting a back rub right now. From a lady. Hoot! As such, I'm gonna wrap this post up. Especially since I have another blog to update now. Peaces!

said she learned the true meaning of minnesota nice

Youth In Iconic RNC Protest Photo Was Beaten

Photos of Said Beating

Police Raid "Food Not Bombs" House

More Raids

Yet More

More

Police Disregarding Fourth Amendment

Minnesota's Lt. Governor Denies Free Speech

As Does CBS

Protest Photos

78 Year Old Nun Arrested

Photo

Bus Stop Ad

Sometimes even I'm not proud of my hometown.

you're still breathing city girl, you're still breathing

I remember most of last year in streak form. That is to say that, for the most part, every image in my head is blurred by the fact that I was never standing still. I fell into the sophomore year curse. Freshman year went by with ease and entering my second year I was sure that, if I wanted to, I could take on more. So I took on more and more and more. By midway through second semester I was exhausted and things that I thought would be enjoyable experiences had become tasks. My moods shifted and I was ready to do nothing but leave.

Now I'm wiser (I think). I've dropped a lot of my responsibility, keeping only the ones I thoroughly enjoy and the ones no one else would take. I've also managed to only add one to my list, something I'm quite proud of. Especially since it's poetry related. Holla fo' poetry.

With this new found joy of collegiate free time, I've been able to become spontaneous again. Twice this week already I've made my way to Iowa City (the closest cultured area to my college's residence) and spent some time lounging around the energy that is the ped-mall.

I went on a retreat last weekend to a nature reserve-ish type retreat center. Most of my time there I spent wishing I was back around large groups of people so I could resume my study of human nature rather than observing nature's nature. I've acknowledged that I find people far more interesting than trees and fields. That isn't to say I don't appreciate the outdoors, I just find my heartbeat in that of city life.

However, I had some fantastic conversations while at Pictured Rocks (the place of stay for said retreat). There were paths to take away from the congregation of folks, and small groups of my friends and I would take them as far as we could from the noise of our contemporaries and find spots to just sit and share. It was renewing, fueling, needed and real.

I've grown a lot, and I continue growing.

you've got a body like an hour glass, it's ticking like a clock

It's been awhile. Apologies.

I'm back at school, getting back into the swing of things in terms of homework/commitments/responsibility/etc. Don't get me wrong, I love summer and being with my friends from home, but this was a long one. Every summer before this one my job was manual labor. I would do floor work, painting, yard work, basic cleaning. It was a convenient, well paying job that fell into my lap seven years ago (just saying that makes me feel old).

As I talked about a few times here, I did enjoy the ride operator job I had this summer, but it lacked the productivity of manual labor. There were projects to finish, completed products to take joy in. As such, this summer felt lackadaisical. I felt lazy and bored most of the time.

That being said, I haven't had much in terms of free time since I've been back. My responsibilities as a College Adjustment Peer took up all of my time the first week, and classes are already in full swing to keep me occupied now.

It's going to be a rough semester, but I'm actually looking forward to it. My classes are dauntingly difficult, two of them in particular (one of which is essentially the only class that teaches me how to be an English teacher, pressure, I know), but I'm looking forward to actually being challenged again. I'm trying to become more active in my education, doing things like reading the assignments and developing more insights. You know, be a college student.

Have you ever found yourself intrigued by someone you know nothing about, for reasons you can't comprehend? I've found someone interesting.

Rum on a Saturday

Sometimes small events can restore your faith in humanity. Grinaldo Artusi and I met up with a high school friend of mine at the local Irish Fair a few days back. Both Grinaldo as well as my high school friend are of heavy Irish descent, something I cannot claim to be true of my own herritage (Polish Power!). We decided to go, not only to see my friend before we both departed for collegiate life again, but also because Flogging Molly was playing.

Now I'm going to be honest, I can't even remember the last time I actually listened to Flogging Molly. This was proven to be true when I struggled to recognize about half of their set. But Grinaldo and I had seen them the last time they had headlined this particular festival (two or three years back now) and figured it would be an enjoyable, and equally importantly free, way to spend the evening.

Anyways, it was probably about halfway through the concert. We were hovering towards the back half of the crowd (as I've said before, I'm getting too old for the front row shenanigans) and somehow our position became part of the path for those headed either towards or away from the hazards of the pit that was rapidly expanding in front of us. A bearded fellow, no more than a couple years my senior, was attempting to squeeze past us and was visibly having issues finding a suitable path. Those who know me well will understand how rare the following is (Grinaldo: recall the gent in front of us at The Dark Knight?). I slid to the side and said, politely I might add, that he may pass this way. He stopped just in front of me, turned to face me, and said, "That was very nice. Would you like some rum?"

He ventured into his pocket and retrieved a flask style bottle of Captain Morgan from his pocket. I accepted his offer, took a swig of his rum, and returned the bottle (sidenote: I didn't even require the offered Cola chaser. Spats, you should be proud of me). The concert continued, the bearded fellow continued towards the stage, and the night ended...well actually it ended with a party and an odd reunion with yet another high school aquantence. Oh, and a smokin' hot cousin. But that's another story...

outside there's a boxcar waiting for us

I made a new stencil today. It's of an old school 35mm camera. I was researching tips for door decs (since my College Adjustment Peer job requires me to produce these goods for all my freshman) using a site my good friend Grinaldo/Tommy Artusi (hence forth referred to as Grinaldo Artusi for time saving reasons. Also, it sounds badass) suggested, when I remebered the suggestion of my good friend and fellow stenciler Dos Equis. Being as the class that binds these freshman together is photography theme, I decided to do a camera stencil (Camera Stencil is apparently the name of a font, making it incredibly difficult to google).

I found this picture and decided to recreate the stencil in it, as it seemed both fitting and vintagely badass.

It turned out about as well as I would have hoped.

My return to school vastly approaches, though it seemingly cannot come fast enough. I miss the hustle and bustle of that life, the productivity that comes with it. I'm excited to meet new people and see my friends again. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm ready to go home.

Also, I'm thinking of starting another blog. I love this one, and worry not loyal readers, I would continue this one just as it is now (or however I want damnit). But when I started this blog I talked a lot about music and movies and other art/media forms and to an extent, I miss doing that. I like sharing new bands or images with people. Thoughts?

all i hear is king me love me watch me did he love me honey kiss me is she off me naughty you've been naughty ladi dadi move your body

Maybe I needed (need) some time off. Deal.

Things that have crossed my life lately:

Hypothetical question: Let's say you're the father of a small child preparing to spend the day with said small child, as well as the wife, at a theme park of sorts (maybe like the one I work at). Putting yourself in these shoes, picture yourself in front of the mirror, picking out clothing let's say. You presumably have a collection of t-shirts (meaning hopefully more than one t-shirt) and a dressy shirt or two. When reaching your hand out, hoping to bring it back grasping the day's torso wardrobe, would the t-shirt you retrieve be the trusty and ever-so-classy "Miller High Life" shirt? Maybe I'm the only one who has issues with father's toting their beer preference while riding small trains with their child. It just feels...tacky. Like the mom's sporting matching Hooter's t-shirts with their teenage daughters.

I like that regular citizens like myself band together against the injustice that is the speed trap. My drive to work includes one of those 45 mph roads that could easily be 60 mph, you know the type. And on a particular curve of this road, police officers seem to enjoy parking in initially hidden locales, stalking their prey on the everyday speeder such as myself. Now I've seen these coppers repeatedly and as such have learned to drive cautiously, but my road compatriots don't seem to be privy to this same knowledge. A few days ago I was approaching this curve when a van in the incoming traffic lane opposite ours flashed his headlights a few times, indicating the lurking danger. Appreciated, fella.

I have an unnatural love of replacing the word "of" with " o' ," as in Barrel o' Monkeys. Again, deal.

As of this last week I have become infinitely cooler, what with my receiving an early birthday present in the form of a record player. Much of my time not spent at work is now being used for cruising used record stores of the physical and occasional online variety. I don't spend much (usually between fifty cents and four dollars), but have already built up a respectable collection including, but not limited to: The Who, Simon & Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, Toto (though I forgot it in Cedar Rapids last weekend), and William Elliot Whitmore (though admittedly this wasn't a used record, but was totally worth the $12 I threw down at the Electric Fetus (winner in my contest for best store name of all time)). That should about reestablish any cred I've lost by having D&G glasses. It's nice to be back in the indie world.

Dos Equis and I wrote some music when I visited him a week ago. It was one of the most cathartic experiences I've ever had. The songwriting progresses, more on that later (once I purchase a new pack of strings).

Finally, I saw these cats last night:


DOOMTREE


It was off the hook.

But I Would Totally Date Katherine Heigl, You Know, If She Wasn't Married

While out running errands with my mom this morning I passed a nail saloon with a small sign in front of it. This sign read: "Come on in and get nailed by Jenn."

My initial response was disgust. I should just accept that our Grey's Anatomy loving nation is always brought in by any sort of innuendo. It's sort of what we do.

But the more I thought about it, I wonder if my reaction wasn't based more one who I was with when seeing it. It's plausible that, had I been rolling with Grinaldo, Dos Equis, or Spats, that I could have greeted this ad with a lighter tone, perhaps even a laugh.

While this may seem probable, the truth is, my mom and I have the relationship where we can laugh at jokes of this nature amongst each other. As such, I'm still wondering if I detest this sign or not.

On the other hand, I know damn well that I hate Grey's Anatomy.

Guess Who's Back

Somewhere along the way I let this blog become somewhat pretentious. The original reason I returned to the blog world after my angsty high school experience was that I wanted something that would keep me writing on a somewhat regular basis in a somewhat free form. However, over the past few months I began posting only when I felt I had something important to say.

It's a serious pet peeve of mine when bloggers actually say, in their blogs even, that they don't have anything important to say or that they have nothing to write about. It's a blog, not a term paper, not an op-ed article, just an online venue to say whatever the hell you want. Don't go through the effort of creating a blog if you're only going to wallow in your own uninteresting life.

I'm not trying to be preachy, I'm just saying.

As such, I hope to return to form. Soon.

Esteem Boost

I've been writing music again. Halves of three-ish songs done. Bluesy earthy folk stuff. I dig it.

This is big news, because it was high up on the list of things I wanted to accomplish over the summer.

So yea, go me.

Re: Whistle

I wrote a blog, not too long ago, about the appreciation I got from my job, the joy I received from the smiles of children. That is still true, and truth be told, I love my job. However, here is another side.

A coworker referred to me a few days ago as someone who hasn't been jaded by the job yet. I hope that the short stay I intend to have there (merely a summer job, right?) will prevent me from becoming worn down. And as I've mentioned, there is an undeniable happiness that I get from working amongst those laughs and lights.

That isn't to say there aren't times when the surroundings wear on my ability to throw on a smile and offer a high five to each and every child. Sure, there are a handful of small things that would make the job better, but these are things that are universal to almost any place of employment, and truth be told, they really don't annoy me that much.

What does are the unappreciative parents. I said, in the post called Whistle While We Work, that the look on parents' faces when they saw their children scream and smile in excitement made everything else around me seem better. I have discovered that their is a polar opposite to this scene, and a corresponding response that it creates in me.

It doesn't happen often, but occasionally parents bring their children to my park with the seeming intent to deal with their own life while pushing their kid from ride to ride until it gets so hard to shepherd them forward that they surely must be leaning backwards in exhaustion. These are the parents who, in a few years, will get into endless screaming matches with their children about lifestyle choices, grades, and/or the people they choose to surround themselves with. Their children will resent them, and the relationship will be tested to its breaking point.

I'm talking about the parents who make a scene when they are told that their children aren't tall enough to ride a ride, all while the child him/herself is trying to calm them and meander to a different attraction. Or the parent who's too busy slipping countless unnecessary expletives into cell phone conversations to wave at their child as they race around the track, or worse, those who make phone calls while sitting in the race car with their child, explaining that the extra background noise is the reason for their elevated vocal volume.

So to all the parents out there, please cherish the time you have with your children, lap up the laughter and the shouts and the waves that they exude when you have given them the opportunity to be happy.

And for the record, I still love my job.

There Are A Million Things I'm Supposed To Do Today, But I'll Do None Of Them Because They Are A Million Things Doing Me

Over the past week I've had a bunch of things come to mind as topics I can and/or should blog about. However, my job has kicked in so much so that my last handful of days followed a pattern of wake up, go to work, come home, shower, sleep, repeat. I have more time off between my ending point today and my beginning point tomorrow then I have had between my last three days combined. Go figure, right?

I will now touch on a few of these said topics in no order, probably leaving a few to splice into other blogs later on.

-

So my other home is flooding. Not the one I'm living in right now. This one's on top of a hill. I'm safe here. But the one I call home for two thirds of my year is under a historic amount of water as the Cedar River is now holding its usual banks inside itself like a mother holds her child. Though short, this has been a traumatic pregnancy and now all we can do is wait to see what shape our baby's in when she meets this world.

I feel guilty, which is likely the result of my Catholic upbringing. I wish I was in Cedar Rapids, helping with the sandbagging and the relief efforts. However, here I am, dry and working in a theme park knowing and feeling that my home is suffering.

It's weird because I've never felt a guilt like this before. The closest I can get to describing it would be like watching a good friend of yours getting physically assaulted on television. You're lying on your couch, sipping soda, and someone you love and care for is being beaten and bruised miles away. You can't help, but you have to watch.

I wish them all the best.

-

Sadness overwhelmed me a few days ago when I turned on The Current (the only acceptable and normally quite reliable radio station in the Twin Cities) only to be greeted with the disaster that is the Red Hot Chili Peppers cover of Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground."

I've been adamant about my distaste for the Peppers for quite some time now. I concede that a they are, for the most part, talented musicians. I just feel that they waste their talents on nonsense like "Hump de Bump" or really anything off of Stadium Arcadium. I'm sick of Anthony Kiedis making up words just so his attempt at vocal rhythm can seem more interesting. It's not, and I don't want to hear it.

Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic was good, I'll give you that. But stay away from Stevie.

-

Someone told me this would happen, but I didn't believe them. I have been proven wrong.

My sleep is now haunted with the operating of rides. I wake up nervous that I've stranded passengers at the top of the ferris wheel or that my carelessness in buckeling children into the race car ride has caused one to be projected into a cement wall. Sometimes I just freak out because I think I've aborted a cycle just after starting it and all of the children and their parents are going to be carving me with their upset eyes. All I want to do is sleep.

I want to make it known that these fears that plague my dreams seem unfounded as I've been completely successful so far in my endeavors. Fingers crossed that stays the same.

More to come.

Whistle While We Work

I have established a new rule for blogging. It's possible that this rule applies only to myself, but I hope (for comforts sake) that others find this to be true. From now on I will never mention in one post what the next post will be about. I made that mistake in the last (actual) post, saying that this would be an entry based on the idea of consumerism/commercialism. At the time I had things to say, passions to exude about what I saw then as the devils of capitalism and the adverse effect it has on poor bastards like myself. I could have ranted (hopefully coherently) for some time and could have made relevant points that would have further cemented my image as a fighter for good. Had I possessed the ability that night, all that would have been said.

To be honest, I'm kind of glad I didn't post then.

You see, at the time I had just come back from this outdoor underground (seems contradictory, I know) hip hop festival. As a totally independent festival, I had high hopes for the community it would build, and for the most part I was a part of what I had expected. Musically the show was real, honest, and interpersonal. It was an experience. My complaint was, since this concert was scheduled to begin at 11 am and last until about 9 pm, food was going to be an issue. They brought in vendors, something I had expected, but I didn't think the prevailing overcharging of edibles would make it into this place. I mean, the concert tickets were kept cheap, the mood was focused on the music and away from financial gain. Sure, artists had merch booths to put a little more bread on their tables, but shirts were kept to a minimal price and free mix cds and demos were handed out to anyone willing and eager enough to catch them. So why was the food so outrageously expensive?

First off, they went the ticket route. Ten tickets cost five dollars. I despise the ticket system, as it always causes you to purchase more tickets than you need for any given product (except a glass of lemonade which, no joking here, cost a full ten tickets or five american dollars). Burgers were going for around eight tickets, as were bottles of water. This leaves each customer with two excess tickets per purchase, also known as a full dollar. Now for the college students like myself (who seemingly made up a very large portion of the crowd), money isn't something we can throw on a couple spare slips of paper. And you all know damn well that nothing in any of the tents was available for the price of two measly tickets.

Honestly, I could go on for days listing why I hate the devils of money, but most of it would be based on the fact that, currently, I have none of these devils to play with. Which is why I got a job.

I had my first solo day of work a few days ago. For six hours I was stranded at a kiddie ride with no one to take the fall for me should one of these children be inexplicably hurled from their car into a plastic tree, or god forbid, the waiting hands of a lurking pedophile. The pressure is now on me.

Shockingly, part of my job requires me to watch the children throughout the entire ride cycle. (I've been told that it's rude to use on the job lingo in conversations with those outside of my field of practice, but I'm certain you can follow me here.) As I stand there, I'm met with something I had to expect. Little kids and parents alike screaming and smiling and enjoying the youth that bright lights and the ever present scent of cotton candy and sounds of shrieking can bring.

When I first applied to work at a theme park, I did a little thinking. Did I really want to work in a place that constructs it's prices by multiplying the highest possible amount of money one could understandably spend on thrill by four, then adding expiration dates? Would I still be okay with myself knowing that I was working for something like that? Usually I would say no, but the job situation in the Twin Cities is less than favorable with the current economy, and I need to fund my collegiate studies. So I swallowed my morals and applied, only to actually be hired about a week later. I was, in every possible way, a sell out.

But I noticed something a couple days ago. These kids are experiencing something important. Joy.

This country's in a scary place right now, you don't need me to tell you that. We are just beginning one hell of a recession, we're smack dab in the middle of multiple wars without any plausible exit strategies, we're growing up in a culture of fear and violence and materialism. The term family values is no almost synonymous with gated community. It's nothing short of terrifying.

But where I work, these kids don't have to deal with that. For a few hours they can let go and run around this pastel colored place, gab tooth grins proudly displayed, and laugh and scream and throw their hands in the air and actually have fun.

It's interesting that the standard verb for fun isn't experience, but have. It's possessive. Children can have fun, can own their own enjoyment, can keep it. It's theirs to take with them.

So while I do wish that the prices for my place of employment would drop to allow those of any social status to experience, I do see something noble in what they offer. The distraction that we need every once and a while.

I can respect that.

Question:

How long must one be gone to require a "be right back (or the less formal 'brb')" in an online conversation?

Why Does Pedophilia Sound Like "Pet and Feel Ya?"

I know, I know. I let you know that I've been hired as a carnie (carni? how precisely does one spell something that isn't actually a word? carni looks like shorthand for carnivore, something I also am, but is far less interesting then a ride operator, unless of course being a carnivore included actual hunting and pouncing...or if I was both a hunting carnivore and a carnival worker, feasting upon the unsuspecting children...wow, anyway...) and then I don't update again for what I'm sure what must feel like forever. The thing is, nothing's happened yet. I had to sit through a very generic four hour orientation last weekend, the kind that emphasizes that we constantly think about what the customer wants, and then direct them to the Guest Services building (which I was told over twenty times was located by the ferris wheel next to the carousel), because apparently they're the only ones capable of answering questions (or media should we, as humble ignorant ride operators be bombarded by questioning anchor men and women wannabes about the mysterious construction that plagues the west end of the park, or what it's like to work in a theme park that was at one point filled with iconic Minnesotan figures but is now littered with Spongebob and Dora the Explorer, like anyone really cares...). I have training both tomorrow and Friday, so I'll be sure to keep you updated.

So I'm sick of this happening. During orientation I met this attractive female who was sitting through the same process to start her job of cashier in the same park as myself. We chatted, we smiled, and I asked where she went to school. She replied with the name of a prominent hyphenated name high school in the twin city area (I'd like to make it known that it was not the same hyphenated name high school I went to, thus preventing me from already establishing her age). I'm twenty years old, and I've been told I look a little older, but I still have these moments when I'm out and about where I notice a good looking woman and am then instantly hit by my mind saying, "hold up, that's a high schooler." Maybe my ability to judge age is slipping, maybe it's because humans are maturing faster and as such blending what used to be the obvious lines between what level education you have completed, maybe it's because I'm still at the age where dating someone over three years younger than you is taboo, or maybe it's because males are always stereotypically attracted to high school girls. (I would say maybe it's because high schoolers are showing so much damn cleavage nowadays, but that would make it seem like I'm against it, which my manhood informs me I am not.)

I went to a hip-hop festival last weekend where this scenario occurred, well more than once. By this point, I actually appreciated the girl whose t-shirt was meant for the emcee of headliner Atmosphere and read, "Slug, I'll be legal in 2 years" and had her phone number inscribed on the back. As Dos Equis (the pen name for the man formerly known on this blog as Otte) said, at least she's honest.

(I have a habit of nicknaming my friends, something I've integrated into this blog. On one hand, it's to keep an element of anonymity [although I'm sure almost of the readers of this blog know me and the people I'm talking about already], but it's also to keep my creative juices flowing. I've had to come up with nicknames for people solely because I was going to mention them here. It's interesting, I think)

That same festival has me thinking about commercialism/consumerism, but I think I'll save that for a later post. There are dishes to be done.

You Know What I Mean

You are now reading the blog of an official ride operator (unofficial carni) of Nickelodeon Universe in the Mall of America. I start training on Saturday morning. Early. This will be interesting. It's paid though.

I need to read more. Suggest books for me. Do it. Please?

I'm generally frustrated with things. It'll pass.

I Bless The Rains Down in Africa

This post will challenge some of the stereotypes you have come to rely on as truth. It will portray as truth something that has long been thought false. I'm going to shake the earth with this one.

I, as a straight male (no, that's not the revelation), love to dance. For centuries the straight male has been portrayed as a wallflower, too cool to shake his tail feather (I said it) on the hardwood floor. I think it was Dane Cook who said you never see guys saying, "Fuck girls tonight, I just want to dance." While it's true that I would never turn down a female in order to dance, the truth is I would probably bring her with and we could enjoy our time busting move after move until the sweat pouring off our skin didn't matter anymore.

Those who know me know that if they play anything that could be considered danceable music around me, they run the risk of me making a complete fool of myself in the middle of their dorm room/makeshift discotheque. It's something that happens quite often in my life, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

As with most broken stereotypes, I am not claiming that this is the same for every male. Many of my friends don't get the thrill out of instrumented tomfoolery as I do, and that's fine for them. I would never dream of claiming that they were any less in touch with their feelings than I am, they simply don't enjoy the same things I do. Shockingly, it turns out everyone has different hobbies.

I want to clarify that I am in no way, shape, or form an even somewhat decent dancer. I am spastic, uncontrollable, energetic, and absolutely insane when the tune catches me, as I'm sure some of you have witnessed. I can't keep it in me. (That's what she said.)

I was thinking about my high school experience in the Twin Cities alt/punk scene. Otte and I would hit up concerts, sometimes on a weekly basis, and I would always end up in the middle of a mosh pit getting absolutely thrashed and feeling that sense of connection with the music. Otte was always a bit more sensible than I, but I remember him joining in more than once. Grinaldo was always in those messes too. I could (and very well may) do an entire post just on our teenage concert stories. Good times.

Anyway, I remember the first time Otte and I went to a show and decided, a couple bands in, to move towards the back. I believe one of us may have even said, "We're too old for this." It was true, this wasn't how we wanted to enjoy the music anymore. It makes me laugh that I've grown from moshing at punk shows to undulating sporadically to eighties music and top forty hip hop. I have no shame.

All this comes because I've had "Africa" by Toto stuck in my head all day. I blame Grinaldo for that youtube video he showed me (see below), as well for Scrubs for featuring the track in one of the, I don't know, probably four episodes I tuned into today.

Neigh-bor(ed)-hood

I'm sitting at a coffee shop right now. It's something I've done often since returning home from my second year of collegiate education in a land far from here. This is one of my favorite coffee shops, as it roasts it's own plethora of beans on location, has a gorgeous outdoor patio with electrical outlets (where I currently sit), and has some of the prettiest and most conversational baristas around. (Firefox doesn't recognize the word barista. As I'm fairly sure I'm spelling it correctly, this saddens me. I thought the coffee shop culture had taken over enough to input words into our vocabulary. I guess I was wrong. Luckily there's that "Add to Dictionary" option. Take that Firefox.)

This coffee shop is about three blocks from the high school I graduated from just two years ago. Current students are walking by and some are stopping in for a drink. I can label them as patrons of my alma mater not because I recognize them, but because they are wearing the required garb of that particular institution. I am instantly reminded of a quote from Chasing Amy. "As it stands I have no '...and then she unzipped her jumper' stories." I realize that, though I did have a couple girlfriends in high school, this is true for me as well. I feel like I missed out on something that could have been truly great. Suppose we could all say that about a lot of things in our lives, couldn't we?

About twenty minutes ago this patio was jammed with people sitting at the various tables but communally conversing, as though this was a normal practice. I don't doubt that it was just that. I spotted in the crowd the owner of this particular espresso emporium. This is the first real place I ever played music in front of people, back in the days of the old folk trio Studio C. He came and talked to us after the show and invited us to come back and play whenever we liked. We never did. Every once and a while I throw on our CD and feel like, had we worked at it (also, had we not been seniors in high school, soon to disperse unto various colleges in various parts of the midwest), we could have made some serious quality music. Maybe these are delusions of grandeur mixed with nostalgia, but I say we were pretty badass. Anyway, I don't think he recognized me

A cloud cover has come, which has eased the task of actually seeing my laptop screen drastically. It has also cooled the breeze and lowered the temperature on the surface of the keys I am tapping. I am thankful.

I am getting a small taste of what post-collegiate life will be like, and I'm not entirely excited about it. It is still the case that all of my friends (including the mysterious female I have been mentioning) are still busy with school and won't be returning until this weekend. It's been a long two weeks, and I'm looking forward to having people I can call again.

While this area may later regain it's former title, it has grown painfully obvious that this just isn't home anymore, which I know I've said before. I'm starting to occasionally feel like I'm not actually real anymore. It's not a serious thing, more a fleeting thought. The world spins and sometimes I feel like maybe I'm taking a revolution off. It happens when I catch a glimpse of someone I do recognize from back when this was, without a doubt, the only home I'd ever had. Rarely do our glances meet and I usually continue on my way without establishing any sort of reunion. This is a comfort thing. Although I can often chat with ease with almost anyone, I find it immensely difficult to attempt any sort of reconstruction of past relationships. I don't know where to find the words to say and I often feel tat there's a required apology to be made for not keeping up the contact that neither of us realistically expected.

Personally, I can't stand it when someone who I maintained minimal if any contact with during my time living here wants to grab a cup of coffee and catch up. On the surface, that may sound pompous and egotistical, but when you think about it, what would we talk about? There would be no "remember when" stories and any telling of how our post secondary education is going would be forced and generic. I've been in those situations, awkward conversations at parties and other like scenarios. I dislike it, and as such avoid them whenever possible. This could be why I am so damn alone here though.

I fear more than almost anything, that I'm growing weak. I'm less likely to make bold moves, less likely to talk to a stranger or even friend if I feel the slightest bit uneasy about it. It's not that I second guess myself more now, it's that those feelings of "maybe I shouldn't..." come earlier and my growing unease makes me succumb to those nerves. While this is surely beneficial, I don't want it to take away from the spastic, uncontrolled edge that I've always had. I'm glad that this is developing because, to be honest, I'm sick of that spastic nature allowing me to say and do things that hurt the people I love, but I don't want it to disappear completely. I used to be ballsy and arrogant. I'm fine with losing the arrogance, but I want to maintain my courage.

Living alone is a disaster for someone who over thinks situations as much as I do. I'm caught in the introverted part of myself, something I usually have to purposefully devote time to find. Now, due to the complete absence of other voices, the only one I hear is my own echoing against each nook of my mind and, like a childhood game of telephone, that original message or thought gets warped and twisted and becomes something completely different. Sometimes I can't remember which was the original and which I manufactured. At least I realize that this is happening. That helps.

I have slight qualms about ending a post on something like that, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Oh To Be A Kid Again

This past weekend has totally reinvigorated me. My visit to Grinaldo's college gave me that little jolt I've needed since I moved back home. Something about being around people my age as opposed to the silence and solitude that is my house right now just serves to, I don't know, wake me up again.

My house is quiet now because my mother is vacationing in South Korea. What a twerp. But back to my life...

Not even kidding, we watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I forgot how much I love entertaining action movies. Sometimes I get so caught up in over thinking life and art that I forget how to be entertained. Sitting on a carpet and letting Harrison Ford thrill me, it was great. I watched Raiders of the Lost Arc before I went to bed last night. I am so excited for the new one.

There was a giant Capture the Flag Nerf Gun Style game at Grinaldo's college this weekend. We took over their Student Center and ran around for three hours post-midnight, sleuthing around, sniping unsuspecting enemies, and sprinting to avoid the shots of those hellbent on preventing our victory. It was, to revert to a term from my youth, bomb.

A certain female took it as her responsibility to reintroduce that word into my vocabulary. For those curious, this is the same girl I spoke of last time. I took the advice of M.W. on my last post and went for it. It's gone surprising well so far, keep your fingers crossed for me. Please.

The job search is coming along. I got past the first step in becoming an employee of the new Nickelodeon Universe theme park in the Mall of America. That's right, I may soon be a scruffy carny (as KTB referred to me today). Look out mallrats.

I think I may go watch Jurassic Park.

Question Mark Is Apparently Two Words

So it's summer now, which is interesting. I've been home for about a week and a half, searching for some kind of meaning in the word "home." I'm quickly learning that, though I told myself I would never consider Cedar Rapids, Iowa a home, it has become one none the less. At this point I feel like maybe I identify more with that home than I do my Minnesotan life.

This could possibly stem from the fact that no one else is home right now, and I still don't have a job to provide me with financial support for the next twelve months. This is worrisome, and means that my days currently consist of television, reading, guitar playing, making mix cds, and a whole lot of time alone with my thoughts, which is terrifying.

I think about relationships a lot, probably because I am in that interesting place known to most as college. I've come to the realization that there are very (very) few women at my college that I have an honest interest in when it comes to my romantic side. That is not to say there are none, but I can count those that do walk my campus on one hand with more than one finger to spare. Am I just too picky? Is that a bad thing?

The bigger question is this. Every time I come home, my long interest in a female here crops up again. I finally decided to just tell her how I felt and was met with optimistic responses. But I'm going to be gone from home again in just over three months. After that, I'm not sure I'm coming home for the following summer. Is this really the best time to push the cart that is this possible romance along? Is there such thing as a best time? Can I write a blog that doesn't include an asinine amount of questions?

This year's graduation hit me harder than I expected. I kept telling myself that, like the female prospects of my campus, the graduating seniors this year that I was close friends with were minimal in number. That however didn't ease the fact that, though there were fewer of them, I was far more emotionally connected to them then those who left me last year. My goodbyes were quick and in many cases non-existent. I'm a big boy and I'll peddle through it, but it still pulls at me.

I am beginning to believe more and more that the Tralfamadorian time Kurt Vonnegut describes in Slaughterhouse Five is entirely accurate. I've used in in countless conversations with friends about why we make the seemingly rash decisions that we make. I've used it, at times, to justify my own actions. It works. Read up.

And for the love of god, where can I find a job?

I Know That I Literally Just Posted, But...

I had heard briefly about this, but hadn't read much until now:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/04/26/sean.bell.trial/index.html?iref=newssearch

Well done America.

Somehow We Fell Down By the Wayside

Whew, been a while since a sustainable update. I know, right? A bit of a warning, I believe the 'h' key on my laptop may be broken, so if you notice a word suspiciously missing that particular letter, be understanding.

It's finals week here in collegeland. I haven't had one yet, but one test on Monday, one on Tuesday, a poetry portfolio due Monday, and two papers due Wednesday have kept me a little more than busy. It's not that I'm trying to justify my prolonged absence, but you get it.

I DJed my first ever party last night. Not that it was the first party I've been to, just the first for which I was the DJ. I don't want to brag (but this is a blog; what else am I supposed to do?), but it went splendidly. See, yesterday was Shakespeare Day and the theatre group I'm president of teamed up with a fine arts appreciation group to plan events. We made t-shirts that named our favorite Shakespearean character and other miscellaneous things on them, played Shakespeare movies on the campus television station all day, had magnetic Shakespearean poetry outside the cafeteria for anyone to take part in, had a Shakespearean insult-off (and a spectacular rendition of Macbeth) at Blindspot, and finally, a Shake Your Willy Dance Party in the PUB. Hence the DJing. Tons of people came up to me afterwards and thanked me for my song selection, which ranged from mainstream and underground hip-hop to modern pop to 80's synth pop to ska. I never would have imagined having so much fun stepping back from the dancing of the party. I may have to look into this whole DJ thing.

I can't tell if I'm excited for summer or not. There are definite parts I'm pumped about, things like Soundset with Otte and Braizen, seeing my Grinaldo again (it's been centuries buddy), experiencing the Twin Cities energy (read: culture) again, and others. But there are things I'm unsure about, like not living next door to one of my best friends anymore, my brother staying at college for the summer, the fact that I don't have a job yet, and the redundancy that summers away from college can be. I'm sure it will be great, just different.

At the same time, I'm excited to be coming back next year. I'll be living with one of my best friends, which is always enjoyable. I have some cool ideas running around my head as for things I want to put in place on campus next year. You see, our campus newspaper has been getting into trouble recently for being willing to push buttons and dig into stories that we're told to leave alone, and as a result, the administration is taking a bit more of a stand in who will be our editor-in-chief next year. I've been flirting with the idea of producing a photocopied rag of sorts on campus, sort of an alternative to the often overly-censored and administrated newspaper. I've been sharing this idea with fellow current newspaper staffers as myself and have gotten a lot of their support. We'll see what happens. I'm thinking of calling it The Free Press. Better suggestions? Let me know.

I just got yelled at by some uppity alumni who supposedly just donated fifty grand to my college, and as such believes he should be allowed to force me into bending rules that were given to me by my boss here at the library. Pretentious bastard even took down my name. Let's bring the controversy, right? Countdown reads four days until I'm home anyways. Bring it buddy.

Turn Them Headphones Up

I have finally achieved one of my life's goals. No, I haven't published anything (not yet, wait a week or two) and no, I haven't abolished my procrastination habit (hence my appearance here at this hour. Rather, I have finally purchased an amazing pair of big, over ear headphones.

Did I need them? No. I was content with the behind the head Phillips headphones I had been using for about four years. They hadn't broken, they weren't falling apart. In fact, I still have them for occasions in which my new ones would be inconvenient. I bought them because I still had more money than I've ever had this late in the school year and they were something I've wanted for years. So I threw down forty big ones on a pair of gorgeous headphones.
I feel so badass.

Media is Losing Its Focus

I am, by nature, a night person. The last few nights have not only showcased this characteristic of my life, but have also proved to me just why I am this way.

Starting with Tuesday. Tuesdays are layout days for our school newspaper, you know, that one that I'm an editor for, and we were up pretty late (I left the office around 2:30 am) now that, with the recent departure of our layout editor, we all have to produce our own sections. I got back to my dorm and opted to hang out with Spats and T-Lo. I was sitting in their room when two more of our buddies, Bradles and Mangs, showed up. They wanted nothing more than some mickey d's and, owning a car as I do, I volunteered to drive them. It was a quick venture, filled mainly with mindless chit chat, but enjoyable none the less.

Wednesday night Mangs called me while I was finishing up some Shakespeare film responses in the library. I had to watch full length film adaptations of both All's Well That Ends Well and Cymbeline in what night since the discussion board posts were due by midnight. Anywhoo, Mangs was craving some Burger King and was willing to drive, so I decided to join him. As it turns out, Burger King takes around four minutes to provide you with burgers after about 11 pm. During this waiting time we had a conversation concerning existentialism, philosophy, and other aspects of what is, without question, the strangeness that is existence. I hadn't had one of those in ages, and to be honest, yesterday was the perfect night for it. We bought Spats a slice of pie, since he chose to be in a place where his cell didn't get reception, but Mangs ate it before we found Spats. We later ended up in the writing center and I made a baked potato. Incredible, I know.

As for tonight, Mangs again had a craving, this time for real pie. So the two of us, accompanied this time by Spats and Dexter, headed to the local neighborhood Perkins for some coffee and pie. We ended up staying for a couple hours, telling stories about our pasts and participating in the bonding that the collegiate fosters.

I hate this time of year. I love spring, don't get me wrong, but the pressures of not failing my classes combined with knowing that these are the last few weeks I get to spend with some of my friends throws me completely off balance. I balance that by focusing on other things.

As of lately I've been listening to a lot of electronic and experimental stuff. This started because the organization I'm president of is throwing a big dance party in a couple weeks and I'm in charge of the music. I was scanning through the massive amounts of tunes on my computer, trying to find some universally gyrateable rhythms when I started listening to a track by house groover BT and the one and only Mike Doughty. I dug the feel of this track, so I found more of BT's stuff. I never pictured myself as getting into electronic/house style stuff, but it's really complex stuff. Also, Daft Punk is the shit.

I can't recall if I've talked about them before on this particular site, but Animal Collective are incredible. The more I listen to them the more I find in the intricacies of their song construction. I read somewhere that if I like Animal Collective I should check out Battles. Initially, I was skeptical, as they're one of Spin Magazine and Pitchfork Media's poster children. I had obtained their debut full length, Mirrors, a while ago but hadn't gotten around to listening to it until this week. They've done some interesting things on it. It's math art rock, something that rarely gets done well, but in this instance, is incredible. Check it out.



By the way, my respect for Pitchfork Media has been rollercoastering lately (ups and downs). I mean, they did convince me to listen to Battles and they did inform me of what is to be the best hip hop show in Minneapolis this year, but their record review team is absolute crap. First off, they hate The Mars Volta. Now I'm not a superfan of TMV, I dig their sound and I find myself moving to them whenever I have them on, but hate them? I don't understand that. Their worse sin, however, is their recent review of Cloud Cult's newest release. On a ten point scale, reviewer Ian Cohen gave the record a 4.2. I'll be the first to admit, it isn't my favorite Cloud Cult album, but a 4.2? In academic terms (I'm still in college remember) that's a failing grade. He also made fun of them for being an environmentally friendly band, saying "Feel Good Ghosts unfortunately feels like another byproduct of Cloud Cult's recycling process." This may be the only time I print a comment of this sort on this here blog, so brace yourself.

Fuck Ian Cohen.

Brechtian

The first weekend of Threepenny shows came to a conclusion last night. For the most part, I'm happy with how the show turned out. There are portions of my character that I would have liked to gone a different direction with, but I understand that as an actor, those decisions are not mine to make. Our director had an interesting vision for this show, one that I think ended up being a bit more muddled than he would have liked. Overall though, it's entertaining, comically poignant, and foggy as hell.

My buddies Braizen, Poncey, Spats, and Omelette saw the opening night performance and all had positive reactions (to my face at least). Otte and Marie made the venture down south from the Twin Cities to see the show/visit. It was a good time and I'm really glad that they could make it down.

My need to create has returned. I read the blogs of people like Kevin Smith or Mike Doughty, people who create for a living, and I realize just how badly I want to do that. Don't get me wrong, I still want to teach English in high school. I'm not talking about doing that as a means of maintaining a productive member of society (i.e. contributing to our recessing economy). I'm talking about creating for the sole purpose of creating. Spats and I have joked about how we're going to decorate our room next year with bedsheets that we'll then paint over. I actually love that idea, in moderation. I want my room to be a collage of things we've made.

I've been flooding myself with music by Cloud Cult lately. It's the most artistic music I've heard in a long time. Subtle indie rock meets electronic drums, a cello, and a violin, often with gorgeous five part harmonies over it all. On top of that, there are two people in the band whose purpose is to paint during concerts. That's right, live, on-stage art. I was blown away by the strength they have in their sound. Craig Minowa, I would love to meet you.



Sometimes we all just need to find faith in our own creation.

New Things On The List Of Things I'll Get To Give People When I Die

I bought a new guitar today. Long story actually, so sit back, grab yourself a cold one (I'll let you pick the beverage), and get ready for the trek that has been my last couple days.

For the longest time I've adored the look of resonator guitars. I've seen them on racks, the back of albums, and in old bluegrass footage, and I wanted one of my own. Also, ages ago I won a Fender Stratocaster. It's a beauty, but electric instruments, for the most part, don't really fit what I do.

I'm on spring break now, and in my perusal of the local Music-Go-Round led my eyes to a gorgeous resonator that looked exactly like this:

Now I had been contemplating selling my Strat for about a year now, since it's been doing nothing but gathering dust in a spare room here in my house. So what did I do? I put the resonator on hold and ran home to grab my Strat. Thus ends visit number one to that illustrious place.

On my return I was told that the trade would be one for one, no money changing hands required, something I wasn't expecting at all, something that made me smile. I made my trade and drove back home to play with my new toy. End of visit two.

I'll admit, my knowledge of the inner workings of many musical instruments is minimal. This lack of knowledge extends, of course, to resonator guitars. When I was play for a bit more than twenty minutes it began to hum something terrible. There was obviously an issue somewhere around the cone feature. So what did I do? I made my re-return to Music-Go-Round where they offered me a repair job, which graciously accepted. They assured me this would not happen again. End of visit three.

The next day I noticed the sound was off again. I started looking around online and the more I read, the more I realized just what I had got myself into. Turns out certain resonators are made for lap purposes only. All resonators are also easily tweaked, meaning too much moving around can cause the cone to shift and the tone to change. Knowing the way my life goes, I came to see that this just wasn't the instrument for me. Back to Music-Go-Round.

Here I was told what I was expecting. Since I hadn't paid anything for the resonator, because I had simply traded for it, I could only get store credit for that particular store for my return. Since I had time and money to kill, I started looking around. After playing a handful of decent items I found myself holding this Abilene acoustic that possessed many of the qualities I love in acoustic guitars that also don't exist in my current Ibanez acoustic.

These are those qualities:
It's old
It's not glossed
It's neck fits my hand
It’s a jumbo, but it’s thinner than my Ibanez
It sounds earthy as hell
It looks like it’s actually been played before
It’s beat up just enough
It feels like me

This is an actual picture of my new baby:

Lucky for me, this new guitar was also cheaper than the resonator I had previously purchased. This left me with enough cash to get myself a hard shell case, something I’d always wanted. I picked up a tuner too, cuz I suck at that.

All in all, this spring break has been extremely profitable for me. My phone was on the fritz, so we got me a new one, one of them fancy slider phones, which I’ve pictured for you below:

Don’t worry, it’s the same number and I still have (most of) yours.

Also, two new pairs of pants. Guess who’s gonna keep being clothed? This guy.

At Target today, my mom decided that I need snack food for the rest of the semester. It’s at these points that I realize just how much of a child I still am. I will be returning to college in a few days with boxes of Goldfish Crackers, Animal Crackers, Teddy Grahams, Fruit Roll-Ups, and Gushers. She insisted and I’ll be sharing. I’m a big enough boy as it is.

Let's Put a New Coat of Paint on This Lonesome Old Town

The new Mike Doughty album came out this week. I promptly requested that someone else drive me (the roads here are absolutely awful right now) to the nearest Minnesota based electronic store so that I could pick myself up a copy.

It's good stuff. Doughty never ceases to make me bob every part of my body with his melodies and lyrics that always grab my attention with their borderline nonsensical yet somehow poignant tendencies. Pick it up, totally worth the drive.

I also picked up a live podcast of a Bon Iver concert at the request of Tim. It's, as I had to expect, beautifully soulful and wrenching. It also prompted me to check the iTunes-ness of his rereleased album, where I was shocked to find that it included a new track. I proceeded to download, listen to, and thoroughly enjoy it. At this point, I'm ready to declare Bon Iver my new god.

I have this intense craving to road trip, preferably someplace I haven't been for a significant period of time before. I'm thinking Omaha, St. Louis, Kansas City, or Madison. Chris, Amelie, Joe, Brian and I may hit up Omaha in a month and a half or so for a Mike Doughty concert, which would be incredible. I just need to get off campus and preferably out of Iowa for a weekend or so.

Also, I currently crave pizza.

And to catch up on homework.

Hypnosis

I was sitting in the Writing Center last night, as I have a lot lately. It's become my room now that I spend almost no time in my sleeping quarters while awake. A few of my friends were around and we were occasionally spicing up our homework with conversations on current campus controversy or other mind stimulating topics. As this happened, I found the most enormous butterfly clip I have ever seen attached to the pocket of Chris' bag. I immediately removed it and began placing it on different parts of my body.

At first this did nothing but cause painfully loud reactions, followed immediately by throwing the clip off of my person. After a while I began finding strategically painful parts of my body and testing to see if I could maintain my composure while it latched on. It wasn't masochistic, okay not that masochistic, it was more out of curiosity.

I've always had a really high pain tolerance. The fact that I could clamp this onto my nose or knuckle while simultaneously continuing conversation wasn't wholly surprising.

I think this says something about me. I've been having issues lately with certain people's reactions to the person that I am. I understand that I have faults, large ones, that I need to work on, as we all do. What I founds was that I like to push limits. I have this craving to learn just how far I can go, then try to push past that. This idea of boundaries seems too safe for me (most of them, at least).

It's like those people who opt for hypnosis rather than anesthetics. A higher form of pain aversion.

So there I was, sitting on a couch in a room designed to make people comfortable, pinching myself with this clip and trying to keep my mind clear and ignore the pain. And I could do it.

I'm Going To Do It All Someday

So I'm sitting here at work, minding my own business, and an attractive female wanders in front of the desk. At the same time, a older man, her senior by at least four years of age, walks in the opposite direction. As they pass, this gent literally turns his head as he continues strolling, staring directly at her lower half. It’s actions like these that give my gender the reputation we have.

I’ve been thinking a lot about sex/gender. Last semester I was called out by the faculty advisor for not writing about female artists enough. The article in question was a gauntlet of sorts on five different poetry books. It was thrown together last minute, filled with books I had recently perused or could speed through quickly, and no, none of the poets were female (though one was S√he by Saul Williams, a collection of female centered poetry, though written by a man). I was a bit upset, but the fact is that she had a point. I am lacking in female artistry works.

I have since started a weekly three musician review per week in the paper and I’ve made sure to include at least one female per week. This is actually becoming a difficult task for me, as I’m finding it harder (not hard, just harder) to pick out female artists from my library of music. I cross my fingers and hope that this has to due with the industry and the simple fact that there are more male musicians than female. I know there are a lot of females in the biz, and I would like to hear from more.

On that note, I’m not an Ani DiFranco fan. Just not really my style. “Untouchable Face” is a great song, mainly because of memories I have tied to it. Beyond that, I just can’t get into her stuff.

Also, the Vagina Monologues are coming up on campus. Now, I support the Monologues, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t find them to be especially powerful. It’s a mixture of comedic and absolutely tragic accounts of female struggles. Somehow, hearing this is supposed to further the feminist cause. I know that I’m a male and that I can’t understand what it’s like to be a woman, I just don’t see this as what it’s advertised as. I have a feeling one gets more out of being a part of the Monologues than merely seeing them. That makes sense to me.

The paper ran an article on this production as our lead story this week. I have major issues with some of the things that were said. One quote from a student here states, “The men who are most comfortable with themselves and their own sexuality really enjoy the show.” This seems to insinuate that any man who doesn’t enjoy the show doesn’t know themselves as may not have a grasp on their own sexuality. I went last year and enjoyed my time, I can’t lie. But as I said, it didn’t move me. I didn’t feel more empowered or that I needed to fight harder afterwards. I am also very comfortable with myself and my sexuality. Even if this quote doesn’t necessarily apply to me, I still have issues with it. It’s a blanket statement that takes little more than the feminist perspective into view.

I consider myself a feminist just as much as I consider myself an equal rights activist for race, sexual orientation, class, and any other issue. I promote and will gladly fight for equality amongst all people of this planet. It’s the strictness, the anger in some extreme feminists, as well as activists in other fields, that makes me step back and reevaluate the situation. These people (I wouldn’t consider the owner of the above mentioned quotes an extremist, for the record) seem to alienate anyone who isn’t fighting as passionately, loudly, and publicly as they are, regardless of the other’s beliefs.

I am a feminist, but I won’t fight any harder for feminist rights than I will for gay, minority, lower-class, immigrant, environmental, or animal rights. That doesn’t mean I won’t fight, because I will. I simply refuse to step beyond the line of rational movement into the realm of extremism. It’s proven in the past to be nothing by detrimental.

I miss fighting. My poetry class this week had a short conversation about how, back in the 60s, students were in the streets protesting and making their voices heard. This attitude seems to be lacking my generation, replaced by a glaze of apathy and disregard. I want to fight. I want to march down streets and scream for an end to war and genocide and classism and all other -isms. I don’t want to slip into the irrational radicalism I just spoke against, I just want to make my voice known. My generation seems to be missing a lens to focus us. We have more and more issues arising every day and I have a feeling we don’t know where to begin in speaking out against them. I get tempted to stop my studies and take a year to become an activist, hitting the illnesses I see in our society and finding ways to combat them. Realistically, I don’t see this happening for the same reasons that plague all of my generation. I want to fight, I just don’t see how to work it. The rebel, the screamer, the rioter in me wants out.

Sniffles

Ahhh...my favorite mid-winter friend has returned yet again. In the past we have grown close, cuddling next to each other when the wind blows to coldly. We have found solace in the fact that, no matter what the snow tried to cover, it cannot hide our bond.

I have a sinus infection.

There are countless reasons why I get sick every year. They are the exact same things that doctors warn you about. I don't get nearly enough sleep on a nightly basis, I have a terrible diet, I am (at least this semester) far too stressed for my own good, I have no free time to make relaxing good use of, and I rarely exercise.

On the whole, this doesn't bother me.

I have grown accustomed to my yearly reunion with this little fellow. We take naps together, sip tea and orange juice while wrapped in fleece blankets, and collectively moan every time a breeze tries to push us apart.

This, however, does not excuse Mr. Infection's rude behavior. I don't enjoy having to skip class because my head is too heavy to lug around. My nose has become sore and blushed from the countless amount of nasal tissue (or toilet paper for the collegiately challenged) that has scraped
against its soft exterior. More than anything, I despise it keeping me awake at night. The last few nights have been accompanied by constant stirring, waking up at almost hourly intervals, and, my assumption would be, a less than ecstatic roommate.

So this is my plea. As close as we have grown, I am now asking you, Mr. Sinus Infection, to vacate my body. Pack up, eviction notice has been posted.

Now...where's my Sudafed?

Re:Search

I turn my mind, occasionally, to love. At this stage in my life, as for most people of my age, I have established the fact that I know nothing about love. I have had experiences with the word love: my family, my friends, and a couple of the people I spent large amount of time holding hands with when I was younger. This idea of a romantic love, something so deep it cannot be explained, is still foreign to me.

That I do not understand this does not concern me. I'm a sophomore in college, and I have no plans for settling down. At the same time, I adore being in a relationship. The euphoria, camaraderie, excitement, and insecurities that ring-around-the-rosy and encapsulate budding romance thrills me to no end. I also feel a bit more like myself when there’s that special person, one who exceeds regardless of how slightly, the title of friend.

I am single, happy, but definitely keeping my eyes open.

I have also found, through keeping a skeptic eye on myself, that I can establish an idealistic crush in an instant that can trail me for ages. These can be focused on friends, acquaintances, coworkers, performers, baristas, secretaries, or essentially any girl I pass who is singing. A friend and I had a conversation through letters a few months ago about how she had a tendency of developing harmless crushes an a heartbeat that could easily dissipate when needed. I see this in myself.

Perhaps I am confusing infatuation for admiration or a simple want to converse. I’ve seen Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind in Chicago three times now, and each time I have been mystified by the strength, forwardness, honesty, and pride that I have found in one of their members. Does this mean that I would like to become in someway romantically involved with this person? No. I simply want to sit down with her and two cups of coffee and absorb everything she has to say.

There are others that fit into this category.

I say all of this because my relationship status has been the subject of conversation lately. Times it has been brought up by myself, times by others. I’ve been asked why I find it so hard to find a girl on a small liberal arts college campus where I am one of few males known for being extremely outgoing, humorous, and (to a degree) confident (I hate myself for even typing that). One person even brought to my attention that a lot of what girls look for is in facial expressions, so I should watch how I position my features while speaking.

All of this has me very aware of myself, something I find completely unnerving.

The facts are: I am loud, somewhat obnoxious, eccentric, liberal, radical, socially deviant, creative, overweight, near sighted, passionate, eager, supportive, sarcastic, demeaning, introspective, brutally honest, often dishonest, judgmental, uncaring, apathetic, devoted, regretful, loving, confused, isolated, out of place, teddy bear-ish, masked, serious, lazy, completely insane, logical, satirical, disrespectful, stubborn, argumentative, begrudging, hopeful, optimistic, a Johnson, a Bobst, a Smolinski, and many more. I wear brightly colored button down shirts or baggy, earth toned sweaters, knit “newsy” caps or trucker hats, skate shoes or blue and yellow basketball shoes. I’m an English and Creative Writing major who is finding it increasingly difficult to read and write for class. I second guess almost everything I do while rarely thinking it over first, and I constantly let the people closest to me know both how much I love them and how easy I find it to tear them down. I try harder than I know. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

I have not typed this out of loneliness, sorrow, self deprecation, or to be told by anyone that “there are plenty of fish in the sea” or that I “really am a good person.” I said this merely because I wanted to.

I find solace in the fact that I will never stop examining myself.

I hope you can too.

Top Ten Albums of 2007

Rolling Stone? Pitchfork? Spin? Sure, these publications rake in millions of dollars due to their well established knowledge of the music industry, but what do they really know? I have a blog, which is free to operate, and earns me a meager income of absolutely nothing. However, it does afford me the opportunity to publish my thoughts with alongside those of the big boys (thank you net neutrality). Thus, I present unto you, my version of the top ten albums of 2007.

10) Elvis Perkins – Ash Wednesday – February 20

The debut album from this bicoastal folk-rocker did not take the world by storm (a common trend for this list). However, it did stamp the college scene for a good portion of early ’07. Maybe it’s because Ash Wednesday sounds like a cross between late John Lennon and Neutral Milk Hotel’s On the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Maybe it’s because Perkins’ voice grasps the sorrow that clutches at the insides of anyone in earshot. This album is the honest soundtrack to one of the most tragic events in a person’s lifetime: the death of a parent. With the first half of this album written prior to the passing of his mother and the second half coming after, this record takes a sudden turn in mood. This shift feels skillful and real, avoiding any awkward compilation. For those who have already absorbed and enjoyed this album, Perkins has rerecorded the lead single, “All the Night Without Love” with his band, Elvis Perkins in Deerland, and producer Chris Shaw (of Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, and Public Enemy fame), and the new version is available on iTunes.

Favorite Tracks: “All the Night Without Love” and “May Day!”

9) Sage Francis – Human the Death Dance – May 8

The pride of Providence, Rhode Island returns to the underground scene with his third studio album. Though produced by twelve different producers (including Ant of Atmosphere, rapper Buck 65, multi-instrumentalist Mark Isham, and Odd Nosdam of anticon.), this record is incredible tight. Francis’ poetic flow in as present as ever, with allusions and complex metaphors abound. While there are a couple misses on this album (the interlude “Broccoli Break” being the worst), they never seem to infect the other tracks. While critics still to slap him with the term ‘emo,’ Francis marches forward, corporate flag in hand, and continues to produce honest, heavy, honest music.

Favorite Tracks: “Good Fashion” and “Going Back to Rehab”

8) Panda Bear – Person Pitch – March 20

I’ll be honest, I got this album after reading about in on a music blog (Colour Me Impressed, check the “Procrastination Relievers” section for a link), listened through it, and didn’t touch it again for months. Then, in research for a top ten I have to put together for the campus newspaper, I saw it topping many a list. That sparked a re-listening, which subsequently sparked a renewed interest. This definitely wins the award for the most experimental record on the list. Panda Bear, a founding member of Animal Collective, and known to his family as Noah Lennox, has now released three solo albums under his stage moniker. This is, by far, the most accessible of his releases, which is saying something. The album starts off with a clapping backed, echo ridden track that suddenly drops into a digital drone, which then takes listeners into the foggy, unsettling mood that carries through the remainder of the album’s seven songs. While this is far from an easy listen, it is worth every second.

Favorite Tracks: “Comfy in Nautica” and “Good Girl/Carrots”

7) Bright Eyes – Cassadaga – April 10

Though one of the most highly anticipated albums of 2007, this record seemed to drop from the public spectrum quickly. This should come as no surprise. Though Bright Eyes has maintained constant alternative attention (even debuting at number four on the Billboard 200 with this release), Conor Oberst and company have never been able to step into mainstream light. Cassadaga is, like every release before it, nothing like its predecessors. The first album since the dual release of Digital Ash in a Digital Urn and I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning was thought to be a reunion of the electronic and acoustic elements of Bright Eyes’ music. Those expecting that were handed quite the surprise with the first single, “Four Winds,” which widely represented the new record’s sound: alt-country western. Packed with fiddles, organs, and enough vocal contributors to make the Polyphonic Spree look understaffed, Cassadaga, more country western than alt-country, helped restore college radio’s faith in roots music. But don’t fret, there is no doubt that this is still Bright Eyes. Though the overall feel is very western, there are constant, subtle electronic undertones that allow this record to breathe as a unique piece.

Favorite Tracks: “Four Winds” and “Middleman”

6) Dan Wilson – Free Life – October 16

How Dan Wilson found the time to record a solo album while also producing Mike Doughty’s 2005 release Haughty Melodic and his upcoming release Golden Delicious is beyond me. Oh wait, he’s been working on it since before 2005? Oh, so that’s how he found the time. Anyways, completely worth the wait. Former Semisonic frontman, Wilson had disappeared from the public eye outside of Minneapolis when his band went on hiatus in 2001. Though he did release two live discs prior to this, one at the Cedar Cultural Center and one at Bryant Lake Bowl, his debut solo album far surpasses any other piano rock record since Ben Folds’ Songs for Silverman. Any fan of Folds, or Semisonic for that matter, should pick this up immediately.

Favorite Tracks: “Free Life” and “Cry”

5) Against Me! – New Wave – July 10

I know, it isn’t like Against Me!’s old stuff. I don’t care. I picked up New Wave after being told to by, essentially, everyone whose musical taste I trust. They earned my trust. This is far from the grit and grime that overwhelmed their classic, Reinventing Axl Rose. As Ausie singer/songwriter Ben Lee said on his blog when he decided to cover the entire album, “it’s unmistakably a pop masterpiece.” It’s still edgy, it’s still angry, and it’s still as wordy as everything else Tom Gabel has written. The song structures hint, and the story telling lyrics point towards, what Gabel calls a more optimistic view of the world. “Sell-out!” criers can scream all they want, but Gabel will still sound better doing it himself.

Favorite Tracks: “The Ocean” and “New Wave”

4) Brother Ali – The Undisputed Truth – April 10

The Twin Cities hip-hop scene knew it would have a good year the instant Brother Ali announced he had a record to release. The Undisputed Truth is, without question, the most candid, lingering, sincere rap record I have ever heard. I’ve heard people claim this record as the very definition of underground hip-hop: soulful, truthful, and with a flow that could make the Nile look like a pond. You cannot, regardless of mood, listen to this record with out at least bobbing your head. It’s impossible. Atmosphere’s Ant produced the entire album, interlacing reggae, soul, and just a little bit of funk into the mix to match Ali’s voice perfectly. Subject matter ranges from Ali’s divorce to his son to racism to the government, churning up his share of controversy with the heavy lyrical content of the second single, “Uncle Sam Goddamn.” Buy it, play it, dance to it, absorb it, and let it flow through you.

Favorite Tracks: “Truth Is” and “Ear to Ear”

3) Aesop Rock – None Shall Pass – August 28

Welcome back, Mr. Rock. Four years since his last full album, Aesop Rock comes back with an album that crushes anything else he’s ever touched. “Keep Off the Lawn,” the album’s opener is the reintroduction fans have been waiting for. Producer extraordinaire Blockhead returns, crafting half the album including, winner of best beat of the year award, the title track. Aesop’s voice is, as always, hypnotizing, and the higher production value only adds to that entrancement. What really gives this album the push over Brother Ali is the final track. “Coffee” features John Darnielle of the folk project The Mountain Goats, a collaboration no one saw coming. As outstanding as the song is, the hidden track “Pigs” is equally impressive. Backed by a kazoo, Aesop Rock wraps up his best work in a style that only works for him.

Favorite Tracks: “None Shall Pass” and “Coffee”

2) Iron & Wine – The Shepherd’s Dog – September 25

Sam Beam outdoes himself every time he steps into a studio. This record, however, takes a leap of immeasurable height from anything in his previous catalog. Iron & Wine’s third full release sounds nothing like the last, but a clever listener could see this coming from their last EP, 2005’s Woman King. The heavy reliance on unique percussive elements and dense instrumentation returns hear, with Beam’s effortless, floating vocals resting on top. His guitar playing has improved dramatically, this album being laden with alternative tunings and picking patterns. The motif of dogs only serves to further unite this already beautiful stream. There isn’t a miss anywhere near this record. From the opening of the welcoming “Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car,” to the soul emptying closer, “Flightless Bird, American Mouth,” Beam breathes with nature’s lungs.

Favorite Tracks: “Boy with a Coin” and “Wolves (Song of the Shepherd’s Dog)”

1) Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago

The diligent reader will notice that there is no release date listed for this record. That’s because it was self released by Mr. Justin Vernon himself, aka Bon Iver. Vernon began shipping copies of his solo debut sometime after spring of 2007 to anyone who sent in five dollars. Coming in a stamped cardboard sleeve that resembled a postcard, For Emma, Forever Ago is the most lingering album I have ever heard. The soundtrack to fog and trees, this record oozes loneliness from every chord. Vernon’s wrenching croon and falsetto are the essence of heart and soul. It sounds like someone mashed Iron & Wine with TV on the Radio, then let it grow into its own mighty tree. Using a slow mixture of strumming and picking patterns, accompanied by a layering of his own vocals and the occasional subtle bits of percussion, Vernon has crafted something absolutely breathtaking. This is the album that can restore faith in music, but more importantly, it can restore faith in the ability to persevere through one’s art. For Emma is sitting outside alone after dark, feeling the moisture of the air press against your skin and watching as the light dissipates. It is abandonment of the most beautiful kind, the kind you know you can grow from. For those interested, Bon Iver was signed to Jagjaguwar Records and will be re-releasing For Emma, Forever Ago on February 19^th, 2008. There’s a remarkable chance it’ll make your list.

Favorite Tracks: “Skinny Love,” “Re: Stacks,” and “Blindsided.”

Runners Up:

Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

The opening to this record is gorgeous and saddening at the same time. Jeff Tweedy and company released their simplest album to date, but Elvis Perkins was just a little more cohesive. I still say that I liked these guys best on the Mermaid Avenue albums.

Rilo Kiley – Under the Blacklight

Though it has its moments, too many misses keep this record off the list. Jenny Lewis and friends are still incredibly talented musicians, I just don’t understand a couple of these songs.

Atmosphere - Sad Clown Bad Summer/Fall/Winter #8/9/10
They're good, but they're EPs. Check 'em out. New one comes out in Spring '08 as well.

Biggest Disappointment:

Say Anything – In Defense of the Genre

My close, personal friends will tell you how I feel about double disc releases. Don’t release them! They’re called b-sides. Cut them, release one solid disc like 98% of albums ever. Max Bemis clogged this record with guest appearances (of practically everyone in the genre of pop-punk) and this album never got to breathe.

Looking Forward To:

New Doomtree Releases

These five Twin Cities rappers are the best collective I’ve ever heard. Their full crew album should hit shelves in the spring, followed by an avalanche of solo efforts.

Mike Doughty – Golden Delicious

This guy’s incredible. End.

New Mountain Goats Record

It’ll be great. Fingers crossed.

Atmosphere - When Life Gives Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold

It's gonna be sooo good.