Thank you to Jarod for this. People are just plain stupid, aren't they? Though, I now pose the question: if you had to name your child after some product or brand name, what would you choose? If it's a girl, perhaps Starkist, or Dinty Moore. A boy? Panasonic or Appleby.

Third graders review "Autumn Sweater" by Yo La Tengo. (link via Slatch) There are some other kid music reviews at the top, but this is my favorite. (My own review of the song: it sucked. It sounded like YLT were trying to be U2, and nobody should want to do that. Especially bands that are superior to Little Bono and his Gang of Fools.)

Some bits and pieces:

National Corndog Day (via Carl): This has to be done next year.

Currently watching Quick Change. I love this movie, and why not? Bill Murray, Geena Davis, Bob Elliott, Randy Quaid, Phil Hartman, Tony Shalhoub, Stanley Tucci, and Kurtwood Smith in the role he was born to play. "You goddamn straphangers are ruining Mrs. Crane's beverage service!" Gold.

I've seen the Paris Hilton tape, or at least part of it. Hot? Not particularly. Hilarious? Oh, you bet. All celebrity sex tapes seem to be, though. Except the Tonya Harding video. That was kinda dull, though, strangely titillating. Must be the trashiness of Ms. Harding. I guess I just got a thing for chicks who are comfortable in stone-washed jeans with the zipper on the back of the ankles.

The new Pink album is pretty good. I'm not feeling it as much when things slow down a bit, but overall, a satisfying listening experience. She has a good voice, too; I never realized that.

This site, as well as Musica Generica will probably get a facelift in the next few weeks.

Michael Totten takes on Ted Rall.

Also liked this line from Totten's blog: "Ted Rall isn't some anarchist punk spraying digital graffiti on Indymedia. He's a syndicated columnist. Just liked the first part of that; spot on.

Become a SCRABBLE Expert!. Saw this in the City Paper. I'm tempted to go, but really, I haven't played Scrabble in a few months. Plus, there's a chance of some paths crossing; don't know if I should take that chance. Besides, I'm more of a Boggle stud, anyway. Hoo yeah!

And for those of you who are new to this blog, I want to reiterate one of the central tenets of my belief system: monkeys are hilarious.

Also: Survivor Series is this Sunday. I haven't ordered a WWE pay-per-view in three or four months now, but I may get this one. Besides it being one of the major PPVs, there will also be a couple of old school, five-on-five elimination matches on the show, not to mention the possibility that The Undertaker may return as the old, evil Undertaker, jettisoning his more realistic biker image. I think I'd mark out for that. So, there you go. We'll see. If it turns out to be great and I don't wind up ordering it, I can always get it on DVD. The turnaround on those things are pretty amazing.

Lastly: start Sage Rosenfels!

Holla!

Game Watch

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about a couple of games to which I am looking forward. These are definitely my most anticipated. However, there are a few other titles that I think also deserve mention.

True Crime: Streets of L.A.: Yet another game that is trying to grab some of the Grand Theft Auto audience. This review isn't exactly glowing, but I've read others that were more positive. Overall, it seems like it could be a lot of fun, if not exactly on the same level of GTA. (Note: this is already out, and I saw a couple of commercials for it tonight.)

Manhunt: Does Rockstar have another hit on its hands? If you're talking about the gaming community at large, the answer is probably yes. If you're asking casual gamers, the answer is probably no. Naturally, it will pull in some casual gamers based on the Rockstar name alone. But I gotta tell ya, most of the people who like the free-wheeling, smash 'em up, shoot 'em up nature of GTA, or the adrenaline rush of street racing of Midnight Club, aren't going to cotton to sneaking about in the shadows and relying on stealth to survive. I can only imagine the frustration rising, the brows furrowing, as the Doom generation gamers try to blast everything in sight and fail miserably. Let's face it, casual gamers don't care much about story lines; the gameplay ultimately pulls them in. And while that's the way it should be (gameplay should always be paramount in the design), casual players are going to be more attracted to action packed titles than they are to subtler fare. Anyway, this looks like it could be a game of the year candidate, depending on how balanced the gameplay is. It's one thing to make a game rely on stealth to be successful; it's quite another to make the game so difficult that your every move has to be perfect in order to advance.

Final Fantasy X-2: Yeah, I'm still a FF mark. Final Fantasy X, for which this game is a direct sequel (the first time this has happened in the FF universe), took a while for me to get into, but when it was all over, it turned out to be a very fun and satisfying gaming experience. However, it did not leave me looking forward to the next installment as much as previous installments had. In a way, it was like Final Fantasy VIII, with its very realistic characters, deep sidequests, and saving existence storyline (though, that last part is really in all the games). I liked that game as well, but it did not leave me expecting much more from the next in the series. Luckily, Final Fantasy IX furned out to be a great game, with an incredible story and the usual solid gameplay. Anyway, before I get too sidetracked, I am certainly looking forward to picking this one up, but hope that the story is immediately more engaging than its predecessor.

Others on the horizon are Secret Weapons Over Normandy (from LucasArts/Totally Games), Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater (Konami, due out November 2004 I believe), and Mafia (Take 2 Interactive/Illusion Softworks, due out January 2004). If you're a console gamer, try to check these out.

Oi....fucking Metro.

This was today:

I woke up early (for a Saturday) today so I could shower and vacuum before my friend Mark would arrive. Sadly, I only got the former accomplished. Luckily, Mark isn't a neatnik and I just vacuumed whilst he was here. (Besides, he lived with me for a couple of years, he knows the drill.) We went out and got some chow, came back and basically gamed for the afternoon, wrapping things up with some Family Guy viewing in the evening. We left and he dropped me off at the Metro, where I went out to Galaxy Hut to meet with my friend Jackie and her husband (Dave), who I have not seen in 4 years, basically when she/they left this town for Denver. Naturally, a number of others (many of whom are part of the local indie rock community, including Dan, who was in Free Range Pilgrim with Jackie and is now in City Ghosts with Patrick, one of our bartenders at The Black Cat) were there as well. Wound up getting wedged the corner (Galaxy Hut is fucking small), so the only beer I had was the one I ordered when I first got in. Stayed there a couple of hours, which is longer than I wanted. The plan was to then go to Old Town and meet up with the crew at Bugsy's.

That didn't happen. Why? Because the Metro fucking sucks. First, I underestimated the time it would take to actually get to King Street, so I was going to be later than expected. But still, it was a 10 minute wait at Clarendon, another 5 minute wait at Rosslyn (where I had to switch to the Blue Line), and then, we get to Pentagon and we sat for like 10-15 minutes. At that point, I wasn't going to reach Bugsy's until 11:30, a good 45-60 minutes later than I initially said I would be there. Even though that's early, the other part is that I had to get up early (again, a relative term) in the morning to meet with Jackie* again, and I didn't want to put up with a long ass metro ride back at 1:30-2 in the morning. After an entire week (including last night) of about five and a half hours of sleep, I had to draw the line. So, I just came straight back. It's a shame, because I was really looking forward to seeing everybody. Oh well. At least I'm getting dinner now.

In other news, the Hurricanes lost for the second week in a row. Bye bye national championship.

And today (well, yesterday as of this writing) is when it all began a year ago.

* Jackie just finished dental school and is licensed out west, but because she is planning on moving back to the East Coast next year, she needs to get licensed over here. Therefore, she is trying to find people to test on (next month, I believe), but they have to have a certain amount of plaque or what not (look, I'm not the dentist here) before they can qualify. Tomorrow, she will check to see if I qualify.

Some more late night blogging...

[Note: I'm not going to provide links because it's late, and I'm getting sleepy and well, fuck you. You need information on anything listed here, you can just look it up your damn self. It's a Google world, dammit!]

First, the new Smackdown video game (the third for the PS2 and the fifth in the series) is one helluva game. One drawback: as in the real WWE, if you're doing career mode on Raw, the storylines are dominated by Triple H, and he will do his damnedest not to job to you. Outside of that, it's a great game. The AI is solid, the career mode is actually worth a damn, the create-a-wrestler feature is as good as ever, and the gameplay is balanced and easy to pick up, not to mention featuring more depth than ever before. Hats off to THQ; they've done it again.

Next topic: Kid Notorious. Full disclosure up front: I haven't seen The Kid Stays In The Picture and know nothing about Robert Evans except for what sites like All Movie or IMDB tell me. (Okay, I lied about the links...sorta. I know these by heart.) Anyway, the first episode was decent. Seemed to be trying too hard to push the envelope in terms of content, not to mention, slagging Hollywood is just too easy to really sustain a series, right? Well...

Episodes two and three have converted me. I really can't articulate what makes it for me, but I've actually laughed out loud several times while watching. (Especially the third episode, which aired tonight...Rummy's characterization was worth the price of admission alone....you know, if you had to pay to be admitted somewhere to watch it.) Sure, the characters are ALL stereotypes: the sleazy/megarich movie producer, the sassy, black female maid, the stuffy-but-dedicated English butler. But there's just enough outrageousness and sly twists to each archetype that they don't come off as too predictable. Plus, the shit is just plain funny. And that's always a good thing.

Anyway, that's all I have the time for. I'm actually going to bed before 2. Haven't done that since, um, last Thursday? Fuck. (It's job related...not going to get into it now.)

It's So Much Like My Dreams It's Scary

To use another Simpsons quote (this time courtesy of Prof. Frink), "That monkey is going to pay."

I shouldn't make light of this, as it's obviously a dire situation. But dammit, it's hard for me not to laugh. Monkeys are always comedy.

Boo!

Today has had an auspicious start. Woke up just before noon when Jarod's parents arrived at his spot (I crashed at Jamie and Jarod's; more on that later). Flipped on the TV and what is just about to begin? Why it's Commando! Yet another movie I have not seen before. While not as essential as either of the Terminator films, Jamie still insisted that I watch it, and I'm glad I did. For the next hour and forty-five (or however long that movie is) I was treated to one of the most appallingly bad movies I've ever seen. Of course, that made it one of the most hilarious films as well. "Let off some steam, Bennett." Total classic.

Came home, got my shower on, got my BK on, talked to moms, and now I'm killing time playing the new Smackdown video game (a review may be in the works) until I have to go back out to meet with the boys (Jamie and Jarod, at least) to see another movie I never saw when it came out, Alien. We're going to the Uptown to see it on the giant screen. (It just occurs to me that I should be linking some of these things I mention, but, you know, I can't do everything for you. Lazy bastards.)

Now, the reason I crashed with Jamie and Jarod last night is because we went to a party. The place: my friend Jodi's spot out in Arlington, a nice place she shares with two other ladies. It was, naturally, a costume party, and I did dress up. After kicking around a few ideas the last few months (Meatwad, a pirate priest), I wound up going as Jesus Christ Superfly, which is basically just a Jesus outfit with an afro. I had a goatee working as well, but it fell apart early on and I stopped wearing it. Just as well, as I couldn't really talk or drink with it on. The downside to that is that afterwards, I had a lot of people calling me Jack Osbourne. Now there's a kick in the crotch. At least this time I had a costume on. The previous two times I was just in me everyday streetwear. That's when it really hurts. The crew went as dead George Plimpton (Carl), dead Joan Crawford (Caren), a priest (Jamie), and a hippie/lumberjack/gas station attendant (Jarod). Quite an alliterative group I hang out with, eh?

The party was a lot of fun. A good number of people, a good ratio of women to men, and free hooch. What more can you want? Ahhhh, I see you thinking it. (Hey, you think that's impressive, I can hear pudding.) The more, of course, is a spirited game of backslap. I gotta tell you, I feel I came closer than I usually do to closing the deal last night. For starters, I kind of had that mindset going in. Not that I'm ever truly without that mindset these days, but there was concerted effort not to get hammered right away, or to the point where I knew I would be the braying jackass and have absolutely no shot.

So, the party is good, we're getting our drink on, I housed about a half dozen or so Jello shots over the course of the evening, a few beers, a shot of tequila (served up by a loud, drunken nun no less)...over all, feeling good. Can still maintain a decent conversation, and only drove away one person all night with my words (Rebecca Lobo....sorry Jamie). Then I start to socialize a bit more. To that point, it was basically me hovering about my crowd, striking up small conversations when questions about my costume arose. (Or with cute vampire chicas like Sherrie.) Actually...the sequence of events are a little fuzzy. Here's what I do remember, Miss 1973 (as she will be called) was there, along with a few other Miss America's (one from each decade). Seemed like a nice girl. She and the "white Nelly" were out back smoking with the crew at various points during the evening. She may have not been the brightest (caught the tail end of having the Jim Jones thing explained to her, as she didn't get an earlier reference to it), but she seemed like decent people. Anyway, wind up sitting with her on the front porch later in the evening and well, she's kinda buzzed, to say the least. Not arms folded in front of you, puking on the chest drunk, but she's certainly uninhibited. Like the male that I am, this piques my interest. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not Capt. GHB here. I'm not looking to violate women who don't know it's happening; she wasn't that hammered. So I'm being the witmonkey, cracking jokes, cozying up to her, have her bring me a drink. (Actually, she volunteered the drink, as she wanted some punch with something mixed in and insisted that I have the same.) Get the drinks, continue the chit chat, and then she goes inside. I drink a little of what she concocted (damn that was strong), spill a little, then leave it. Go inside, blah blah this, blah blah that, head to the kitchen, where she's holding a microphone she brought (you know, for the question and answer portion of the Miss America pageant), singing some song that I don't quite recall. Then she says she has to sing something from the 70s. I suggest "I Will Survive." (Why, I don't know, because I kinda hate that song.) She proceeds to sing it in this really hushed and breathy voice, while she slides all over Jesus' body. It's quite a spectacle, and we're getting some looks from the others in the kitchen. She stumbles her way to that songs conclusion (meaning she starts to forget the words and just stops) and starts to sing something else, again, I'm not remembering what exactly. I'm still being treated like a dancing pole. I break this up and go downstairs, mostly to see if she'll follow. No dice. I go back up, and she's gone from the kitchen and to the front porch, where she and white Nelly are cozying up. Now, in his defense, he had been trying with her earlier in the evening, and intermittently throughout, so it's not like he was trying to kill my game. He was just playing his. Within minutes, the game is over: they're grabbing a cab. Oh well. The next 20 minutes or so is me looking for a consolation prize, namely Jodi. She, however, is lit up and of a single mind. Unfortunately for me, that single mind is focused on finding her lost camera, and not images I would like to capture on that camera. So, after she hits rock bottom by digging through her garbage for the camera (and I am, like an idiot, holding the flashlight), I decide to concede. The crew, who were being extremely patient, were waiting on the front porch. We gather up, say goodnights, and we're off. Drop off Carl, and then return to the spot, where I snack on some chips, then call it an evening.

And that was Halloween. Overall, I can't say I'm disappointed. The party really was fun, and it's always good to be out with friends. Sure, some dirty sniz would have capped it off right, but that's like complaining that your lottery jackpot isn't big enough.

It's Alien time. (Jesus this all took a long time to write. Damn multi-tasking.)

All the Demo's in the house say "hooooo!"

Hilarious.

If you needed a more obvious example that hip-hop culture is the dominant mainstream culture, this article is it. Black culture once again is hijacked as a source of credibility for liberal whites. It could have been worse. They could have tried to play off the more militant arm of hip-hop and have it more as a revolutionary rally instead of a party jam. Imagine Chuck D. and Paris talking about a riot going on while Bill Clinton stood in the back with a beret and sunglasses, fist raised in a black power salute. That would have been ugly. (Or hilarious if you're actually picturing it.)

The whole hipness grab just bothers me in general. Besides it being unnecessary and futile (let's face it, I'm betting at least half of the people that attended won't wind up voting in the November '04 election, because to them, this is more about being at a high-profile party than getting out the vote), the way these things play out always make me cringe, because it always comes off more like comedy ("Whoa! Culture clash! Fabulous!") than anything remotely "hip." At it's worst, it can even come off as minstrelsy. (Thank god none of the famous white folk tried to get funky), because the spotlight is always thrown upon the most shallow and easy to digest parts of the culture. The talk of Escalades and 50 Cent (okay, I'll admit it was a stroke of genius having Bill Clinton on stage while that song is being played) just makes me shake my head, when I know that there are more vital and interesting parts (not to speak of less ignorant) of hip-hop culture than what is ever portrayed in the media.

And yes, I know this isn't about hip-hop culture, but about trying to appeal to a young crowd whose vote your are courting. Fine. But is this what they really want, attaching their image to the rampant materialism and hyper-sexuality of mainstream hip-hop? Personally, as much as I am against the notion of some sort of cultural elite, I really don't like the idea of politics trying to promote itself outside of the political spectrum, because it always winds up debasing itself. In the end, these politicians make it seem like they value style over substance, a frightening notion for anybody who still places faith in the political process of this society.

Yvan eht nioj!

EARL DITTMAN EXPOSED � Film Criticism�s Greatest Shame: I know I'm late to this, but dammit this is hilarious. The quotes are absolutely priceless. I suddenly want to be this guy. (courtesy of Mostly Weird)

So, it is Sunday night. The Chiefs-Bills game just went to halftime. It looks like I might lose this weekend. Jesus. And I'm getting beaten by a guy who didn't start a kicker. I'm hoping the Chiefs D can take one in for six before it's all over. But that isn't bloody likely.

What else? Went to the Phillips Collection yesterday with my friend Beth. We took a tour of the permanent collection, then checked out the Modernism and Surrealism exhibit. Definitely worth checking out. (I enjoyed the Tanguy pieces especially, since he's my favorite artist.) We hit up DCCD in Adams Morgan, where I picked up Do Whatever You Want, Don't Do Whatever You Don't Want, an Acid Mothers Family Compilation. We hit the CD and Game Exchange up the block, where I was very good and didn't purchase anything. (That won't be the case the next time I go.) After that little shop stop, we parted ways. I went back home, chilled for a couple of hours, then decided to hit Tower Records, where I picked up the new Primus DVD/CD. Haven't watched all of it, but it's good stuff. The new music (the CD part, which is a 5 song EP with the original lineup) isn't very good, but the DVD is worth having. And I got it for $15 (it was on sale), so I definitely feel I got my money's worth.

Didn't do anything but play the shit out of The Simpsons: Hit and Run for the rest of the night. Which was good, because I didn't want to spend any more money, or drink.

Today, it's been football, more Simpsons, and feeding. Had weirdo dreams last night. Was in a forest of nothing but weeping willows. Is such a thing even possible? I don't think I've ever seen more than one weeping willow in any area. Anyway, it was very bizarre. The details are a bit fuzzy, but for some reason, it made me sad. I do remember seeing a monkey sleeping in one of the branches, but I have no idea what that means. (Everything comes back to monkeys with me.) Anyway, it was just bizarre.

Weeping willows are beautiful trees, by the way. I'm not sure it's healthy for a person to have a favorite tree, but I think if I did, it would be a weeping willow. They look so delicate, like they couldn't possibly survive in nature, but they are trees, right? They have to have some sort of strength. I wonder if birds are fooled by the superficial weakness of the weeping willow and refuse to build nests there. The weeping willow wouldn't be able to relate to the other trees when they talked about birds nesting and waking them up too early in the morning with birdsong. What a bummer. Still, beautiful trees.

Wow, I think I'm high.

Actually, what it is is the influence of Get In the Van by Henry Rollins. In a number of his entries, he'll go from straight recollection right into storytelling mode. And now, so have I. The dream part is true, by the way. The subsequent riff on weeping willows was all improvised. Huzzah!

Okay, nothing else to talk about. I picked up The Future and Its Enemies by Virginia Postrell. I'm going to start that as soon as I'm done with the Rollins book. Could make for an interesting juxtaposition.

Or not.

My thanks go to Jarod for giving me the lowdown on this link: Sphincterine. Outstanding.

Random notes:

This may break my streak of not watching a reality TV series.

A lot of celebrity deaths the past week. Jack Elam, Elliott Smith, Fred "Rerun" Berry, and two others that aren't going to get the recognition they deserve: Mike "Road Warrior Hawk" Hegstrand and Stu Hart.

Now, if you are a fan of professional wrestling, then chances are, these deaths mean more to you than the other three. The Road Warriors are without question one of the most popular tag teams of all-time, while Stu Hart is on the Mount Rushmore of wrestling, with Ric Flair, Antonio Inoki, and ________. (I'll let you fill that one out; not here to spark a wrestling controversy.) Stu Hart, with his Stampede Wrestling promotion, not to mention the number of wrestlers he's trained (most of whom went on to be some of the best workers in the business), was the patriarch of a clan that might be to Canada what the Kennedys are to the United States. See, a time not as long as ago as you might think, wrestling was held in a much higher regard than it is today. Back in the days of territorial promotions, before entrance music, roided up muscleheads, and "hardcore," wrestling was a great spectator sport. In those days, hour long matches were more the rule than the exception, crowds weren't so wishy-washy in their praise/hatred of a wrestler, and those involved treated it as a sport before they treated it as entertainment. Sure, the outcomes were predetermined, but at the time, everybody behind the scenes in out in front of the cameras worked hard to maintain that it wasn't. There was enough doubt that people would be on the edge of their seats with every pinfall, screaming their heads off when their favorite wrestler was caught in an "inescapable" submission hold, trying to will him out of his predicament. And because it wasn't on television four times a week, and there were no monthly Pay-Per-Views, whenever you did get to see a match, you appreciated it even more.

Now, admittedly, despite my previous wording, I did not grow up in that era. Instead, I got into wrestling around the time the business was moving toward what it is today. Basically, I came into wrestling around the time Hulkamania was taking off. I remember when I moved to Ohio, on some Fridays, I'd spend the night at my friend Corey's house, and his mother would take he, his brother, and me to the video store. We'd usually grab a couple of kung fu movies and a wrestling tape or two (usually WWF on Coliseum home video). We'd watch matches with the likes of "The Rock" Don Muraco, Tito Santana, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Hulk Hogan, Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka, Andre the Giant and countless others. Back then, TV didn't have much to offer. You had WWF Superstars on Saturdays, as well as NWA (which would eventually mutate into the now defunct WCW) on WTBS. Back then, before WWF (now WWE) would ascend to the top of the "sports entertainment" mountain, NWA was the more popular source for wrestling. While I was primarily a WWF fan, I did occasionally watch NWA. Two guys who really stood out were the Road Warriors, a larger than life tag team whose fashion sense has subsequently been hijacked by Oakland Raiders fans.

The Warriors were huge, and not just in terms of popularity. These guys were amazingly muscular, especially for a time when so few were. (Guys like Hogan and "Mr. Wonderful" Paul Orndorff being a couple of notable exceptions.) Their look was unique (at least until the imitators--remember Demolition?--came out of the woodwork) and intimidating. In an era of some memorable tag teams (like the Midnight Express and The Hart Foundation, for starters), these guys were the tops in my book. So when I heard that Hawk had passed away, I got a bit nostalgic for wrestling past. When I found out that Stu Hart passed away, it felt like the closing on a memorable chapter in the sport's history. And really, it is. There will never be another like Stu Hart, and there will never be another team like The Road Warriors. Godspeed, gentlemen. And thank you for making this wrestling fan a little happier.

***

In less somber news, I am actually eagerly awaiting a couple of video game releases this year. The first is Medal of Honor: Rising Sun. The other, Max Payne: The Fall of Max Payne. The former is the forth installment in the very popular and very awesome Medal of Honor series. This time, the action is taking place in Japan. From everything I've read, this will set a new standard for the series, something I thought difficult to do after the brilliant Medal of Honor: Frontline. That game's opening, the Normandy Invasion, is one of the most memorable and well-done in game history. (Sadly, I still haven't finished that game, having been sidetracked by others.)

The Fall of Max Payne is the second in the series and from the looks of it, business is about to pick up. First off, the environments look much improved, the character modeling even more detailed, and the camera work once again first-rate. I love the bullet-time mechanism (introduced in the first game), where you can slow things down, Hong Kong style, while popping caps in the enemy's ass. Not only does it make things look more stylish, but it also helps when a gang of thugs start to open fire on you. I'm glad it will be back in the second.

As a matter of fact, the style of the game is what really draws me to Max Payne. Sure, the gameplay itself is solid, but the game noir look and compelling (if a tad formulaic) storyline makes it easy to get sucked into playing it. Few games have a genuinely gripping atmosphere, one of the only other significant ones coming to mind being Silent Hill. If the previews I've read/seen are any indication, I'm definitely looking forward to immersing myself in this game.

A game review! (Sorta.)

So, I picked up The Simpsons: Hit and Run this past weekend. I like it, but that�s probably to be expected. Not because Simpsons video games have been particularly good historically (quite the opposite, actually), but because this is so crammed full with references to Simpsons lore that any hardcore Simpsons-phile will enjoy playing it just to see what kinds of gags they can spot.

What about those who aren�t fanatical about the Simpsons? Will they get any enjoyment out of this game? Certainly. Because beneath all of the Simpsons trivia is a nice little game, part-platformer, part mission-based racing. It�s not the most challenging of either of those genres, but it�s not exactly child�s play, either. The races, for instance, can be downright nerve-wracking, requiring fairly mistake-free driving. The Simpsons world they�ve created is also pretty vast (much larger than the actual), giving you plenty of places to explore (usually while in search of the wasp cameras or collectible cards).

There are some complaints. I was a bit disappointed that not all characters that you come across on the street (not counting generic characters) talk to you, unless it has something to do with a mission. (Sometimes if you assault them, or are about to run over them, they�ll yell something.) Also, I don�t like the fact that you can�t play through the entire town at once. Each level takes place in one section of town, and the only way to get back to a completed section is by choosing a mission from that level. Perhaps it would have been beyond the capabilities of the hardware to have the entire city as one giant world to explore, but I�m disappointed nonetheless. But really, that�s more fan disappointment than gameplay disappointment. Overall, this is some decent fun, and a welcome addition to The Simpsons canon.

About last night...

So, as Carl (dammit, find the link on the left, or follow an old link below) wrote in his blog, we went to the Fire Theft show at the Black Cat. It was an experience.

First, that's the first show I've ever gone to where I really paid little to no attention to the bands. Now, that's not entirely due to the bands (they didn't help, of course), but my interest was minimal from the beginning. I was there merely to hang out with the boys and to get my drink on. If that means plunking down $15 to do it, so be it. I figured The Fire Theft would be somewhat redeeming to boot.

Wrong.

I'll come right out with it: I've never been the biggest fan of the alleged "emo" genre, particularly the mid 90s to present garden variety bands (ha! someone will get that). Boy's Life, Braid, just about any of the Jade Tree roster...they did nothing for me. Now, that's not a uniform indictment of the genre. The first albums by The Promise Ring and Jets to Brazil are solid; ditto Knapsack's Day Three of My New Life. My personal favorite is Drive Like Jehu's Yank Crime. The first four tracks off that album eviscerates 99% of the other emo bands out there, and I recommend you go pick up the 2002 reissue with all due speed. It's the closest approximation of Rites of Spring's unhinged fury you'll find.

However, those bands are the exception, not the rule. Sunny Day Real Estate, from which 3/4 of The Fire Theft come, weren't that bad, either. (Not that I own any of their albums.) But they were too perilously close to their whiny peers to do much for me. The end result was nothing but a bunch of 20-something white boys whining about this or that. It was journal entries set to pseudo-impactful music. (There's even a line in a Jets to Brazil song that sums up the emo MO: "My dear diary/it's just you and me tonight.") Needless to say, it can be VERY tedious.

Still, because I know that SDRE had been decent, I gave the Fire Theft the benefit of the doubt. It never clicked. The band wasn't terrible. They were just kinda boring. Even though I freely admit to not really being into the music before I set foot in the club, if it were worthwhile, it certainly would have grabbed me at some point. But it never happened. It was song after song of the same thing. No visceral rush, no moments of rock ecstasy where the band just opens it up and let's it all out, something you'd expect from a genre built on emotional outpouring. But I got nothing. I half-jokingly said to Carl last night that metal, which I've been listening to a lot the last few months, has ruined me for music like this, because metal is so up front and visceral that the music is almost physically tangible. But that may just be a convenient excuse. I stick by my previous assertion: the band just wasn't that good.

There are a few other things I could comment on from last night (on the non-music side of things), but it hardly seems worth it.

Also, a word of advice: when it's almost 2 in the morning, and you haven't eaten in hours, and you're getting those post-drinking munchies, try to keep it simple. For example, do not pick up some greasy food from the local ghetto chinese place and proceed to house it when you get home. It's just good sense.

The Mainstreaming of Porn? (from Pornblography)

An insightful (and frequently hilarious, which is why I'm posting it) piece about a recent NY Times article that claims porn is becoming more mainstream, using the upcoming Fox show Skin as it's primary example . Before I put in my two cents, here are some of the highlights from her post.

"Granted, I say this not having seen any episodes of the show yet - I'm basing this on knowing my own day-to-day experiences that include such spellbinding activities as deciding if I've used the term 'ass-reaming' too many times when writing boxcover pap and talking to girls about their pre-scene douching habits versus the sensationalistic Hollywood-machine scripts that Bruckheimer produces."

"If you really want to trumpet cable's acceptance of bare cheeks, thank Steven Bochco and NYPD Blue for that. Or hell, how about Harvey Keitel and Bad Lieutenant? Was anyone thanking porn for seeing his ass?...It's like comparing apples to motor oil."

"Sometimes the simulated (sex) is far sexier than seeing the spread-open pink of a porn chick being speared by a guy you wouldn't let bag your groceries."

"...I still find movies like 9 1/2 Weeks incredibly sexy. I can get off to that just as well as I can get off to Weapons of Ass Destruction."

"So while I think it'll be harder for Hollywood to shock us with sexy movies - depending on the stars and scenarios (yes, I'm still holding out for the movie that casts Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen as gay lovers and features them in a hot sex scene that has Hugh Jackman sitting in the corner, watching...) - I highly doubt that means they're done with the genre."

Actually, I don't really have anything to add to this discussion, because Carly does a pretty bang up job. I think it was just the chuckles I got from the above that made me post all of this. She's indeed correct that porn will never reach that level of cultural acceptance to call it truly mainstream, no matter how many biopics about Ron Jeremy or True Hollywood Stories on starlets there are. It seems Hollywood and the like will only let porno in as long as it generates ratings/dollars for them. If porn were allowed any kind of legitimacy (legitimacy isn't the right word, I think; I just mean unqualified and unrestricted access in popcult outlets) in the mainstream world, where would the mainstream go for that titillation/taboo factor when they need to boost interest in their cheesy wares?

Besides, the porn industry makes tons of cash already, or so it would seem. I don't think mainstream acceptance is even a priority or desired on their part.

"Every Day Without Great Football is Like Every Day in Massillon."

So, I decided to check out the ol� Tribune Chronicle (delivered with pride by Damian Vega$ many moons ago) to see what was on tap for my alma mater, football-wise, this weekend after checking their national ranking (#3, baby!) in USA Today. What I found was this.

First of all, I find this hilarious. Both the shirt and the uproar. (There's another aspect that could be hilarious, but I'm not Jamie, so I don't have carte blanche to run with it.) I wish they were doing things like this back when I was walking the halls of Warren G. Harding High School. Sure, we had school spirit, but Ms. Banks is correct when she says that it wasn't very organized. Even after winning the state championship and reaching #1 in the national polls (led by the late, great Korey Stringer) the following year, there wasn't much in terms of a collective fervor for our football team. Most of the gridiron passion in that state is reserved for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Consequently, it's nice to see something like this. The store is a nice touch (even if I did feel a bit conflicted when I first read about it), especially because it seems to be building a stronger sense of community within the school. Plus, the money they are making is being put to good use.

But back to the shirts. They're great! Look, this is sports we're talking about. As much as a lot of people like to be curmudgeonly and old-school about it, the bottom line is that trash talk is a part of the game on all levels. And this is TAME. Seriously. Go walk into a packed stadium (like the Horseshoe when the Buckeyes are playing Michigan), or even a sports bar, and just listen to the vulgarities exchanged between rivals. But, at the end of the day/game, it's all in good fun. Sure, you get the occasional drunken brawl, but more often than not, it's just a bunch of guys talking smack, trotting out their knowledge of their team and its greatness, while disparaging their rivals for being the no-talent puddingheads that they are. It's just another part of the game that makes it fun for the fans. Since they can't suit up and play, they can at least sit back and talk a mountain of trash to their opponents and the fans who support them.

Speaking of support, shame on Paul Trina and Thom Daniels for making this seem more grave than it is. If they had any spirit at all, they'd be wearing those shirts proudly on the sidelines this weekend when they play Massillon. I can understand not wanting to give your opponent a motivational edge, but at the same time, they should have a sense of humor about it. Like I said, the statement on those t-shirts is downright tame when you compare it to the scores of other crude things you can say about a rival. Their frowning upon this "incident" does nothing but paint them as uptight stiffs with no spirit.

Besides, if what this columnist says is true, Massillon has it coming to them, anyway.

Check out my music blog for my rant on this week's Washington City Paper cover story.

Well, as expected, the Cubs lost last night. In the ALCS, the Red Sox forced a game seven, which they will probably lose, thus setting up the marquee matchup between the Yankees and the Marlins. New York vs. Florida. The state where New Yorkers are born vs. the state where New Yorkers die. I can�*yawn*�barely contain my excitement.

As for this curse thing: before the Red Sox forced a game seven, I was not terribly convinced that the Cubs or the Red Sox were cursed. To me, they were just historically shittay teams that were still bound up in past glories. Are the Clippers cursed? Are the Bengals cursed? No. And of course, people will argue that those teams don�t have the rich history that the Cubs and Red Sox have. They�ve just been fairly craptacular for their entire existence, save a brief stretch or two. (The two Super Bowl appearances for the Bengals, the Bob McAdoo days for the Clippers when they were the Buffalo Braves, for instance.) Fair enough. What about the Detroit Lions (or Tigers, for that matter) or the Cleveland Browns?

So I don�t buy the curse, or at least I didn�t. However, if the Red Sox do indeed lose game 7 against the hated Yankees, you gotta suspect that there�s some cosmic mischief afoot. Only a god with a wicked sense of humor would take these two franchises�who fancy themselves to be so historically significant that their poor performance for the last 50-odd years must be due to bad voodoo�to the brink of the promised land and have them both lose in a game 7.

One last thing: For those Cubs fans pointing to the kid who allegedly cost you the deciding game, know this. Any athlete or coach worth his salt will tell you that no series comes down to one play. The Cubs had the game before and the game after to make it to the World Series, and a fan didn�t cost them in either. They simply blew it. So leave the kid alone. He made a boneheaded mistake and owned up to it. (Not that he had much choice.) Why not go after the players who lost game 5 and game 7 instead?

Right back at me.

So, there's this: I enjoyed Kill Bill on a visceral level (oh, I am too much) while there is someone out there who bathed in all the cinema history being presented for a new audience. Is his enjoyment superior to mine? Did I experience low-art while he, looking at the exact same thing, experience some sort of high-art?

Well this is easy. Of course his enjoyment is not superior. Appreciation? Perhaps. But if we are speaking merely of the sensation of enjoyment (the visceral impact of the film, as it were), then there is no distinction to be made. Good is good. Bad is bad. Anything beyond your (not you, Carl, just generally) initial reaction exists in the realm of intellectual debate, not on the emotional plane. Now, can you derive enjoyment from knowing more about the film? Sure. But then the enjoyment is no longer about the film itself, but about your knowledge of filmmaking devices and cinematic history.

This distinction, in my opinion, is a necessary one, because increasingly, it is no longer being made. Appreciation of the craft and/or its place in the overall oeuvre has become synonymous with enjoyment of the work itself, and in some cases, supercedes it. People can yell "anti-intellectual" all they want, but the truth of the matter is this: we're over-intellectualizing everything today. Let me tell you something, folks: not every mundane subject needs gravitas. For some reason, a great number of people (many of them, I imagine, self-styled intellectuals and/or hipsters) want to revel in the minutiae of the mundane, and for no other reason than to inform everyone else what they know about a given subject. The kicker to all of this is that if you point this out, you get branded a philistine. Pointing out the futility of pointing out futility, for example (ha!), is tantamount to intellectual treason. Well fuck that nonsense. (See what I did there?) Not every little thing needs to be analyzed mercilessly. Let's just enjoy things at face value for a change. Modern critical thought seems to deem this unnecessary. Face value, it is reasoned, cannot provide adequate intellectual sustenance. We need to make sure you know why you're enjoying the things you're enjoying, or else, you're not enjoying them as much as you should be. They've completely flipped the script. In short, appreciate, then enjoy. I really think that's why I'm on such a metal run lately, because metal, almost uniformly, is totally lacking in pretense, and just wants to kick your ass.

The bottom line, Bentham was wrong, Motorhead is right, and I am spent.

fin

Carl is ranting again. This time, it's about Kill Bill. Having just read it, here are my two cents.

First, a disclosure: I have not yet seen the film, but have read the entire script (making me one of those asshats that get made fun of in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back)

A second disclosure: I also am not as learned on matters of cinema. I mean, didn�t you just read that I�in the year 2003 AD (or CE, for you non-religious nuts out there)�just saw Terminator and T2 for the first time? That said, I have seen movies, and I have even studied them a bit (on a personal academic level, and not some school assignment) when I was thinking of writing my own screenplay. So I do feel confident that I can make somewhat credible statements on film, though, they will likely be more attached to art in general, rather than film in particular.

Now, down to business.

First, I disagree that Mr. Tarantino is an obscurist. He�s just a genre-obsessive (or, film geek). That is, his world, even prior to being a filmmaker/screenwriter, revolves around movies. I�d venture to say that it�s all he really knows. Therefore, when he creates a movie of his own, it will reflect his pool of knowledge.

Let�s reframe the issue. Say you asked Don Shula to film a movie. What do you think the subject matter is going to be? If your first guess was anything other than football, you�re trying too hard and should be kicked square in the nuts. (And while I�ll concede that the man knows his way around a steak, I don�t think even he�d make a film around 100% angus cuts, knaamean?)

So, we�ve established that Shula will very likely make a movie about football. Now then, in the course of writing the script, don�t you think that there will be some football references�given his stature and longevity as a coach�that will make it into the film that only the most obsessive football fan will be able to identify? Does this make Shula an obscurist? Of course not. It�s a matter of knowing the details, details that he knows like the back of his hand. (Details that have, sadly, not reached his progeny.) What Shula would be doing is presenting as accurate a portrayal of his experience in football as he possibly can.

What does this all mean? My assertion is that the film that Tarantino made is not meant to be merely a three hour homage to his influences. Rather, I believe it to be one of the purest expressions of his point-of-view that he�s ever shown. One aspect of the film (I assume) that underscores this possibility is the film�s dialogue, or lack thereof. Honestly, from what I�ve seen and read, the story could probably be effectively told without a word being spoken. He doesn�t need to fill the void (read: keep the audience�s attention between action sequences) with pop-culture laced conversations. For once, it seems, film is being treated as a visual medium rather than a illustration for words on a page.

That, to me, is the simplest (or the least cynical/adversarial, anyway) explanation for the film�s overabundance of cinematic allusion. This isn�t �symbolism without meaning.� Rather, I believe Tarantino, instead of simply giving visual representation of what is essentially a short-story or novel, he�s trying to let the film (the visuals) tell the story itself. Consequently, in a world where the most mundane action needs some ridiculous amount of expository prose, he must rely on film �clich� to push the narrative forward. Had Tarantino taken the bold step of actually making this a non-talkie, this point would have been driven home more clearly. Of course, I don�t really think that Tarantino has the directorial skill to make an effective silent film, but that is not the point. The point is, I think he tried to take the saying �a picture is worth a thousand words� and run with it.

What I think is happening is that people (such as my friend Carl) are getting too caught up by the numerous references they don�t get, and assuming that Tarantino, because of the cult of personality that surrounds him, does it to show off his film-knowledge. And I would bet that�s not entirely untrue. But the references are incidental to the film�s higher purpose, that being pure cinematic expression. (In other words, not to be so reliant upon words in order to find �meaning� in the film.) You don�t need to know the concept of Bushido, own a Shaw Brothers movie, or masturbate to images of Pam Grier (70s style!) in order to appreciate or understand the film; therefore, why even be concerned with it? Are these same people bemoaning the genre-pastiche of Beck? Did they decry Pavement�s (in particular frontman Stephen Malkmus) encyclopedic knowledge of rock music and their willingness to throw it into their albums when they were releasing their early 90s classics? No, because Beck and Pavement are/were much more polite personalities and non-chalant about their knowledge, though I doubt they were any less enthusiastic. If Tarantino were an unassuming film-nerd (Todd Solondz, anybody?), I would bet there would be less complaints. But because he is this obnoxious loudmouth (yet genuinely talented) of a director, people tend to scrutinize his work and make assumptions about purpose that may not be there.

(Okay�now a bit of a reversal, so I can get out my own mini-rant.)

Now, let�s pretend for a moment that all of the preceding is bullflop. Let�s say that this is nothing but Tarantino showing off his knowledge of film. (�Check out the big brain on Quentin!�) Let�s just assume that there is no higher purpose to this film than making Quentin feel cooler than everybody else.

Considering all of that, I have this to say: so what?

This is the world we�ve created for ourselves in 2003, folks. Incessant allusion is the order of the day, and any artistic creation that doesn�t reference its own lineage will be less likely to gain favor among critics who have redefined their job as pseudo-journalists playing a game of �spot the influence.� In that light, Tarantino is the undisputed master of film.

And it�s not like there�s anything inherently wrong with knowing the influences of a particular work. As with anything, history gives us context. It should stop there, but it doesn�t. Instead, when you read a review of anything these days, many times you�ll find it�s less descriptive of the work than the influences upon the work. So how can anybody be upset that Tarantino, with Kill Bill, has presented a smorgasbord of cinematic nods and winks and in-jokes processed into one monstrous epic of blood and revenge? Kill Bill isn�t lazy filmmaking, it�s modern filmmaking.

Let me holla atcha playa. Now, the weekend done come and gone and Vegas is still standing. That can only be a good thing. And what did the weekend bring? Let me break it down for you.

First off, the high point: on Saturday night, I got together with the boys (that being Carl O, Jamie, and Jarod) and watched--for the first time ever--The Terminator and T2. That is some solid moviemaking, belie' dat. It's full of action, dated fashion (in the case of The Terminator), and hilarious quotes. With beer, snacks, and an endless stream of wisecracks, the experience was top-notch.

The low point? Um, my fantasy football team lost again? That's a stretch, but really, the weekend wasn't bad at all.

The other significant part of the weekend was my niece's birthday party. Lots of kids running around and having fun, a ton of gifts (my niece got enough outfits to fill out Diana Ross' closet), and a chance to be with my family, which was nice. Sure, I don't have a lot in common with my in-laws, but they're mostly nice people, so it's not really awkward.

So that was fun. And the Dolphins won. That's also fun. Ohio State did not, but the Hurricanes did, so that's a wash. Overall, a solid weekend with very little negative to speak of. If only every day could be described as such.

C'est tout. A bientot.

This is just a test.



What you see here is Carl in all of his glory. Well, it's Carl if he were a South Park creation. The hair is shaggier than Mr. O wears it, but generally speaking, that's not too far off.

Well, the weekend has come and gone. Nothing to report. I wound up not getting my niece for the night, as my father decided to take on both kids. I haven't checked in with him to see if he survived. The odds weren't in his favor. But he's a trooper. I'm sure he managed it. But those kids, as adorable as they are, can be a formidable tag team. We're talking Hart Foundation lethal.

So what did I do with my suddenly free weekend. Not much, really. Gamed, shopped, and did a lot of thinking. Ever since the events of a couple of weeks ago, I am doing more thinking then I ever did the months prior. Is that ironic? I don't know. But it's strange. And do not confuse introspection with moping. Lord knows that's an easy mistake to make. I've just been think-y, for lack of a better word. Some of it is the usual 20-20 hindsight self-delusion. I could have done this, I should have done that. Utter nonsense. Another part of it is trying to get to my feelings. Was the casualness genuine or a defense? Imagined vs. legitimate potential, which naturally divides down optimist/pessimist lines. But the larger focus is on what's next. The incompleteness of the feelings I have now are proving a bit of a hindrance. Yet, more than anything, I want to just move on. It's the questions that anchor me.

Which is why I turn to this blog, because it lets me untangle some of these thoughts. It's better than taking them with me to work, which is growing increasingly intolerable, or taking them with me when I hang with friends, which would just suck the life out of the party. (Like a bunch of ducks on the back porch.) Even if I don't articulate much in terms of specifics here, it still feels productive because I'm getting it out in some capacity. That's much better than the alternative.

So that's what's going on 'round here. Football was good. (Go Dolphins!) Baseball was not. (Fucking A's!) Plus, I picked up the first two Van Halen albums this weekend. Rock and roll!

Ack...more fun, I swear. It'll come.

Also, if anybody reads this and is a fan of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force (and who I don't already know, jackass), any suggestions on how to create a Meatwad mask?

Solid.

A few days later. Not much to report. Near meltdown at work. Possible raise coming because of it. (Funny how that works.) Might be getting my niece this weekend, and not a moment too soon. Stress and events from the last couple of weeks have gotten me into a bit of a funk. Quality time with my niece always helps melt that stress away. Unlike quality time with the boy (my nephew), who I adore as much as he adores his uncle, but he is like the Tasmanian Devil and I am so many trees in the forest being leveled by his whirlwind. I feel bad saying that, but frankly, he's more than I can handle right now. Hopefully in the future, he can come hang out with his uncle D. I do miss him, too.

Anyway...like I said...been a ball of stress, and I've been venting it on the PS2, playing the shit out of Soul Caliber 2. It's fun. The artwork is beautiful, and the gameplay is easier to pick up than I expected. The design is such that a masher like myself can come in and be somewhat successful, while at the same time rewarding the more skilled player with powerful combos and such. A solid pick up. I don't have many fighting games, but I'm certainly glad I have this one. Thanks, Desiree! (My sister who bought me the game.)

Outside of that, not much to report. The A's have a 2-0 lead in their series with the Red Sox, which is awesome. I just wish I hadn't stayed up until 2 last night watching game 1. And I didn't even get to see the end! Stupid extra innings.

Also been rockin' my new hoodie something fierce, since the weather has cooled down immensely. So I got that going for me.

To sum up:

Melancholy, soon to be dissolved by niece's visit.
Go A's!
Damn I look good in a hoodie.

Thank you and good night.

The Edge of Hip: Vice, the Brand

Found this ludicrous article over at Carl's blog. If I cared enough, I'd have a headache. All I can muster for this is a faint desire to kick someone in the nuts.

First off, here is my opinion of the clowns behind this magazine, their defenders, and their loyal readership (provided by one Henry Rollins, from his book Get In The Van):

"So many of those punkers have nothing to do with the music. It's all just a pose. They give us shit about the music we play, but they're more into their makeup than any music. I can't take them seriously."

Which is why I don't really feel like getting into a scathing rant about this nonsense, because I can't take them seriously. A bunch of upper-class kids rockin' John Deere hats and swilling shitty, third-rate beer. Didn't someone tell them that irony is dead? Jesus. Maybe Vice will hip them to that little nugget in a later issue.

However, just because I don't want lay into the whole article, that doesn't mean I won't comment on a few precious moments. For example:

"For middle-class kids just out of university and living in Williamsburg," he said, "the closest thing right now to bad-ass culture is blue-collar culture, so you have hipsters play-acting blue collar. Instead of saying, `I'm a PlayStation-reared, e-mailing-all-the-time Friendster loser,' they're getting lots of tattoos and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs."

Yeah, except neither of the aesthetics described are badass, even in comparison to the other. The kids who are playing blue-collar dressup are probably bigger pussies. At least the pasty Friendster nerds have the guts to walk among the citizenry, making their lower-rung status known to all who would kick their ass. These hipsters are maneuvering about with shitty urban camouflage. I wish some real blue-collar guys would beat the holy hell out of a few of them. Make them earn that uniform.

"That is pure undiluted magazine genius," said Andy Pemberton, the editor of Blender, an indie music magazine. "The rest of the magazine I find really hit or miss, but everyone loves that thing. I've been to parties downtown where the page will be stuck up on the lavatory wall."

Well there you go. If you want proof-positive that Vice is worthless, look no further than that. Because if there is a magazine worth even less than Vice, it's Blender.

Many Vice readers defend the magazine's brand of political incorrectness, including some women. "If you think Vice is misogynistic, then you are a self-centered white woman," said Sarah Silverman, a comedian (and Jimmy Kimmel's girlfriend). "Because Vice is so much more. It harshly makes fun of men, women, all races, nerds, hipsters, the elderly, the short, the tall, the fashionable, the hopeless. It's without boundaries, which is what makes the playing field even."

Hey! Sarah Silverman likes it! I've changed my mind. Fuck beans. You know, I'd still soil Sarah Silverman if given the chance, but her opinion is suspect, and that's putting it fucking midly. (Hey, can I write for Vice now?) It's predicated upon the notion that harshly making fun of all people, irrespective of group status, is worthwhile. In small bursts, it's hilarious. I'll concede that. Even in large bursts (Don Rickles anybody?), it can still be hilarious. But you want to know the biggest difference between Rickles and Vice? There isn't a trace of irony or smug satisfaction in Rickles' routine. The man owns a mirror. He knows he's not "all that" (I'm sure the Vice readership still uses that antiquated phrase, ironically or otherwise). Vice, by contrast, airs their bile from a perch of superiority. Of knowing. Because hipsters, by defintion, are the only ones "in the know." Therefore, their "criticism" moves from satire to condescension. Who in their right mind would waste their time reading that? Fuck. If you're so goddamn hip, go to your local shitty "lounge" and be smug and ironic and make fun of people there. Oh, that's right. Because the people who are dumb enough to pick Vice up aren't witty enough themselves to come up with bon mots like that.

Might the current hipster backlash imperil Vice's dreams of expansion? Mr. Lanham said hipsters are still reading the magazine, but "they're just stuffing it under their seat covers."

And this is the most offensive line in the whole sh'bang. Does this clown actually believe Vice is so incendiary and controversial? Shit, Playboy doesn't even get stuffed under seat covers any more. I'm sure I'm taking that line too literally (I'm not hip enough to embrace irony any more), but still. It's a shitty third-rate mag that caters to shitty third-rate people. People who are on, to borrow a line from Lester Bangs (via Almost Famous), "their long journey to the middle." That is, just the kind of people who will be on the other side of the poseur condescension in a few years, no doubt.

***

In other news, I picked up six CDs for $21 today from Kemp Mill. For readers of my music blog, you know I hit Kemp Mill a while ago, scoring eight for about $60. (At least I think I wrote about it there. ) You can go there now to see what I bought (I don't feel like posting it twice.

I also picked up an application for the Y (as in YMCA). Going to fill it out and drop it off tomorrow. Been wanting to do that for a while, and now that they have the "no initiation fee" thing going on, I'm going to go for it.

Also got my hairs cut tonight. Had the sides and the back trimmed, with just a smidge off the top. (For those who like the newer, longer hair, fear not; it really was just a smidge.)

Continuing in this mundane vein, I'm also digging the sudden change in the weather that's in the area today. Very cool. Sweater weather. And to celebrate, I'm currently wearing my brand new hoodie to keep me warm. New haircut + new hoodie = sexy beast. It's true!

That's all. Now bugger off.

Wow. What an evening.

So, as I posted previously, Melinda and I broke up. What I didn't say was that it happened over the phone. Now, this wasn't her calling me and dumping me or vice-versa. Actually, how it started was that she had called to invite me to brunch. She left a message, and when I listened to it, it sounded like she might have something to say. So when I called her back, I kind of coaxed her into coming out with it. If there's one thing I can't do, it's wait for the other shoe to drop.

Anyway, fast forward to yesterday. I email her, asking if she wants to meet, because there are a lot of things I'd like to say, questions I want to ask, and I'd like to do it face-to-face. She agrees, and we set to meet for tonight.

We met just after 6:30 and talked until around 9:15. It was something. (Eloquent, ain't I?) But, I put it all out there. Every issue (few though they may have been) that I had, every question that I needed to ask. And while not everything was answered, I was satisfied with what was discussed. We also arrived at the same conclusions: we wished we had brought these things up before so that this didn't have to happen, but it does have to happen. She's just got too many issues to be in a relationship, and she needs to figure them out.

I know, I know...you're reading that (well...it's possible somebody is reading it. I know my man CO did once and even called me to check up...pussy. Just kidding. Thanks, man.) and wondering if the door is open on the future. Honestly, I don't know. I don't really think so, but stranger things have happened. Is it something I'm going to hold out for? Of course not. At this point, it's not even something I want. But circumstances sometimes collude and produce unlikely results. As always, I'll keep you posted.

Army of one,
Vega$

Who Knew - an interesting site I found via Michael Totten, which I found via Mostly Weird. I'm not usually one for the political stuff (not that I'm indifferent, I'm just not as well-versed as someone my age living in Washington, D.C. should be, and therefore, shy away from it), but I dig this site. Ask me why, though, and I couldn't tell you.

So, as I said, I'm not going to make this blog a heap of psychotic drama again. At the same time, I can't NOT talk about the recent dissolution of my relationship with Melinda. Consequently...

According to her official statement, this is over because she's not as ready as she thought to be in a serious relationship. And this is true. Judging by her actions, she's definitely not ready. Unfortunately, that reason doesn't hold up because the last two months of our relationship have been anything BUT serious. Furthermore, I wasn't trying to pursue anything especially serious. Moot point, but it needs to be said.

She also said that it wasn't "fair" to me to keep the relationship going. True, it's not fair. But you know what else is not fair? Having it end and not sure why it had to end the way it did, despite reasons given. If I'm anything now (besides sad, which is a given at the end of any loving relationship), it's confused. More than anything, I'd like to talk face to face, get everything out in the open, and know definitively that the outcome at which we arrived was the correct one.

I'd like to clarify before I go further that I harbor absolutely no ill-will toward Melinda. Over the course of the last nine months, I have grown fonder and fonder of her every day, and one disappointing ending isn't going to wipe that away all at once. What I said before is still true: she is beautiful, selfless, kind, generous, and one of the most genuinely good people I've had the pleasure of meeting. And while that might sound like pedestal worship, it is absolutely not. I have nothing (okay, maybe not nothing) but good things to say about her.

That said, she is not without her flaws. And while it is a bit tempting to run those down now, I won't. I will say only this: that I wish she were less guarded with her thoughts and emotions, and that I wish she were more assertive/confrontational. If there is one thing that I find to be terribly depressing about the end of our relationship is that I think it could have been possibly prevented if she just once spoke her mind about what was bothering her (especially as it concerned me and our relationship and its alleged intensity), instead of letting things pile up until it came to a head and ultimately leading to our romantic demise. It's a sad irony that a woman who preached open communication could not walk the walk.

Anyway, it's over. Forever? Probably, but I can't say that with any authority. Will we maintain a friendly relationship? Again, probably, but at the moment, it's a tough task for sure. Despite my even keel here, I am very hurt. Hard not to be when you lose someone so close to your heart.

So, I took the Emode Original Inkblot Test. Here are my results.

"Damian, your subconscious mind is driven most by Love.

"Your instinct to love and be loved is rooted very deeply in your subconscious and affects most of the decisions you make in life � whether you are aware of it or not.

"You inspire people to experience their true feelings of love and act kindly towards others. You also value your personal relationships more than most people.

"Your unique capacity to love may be greater than those around you, which means you may have more to give in relationships than your friends or romantic partners do.

"Your psyche is very rich; the more you learn about it, the more you will understand who you really are."

This is what we call an eerie coincidence. Why? Because my girlfriend broke up with me tonight, and one of the things she mentioned was that she felt that I was more into the relationship than she was.

Spot on, that. And she did it all without the aid of psychological tests.

I'd like to say more about this, but I refuse to pollute my blog again with more drama. I'd like to think I'm in a better mental state to deal with this kind of thing than I have been in the past.

Time will tell...

Carl takes on Thom Yorke. Will the world ever be the same?

(That's some solid analysis, Carl. You're a credit to your name. Your wife is more of--I almost said "bigger" but that might have been miscontrued as innuendo--a credit, though.)

And lastly: '72 Dolphins from here on out! Excelsior!

BAM!

My friend Liz sent this link to me. I'm still laughing. This is, without question, the most seamless meeting of porn culture and food culture I've ever seen. Even better than that movie with the girl and the cucumber...

Thanks, Liz.

Triumph The Insult Comic Dog

I've always been a big fan of Triumph, and was surprised to see that he had an album coming out (via Pitchfork). I may pick it up, especially if it's on par with "Underage Bichon." (As seen on TV Funhouse and Late Night with Conan O'Brien.)

I really wish they'd collect all the Triumph bits and put them onto a DVD. The bit where he's making fun of the people in line for Attack of the Clones would be worth the price of admission alone.

So, I just got home, and I see my friend Carl has put up an account of our/his day. Allow me to give you some of my observations.

First, let me get this out of my sexist, reductive system now: the girls at the con had some, to quote Tron from The Chappelle Show, "big ol' tittays." Not all of them, of course, but I was surprised by the number of fine racks at the Small Press Expo. Okay, now that I've been a piggish, Man Show stereotype, let me continue to the other stuff.

I've only been to one con before, and that was the SPX a few years ago ('99, I think). Despite all of the stereotypes (and there were a number who fit them to a T), I really don't think the geek quotient is particularly higher than your typical, say, indie rock show. Maybe it's because they're both "indie" in nature, but there weren't a lot of Comic Book Guy-types. Maybe those types are at the bigger cons, where the superhero comics are representin' and the collector/obsessive types are in full effect. Anyway, this year was fun. Did the walkaround of each room twice or thrice, picked up a bunch of stuff, saw (though did not speak to them...because there was always a fanboy there, and I'm not enough of a hardcore fanboy to actually wait to talk to people) Evan Dorkin and Sarah Dyer, to whom I gave some dough for a couple of comics (Dork #9 and Action Girl #19). I also bought The Bizmar Experiment and The Return of Bizmar (from Young American Comics), a couple of Fillerbunny comics (from Slave Labor Graphics), The Silent Pulse, Book One (from Bearded Baby Comics), Fred the Clown, Number 1-4 (from Hotel Fred Press), and a handful of free comics. A good haul to be sure.

After that, Carl and I had lunch at Outback Steakhouse, my last meal of the day, and I'm still full from it some 10 hours later. But bacon tastes good, don'tcha know.

We also hit up Olsson's (in search of music, which Carl eventually got) and Big Planet Comics to get some non-indy stuff (once again, was very tempted to pick up some porn comics, but refrained), but wound up buying nothing there, either.

Came home, then went right back out to see Melinda. We took a moonlit walk (cut short when we realized she was illegally parked--no parking after sunset? what kind of shit is that?), went home and futzed with our cell phones (she got a new one), then watched the stirring 4th quarter of the Florida/Miami game. (Go 'Canes!) Had a great time, and wish I could have stayed the night, but with me going over to Jamie and Jarod's tomorrow for football, it's probably best for me to be here.

So, left there, and on the walk from the Metro to my house, two things occured: passed a hot--like, legitimately hot, not trashy hot--hooker and ran into a former co-worker, who is now working at the Madison Hotel.

And that's really about it. I didn't catch the DJ Spooky/Re-Birth of a Nation thing, obviously.

Now I shall retire to boudoir (or will soon) to get my sleep on. First Sunday of the NFL season is here! Go Dolphins!

Clown hat, curly hair, smiley face,
Damian

Re-Birth of a Nation - I read about this a while back and thought it was cool. Good to see it's going to be in my neck of the woods. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if I'm going to make it there or not. At the moment, I will be going to the Small Press Expo that afternoon, possibly with my friend, Carl. Depending on what time we get there (if he goes) and what we plan after, I may not be able to make this. Also, if Melinda isn't in hibernation (the poor thing is being ground to a pulp by an unrelenting work schedule), we may do something that evening. I may be able to talk her into this, though, I think she'd rather do something low-key.

Also, may be going to see Mogwai at the 9:30 next week. I haven't seen them in quite some time (probably right after Come On Die Young came out), so it would be nice to see them again. They're an excellent (and uber-loud) show.

Football season started tonight (yay!). As I type this, the 'Skins are beating the Jets (double-yay! Fuck you, Jets!). Of course, the real fun in the football season is hanging out with the boys and talking mountains of smack, particular as we watch our Fantasy Football (glayven!) hopes unfold for that week. I hereby declare that I will win it all this season, and use the money to take a much needed vacation. Shit, for the amount of the prize money, Hawaii may even be an option.

And speaking of football and winning it all: it's the Dolphins year, baby! Belie' dat!

(Did I just jinx them?)

A Fine How-Do-You-Do ..... now with Carl O.

This is my friend Carl's blog, established today. I heartily endorse this blog, as Carl is, as they say in the vernacular, "one funny motherfucker." He's also far smarter than I, so you may even learn something from the experience. Here, all you get is the kind of low-brow nonsense that makes People magazine look like The New Yorker. There, well, you get People magazine.

The choice is yours.

So, wow...what a week (or so). As you can see in the last post, I've started a new blog dedicated to brushing up my writing skills while I review records from my cd collection. It's a combination of two of my loves: shameless self-promotion and sanctimonious claptrap. But I digress...

Other things of note: had a bit of meltdown in my relationship with Melinda this past weekend. It was a long-time coming, I think, since we had (at the time) seen each other once in the span of a month. It wasn't a noisy, screaming, angry meltdown; just an unleashing of emotions that had been bottled up, conversations that had gone unspoken. Things are better now. I'm hoping this will lead to a better relationship, but only time will tell on that one. I do know that my feelings for her have not changed; as a matter of fact, they may be even stronger.

Nothing more to mention, really, except that an ex-girlfriend of mine popped up out of nowhere, signing the guestbook at my other website. She left no contact information (last we spoke, we were on good terms; we just kinda drifted apart), so I have no way to find out how things are going. Needless to say, it was very weird to see, and my curiosity is piqued. But if she wants to talk, she can follow the e-mail link on my site. That's what it's there for.

Nothing else to speak of, really. Just checking in. Ciao!

Check this out. Thank you.

Mostly Weird: I came across this site when I was looking for information on Japanese noise gods Fushitsusha. Naturally, I read through the site because the music being listed under "Today's CDs" were all quality. Reading through the archives, it finally hit me that it was Phil Freeman's blog, whose wonderful New York Is Now I just read last year. Freeman's writing is terrific, even if I've come across a few entries I don't really agree with. For those looking to expand their horizons, particularly in complex, noisy directions, this is a great place to start. His entries are well written (unlike the schock you're taking in here) and make me want to check out the music he covers (much the same way his book did). Plus, as it turns out, the man is a porno writer to boot! You gotta love that!

Okay, so here�s a little exercise in perspective, something I think I�m sorely in need of�

What�s bad about my life:

My job sucks. Not in the typical, �my boss is insane and there�s not enough time to get anything done� sense, but in the �this job is so far from what I know I should be doing that every day I spend here is close to psychic death.� No mere occupational bitching, this.

My credit sucks. This is a self-inflicted wound, but one that is having serious ramifications on pretty much everything else that is bad about my life.

I don�t have the tools to perform the work I know I�m capable of doing. See, one of the major downfalls of bad credit is not being able to buy a workstation that I can start building my portfolio upon, and possibly even doing freelance work.

My apartment sucks. It�s too small for what I have, and frankly, I�ve been living there too long.

That�s it.

Now, here�s what is good about my life:

I have a job. I may not like my job, but at least I�m employed. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, in this city that are not. And if you add to that the number of people who are but still living at the poverty line or below, I should consider my relatively pampered ass lucky.

I have a place to call home. It may be small, it may be dirty, and it may be in need of some serious repairs, but it�s a home, bug free, and with everything (and more) that I could possibly need to survive and amuse myself. Again, walking around this city and seeing what I�ve seen (and I haven�t even been to the �bad� neighborhoods), I�m very lucky to have a place inside the city that I can afford.

I have a wonderful family. Considering the amount of dysfunction that I�ve come from, I�m amazed that my family remains as close as they are. My mother and sisters are a blessing, and my father, while we�re not as close, is still a good father and will always be the incomparable �Big Lou.�

I have the cutest niece and nephew in the world Yes, this should fall under the preceding, but I think these two deserve special mention. Not that I love them more than the rest of my family, but they are just so adorable, and what�s more, adoring. I feel a million times better about my life when I�ve been in their company.

I have amazing friends. It�s true! My friends have always been supportive and have given me nothing but good times and fond memories. What�s more, they make me feel good about myself. Hard to find one friend like that, let alone several.

I have an imagination. This may not seem like much, but I take pride in the fact that my worldview is a bit more askew than most people�s. I�m not insane, but I think I have a wonderful absurd streak, which let�s me find humor in many more situations than I think most normal people do.

I am creative. Similar to the previous, but distinct in that creativity often results in tangible results. I may not be as creative as I would like, but I think I am creative enough that I have reasonable outlets for pent-up energy. (Though, to be honest, I haven�t been using those outlets lately.)

I have a wonderful girlfriend. I probably don�t tell her this enough, but Melinda is one of the most amazing people I�ve ever had the privilege of knowing. She�s generous, sincere, intelligent, creative, unselfish (to a fault), reliable, beautiful, sexy, and humble (also, probably to a fault). She doesn�t agree with me on this assessment (at least not in its entirety), but it�s all true. As far as my life to this point, she is a one-of-a-kind person. Mostly because of her unselfishness, a true rarity in this world of �gimme gimme� (myself included, I�m afraid), but also her combination of all of these things. While I�m not all hung up on the future and what it will bring, I can say without question that I couldn�t ask for a better present.

I have goals and the determination to fulfill them. This certainly doesn�t make me unique, and in a sense, because of various obstacles, can lead to intense frustration when I feel like I�m off the path, but I believe I am the better for it. I shudder to think what my life would be like if I actually was just drifting through it, instead of trying to do something with it. My goals in life are the one thing that probably keeps me going, more than any other factor.

So really, when I evaluate my life like this, I know that I�m pretty well off. Unfortunately, self-assessments like these are all too infrequent. But I�m trying, and hopefully, I�ll get to a point where it will not even be necessary to put everything into perspective. Until then, I�m going to try to keep my emotions tethered to what my life is, instead of what it isn�t. Because my life isn�t all that bad.

Now then�let�s hope that I�m not struck down in an ironic twist of fate, eh?

Well, it's been nearly two months. I really do wish I was a better blogger. This has gone from an occasionally lucid account of my life with a smattering of fun and/or relevant links to a wasteland of bitching and and psychotic rambling. This will be no different, I'm afraid.

My uncle passed away. Shortly before noon last Monday, his life was claimed by cancer. His funeral was this past Saturday. For reasons I can't fully comprehend, I did not attend. I wanted to...or thought I did. I don't know. It's that confusing. I tried to go, but missed my bus. I could have taken another bus, but I didn't. And I have been beating myself up for it ever since. Even with reassurances from my mother (it was her brother), and two of my cousins (one of which is his daughter) that it was okay if I couldn't make it, I still don't feel right for missing it. So I spent the entire day inside my apartment, being absolutely useless. Even though the weather was beautiful, and I had a couple of calls from friends (that went unanswered), I could not bring myself to venture outside or enjoy the weekend at all when I feel like I should have been with my family.

And yet, I wasn't, and I can't really explain why I chose not to...as I guess I stated before. Sorry; repetition is nearly unavoidable when you're writing off the cuff at one in the morning. I'd be trying to sleep, but I've been going to bed at 4am the last two nights and am not really tired. (Don't worry--in case anybody is reading this and is suddenly overcome with that emotion--I'll be going to bed as soon as I'm done typing this post.) Anyway...as I said, I did nothing but be a huge slug inside It was a totally numbing experience, terribly devoid of anything remotely resemebling emotions. Games, sleep, the occasional foray into the galaxy of television. There was some eating and waste elimination involved, too. And let's not forget the usual onanistic forays, more frequent for some reason. (Perhaps that was because of the otherwise emotionless weekend.) It's not the first weekend I've had like this, but it's the first time I thought it was necessary. Not as some sort of penance...but...I don't know why, actually. Perhaps to withdraw into myself to find the answer to the questions that have been bothering me about this whole funeral situation. That's purely speculative, mind you. I just can't explain it.

Beyond that, I couldn't even begin to tell you about the previous two months. Melinda has finally met my friends (all of them except for Ali, my best friend). My friend Mark was made an Elder of the United Methodist Church. I saw my friend Karin for the first time in ages when she visited our friends Kim and Chris (whom I also hadn't seen in over a year) over 4th of July weekend. And two of my co-workers left the Hilton. Turnover is no big deal, but when it's two people who I really liked and helped make that place tolerable, well it just kicks me in the ass. Naturally, I'm now looking for a job as well. Ideally, I would find one for myself and my friend, Marlon, too, so we could both bail at the same time. That office, needless to say, would crumble. And no, I'm not over-estimating my worth. It would crumble mostly because Marlon does so much, not to mention the fact that my boss has become quiet reliant on me. While I don't really wish much in the way of ill-will towards my current employers, I do believe a message needs to be sent about the rapidly declining morale. My hope is that if we leave, the place will fall apart and there will be an open revolt. Okay, I might be overstating things, but I'd like our departures (soon, I hope) to lead to some positive changes.

What else...what else? I don't know. It's 1:30, which means I'll be running on less than 6 hours of sleep tomorrow, so I should wrap this shit up. In a weird way, I'll be looking forward to going to work tomorrow, so I can have a bit of human interaction.

So, I bid you goodnight. And Uncle John, I'm sorry I couldn't be there to send you off. But I'm glad you were a part of my life. I wish you could have been around longer, but I know you lived a pretty full life. I hope your last days were relatively pain-free. I'll never forget you. God bless.

Damn...I can't believe how long it's been. I used to be really into this blog thing, but lately, I'm so lazy about it, that when I do decide to post something, I'm either at a loss as far as what to post, or there's so much that has happened, that the laziness kicks in, and I don't feel like going into all of it.

Anyway...once again, a lot has happened, a lot is going to happen, and I'm so damn lazy, I won't touch most of it.

Things with Melinda are better (sorry to have freaked you out, Andree). She has so much drama going on in her life that it's amazing that she can even tolerate my shenanigans for a mere nanosecond, let alone nights or weekends together. I'm just lucky that way. Either that, or she's certifiably insane and can't tell that I am, too. ;-) Anyway, things are going well. There are some hiccups, sure, but nothing that's sending me toward the panic button like the last time. There's just a lot less pressure and we're doing better for it. The relationship-intensity thing can be quite a snag, because it's always born out of something good, like being in love and wanting tp spend time together. But the thing about that is, it can throw your life out of balance, and that's no way to live.

In other news, my sister Danielle will be crossing the stage for her high school graduation this coming Friday. I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of her. Not that I ever doubted she would, it's just one of those golly-gee my sister is a woman moments. She's such a genuinely good person, as is my other sister (Desiree), that's it seems miraculous to me that they made it this far, considering their childhood included me as their older brother. (Hint: That's only half self-deprecating wit.)

So...she's graduating...Desiree is starting a new job at the beginning of June, and to top it all off, it looks like Big Lou (that would be my father, for those of you not in the know) will be living in the area starting this fall, as he will be teaching at the same high school as my mother! That has sitcom material written all over it. Luckily, they get along well, so the hilarity will probably kept to a minimum.

Also, it looks like I might be doing some travelling this year. My target is a July 17th-20th visit to the great city of Austin, Texas, to visit Angie and Che and Marcus and soon-to-be-born Spencer, plus Chuy and Sam (their dogs). I haven't seen Che since the day of Marcus' birth, which was back on August 2, 1999. I haven't seen Angie since September of that year at Kristy and Adam's wedding.

Speaking of weddings...this weekend marked the 6 year anniversary of Mark and Ana's and the 5 year anniversary of Angie and Che (they got married on Memorial Day weekend, one year apart). Nuts...I forgot to send them cards. Sigh...

And speaking of Kristy and Adam, I am aiming for a Labor Day trip to Chicago to see them, Liz, and Greg.

And while we're on the subject (sorta) of Liz, congratulations to her on her cover story for the Chicago Reader on the life and upcoming biography of MFK Fisher. It's a great read and worth your time to find if you're in the Chicago area. (Sadly, the web version of the Reader doesn't carry the print stuff. Pah.)

I think that's all. Yep. That's all.

A fighting champion,
Damian Vega$

Yesterday, I posted that bad things could possibly be happening, and as a result, I�m feeling uber-anxious. Since then, I have been feeling tremendously guilty, and here�s why.

The woman I love is having problems. She�s hit a point of total mental exhaustion and she doesn�t know what it is. I, being the self-involved potato lump that I am, naturally assumed that it must be something I did. Now, part of this is my perpetual state of cynicism and self-criticism. If something is wrong, it must be my fault, right? Another part of it (as witnessed by the preceding post) is self-preservation. If I expect the worst, then I can be as mentally prepared as possible when/if it finally happens. The third part, the part that I should really be putting my energy behind but am not, is concern about Melinda and wanting to help her. Now, part of the reason I�m not more active in this pursuit is that she doesn�t even know what it is that is bothering her, and we�ve agreed that I should just leave her alone until she�s had time to decompress. Now, this I did sorta grudgingly, and it is part of the reason I�m loading up on anxiety. But I told myself that I would do anything it took to make her feel better, even if I knew I�d be restless until her problems had a name (even if that name is my own). Of course, it hasn�t worked out that way at all. Instead of putting as much positive energy into thoughts of my baby getting better, I�m turning myself into a worked up emotional black hole.

Well, no more. Even if it is impending doom on the horizon, I shouldn�t care, because the immediate (and known) concern is Melinda.

I love you, baby. I don�t even know if you�ll read this, but if you do, know that I�m thinking about you, and hope that you�ll be back to the energetic, life-loving person you are. Even if that means�well�you know.

May 1st and all is well.

Sorta.

I feel like I have a lot to say. A lot. But I won't. Reasons? 1) Not sure where to begin. 2) Trying not to be overdramatic when it might (might...slight might) not be warranted. 3) I'm actually not in a depressed mood. I have tummy skitches going on, but overall, I'm just...

Here's an analogy: I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and I'm looking over. However, this cliff is not new to me. I've been thrown off it a few times, and have managed to get up again. You get thrown off a cliff enough, eventually, the fear disappears.

Okay, that IS melodramatic. And it's not even that bad. Sure, it could get worse, but what can I do about it? Some things in life you can't control. And no matter how well you think you know the way, sometimes your internal compass is off and you can still get lost. Some people try to find their way back to the road, while others just decide that the direction their headed is always the right direction. In some ways, that's almost noble, because you're always moving forward. But that way always leaves a trail of what ifs, and who wants that?

Ugh...cryptic philosophising is terrible. But you know, it's all I have at this point. I feel like I should be in a worse state than I am, but to tell the truth, I'm not. If I've learned anything in the past year and a half (and I have, believe me), it's that I just need to let things happen. Reacting to things that haven't even happened isn't healthy.

You know, I haven't plugged anything in here in ages. I'll have to dig something up.

A bientot!