Friday, July 30, 2004

Alright, I'm going to rap at you for a sec. Actually, I'm not. Cause these aren't my words. They're someone else's words and I'm not going to tell you who cause I don't feel like it. But just keep listening anyhow. Can you hear me alright? OK.

So we're in a big country and we got a lot of beliefs, you know. And so there's the beliefs when you sit across the table from someone you totally respect but you look at them and deep down inside your head you go, "how do you believe that?" That's just the way life goes, you know. You can have a perfectly diplomatic debate with someone and go, "I don't get it how you believe that."

So because there's so many different beliefs in the world we invented this whole government thing, and -this sounds really stupid for me to be saying but it's the truth so check it out- So we made these things called beliefs. Personal beliefs. So how do we get the whole world to live together? Well, you have this thing called voting. And you go out and you vote your belief. But you're really supposed to pull the curtain, and pull the little thing and you walk out and you're not really supposed to say, "who'd you vote for?" It's not really about making a t-shirt... that's silk screen voting, that's bumper stickers, forget that.


Everyone here has a personal belief and I believe that people who believe that if they state their belief passionately enough they'll change the world -which is not true-give the rest of the world who have beliefs a bad name. Because they're just overzealous, they don't let other people talk or they're just, "No if I may have a moment...If I may have a moment on my side of the split-screen on the camera on the 60 Minutes CBS show," or whatever.

And a belief has to be sent across in a way that people want to receive and not just say, "fuck that."Because that's what happens to me when someone hands me something I go, "I don't want it. I don't want your belief." So if...I... All I'm telling you is to just vote your belief and just be quiet. You know, let's just do it. Let's just shut up and do it. Let's just go and pull the little curtain and shut up and do it. It's not coffee talk, it's not table talk.

Where am I going to on this? There was one man, in my opinion, who was able to bring about a belief to anybody and everybody without getting it shut down and his name was Marvin Gaye... I hope I wasn't preaching to you. You know what I'm trying to say. Alright. Just keep it off you damn t-shirts and go vote in a booth and don't tell anybody about it. Throw the sticker away. Throw the sticker away.

I may be on my death bed and I wanted to bring you that message. Do what you want with it, just don't tell me.





Monday, July 26, 2004

Sometimes I miss working for the big-time catering company. Cuase sometimes it's nice to feel like you are where the action is. To know that u r working for and hanging with the best of the best. But I'm older and I'm wiser and though this new setup doesn't get the celebs and the famous sports star's and the city's elite, they treat me real well. And all the events our with real people. Everyday people. People who don't get all worked up when the sauce isn't drizzled on the right way. Or when their glass has a small water-spot on it. Even when it's raining they're not gonna get down on us. Even when it's raining on their wedding day.

And when I found myself setting up a reception in a large tent that could barely keep out the rain and the fog and the chilliness of a cloudy summer day I knew I would have to rely on my smile all night long. I would have to smile to keep everyone moving along and enjoying themselves. I usually smile a lot when I work for the catering company. I'm not just there to serve u dinner, I'm there to help u have a good time. And when I smile a lot it helps me enjoy working too. It makes people happier to be around me. And that makes me happier. So I want people to enjoy themselves. Like the grandfather at the wedding this weekend. He was joking and smiling and laughing with me all night long. Even though it was pouring outside on his granddaughter's wedding day. And he was holding his wife's hand the whole night like they were still newlyweds. Lots of petting and rubbing and sparks that I didn't think you could still have at that age.

We served dinner. And afterward the bride and groom had their first dance. I stood there just watching them. And the grandfather got up to get another drink. But when he saw me he slowly kinda hobbled over. And he stood next to me and watched his granddaughter. And he looked at me. And he said, "What a smile! Did u win the lottery? Um, no. "Right," he said. "she must be some girl then" Ya, I guess she must be, I thought to myself. He chuckled for a second and scurried off to the bar. I guess I was smiling a little bigger that night. Watching the bride and groom. A smile that someone with the wisdom of years could easily decipher. Hindsight is a beautiful thing. 

I was pretty busy with that stupid sport this last year. I traveled around a lot. Maybe too much. Definitely too much. So much that I wasn't quite sure where my home was anymore. So much that I didn't know who my friends were anymore either. But it was more than enough to buy myself a frequent flier ticket to 2000 miles away. I fly next Wednesday. I haven't told my boss. But when she asks I think maybe I'll defer to Robin Williams and Matt Damon, I had to see about a girl.  I'll tell her. And I'll let the rest speak for itself.


 

 

 

 

Thursday, July 22, 2004

The last paragraph will make this whole post worthwhile

Maureen Dowd is one of my heros. Sure, sometimes she is formulaic and sometimes she is obnoxious and sometimes she too cliche and sometimes she is too witty and sardonic but I still love her. And today I saw her column and she wrote about Ali G. Who I also love. And she made fun of the president. Who I don't love so much. And that made me love her more. On top of that I saw Borat on Conan a few nights ago and almost peed my pants when he started talking about his chrum. Brilliant really.

I'm trying to do things. I played softball with the magazine team last night. It was fun. I knocked a few out, I drank a lot of beers. We rolled to the bars afterwards. Some girl gave me her number there. She was pretty cute. More hot than cute. Nice low-cut top. I threw it on the trash on the way out. She might have seen me do it. I didn't care. Cause I just wanted to get home.


I want to go out drinking tonight. I won't. Do you ever wonder what happens to the characters in the romantic comedies after the movie ends? Cause you've got that warm fuzzy feeling at the end of the movie but they might break up the next week. Last week I was in the movies. This week I'm not so sure. Facing the reality that the G2K is 2000 miles away wasn't supposed to be that hard. I really didn't expect it to be. But I didn't expect it to be the way it was either. And now the two of us are kinda trying to come to grips with reality. And so the blog also has to come to grips. Damn, it started off so fun. Today two people, who don't even know I have a blog, told me the whole idea of blogging is dumb and scary because all blogs do is leave a trail of incriminating evidence to be used against you later. I told them it's not a problem if most of what you write isn't true. The problem is I'm not doing that. And even if I did I think you would see right through it. This story is just too thick not to be real. I mean fuck, you are reading about my love life. Not my Sex life. My love life. And that's not healthy for people to hear those stories. You can blackmail me later. 

And I will probably regret writing all of this. But I don't care. At least not now. I don't care about so much. I don't care about my job. I care so little I did barley an hour of work the whole 8 hours at the office today. And I sent a billion text messages to the G2K. And when the TMG IM'd me I told her that everything went fantastically well with the G2K and that I like her a lot. Cause I don't give a shit what the TMG thinks. And I might have a bunch of friends but none of them call on the phone and I feel pretty alone. My apartment is empty save the cat. I don't care. And a ticket to 2000 miles away is really expensive but I don't care. I'm going to buy one anyways. This is the part of the story they conveniently leave out. It's when things get hard. And I dunno if the whole "nothing good comes easy" is real or just a load of bullshit. I hope to god it's true or my whole life might have been wasted. And just when I think I might crack I go read The Busblog and I feel better. In case you're too lazy to click the link, I'll just crtl+c and ctrl+v it for you:

two barefoots walk into a bar. first one says, have you ever felt like nothing that you will do will matter. other one says thats not the joke, tell the joke. first one says, and the world will keep spinning and the stars will come up and spin around and go down and still nothing you do peon will matter.
other one says whispering sorta, just say your line, want me to say it for you.
the first one says, the seasons will come and go, time will pass, floods, fire, famine and still nothing that you could have done will matter.
other one says in a way thats sort of liberating.
first one goes ice ages plate technotics wait what?
other one says sure if all of what we're doing is just gonna get mushed over by nature and forgotten by sentient beings then why stress out about bullshit little things like slow people at stoplights.
first one looked at the other one
a gust of wind pushed a low-reaching dry palm of a huge palm tree up against a metal awning rattling the tin for a second and then it eased back down.
a butterfly aimed for an oak leaf and missed
somewhere a car horn sounded
somewhere an eagle was flying with a dove




Maybe it doesn't matter if I fuck it all up. I mean, when I was a kid I was protecting earth with my Transformer Earthforce pals  and keeping the whole world safe without telling a soul, but now, I am older and I'm wiser and I have a lot less responsibility. I though that all I needed to do these days was schmooz and fuck and blog and pretend to work. But man, I guess I gotta love and be loved too. That's what I gotta do. And figure out a way through all those things that most of you are too pussy to write about. The rest of the blogosphere can write about the shit. You can have the sex and the blowjobs and one night stands and the drugs and the drunken stupors and the jobs you hate and fucking politicians you hate and all the stuff that doesn't matter out here in reality and all your superficial bullshit. Cause mother fuckers I got love locked down right over here. And there ain't nothing you can do about it.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Ya, I know

You deserve better than this. I'm out doing things for u to read about later so chill. Enjoy some time to find new blogs. Then report them back to me. At least I got a triple tonight. That is all.

Monday, July 19, 2004

I used to write a journal. Cause all good writers are supposed to keep journals. It doesn't even matter what you write about so long as you are writing. And I would love to write in my journal and come back to read it a few months later. But then this fucking blog came along. And I stopped writing in my journal. Cause there are only so many hours a day and I think it would be completely impossible to write both a journal and a blog and go to work and get some exercise and try to have any type of social life that would provide things to write about. So I stopped writing in my journal. Cause I thought the blog could be my new journal. And really I don't hold much back when I'm writing to you all. I try to be real and frank and honest and funny and quirky and everything that made my journal fun for me to read. But really, there is a certain line I can't cross in my blog. A line where ideas and info that is important to me and might make me laugh would simply bore you to death. I want to write about this last week. I want to write down evety detail so I don't forget. But you don't really care. Or I hope you don't. If you do then it's time for a new hobby. And I guess that means today I need to write a journal entry. Which means less bloggy bloggy for u.

I had to leave my apartment. Cause even though I changed the sheets, the bed still smells like her. And when I turned over I would expect her to be there. And it made me feel really alone. Like painfully alone. But that's what happens when you follow your heart around. I spent the last 4 years in 4 totally different places. And I love that. I have a philosophy about my life. And it's brilliant. All I have to do is think back to a year ago. Imagine myself going back there and telling my 1-year-ago self where I am now. What I'm doing. Where I have been. And I'm doing well if he thinks I'm completely full of shit. I'm doing well if he doesn't believe an ounce of what I tell him and doesn't see any way to get from where he is to where I am now. And especially no way to do it in only 1 year. He wouldn't beleive the places I had been this year or my job at the super cool magazine or spending a week with the G2K or any of it. Why is that my philosophy? Because it shows infinite potential to grow and change and adapt. It shows infinite potential to follow my heart. And most importantly, it means that anything is possible. Really anything. Because there's no telling where I will be a year from now. I might be famous. I might be on mars. I might be a bum on a street corner begging you for change. It's limitless.

But right now I'm at the old fort. And I'm trying to catch up on last week. Cause I think I fell asleep and dreamed the entire week away. And I woke up yesterday to find the earth was still turning. I found that Tyler didn't have the will to finish the tour. Cause he fell and then his dog died and his heart must hurt as much as his lower back. And that Kobe is back in the old hood. And that John Kerry tried to kitesurf but there wasn't enough wind. But he tried. Which alone is reason enough for me to vote for him. And really I don't care about anything else. The rest of it really doesn't matter.

And what the fuck is wrong with you people? you can't just come here everyday and not comment on my life. That's what the comments are for. I don't want this to just be completely one-sided. Make fun or me. Tell me I am a genius. Explain to me why I am wrong on so many levels. Tell me how my life is like your life. Just say something. Validate me bitches. Or don't. I saw Napolean Dynamite and I robot this past week. I'll review them for u sometime.




Sunday, July 18, 2004

This isn't all of it, I told her, really I think this is just the beginning. I'm going to see you down the road. It's not a question. "I know," she said. We had one of those 'I don't want to close my eyes because you might not actually be here' kisses. Then she walked away from me. Just like I walked away from her 3 years ago. Of course back then I didn't know she felt me walking away. I felt it. I just didn't know how much. I wish I could go back and be there. Or at least watch it on TV. Do you want to take a step back there with me? Cause usually you and me are living in what is and what is to be. Because I am not a person who looks backwards too often. When you look back your mind likes to play tricks on you. And the what-if's can ruin your life.

Apparently I shook her hand like a dead fish. Her hand was so small. I was smaller then too. At least on the outside. But I've always had crazy big hands. I am living proof that what they say about guys with big hands is true. And that deuch bag named Zach introduced us. In the basement. In the library. Somewhere far away from here. Over 2000 miles.  And all 3 of us were miserable. We all wanted out. Out of that place we had been stuck. Out of the cold. I wanted out so bad I thought I would burst. I remember looking at her freckled face and falling into a what-could-be. But we didn't talk again for a while. I think we even forgot about each other. Spring came. There were 6 weeks left and I was ready to leave. I knew that I was not coming back. But she broke up with some idiot who wasn't even there. Ha was the reason she was so miserable. I guess she had been dating him since before she came there. And now that she was free she decided to come back next year. And I was hanging with my bro B. He knew her. He lived right down the hall. He liked her. He was a child. No depth. That was fine. He was fun to hang with. And I started to feel things in my stomach when I was with her. But I was leaving. And I was never with her without B. So why not put the two of them together? The spring came. I took trips. One trip with the 3 of us. We went to NYC. I remember the oceanside bench in NYC. I remember looking out at Lady Liberty. I remember the sun setting behind her. And there were three of us. All sitting on the bench. And I pushed the two of them together. Cause it seemed right. What else could I have done? Even though she was like me in the worst ways. In the funny ways. In the ways that matter at the heart of it all. In the ways that sometimes it makes your heart hurt when they're not sitting there with you. In the way it almost makes you want to cry. I was leaving. And a few weeks later I did leave.

And in the fall I was far away from her. I was here. I would never forget her though. But B was there. And they were together. Which was fine because I thought that he could teach her a good lesson about how people like me and her maybe need someone a little deeper. We still talked. I don't even remember why. Or about what. But I knew that I needed to see her again. That I would see her again. All year she dated B. And then that summer I was in Alaska. And she went to see him. Fuck. They weren't supposed to be together this long. But they were. I came home and I let the sport take me. Cause all the girls I dated were horrible to me before that. I didn't need a girl. I let the sport consume me. It can take everything if you want it to. A man and his work. He can give his work his heart and his soul and every ounce of his strength. But even then we kept talking.

And she went to Italy. While I was traveling around competing. And we wrote e-mail to each other. Beautiful e-mails. I wish I had saved them. E-mails between friends. About deep things. And finally B broke up with her. Or she with him. They weren't even supposed to be together. It didn't matter who broke up with who. And she came home from Italy. And I left a message on her phone. And she left one on mine. And we IM'd. Everyday. It was amazing. It was summer. I gave up the sport. I was ready to be broken down. And she did it from 2000 miles away. She did it during my night and weekend minutes. She did it on IM while I was trying to get work done at the super cool magazine. She did it with text messages. She broke me. She broke everything and I didn't even realize it.
 
And we joked about me coming to NYC. About me coming to see Conan and about what it would be like. Then she said she wanted to come here. I was petrified. What if it wasn't the same face to face? What if she looked different? What if we were different? I was anxious and I told her not to come. Then I told her to come. She told me I killed her. But she came. And her plane was late. But when I walked up to baggage carousel 3 and I saw her standing there and I knew all was going to be OK. She hadn't even seen me yet. But I knew. And when she saw me and smiled I knew in a whole new way. And I knew for sure that I was broken. Broken in the best way. In the way that I might never recover from. Cause this was 3 years in the making. 3 years of words. Words on the page. Words whispered in my ear. Words on my cell phone. Just like these words you are reading now. All words with no physical contact. This was the shit they make movies about. The movies you don't believe could actually happen in real life.
 
When she told me that since the basement in the library she had always wanted to be here I almost screamed out loud. The whole time she wanted to be here. The whole time she was with B. The entire trip to NYC. Those 10 minutes on the bench by the water in the sunset. The entire time she was in Italy. While I was in Alaska. And the whole time in between. The whole time. Sure we saw all these other people around us. And we touched some. But that didn't matter. And the whole time she was here I didn't want to stop touching her. Cause that's all I will really remember. Not the hikes or the movies or the lunches and dinners or the drinks or the car rides or the saying goodbye. Just the touching.   Well, maybe I'll remember her looking at me. Maybe I'll remember her smell. Maybe I'll remember more. The first kiss. Sometime between 2 and 4AM. When you're not quite sure if you're even still awake or already dreaming. But I don't know for sure. And now all that's left are her toothbrush, 2 hair-ties, the smell of her perfume on my bed and 2000 miles. I don't know if or when I'll see her again. I don't know that when I do it will be the same. If we will be the same. If it can ever be the same.
 
But This isn't all of it, I keep telling myself. Really I think this is just the beginning. Yes, I'm going to see her down the road.  I know I will. It's not a question.






My Quiet and Humble Return

I am so back

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Sometimes I wish I could be that guy who breaks the big story. That guy who scrounges up the info first. Maybe post it in my blog or run to the phone and call the AP. I would even settle for being the second or third guy, just so long as when I told most of you that I was the first. Cause really I am a journalist at heart. But I'm not sure if there are many other journalists out there. Maybe someday I'll bring you the evening news right into your living room. Maybe someday I'll be hosting a show where different guests yell at eachother for an hour. Maybe someday I'll make a large room of people all laugh at the same time. Maybe someday I'll approach you on a corner with a cardboard sign and ask for a quarter. Because half of our choices are really just chance. And I can't worry to much about the future because there is little I can do. "don't worry about the future, or worry, but know that worrying about the future is about as effective as trying to solve an algebra problem by chewing bubble gum." That's on a song by This Guy. And it really is just chance.

It's chance that I've made it this far. It's chance that the G2K is sleeping in the bedroom next to mine after we talked until 3 A.M. It's chance that she's still funny and maybe even more beautiful than I remember. It's chance that I ended up so far away form her. And It's chance that I know is going to bring us together again. Fuck you chance. Deep down this is how I wanted chance to bring me to her. But really I thought, wouldn't it be great if she was ugly and fat and annoying and outright detestable? Then we could get through the week and go our separate ways. But now I am scared to death. Scared because in 6 days her flight leaves. Sacred because I don't want to get to close. Just like everyone who knows heartbreak and has to keep scraping their heart off the floor. After it was tossed aside and trampled. But we all do it. We all pick it up and dust it off and shove it back in. And it's never the same. But that's the beauty of it. Sometimes it takes a little longer to start ticking again. Sometimes it never quite hits that pace it used to. Sometimes it barely lub-dub's along. But we keep it ticking anyways. And I know that when I wake up on Monday morning, it's going to feel. Like I trampled my own heart. And my back might hurt a little. But I'll still bend down and pick it up. Cause really, it's all just chance. And that's the way it is this Tuesday, July 13th. I'm The Truth Blogger. Thank you and goodnight.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Lindsay called today. I asked her what she has been up to. "oh nothin," she replied. "Since I turned 18 I've been getting a lot more phone calls." I reminded her that I had warned her of that. She giggled that cute little giggle that makes my eyes roll back in my head. How Come she hadn't been over in well over a month now? "Hello! I'm the it girl right now. I've been really busy soaking it up as much as possible. Fine, I said, I see how it is.
"I'm kinda seeing this gut too." Who, I asked. "His name is Wilmer." Wilmer, you're dating a guy named Wilmer?
"Ya," she sighed, " It's fez. You know, from that 70's show." It's the accent, isn't it, I said jokingly. "No, it's just that if your young and single and famous in LA then you have to date him. It's kind of an unspoken rule." Whatever. Stupid girls and their phases. I think she got a little upset. That's good. Sometimes you gotta push their buttons. Then I told her the G2K was coming. "no fair!" she squealed. Why? "Because she doesn't have anything else to do so she can just hop a jet and see you whenever she wants." Ya. So what? "I dunno. Just don't do anything with her there that you wouldn't do with me around." I told her she should come around and then I could do anything I wanted to both of them. I felt her blush through the phone.

The G2K is late. Apparently, while we are on the biggest heatwave of the entire summer, Laguardia airport is covered in rain. That's fine, more time to brood. I can sit here and think about worthless things. Like how today was Wheel Of Fortune's 4000th episode, a topic near and dear to my heart. Thanks to Mrs. B, my very first baby-sitter whose house was my playground everyday while my parents were at work from my birth until around 2 years old, I was introduced to the television quite early. Everyday Mrs. B would scurry through the linoleum covered kitchen and into the 70's style living room, over to a "color" TV and make sure not to miss a minute of Pat Sajack's wisecracking and Vanna's follow up giggles. I was not old enough to talk, but I'm sure even then I was absorbing all I could. So there I was, a few months out of the womb and receiving my first instruction in media and words via Wheel of fortune. Oddly enough I started talking long before most infants. And even once I was able to slither, crawl and eventually walk my way out of anywhere in the house, I still spent that entire hour of the early afternoon sitting indian style on the floor, watching that wheel spin. We are the TV generation. There is no denying it. I used to. Now I embrace it. TV is the great equalizer. Or at least that's what I tell Lindsay.

It's good to see that Jamie Cullum is finally getting the props he deserves. Music is devolving. I love it. G2K comes tonight. Maybe I'll blog this week. Maybe I won't. Fuck it.

Sunday, July 11, 2004

"The Look"

I dunno what Lance Armstrong was really doing when he looked back at Jan Ulrich in this shot from last year's climb up Alp D'huez. Lance stared back for at least 5 seconds. 5 seconds is a hell of a long stare in my book. He would like us to believe that he was just surveying the field behind him to see what kind of threat they posed. And that he was merely trying to check what kind of shape they were in. I would like to believe that last year, halfway up Alp d'Huez, Lance turned around, let his gaze cross right into Ulrich's view, and tore him to pieces with his eyes. I want to Believe that Lance was saying, "You're beat., You don't have anything. I am the king. With my body and my will and my soul I will defeat you. Don't forget that I am the king. I'll see you at the top." That's when he took off and didn't see Ulrich again until the finish line.

Sometimes it's amazing to make it to the finish line. Sometimes it's amazing not to leave your house. Sometimes it's hell. Sometimes it's both. There's too much sun. There's too much sun coming through my window. There's too much sun. You have to stare down your fears. You have to come to terms with yourself. Because there is no escape. There is only yourself. Just yourself, sitting on your porch in the heat, reading a book, listening to jazz. Dreaming big dreams. Remembering the smell of your first girlfriend and the day you realized there was no turning back to the safety from which you came. Singing in front of the mirror. I am alone. Completely alone. And it's wonderful and it's beautiful and I want to silence the whole world. Just hold my finger to my lips and make everyone stop for a second. Not to listen to me but to listen to themselves. Because everything is yelling at me today. Everyday. All that media. All those pictures. All those blogs. All those sounds. Click click, blink blink, stare. Absorb absorb absorb. Regurgitate. Maybe if your mind is silent you can handle it. But my brain and my gut and my soul are always having their own conversations. They're trying to have conversations with me. And when they're all commanded to sit down, shut up and be forced fed for too long they get ornery and ancy. Because they have ADD.

So Today we all sat down and hashed out some stuff. And played some poker. The brain was showing 2 pair, my dick had ace high a kind and my soul was holding out for the flush. I called my brain's bluff, intimidated my dick into folding and kept upping the ante on my soul. He got the better of me. I told him that being connected to all things in the universe was an unfair advantage. I think he told me to shove it.

Are you mad at me? Is it because of the music posts? Is it because you thought I was something I am not? Is it because you don't know what to believe here as fact or fiction? You don't think you know me? Trust me. I am everything you thought and more. I am a genius and a rockstar and an asshole and a lover and a nerd and a zen master and a meathead and a beauty queen and a heavy hitter and a lost cause and a player and a loser and a champion. But I can't be all of it at once. I can't do it all at the same time. Trust me. Trust me. I will not tell you what to believe. I will only tell you what to believe in. Just have faith. Just listen to that voice deep down. "dream big dreams" mine is telling me right now. "Dream big dreams and then put on your overalls."

World's Colliding

I'm a man of separation. I think it's healthy to organize your life into chunks. Because chunks are easier to deal with then everything at once. So far everything has worked out great. Waaay forever ago I had my Jew-related friends and my school friends. Then I had my sport friends and my school friends. Then I had my high-school friends and my college friends. And I could be a different person at each. I could tell all my funny stories twice (of course I would often forget who I had already told them to and get yelled at for telling them again). Really, I was twice the man. And now I have the TMG and the G2K. And last night in the bar I could hear George Costanza yelling "world's colliding!" in my brain. If you looked at the countdown you would know the G2K isn't here yet. So how the hell are worlds colliding.

Well last night I met The Almighty Quinn and the TMG for drinks late night. No big deal. I told them the chicken story. They laughed. Then AQ fucked me royally. Because he knew the G2K was coming. And he didn't know I had ever had anything with the TMG. So he asked if I was nervous for next week. And I tried to play it down saying yes, I was really busy and had a lot of work to do. But he said, no about the girl coming. Fuck dude! Throw me a bone here! The TMG asked, what girl? I tried to play it down. This girl I used to know but haven't seen for a while. Ya, well I was really busy next week so I won't see her much. Plus she has other friends here. But AQ pushed it. God. He goes, aren't you nervous that she's not going to look the same or whatever? JESUS. You don't say that shit in front of other girls, regardless of whether you slept with them or not. Thanks prick. The TMG actually took it pretty well. I saw that moment of surprise in her eyes. But really, there is nothing between us anytime soon so what was she going to do? She was mock supportive. I think it was mock. I think she was just being supportive to convince the AQ that she was indifferent. OR maybe she is just indifferent. Either way worlds were colliding.

later we got talking about weddings and the TMG was offended that I said if my fiance wanted to run the wedding I wouldn't put up a fight. She said I should care. I said I did, but not as much as she would. Then I found out she went to a wedding on Friday night at The Chateau. Holy shit! The catering company had asked me to work the Chateau on Friday night. Thank god I had declined. That would have been uber-akward.

So today is the only day of the year I get to watch World Superbike live cause the boys or down in Laguna Seca, CA doing what they do best. I wanted to go see Napoleon Dynamite, but I suppose that will have to wait. So well cleaning this shithole up for the G2K arriving tomorrow. I was in a sentimental mood last night. But it didn't last. I slept it off. Monotone again this morning. It is nearly 100 outside and I refuse to leave my house. I Also refuse to put on anything other than boxers. I just thought you would like to know that.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

It was a battle of speed. It was a battle of agility. It was a battle of wit. Usually when I moonlight for the catering company, it's in the late afternoons and evenings. Today, however, a nice, quiet librarian and her fiance were getting married at an equally nice and quiet, retrofitted barn a ways out of town. So I showed up to work at 8. Ugh. Hard after a late night. And the barn was pretty rustic. Located on a beautiful plateau which housed an entire farm. And next to the barn: the chicken coupe. Well, not so much a coupe as a pen. There was no top on the pen. Although one chicken eyed me wearily, most made no threatening moves and I went along with all the preparations that needed to be completed. Nearly 2 hours later it was time for the ceremony to begin in the gazebo just outside the barn. Everything was set, the guests were seated and the bride and groom were moments from walking down the aisle. That's when I saw him. That mother fucker. The chicken that had his eye on me all morning. First, he cocked his head sideways, gave me a smile the nest a chicken could, a made a bounding leap for a branch that had fallen just below the top of the fence. His foot connected with the branch, teetered for a moment and as soon as he found his footing he was out of the pen like a bolt of lightening. Standing there, pitchers in hand, I knew we were in for trouble. I dropped the pitchers and bolted. I'm fast, but the chicken had clearly done this before. He blasted, wings flapping, straight to the barn door and proceeded, in no indirect fashion, straight towards the weeding party. "NOOOOO" I yelled as I broke left, broke right and tried to block the exit. I beat him to the door. A mexican standoff. How could he get through? Between my legs? Oh no. How about a line-drive full-flapping chest shot. Ugh. The chicken was by me before I could even raise my hand to cover my face.

Oh no! The wedding. The guitarist strummed the first few chords. I whirled around on the balls of my feet, feathers still floating to the ground from our encounter. One last chance before he was home free running amuck through the gazebo. I did what any man who relies largely on gratuities would have done. Left foot plant, right foot plant and a diving Superman leap, arms outstretched to grab him. Hell, I would crush him for all I cared at that point. As I flew through the air I considered my options. Land on the chicken, grab the chicken, completely miss or duck and roll. I bellyflopped to the ground with a thud. No more than 3 inches away from the brat. Oh god. In a final act of desperation I summoned my remaining strength to lunge, like a coiled spring, for one last chance. "bagooooock!" I had him by the leg. Hold on, I told myself, hold on. MY right hand came around and ensnared his body which was mow in view of at least half the guests. Scoop, 30 seconds later he was back in his pen. Another wedding saved care of your neighborhood catering spectaculo-man. Haven't seen the tip yet but the story was payment enough.

On a totally unrelated note, I had heard about how Bush's payment records were mysteriously "lost" but I didn't hear the the real story of one man who attests to having seen some of Bush's records thrown away at the request of his campaign manager. This all brought to light by Tony P's Busblog. That's why the busblog is world famous. And the truth blog is just telling stories about guys chasing chickens.

Friday, July 09, 2004

Buy me a camera or suffer more gigantic pictures


I wish all my links didn't have to be underlined. I really need to figure out how to change that. Oh, right, their not underlined. Wonderful. I'm already taking flack for my two posts about this guy. That's fine. I know you'll come around when you finally realize his guitar skills. But until then I'll just be going to concerts screaming teenage girls who love his radio edits like this one. You can even read the comment I wrote explaining how I feel. Good music and lots of ladies? Sounds like a good concert to me.

I had a crazy amount of work to do today but I was in procrastination mode. Fuck work. I rolled to the nearest bookstore to do some "market research" (aka reading other magazines). Lance Armstrong was on every other fucking cover. I counted at least 7. I guess the man deserves some props but what about Tyler Hamilton? The man got 4th last year after breaking his collar bone in two places! Now that's a story. Alright, I'll give it up for Lance because the man haw won 5 fucking tours in a row and will probably win this one too (even though he crashed today!) I got suckered into a men's journal piece about how the Olympics are a ridiculous sex fest (which I can confirm form other first hand accounts) and it reminded me why I was an athlete for so long. Yehaw. Then I (re)discovered Utne Magazine which not only detailed the quarter-life crisis which I am experiencing at the moment but also included a funny article entitled "Blogging ruined my life." And I know blogging will ruin mine too. There were a lot of other magazines, can't remember any of them.

It's funny the kind of things that trigger memories. After Work today I took a nice long drive to my grandfather's old house. And on the way I saw a guy driving a pickup in the HOV lane with a dog in the passenger's seat. Does that count? Anyways, my grandfather passed away nearly 5 months ago and we are finally getting ready to sell his things and get rid of the house. SO I had to pick and choose whatever I wanted to keep. There were some memorable artifacts but my strongest memory in the entire house flashed back when I walked down the stairs into his basement. It wasn't what I saw or smelt or felt when I got downstairs, it was the creaks and groans of my weight on the old wooden stairs that brought me back. To when I was 5. And we would walk down the stars together to look through old books or play ping pong. And the sounds those stairs make is exactly the same all these years later. I wish I could take those stairs with me. Or at least record that sound. I'll never forget it.

I was also excited to see the return of the Perry Mason Lover's Journal at She's Krafty Especially cause I wrote a drunk post late last night requesting it.

There was something else I wanted to write about. In fact, I think it was going to be the centerpiece of today's blog. But this is how my life goes.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

I wish this was a smaller picture

Bitch Please. I am not going to stop saying that until all of u start using it. I'm serious. Let's practice: Botch Please. Fuck. I messed it up. K. Here we go: Bitch Please! Again, with feeling: Bitch Pleeeaaase!. Nice.

Went to the second show last night. I guess it got a pretty good review. The guy's got both rock star status and street cred and nada could ruin last night's concert for me. Not even the TMG. A buddy and I got there earlier to save some 5th row seats for ourselves and 2 friends. But the TMG called before they got there. And she asked if I was there. I told her I was. She asked where I was so she could come say hi. Fifth row just left of center, I told her. 2 minutes later there she was with 3 friends. And they decided that they were going to take the 2 seats we had saved. Bitch Please. She couldn't take a hint and they stayed. But it didn't ruin my night. It couldn't. Cause when I hear that music it kinda makes me wanna be a better man. Why is the music so fucking loud at concerts? Not to bust my eardrums, but so I don't have to listen to that idiot next to me who sings along but who was kicked out of his church choir when he was 10 cause he could never carry a tune. Also, note to loud people: don't turn to me every 10 seconds and tell me how fucking amazing the show is. I know how amazing it is. That's why I came. That's why I'm here. Bitch please.

I'm still not 100% up on my blog etiquette. What is the procedure when you see someone you have never met but that you definitely recognize from their blog? It happened for the first time last night I would assume y'all follow have the same procedure that I do, I want to be left the fuck alone and never to be approached. Of course that is why I don't post pictures of myself. That, and because I don't have a digital camera. I have to steal pictures. Like the middle finger pick I found on Yahoo that I apparently stole from Neddy J. He wasn't too impressed when I didn't pay him his dues and I wasn't that impressed with his sarcasm but I think we just made our peace. But Honestly I think Ned should bankroll a camera or I'm gonna steal some more of his pics. Like this one here. Unfortunately I have no visual artistic talent whatsoever. That's why I give props to all of you out there who hook it up with photoblogs. I won't even pretend to be that cool. In fact, I am the lamest person I know. It's great being the lamest person you hang with cause then you are always growing and changing. Or getting made fun of. One of the two.

Today The super cool magazine was hosted at a sweet promo event. Not just any event but a lakeside BBQ. In case you haven't figured it out, there's not a lot of water where I'm from so getting a chance to jump on a wave runner for the first time in my life and crank it up to 40 mph was about the closest I could come to heaven after last night. Especially cause I could pretend like I was on a moto GP bike. Best of all, it was part of the promo so I was bouncing off the boat wake at no cost to myself. Frickin' sweet.

Have you bought Jamie Cullum's album yet or at least downloaded a song? If you don't like jazz you just haven't invested enough time into it yet. Damn, I guess we already went over not preaching musicality.
G2K countdown: 4 days
Best Part of Today: Riding Wave Runner
Worst Part of Today: Writing this bog
Stupidest thing I said today: Bitch please
Truth Blog "bitch please" counter: 10(?)
What I'm doing as soon as I'm done writing: Putting on some clothes cuz I'm in my underwear
Second stupidest thing I said today: feeling the beat cuz I was born for the streetz
I'm outy for shouty



Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Talking about music is fine. But talking about musicians is like talking about politicians. As soon as you make any kind of affiliation you have immediately alienated half of your audience. Especially in my case. In my world of wholly distorted self-perception I am a pretty well rounded listener-I can chill with Thelonius Monk, rock with The Stones, cry about my pickup and my horse on the local country station and even bob my head to The Roots or Eminem every once in a while. But my ipod playlist will reveal the truth: I am a sissy rocker. And I like melancholy music. And music that is all angsty. Because I am angsty. So is it any surprise that I went to see this guy at Red Rocks last night? (I can hear the sound of mice furiously clicking away from the truth blog) But if you're not a 20 something with at least a median IQ you might not really get it. First thing's first. Now of you think you know JM from his songs on the radio or his CD's you're dead wrong. The guy is one of the greatest guitar players of this new generation. On top of that, how many pop stars do u see singing Marvin Gay in the middle of his set, and then busting into a call and response with the sax player who was only there to play backup. Fucking unreal. Red Rocks is like a musical pleasure device. When an artist gets on stage and plays their first note it just rubs them the right way. And they have a musical climax. And the fans feel it. And then they have one too. And it's better than any sex I've ever had because we both come together. And it lasts forever. Last night it went for an hour and 20 minutes plus a 20 minute encore.

I'm telling you, the man can player the guitar. And, shit, if that's not enough, some of his lyrics are unreal. Which is the kicker for me because, of the two types of music lovers, I am definitely more lyrically inclined. And he's a musician's musician. Trust me on this one. He could have been one of the best blues guitarists of all time. Instead he chose to be a rockstar. Can u blame him? So that was sadly my entire day. Because I was invited to the soundcheck before the show. So we made an event of it. Nothing like meeting cool people at soundcheck. Espescially cool ones who offer you a ticket to go back for the second night. I guess I'm getting a lot of musical ass this week. One thing I am not getting is any text message ass. I think the TMG fell off the face of the earth. And the G2K has decided that since she booked a ticket out here and is coming in 5 days (jesus, 5 days!!) that she doesn't really have any responsibility to communicate with me until then. Man there were so many pubescent girls at the show last night. They come for the corny guy on the CD and find themselves sitting in front of a real concert. What a waste of space. Best part of the entire show? Not music. John utilized the spoken word to repeat exactly what I said a few days ago. Maybe he reads the truth blog. He affirmed that we all gotta go vote. But shut up and do it quietly. Because it's those people that keep shouting about politics that fuck things up. It's fine to whisper about it but as soon as someone tries to force feed you anything the first reaction of anyone intelligent is to shut down and refuse it. And I said that talking about music is like talking about politicians. Fuck. I guess I justwasted a bunch of breath.

Just realized it's gonna be hard to blog while the G2K is here. Anyone know where I can get some ruffies? I'll just slip it in her morning coffee so I have a few hours to jot things down. Looks like you're going to have to listen to me
bleed about music again tomorrow. Suck it up. blogogog.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Yup, this is the worst. Tonight plans are big. Today there is little work to be done. I am reading your blogs. It looks like I'm the only one hitting the post-4th of july blogger blues. Lets pull it together. The first thing I do these days when I find a new blog is go back as far in the Archives as I possibly can. I wanna see how you started. I want to watch you evolve. I want to see your best post and your worst post. If everyone who came to the truth blog only looked at yesterday and today they wouldn't know shit. They wouldn't know who The TMG is, or why I call her that or what our twisted web of shit is about.(Which continued here, here, here and best of all here) OR that I've also been in love with the G2K. since the first day of this blog. And how she is trying to invade my island.
You wouldn't know why I am in love with LL and why we don't talk anymore. You wouldn't know why superman and I are so alike. You wouldn't know where I was exactly a year ago. You would never have read My best post yet or my worst post yet.

Kerry just improved his chances of winning the presidential race. John Edwards has that fire in his eye. Even as a kid. Hopefully he will light a fire under Kerry's ass. As for me, I'm still bowing out of political hubbub. And today I got linked on some other people's pages. That scared me. Put the pressure on. So I decided to write the worst blog ever. Because if you come back after reading today's post then I've got you hooked for life.
I can release adrenaline on command.
I was born to blog.
Blogs will ruin your life.
dirty clothes are on the floor.
G2K comes in 6 days.
I am petrified.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

Bitch Please. It's the 4th of July weekend and you aren't going to find me on the blogogog. And I know there were spelling mistakes in the posts. There are always spelling mistakes. Because my life has lots of mistakes. If you can't figure out what I was trying to say then you're not going to understand what the fuck is going down on the truth blog anyway. But I think I left off in NYC. Well, on Friday I called up Tony P. cause he is always talking about how he is the best pilot in the xbi and I knew that my only hope was for him to pick me up in 'chopper one'. Why? Cause I had gone all the way to NYC but I realized I had to get back for the huge 4th of July high-roller plans back where I used to live. Well Tony wasn't really happy to get my call since I've barely even talked to the guy and I've never met him and he mumbled something about girls and a baseball game and fireworks but he said not to worry about it, just wait outside. I told the G2K goodbye and that I would see her when she came to visit in 10 days. I stepped outside and 'chopper two' was hovering there waiting for me. Fuck. I didn't sign up for this chopper two bullshit. But the pilot-he said his codename was Ned- assured me that he knew what he was doing and that I would be home in a snap. What a shitty flight. But At least I got there in time to pack my bags and get outta town.

Things started to get ill Saturday night in Vail when I reunited with Mac and when the G2K started shitting on Spiderman via text message. After a pre-4th fireworks show drunk girls called us sugar. They were nice southern belles and one whispered into my ear, "come make out with us back in our room" and then gave me a nice earwax cleaning with her tongue. There were 4 girls and 2 of us. bitchplease. You gotta be at least of drinking age before I will make out with you and your 'crew'. We peaced and met up with my blood relative Tuck+1 (The +1 being his new girlfriend) at which point they proceeded to disgust me with ridiculous and gratuitous groping, grabbing and kissing. yeech.

So if you're 20something you need to spend a 4th of July in this town. Whether you roll bling bling -which we did 2 nights in a row- or whether you wanna feel like a local boy(which we also did) I guarantee there is way more fun to be had than I can explain here. If you can handle the standing room only. It's all about maintaining composure. I failed miserably. Bars closed, I have a 15 minute drive home and I'm still not in the right state of mind. What to do until my mind returned? Fate stepped in. "hi." Don't know where she came from but I was walking alone on the street. "lets play a trick on my friends, pretend like you know me from college, OK?" Wonderful. Guess she doesn't want her friends to think she is a skank when I open the door after the knock in the morning. I played along. Nothing like a drunk charade. They cracked the facade about 30 minutes later, just as I was sober enough to hot the road and leave them in the dust.

I Recovered from Saturday night at Mac's and rallied early to see the 4th parade I jumped on my bike for a quick ride up the mountain to pass the time until the two of us bounced to hang out by the pool at our local hangout. Scouts honor kids, scouts honor. Best part about rocking it Bachelor Gulch style is it's out of cell range. No one can distract you. 2 hours later it was time to check into the hotel room and the crew arrived. Tuck+1 was still around, The Hyphen+1 arrived, fresh from a 14er summit, Mac and Big Mac, a new recruit called Duke and later, of course, the Almighty Quinn made a guest appearance. Dinner, drinking, the real deal fireworks and back to the clubs. Old friends and fresh faces make for a night of fun. 6 text messages in a row. "shit is getting ill on my phone." Yes I said that. No, I am not proud. drink drink drink, kiss kiss kiss and all of the sudden the night is over. Who was that girl? Who knows. How we all found places to sleep in that hotel room is beyond me. But this morning I woke wearing my proud stale-beer, smoke-smelling, perfume-laced hangover badge with pride in recognition of my valiant effort last night.

Fuck. Blogging about more than one day just ruins things.

Tomorrow: Rocking your ass sensitive style.
Unless you are into The Reverse Cowgirl Position. Gotta try everything once.

Friday, July 02, 2004

It's Friday afternoon and it's a holiday weekend and I didn't want to stay at home. So I called the boss and said, "I'm not coming in today." I didn't want to hang around so I went to the airport, cut the line and told the Lady at the counter, "I need to get to NYC RIGHT NOW!" and I flashed my US ******** Team ID card and she said, "Let me see here, I think we can do something for you." The next thing I know I was on a plane. And it's a holiday weekend so I decided fuck it and called the G2K from that phone in the seat back in front of me that no one ever uses because it expensive and anyone within 2 rows of you can hear the entire conversation. And what did I tell her? "meet me at Rockefeller center in 2 hours, we're going to see Conan." First she thought I was lying so I told her to look at her caller ID. She did and it said Somewhere over Ohio so she said, "oh snap, I'll meet you there."

And I took the subway. But I don't really know my way around so I got lost and barely made it. I was in NYC for 4th of July weekend to see the G2K and to see Conan and to say "fuck you" to any terrorist who thinks he can scare me this weekend by trying to blow something up. When I got to the NBC studios the G2K was waiting for me and even though I was worried about how she might look since I haven't seen her in almost 2 years she wasn't fat, in fact I think she was skinnier. And her hair was just the same length as I remembered it. We sat down and Cedric the Entertainer made me laugh and Jason Bateman was a tool and who the hell is Yoshi Amao and but I saw the Big Red Haired comical genius and after the show G2K squeezed my hand and whispered to me she had a surprise for me. She led me backstage to kick it with Conan. I told him he was really tall and he said that it was just the camera lens that made him look tall but I said I was standing next to him and that there was no camera lens and he said that there is always a camera lens. It was weird and beautiful.


We hung out for a while and then she said, "lets go home" so we rolled to Grand Central and caught the commuter train. And now she's waiting for me upstairs. And I'm blogging. But the TMG stumbled onto my blog just and she called and asked where I was. I told her I was in NYC but she said, "I read that on your blog and I don't believe you." And I hadn't even posted it yet. She told me I had a lot of run on sentences. I told her it was for effect. She called me a tool but still she doesn't believe I am in NYC. So I told her that it's the motherfucking Truth Blog and to read the damn subtitle. Why doesn't anyone ever read the god damn subtitle?

Thursday, July 01, 2004

You would think I would be really busy at the super cool magazine. Unfortunately for me, we are not a currents events publication and hence there isn't the frantic aura of daily deadlines and breaking stories. My magazine is a month. Let's for the sake of explaining things, call it, Proctology monthly. Now this morning around 10, we shipped out the September issue of Proctology monthy to be spec'd and printed. Why are we done so long before the magazine hits shelves? Well, to be honest, not a lot is going to change with your ass between now and then. Hopefully it will still consist of two cheeks and a crack 8 weeks from now. And by then I'll be working on the nov. issue. So today, after the sept issue hit the road, I had absolutely nothing to do. So I spied on all of you. And I read every single article at The New York Times. And I still had so much time. So I went for a walk with my new bling bling gold ipod mini. Now I'm bummed that the mini holds so few songs but it's way worth it in the fact that I can strap it to my arm and head out for a run without even remembering it's there.

So that's exactly what I did when I was finally done staring at pictures of assholes all day. Not only did I run, but I ran to the gym. I hate the gym. But I am also addicted to it. All the people with their music, in their own worlds, not paying any attention to one another. I don't go to the gym to look at the hot girls or to talk to people or even to get into shape, I just go to blow off steam. I don't want you to talk to me at the gym. If you see me there, don't ask me if I can take a look at your bum since I work for that magazine. And most of all, don't be like that guy today and ask me to spot you. I don't want to spot you. If you can't lift it, don't. But for some reason that prick came up to me today. Now I am no muscle bound meathead. I didn't get so good at the super-cool sports activity by getting huge. But I am fit and can move my body well for my proportions. So why he chose me I have no idea. But he did. And he threw off everything. After that I just couldn't get it back.

No reason to stay at the gym now that I was pissed off. So I left to begin the run home. And I passed so many hotties running the other way. I didn't need to stare though. Just kept running. Then there was this cute little 2 year old in a stroller. And I did stare at him cause he was smiling at me. And I stepped on the curb wrong and pulled my Achilles. Cause I was smiling back at the little kid. And it hurt. So I decided to walk the rest of the way. And 2 blocks from home there was an ear of corn lying in the gutter. How the fuck did an ear of corn get in the gutter? I have never seen a corn truck in these parts. Did someone huck it at an unsuspecting passer-by? I really really wanted to take it home and cook it. It looked so sweet and juicy and still mostly in the husk. But shit, it was in the motherfucking gutter. So I went home.

Saddam Hussein WANTS YOU to vote for Kerry.




Slow day, right? Well I guess the TMG now decided we are buddies. So she called me tonight. wtf? Bitch please. I an understanding of your situation but get out my face. Guess that's all today. Oh ya. The G2K finally bought a ticket out here to see me. A week from monday she'll be here. For 7 days! I really hope she still looks good. And that we get along. And that there is a ton of deplorable sex. But if she got fat and her haircut looks bad then I know a nice hotel down the street. And then I can call her on the phone and pretend that she is still 2K miles away. Honestly, I am petrified.

One last thing. I am sick of fucking people writing about politics but much more sick of reading about it. I'm going to write a little political commentary from time to time when it really fucking pisses me off but remember that in the times in between I'm going to do what most of us are going to do: Keep my fucking mouth shut and vote for Kerry... but do it quietly.