Ryan's Fat Journal

Adieu

2010-08-12T05:45:00.000-07:00

This is it...

This will be my last blog post on Ryan's Fat Journal. I may start another online journal somewhere down the line, but it'll have to be shielded behind a flag of anonymity.

To all of those who've been reading this stupid thing...

I really can't thank you enough. It's honestly been a hoot, and I'll miss making observations about the world under the guise of my miserable weight-loss plan. Seriously. Shutting this blog down is actually tugging at my heart a bit.

I'll leave this up for a week or so - feel free to drop me a line in the comments section.

Attached you should find a video collecting all the old heading photos (plus a bunch more).

Alright.

Onward. Upward.

Mad love to you all.

The Events of July 25th, 2010

2010-08-03T06:12:00.000-07:00

The following video clip might destroy the illusion of my last post (just a bit), but who cares. These are the few photos I took while in the studio last weekend. Here's what you'll see:

Mick Larroquette manning the helm.
Mike Learner cranking out his rip-roaring guitar solo.
Chip Killer in production mode.
Karen Plitchell checking email.
Viola Wickerman guarding the Chex-mix.
And if you look really carefully, you'll see my reflection in the glass. Then again, I saved this clip at such low quality that my image is probably little more than a cramped collection of fat pixels.

Exile on Westnedge (with links!)

2010-07-30T05:02:00.000-07:00

After spending three days in the Studio with Minutes, I caught a flight out of Grand Rapids; flew to DC; saw my brother's play; ate at Jimmy T's Place with my sister and a close friend, Bob DeRilla; recorded with the S-Team for two days; squeaked out an interview with Lena Magee; and somehow managed to have another meal at Jimmy T's. The trip was a blur, but it sure was nice... that is until my flight home was delayed and I was forced to wander around BWI for seven hours.

I took my camera to document my travels, but the batteries died on me as soon as my folks picked me up at the airport.

There may be existing photographic proof of both Minutes' and Soccer Team's recording sessions somewhere out in the world, but I have yet to come across any. (Chip? Quigley? Do you guys have photos?)

Since I'm unable to share the sights (for the moment), I'll try to paint you a clear picture here through the power of embellishment :

Minutes

Imagine mad sycophants milling around the studio... producers, record executives, bored super models corresponding through a steady series of yawns, a dozen engineers (only one of whom is working), junkies and cavity creeps from the neighboring convenience store, somebody's cousin Kevin, etc.

Now throw the Minutes Band and Show into the mix, tuning out all the surrounding riff-raff and chaos as if they were the Rolling Stones. Concentrating. Focused. Committed to excellence. Blazing through 72 hours of near constant work for the sake of their fans. The result: 15 songs that sound like a mix between Helmet and Gin Blossoms.

Soccer Team

Imagine a cavernous studio shrouded in darkness - a few fluttering candles, barely doing their jobs, tucked away in far off corners. Dust. Cobwebs. Warmth. The slow spinning shadow of a massive industrial fan in the distance, turning lazily in the background, much like the one in Jordan Catalano's practice space (12 seconds in). The meditative vibe is still, quite, all-consuming. We communicate through occasional whispers and hand signals. And in this setting, the only setting that makes any sense for Soccer Team's complicated and mysterious temperament, we crafted a few illustrious tunes out of improvised jam sessions, resulting in a collection of hot new originals reminiscent of Phish and Talk Talk.

America, where is thy discernment?

2010-07-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

The days are numbered for this online journal. I don't know when exactly I'm gonna pull the plug, but the deadline's got to be sometime in August. I'll either close down shop with some sort of fireworks display - or a thud. Perhaps I should present a small retrospective on the old Fat Journal title displays.

Here's a brief update of my summertime life sans school:

After giving up on reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (for the second time), my plan to tackle Ulysses appears to be on the back burner. In the meantime I've been making my way through King Lear instead. Seems that play is constantly referenced, but I've honestly never known the first thing about it until now.

So far, I'm enjoying it - especially the continual flow of insults delivered by Kent (2.2.14-24).

Of course there were bazillion different versions of the play at the library to choose from. Out of curiosity, I first made the mistake of picking up the No Fear Shakespeare version published by SparkNotes, thinking it might be good for my upcoming high school students.

Boo. Hiss.

Look, I'm no purest; I used online summaries and translations all the time while studying this crap in school, but I also read the original text. So, believe me: I'm familiar with switching between ye olden text and some helpful translations. The No Fear version of King Lear bummed me out though. It seems their modern translations are taking some heavy liberties. Sadly (and after throwing the book across the room in frustration), I've already returned the No Fear Lear to the library, so providing an actual example isn't possible... but if I may take my own liberty now, I'd like to show you how their modern translations exist in my memory:

Act 1, Scene 1, Lines 286-89

Synopsis - King Lear gets crazy mad at his daughter, Cordelia, for not kissing his butt. As punishment, he takes her dowry away while a couple of royal rich boys, Burgundy and France, are busy trying to marry her. Here, Burgundy gives her the ol' brush-off 'cause Cordelia's broke.

Shakespeare's Version

Burgundy (to Cordelia):

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.

Cordelia:

Peace be with Bugundy.

Since that respect and fortunes are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

Translation

Burgundy (to Cordelia):

Hey you screwed up big time with your old man,

I'm totally not gonna marry you anymore.

Cordelia:

What-evs, dude-bro. Since all you dig is my dad's dough anyways,

who cares, you're a total idiot.

Alright, sure, this is an exaggeration, but I think I'll stick with the Folger's versions from now on (see photo).

What else...?

Oh, I recently went to see Inception like the rest of the nation. I liked it, I really did, but I really wish Hollywood filmmakers would start considering their soundtracks more carefully. While Hans Zimmer's score for this movie is good - it is CONSTANT. Relentless. Exhausting. Liken it to the sounds within a casino, of hundreds of slot machines wailing away - there's a hum in your ears all the time, and collectively it sounds like a crescendo, like the climax is looming... and then... it just keeps going. Inception's score is like that - like some weird kind of tense/tantric Hollywood hooey. Enough already. Give the audience a break. It's okay to embrace silence sometimes.

And the electric guitars that swoop in are unforgivable. Hey, I love Johnny Marr as much as the next guy, but that was completely unnecessary.

Guitars + orchestration = bad every time.

No joke. There's a one hundred percent failure rate.

It didn't work in Dune.

It didn't work in The Rock.

It didn't work in In Bruges.

It didn't work with Kiss.

And it certainly didn't work for Metallica.

Fish Fingers All in a Line

2010-07-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

I bought Wire's Pink Flag on vinyl today. It's one of those records I know by heart even though I've never actually owned an official copy. Tapes of tapes went a long way... back when cassettes were a thing.

As soon as I got home from the record store, I listened to the whole album, start to finish, super loud, reading along with the lyrics, mesmerized like it was my first time hearing it.

What is it about this record that makes me never get tired of hearing it?

Maybe it's because Pink Flag is the beginning and end of rock.

If you don't like it, my guess is that you don't have a pulse.

It's impossible to listen to "Ex Lion Tamer" and not feel instantly awesome. It just can't be done. That's one uplifting jam. The kind of song that makes people start bands.

Keep it slender, y'all

2010-06-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

I took this photo over a year ago at a popular U.S. restaurant that specializes in Latin American cuisine. I've since been carrying it around in my phone, waiting for the right opportunity to unleash it's power upon the world.

Take a look at this, and please keep in mind that no Photoshop magic/manipulation was performed here. This, my friends, is the real deal. This is life on earth.

On the left, we see a typical Women's room door.

On the right is the Handicapped Women's room door.

The End May Be Near

2010-06-27T09:23:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about shutting this blog down pretty soon.

In september, I'll start my student-teaching gig at a local high school, and although I seriously doubt a student would discover the ol' Fat Journal, I'd rather not take the chance. I'd prefer complete anonymity on the Interwebs, and as it stands now there's my first name smeared across the title.

This isn't to say, of course, that I'm ashamed of anything I've written; I've made a conscious effort to keep things pretty PG up here. And I've really enjoyed having a frequent and accessible forum for writing.

Maybe I'll start a new web-journal with a new title.

I don't know.

Maybe I should start a zine and mail 'em to the same people who "subscribe" to Walnut Creek's Punk Life (a longstanding publication that magically finds you no matter where you've moved - once you receive Punk Life, you always receive Punk Life... along with annual birthday cards from the publisher). I wouldn't mind the labor involved with doing something like that. I would, however, mind paying the postage.

Quite honestly, the other Internet-related problem I've been wrestling with lately has to do with how much of my time is spent in front of the computer. Since getting Internet access in the apartment, I've grown accustomed to checking my email about 50 times a day and watching a constant stream of Netflix movies. Now I wouldn't say that I'm miserable or anywhere close to depressed (I feel pretty upbeat, and I rather enjoy watching movies), but the problem appears when I stand back and take a look at myself: I feel like I'm turning into one of those World of Warcraft people (minus the Warcraft of course), huddled against the glow of the computer, neck down, shoulders to ears, slouching, motionless...

No wonder I'm getting fatter by the second.

A Rush and a Push and the Land that We Stand on Is Ours

2010-06-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

My pre-internship ended... life is starting to get back to normal here. I still have two more summer classes to finish and a pile of looming homework, but at least I don't have to wake up at 6AM every day anymore... at least not 'til September.

So, what have I neglected to tell you all?

I planned on doing a big anniversary blog post - celebrating a year of me chronicling my new life as a fat man. June 6th came and went though with no fanfare.
Karen, Melody, Mike and I went to a casino last night in Battle Creek. Everyone ended the night with more money than they started out with - except for me. The first time I went to Atlantic City, I left with 60 extra dollars. The first time I went to Las Vegas, I arrived with a quarter in my pocket and left with 14 bucks. And every casino visit since then... I've been a big ol' loser. Last night, of course, was no exception. I think I may have now actually esteemed to cooler status.
In the last two weeks I've received two traditional letters and one email from old friends of mine - all of whom made me incredibly happy. I'd like to send warm shout-outs to Chloe Nevon, Leena McGee, and Seth Linny. It was really nice to catch up with each of them without treading into the vortex of Facebook.
I went to see the Rush documentary with Mick and Mike. Outwardly, we all went for the goof because everyone knows that Rush is terrible. Inwardly, we all wanted to see a documentary about Rush because we all secretly like 'em, and if "Tom Sawyer" appears on the radio when we're by ourselves... that radio gets turned up. (Full disclosure: I have the same affection for Foreigner. On paper, they're the worst. When no one's looking, "Jukebox Hero" is the greatest song I've ever heard.) The movie was honestly pretty good. Then again, I find just about any documentary about a band interesting. Remember Dig? Remember how loathsome both bands were in that movie? Yeah, I watched that train wreck twice. Remember the Behind the Music heyday? Man, it didn't matter which awful band VH1 was focusing on... I happily watched every episode. The only one that was an actual snooze was the one about the Goo Goo Dolls - Seriously, who green-lighted that project?
Saw Toy Story 3 and cried like a little baby. Something's wrong with me: I get choked up at 98% of the animated movies I see. For live-action movies - forget about it, I stay strong - for animated movies... I turn into a blubbering mess. Hell, I got choked up watching G-Force, and even little kids hated G-Force. We can probably blame Marc Anthony for this developed sensitivitude.

Fake name-droppin'

2010-05-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

My friend Sylvia Connerelli left me a voice mail last night saying that she and Tank Biggins and Leena Magee were sitting around and reminiscing about the old house shows that took place at Kansas Street (scroll down - it's last on the list). In her message she asked how many times my old band played in that familiar living room.

Quite honestly, I have no idea.

I know that I played there multiple times with at least 4 different bands and, despite never actually residing there, I was a regular fixture during the Pam Jagger, Maggie Chentuplet, and Rob Lassy regime. I now sort of wish I had kept better track of all the old shows.

This same problem came up earlier this week when I received an email from a guy in Seattle looking for details about Pewter Pill's show at the Vera. I ended up searching my file cabinet for old itineraries and could find nothing from that band's only West Coast tour - the tour I worked the hardest on. It's frustrating because I have all these strong memories from touring, but with time they're all blurring together. I don't like that.

I think if I could somehow find some time to sit down and catalogue all of my tour photos with my brother, between the two of us we could put them all in chronological order.

Speaking of old tours with my brother... I found this photo posted up on his website this morning. It was taken in a friend's backyard in Seattle eleven years ago - talk about being hit with a tidal wave of memories.

R.I.P. JJ.

Fewer and fewer posts... an all time low.

2010-05-29T06:11:00.000-07:00

If you're wondering why I never seem to update this journal anymore - it's not because I've abandoned you - it's because I started my summer semester a few weeks ago and it's left me perpetually exhausted. My classes are tied to a pre-internship teaching program, and seriously, the schedule is nuts: Every day, I observe (and occasionally help teach) a sixth grade class for an entire school day, then I race over to the university to attend one of my two classes. From 6:00 AM to 6:30 PM I'm on the go, and by the time I get home, all I want to do is eat dinner and fall asleep. Fortunately, I'm not alone in this weariness... before every evening class I've overheard my classmates lament about how tired they are. Hearing them complain makes me feel a little better because misery really does love company.

During this brief stint in a sixth grade classroom, I've already amassed a huge stockpile of interesting stories surrounding the whole experience... stories I'm eager to share because much of what I've seen so far has been fascinating, to say the very least. But discussing the specifics of what happens within a classroom is understandably frowned upon - especially over the Internet. It would betray some sort of professional standard or courtesy, so gushing and blabbing through this blog wouldn't be a good idea. I'll have to stick with detailing the usual muck and mire of life on earth outside of my teaching experience.

I will say this though...

It's been a whirlwind, and I'm learning an awful lot.

A Night of Good Texting, Bad Texting, and a Little More Good Texting

2010-05-16T05:58:00.000-07:00

While Karen was working in the salon yesterday, a young woman entered the shop and started browsing through the little jars of make-up. Eventually the two of them started chatting, and soon Karen was applying assorted make-up samples to this woman's face. This, of course, is nothing unusual for Karen - it happens all the time - but as their conversation went on, the soft spoken woman (let's call her Marguerite) mentioned that she wasn't from Kalamazoo and that she was only in town for a night.

Karen asked hesitantly, "Oh, are you in town for the Medieval Conference?" and thought how weird it would be for someone so young to hang out with the fuddy-duddies at the Medieval Conference.

Momentarily confused, Marguerite raised an eyebrow and then responded politely, "Um... no... I'm on tour with my band... we're playing tonight at the State Theater."

Relieved, Karen then asked the name of her band, and Marguerite replied with an unfamiliar, alliterative name that poetically suggested nine months of pregnancy.

They talked for a while longer, really hitting it off, and before Marguerite left, she gave Karen her phone number, saying, "Send me a text if you have any interest in seeing the show tonight. I'll put you and a friend on the list."

When Karen came home from work, she told me the whole story and asked if I wanted to go see this mystery band. I said, "Sure, I've never been to the State Theatre before... I heard it's nice in there." So Karen sent Marguerite a text, and she put us on the guest list.

When we arrived, there was a line of people waiting to get in that wrapped around the block. Apparently, Marguerite's band is super popular.

Mad popular in fact.

That might have something to do with the fact that they won an Academy Award for their music featured in some incredibly popular indie-movie and were nominated for a Grammy. Who knew? (Apparently everyone on Earth except for me and Karen.)

Between songs, people shouted repeated Woos and Ows like they were there to see Journey in the '80s. Such devotion, however, didn't prevent folks from texting during the show. While every fourth person pulled out their phone at one point or another, no one was more guilty than the woman sitting in front of me. She texted at least twice per song.

I started imagining the urgency of specifics texts being sent...

This is awesome!
They just played "Falling Quickly"!
I can't believe it, they're playing "In These Legs" right now!"

Or maybe something less enthusiastic... like...

Dude, this show sucks. Kill me.
Hope I die soon.
I'd rather be seeing Tool right now, but my girlfriend dragged me here.

Then I recalled a moment from my life, back in a distant era before cell phones, when I too was guilty of a similar crime...

Back in high school, after hearing yet another one of my frequent tirades about stinky hippies and the Grateful Dead, a deadhead friend of mine insisted that I had no right to complain since I had never seen the Dead perform live (and before you say it... yes, I'm aware of the absurdity of those last four words in that particular order).

Strangely, I agreed.

In a fit of openmindedness, I agreed to go to the show and give the Dead a fair chance (provided I didn't have to pay for a ticket).

Needless to say, the show was awful.

I was trapped in a sea of spinning, drugged-out hippies. Patchouli soaked suburban rich kids with dreads surrounded me, closing in on all sides. Girls were wearing sundresses and corduroys at the same time. Folks were beating tambourines and chomping on stick-meat out in the parking lot.

And the band was just terrible.

Really. I gave 'em a shot, but that was some boring, go-nowhere garbage.

At some point during one of the Dead's 20 minute jamerroos, I fought my way through the throngs of zombies, found a pay phone, called my brother, and said, "Kid, I'm at the Cap Center... at a Dead show... and make no mistake, this right here sucks."

Alright... so maybe that's not exactly the same thing. Sure, my impatience to contact my brother during the performance was similar, but technically, I had to leave the concert hall to make the call. Big difference.

Anyway, despite the audience's addiction to their phones last night, and their annoying Ows, Yeahs, and Woos, the band managed to put on a really good show. It was very kind of Marguerite to put Karen (plus one) on the list. We had a perfectly nice evening together, and the three-block walk to the venue and back was an absolute delight.

After the show, Karen and Marguerite sent a few more messages to each other, exchanging thank-yous and really-nice-to-meet-yous. And with that in mind, I can't say that all texting is a bad thing.

But seriously, hone in on the part where I said "after the show."

That Annoying Light in My Periphery

2010-05-07T05:28:00.000-07:00

Dear World,

You are no longer allowed to text each other while watching a movie in the theater. That bluish white light from your phone is surprisingly distracting. And during particularly quiet scenes, I can hear you click-clacking away on the keypad. Please try to remember that you are not invisible. A lot of us are sitting behind you.

Last night while watching Iron Man 2 (save your money, kids), a guy sitting near me checked his phone and sent a text at least once every 10 minutes. It was unreal... the bright light, the clicking, the slamming the phone shut... this guy had it all. Since the texting phenomenon is something that now happens at 100% of movies, I decided to try to ignore it. But I couldn't. He was driving me batty. With only 20 minutes left to go in the film, I finally said, "STOP TEXTING," which he did, and then I quietly kicked myself for not saying anything earlier.

Seriously, I'm trying to imagine a situation where somebody may desperately need to send a text during a movie, and I can think of none. All emergencies (at least in my my mind) seem to warrant removing oneself from the theater and making an actual phone call.

So why the constant texting? What are these people so desperately saying to each other?

Here's a better question:

How can I get more people to feel the way I do about our latest developed breach in etiquette?

R.I.P. Doug Henning

2010-05-05T20:17:00.000-07:00

Since I managed to squeak through most of my life without ever learning any card games beyond War and Go Fish, I thought it would be a good idea to arm myself with a few magic tricks. That way, when the eventual card decks pop out during some future social situation, I'd be prepared... I may not know how to play Euchre, but at least I'd know how to wow and amaze my friends. So a few years ago, I bought a very small how-to book on card and coin tricks in the hopes of teaching myself how to do the mildest of these dazzling magic tricks. Cards and coins seemed safe 'cause I could get a hold of both easily.

I had my schtick down too: I'd be the bumbling magician - with no arrogance to my act. When performing, my banter would be full of self-doubt and clumsy shuffling, saying things like, "I hope this works" and "I've never really been good at this," followed by a sheepish, "Um... is this your card? God I hope that's your card."

There was a problem though with the book I bought: learning all those stupid tricks seemed kinda hard. Despite the book's tiny size, it was real big on the importance of practice, and man, who's got time for that crap? I learned exactly two tricks (both of which were remarkably similar) before I called it a day.

And then something amazing happened...

With exactly two card tricks under my belt, I became a magician. Granted, not a very powerful magician, but more of a magician than anyone else I knew. I didn't buy a cape or a top hat or any of that, but as I walked around town, I felt like I was wearing a cape and top hat, and that, my friends, was pretty cool. Magic now coursed through my veins, infected my soul - you understand, right?

And you understand now why I simply must see David Copperfield perform on my birthday here in Kalamazoo. I mean, we're in the same business for cryin' out loud. We share the same passion. We believe in the same stuff.

An update

2010-04-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I've updated this journal... my legions of readers have probably given up on me. The Internet's a strange place. If you don't tweet once an hour, you stop existing.

The end of this semester was super difficult. I lost my drive completely and got exhausted just thinking about all the papers I had to write. Frankly, I got fed up with the never-ending barrage of English and History assignments. Both disciplines ask for slightly different types of writing, and I honestly tired from trying to live up to either expectation.

I've started and stopped journal updates about a million times, and I don't even know where to start now. I guess I'll take you back to the Chicago show and to the junkyard just for a second...

Last week we played at the Double Door, and I think my days of knowing people in Chicago has officially dried up. It was very strange. I've probably played Chicago more times than any other major city (except DC), and yet I managed to run into no one from back in the day. Of course, I'm to blame for not keeping in touch... but it somehow felt weird nonetheless. A huge posse of Kalamazoo folks, however, made the long drive out to the show, and that was awesome. And you know what? Those people just straight up rule. We ate really good food, hung out on the street outside of the club, and talked for hours.

This show marked our first outing in the new van (and by new you know I mean really really used). For the past two weeks, all four of us have managed to put in an equal share of ridiculous work surrounding the van:

I took it to a mechanic for a fairly expensive repair.
We all went back to the junkyard futilely in search of another part, where Chip got sweaty and really put a hurtin' on a hammer.
Mike Learner and I took a portion of our junkyard seat to a welder to have him cut and weld some parts together like magic.
Chip and Mick installed the seat, plugged a bunch of holes, and cleaned the remaining gravel out of the van.
Mike scoured the city for our spare tire.

Technically, it could still use a little work, but it's shaping up nicely.

That said, 65 MPH seems to be the top speed; at 70 she shakes like a demon.

With a bit more work I'm hoping the van will be road-ready enough to make it to DC and back.

That Winning Smile

2010-04-15T05:20:00.000-07:00

As many of you already know, I'm still missing a front tooth. I wear what's known as a "flipper" to hide the fact that I actually resemble a toothless hobo.

The process of getting an implant is long - much longer than expected; I'll be coming up on 9 months really soon, and I still have to wait a bit longer.

The dentist pulls the tooth, then there's mad waiting time for the ol' gums to heal.
The dentist puts in the implant, there's more waiting for it to fuse somehow with the jawbone, and then there's more waiting for the gums to heal.
Next, a post gets put into the implant - and yep, the gums've gotta heal again.
Finally, the crown gets screwed into the post (what the world sees as a tooth).

In the meantime, there are countless other appointments... getting fitted for the flipper, periodic checks to prevent infection, X-rays to see how the implant is settling into place, etc. It's endless, it really is.

My latest trip to the dentist was for a standard teeth cleaning. The cleaning is important because my teeth should be as close to their natural color as possible before trying to match the color of my eventual crown. I didn't think I had much to worry about - I don't drink sodas too often (pop around here), and my sugar intake is mild compared to the rest of the world. But over ten years of drinking coffee everyday can darken these chompers up.

Anyway, more x-rays, more sitting in the chair, more poking and prodding... and what's the diagnosis? Six cavities. Two of which are so close to the nerve that I could be looking at two more root canals at 1500 bucks a pop. Plus, I've got a cracked tooth in the back of my mouth - also close to the nerve - from eating a hard pretzel at band practice.

I nearly dropped dead. The dentist got no thrill in breaking the news to me either. He actually paused for a while, weighing his words carefully before he told me. If there was a thought-balloon over his head, it would've read, "How am I gonna tell this dude he's screwed?"

So what's the lesson here, dear reader?

I don't know.

I'd tell you to brush and floss and all that crap, but you've heard it all before. I'd tell you to avoid that steady diet of cupcakes you've been rocking since the recent cupcake craze started to sweep the nation, but maybe the fashionable dessert trend has died down by now. Maybe no one's standing in lines wrapped around the block in Georgetown anymore, waiting to spend five dollars ON A SINGLE CUPCAKE. I'd tell you to take your butt to the dentist and go get a check up, but honestly, life was a little better before I knew how screwed up my mouth is. Maybe the lesson here is that Hermey the Misfit Elf was on to something... Nuts to working for Santa when dentistry is where the money's at. (That's right. I'll end a sentence with a preposition. I'm looking at a stack of dental bills, so back off and let me do what I want here.)

A Few More Hours Exposing Screens

2010-04-11T15:28:00.000-07:00

I made a couple of silk-screens today for our upcoming show in Chicago.

Although I've made a ton of flyers in the past, and I've certainly made posters to send out to clubs before touring, I don't think I've ever made a poster for a single out of town show like this before. In fact... I don't really think it's all that necessary.

This is more or less just an excuse to do another screen-printing project.

Now I just need to find some time to print.

My Hell

2010-04-08T18:23:00.000-07:00

I've got no romance for long nights spent in the library. I want to go home so bad it's crazy. This is agony, true and absolute. You want a pep talk about going back to school - yo, you're reading the wrong site.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if these chairs were more comfortable.

Then again, if they were comfortable, I'd just be sleeping in 'em.

Down the hall from me, some guy's having a Jetsons-style conversation with his girlfriend on one of the University's public computers. Call me old fashioned, but that's strange. As I walked past I could see the woman's face on the screen: her head horizontal resting on a pillow; she was in her pajamas. The guy was wearing massive headphones, speaking loudly, saying, "Oh I wish I was there with you right now... What?... Oh, okay, well come right back, okay? Don't be long."

This is a weird world. Not because of the Jetsons phone - that was only a matter of time. It's weird because I now get to witness moments like that.

April 23rd and the Miami of Canada

2010-04-05T08:11:00.000-07:00

We're playing in Chicago on the 23rd of April.

Do I know anyone living in Chicago right now? I used to know quite a few people, but honestly, it's been years. I'm afraid I've fallen out of touch. And/plus/also, I'm not all Facebooked up yet, so I don't really have easy-access to the masses like the rest of society.

The show's at the Double Door.

If you're reading this and you're living in Chicago, come on out to the show. I won't snub ya', I promise.

If you're reading this and you're stockpiling mad friends in that city, tell those fools to come out too. Tell 'em to come to the show even if I've never met them before. They can introduce themselves to me and be all like, "Hey, I'm a friend of Blah-blah-blah's," and I'll be all like, "No way! That's awesome. Let's you and I have a conversation about our mutual friend, (insert your name)."

And then we'll share stories about how awesome you are.

Special thanks goes to Charles Montgomery Burns for supplying part of today's title.

A pre-Easter visit to the Junkyard

2010-04-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today, all four members of Minutes went to the junkyard to try to find a back seat for the van. This was my first time ever going to a junkyard so I took my camera, but neglected to take any photos while we were there. Guess I was overwhelmed by all the splendor. Here's the rundown though:

All employees of the junkyard looked exactly like the cast of the Road Warrior. Choose any male character, and yep, he was there. What about the guy with the mohawk and feathery shoulder pads? Of course. Him too.
One should consider wearing heavier shoes before visiting the junkyard. I wore my paper thin Vans, which wasn't the best idea I've ever had. Broken glass everywhere. With every step I felt like I was getting closer and closer to walking on glass with my bare feet.
Flies like that place. A lot. And apparently bees kick it there full-time in the summer. When I asked about that nugget of info, I was told that bees just straight up dig abandoned cars.
The myth about junkyard dogs craving human flesh at all times is completely true. This particular junkyard's dog, Bloodfang, stared right into my eyes and mouthed the words, "I'm gonna eat you, for real, I promise."

We found a few back seats that might actually work. One in particular looked practically new (no beer or coffee stains or nothing). Sadly, it started to rain, so we had to split empty handed. When I go back, I won't forget to take pictures. Hopefully MasterBlaster and Cujo won't kill me.

No Ordinary Love

2010-04-03T05:37:00.000-07:00

While at a wedding in DC last April, my friend Janie told me she wanted to get a tattoo of a heart. She asked if I would be willing to draw it, I said yes, and then it took me about a year to deliver the goods.

I've got to admit... when you're fairly on the outside of the tattoo scene (I've got one, but it's nothing to write home about), there's a certain amount of pressure that goes into designing a tattoo. Hell, I was just coming up with the drawing - I can't imagine the kind of pressure for folks actually holding the tattoo gun. I remember hearing a few horror stories about tattoo artists making mistakes on the fly, like the guy who misspelled "Harley-Davidson" (I think the 'R' was left out). I'm sure every tattoo artist has those stories. And, believe me, I understand - when working on some detail, some lettering or something, those moments go slowly and carefully - so carefully that it's easy to drop the occasional letter. The difference of course is, when I do that, I can just erase it and start over.

Reminds me of this friend I had back when I was in junior high and high school, this really great skater named Bunny...

It was fashionable for a while there to cut designs into your griptape, but that took an unbelievable amount of work. Later, with the breakthrough of Paint-Pens, all the young skaters took to writing and drawing on their griptape with ease. And my friends used to line up to have Bunny draw on their boards. He cranked out some great designs too: De La Soul's daisies, Thunder & Independent logos, Boogie Down Productions, a shout-out to Dischord's Beefeater, Public Enemy - and he was probably the only person in history to write "Sade: No Ordinary Love" on a skateboard. (No kidding, he loved Sade. And why shouldn't he? Sade's awesome.)

I was working up the nerve to ask Bunny if he'd crank out a masterpiece for me on my griptape when a friend of mine pulled me aside and pointed out some of the common spelling errors: Tunder... Bogie Down Produtions... Pubic Enemy...

At that age, skateboards were by no means a dime a dozen. Saving money or squeezing dough out of my parents for a new board took time - meaning: griptape decisions were not to be taken lightly. It was a commitment only the hardest of hardcore should make. One day you could be writing "Dag Nasty" on your griptape, and the next day they could be releasing Field Day.

Anyway, all that rambling above really has nothing to do with Janie's heart tattoo.

Her tattoo turned out wonderfully (Cal's her son, by the way). Apparently, she hired a total pro. When she sent me this photo through her phone yesterday, I was thrilled, flattered, and proud. Looks like the artist she worked with really nailed all the details of the brushstroke from the design. I really can't imagine how they do that with a tattoo gun.

Congrats, Janie.

And thanks for waiting around and being so patient with me.

Doppelgänger

2010-04-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

My parents cut this ad out of a magazine and mailed it to me a couple of weeks ago.

This one's for all the Tusk-haters

2010-03-31T09:12:00.001-07:00

I love the song "That's All for Everyone" on Fleetwood Mac's Tusk.

There. I said it.

Say what you want about that record (and it's weird cover art), but I stand by it:

That song's perfect.

I've got some friends who really can't hear beyond the band's drug-capades (you know the most famous story: there's a blowgun, a roadie, a sprinkle of cocaine, and Stevie Nicks' aversion to nostrils), but I stand by that band for being a pretty weird collection of song writers. So back off.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I started working on a radio show for your listening amusement - a show hosted by Susan Carroll Smith featuring request calls and everything. The first installment features a full range of rock: Suzi Quatro, Dickies, Obits, MC5, etc.

Sadly, I don't think I can share it through a podcast site because I don't want to get sued for broadcasting copyrighted songs.

I know NOTHING about the legality of podcasts, but I sure don't have two nickels to rub together to pay for a lawsuit.

My Week, the Looming Cloud of Never-ending Homework, and the New Taffety Play

2010-03-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to update this journal all week, but I've had no time whatsoever - this week's been nuts: I bought a van, went to school, read assigned books, shadowed a teacher at a local middle school, went to work, tried desperately to finish illustrations for the Taffeties, got tags and insurance, attended a ceremony to receive an unexpected award from the English Department, played a show, and managed to see two movies in one night (An Education, followed immediately by Hot Tub Time Machine).

Whew.

I'm sure I've got some weird, random stories to share, but I'm running behind in nearly every subject now, so I've gotta stick to my guns and get some homework done.

Below is a jpeg of the completed poster design for the new Taffety play. The play's about an alchemist (set in the 17th century), and I had to dip into a few reference books for the design. I drew a lot, but couldn't fit all of the drawings into the poster in any way that made sense. I ended up using only one drawing. Less is more, right?

2010-03-23T09:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I lost my mind and bought a van.

This is the 4th vehicle I've purchased in my lifetime - and the 3rd van.

As featured in this photo, my new hoopty came with an adorable little bumper sticker.

One More Clip

2010-03-21T12:17:00.000-07:00

Here's one more, the brevity of which should be shocking:

Movies, Test 1, 2 - Test ,Test

2010-03-20T17:04:00.000-07:00

To the right you should find an insanely long list of links.

I'm still experimenting with this blog site, and I'm not sure if I'll keep all that crap up there or not (looks kinda ridiculous). But for now, I figure that mammoth, self-aggrandizing list isn't hurting anybody, so there it exists... at least for the time being.

Since I don't have a website (beyond this thing), I posted links to anything related to my art past or present. There's more out there, but I sure did get sick of searching the web. Maybe I'll add more later... who knows.

As for now, I want to try something else out.

Seems like everyone knows how to post up videos except me... so I found this quick video of us playing on WIDR a while back. Karen recorded this tiny clip with her camera, and then I tried to sync the audio from the broadcast with her footage. This clip took a massive amount of time to piece together since I have no idea how to use iMovie.

Anyway. Check it out if you're interested. It's super short. If this works, I'll post a couple more that are even shorter.

(Chip had to substitute some profanity with the word "ship."

Watch as Mike Learner and I start to crack up:)

"I may be blind in my actions..."

2010-03-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

(I can't see or hear the word Ignition without having that line run through my head.)

The Minutes records are just about gone. Which is awesome.

Like I said before, we gave a huge chunk of 'em away at our last show. If anyone out in the world would still like to get a hold of one, there are still a few available if you click here. It'll cost you a mere four bucks, and in return you'll receive some genuine, old-fashioned, traditional mail.

Our friends at Dischord were very kind to help us out - so mad love and thanks to my old crew.

If you do end up clicking on the above link and poking around the Dischord site for a while, I've got a few recommendations. I happen to love that label, so please don't read the following as some sort of annoying pitch. This is merely the voice of a fan who's been reminiscing about great records for most of the day:

Faith/Void split

Get ready to have your face melted off. Listening to Void makes Group Sex sound like Menudo. Hell, Circle Jerks might even agree.

Warmers - Self-Titled

I hate you if you don't like this record. Seriously, if the Warmers aren't your thing then something's wrong. You've got no heart. Next you'll be saying, "I hate the Beatles."

3 - Dark Days Coming

That's right, I said it. 3. Boom. In your face. This record features one of the greatest opening songs of all time, "Empathy." Geoff's lyrics are killer too. Look no further than "Pious & Blind."

Lungfish - Necrophones

Hey, look, it's that one Lungfish record you neglected to pick up. Again, another perfect opening song. Listen loud. And be careful not to overlook one of Lungfish's unsung masterpieces - "All Day and All Night Long."

Rites of Spring - All Through a Life

This has always been one of my favorite Dischord 7 inches. It doesn't burn the way the 12 inch does, but this is the Rites of Spring I prefer. When you're done giving it a whirl, try to track down Empire's Expensive Sound LP.

Speaking of shoes that look like toys...

2010-03-16T19:41:00.000-07:00

Tonight I found this drawing in an old notebook:

I remember scribbling this sketch out sometime last semester during one of my insanely long evening classes. Plenty of time for doodling.

The guy sportin' these kicks stayed perfectly still for about five or ten minutes straight - long enough for me to notice he was zoning-out during the lecture, and long enough for me to identify what're quite possibly the ugliest shoes ever made.

Discretion and tact prohibited me from squeezin' off a cell phone photo. With my eyes glued on the motionless beast (his foot), I quickly started sketching this unholy abomination in an effort to delight, amaze, and/or horrify my loyal readership.

I did this for you.

Please notice the two cylindric pumps on the heel. There are probably two more on the other side... four on the other foot... a veritable monster, a mutant, a nightmare of design and function.

These are the shoes that must be stopped.

The human foot is ugly enough.

Do we really want to wear shoes that look like Transformers and Giger paintings?

Where'd you get your bobos?

2010-03-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

I own exactly three pairs of shoes - all of which I hate.

I also own a pair of rubber boots, but I only bought those so I could stop wearing bags on my feet when it snowed.

It's time to buy new kicks all around, but I've always had a tough time finding shoes that I like. In fact, I absolutely hate shopping for shoes for the following reasons:

It's impossible to find a pair of tenni-runners that don't look like toys.
I'm sick of wearing Vans... there's got to be more to life than Vans, but I have no idea what to replace them with.
The recent trends in stitching designs for men's dress shoes are the pits. The stitching is all somehow related to the burn-out-boot design (known to some as desert walkers or wallabees). No one seems to mind. Am I alone in this world? What happened to simple & plain yet stylish?

Off the subject here...

My friend, Sylvia Connerelli, sent me an email with a link to someone selling a DC/101 shirt on Ebay. Sadly, it wasn't the style I had in mind.

Thanks, Sylvia, for looking around for me.

She also mentioned that she's unable to watch Heavy Metal Parking Lot anymore due to seeing it too many times at DC Space.

That's a real shame. HMPL is the gift that keeps on giving. Just like Hawaii 5-0.

Way off the subject here...

On my way to my class today, I was running late and decided it might be faster if I took the elevator to the 3rd floor rather than walk up the stairs on the other side of the building.

I pressed the button.

Luck was on my side - the door opened right away.

I hopped in and... and...

Man, something smelled awful in there.

Smelled like... um... well... you know what it smelled like.

Smelled like someone let loose.

The elevator doors started to shut, and I quickly stuck my hand between them, hopped out, and sprinted to the staircase. That, my friends, is the extent of my vanity. I would rather be late for class than risk greeting some stranger on the 3rd floor who would naturally assume that I was to blame for that ghastly, horrific odor.

I'm gonna try something out here:

2010-03-13T07:51:00.000-08:00

As many of you already know, I'm pretty clueless when it comes to computer technology.

Apparently, this Blogspot site features tons of fancy options to make an individual blog sparkle, but I couldn't figure out how to attach an MP3. So I dipped my toe into the free podcast world for a second to post up this interview with Minutes.

We were interviewed on a WIDR radio show called The Audio Zine.

Click here to give it a listen. Let me know if it works or if I should try something else when it comes to posting MP3s.

Priest Rules

2010-03-10T20:42:00.000-08:00

For those of you who've missed out on this... behold.

For those of you who've seen this a million times before... go ahead, watch it again. Relive the magic.

If someone out in blog-land wants to donate their old DC/101 shirt to me, I'll be your best friend forever. I'd prefer if it had sleeves, but I think that's a tall order.

Impossible order is more like it.

Please keep in mind that I grew up a mere 15 minutes away from where this was filmed.

Doowutchyalike

2010-03-10T05:41:00.000-08:00

Nothing about me wanted to get up and go to the gym this morning. How do people do it?

The indoor track at Western is tiny. Nine laps equals one mile, and counting to eighteen has never been harder. Like clockwork, at exactly a mile and a half, I'm guaranteed a cramp.

If you think you're safe and no one's passing judgement on your abilities (or in my case inabilities) at the gym, think again. People often tell each other a bunch of hooey in order to motivate themselves to start working out, like, "Nobody's looking at you, no one cares how out of shape you are, if anything others will applaud how proactive you're being."

Sadly, that's just not the case. Here's the reality:

They're all looking at you. They're all passing judgement. If they're alone, you might be safe 'cause they'll just be thinking all kinds of evil crap in their heads while you huff and puff around the track. If they're working out with friends - chances are they're whispering about you like you're some kind of pear-shaped party crasher. You've invaded their private club.

While stretching after running two miles this morning, I was having a hard time touching my toes. Alright, that's an understatement - I've never been able to touch my toes and I'm not even close to achieving such a goal. But you've got to stretch after running, right?

So there I am - struggling - thinking no one's paying any attention - and I overhear a couple of gals behind me say, "...can't touch his toes. I've always been able to touch my toes, my whole family can, but I'm the most flexible one in my family..."

Clearly, I triggered this fascinating discussion, which they carried on like I wasn't standing 6 feet away.

Yeah, so now you're saying, "Ryan, this is awful, what kind of pep-talk is this? Where's the optimism? Where's the positivitude?"

Hold up, I didn't start writing this journal to give everyone some kind of pep-talk. I started this journal to document how insane gym culture is (and the absurdity of my adventures in it). But if you need a pep-talk, alright, here:

You should go to the gym to get physically fit, to feel better, blah, take control of your life, blah, blah - okay, sure, whatever.

You should also go to the gym to annoy the spoiled rich snobs who hang out there like it's their exclusive club.

I mean it.

Bust right through the velvet rope and get freaky, just like you did back in high school whenever the DJ played "Humpty Dance."

Three Things

2010-03-09T11:17:00.000-08:00

I've run four miles in two days, and my legs are killing me. The agony of walking up the stairs is brutal. My legs are sore, sure, that makes sense. But my gut is sore too. Must be all that bouncing around.
I decided to dress like Seinfeld today. If I can get a photo, I'll post it, but as of now, just understand... I'm dressed like Seinfeld. Jeans and big goofy shoes that look like toys.
The kids sure like sending texts during class. I suppose I'm no better since I'm sitting here in class making another journal entry.

Today's Punishment (or Watching the Youth Pass Me By)

2010-03-08T14:19:00.000-08:00

Weighing more than I ever have in my entire life, at 8AM this morning I ran two miles at the dreaded gym. My legs feel like jelly.

I ran among young indie rockers donning "fashionable" sweatbands around their foreheads with matted emo hair flopping around.

Only on Earth

2010-03-06T09:17:00.000-08:00

I went to the Stwutt the other night to see a friend's band.

The show hadn't started yet, so I stood around talking to friends.

Seated directly behind me was a table containing six of the rowdiest-beer-guzzling-drunks ever assembled. They weren't there for the show - they'd been parked at that table since happy-hour nursing pitcher after pitcher 'til they were good, loud, and hot-tempered. They shouted, cackled, screamed, howled, and even threw ice cubes at a friend of mine.

When the show was about to start, the doorman gave 'em the word that they either had to pay to stay for the show or split.

Needless to say, they weren't about to pay for the show, and they had no intention of leaving.

That's when it got crazy.

Now, I've seen drunks get tossed on their ears before, and I was prepared to watch it again, but here, in this instance, it never happened. The doorman pressed and pressed to get them moving, but the drunks remained. They shouted, they cussed, at least two of the rowdies got in the doorman's face - then, in an amazing fit of inebriated belligerence, one fella pushed the doorman.

The doorman cocked his arm back, and... nothing.

He sighed with frustration, spun around, took a few steps back for composure, then returned to the table pleading angrily, "C'mon... Y'all have got to go."

There was a tall bouncer standing behind the doorman for back up, yet no one ever struck the rowdies, not even when literally pushed. The soundman even climbed down from the booth and braced for the imminent confrontation... again, nothing happened beyond shouting. The employees clearly had their hands tied, but why?

Well...

Because the drunken brawlers were no ordinary drunken brawlers.

These rowdies were all blind.

Believe me, from where I was standing, they just seemed like any riff-raff looking to stir it up on a Thursday night. Hell, like I said, one of 'em managed to throw ice at my friend. Normally, any doorman, bouncer, and (in this case) soundman would've grabbed those fools by the collars and kicked 'em out onto the street. This, however, was a different situation.

I didn't realize what was causing the hesitation until the plastered party started standing. That's when the red & white canes came out.

The main troublemaker of the bunch stood up to really lay into a verbal assault with the doorman. Nose to nose they yelled at each other with spit flying everywhere.

I noticed then that this main upstart, the ringleader, had a prosthetic arm to boot.

His friend, Rowdy #2, second in command of the posse, threw himself into the mix. I couldn't hear the specifics during the shouting match, but apparently the doorman had somehow gone too far, had stepped over the line, had offended the man to the core: Rowdy #2 said, "Aw see that? You gone too far now, what you said before was bad, but now, now see, now you've offended my dawg, and no one can't say #@*% about my dawg, see, I'mma defend my dawg."

That's when I noticed his dog.

There was a seeing-eye dog under the table.

And not just any seeing-eye dog, mind you. This particular seeing eye dog was wearing a Chauncey Billups jersey.

Through the ruckus, the doorman told someone to call the police, and eventually the crime-stoppers hit the scene. A cop approached the ringleader, trying to calm him down, but the ringleader said, "Yo, you better not be impersonating a cop right now, yo, you better not or I'm gonna sue your ass!"

The cop placed the ringleader's hand on his badge.

The ringleader felt the Braille.

And the posse cleared out.

"The Battle of the Bands wasn't about the music"

2010-03-02T13:42:00.000-08:00

I just heard a song that just about killed me:

The Aquarium's "Battle of the Bands."

Not many songs have made me feel instantly awesome like this before.

I don't care if you agree or not, this is my new favorite jam.

As I'm reading this back to myself, I'm afraid the above text hardly comes close to expressing how much I really love this song.

I'm tempted to write the band a letter about the lyrics.

I know their singer, Mason Kuddo, has written some autobiographical tunes before... and I wonder if the words to "Battle of the Bands" were sparked from his life.

"...seemed like a big deal when you're flirting with the masses

a twenty band bill that goes on and on in all directions..."

Is he reminiscing about some Battle of the Bands show that he played in high school?

God I hope so.

I played one of those shows myself in 9th grade. We played Van Halen's "Ice Cream Man" and "You Really Got Me" (Sadly, Van Halen's version... not the Kinks').

Yeah, Mason & Flora, I guess it wasn't about the music, and I guess it wasn't about rock n roll either.

WE MADE IT FOR YOU! (imagine I just yelled that as loud as humanly possible)

2010-02-27T08:07:00.000-08:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's been a whole lot of "yo, my band" this week, and lord knows I too would get sick of hearing about that, but seriously, these last few days have been insanely active. I've been up to my eye-balls in school, work, hosting friends from DC, reading assignments, assembling records, playing a show, trying to write papers... hell, last night I even went to see a play.
Honestly, I quite enjoy being busy. This week's been over the top though.

But here's what you should know:
Tonight, Karen will be performing at 9 PM in this mammoth event. She's done a TON of work setting this festival up for the last bunch of months - and none of it has been easy. So come out and show your love. The video's prety cool too. You'll get to see Karen in action.

Also - If you're interested, you can download the 4 songs from our 7 inch for free at this handy website.

Alright. Onward. Upward.
Do stuff and things and be awesome.

Show

2010-02-24T05:28:00.000-08:00

We're playing a show tonight at Fourth Coast with two bands from DC - both of which feature folks I used to play music with: Brenda Anderson and Melinda Quigley. It'll be like a little reunion where we don't play our previous bands' songs. You're all are invited.

If you're reading this and living on the east coast somewhere... well... if you left right now (it's 10:00 AM), you could probably get here in time to see the first band.

Our records are officially done and we're giving 'em away for free tonight.

We've got a handful of shirts too. They turned out weird.

Exhibitionists

2010-02-17T10:14:00.000-08:00

I just spotted a kid walking down the hall, holding hands with his girlfriend, sportin' the biggest hickey of all time. Now, don't hear me wrong... I've seen my share of hickeys before, and they're always nasty, but this one soared to new heights of nastiness. This was full-on gross. All purple and yellow and filthy. That's just wrong, isn't it? We don't need a glimpse of the bedroom-action from the night before. What happened to discretion? Or modesty? What happened to scarves and unflattering turtlenecks? Wasn't the fact that they were holding hands in public enough proof that they like to get busy? Displaying those nasty neck-welts just ain't necessary.

"It's good to get to know you better..."

2010-02-16T05:51:00.001-08:00

I recently heard a cover version of The Kinks' Village Green Preservation Society on a British TV show, and I was suddenly reminded of how good that record is. So I immediately dug through my albums (which apparently are no longer alphabetized) and listened to it.

In it's entirety.

Twice.

Man, what a record. As much as it pains me to admit it, all those nerdy indie rockers who geek out and obsess over this thing are completely justified. It's a great record.

I often get stuck on certain songs and can easily obsess, and while listening to Village Green, I honed in on "Do You Remember Walter?" (more proof that song #2's are often the best) and all its Beatles-esque hookiness. This got me thinking about all the other specific songs that've consumed my attention since I moved to Kalamazoo. Take Elvis Costello's King of America for instance... That's a weird little record, but I spent a good 3 weeks in 2007 obsessing over "Suit of Lights" (can anyone explain those lyrics to me?). And right around that same time, I couldn't stop listening to Gang of Four's "Armalite Rifle" from their Yellow E.P. - not their best record, but man, what a song (I'm a sucker for some lazy vocals). Sometime in 2008, I picked up a second hand copy of XTC's Black Sea for a dollar. Best dollar I ever spent. "Respectable Street" is such a heavy hitting opening song. You can't go wrong. I'd like to find the original owner of that record just to punch him in the mouth and ask, "What were you thinking when you got rid of this?!?!"

So my list of records that I obsessed over (and specific songs) in 2009 are as follows:

Elvis Costello's Blood and Chocolate.

Song: "Blue Chair"

Seriously, if you don't like this record, I just don't know if we can be friends anymore. Elvis Costello's released a ton of great albums with the Attractions, but... there's something special about this one. I'll be the first to admit that This Year's Model is damn near perfect, but for one reason or another, Blood and Chocolate is the one I keep coming back to.

Breeders' Mountain Battles.

Song: "Night of Joy"

Just like I never get tired of listening to the Beatles, I never get tired of listening to Kim Deal sing. There, I said it. Simply put: I hate you if you don't like the Breeders. Talk crap about the Breeders to my face and fists are gonna fly. You might as well slap my momma.

Fugazi's End Hits.

Song: "Guilford Fall"

In 2009 I was listening to End Hits like I had just heard of this strange new band called Fugazi for the first time... like I didn't spend most of my life listening to them and going to see them live. The end of "Guildford Fall" should knock you dead. Please, please, please, just go listen to Guy sing that "Snakes ingest 40 times their body weight" part. Listen loud too. Commit. Lean into it.

Various Artists - An Idiot To Not Appreciate Your Time: The Songs of Silkworm

Song: "Ritz Dance"

I have to admit... I missed the boat on old Silkworm. But a friend of mine released this massive cover/tribute album, and that thing's pretty dynamite. While I spent a lot of time listening to Treasure State's version of "Something Hyper," nothing comes close to heavy heavy sadness of Navigations' version of "Ritz Dance." I have no idea who Navigations is or where they're from, but man, that song messed me up. Hats off, fellas.

Aaron Young and His Night Jars - (self titled)

Song: "She's Got Stripes"

To see Aaron Young is to love Aaron Young. Go see him live and you'll become a believer. This self-released CD was one of the best records I heard all year. And I'm not just saying that 'cause I know the guy. After I bought it for 5 whole clams, I really couldn't stop listening to "She's Got Stripes." If I wrote a song that good I would probably just stop playing music. There'd be no point anymore.

Fiona Apple's When the Pawn...

Song: "Love Ridden"

Yeah, that's right. I listened to this record. A lot. So what? I didn't make fun of you for loving Arcade Fire, did I? No. Did I ever give you grief for cluttering up your iPod with all those Killers' songs. Nope. When the world collectively lost their minds and started listening to Joanna Newsom, did I say anything? No, I stayed mute. So leave me alone about Fiona Apple. She sings, she plays piano, she writes lyrics... She's good.

Palace Brothers' Days in the Wake.

Song: "Pushkin"

I blew the dust off this record too in 2009. It would be a perfect album except for that 3rd song. I don't know why that song made the cut with all the others 'cause that one's an obvious stinkerroo, but the rest of the record is fantastic. And you've gotta give the man credit for calling some slow cowboy jam "Pushkin" (another song #2, by the way).

Elliott Smith's Figure 8.

Song: "Can't Make a Sound"

I really love this record. And the second to last song is pure dynamite gold. Everyone else already knows this, of course, but seriously, I'd never really heard it before. And you're secretly a little jealous, aren't you? You wish there was another Elliott Smith record to obsess over, but you've already torn through 'em all. My only complaint is the very, very end of the song. The song ends with one of the worst keyboard sounds in music history. In fact, I'm tempted to take it into Garage Band and do a little early fade out.

Shiner's The Egg.

Song: "The Simple Truth"

Okay. Here's where everyone throws their hands up in the air and stops reading. I actually can't say that I listened to this record in its entirety very much in 2009 - but I sure did listen to this song. Shiner's a tough sell. They're steeped deep in the '90s which isn't necessarily the public's thing with all the big guitars and raspy vocals and drums and drums and difficult parts and... you get the idea. But I've spent some time with this record for one reason or another (there's a much longer story there) and what I obsessed over was this: the last 5 minutes of "The Simple Truth." That right there is some remarkably beautiful music.

Grifters' Ain't My Lookout.

Song: "My Apology"

Ain't My Lookout is a masterpiece. I can ALWAYS listen to it. It's the kind of record where you keep changing your mind about which song is the current favorite. "Mysterious Friends" is the obvious slayer, but I couldn't get enough of "My Apology." They mixed weird and charming together and hit pay-dirt.

Another Exuasting Art Project Down

2010-02-14T11:12:00.000-08:00

As I said in my last post, I forgot to take pictures while I was making screens on Tuesday, but Karen did manage to take a few photos of the screen-printing party last night. One of those photos featured my gut hanging over the work area while screening. Seriously. It's insane. I was thinking about posting it because it's sort of funny and that's what this journal is s'posed to be all about, but it's actually a little too screwed up and humiliating.
Vanity wins this round.
Last night, however, was a massive success (despite my gut), and I'd like to send a big shout of thanks to everybody who came out. There's no way I could've done this alone. Extra big thanks goes out to Chip Killer for mixing that weird gold/green/gray/mustard color.
Below are some photos of the prints.

On each sheet of paper, we were able to fit two record covers and one flier for our show on the 24th. Here's a photo of the flier. Most of what we printed was on white paper, but I had a little bit of red paper left from the Calendar project, so we printed test-prints on those. The red fliers turned out really cool... sort of wish we could've done them all like that.
(If you click on the image, you should be able to see a bigger version.)

This is how the record covers turned out. Naturally, there were a few bloppy ones, but overall they printed quite nicely. Even though our records haven't been pressed yet, I couldn't resist making a couple of mock-up versions just to see how everything's gonna eventually look once it gets tucked into a polly-bag.

Here's how the each page looked while drying in the hallway and on the floor. Most of the prints were hanging on the clothesline, but eventually the excess prints always find their way to the floor. (That ominous shadowy figure walking down the hall is Mick Larroquette - so buried in shadow that I didn't even have to block out his eyes.)

These last photos are shots of me cleaning. That black ink in the bathtub was a nightmare. After getting the ink out, I removed the emulsion with some of the most toxic stuff ever. You spray the screen, wait 3 minutes, scrub it, then rinse it, and the emulsion comes right off. I've made the mistake of breathing that stuff in before, and it immediately burnt the inside of my throat and eyes. I coughed so bad I actually started to gag - hence the bandanna.

That's a Dog Riding a Horse

2010-02-12T12:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, the rock band Minutes is gonna silk screen some record covers and fliers.
I intended to take a bunch of photos, detailing the whole process of me burning the screens (just to bore you silly), but lucky for you, I forgot my camera.
If you only knew what a royal pain in the butt this is, and how much stress and madness goes into making some silk-screens, you'd appreciate this a bit more. So, please, imagine me...

Pulling my hair out while working on the layout
Obsessing to the point of losing sleep, then deciding to tape transparencies together at 4:00 AM
Neglecting all friends, family, and homework
Becoming more zombie than man
Trashing my apartment
Driving Karen bonkers

Maybe tomorrow I can get some photos of the screening party.

Shout-out to the Spacing Guild and all my Bene Gesserits.

2010-02-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

I've had a busy week - busier than usual - with no time at all to update this darned journal, which, as you all well know, is devoted solely to my diet, my weight, and my attempts at the gym to reclaim my life.

In an effort to maintain my loyal readership, please allow me to now send a few direct shouts to some folks:

Karen Plitchell - The 3rd season of Hotel Babylon is slummin'. I miss Rebecca. Of course, I'll keep watching though.
Mike Learner - I know that Dune is your Bible. I'm on to you.
Casey Deneau - Write your book already. We all want to read it.
Stan Botner - Three kids in three years... wow. How did you...? Wait, hold up. Don't answer that.
Sylvia Connerelli - I tried to make a call from your snow covered phone booth... I think that thing's broke.
Maggie Chentuplet and Rob Lassy - Sorry I can't go to the True/False Festival this year. If you see Mavid Pilson, tell him I said what's up. And if he's still rockin' a mustache, tell him to shave.
Chip & Mick - Tonight we ride. We're making records, see?
Leena Magee - Does your family know you have tattoos yet?
Jarvis Kidd - I really wish I could be there to see Chrétien's protagonist on a sled.
Josie Goal - I still love your Bjork impression.
Ted Parks - Remember when we gave a shout to Flight Plan as the credits were rolling? Remember when you kicked your shoes into a bush in Delaware?
Les Costello - We've come a long way since disbanding our motley study crew in Geology.
Samantha Bruschette & Caterina McDougal - You can now keep track of February courtesy of me.
Eliza Dunham - Don't take any 'tude from the dudes working behind the drum counter when you buy your 5As.
Meerkat Manor - Let's get one thing straight, I'm only watching 'cause Rizzo from Grease is narrating.

For anyone out there in the world who I forgot... don't hold it against me. I'm typing frantically from my history class, so some folks may have fallen through the cracks here. It's all love though, I swear.

You'd Think I'd Learn My Lesson

2010-02-03T18:08:00.000-08:00

Behold, tonight's dinner:

A bag of yogurt pretzels and another refreshing cup of Texas Hold-Em coffee.

This is seriously the school that time forgot.

I challenge you to find something healthier on campus.

It can't be done.

Nihon

2010-02-02T05:08:00.000-08:00

I found some old photos from my trip to Japan. This might've been back in 2005 or 2004. I guess the years are just movin' on by, huh?

Just like any good tourist, that's me pointing at the dinosaur from Lost in Translation. It rained a lot, and everyone bought the same crappy see-thru umbrellas. They only cost about a buck and were probably the least expensive thing in the city.

If you go to a club and you've got a fancy umbrella, you drop it off at a coat check and get a claim ticket. If you've got one of these little plastic jobbies... you just pile 'em up with all the others.

One night when I was leaving this club (called Vanilla, I think), I was frantically trying to spot which one of the IDENTICAL umbrellas was mine and holding up the line as people tried to clear out of there. My friend Ron had to stop me and say, "Hey dummy, they're all the same, just grab one and go."

Missed our train to get back to his apartment that night too. We needed someplace to go - it was raining and we couldn't camp out and sleep on the streets of downtown Tokyo. So we went to karaoke place to sing Beatles, Devo, and Foreigner songs until the next train came in the morning. I was dead tired too, but that all changed as soon as I started singing "Cold as Ice."

This one's a shot of me at a Denny's. For the record, I was dead-set against eating at any American restaurants while there, but one of my Japanese friends really wanted to eat there. She was stoked. Surprisingly, it seems I ended up with one of the more traditional Japanese meals of the entire trip.

Decisions and the Texas Hold-Em Coffee Cup.

2010-01-31T10:51:00.000-08:00

I suppose this happens to people all the time, but it was a first for me.

Yesterday I received a text from a number I had never seen before:

"Papi bear baby look sorry if things where bad for you yesterday.but im here for you baby girl this my partners phone i will get mine out after 2 take care baby i really hope your not mad at me beautiful."

So I ask you, dear reader...

What's the proper text etiquette in this situation?

Do I respond and say Dude, not sure what's up but u got the wrong number. This isn't your papi bear so mayB u should c if u can borrow u'r partners phone again?

Or do I ignore the message assuming that Papi Bear will understand when this guy tries to explain?

I chose the latter.

Hopefully, Papi Bear will believe him. If not, he may have to ask his partner to show Papi his Sent folder.

By the way, I'm drinking the worst coffee ever right now. Serves me right, I guess, since it's a vending machine latte bought in the basement of a library.

These are desperate times.

Born on the Floor

2010-01-25T08:18:00.000-08:00

I was at the library last night when I got a couple of texts from Karen, one of which read...

"I think our neighbor's having her baby."

My first reaction was to get hung up on the curious and varied uses of the word having.

Future tense as in going to have: She's having a baby in 9 months.

Present tense: She's having a baby now right there on the floor of her apartment.

But I'm not writing this to discuss grammar and how weird English is - I'm just pointing out that if that was my first reaction, apparently I'm turning into a complete weirdo courtesy of school and work.

When I got home, Karen asked, "Did you get my text?"

I said, "Yeah, the one about dinner?"

"No, dummy, the one about our neighbor."

Here's the thing... we don't know our neighbors. Since we live in an apartment, we bump into them in the hall from time to time, but honestly, I don't even know these people's names. I've just seen a guy who looks a lot like Tortoise's old sound man and his wife/girlfriend who appeared to be super pregnant.

Karen told me that while I was out she heard some low patterned moaning through our paper thin walls, and then she heard a woman screaming like she was being murdered (I know, I know, quite the opposite actually).

Anyway, by the time I got home, I didn't hear a peep.

Karen and I ate dinner and re-watching episodes of The Sopranos like normal.

Halfway through the episode where Chrissy's trying to write his screenplay, I hit pause and said, "Did you hear that?"

Karen and I crept into our hallway (the wood floors squeak like mad), pressed our ears against the wall, and we heard it... a baby crying for its first time on earth. And get this, I had to fight the old waterworks. I mean, it's crazy that I'd get so emotional about a couple of strangers having a baby, right? But right there, right next door, a new tiny neighbor just appeared. It was pretty damn cool.

Eventually, we resumed our dinner and Sopranos marathon, but I couldn't stop thinking about our thin walls; if we could hear them, they could certainly hear us too. So I started imagining the home birth scene happening next door: candles, a kiddie pool in the living room, some whale songs, maybe some incense, a little Enya... and perhaps somewhere behind that new age music Karen and I unwittingly provided the familiar pulse of the Sopranos' theme... "woke up this morning..."

What a rotten song to get born to.

I suppose Enya's even worse, but I can think of a million better television theme songs we should've played to welcome that little kid in.

How 'bout the theme from Medium?

Or Veronica Mars even?

Bedlam

2010-01-23T11:31:00.000-08:00

It takes me about 20 minutes to drive to work, and on the way, there really aren’t too many places to stop for food if you, let’s say, forgot to eat breakfast again. I mean, sure, we have the usual suburban staples like Subway and Taco Bell, but I really try to avoid eating at those places until I’m damn-near dead from starvation; clearly, those options are reserved for more desperate times.

This morning, I was driving to work, passing through the wasteland of dining selections, when I suddenly had an innocent craving for orange juice.
Orange juice is healthy. It’s good for you. I should stop for orange juice.

I passed a few gas station minimarts, a Big Boy, a Starbucks… nothing was looking appealing, but as I got closer and closer to work… my options were dimming. My last option for orange juice was quickly approaching, and to my shock and horror it was a McDonalds – a place I will happily use to deposit urine while traveling, but rarely will I actually eat there.

So yeah, this morning, I went to McDonalds.

The joint was packed. PACKED. The line for the drive-thru wrapped around the building, and the chaos inside was nuts. People were desperate, clamoring, shouting, waving receipts in the air. Dozens of employees scurried around behind the counter yelling at each other.

I watched in fascination like I had just stumbled upon a secret society. It’s not that I’ve never been to a McDonalds before, of course I have. And it’s not that I’ve never seen long lines and crazy people… I’ve seen that too. It’s more that… well… if you could just see where this particular McDonalds resides on earth… there’s really nothing around it. There’s a UPS warehouse nearby and an exit for the highway, a used car lot… that’s generally it. Meaning, you have to seek this place out. It’s off the beaten path. Folks were driving out to this McDonalds this morning like it was something to do. Breakfast there was a happening - an event.

I burrowed into the crowd, waving my cash dollars in the air, shouting, spitting, cussing, fighting for my right to orange juice. Behind the counter I witnessed the manager snap at a slow-moving employee and overheard a bizarre argument about the dwindling quantities of McParfait.

Eventually, I got my orange juice.

I maneuvered my way over to side of the room, next to the McCafe barista station (the world’s only getting weirder), to grab a familiar wide straw – the circumference of which allows for involuntary guzzling.

Two small sips and it was gone.

Middle English, its relation to Benadryl, and how old behaviors return

2010-01-21T11:59:00.000-08:00

I spent last night trying to read Chaucer while fighting sleep.

Sleep won that battle. Easily.

Skipped breakfast today so I could finish reading… then raced to class on an empty stomach. I stopped at the vending machine, starving, and bought 6 tiny doughnuts in plastic-wrap. Man, eating that sugary garbage made me feel awful. Someone has to remind me how much I hate eating like that. Shame washed over me instantly as I hid from my classmates in a secluded corridor, gobbling my sugary sustenance, gnawing away with a single front tooth.

No one must know I’m hideous.

The time that little dude in the fingerless BMX gloves stole me in the face

2010-01-14T21:34:00.000-08:00

Karen and I went out on a traditional date the other night for dinner and a movie. We ate at an overrated tapas place and then caught the new Michael Cera movie. While eating our meal of appetizers, she presented me with an interesting and unexpected challenge: she asked me if I could tell a story from my life that I had never told her before.

Frankly, there are probably a number of stories to pull from, but put on the spot like that, I smiled, paused for a while, and searched my pea-brain for something... something interesting... something I hadn't ever shared with her. It was actually pretty tough.

I thought about the time I fell down the steps at my 4th or 5th birthday party. I was wearing this little striped pocket tee, and I had just received a C3PO action figure as a gift. I remember walking around holding him and then thinking, "Hold up, what am I doing carrying this dude around when I've got this wicked tiny shirt pocket sitting here?"

I guess I wasn't quite coordinated enough to stuff an action figure in my pocket while walking down the stairs at the same time, and I ended up taking a pretty bad spill. I must've blacked out when I hit the bottom because the next thing I remember was coming to in my mother's arms and wondering where the hell was my C3PO.

Anyway, I didn't share that story with Karen. The lingering memory between 5 and 35 is unreliable. Maybe I didn't blackout... maybe my blackout was nothing more than an uncontrollable fit of sobs and tears. I should ask my mother if she remembers.

I decided instead to tell her about the time my fifth grade baseball team got jumped.

While practicing, some older kids from the neighborhood casually walked through our baseball diamond, and when the coaches scolded them, these kids decided to stick around and torment the hell out of us. We outnumbered our attackers for sure, but they were older and scarier, so my team did nothing to retaliate. The coaches couldn't control the situation, some of us got hit (including me), and for the most part my teammates simply stood paralyzed with fear (despite having immediate access to about 20 assorted bats). No one got it worse, however, than poor Lonnie Robespierre who was thrown to the ground in a swirl of dust and beaten repeatedly in the face with one of the bases.

My father arrived to pick me up earlier than usual that day, and as always he brought our two German Shepherds with him in the back of his pick-up truck. Just as I was making my blurry-eyed escape from the field to try to find help, I spotted my dad and two dogs running full-throttle toward my team, chasing the villains away. And trust me, you've never seen kids run any faster. To be perfectly honest, the dogs would've merely licked our attackers to death - they were far from trained killers thirsting for human blood - but you would've run too if you saw two pseudo-wolves and a crazed man running in your direction.

Years and years later, well into adulthood, I ran into an old classmate of mine - a guy I hadn't seen since eighth grade graduation - and one of the first things he said to me was, "Hey, remember the time your dad saved our lives at baseball practice?!! That was awesome!"

Young Hobos, UNITE!

2010-01-13T08:55:00.000-08:00

I ran into someone in Kalamazoo with a similar problem. Apparently I'm not the only person in town with a removable snaggle-tooth.

At last, this hot new trend is catchin' on.

The ABC's of Deplorable Hair

2010-01-10T12:20:00.000-08:00

A couple of old friends of mine, Caterina McDougal and Samantha Bruschette, recently sent me several candid photos from our high school days. Naturally, I was overwhelmed with memories. In that one small stack, there we were, crammed together during the lunch period with our backs against a familiar brick wall. So many faces I hadn't seen in over 18 years... including my own (I guess I've changed a lot). And even though I was nearly reduced to tears and I spent a lot of time feeling nostalgic and crazy, I'm really glad my friends sent them to me.

So... if your reading this Caterina and Samantha, thanks.

Maybe when I figure out how to use my scanner I'll return the favor.

That said, I was struck by something else even more significant while strolling down Memory Lane:

In that collection of photos exists proof-positive that I rocked three of the ugliest hairstyles of all time - hair I either couldn't pull off, or shouldn't have pulled off.

Wanna see? I know you do.

Let's begin with Exhibit A, a minor offense: The Bleached/Shaved head look.

This was a tough lesson to learn, and I certainly never attempted it again. As many of you already know, people who look good with shaved heads were born with foreheads. You need a forehead to make that look work. My brother shaved his head and it looked awesome. Some of the singers for my favorite bands shaved their heads too and they looked punk as all get-out... and awesome. I thought joining the ranks of awesomeness would be as easy as breaking out the clippers and letting loose on my noggin.

I was wrong.

I realized pretty quickly that I made a mistake, but there's no turning around when your hair's all over the floor. My problem appeared as a simple equation:

Two inches of runway between eyebrows and hairline = no forehead to speak of.

Sure, I managed to squeeze a few powerful wrinkles into those two inches of brow, but that didn't stop me from looking like a Monchichi when my head was shaved - made my whole head look like a hairy bowling ball with a face on it. So what'd I do to rectify the situation? I bleached it. Yeah, I figured why not distract from my poor choice by making my whole head look like a bright orange beacon.

Exhibit B: Hair on top/shaved on the sides and back.

This is the late 80s/early 90s emo mullet as far as I'm concerned. This is the wimpiest haircut imaginable. Like the mullet, it was designed for those who were thinking about doing something daring and drastic, but could never fully commit. There's nothing rebellious about a polite little nugget of hair sitting on top of your head. Parents could be confused by the appeal of such a 'do, but never angered. File this next to the wide/flat mohawk and the current faux-hawk.

Exhibit C: The Male Bob (after the aforementioned nugget has grown out).

Holy crap. This is the worst. Take a guess as to whether or not I had the sides and back shaved underneath. My god. If I could only go back in time and talk to this kid... I'd say, "Son, first, here's a razor, now take your butt over to the sink and scrape that filth off your upper lip. You're gonna have to wait about 15 years before that thing-you-want-to-be-a-beard can grow evenly. Then I'm gonna need for you to meet me down at the Best Little Hairhouse in Town over in Temple Hills where we're gonna get one of the stylists to see what they can do about the massive and unfortunate problem sitting on top of your head. And after that, maybe we'll catch a movie over at Rivertown and pretend that you didn't spend a good chunk of your adolescence looking like a sociopath."

Broadway, 42nd, and 7th Avenue

2010-01-06T05:56:00.000-08:00

A bunch of years ago, I spent New Year's Eve in Manhattan walking like cattle through cold, miserable sidewalks with millions of other people. We were all headed to Times Square I suppose, but in reality, we didn't even get close. It's not exactly a free-for-all where you can zip around the strangers in any direction to reach your destination. It's a well-policed, super-barricaded nightmare of one-way foot traffic slowly marching to more and more foot traffic. Needless to say, I didn't see Dick Clark, his nemesis Ryan Seacrest, or the infamous suspended Ball. I gave up. And, if you want the truth, giving up was even a drag 'cause I had to walk 3 more long blocks toward the distant and elusive Times Square before I was permitted to cross the street where traffic was flowing in the opposite direction.

This year, however, I discovered that the best time to be in Times Square for New Year's Eve is actually the day before New Year's Eve.

I was with Karen, Mike, Melody, and their daughter, Madeline. Melody had never been to New York before so we were trying to show her the most famous sights we could think of - all the crap you see in movies. "Look, there's where Woody Allen complained about something," and, "Hey, somewhere at the top of that tall building Tom Hanks warmed the world's collective hearts with the adorable Meg Ryan - Oh, and look, there's the toy store where he and his big white Nike's stomped out 'Heart and Soul' in Penny Marshall's masterpiece, Big."

So we walked to see where the big tsunami struck Times Square in the cinematic dud, Deep Impact, and where Tom Cruise ran down 7th Avenue as fast as his little heart could pump in Vanilla Sky - where he eventually stopped, outstretched his arms like Michael Jackson (r.i.p.), and let out a dramatic wail (I just yawned).

When we arrived at 42nd and Broadway, cars were already being blocked from driving through the area, so we were able to walk in middle of the street all around Times Square.

It was actually pretty great.

Still crowded, for sure, but not nearly as crowded as it was gonna become in 24 hours. We snagged a few photos, spotted Mayor Bloomberg among the masses, imagined what the following day would look like, and promptly split.

Young Madeline, nestled in her stroller, slept through the whole thing.

I know, I know... I haven't been updating this thing as often as I should

2010-01-01T05:55:00.000-08:00

I returned to Kalamazoo last night and promptly fell asleep just before midnight. There was no New Year's Eve hubbub for me, and that's fine. After 14 hours in a car, succumbing to intense sleepiness came about quite easily.

We took off from Manhattan at 7:00 AM, and Mike Learner drove the whole way - juiced up to the max on caffeine. He shook, spat, shouted, and sped us back to Michigan with a mad fury. A fury I found somehow comforting. We were in good hands.

I'd like to post some photos, but I still need to doctor them up a bit, and that crap takes time, so I'll have to get back to that later, for I still don't have Photoshop on my new computer, nor do I have another means to manipulate those clever little blackened bars over people's eyes, yet perhaps I could get away without the bars just this once, or I could always just be patient and come back to it later.

I had a wonderful time out in the world.

It's good to be home now.

First Big Storm

2009-12-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

There's a blizzard warning in effect here tonight. I read the warning, but somehow it just sounds like regular Kalamazoo snow to me.

I'll probably eat my words later. Watch, tomorrow I won't be able to open my door. Karen and I will be buried.

I turned in some of the worst school papers of all time yesterday and today. I think my goal to jump from an A student to a C student (bypassing B all together) is gonna work out. I'm not gonna lie... I'm real tired of writing papers. I was crappin' gold a while back, but really, the stuff's wearing me down now. On those rare, rare moments, when I actually speak to a fellow student, I often hear them brag about working fast. HOW DO THEY DO THAT?

Off the subject... I'm in a coffee shop and I just overheard someone shout, "I'm a writer and I still suck at spelling!"

There's something strange about a person saying "I'm a writer" loud enough for the entire room to hear. Am I wrong about that? I'm fairly confident she wanted all of us to know.

Someone else in this place just sneezed twice real quick, and I swear I just watched a thick spray of snot fly across the room with each burst. That's so gross. You'd think the second sneeze would've had less spray, but nope... just as much. Maybe more. I know I've said this before, but seriously, when you're all sick and out in public, can't you just act like you've got a mama - just pretend like someone raised you? Jam your face into your hands or your arms or something, SOMETHING. You can't just sneeze that gross mess across the room and act like you didn't just do something wrong. That's crazy. I mean I'm sitting right here. I just watched you do that.

I should wipe it up and smear it on his table... "Dude... yo, I think you dropped this."

Man, I gotta get out of here.

2009-12-02T15:50:00.000-08:00

Great news!

I'll be wearing my removable tooth until April, so there's still plenty of time to catch me looking crazy.

Yet Another Sticker

2009-11-23T14:54:00.000-08:00

Quick! Someone warn the Juggalos - Looks like a new rival gang's movin in on Michigan turf.

I'll bet these sensitive vampire lovers mean business too.

The World's Loneliest Punchbowl

2009-11-19T11:00:00.000-08:00

Stopping by the school's dismal and secluded cafeteria today, I noticed this festive little refreshment stand, immutably standing its ground in a big empty room. Its forlornness was overpowering... I sat with it for an hour and wept.

This thing would clearly beat Charlie Brown's Christmas tree into the dirt with sheer sadness.

Screen Printing in Hell

2009-11-18T11:37:00.000-08:00

This was a severely long weekend. The stress of juggling schoolwork with this year's screen-printed calendar was just nuts.

It sure is nice when it's all done.

As you can see from the photos, my hallway works nicely as a drying rack. I bought some real bo-bo clothespins though.

I'd like to send a big shout-out of thanks to all the folks who helped out.

Chip, thanks for ordering ink.

Karen, thanks for not kicking me out.

Mike, Melody, & Madeline - thanks for bringing pizza

Bethany, thanks for watching Goonies and Breakfast Club.

And Mick L - thanks for hanging those last 10 prints and listening to our record.

My horn just broke.

2009-11-16T13:14:00.000-08:00

Something about this bumper sticker made me so sad. Like saying, "Honk if you've got annoying friends," or "Honk if you have 3 or more cats."

The Bluest Jeans

2009-11-16T11:35:00.001-08:00

I ate lunch sitting next to two genuine cowboys today at school. Well... make that one cowboy and one cowgirl. They were sportin' ten-gallon hats and all. Real live rootin-tootin cowboys all the way up in Michigan. Yee-haw! I watched in fascination as they passed a cell phone back and forth to one another, broadcasting tinny country-music MP3s. Man, the world just doesn't get much weirder.

These folks are rare around the college campus, but when they're out carousing, they're tough to miss. I spot a few of these fashionable cattlehands every semester.
Obviously the stiff and ridiculously large hats are the first things to stand out. Good thing they're wearing them inside too 'cause, believe me, that pesky sunlight can shine through the windows and right into your eyes while you're trying to study.

The next trait to notice are those tight, bluer than blue jeans. Today, my man was wearing Wranglers. Honest to god Wranglers.

Look central and POW, you're gonna get hit in the eyeballs with a fat ol' Confederate belt buckle. There may even be a couple of old timey rifles crossed or a deer head floating around.

And I can't leave out the boots. They're always rockin' a pair of boots, making it impossible to walk smoothly. These fellas need to take some lessons from Prince 'cause I promise you, I've never seen one of these cowboys walk right in heels.

Apparently, Halloween is year-round for some people.

Sweet Bro's Gone Wild

2009-11-11T16:59:00.000-08:00

Wow. Where on earth can I find one of those stickers for my car? Are they sold next to the sideways baseball hats and flip-flops?

Two things are for certain:

This dude clearly loves boobs.

And he clearly does not have a girlfriend.

I'm taking a bath in hand sanitizer when I get home.

2009-11-05T09:22:00.000-08:00

Earth People,

When you're out in public, mingling with others, please stop announcing when you're sick. I could already tell by the constant sniffling, swallowing, and mouth-breathing. You know you should be at home, but for some reason you insist on coming in to work or school or whatever and letting me know how close to infection I am.

I was at the grocery store buying some of that on-the-go lunchable sushi for way too much money (don't judge me), and the cashier looked like she was on death's door. Eyes half shut, mouth hanging open, snifflin', coughing, small-talking with anyone who would listen about how sick she is and how she should be at home in bed - and then scanning my lunch with her snotty hands all over my food. That's crazy. Hey, I knew you were sick as soon as I saw you. Your puffy face and that ratty, balled-up snot rag clenched between your fingers were dead give-aways. Going the extra mile and telling me about how sick you are doesn't make me feel any better.

Go ahead. Take the rest of the day off.

Thimbleful of Swill

2009-11-04T05:04:00.000-08:00

Today I bought a cup of coffee for $1.60. That's the standard price for a small.

Please, look at the photo and check out how tiny that cup is.

It's like a Dixie cup.

Hell, there's more lid than cup.

When I run for office, my main agenda will be to restore the coffee price to its glory days:

Under a dollar.

Sure, there are bigger issues to tackle, like healthcare.

But let's focus on the coffee first.

Edna Garrett, Patrick McGoohan, and Beetlejuice

2009-10-29T03:55:00.000-07:00

The other night, Karen and I watched an episode of The Facts of Life on Hulu. I seriously hadn't watched that show since it aired, and I caught an awful lot of it back then, due partially to the fact that I have an older sister, partially because it was a spin-off from Diff'rent Strokes, and partially because I was forgiving of anything related to Arnold and his brother, Willis, up until old man Drummond got hitched and brought in his new wife & her bratty son (man, those were bad times - not just for Arnold - for all of us).

When I was 5 or 6 years old, I remember being confused about The Facts of Life's setting. I understood the girls attended a boarding school 'cause the cast wore uniforms... but that was really it.

Now, 30 years later, I'm still confused.
Where the hell are they? It's like some bizarro world from The Prisoner. Sure, the girls go to Eastland, they share a bedroom and a kitchen... but that's really all we get. Apparently there are no other students besides Natalie, Tootie, Jo, and Blair, they've got a big ol' house to themselves, and they're chaperoned by a remarkably tolerant woman whose constant vibrato sounds like she's either on the verge of crying or singing show-tunes.

Does Eastland's enrollment stretch beyond the number 4?

Do they ever go to class?
Does the outside world resemble a sea of sand, lighting, and giant worms?
Would anyone ever really be friends with Blair?

More gems from the kids

2009-10-26T05:12:00.000-07:00

While my history teacher was going through his PowerPoint lecture today, he stopped on a photo of William Gladstone for one second, and I swear, this next bit is an exact quote.

One of the students raised his hand and asked, "Do you find it ironic that his name is Gladstone even though he doesn't look very glad in that photo?"

I need to graduate immediately.

Chillin' Poolside

2009-10-16T05:39:00.000-07:00

The rock n roll band Minutes is playing another rock n roll show tomorrow night at Fire. The venue is a former firehouse that's been converted into an all-purpose collective art space.

I made about 600 different fliers before settling on this one. Pretty sure I lost my mind.

So, yeah, come out to the show if you're in Kalamazoo. We're trying to pack the place.

You Can Thank Mario and His Brother, Luigi.

2009-10-14T14:38:00.000-07:00

It's hard updating this stupid journal all the stupid time.

I've experienced much since I last wrote, most of which I'll spare you, and none of which was ever going to the gym. I'm so far from working out at this point I don't even know where the gym is anymore. Those days are dead. I'm embracing my gut. I'm gonna lean into this whole mid-30s fatman look. It's distinguished.

Last night, Karen Plitchell celebrated her 3rd 29th birthday, and someone out in the world bought her a Wii - with Mario Cart - so she could relive her college days. I've gotta admit... that game's pretty fun. We ordered carry-out, ate chocolate cake, and played Mario Cart. After the blur of sugar and video games, we passed out in the living room like a couple of derelicts bathed in the blue light of television. Woke up in a pile of crumbs to boot. For one glorious night, the reckless abandon of VCU had returned for our Miss Plitchell.

Oh College

2009-10-07T11:43:00.000-07:00

I'm typing this from my history class right now. I know I should be paying attention and taking notes... but I can't. In fact, no one can. The teacher blasts through reading his lecture like that guy from the Micro-machines commercials. I think he WANTS us to fail.

The challenge to stay awake is one that no student in the class is rising to. From my seat, I can see my fellow classmates - I can see everyone - and they're all asleep. Seriously, there's a guy in the front row who's snoozing comfortably with his head down on his desk. He's wearing red too so you can't miss him.

If the kids aren't sleeping, they're texting, Facebooking, checking email, or posting yet more pointless messages on their blogs (one of which is devoted to documenting his struggles with getting older and fatter).

10 Dollars in Quarters

2009-10-04T12:25:00.000-07:00

I’m not opposed to making and adjusting top 5 lists. In fact, my bandmates and I compile these sorts of list all the time. And I feel fairly certain that we’ve all done this kind of thing long before reading Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity too – I’m mean, that’s why that book spoke to so many of us nerds. For example, here’s my current list of the top 5 worst songs of all time:

5. “The Girl Is Mine”, Michael Jackson (and Paul McCartney)

4. “Dude Looks like a Lady”, Aerosmith

3. “Layla”, Eric Clapton

2. “Come Out and Play” (Keep ‘em Separated), The Offspring

1. “Kokomo”, Beach Boys

“Kokomo”, by the way, can never be topped. It’s perfectly hateful in every way. There are some things in this world so loathsome, so evil, that it’s okay to admit true hatred for, and “Kokomo” happens to be up there with genocide.

The usual lists are music and film related, but I’m gonna shake things up here (just ‘cause it’s laundry time and I’ve been staring at a ton of quarters) and give you my Top 2 List of US State and Territory Quarters.

After careful scrutiny over every coin, I’ve come up with 2 that simply blow the rest out of the water:

2. North Carolina

1. Connecticut

Connecticut was one of the earliest of the state-quarters to be released, and I’ve gotta say, it has yet to be topped. Those later states have had plenty of time to step up to the plate, but they’ve given us nothing but duds. SO MANY DUDS, cluttered with state flowers and birds and outlines of hideous state shapes. The ones that rise above are usually the ones that keep it simple. Connecticut’s design is inspired. Whoever came up with that really thought about what would be classic, beautiful, and what would look good inside a tiny circle. Sadly, the latter point is precisely what’s escaping most of the designers.

North Carolina is a close second – and its completely badass because they went way out with the composition: a long horizontal strip on a slight tilt. West Virginia’s quarter has similar composition, but North Carolina wins due to subject matter and letting the overall piece breath. I love that damn coin.

There are a few others I could send shout-outs to as honorable mentions, but boiling the list down to just 2 is way better. Here, judge for yourself:

http://www.usmint.gov/mint_Programs/50sq_program/?action=designs_50sq

As for the territories… my girlfriend, Karen Plitchell, really likes Puerto Rico – and she’s right, it’s not a bad design. However, I argue that the design works better for some strange reason upside-down. And since upside-down is weird, top-billing for the territories goes to American Samoa.

Top 2 Worst-looking Quarters…

2. Wisconsin (Boo)

1. Florida (Boo, hiss)

Top 2 Quarters that look like play-money…

2. Tennessee

1. Wyoming

"Oh that's great. I wrote a hit play and directed it, so I'm not sweatin' it either."

2009-10-03T08:56:00.000-07:00

Last night's art show was success. Here are some highlights:

I brought candy for the kids and wine for the alcoholics, all of which got devoured.
Paul Brookman stopped by early on, and we had a nice conversation about the folly and merits of rung-climbers and hype-machines.
All my paintings sold for tons of money. 45 bucks each. In your face Christie's and Sotheby's. I'm rich.
Mick Laroquette and I laughed a lot. He really got me rolling when he told me that his goal in life is to one day have Christmas replacements for every item in his house: a normal living room lamp becomes a glowing Frosty the Snowman wearing a Santa hat, a Playstation becomes a nativity scene, a laptop becomes a fruitcake, a C.O.C. record becomes a Bing Crosby record, a massive tub of pretzels becomes a massive tub of candy canes... you get the idea.
We listened to a pretty good mix of music - everything from Fela to Wire.
I removed my front tooth to delight the masses while everyone called me "hobo" and tried to throw Milk Duds through the hole.

Big thanks to everyone who came out to the show, all the folks at Exquisite Corpse (as if they're reading this - HA!), and everyone who ended up buying a painting.

Isn't It a Pity?

2009-09-30T14:20:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna have 5 paintings hanging this weekend at Exquisite Corpse Gallery. Above is a picture of the only painting that's even remotely done. I'm having a hard time coming up with a title for this one... Any suggestions?

How 'bout, "George Harrison's Bandmates"?

The Opening's on Friday night, so if any of you Kalamazoo folks are reading this now... feel free to pass along the information (since I didn't have time to send out postcards). Plus/also, I'm not exactly sitting on an email list either. So, yeah, go ahead and invite some people. The info is here:

http://www.exquisitecorpsegallery.com/

As always, the paintings will be priced to move.

The rest of you people reading this out in DC, Maryland, Virginia, and Brooklyn - you guys are invited too. Seriously. Kalamazoo's nice and fueled by coffee. Coffee, I might add, that has nothing to do with Starbucks.

Speaking of Napoleon...

2009-09-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

The other day in History class, a kid asked the teacher if Napoleon's hand was really withered. The teacher answered in the voice of the Simpsons' Comic Book Guy with a sigh and a very curt "No, there was nothing wrong with his hand," and continued his lecture, but this got me thinking... You've got to love how misinformation lingers and perpetuates. (You've also got to love a young student's inherent need to derail a boring lecture.)

Had I been in the professor's shoes, I don't think I could've resisted highlighting the various rumors about Napoleon's hidden hand throughout the years: stomach ulcer, gout, itchy skin (from either psoriasis or neurodermatitis), habitual watch-winding, or amputation (see: Time Bandits). Hell, that's just scratching the surface. Maybe it's 'cause I'm a nerd and I've spent far too much time in DC's National Gallery (and for those of you who've gone with me - there's a good chance I dragged you over to see the painting on the left for an entirely different reason), but my favorite rumor blames the artist, Jacques-Louis David, saying that he, like many other artists, had a fear of drawing hands, so he shied away from the task. Seriously. I read that on a couple of different Internet sites.

THAT'S CRAZY - especially considering how many hands David painted in Oath of the Horati, The Death of Socrates, The Death of Marat, and pretty much any other painting featuring a human he ever did. Not only that, but David painted Napoleon's hands... in at least FOUR SEPARATE PAINTINGS - including the one that started all the rumors - The Emperor Napoleon in His Study at Tuileries (see above: It's his left hand, but still, IT'S A HAND). The aristocracy and those pesky artist types just thought the right-hand-in-the-coat pose looked real hot back then - that's all. They got to pretend they were sending shout-outs back to Roman orators and politicians. The neoclassic artists were obsessed with all that hooey anyway - Greeks, Romans, columns, people standing around pontificating, people kickin' it in togas, etc.

As for the rumors, I'm not sure which is worse... an artist who asks his models to hide their hands 'cause he's lazy, or a model who insists on holding his nagging ulcer while being painted.

Just to set the record straight, here's a portrait of General Regnier (by François-Pascal-Simon Gérard) - painted a few years before ol' David stuffed Napoleon's hand in a waistcoat due to the Little Corporal's itchy skin, gout-inflamed, watch-winding amputation ulcer flaring up.

Napoleon, Shakespeare, Rousseau, Plato, and me

2009-09-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

I'm busy again.
I can't seem to become unbusy. There simply isn't enough time in a day to do all that I want with all that I've committed to. I know, I know... you've heard it all before.
School's already going full-on. This is the first semester since my return to college where I'm not taking an English class, and it feels a little strange. The workload, however, is still nuts: Geography, Teaching Special Education, Philosophy (surrounding Education), and European History - the latter of which is a mind-numbing amount of compressed information. Dates, names, countries, wars, battles, old boundaries, new boundaries, alliances, allegiances, duchies, empires, and Napoleon in exile.

Along with the usual work, school, and playing music, I agreed to contribute to an art show that opens next Friday. Months ago I promised myself I wouldn't agree to another show unless I had art stockpiled and ready to be hung... that promise didn't last long. Nor did the promise about eating right and exercising everyday.

On the lighter side of things, my brother sent me a few printed versions of the Measure for Measure poster. It's amazing what super-glossy paper can do. That particular poster was a beast of project for me, so I was super happy to see that it turned out well. It may even be my favorite of the Taffety posters. Receiving that package in the mail sort of made my week.

Imagine if Spicoli's van was a beat-up maroon Chrysler

2009-09-21T12:42:00.000-07:00

I got hit today.

While driving to work this morning, I was waiting for a light to change when the car behind me lunged forward and slammed into me. I got out and yelled at the guy, looked at my bumper, looked at his bumper, and then picked up a piece of his car from the road. When I handed it to him, I got a whiff of his interior... Man, did that car smell like weed. And I'm not talking about some faint, distant aroma of marijuana - the subtleties of which seem to elude most Hollywood parents. I'm talking about the smell of someone who just exhaled in your face with the joint still burnin' between two fingers.

He said, "Sorry man, my foot slipped off the brake... I fell asleep for a second."

Here's how I imagine it going down:

Dude's sleepy 'cause it's 8:30 in the morning and he doesn't feel like going to work like the rest of society. Naturally, he figures some weed might be the pick-me-up he desperately needs to start the day. For some reason though, he nods off at the light, rams into the back of my car, pauses to take one more drag, then politely rolls down his window and exhales while I yell at him.

Fortunately, no one was hurt.

My car appears to be fine. I mean, it's sitting on death's door and all, but that has nothing to do with the bumper being hit.

Voices from Academia

2009-09-20T10:56:00.000-07:00

I'm in the library right now. It's been quiet for most of the morning - as a library should be - but a couple of sorority girls just sat at the table behind me, and now I'm drowning in their inane prattle. Here are some highlights:

"I drank from like 5 til 9..."

"You did a marathon."

"Yeah, like did Western even win?"

"Yeah..."

"...I actually made it to the game for like 10 minutes and then I was like, 'we're outta here.'"

"[Blah, blah, blah] and that would like just sober me up."

"Yeah, that would be like amazing."

It's not always bad news

2009-09-20T10:34:00.000-07:00

We finished mixing yesterday. Four songs.

Spent two days recording, two days mixing, and various brief drop-by appointments for overdubs. I gotta say, it wasn't a bad process at all. There were no grueling hours to speak of; we worked when we could, stayed on track, and wrapped it all up in pretty good time.

I walked home when we were done and thought about how strange and wonderful it is to be able to walk home from the "studio." It was also pretty strange to return to my apartment after a recording project while the sun was still shining.

2009-09-19T07:15:00.000-07:00

Last night, on my way home from the H. Lobby, I stopped by Mike and Melody’s daughter’s 5^th birthday party. There was pizza and cake and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and balloons all over the place… you know, a traditional children’s party minus the creepy drunk clown. Eventually the birthday girl and her shrieking friends broke out the markers, glitter, and glue to make some puppets out of paper bags, at which point a Ryan-puppet emerged to delight and entertain the children.

It's gone.

2009-09-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

I went to the dentist’s office at 8 AM, and he threw me into a chair, shot me up with the numbness, and got right to work. The pain during the procedure wasn’t bad, but I did hear a crack and a crunch, the horror of which will probably resonate in my head for the rest of my life.

I was given my fake tooth and a pat on the butt on the way out. Sadly, I couldn’t wear the flipper ‘cause the thing kept filling up with blood. In fact, I have yet to wear the thing because I’m still waiting for my gums to heal around the stitches.

So… what sucks?

It sucks that I shouldn't spend too much time out in public yet since I look exactly like a toothless hobo. And it sucks that I’ve got to play a show this afternoon and display my new face to an audience. And I suppose the pain and discomfort is a bit of a drag too.

What’s awesome?

I can make babies cry. That’s awesome. Oh, and this missing tooth is great for the ol’ diet plan. Eating’s been pretty tough. I ate around lunchtime yesterday and I had to work gingerly with my mouth open while managing the drool. Took forever too. So later around dinnertime, when my girlfriend offered to make me some food (‘cause she’s sweet), I said no even though I was starving to death. Then my stomach growled like there was an angry rottweiler standing in the room with us. Sort of exposed my lie, but whatever. A boy’s gotta do what he can to stay fit.

Mid-30's Doublet VS All-American College Dudes

2009-09-09T13:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my first day back at school after a whirlwind two and a half weeks off. During the break, the gym was closed, so I took that as a sign from above to avoid exercising completely. In fact, I took it real easy. I ate freezepops, drank non-alcoholic beer, and sat around watching movies.

But yesterday was different. I was back at the gym sweating like a maniac while playing tennis with Pam Hensel. It got all kinds of rainy so we decided to hit the school's indoor court, which is usually a ghost town since the college kids can't do their usual meat-market mating rituals down there. They typically avoid the place all together.

But not yesterday.

Nope. Yesterday there were tons sweet bros everywhere trying to intimidate us away from finishing our game - which, by the way, is like no other tennis game on earth.

Our rules are our own:

Hit the ball toward each other.
Avoid the net if possible.
Try not to go too far out of bounds.
Embrace the power of the lob.
Try not to hit the ball into a neighboring game.
Never keep score.
Throw racquet at ball when ball is out of reach.
Chase stray tennis balls almost constantly.

I'm convinced it's a better workout than a proper game of tennis.

Anyway, despite the nettlesome swarms of frat boys hovering around, it felt pretty damn good making them wait. They were forced to witness our guerrilla tennis style.

The Nonstop Saga of Tooth #9

2009-08-14T12:38:00.000-07:00

In May of 1982, while finishing up the second grade, I attended a birthday party in Coral Hills, Maryland. There, a week into my 8th year on earth, I mounted a blue plastic skateboard and attempted to skate down a hill. With little momentum, the board stopped dead on a pebble, and I flew face-first onto the sidewalk, chipping my front tooth (the #9 molar for all you dentist types). Little did I know that this chipped tooth would cause a seemingly endless cycle of problems.

Fast forward to 1985, the first half of 6th grade. I was visiting a friend of mine who lived in Waldorf, and again, while riding a skateboard, the board stopped suddenly, and I flew face-first onto the street. I don't know what's wrong with my reaction time, but apparently I refused to throw my hands up to block my face from pavement. The chip popped out.

1988, I'm walking around in a Laurel Mall with my aunt and the chip popped out again. I wasn't eating, I wasn't riding a skateboard, I was honestly just walking along and the thing fell out.

1990, the tooth around the chip started to turn gray. My dentist said I needed a crown, and he said he could shape a post to hold the crown in place by using what's left of my tooth. No idea what that means, but sure, I went along with it. Couldn't walk around with a gray tooth, could I?

1992, the "natural" post breaks, and the smell from the crown is super foul. It happened at the dinner table, and everyone around got an involuntary whiff of that filth. That smell had legs and arms and would punch you in the face. I went back to the dentist and got a metal post.

1994, the tooth pops out again. The smell returns. I like to imagine that the stink pushed it's feet against the windshield and kicked its way out. This time, the dentist said that I needed a root canal in 3 not-so-easy installments. I go through the agony thinking for sure that this is the last procedure I'll ever need done to this tooth.

2004, while on tour with Pewter Pill, I start to feel a little sensitivity in my front tooth at the Empty Baby-Bottle in Chicago. No, wait, it was a Scuba's. By Lansing, MI I had a full-blown toothache, and after the show the pain swelled to where it was engulfing my entire head. I actually wrapped my arms around my head at some point trying to hold it together. My bandmates, Brenda Anderson and Ted Parks, found me rocking back and forth in the van and they insisted I go to the emergency room. I went (with Brenda) and we sat in the waiting room for 3 hours while Lansing's Saturday night freakout posse of gunshot and stabbing victims went ahead of me in line (and rightly so, those dudes needed help). We left.

We played another poorly attended show in Pittsburgh the following night and stayed in a hotel later.

When I woke up, the upper portion of my mouth had swelled completely. I looked like a rat - like one of Dr. Moreau's experiments. The band took me immediately to a Pittsburgh dentist who X-rayed me and said that it looked to him like my root canal was botched and that my previous dentist may have left a shard of the drilling instrument in my gums 10 years earlier, causing the current infection. He told me that he couldn't help me because I needed corrective surgery from an endodontist - but he did offer to slit my gum, drain the puss out of my face, and prescribe some pain medication & antibiotics to clear up the infection. An offer I happily accepted.

2004, a week later I had the very painful surgery on 19th Street in DC.

2009, I started to feel some sensitivity again a couple weeks ago. I don't know what triggered it this time - it could've been anything - something I bit into, bumping my teeth on the microphone at band practice - anything. Anyway, I wasn't feeling any real pain so I was happy to ignore it until I started feeling some bumps on my gums above the damaged tooth. I looked in the mirror and was horrified to see what looked like two zits on my gums. I looked it up online and found out that they're called fistulas (my new dentist just confirmed this). Basically, what's left of my tooth (the long part deep inside my gum) is cracked and no root canal is gonna fix it this time. With the crack comes an infection where acidy puss is oozing around trying to break through the gum line (hence the bubbles). That puss is bad news cause it can eat away toward my other teeth (the good ones), or it could travel on up to wreck my sinuses.

What I need now is a complete tooth removal and an implant - a procedure that could take 6 to 9 months and should cost somewhere between 3,000 and 3,500 dollars.

I'm psyched. I suddenly feel like eating a tub of Ben & Jerry's and crying myself to sleep.

So, if there's something that I own that you've always wanted... there's a good chance that I'm selling it now.

Yesterday and Today

2009-08-10T13:39:00.000-07:00

I went back to the gym yesterday. I decided to take advantage of the University's pool again since it finally started to get hot around here this summer. Swam 10 laps. Showered in a thin pool of athlete's foot. Then raced to meet up with Mike and Mick so we could catch the 6:15 showing of G.I. Joe.
Wow.
What a movie.
That film truly has it all.

Perhaps you're skeptical. Perhaps you're having a tough time imagining Hasbro piecing together a cinematic masterpiece - but they did. They banged one out.
I wonder how I could sum up the brilliance without giving anything away to those who haven't seen it yet....

Alright, imagine Dennis Quaid projecting every line of dialogue in the voice of Will Ferrell's Mugatu from Zoolander. It's that good.

I went back to the gym first thing this morning.
I ran two miles and wished I brought my camera just to photograph the sweat stains on my shirt. There was something magical to these stains. Like when people see Elvis or the Virgin Mary in a peice of burnt toast... these sweaty patches of shirt had a little something special going on. I stared for a long time trying to decipher the visual pattern and I clearly saw a silouette of what looked like lawnmower on top of an pair of salad tongs. Next time I won't forget my camera.

I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody.

2009-08-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

Look carefully. You can actually see my headache in this photo.

That's from a severe lack of caffeine, water, food, movement... something like that. It's been weeks since I've gone to the gym. I've been sidetracked by everything: multiple band practices, three failed attempts at silk screening, my third time camping, a trip to Marquette, and the constant grind of school. All has been good except for the failed silk-screening attempts (don't worry, I'll spare ya' the details). Things have just been unusually busy around here.

Looks like life won't officially settle until after this Friday, so I'll hit the gym again starting then. My plan this time is to do more than the boring workout. I think I might try my luck at racquetball. Hell, I may even take some of those free aerobic classes. Or maybe even yoga. Last time I tried yoga was the worst. I had a headache (much worse than today's) and the overcrowded room smelling like hippie feet and new age flatulence didn't help matters.

But I'll give it another whirl. Why not.

Certainly Hell

2009-07-26T03:35:00.000-07:00

I'd like to apologize to everyone for ever mentioning "Almost Paradise."

Since then, it seems nothing but bad things have happened. For starters, that miserable song didn't leave my mind until 12 hours ago when Foreigner's "Waiting for a Girl Like You" crept in and replaced it - which by the way, may as well be the same song. I'm actually loosing sleep.

I did, however, receive a helpful message from Ted Parks saying that "Waiting Room" and "Watching the Detectives" get lodged into a brain just as easily - only they get stuck in the ol' noggin in a good way.

Mike Learner offered Tricky's "Christiansands" as another positive replacement.

Now it's true that all three of those suggested jams are catchy, but the problem with all three is that you actually have to hear them played to knock a heavy hitter like "Almost Paradise" out. Proof positive that bad actually outweighs good. Sadly, it only takes the mere mention of those two words in order, and boom, it's an "Almost Paradise" day.

And that day, I promise, is ruined.

Since I've now spent far too much time pondering the complexity of the lyrics to the abomination in question, it occurred to me that the "Almost" line is particularly strange for a love song. "Almost" implies that we didn't quite make it to Paradise. We sure got close, but generally we failed.

Liken it to the Löwenbräu jingle: "Here's to good friends, tonight is kinda special..."

[It's just kinda special.]

"... the beer we'll pour must say something more, somehow."

[Somehow. There's real desperation there. Somehow, we've just gotta squeeze more out of this darn beer.]

Still, I'd rather spend an eternity listening to the Löwenbräu jingle than ever hear anything off the Footloose soundtrack again.

Alright... this is for the real nerds with too much time on their hands. Do yourself a favor and read this quote from Eric Carman (the guy who wrote the music for "Almost Paradise"),

http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=4227

follow it up by reading the lyrics,

http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/footloose/almostparadiselovetheme.htm

then consider all the time you've spent working on art projects that you actually cared about.

Gotta give it up to the shameless

2009-07-23T14:14:00.000-07:00

I was followed into the parking lot at school this morning by a shiny SUV driven by a young student blasting his music. My car rumbles pretty loud, so the song this guy was listening to wasn’t immediately decipherable. I got out of my bitchin’ 91 Corolla, walked across the lot, and noticed he was still hanging out in his car, rocking out until the song finished. The song in question:

“Almost Paradise.”

Played super loud, sans irony. You know, Mike Reno and Ann Wilson’s disastrous duet from Footloose. The mind-numbing song that won't leave your head for weeks after hearing it by accident. Man, I don't understand at all. I like that song about as much as I like watching dogs turd one out. And when I walked past this guy, I almost expected him to wrinkle his brow and look uncomfortably self-conscious like a dog squatting at the end of a leash. Nope. Nothing. Shameless in every way.

This is what we're up against people.

Fan Mail (part 2)

2009-07-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

Today, no lie, was my worst day ever. I've completely fallen off here. Allow me to list my meals: *ahem*

•8:30 am - 1 cup of coffee
•11:45 am - 1 Hershey's Payday
•3:10 pm - 1 bag of Cheetos

Might seem a bit hypocritical to continue answering fan mail while I'm doing so poorly on my diet... but... I'm not gonna let that stop me. What you need, dear reader, is honesty. And fortunately for you, I can provide that.
Let's take another look at some of your questions, starting with Ms. Janie Ragsdale from Upper Marlboro, Maryland - then moving on to some guy named Bill from Orlando, Florida:

Dear Janie,
That’s easy. I’m doing this to look better. I’m never gonna feel better. Please. That’s crazy talk. My goal is to one day look good in a pair of boxer-briefs.

Dear Bill,
No. The thought of peeing that much seems like a hassle.

Fan Mail

2009-07-20T09:00:00.000-07:00

Between starting this journal and now, I’ve been overrun with an onslaught of fan-mail and general questions from readers across the nation. It seems I’m not the only one concerned about looking great. Since many of you have asked similar questions, I’d like to take a moment, if I may, to address a mere smattering of your concerns.

That’s a great question, Candice. The culprit who entered my life and spun everything topsy-turvy was a certain delectable ambrosia known as Mrs. Freshley’s Snowballs.

I loaded up on those things like nobody’s business. Imagine the joys of eating a circular Ho-Ho covered with sugary pink coconut shavings. Mmmmm. Now try to imagine me squeezing my fat butt into some skinny emo jeans after practically living off of that stuffbetween 1992 and 2006.

That’s right, back when I toured the nation in one of my many famous rock bands, I shared the stage with an evil bandmate, obsessed with what’s known in the ‘dustry as Cute Food. Just like Niko turning her son on to heroin, this particular bandmate (from my power-pop group, Pewter Pill) got me hooked on the cutest foods that American truck stops had to offer. I started light at first… you know, Lemon-Heads, Nerds, Bubbletape, Haribo Gummy Colas… lightweight stuff. But it didn’t take long before I was chomping on King Dons and washing them down with bottles of lukewarm strawberry Yoo-hoo.

Simply put, I had become an animal.

See that photo?

2009-07-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

That’s how I’d look if I ever went to gym anymore. Alright, that’s not exactly true. I wouldn’t look like even if I did go to the gym ‘cause using that strange machine isn’t part of my normal workout – I don’t even know what that contraption does – but my normal workout, just for the record, doesn’t actually exist.

These days my normal routine involves me avoiding the gym completely. I start by driving to the school parking lot. Then I sit in my car and stare with venomous hate at the gym complex. I imagine climbing the wide, winding stairs and trudging through Western’s awkward halls all the way to my locker in the back of the building. Convenient to nothing. I seethe privately for 15 minutes in my car. I mutter profanities to myself and grip the steering wheel tighter and tighter.

Then I drive straight to the arms of Shawarma King and cry into a Styrofoam plate of buffet-style chicken and humus until I fall asleep.

I’ll try to workout again tomorrow. I promise.

Just Got Back

2009-07-14T05:56:00.000-07:00

I went to DC for one glorious day. With a ton of ground to cover in a wickedly short amount of time, admittedly I was nervous about sight seeing under pressure – I wanted Mike Learner to get a good impression. And man, DC did not disappoint. The whole trip couldn’t have possibly gone any better. Here’s the play by play:

•Breakfast at my folks’ house. Mom and Dad had to split early so they left some delicious concoction of French Toast.

•Met the Kid, his baby’s momma, and P-Rock down at Jimmy T’s. Great to see the whole crew. There, we ate a 2^nd breakfast.

•Walked around Eastern Market for a bit.

•Stopped into the most cluttered used bookstore on Earth.

•Shoved off to Inner Ear Studios, chatted with Don Z, and picked up the 7-track.

•Swung by Dischord and snagged a quick photo on Minor Threat’s porch.

•Ate lunch at Pollo Rico.

•Walked around both East and West Wings of National Gallery.

•Went to my sister’s place and chilled pool-side on her roof.

•Went to the White House and watched the DC crime-stoppers find a lost child.

•Picked up Q in the Black Cat’s alley, popped in the back door for a hot second to show Mike Learner the behind the scenes mayhem.

•Ate at Thai Tanic. Got rushed out of there by the rude wait-staff.

•Found magical parking in Dupont and shopped at Kramer’s Books for a second.

•Met up with Bing Lowitton and his wife, Gretchen, at the Einstein Memorial. Then we walked over to the Korean War Memorial, and finally ended up running around the Lincoln.

•Drove the Q back to her car and cut through Adam’s Morgan on a Saturday night (that sucked).

•Drove the hour back to my folks’ house, slept like dead people.

•Ate a kicking breakfast with my folks in their gazebo where Mike tried scrapple for the first time.

•Shoved off for home.

I’m telling you, the trip wasn’t bad at all. Everything was real smooth.

Woke up this morning and went back to the gym first thing.

That sucked.

I ran a very slow mile and felt like going to sleep for the rest of the day.

You Look Good Wearing My Future

2009-07-01T13:43:00.001-07:00

My girlfriend and I watched Some Kind of Wonderful a couple nights ago. Surprisingly, she had never seen it before – perhaps because, as far as John Hughes films go, this one’s commonly regarded as the one to miss. I remember in 1987, after seeing the trailer, I couldn’t wait for this movie to come out. Naturally, I was already a John Hughes fan, and (being a 13-year-old budding drummer) I was totally drawn to the cute drummer girl angle. Sadly, I ended up joining the ranks of everyone else at the time who complained that the plot was too similar to Pretty in Pink.

That said, I have to admit I really enjoyed it this time around. It’s still got problems, for sure (like a lot of dud songs and odd pacing), but I guess I was just in the mood for it the other night. Mary Stuart Masterson is great (for real great – watch her last scene closely); that guy from Benny Button (Elias Koteas) who plays the skinhead – he’s great; Lea Thompson from the hit movie Space Camp, she’s great (although ghostly white). Which brings me to Eric Stoltz. I know he’s playing the role of the nice guy, and every line he has is supposed to be pretty passive, but MAN does his speaking voice sound like Michael Jackson’s. It’s crazy. I was cutting boxes to pack some Ebay stuff while the movie was on, so there were plenty of times when I wasn’t watching the screen, and I kept hearing this soft Michael Jackson voice delivering lines to Lea Thompson (star of the hit movie Howard the Duck).

Alright. So cut to the very end. The final scene. The last line. Maybe it’s the effects of my grueling new diet, but for some reason, this last line got me a little choked up. And then, after an onslaught of poopy songs in this movie (minus the Rolling Stones), the closing credits fade up with this Celtic version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Lick the Tins, and I’m thinking, “Man, this is perfect.”

This coming from the guy who HATES Celtic music!

And I don’t mean usually – I mean ALWAYS. I could seriously do without the barrage of Middle Earth flutes, fiddles, and whistles stinking up my movie soundtracks. But this one managed to somehow slip through the cracks.

What’s happening to me? What have I become?

The drums fade up, this awful little Celtic whistle weasels its way into my life, and I get choked up.

I think I’m gonna go buy me a milkshake.

General Zod, Ursa, and Non

2009-06-24T11:51:00.000-07:00

I went to the gym first thing this morning to renew my locker. $17.50! They robbed me. That's alright, as long as I've gotta place to stash my filth.

On my way out, I couldn't help but stop and examine this bizarre soda machine.

Seriously, what the hell was this designer thinking? There are smiling WMU students crammed inside a bottle. Who thought this was a good idea? Looks like Krypton's prison sentence?

Mmmmm. Makes me so thirsty though.

We've really come a long way from the collegiate prestige of pennants and dudes standing around in fur coats.

I Suppose I Really Lost Control

2009-06-19T06:41:00.000-07:00

Last night, I got “the talk”.

My bandmates pulled me aside to tell me that my weight is getting way out of hand. Apparently, either the belly goes or I go.

Of course they’re right. When the band got together, we all agreed that the our image would be the most important thing to maintain.

And we had it all.
Four swingin’ heart-throbs with assorted appeal. A little something for everyone. Our bassist, Mick Larroquette, he has that rough & tumble thing going on – the irresistible bad boy. Mike Learner exudes that Weezer charm, like Clark Kent and Mary Ann’s professor wrapped up in one. Chip Killer rocks the dreamy babyface – tough like Joey from Blossom, sweet like Joey from New Kids. And then there’s me…

I think I got the job ‘cause I fulfilled the stubble quota. They needed a guy with dark features who occasionally “forgets” to shave. Wrinkly forehead like Dylan on 90210, minus all the runway room (if Perry’s got a five-head, I’ve got a two-head), a pair brooding black eyes, like dots of coal searing straight to your soul, and a mumbled slur that rivals Benicio del Toro.
Yeah, that's how I got the gig.
But, no one was counting on me to balloon out of proportion.

Last night, while we were practicing our moves, it was obvious that I couldn't pull off the high-kicks anymore.
And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Hangin' Tough in H - E - Double Hockey Sticks

2009-06-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

I suck.
I worked out for 2 solid hours yesterday with my trainer.
Unreal.
Brutal in every possible way.
If that's what it's gonna take to get physically fit - forget it.
It was a mistake to forget my camera. There was true comedy in everything I attempted. Consider this:

I was unable to lift any weight.
I was unable to hold any sort of proper form.
I was surrounded by college football players.
My body felt like jelly after 15 minutes.

Now, imagine a newborn colt trying to walk...

After the workout, I could hardly lift my cell phone to my ear.
Got home, drank a ton of water, ate two burritos, then went to band practice where (like the cell phone wasn't hard enough) I was unable to lift my arm to hit the rack tom. Total agony. Working out is for the birds. It's the pits. What? You want me to tell you how awesome and rewarding this is? Screw that. This isn't a pep talk. I'm telling you to run the other way. No, wait. Don't run. Walk. That's right. Take a leisurely stroll the other way, and when you get tired, eat a cupcake and take a nap. Enjoy your food.

Of course, I'll be back at the gym today. More punishment.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I could wear earphones like everyone else. I decided to avoid the iPod route because blasting music in my ears heightens the ol' ringing. Instead, I sit back and enjoy the wonderful selection provided by the gym's employees. Great taste. Man, those Black Eyed Peas sure can jam. And Taylor Swift's really got the beat, ya' know? I love pumping iron while rocking to the genuine and traditional country twang of Taylor Swift.

Nobody Puts Ryan in a Corner

2009-06-15T05:23:00.000-07:00

Watched Dirty Dancing last night. In its entirety I might add. That's right. Nothing gets me pumped up about going to the gym like watching Dirty Dancing.
My favorite part was when Baby and Johnny are rehearsing, things are getting steamy between them, and they grab a 45 from the future to dance to. That was awesome. It would've only been better if Christopher Lloyd handed them the record in a cloud of lightning and gigawatts. I also like the part when Chris Farley dresses like a Chippendales dancer. That was awesome too.
Dinner was fantastic, as always. The girlfriend made another concoction of of bliss from what looked like scraps of nothingness in our fridge. It's like pulling tofu and broccoli from cold cobwebs.

On Tuesday I start working out with my trainer. That's right, with no money whatsoever, I've managed to score a personal trainer. He told me to eat at least two hours before we hit the gym or else I'll be throwing up everywhere. That scared me a bit, but whatever. My vanity's way more important.

Wish I Had Me Some Gills

2009-06-14T07:58:00.000-07:00

Man, this crap is hard.
Yesterday I was trying to do some homework in the computer lab, and I suddenly got starving, so I went to Subway even though I promised myself that I would never go there again. In fact, I promised myself that no matter how hungry I felt, I would rather drive far, far away for a healthy lunch than outstretch my arm and eat at Subway or Taco Bell ever again. (Those are the only two food options on Western's campus.)
Yeah, I messed up.
I ate half a tuna sub (on wheat/no mayo) then promptly felt like falling asleep. In fact, I nodded off in front of the computer for a second, and that's when you know it's time to go.
So I split.
Got in my loud car... thought I'd drive home and skip the gym because I was feeling fat and sleepy... but I forced myself, FORCED MYSELF to crawl into the gym and start running. I even took my camera to grab some action shots of me out there sweatin'.
Anyway, the point of this rant is... I'm battling a serious case of the lazies. Running's so boring it's nuts. Twenty minutes of zipping around the micro-track feels like an eternity.

When I finished with that, I decided to treat myself with the loneliest little swimming excursion ever, courtesy of Western's pool. It was just me tootin' around in a warm pool with the lifeguard who was slouched motionless in a chair, eyes half opened, listening to (I swear to god) classical music with a hip-hop beat. Just when you thought humans had already struck upon the worst musical ideas in history (see: Nickelback and/or Cirque du Soleil's bizarre brand of World), someone out there on mudball earth decided to drag us down to new lows.
Hear me now:
Hip-Hop can stay. Yes.
Classical can stay. Certainly.
The necessity of their union, however, is questionable.
Furthermore, it doesn't get me jazzed about swimming.
I tried to stay under water as long as I could, tucked underneath, humming a tune of my choosing ("...this is a lonely life... sorrows everywhere you turn").
Sadly, a mere 15 seconds of peace at a time just isn't enough.

We can go for a walk where it's quiet and dry and talk about precious things

2009-06-13T09:04:00.000-07:00

Found this photo recently of me and a few friends. I've decided to invent names so that no one freaks out about me writing about them... so... from left to right, that's Miss LadyFriend, me (fatty), Ted Parks, and Sally Shackleton.

This was a spectacular night. One of those magic nights where conversation flowed interestingly and comfortably the entire time. Ted and Sally took us to a new-fangled pizza place over by Friendship Flower Shop. The food was pure-dynamite-gold, and being able to catch up with old friends was even better. We talked about love and law and poverty ("Oh these are the things that kill me"). Probably one of the better nights for me of the whole Christmas '08 season.

Then I got this picture back and noticed that my gut was having a tough time staying in my shirt. Take a careful look. You can actually see the buttons straining to contain the beast within. I like to imagine the little strings in each button unraveling at a furious pace from the burden pushing behind.

Sure was tasty pizza though.

Goodbye Matt Lauer. I'll miss your tense interviews.

2009-06-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

Alright. So, I missed a few days at the gym this week. But I'm getting back to it. Ran around the indoor track at school yesterday. Had a hefty 5 minutes on the rowing machine. Saw The Hangover last night with my ladyfriend (avoid that movie, Zack G is great, but the movie's an oddly paced dud). Then it was on to dinner at home. E made another spectacular masterpiece from generally nothing. Pasta with homemade sauce topped with basil pulled from our pathetic plant sitting on the porch. It's the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of basil.

But seriously. Check out this meal she made:

Here's how I'm living though. Breakfast looks like this now: That's peaches & cream oatmeal, 2 hardboiled eggs, a glass of weirdo Emergen-C stuff, and coffee in my festive Simple Machines mug ('cause I keeps it real). And yes, Michigan chickens poop eggs out that say "eat me" & "I heart you". That's how they roll here, smart and affectionate.

What you can't see in the photo is the Today Show - you know, the show we all watch (don't act like you don't). Today, however, was the last broadcast in the ol' apartment because the digital TV switch happened this morning at 10AM, and, well, NBC's a goner for us with the switch. Now instead of a single station (NBC), we will pick up 2 stations (ABC & PBS). I think the world wants us to get cable.

Anyway, I still managed to catch the Black Eyed Peas performing on the Today Show.

Boo. Hisssss.

Wow. Holy crap. They were awful. Just plain awful. The fartiest of all farts.

I started thinking about that Pepsi commercial where they present Will.i.am as the new Bob Dylan.

Sorry, Pepsi. I'm not seeing the comparison.

All in all, it was a pretty good send-off for me and the Today Show. Watching some crap performance from some Mickey Mouse group really emphasized how little I'm gonna miss out on.

2009-06-10T12:45:00.000-07:00

I got fat.
You may not notice when you see me 'cause I hide it fairly well, but seriously, it's there. I'll try to take some photos from time to time and post 'em here so you can witness me in all my slovenly glory.

I realized this weight thing was getting out of control when I tried to put on my suit before going to Q's wedding. Those dress pants didn't even come close to zipping up.

So, yeah, I need to shape up before my girlfriend dumps me and my bandmates give me the boot for being hideous (Minutes is all about the image). My goal is to look like a cross between Brad Pitt in Fight Club and D'Angelo in the "Untitled" video.