For the WHOA-man

Son nom est Clarice

She squawks,
she squeaks,
she sneaks inside
where she resides...
angrily...
hatefully...
spitefully...
rightfully
until she has lost
the map she used
to get here.
'Where am I?' She screams.
'Who am I?' She asks as she careens
off the cliff of her mind
and into the spiral of
chaos...
Her arms flail wildly
as she chomps at the bit.
Her legs wander aimlessly
as she bites at the flesh...
The heart she takes,
the soul she rips,
the glass she breaks,
'neath her fingertips
are all but one
and none of any--
the blood of the son
and the tears of the many.
What will she do
when the lights have
all fallen
and the angels have all been
turned out?
Where will she go
when all she knows
has been turned into nothing
but dirt?
And when God Himself
stands before her
she will shake her lazy fist
and still will insist
that He is dead.
She wants us all
to hold her mind up
for her and
walk her feet
off the plank
plunging her-
wrongfully-
into the sea.
But some of us know
her motivations and
intentions
are as transparent
as the fluid
she oozes.
And the motions she makes
with each breath that she takes
is against the grain
of our nature...
In the movements of her
wicked dance
she tries to sexually
enhance
the experience of her
audiance
but to no avail
she still fails
to remove the twine
from the hay bale
and create with each strand
a chaotic bandstand
much like the one
in the palm of her hand.
The storm is coming
the thunder pounding
the rain is hammering
and the drum is sounding.
The march begins
one foot to the end
of hell's fiery rest,
one line to tow
until the blessed
all stand and chant
in grandois unison
"Beat the bear
until your fists are bloodied!
Scratch the fat rat
until you're bruised and muddied!
Eat all the empathy you can hold
and dress in your garment
made of mold!
Come walk with us
into the fire
don't be afraid of our
souls' burning pyre
as birds we sit
upon the wire
high above the love
and mier."

Breakfast of champions and white trash everywhere.

"Beer at our house just meant we were out of whiskey... that or it was breakfast time!"

Music on Main

August 22, 2009

Frisco, CO -- I went up on Friday, the girls met me up there on Saturday. We met Julia's parents shortly after arriving. We got some rockstar parking because we got there so early but not early enough to acquire decent seats. They were okay, we were in the shade at least, which proved convenient for all but Nicole especially. She burns so easily and we never got sunscreen.

We took a queue from Julia's parents and got some beer which went down nicely in the hotness.

I bought a cheap camera at 7-11 because I left my digital at home. It was funny because Julia stopped by my house Friday night when I was up in Frisco and she saw it sitting on the coffee table and wondered if she should bring it.

This decency of the photos taken by that camera is waning; you can tell what the image is but they're pretty grainy--pixel-y--so while I wish they could be better I am glad that I was able to capture this day on film. Walgreens was kind enough to put the pictures on a CD for me for a minimal charge.

Nicole, Julia & I

Julia

Nicole

The Stage

Some of Nicole, Julia & I

Nicole & Julia

Tab Benoit & Jimmy Hall

Tab Benoit, Jimmy Hall
& Corey
(The spelling of his first name I do not know
and his last name escapes me at the moment.)

Tab & Jimmy

LeRoux
(My nickname for him; it's Dave Peters from Louisiana's LeRoux on the drums.)

Jimmy Hall on the sax--brilliant!
(He is incredible. I was so fortunate to be able to see him again and actually get a few pictures! I always run out of film/room on the memory card by the time the "big guys" play.)

Tab Benoit & Jimmy Hall singing New Orleans Ladies

Jimmy Hall plays the harp wicked-sweet.

To be fair, his voice melts me...

And as lame as it sounds, it's almost like I can hear God in his solos.

A pic of he and I taken by Julia on her phone.

It was a fantastic day. This promoter gave me his card and told me him to email him but I don't know why... I can't remember honestly.

Regardless we had a fantastic time.

The nights will always put the days to shame... something I've learned:

Keep your arms wide open for him
to come home
Keep your arms wide open to
let him go.

And above all:

1. Always treat it as if you'll never see him again.

2. Be thankful for the moments you shared.

For sure...

:)

To Buy or Not to Buy -- That is the Question

A friend of mine at work (Tum Kapri) is offering me a nice little DancoConvertible for super cheap... he hasn't named a price yet... but I'm thinking I might do it...


Trying to learn how to play the blues on an acoustic is difficult for me... and perhaps it's me but I'm just not getting the sound I think I should be getting when I play.

Regardless, having an electric again can only help my situation.

Doug told me today to stop saying that I'm not a real musician. I'm trying to remember that but after witnessing such greatness on Saturday (Jimmy Hall & Benoit) it's difficult to remember that they were once as horrible as I.

More importantly, I did get the EQ from him so I'm excited to try that out with my little acoustic. What a beautiful little guy my Yamaha is. :)

I also figured out how to bounce the tracks from the master back to individual so I can go through and correct whatever I need to without having to redo everything.

More recording is in my future...

Next post will be a recap of the weekend. There's just something about me that the blues community seems to like. ; )

Also

When I was in Steamboat a couple weekends ago I made one of the best investments of my young life.

I bought a CD/DVD called 'Playing for Change' which is by far the most glorious, heartwarming, beautiful compliation of multitrack covers EVER.

You will go to this website. You will buy the CD/DVD. You will love it. You will thank me a thousand times. I promise.

My <3 Has Split in Two

There are only two other men on this planet whose death would affect me like this:

1. Bob Dylan

2. Noam Chomsky

A moment of silence, please, for Mr. Les Paul, father of the electric guitar and multitrack recording... he is the reason why I've been able to record myself...

He is simply a genius and I'm heartbroken he passed before I got to see him play live or even meet him.

Hear that? Yeah that's the sound of my little heart breaking.

Fucking Randy Newman

I really hate Randy Newman's stupid voice and ridiculous lyrics. I don't care what kind of an icon or legend he is or how well he can play the piano. I hate his voice... and his nonsensical lyrics.

And don't even get me started on Elvis Costello... he knows why I despise him so.

Sweet Jesus!

OMFG.

I seriously almost peed my pants I was so fucking scared.

I'm still kind of on edge.

There was a tornado siren thing... and I don't have television... I had no idea what the fuck...

so I called my mom. She turned on the news and told me to go downstairs.

I did.

Squatting in this tiny cutout in the wall is where I almost peed because of the sound of the wind and the hail and the wind.

Sweet Jesus that wind.

Thank God there was no tornado and thank God I didn't pee my boyshorts.

No Fuckin' Way!!!!

I love this cartoon so much!!!

I just can't believe it... Hulu is so fucking awesome
(sometimes).

My Friend's Father

Dropping dimes
like the tears of the masters;
their notes hang heavy,
thick, still;
their passion passing through
each unimportant extremity--
ones made into heroes
by the death of themselves.

They're dropping dimes
onto the hot asphalt.
They're dropping to their knees
for the masters of the teachers.
They're eating the rhythm,
they're sleeping the blues,
they're breathing the music
and becoming brand new.

Alas!
They do not know;
not even do I,
or you as you crawl, linger, and fade
that they're larger than life
becoming the masters
as we hear the clink
of their dropping dimes.

I can't help it...

An Excerpt:

"No matter how hard I tried to forget him I couldn’t. I felt as if my heart was weighed down, chained down to the ground, held there tightly by him, by him, the man who didn’t want me. Let me go. That’s all I wanted, was to be free, was to see through eyes unclouded by fantasy or the tears of heartbreak, I wanted to truly believe that everything he had said to me was a lie. I thought about something someone once said to me, in a different context but a similar situation. He said to me, “he’s not going to help you carry the groceries in.” While seemingly meaningless this spoke volumes not just about the object of my potential affection but it also illustrated what my expectations were. And Noe was not the type of guy who helped you with house work; he wasn’t the father of my unborn children nor was he the piece of the soul puzzle that I was missing; he was none of the things that I dreamt of as a child. I wanted sympathy, I wanted fairness, I wanted retribution for the pain caused by his absence, by his silence, by his lack of want of me. This time it wasn’t that I thought I did something wrong, it was that I knew I did. I knew that I shouldn’t have gotten involved with someone like him on the level that I did and although we never fully consummated our relationship in real life, what happened during those times was excruciating enough. I felt like I had known him for years, just like he said. I felt like I was connected to him, just like he said. I felt that I couldn’t miss out on a chance for love, just like he said. I felt it, he said it, and now the question of who actually meant it was staring me in the face. I didn’t know him, in fact I knew absolutely nothing about him or how he actually demonstrated his feelings. In hindsight I felt like I had only known him for a minute, years of life crammed into sixty seconds worth of time which amounted to nothing more than a blur.

That is all he was to me now, nothing more than the convoluted color of a building as I passed by.

And perhaps that’s all I was to him too."

Volver~ Moi

Photo courtesy of Moi :)

At this rate my first born will go unnamed

I wish I could collect my thoughts enough to write. I wish I had enough time to write. This is nonsense.

This short story will have to suffice for some kind of literary content to this blog I mean for fuck's sake this thing is nearly devoid of any actual intellectual content. Reading through it is disconcerting, especially after doing some thinking and realizing that all of my favorite writers are dead.

I hate giving them titles, I really do, so there isn't one for this.

The plants sat cluttered in their various pots on the sill of the west facing window. The nine of them, the Foxtail Fern, the Dracaena Marginata, the Mother-in-Law’s Tongue, the Weeping Fig, and others, sat and stared out into the setting sun. Two days had passed but still they patiently awaited their anticipated surge of watery relief. It never came. More days came and went and some of them began to wilt slightly, their waxy texture now soft and pliable. They still waited for that opalescent rain that fell from the metal watering can. It never came. Two weeks had past and now the outer edges of their leaves began to crust and brown, their roots encrusted in the dry soil that bound them there. The violet violas hung their heads in defeat, their small faces wrinkled like the skin of old age. The Peace Lily lie heavily on the cooling stone of the sill, it had passed just yesterday but never gave up hope for that quench from near death--that brought by the tepid tap water. It never came. The English Ivy curled agitated but sucked dry of the strength to angrily withdraw its tightly wound tendrils. The lavender stood stiffly and knowingly, it had glimpsed this reality of desert drought. There was no mirage for that of the Prickly Pear Cactus either as it prickled its belly and fought hard against the thought of dying alone. It had surmised it would outlive the others by a month or so. By the end of the third week most had completely dried and threatened to burn with each subsequent afternoon sun. The cactus sat solemnly on the sill of the west facing window surrounded by the death of its company. It now waited for death. It never came. The paramedics barged through the door and coughed loudly at the stench of lavender and the decay of human remains. After the body had been removed a curious man approached the sill and salvaged the last living being in the vacant apartment. He took the cactus home and gently re-potted it. He placed it on the sill of his west facing window and watered it slowly, the opalescent rain spilling from the spout of the water can onto the light brown soil that now encased the cactus’ roots. The paramedic went to bed anticipating the cactus’ bloom. It never came. The cactus died hours later in the pale glow of the lonely moon’s light.

Santigold, Essays, and Domination

It might also be Santogold. I think it depends on who you ask. Either way this bitch knows how to rock hardcore and I suggest very strongly that you check her out.

Santigold

Guess where I found her?

That's right. Y-Rock. University of Pennsylvania. I'm telling you! Those dudes know what's up in a fierce way.

I finally made a commitment to the topic of my application essay. I'm going to read a couple of authors who graduated from CU (Dalton Trumbo & Jean Stafford) both award winning, liberal geniuses. What's more up my alley than that crap? Esp. considering I write like a motherfucker when it comes to something I'm passionate about.

I'm also applying for a scholarship from the Ayn Rand Institute. I have to write an essay on Atlas Shrugged. The goal is to show a true understanding the philosophical message within the text. Done & done.

I shall dominate and dominate hard. Like Santi rocking gold earrings, it's only natural and shall serve as a precursor for what is to come.

Rock.

Your Body Still Remembers Things You Told it to Forget

"Someone please help the boy.
His hands won't move,
he hasn't written in years.
His lips won't move,
he only whispers fear.
Someone please help the boy."

De merde

Things I'm Pumped Over/For:

Y-Rock = U of PA Radio Station = Excellent Resource for New Music

I would advise clicking in the link above and streaming 15 minutes...

If you don't like it...

I don't give a damn.

I have the biggest hard on for it evs.

Vampire Weekend + The Gaslight Anthem + Metric (who are FUCKING AMAZING) + endless others that I can't think of right now = An increasing amount of debt on my credit card thanks to the convenience of iTunes. No really, thanks. ; )

Gotta go write...

Glass Half Full... Getting Filled Up

Positive thoughts... please send them my way...

Think of my book getting published. Think really, really hard about it.

There maybe something coming...

The Paper Cross

The inanimate object lay under the vendors arm until the man came, the man who bought the dirty magazine for three dollars and fifty cents. The vendor tucked the flat, silent shape near the center-fold. The man took the magazine and greedily tucked it under his arm, peering left and right to see whoever may be coveting his newly purchased treasure. His bulging belly bolstered his posture as he walked down the street and waited for the five o’clock bus. A man with a face hidden behind a beard of hair and dirt approach him and asked him for spare change. The man denied his request and annoyed he muttered under his breath. Just then a large, shining automobile splashed the man with the collected rain water that had stood thick and glimmering with oil, menacingly rippling with any small vibration. The man stood up and shouted then sat back down defeated as the driver drove on to what the man presumed was a large, fancy house--nice enough to match the over-luxurized vehicle that had just drenched him in a dark wet that made him cold. He envied the driver for having riches and treasures even better than his dirty magazine. The bus squealed to a halt and the doors opened mechanically and mechanically the passengers shuffled down the steps and moved in differing directions, blending into clutters of bodies moving throughout the streets. The man got onto the bus and found himself sitting next to black woman who shifted her purse as he sat down. Just as the bus pulled forward and blended into the traffic a young pregnant woman peered down the narrow hallway for a seat, one which the man was certain she would not find. He motioned for her to come and proudly he gave his seat to her and as she passed him to take it he thrusted his crotch forward into her plump behind, his hand grazing it gently as he apologized. A reveling smile crossed his face as he grasped the handle above her seat, her face covered in discontent and disgust. The bus weaved in and out of the traffic and made its way over the bridge, making several stops before finally reaching that where the man would get off. He turned his head to take one last look at the pregnant woman and found her glaring back at him. He smiled and fell in line with the rest of the passengers as they followed in a conveyor belt-like shuffle. He walked four and a half blocks before reaching the brick apartment building that housed him and his seventeen neighbors. He unlocked the front door and stepped up the fourteen steps that lead to his door. He opened it and set his dirty magazine upon the kitchen table. He put a microwave dinner into the microwave, the beep of the buttons breaking the thickness of the silence in the dead house. He took off his tie; he swept his hair across his forehead and sneezed at the smell of upturned dust as he aimlessly shuffled books on a shelf in a darkened corner of the dining room. The ding penetrated whatever thought he was deep in and he drug his feet across the carpet with his hands in his pockets. He removed the dinner, he removed the plastic covering of the dinner, he removed a fork from a drawer to use to eat his dinner, the dinner that he paid one dollar for--one dollar and twenty-two cents counting tax. He plopped down at the table and thumbed through the magazine as he shoveled a mixture of white and brown into his gaping mouth, his eyes fixated on the images of the women presenting themselves to him. He licked the black container clean of the gravy left over and tossed it across the table. He flipped the page and found there, obstructing the parts he wanted to see the most, a filthy paper cross. He tossed it to the side and unzipped his pants. He continued flipping until he found himself obsessively staring at two women pleasuring each other, their buttocks exposed, their breast beckoning his lips for a taste. He grunted and groaned as he rubbed furiously until he exhausted himself and lay sprawled out in his chair, not zipping or cleaning himself up. He stood up suddenly, his shoes thudding on the hardwood floor. He took a step forward and slipped on the thin yellowed piece of paper that lay innocently on the floor. His feet flew out from under him and as he desperately attempted to grab a hold of the table, the slippery magazine forcing him to lose his grip, his neck suddenly snapping sharply on the back of the slated wooden chair where he had recently rested. His body fell to the floor hard and his head smacked the wood, his eyes shaking in their sockets, glassy and absent.

Since the "Onion" refuses submissions of any kind *cough presumptuous fucks cough*

Trent Reznor determined to be son of God.

Thur. Apr. 16, 2009
Fassociated Press

The Fassociated Press reported on Wednesday that the front of man of industrial rock band Nine Inch Nails is actually the son of God. Scientifically the claim remains unconfirmed however our sources indicate that Reznor is in fact the worldly embodiment of the Lord. It was God Himself who purported to set the record straight on Wednesday morning during a televised press conference from the Vatican. God, or as he prefers to be called, The Dude, claimed that man’s view of Jesus has been greatly misconstrued, “[he] has been depicted as such a wuss, look at him,” said the Lord, pointing his finger, his face contorted with disgust, at the crucifix on the wall, “who could ever be proud of that? Have you seen Michael [Reznor's first name]? Adonis compared to this disappointment! Give me a little credit here! Don’t you think when choosing my vessel I’d pick something a little less metro and a bit more bad ass?” God attempted to resolve the issue of Jesus’ alleged crucifixion. “Listen, can one of you explain the logic you’re using when swallowing this load of crap?” He added, “I know I ask a lot, blind faith and whatnot, but come on! Come oooon!” He winked and nudged Saint Peter in an attempt to lighten the mood but his joke fell flat like the stance Bill O'Reilly takes when presenting for Rush Limbaugh. “How did Mary get pregnant huh? I am the All Mighty Lord and all but there are limits to my power. Look at Rosie O’Donnell! I tried to Ctrl+Alt+Delete her but every time I hit ‘End Now’ nothing would happen, she just keeps on living, and probably will continue to... I knew I should have gone with Steve [Jobs].” He said with a shudder. Following the press conference Christians around the world vented their outrage and dismay at the news.

In Paris, TX at the Miracle of the Lord Baptist church, Father Bobby Joe Gilstrap was "flabbergasted to be utterly honest with you. That guy?! That is our savior? I can't take this religion seriously anymore! God’s asking for a whole hell of a lot more than blind faith with this one. I’m going to the strip club.” Christian title-toting and sexually abstinent Barnie Scurge, from his living room in Nazareth, NJ said, “Is this the guy who sings that song, the one about fornicating with animals? So that’s okay then… good I’ve been wondering because I told my girlfriend that I’m still a virgin and I would hate for that to be a lie, being that it's a sin to lie.”

Reznor's fans, however, are ecstatic. "It's simply confirmation of something we already know," said self-proclaimed number one fan of Reznor, Clarice Harrison from Denver, CO.

Taking full advantage of His time on earth, God attempted to explain some of life’s great mysteries, “The roof of your mouth gets butchered by Cap’n Crunch for a reason you gluttonous sons of bitches,” and “on the seventh day I rested because I got high," mimicking Afroman's 2000 hit, Because I Got High.

He warned, “Don’t touch the Queen of England. If you do you’ll be forced into spending an eternity being the single sweaty bed sheet shared by George W. Bush and Tony Blair during their “NATO (Naughty Ass Taint Oyster) Summits.” He even shined a light on mysterious-o super villain Kim Jong Il who he said "is actually an eighty-five year old Korean woman going through an extended period of menopause.”

At the time of publication Mr. Reznor could not be reached for comment.

Next Week: Satan claims his soul has been absorbed by Ann Coulter. “Burr! It’s cold in here. Help me. Please,” he was over heard saying through her gritted teeth during an intimate moment with Wednesday's Douche Bag of the Day™ winner (inset).


™Registered trade mark of Trent Reznor

*the photo of Ann Coulter has not been altered in any way with the exception of the inset photo

Alas

Capitalism is the cause of this.

And Christianity the cause of that.

Humans the cause of that...

and if you therefore subscribe to the monotheistic theology that includes a god then God is responsible for this fucking economy and

my mother's lost job, my father's failed business...

I wonder if I'm the only one approaching life with this mathematical mentality?

Cause=Effect.

1+1=2

There is no god, how can there be, logically, realistically, with all that we know?

Science is my god. Fact is my scripture. I subscribe only to reality.

Frustration consumes me. I am alone.

Alas! Paul-Henri Thiry, Baron d'Holbach: "What has been said of [God] is either unintelligible or perfectly contradictory; and for this reason must appear impossible to every man of common sense." I came across this while doing research for my little adventure report thing for my creative writing class. There is so much truth to that and there is something that reminds me of thoughts--fears--I had when I was growing up: that I would find out that God is just like Santa Claus: a lie.

A life without God serves me far better than when I did believe. I don't find myself waiting anymore. I'm not putting my faith in fate. I have adopted the concept that not only doesn't God exist but that there is nothing out of my control in regard to my own fate, meaning where I end up, what my life becomes. It is my responsibility. No more crossing paths, no more praying to meet movie stars & musicians, no more seeing God in things. A life absent of God. An existence far more fulfilling if you ask me. Knowing that life ends and that's it motivates me to spend more time with my family, striving to always have the best time possible, taking advantage of late nights with friends, and most importantly, I am motivated to write as much as I possibly can.

Ye old days of Friendster and LiveJournal...

I'm "tweeting" my ass off over here. I'm addicted to this stupid thing! Damn it! Idle hands are Twitter's playground! See! Now I have to put that on my Twitter!

Hold on.

Okay. I feel better now.

Twitter is crack for Facebook/MySpace addicts. I remember a lesser time, when there existed only a dial up internet connection, one where if you had call waiting and someone called, you'd get kicked off or if you're mom didn't know you were on and she picked up the phone to call your grandma, you also lost connection. Because in those days grandmas didn't know how to text message, they didn't even have cell phones.

Now there's this Twitter thing, this 140 character text box where you type pretty much whatever you want. It's not used entirely for it's intended purpose of "to stay connected through the exchange of quick, frequent answers to one simple question: What are you doing?" As if text messaging was too cumbersome, searching in the phone book much too difficult when wanting to tell Tyler you're shopping, it being far easier and saving your thumb one less straining motion by choosing "Twitter" instead of "Tyler" or logging on to the internet from your little blackberry.

Yes people use it like a blog too, I've seen it, esp. on John Mayer's. Example:

"You could really freak the neighbors out if you lit strobes in your house, screamed really loud and left a pile of top hats in the yard." Followed immediately by:

"Even if it meant a pile of top hats gathering in the yard, I'd still be about it."

Do you see what I mean!?

I guess Twitter is good for one thing: catching snippets of the random thoughts of members of America's pop culture. Whatever that's worth...

Ah Twitter you are my Romeo and the tweets of others my poison, you will be the death of me some day.

For more from the douche ("your body's a wonderland" that's all I hear, that inaudible drivel, every time I think of that fuck):

http://twitter.com/johncmayer

Even More Reasons to Hate Boulder

I loathe Boulder. Absolutely.

Modest Mouse played at the Balch Fieldhouse on Saturday night. I had never heard of the venue, Donovan hadn't either, and of course I found it odd that "fieldhouse" was in the name...

It's an indoor track field with a floor made of compressed rubber. I'm no sound tech or anything but considering the flooring as well as the lack of insulation how does one expect sound to sound right? Each note that was played bounced off of the walls and floor to collide with more notes that were heading in the opposite direction (to bounce off) making nothing more than a single wall of indistinguishable noise. The back up vocals were too low while everything else was waaaay too loud making the constant feedback crack your eardrums as soon as that too echoed off of the fucking floor.

Saira and I were not the ONLY ones who noticed this echo chamber of hell. In addition to that, the band failed to recognize this ridiculousness, stating that the flooring is cushioning our feet, how nice that must be. Fuck you man. We had to wait over an hour for you to even come out here! It doesn’t matter if I’m standing on the Pillsbury doughboy’s stomach, my feet and knees will hurt regardless!

Finally, CU is now a dry campus (they're not only devoid of decent sense of humor or the concept that they are in fact part of the world, not their only little pretentious colony of douchey TAs and frat boys, but devoid also of the desire to recognize that some of us are in fact old enough to drink). So people were standing around, at a show, eating hot dogs and candy as if they were at some fucking football game.

To add to this bullshit, it took us an hour to find the damn parking garage where my car was. My fault really, but seriously, would it kill them to invest a bit of money in having a few directories on campus? Jesus Christ. Cheap Boulderites.

Why don't you break my heart one more time, just for good luck

When I was at the doctor's office last Thursday I read an article (in either the Post or Time Magazine) describing the outcome of some research done on the effect of love on the human brain.

In fact the news wasn't actually news to me because I had read a similar theory in my book for Psych 2. The point is love is an addiction just like coke.

So the brain allegedly gets all excited when you think of the person you love. Or the people you have loved.

Stupid crack-cocaine-boy-drug.

It's just my luck really, I have an addictive personality as it is, no wonder I'm such a ridiculous masochist.

"There's nothing more nauseating than seeing a happy couple." ~Larry David

I'm feeling waaay better. Last Sunday I felt like I got my ass kicked by Crown Hill but as it turns out I was coming down with this chest-congested, stuffed-nose, dry-throated deal which after five days of nothing but rest seems to have subsided, finally. I detest being sick.

On another positive note I have finished my application essay for CU. It took me much longer than I had anticipated, it's far more difficult to write about yourself than you'd initially think. But after several (very) rough drafts, all 1,850 words of it finally came together to create a message that I'm fairly certain they'll like: I may have taken a different path to get to the same place as everyone else but my road has prepared me for my collegiate journey and I feel I'm finally ready to be that douche bag I've so despised all of these years--a college graduate whose pompous in her accomplishments and resolute in her studied opinions. Not in those words of course, but certainly following the part of the previously referenced douche bag, I cited philosophy and ended with an overzealous, self-righteous kind of determination:

"Socrates once said, “I know that I am intelligent, because I know that I know nothing.” This is how I feel at this particular moment in my life, that I honestly know nothing when it comes to writing, a humbling feeling, one that has fueled my ambition to write this essay. It is not out of desperation but out of passion that I choose these words to describe my desire to you. It is the hope that I may sway you in the direction of someone who is worthy of the time of yourselves as well as that of your professors. It is determination that I shall succeed in whatever I do. Above all it is the faith I have in myself that I can accomplish anything. I hold dear to me the words spoken by my father, "They can take from you your money, your home, and even your family, but they can never take your education." Socrates may have been intelligent, but my father is a genius. I feel the meaning in his words now and I hope that in a few short years I can show him what they truly mean to me. In closing, I hope you have seen a different kind of student, one who has proven that she needs to go to college, that she wants to further her education, that she deserves a college education and finally that she is prepared to take on the University of Colorado for everything that it’s worth. "

I'm quite pleased. I'm not sure what they're looking for and if nothing else my GPA is good enough to stand on its own but I'm fairly certain they'll enjoy reading what I have to say. I'll be submitting it tomorrow, after a few more revisions I'm sure.

I'm pumped for this coming weekend and the one following. George and I are going downtown again with Tasha and perhaps the newly-single Sam. Next Saturday we'll be up in Boulder for Modest Mouse. We're going to try to get a bit of spring skiing in too, probs the first or second week of March.

Overall I'm feeling pretty excited about everything, but esp. about school.


This picture seems to capture my mood fairly well.

Love is just a four letter word but don't think twice babe, it's alright...

3OH!3 tomorrow!!! ( ^_^)/\(^_^ )

The following things I find myself LOVE-ing hard these days:

Kurt Vonnegut
Joan Baez
Waaaay early Bob Dylan
Johnny Cash: The Biography
Cabernet Sauvignon
Playing my guitar
Skiing

I finished Slaughter-House Five. It is fucking awesome and I recommend it very much seeing as it's a corner stone of Vonnegut's work and beyond that it's brilliant and funny and odd and a bit challenging and just plain great like Catcher in the Rye.

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall is an excellent song. There are a few versions but Joan Baez's is great and of course Dylan's version is my fav obvs but I'm aware his vocals aren't really of everyone's taste, Baez has such a great voice thus forth comes my recommendation for that song. Te Ador (Baez) is also very nice.

My dad gave me a few CDs one of which was The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan. I have it on vinyl but I'd forgotten about it since my receiver has been down so I've been listening to that at work.

The Cash biography my mom got me for Christmas is turning out to be really good. I'm always weary of bios... but this one is so far accurate (as far as I can tell, apart from the personal accounts, etc) and the writing is a notch or two above decent so it's pretty easy to get into.

Cabernet Sauvignon is so nice on cold nights.

Finally, after two or so years I've finally been able to churn out a couple of decent songs with lyrics. I'm very pleased with this.

Skiing was interesting. We started out on a blue and I was a bit intimidated by the whole thing considering I've never been on a blue before... but the day turned out well. We forgot the camera in the rushed jumble of the morning so I've got nothing to show. George and I were very, very disappointed. The chairlift stopped for an eternity--way longer than your usual let the awkward newbie or child off--and though I didn't go into full-on panic, I was getting a bit restless. I found humor in the fact that I recently watched the episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry gets stuck on a chairlift with this chick who's an Orthodox Jew and she can't be with a man after the sun goes down so the sun starts setting while they're stuck on this thing and she comes to the conclusion that someone must jump. It was my first reaction that he should be the one to jump but no, this is Larry and he proceeds (this is all after eating a pair of edible underwear in front of her) to argue and firmly state that he will not jump. So she does and I think she breaks or sprains something, poor girl. What a chump, that Larry David.

I filled out my application for CU Denver earlier. I started working on my essay which is optional but why wouldn't you take advantage of that opportunity? I think it's a really good chance to show them why I'm seeking a degree in English with an emphasis in writing one that thereby promotes by final goal of being a writer. Not only can I punctuate this but the paper itself shall serve as an example of what I'm capable of so it has to be done very well. This shit is getting pretty serious here with the school and the growing up and the life. I'm intimidated by CU which is why I'm not going to DU because if I'm intimidated by CU then I must be, well, scared shitless of DU. I don't know what the work is going to be like. Is it more than I've been doing for ACC? I assume so because it's a better school. Getting shouldn't be too tough though, the good thing is I'm not going to have to go through any trouble with obtaining Lakewood transcripts because I have enough credits and a wonderful enough GPA that college shall stand alone in academic representation. My anxiety is somewhat eased by this.

"These are the songs I keep singin'"

I spent way too much money at Twist & Shout on Thursday. I bought the following:

CD:
Ry Cooder's Bop Till You Drop

Vinyl:
The Band's Music From Big Pink
Bob Dylan's 1973 Self Titled release
Bob Dylan's John Wesley Harding
Cat Steven's Back to Nature
Queen's Queen II

I couldn't resist; it's been so long since I've been able to recklessly indulge in that little vice of mine.

New Years was nice but we got jacked by the Man. Jerk. Phony. Phony jerk.

Skiing tomorrow with LOLrissa and her bros. I'm totally stoked! Pictures to come...