Friday, June 22, 2007


Life is made of little discoveries and revelations.

Today I discovered that teh same guy that wrote the theme music to Law and Order is the same guy who wrote the theme music to Quantum Leap.

Bum Bum guy also wrote a time travel ditty.


Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Random Musings

Blog ideas usually, as most of you know, come from me being absurd and living a life that seems to attract the weird and the depraved.

For some reason though I cannot pin point a moment of absurdity...a tale of weird. So I present to you a random collection of my week.


Three out of four bridesmaids agree; they want to sleep with my best friend.
But my best friend would trade it all for a magnificently delicious burrito.


For the fist time since high school I bought a pair of shoes that are not Converse All Stars.

Since my feet broke the size 16 marker I have jsut gone with what I know, rather than embarassing myself at some store. I rodered them online.

They are a sleek paid of Pumas, dark-brown suede with yellow highlights. My new dancing shoes, I said.

But what icked the soles out from under me was the fact that as they got to the post office, my FedEx tracker showed it was going to take more than a week to ship them.

Why? Well, it take a little while to ship shoes that weigh about 5 lbs, the post office employee said to me, laughing.


Standing in line at the Hen House grocery store I surveyed the goods I had selected and now had laid out on the convyer belt for check out.

the man behind me stepped up to slay out his own wares.

As he set them on the belt as well, I noticed a star distrinction between the two.

he had apples, grapes, strawberries, fine cheeses and what looked like about a dozen veggies all delicately placed before him.

I had pizza rolls, easy mac, hamberger helper and frozen pizzas.

"Ah, to be young again," he said marvling at my choiced.

"Young has nothing to do with it," I said, slighly hiding my man-which sloppy joe mix.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Best text message ever

11:54 p.m., Friday, June 5, 2007.

"I wish my lawn was emo so it would cut itself."
- Mandy G.

I dare you to top that.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

I should be in movies!

(Camera pans from above down to a 1950s happy go-lucky kid playing with a puppy in his front yard)

Announcer: What’s wrong, Mikey?

(Mikey looks around, startled, then look right into camera)

Mikey: What? Nothing.

Announcer: Now, Mikey. Lying only makes the pain worse, you know. You can’t hide those razor blade scars from me.

It’s a hard knock life here in the upper class suburbs of Kansas City. Growing up Midwest, rich and white, just isn’t what it used to be back in the day. Being happy now comes with the agonizing feeling of guilt for destroying the earth, culture, relationships, art, race relations and anything else you befoul with your mere existence! You actually think your father loves you? (laughter)

Mikey: Wow, I never realized I was such a disappointment to…everyone. How do I fix it, sir?

Announcer: (Laughing) Oh, there is no hope for you. Frankly, you will just have to bottle all this misplaced, hormone induced emotion and force it to come out in a new creative way – or grow up to become a serial killer.

You could also undergo a new government procedure called EMO Therapy.

Mikey: Eeeeemoo? That sounds scary.

Announcer: Oh it is, and painful to boot.

Mikey: Great, let’s get started.

Announcer: First, things first, you have to stop eating.

Mikey: Stop eating what? Meat? Eggs? Cheese?

Announcer: Everything. You are not allowed to be seen eating anything. You may drink, but it will have either be hyper-expensive energy drinks or countless, tasteless cans of PBR. This lack of food will cause you to become listless and moody. The first step in your transformation as you begin to waste away into a crippled hipster.

But this will help you as you begin to die your hair black and start wearing women’s pants and t-shirts that were meant for a fifth grader.

Mikey: What? Wait, I’m not wearing women’s clothing.

Announcer: Oh, yes you will if you want to be accepted by other Emos down at the Man Hole.

Mikey: Man Hole? But that’s the gay bar…I thought I was becoming Emo, not a fa…

Announcer: Mikey, you have so much to learn. There is nothing more Emo than wearing ironic t-shirts and going to ironic bars where you can listen to the latest screed by Ssion, Patrick Wolf or any other indie-queen-band.

Mikey: This does not sound like fun anymore.

Announcer: Oh it never will be fun. You are entering a world of teeth crushing depression and you will love it.

Once the sadness sets in and Connor Oberst’s “Bowl of Oranges” finally makes sense to you, then you will know that you have made the transformation. You will have a rich future to look forward too.

Your bar conversations will be monotone diatribes about the lack of good music despite the fact that you own 600 vinyl records and no record player. You will move to an apartment in downtown Austin or Omaha and write in a composition note book. You will try to learn an instrument and swear that you are going to quit your job at the movie theater to go tour with your other Emo friends who sleep on your couch. You will become pale, sad and blog incessantly about how the world is never going to understand you with poems that have no poetic value whatsoever.

You will shun outsiders, mock those you know simply because you hate everything, even yourself.

Even the sex can be soulless and boring as Emo women lack the ability to orgasm - It’s just too much effort, plus it would be an expression of an emotion other than face crushing depression.

Mikey: Gosh. (walks off screen).

Announcer: Like smoking, being Emo will simply make you look cooler, while simultaneously eating your soul from the inside out.

But it’s worth it, right Mikey?

(Pan to Mikey who is now crying in the corner surrounded by razor blades – suddenly looks up, smiles and throws a thumbs up to the camera).

Announcer: So remember, being EMO is not just a phase; it is a vapid wasteland of emotionless fun! God Bless America.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Knocked up

Is it wrong to say I want children?

When did it become uncouth to say I want a toeheaded daughter or a wild son?

Why can I not say I want these things in the long run and still maintian some kind of street cred with the rest of the world?

What makes the the whole hip world against children? Becasue they drag you down? Becasue they make you realize there is more in this world than just you? Becasue they make you realize that love can exsist with out fornication or some headonistic goal?

Where is it written or perscribed that to live a sucesfull life you have to be un attachded and unregualted?

You, some say, have to live a life that is without restrictions. The only way to live is to live without boundaries.

I think that is wrong.

I don't base this off some movie I saw - it serves as a good cultural starting point, though - the marksman's gun that starts this foul race I am going to call this entry.

You get on your marks, you set, you go. Then what?

You race like a fool to the end line hoping, to every god you pray to, that you will end up there alone - becasue only then you have yourself to congratulate.

Its easy to split a prize one way.

Still, you are alone.

A thunderous applause for your success sound fairly meager when no one is there to see it happen. You think your elders - or peers - will be there? You are only fooling yourself.

But what if you want more than that? Is there such a thing? Do you think my own parents care about that finish line we have imagined in our own heads?

Do they know they are in some race for success? And with every child they have only added a sandbag to their shoulders as they reach, forever more, for that finish line?

I can't answer that. I can't tell you what they think.

I can tell you that after watching family, friends and close associate marry and have children, there is something there that I want.

There is a relationship that i dont think i even realized i had with my own parents. Being a parent, for the most part, seems like a one-way relationship. You give and give and continue to give even after you have been pissed on time after time.

Why? Becasue it is your own flesh and blood.

Becasue even after they move away and decide to do their own thing, you see yourself in them. Your own dreams and ideologies, you see youself.

You can hate yourself so much that you emancipate your own child. That is something you have to live with.

Or you can love youself and your child that even after a selfhish act, you still buy them dinner and make thme feel good. You can be there when the shit hits the fan .

You can simply exsist for them.

I've seen it happen. With my own, with my family, with friends, with those who surround me in life.

Who else do you simply exsist for?

Saturday, June 02, 2007

What it means to be human.

My brother has entered the useless world of YouTube. However, this video is kind of funny.

Keep in mind the kid he is in the video with is the same kid who built a Trebuchet and flng pumpkins across the school's parking lot.