Jamaican? I thought you were some kind of outer space potato man.

The trouble with looking backwards is that its so damned embarrassing. No one ever looks back and thinks about how cool they were. I'm always incredibly ashamed of things I've done even six months ago. I have no idea what I'm doing right now that will embarrass the shit out of me a year from now, but I'm certain that I'm doing it.

---

People think someone who talks a lot is confident. "He's so confident. He's got opinions on everything." Did you ever stop and consider that maybe he's just terrified of awkward silence?

to expand...

People think someone confident is brave. "He just says what we're all thinking. That's why it's funny. I wish I'd had the nerve to just say it." Did you ever stop and consider that maybe he's just terrified that unless he says something, no one's gonna know it?
----

My wild goose chase of a Saturday had me all over the place. Off to PB. Off to Downtown. Off to Del Mar. Off to Caramel Valley? What?

We ended up in the largest house in the entire world. Contained inside was the largest television in the entire world. The girls there were all categorically similar, but I won't do the disservice of guessing at the country of origin. Names like Basma, Saddaf, Deema, etc.

It's funny. A common question was, "so how do you all know eachother?" as if the three members of the Lush Collective couldn't meet by natural means.

I was talking to one of them (who had a boyfriend? I'm still not sure on this.) And I lied and said I was a writer. That's not entirely a lie; I'm writing right now, but I said I was a published writer. That's a lie.

I don't even know why I did that. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I was incredibly drunk. The guy and girl who lived there were brother and sister and were very accommodating.

Why would you lie to someone you don't even know? Cause you can get away with it? The ease in which I lied made me completely second-guess first impressions. Scary. Especially with how significant first impressions are.

Even physically. Women. I'm going to paraphrase Chris Rock, but you're all a bunch of fucking liars.

Your hair isn't that straight, your skin isn't that flawless, you're not that tall, and your boobs aren't that perky. Your eyes, hair, nails, lips and skin aren't even the original colors. Typing that, I laugh.

And here's the insane thing: Guys don't even care. I so don't care. If I think you're pretty, you could show up in flat shoes with a curly afro wig and blue eyeliner and no bra and have a zit on your nose and I'd STILL probably think you're pretty. And I have "high standards". Sure you can cover this and enhance that but if we're ever gonna have a future together (and that's what this is all about, isn't it? nudge nudge) I'm gonna figure you out.

What if you walked up to a girl at your WORST.

Like this, for example.


What if instead of hyping up this first impression, I gave you my very worst. Unshowered, unshaven, barely awake. Exhausted. Faded brown tshirt and a smile full of toothpaste.

What if I still made you laugh, and what if you realized that this first impression--- it's all uphill from here.

How cool would that be? See people at their absolute most revolting- and decide if you can handle it. It's like an investment. Cause that guy in that picture up there cleans up really, really nice. And you liked him when he was disgusting. You just won the lottery!

Maybe it doesn't work that way, but it's a nice thought. I'd hate to meet a girl at a cocktail party and have to wear a tux for the rest of my life.


What if we met and I wasn't trying to impress you.



What would you say when I did?

we fell stumbling into the future part 1: reflections- Dr. Solis dissects the perfect girl.

not literally.

Back when Mark Wahlberg was "Marky Mark", people used to send eachother funny emails. Or heartwearming emails. Anything that is now the content of a myspace bulletin used to be a funny email. Your parents (depending on their age) or your grandparents probably take great joy in forwarding these bad boys around.

They're almost always deleted as quickly as they're opened, but I kept this one for years. Since maybe freshman year of highschool. That's eight years ago. Apparently it struck a chord with me. It's in a file called "does she do this.doc" as if I'd someday consult it before I married my wife.

So here's my first look into the past: The things your love is supposed to do for you. I'll pick it apart in a bit.

She takes the initiative to stand or sit close to you.
She compliments you frequently.
She touches you.
Her eyes sparkle when she looks at you.
She is curious to know everything about you.
She endeavors to discover what's important to you and what makes you tick, so she asks you a lot of questions about yourself, but not in an obnoxious, prying or pushy kind of way.

She gives you small gifts.
She calls you and asks you out.
She makes a big deal about your birthday.
She cooks your favorite meal at least once a month.
She builds up your ego.
She's supportive.
She's consistently loving and affectionate.
When you're sick, she is your dedicated nurse.
She often turns into a playful little girl when she's around you.
She respects your opinion.
She asks you for advice.
She's consistent and dependable.
She keeps her word.
She's never late.
She's fiercely loyal.
She backs you up when the chips are down.
She doesn't put you down in public or nag.
She doesn't compare you to other guys.
She makes you feel like a better man than you know you are.
Her knees buckle when she kisses you.
She thinks it's great that you go out with your buddies once a week.
She doesn't try to control you as much as other women do.
When football is on she knows not to talk and ask dumb questions.
Every girl in town thinks you're ugly as sin, but she thinks you look like Brad Pitt.
She thinks that your beer belly is made of muscle.
When you say, "Honey, tomorrow morning you and I are going to rob the local bank at nine o'clock." She says, "I'll be ready."

This will be easier to comment on if I post it again and slip my comments in. Hope you like to read.

She takes the initiative to stand or sit close to you.

I can see why I saved this. Sitting next to someone actually mattered when I was ...14? I guess it still matters now. I'm gonna show up late to all my classes on purpose, and scout things. Not because I am a hopeless young-at-heart romantic, but because I am a creepy pervert. But I can fake it.

She compliments you frequently.
She touches you.

Here's where guys and girls are different. I swear to god, you can compliment me as much as you like I and I will never reject you for it. A guy tells a girl that she is pretty, and she suddenly realizes she can do way better than him. A girl tells a guy he's cute and he just feels like a stud. Next time you see me, whoever you are, feel free to tell me how pretty I am if you are so inclined. I won't hold it against you. Unless "it" is my body, in which case yes, I will press it against you.

Her eyes sparkle when she looks at you.

This one's not even possible unless you're dating a cartoon girl or a stuntwoman. Sparkling eyes are generally indicators of cataracts and glaucoma.

She is curious to know everything about you.
She endeavors to discover what's important to you and what makes you tick, so she asks you a lot of questions about yourself, but not in an obnoxious, prying or pushy kind of way.

This one's actually true. They're the same thing. Why does it not work in reverse? TANGENT:

Sometimes I feel like the less I know about a girl, the more attractive she is. The negative thought behind that is that the more I get to know anyone, the more their negative features stand out and then I'm less attracted to them. This isn't necessarily true, but it is a thought.

And with the previous theme, even if I DID wanna know something about a girl I liked, it's not like I would ask her all the time, because then she might get a big head. And that big head would turn into the realization that she can do better than me. Can't have that.

END TANGENT

She gives you small gifts.
She calls you and asks you out.

HA HA HA. This will never happen. Sorry.

She makes a big deal about your birthday.

This is EVERY girl. Girls LOVE birthdays.

She cooks your favorite meal at least once a month.

Her ass tossed in thousand island dressing? Har har har.

She builds up your ego.
She's supportive.

These are nice.

She's consistently loving and affectionate.

This would get boring. Even if this is the perfect woman, if I'm not working for it a little I don't like it. I hate it when things fall into my lap. Consistently affectionate is nice, but what am I doing?

When you're sick, she is your dedicated nurse.

I'd rather she didn't catch whatever I had, I guess. Wait is this describing the perfect woman or your mom? Yuck. Girls, I don't get sick, thankfully. Im basically indestructible.

She often turns into a playful little girl when she's around you.

This is nice. I like to get stupid. Doo Doo Dumb.

She respects your opinion.
She asks you for advice.
She's consistent and dependable.
She keeps her word.
She's never late.

Dude, these are important traits for EVERYONE. Men and women, girls and girlfriends, kids and adults. People just want to be acknowledged, and consistency, dependability and honesty are huge.

She's fiercely loyal.

Oh I love this. Give me a loyal girl and I will give you a dollar. Or much more than that. How much do you want for your loyal girl?

She backs you up when the chips are down.

Same thing. If I'm going down swinging, I want you to also. Unless it's literally a fight, in which case, don't fight, just call an ambulance. Thanks

She doesn't put you down in public or nag.
She doesn't compare you to other guys.

Don't ever do this. I will resent you forever.

She makes you feel like a better man than you know you are.

This is a nice thought. But any girl who made me more of an egomaniac than I already am has done the world a disservice.

Her knees buckle when she kisses you.

Oh it's usually me.

She thinks it's great that you go out with your buddies once a week.
She doesn't try to control you as much as other women do.

Har har! Yeah, right.

When football is on she knows not to talk and ask dumb questions.
Every girl in town thinks you're ugly as sin, but she thinks you look like Brad Pitt.
She thinks that your beer belly is made of muscle.

These are all silly. The dumb questions make me feel smart. Im just glad she's watching it at all. I know I look nothing like Brad Pitt. Everyone knows I look like Cuba Gooding Jr.

When you say, "Honey, tomorrow morning you and I are going to rob the local bank at nine o'clock." She says, "I'll be ready."

This one I really like. Robbing a bank is the most romantic thing you can do. Rather, running away together is the best thing you can do. I'm never getting over that notion.

so to recap....

Wow this hasn't been significant at all.


Fail.


Bail.

Jade is a gemstone too.

Can't always be diamonds.

What is this generation's "Going Off to War"? Because 'Going to War' certainly isn't it. Sixty five years ago if you were a bored young American man, there was an easy and noble option: Go to war. Suddenly you've got a job. People need you. You are REALLY IMPORTANT. You're doing something great. Something heroic. Someday they're gonna make a movie about you, kid, and everyone's gonna remember.

And it's not just the stuff you're doing that's great- it's the stuff you DON'T have to do.

Paperwork? Fuck you, I'm dodging bullets.
Traffic? Not on the ocean, pal. Not in this tank, buddy.
Girls? What do you think I'm fighting for. No I'm not ignoring you, I'm saving your life. Thank me later.

Oh man. There is no dating stress when you could die at any moment. Cause honey, I can't follow a format when there's a mortar right outside my door.

The greatest thing about going off to war is that you're only worried about your life. The same shit my dog worries about. The same stuff a three-toed sloth in a jungle somewhere is worried about. A live or die situation sounds surprisingly relaxing.

All you have to do is not die. You get a pass for just about everything else.

See back then, people excused our soldiers because everyone knew the war mattered. We had a legitimate supervillain in Hitler. We had a clear and traceable ambush to provoke us in Pearl Harbor. We got to play heroes and we actually knew who the bad guys were.

I don't talk religion or politics, so brief is sufficient: People don't believe in this war.

Because of that, "going off to war" today isn't a heroic option. You don't get to die for anything noble. It's hot and its boring and it's scary and when you get back, people aren't as much 'proud of you' as they are relieved you're alive.

So how do I go to war now?
---

We find this war in our hobbies. I want something I can tell them I'm doing so that they think I'm busy enough with something important that the fluff becomes negligible.

If I was dodging bullets 65 years ago they wouldn't care so much that I didn't always say the right thing at the right time. If I was fighting Hitler, I might be able to get away with 'chilling' on a Friday instead of going out.

There's this pressure to be so interesting, that all you can do is fake it or find some overwhelming purpose to compensate for it. Everyone knows that feverish protester who lives to raise awareness for some underrepresented endangered animal. Their whole fucking life dedicated to the Madagascar Scorpion and its rights.

This passion means its okay that they don't shower.
---

I like showers. I don't wanna stink. So I want to go to war. How do I go to war in 2007?

I have been so busy with this photography gig. It's work. It's literally work. Someone else would be making a ton of money for what I'm doing. It's WORK. It occupies my thoughts and my time and I'm busy. And this guitar has me busy. I'm just busy.

So busy that I can't go out on Tuesday, sorry, I'm shooting, and I can't hang on Friday, cause sorry, I'm practicing, and I'm exhausted on Sunday cause I was drinking (for work) on Saturday...

...

When do you get to ENJOY BEING INTERESTING!?

I'm so distracted with these interesting things that I never get to brag about it.

I'm online. I'm blogged, wired, websited, facebooked, myspaced, AIMed, business carded, partied and played and worked and busy and TIRED.
---

My roommate and I are watching Braveheart.
"Do you think he'd do well with girls these days?"
what do you mean?
"I mean I doubt he's got a sense of humor. He's so intense. Do you think a girl would wanna be around a guy like that these days?"
hmm I dunno.




---he doesn't have to be interesting or funny or charming or caring, because he's too busy worrying about his life and yours.

I just wanna relax. I'd love to fight for your life as long as it mattered. But this filler, this pressure, these hobbies... this distraction. It's boring.

I wanna go to school. I want my whole life to bank on whether or not the girl in my class sits next to me and smiles and stuff... la la la highschool.

I digress.




I've been spending so much time on myself, I guess I just forgot how much fun it is to spend time on other people.

man you can't go gambling with your last arm

this ain't vegas. these ain't chips. that's your ARM, man.


Something I'm going to be doing (if not now than later) is I'm going to dig up some old writing I've done and examine it. See where I'm at now, compared to where I was at then.


--break


i just took 30 minutes and flipped through past stuff. Its different. Way different.

maybe it's a bad idea.

run for your life.

run for your damned life. the future is here. it is.


I batted so badly on drunk dials tonight. Only the reliable ones answered. You have my everlasting gratitude.


want something poetic? Here. This is what I've got. This is what they've done to me.
---
[don't read too much into this.]


He wasn't a bad kisser. Not bad in the sense that you wouldn't want to kiss him again. She was startled, though, by the voracious desperation that he displayed any time his lips met hers.

Like he needed to kiss her to save his life. The kind of frantic, passionate desperation someone exhibits when they jam an epi-pen into their own thigh. The clenched, tooth-grinding desperation heard rattling like pills when someone's heart stops beating and the medicine lid is child-proof.

His obsession and her sadness were like poison.

He kisses her like her tongue had the antidote.


Like her breath would make him live forever, if he took in enough of it.










One kiss and he's building castles in her name.




---
five syllables in
and we're still so hopelessly
inevitable.


---

there's another line on the end but it's zero syllables. Sometimes it goes without saying.


----

here's good advice. Pick something and do it. While you're trying to figure out what to do, the world's not waiting up for you.

two heartbeats in and you know what's coming.

This is going to be disastrous. Hooray!

tbc.

aequitas/veritas

This isn't my own. For once.

Nation To Ken Griffey Jr.: 'We Wish It Were You Hitting 756 Home Runs'
May 31, 2007


CINCINNATI—Overcome with a mixture of distaste at the almost certain future and a wistful sense at the way things could and should have been, baseball fans across America took time to address veteran Reds superstar Ken Griffey Jr. yesterday in order to let him know that they sincerely wish that Griffey, and not Barry Bonds, was on the verge of hitting his record-breaking 756th home run.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Griffey, because the last thing we as a nation want is for you to think you've disappointed us by not breaking this record," the country's message, which was read to a quiet and humble Griffey by retired Seattle, WA–area mechanical engineer and lifelong baseball fan Robert Colgrave, began. "America knows you did everything you could, and we couldn't be more proud of you. In fact, that's the whole point—we think you're a man who is actually worthy of this record."

"Believe us, if life was as fair as baseball, you'd have 760 homers right now," said Colgrave, pausing as if momentarily overcome. "More, even. And you'd still be chalking them up. You're a natural talent. God's gift to the baseball diamond. It's just… Damn bad luck, is all. Bad luck and trouble."

The likeable but injury-plagued Griffey currently stands eighth on the all-time home-run list with 574, only nine back from Mark McGwire in seventh. However, America insists that without the bizarre injuries that plagued his career, Griffey would have had a legitimate shot at hitting 756.

"I mean, when a guy misses out on the Rookie of the Year because he slips and hurts his wrist in the shower… Where's the sense in that?" America said. "Being denied the single-season home run record in 1994 because of the baseball strike? Not fair. It's amazing that with every bad hand you've been dealt that you haven't packed it in and called it a day. Frankly, you're an inspiration—unlike some players this nation could name."

The nation then went out of its way to praise Griffey for the many great moments and high points of Griffey's career, claiming it had "always meant to do so but never seemed to find the right moment." Special attention was paid to Griffey's decision to play for his father's old team, wearing his father's No. 30, in the city of his youth; his decision to wear Jackie Robinson's No. 42 on Jackie Robinson Day, and to encourage other players to do so; and his appearance on The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air.

Throughout the address, the nation emphasized the humility, grace, and joy with which Griffey embraced the national pastime. They talked about buying his batting gloves and signature baseball cleats as children, imitating his stance and perfect home-run swing in batting cages, and how they would ask their father's to hit long fly balls so they could make "Griffey-esque" catches in centerfield. They talked about his 1989 Upper Deck rookie card, and how, instead of going down in value with every hamstring injury, it should have skyrocketed in price with his 800th, maybe 900th home run. They talked about the guy who made wearing baseball caps backwards cool. And they talked about the elation they felt when Griffey became the first one to ever hit the Camden Yards Warehouse during a monstrous shot in 1993's Home Run Derby.
"I would be proud to have Ken Griffey Jr. break my home-run record," current record-holder and Hall of Fame legend Hank Aaron said upon being told of the nation's statement. "I would most certainly attend any game in which he had a chance of doing so. And I would come down from the stands and hug him fiercely after he crossed the plate and had been congratulated by his teammates. I really don't think I'd be able to help myself."

"Hell, I'll probably attend the game he's playing in when my record is broken in any case," Aaron added.

Baseball commissioner Bud Selig, responding to overwhelming demand, has confirmed that an asterisk will be placed next to Griffey's name in the record books in order to indicate that, in a perfect world where dignity is always rewarded, cheaters never triumph, and people always get what they really deserve, Griffey would have hit one more home run than Barry Bonds' career total.

his Airness' esteemed resolve part one: l parenthesis a

l(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness



take a moment to appreceate the ridiculousness of the Michael Jordan comparison. Thanks.

In any case, biorhythms or whatever cyclical emotional rollercoasters I'm on have determined that it's John time. Straight up.

A bit of advice went like this: "Don't define yourself by someone else." More or les. Here's the idea: You've only got a limited amount of adjectives and descriptors to define yourself with- "The guy who likes that girl" shouldn't be part of it.

Refined, here's the idea again: I'm putting myself first for a while. I'm buying myself things, and I'm giving the magnum face and I'm focused on me.

Me Me Me Me Me.

Typing that out, I realize that it doesn't really change much. I guess I'm already sort of living for myself. I bought that guitar. Back in the gym. Eh.

Still though. It's funny; I'm doing a photoshoot on Friday and was told to bring something that describes myself. My friend Matt is bringing his camera. He's an artist. A creator.

I asked if I could bring a beer and a hot chick.


What's wrong there?

John no longer on drugs; new song sounds drug induced.

You've seen it all.

All Choked Up, in all of it's iterations, resonating clear and emo across my songscape.

Well here's another one.

go here...

and download the sonly song in there. This is a sneak preview.

"Summarize the song in a sentence."

How about a title?

Our Hero Regretfully Chokes to Death on "I Love You".


This one is special, because I used an autotuner on it. The same shit that makes Cher sound like a lunatic on 1998's 'Believe.' (Do you believe in life after love after love after lurve after lerve?)

Let's get back into a paragraph format here. I don't know why the ideas get separated like that, but sometimes they do. And all of a sudden I'm writing sonnets instead of blog posts. My 'studio' is growing every day. I'm going to buy a Les Paul copy this week, I think.


What do you think of this one? Black on black. Agile has the second best reviewed Les Paul. Gibson's is number one, but Agile is number two. That's ahead of Epiphone's, for whatever it's worth. The price is right as well.


So I've got my three existing guitars, but this one would compliment the collection nicely. I can also jack in to my most recent purchase- my Lexicon audio interface. That allows me to record directly into Sonar, which is my production software. That's also why you hear crystal clear keyboarding on the above version of A.C.U.

In addition to the audio interface, the software that allows me to create the "Cher Effect" is called Antares AutoTune. It's apparently famous in the vocals industry for turning crap into robotic crap. But if you're a decent singer to begin with, you can get some nice effects out of it.

The best would be if I got a legitimate drum kit. Even an electronic one. That's something all my songs could use. I don't like the keyboard's drums.



Is reading a frustrating story as frustrating as living it? I imagine it is. Because of that, I will refrain from typing out the optometrist story. Fate doesn't want me to have blue eyes. Apparently neither do the good folks at the offices of Dr. Gary Sneag and Lenscrafters. It's been one horrible mishap after another. I was literally blind for a second because my middle eastern attendant insisted I try a contact on that was inside out. Thanks Massoud.

Nochés de Passion con Señor Solis.

Léon is a good movie. It reminds me of Sin City. And V for Vendetta.

It reminds me a LOT of V for Vendetta.


however-

There is not nearly enough flatulence/genital related humor.


** 2 stars out of 5