Where it's at: November 2003

Sunday, November 30, 2003

i'd fight:
1. john martin
2. pink
3. jan elkins (channel three health reporter)
4. sonic the hedgehog
5. the guy that formed megadeth
6. herb alpert and every member of the tiajuana brass, simultaneously
7. celine dion
8. rene zelweger
9. any male gap employee
10. any cast member of full house
11. al gore, internet inventor
12. don zimmer (not so much a fight, just a sidestep and head re-direction)
13. any of the GT kids who needed it
14. Shredder
15. rev. al sharpton
16. regis philbin
17. jon bon jovi
18. marilyn manson
19. mr. cool big tires
20. john stossel (20/20)
i wouldn't fight the ladies (if, in fact, that is what they are) but i'd pay some chick to fight them, and that would probably be pretty satisfying.

i like ruston better than i like shreveport. it costs no money to spend time with people, just a little leg work. eating out is overrated, risk is really boring, and texas hold 'em without real money is the difference between laser tag and paintball. every college-aged male who is looking for a femme at some point pares his list down to one item and one item only. guys want girls who are laid back, it's universal, it's the truth, and they're freakin' rare.

Saturday, November 29, 2003

i'm pretty sure all relationships are too complicated. should you talk it out and make sure you're always on the same page, or just kinda hope you are until you start believing that you are until oops, i guess you were wrong. i'm tired of being a nobody, harry. and most of all, i'm tired of having nobody. who knew dumb and dumber could be quoted seriously? i didn't. take it easy.

i don't believe in ghosts, i've never seen one.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

things i miss: cheese balls, 007 for n64, treehouses, band practice, those socks that were made so you didn't have to wear shoes, with the pads and whatnot on the bottom, my parka, sam's single serving pizzas, not having a cold, not sucking at ping pong, and science court (not squigglevision, just old school). i've decided that why you like things is more important, but what you like is pretty frikkin important, too. if you are to listen to rob, dick, and barry, what you are like is the least important. people who define their existential mantra through a single movie kinda freak me out, c'mon, you could at least borrow your definition from two or three, or a whole series, like my VHS bruce lee quintology. and i hate those movies and books about thinking for yourself, or those holyrollers who tell you what to think, but that you need to come up with it yourself. i know that doesn't make sense, that's the point. i'm a big fan of old friends, i like riding in cars with boys, i am a pinball wizard, and nothing happened between me and buffalo bob. dangit, i had so much crap to throw down, i really need a hobby, like raking, or something. any thoughts on why i bought "who's next" tonight? still not quite clear on why i would do such a thing. "and what did we learn from last night?" "don't put twinkies on your pizza." i bet fat camp isn't a happy place, especially with ben stiller as the counselor. visit maketradefair.com, listen to more coldplay, and eat more chocolate. goodnight.

dang, sleep is to a man what a diamond is to a woman, except ours is a treasure that needs constant renewing. i'm taking blog [topic] requests, but i only take them over the phizzle or on your's, so get at it. give me some pete yorn, but only after i awake after an 8 hour coma. i love the mountain air, i love her skin so fair, BOOMDIYADA, BOOMDIYADA!

Monday, November 24, 2003

so see, what had happened was, we had to go rake, or whatever. dang, it's so cold, money really doesn't make it much warmer. kyle, i promise no more record talk, i understand your jealousy. blogs suck, people should just use the phone. i was wondering while i was raking, is it what you like that makes you who you are, or is it why you like it? i'll save you the examples, but i'm pretty sure i didn't resolve the issue, thank god i have more yards to do. i'm gone, work sucks, i know.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

so, what to post.

i was thinking af putting up some top 5 lists (spurred by yet another airing of Shawshank on channel 18), but the more i try to pin down favorite songs, albums, or artists, even, i put in something forgotten, like the matchbox's first record, and i wonder if i could ever pin the world down like that. i don't even think i could make a single favorites cd, i'd go crazy. but anyways...this week filled up insanely fast, it's gonna be busier than a college week, no vacation here. i really can't think of much tonight, i'm working on a cold, my socks are pretty dirty, and i think i might be going bald. this isn't a bad hairline, it's my hair running away from my face. i've watched too many fresh prince episodes. so, my order for tonight, give me a reunion every night of the week, a glass of chocolate milk (tech dairy, of course), a kleenex, the new crows album (greatest hits, $10 at best buy on tuesday), and a loveseat. it's short, so sue me.

Friday, November 21, 2003

tonight tonight. tonight was the night you hit all lights red, the night the movie ends with no resolution, and the night you miss your chance to go for the yawn-to-arm-around combo. it was aight, "one by one" rounded out the evening as i almost got in a wreck with mr. cool big tires. or maybe his brother, i couldn't really tell, it was dark. i hope my raking muscles are still good, tomorrow's gonna be longer than another russell crowe movie. take it easy, the eagles did, look where it got them.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

so now it's four turntables and no microphone. i love the goodwill auction, the smell, the bad grammar, the dregs of society, the lack of any form of warranty whatsoever, it truly is a dreamland of economic backwardness. i got skanked into buying two turntables when i bid on a choice of two, picked one, then the guy says, "oh, he got the one that didn't work, anybody else want the working one?" it's cool though, the more, the merrier, and they both work.
dang, lots of topics tonight, rolling stone published their list of the top 500 albums of all time. glad to say that i own #'s 26 and 28 on vinyl. rather proud of how my collection scored. U2, the who, the beatles, and dylan cleaned house, and parachutes didn't make it. other than that, you can read it for yourself. my western civ teacher said she was going to leave me her 50 records in her will. i wasn't sure of how to respond, she sounded really solemn and serious about it. rock on, i love mimmuh quay. i went from never even noticing a turntable to getting three and seeing 8 in 12 hours, the stars must be goofily aligned, it's a good thing i'm old enough to buy lotto tickets, because i'm feeling super lucky. not lucky enough to get a date tonight, but lucky nonetheless. maybe i should plan ahead. we went to see half of UB at 516 tonight, a whopping two songs, but well played. i think shortbread is going to steal the ritarded version of where the streets, i dug it. give me more hangout time with old friends. it turns out that the same toolbag that runs jack's open-mic on tuesdays is a fixture at soundstage thursday nights. i'm pretty sure i don't envy that guy in any way, me and UB went through that phase on the far side of middle school. glad we got it over with. you are not your guitar, your bank account, your car, wardrobe, or even your record collection, you only own what's behind your skin, and screw martha stewart. i'm feeling more and more like fight club is one of the most definitive movies for my generation, for the thinkers of my generation, at least. i mean, it ranks up there with the breakfast club, no joke. ok, so maybe it was a joke. i'm also more and more impressed about how cool john cusack's proposal to laura is in high fidelity, i'm 18 and i'm sick of thinking about it. go rent the movie, you won't regret it. or, better yet, come over and watch it, but call me first. dang, i ate way too much cookie dough, and i've got a hot date with my mom tomorrow at 7, a recipe for disaster. a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, i love bono.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

holy cow, how cool is my mother. right now i'm spinning simon and garfunkle's greatest hits on a turntable that my mom has apparently owned for a month or so, waiting for christmas. and santa came early when she heard i was trying to ebay one. woot woot. i feel like a bit of a d-bag, as i'm running an RCA pre-out into the mic on my computer, then going through the stock PC speakers. something of an irony, but who cares, i've heard joshua tree on vinyl, and yes, it does sound better. even on emachines speakers. so tomorrow it's a big fat goodwill auction, maybe i can catch another jackpot box. i think i should probably hit up byrd, too, i think i've got a few stories for my favorite teachers. oops, side change. the other day i decided that the best songs are written when one is out of love. duritz is pretty much always this way, and it's how you view love when you don't have it that makes the songs so good. love when you do have it is more fun to enjoy than to sing about, and we've already heard the similes and metaphors about the size of the sky, or to what country you would follow this girl, or how you're about to puncture your skull with an electric drill if you don't see her again soon. consider the worst counting crows song. Mary anne, or butterfly in reverse. i could be wrong, but it seems like this is the most specific of his songs to women (amy hit the atmos is not all that much about amy), and it really sucks because single me doesn't really know what he's talking about, and it comes off horribly corny. enter the rebutttal from mike, i'd like to hear it, but i really hate that song, and i think that, apart from the terrible rhymes, this is why. simon and funk weren't much for love songs. anyways, i've got records to spin, "who's next" is golden, i wish my copy wasn't so scratched. make love and music, but no war. oh, and no blood for oil, or the SAWA will get you, lesbo style.

i'm going for the turn off the monitor and type away, in the spirit of john martin in english class. i really hope we can repeat the gulf trip this summer, i really enjoyed watching my good friend dance on the balcony in his underwear and the ensuing confrontation witht he security guard. still not sure i how kept from laughing when that 300 pound black guy in uniform came to slap us on the wrist for vulgar dancing. dang, me and vulgar dancing don't get along very well, thanks mrs. sermons. i'm gearing up for two weeks of endless borebom. everyone else in the world is at school, and i'm pretty much without stuff to do for quite some time. maybe i can do some more recorrd shopping, that's what i need, more records, as i really don't have anything to play them on. i really don't know what to think about being home, i kinda fell out of the chores mindset, i bet the fam isn't going to be all that gentle about it, either. dang, give me a life with no drama, but with a girl, yeah, i know it's a paradox.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

so i guess i know why last night didn't seem that strange, because tonight, i am still in the spacious 203. roomie's gone, and it's 4 o'clock in the morning, and i don't have anything to do tomorrow. i'm gonna unplug my clock and sleep until the phone rings. tonight, we drove to get out of the rooms and away from the evil clutches of halo. tolliver was, inexplicably, closed, so we were left with little recourse, as it was 1130 and we didn't want to violate any dorm regulations. so drive we did, with a setlist of breach, come away with me, waitng for my rocket to come, and woodface. the idea was to go until we came across wildlife, thinking there would be none, but in fact, the deer were out in force. shocking. and quite bizarre. it's good to talk about something other than finals and the cafe menu, i hope i always have time for such things. there's too much universal mumbo-jumbo that i want to throw at you, the reader, but it is, as i said, 4 AM, i must be lonely, or at least i was an hour ago, this sure is alot of commas. take it easy, and call me if you're lonely in the port city, it isn't good to be sleepless solo. bring on the break.

Monday, November 17, 2003

elliot smith turned out to be a little to moany for this rustonite. it sort of turned into a beck - sea change night as the rain came on. it's my last night in this room, i'm sure it doesn't feel as strange as it seems it might, that sentence made very little in the sense sector. anyways, i've been wondering lately, would i be so bummed out if i didn't wonder all the time? would getting the biggest tires possible on my jeep, or buying out the new line of hollister, or highlighting my hair...and on and on and on....ease my pain? maybe being one of these characters, fitting an image, playing a role, is easier than sitting behind my desk and being critical of them. maybe they have it better than i, and maybe their apparent arrogance is meritted. whatever, i'm quite certain that i'm pretty arrogant about not d-bagging my life into mtv-series seasons. it all seems so backward, the guy with no bank account and the thirty foot "drag-coeficcient-reducing" spoiler seems to (from a somewhat awkward perspective) have it all together. and don't give me the "wait ten years" crap, either, the fact is, i'm hacked and single, with little relief for either on the horizon. give me more dr. pepper, late nights, our lady peace, answering machine messages, rainy days, smokey gigs, intelligent conversation, info desk parties, and long distance phone calls. and a tall pitcher of ice water to wake me out of this quarter with no break. one more day and a long night of moving and halo, and it's back to port for some shrimp pasta and peanut-butter/jelley breakfasts. i think i'm going to get my whole drumset over here and just beat the mess out of it. i've at least got that going for me. two points, he's a drummer. the band is supposed to break up when i get a girl, that's apparently the only reason they decided to play with me, because i was so helplessly single. you see, there's this goblin king, and his name is harold, and he is the true ruler of fate. he supercedes will and those nymph things and all of it, and everyday, you fight hi. and the more you live, the more you realize that timing isn't kind to any of us, and that the more you think about it, the more stuff you miss and the more potential just blown. so maybe getting it off your mind is the idea, at least, that's what the song seems to get at. we're gonna re-record it after the quarter break, i'll send it to you when it's done. peace and love, peace and love. all the colors mix together to grey, and it breaks her heart.

for all of my cd's records, mp3's, and tapes (yes, tapes), i don't think i have the right stuff for such a crappy night. i make the big move down the hall tomorrow, have a sizeable math test, loads of chem homework, no turntable, and an acute lack of motivation. usually things get done because i really don't have anything better to do, but i don't think such a lame motivation will suffice today. i'll call you when i get life and/or girls figured out, but there's no reason to snowbird. maybe elliot smith is what should be on tap for tonight, "sad bastard music" from a guy who stabbed himself to death. right on the money.

You won't find me, I'm going MIA, tonight I'm leaving, going MIA.

Sunday, November 16, 2003

so, it's sunday. dave groel writes songs for days like this, i bet his life is a series of these days. there's about a day and 18 hours left on my turntable auction, i can't remember ever being so suddenly obsessed with owning something. truly bizarre. my phone must be broken, that piece of crap wouldn't ring if you coated it in bronze and hit it with a sledge hammer. and why did they make tolliver with so many places to hide? i was in there for 20 minutes before i found whom i was supposed to meet. they could use a coke machine, water fountain, campus phone, and less places to hide. i should tell that guy that sits behind the desk, i bet he could take care of it for me. life is insanely slow, i left my watch at home, it's keeping time 70-some-odd miles away. i guess i should hit up some chemistry work. finals are awfully lame. i think i'll move to australia.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

crap. i travelled shreveport/bossier, hit up all SA's and GW's but jewella and the unique shoppe, and what did i find? another turntable without a needle, a chicago double LP, a U2 shirt, and the queen record with rhapsody on it. so what am i complaining about, right? the dang record needles are nowhere in shreveport, and the one for mine is $26 online. you'd think that the new technology would make them easier to produce, whatever. c'mon eBay! pauly needs a turntable! who knows, but i really want a record player. oh, went to best buy tonight and picked up the newer Howie Day album, not bad so far, i hadn't heard of him until a few weeks ago and i never heard his stuff, so it's kinda fun going out on a limb. a ten dollar limb. it's good to be home again, i'm going to die after quarter is over, though. i guess that's why they call it going to college, you're supoosed to go there and stay for a while. i'm thinking about putting off all my chem homework, go lsu, and being sick is the lamest thing since those cellphone earbud/microphones that the guy in the walmart line is faking you out with. dang, i really want to play some records.

Friday, November 14, 2003

the bold button. shocking discovery. how common is the idea of "reverse psychology"? honestly, what a bad idea. and how misused.
long live audioslave. man, i really want to be a music critic or reporter or producer. that's a coolness factor of major-changing proportions. if my last name were only lilywhite. i really gotta cut this movie-watching mess, too much is too much. i think i'm geared up for another cd-purchasing binge, some crowded house, dylan, first two foo fighters, crows' AAW and HC, and i really want the who - who's next. can't wait to see if this record player is going to spin, everything sounds better on vinyl, and i'd really like to hear joshua tree get better. i really dig those "insanely cheap" pop tarts from the mart. and why do people refer to SUV's as trucks? i think elton john might be gay, definately going to investigate that. will go on the to-do list right under blow nose and blame canada. i really wish there was an insane amount of oil in canada, because hey, we've got 'em on two fronts, we could take them easy. i think i actually remember someone telling me about their girlfriend who ... er ... well ... kinda lives in canada, what a great place to put an imaginary female. whatever. i hate it when i have either a sharpie or super glue in my possession. i color and paste some of the dumbest things. and they run out really quickly, too. dang, i need to address that compulsion to draw on things, and it's permanent, to boot. i'm gonna sack out, big weekend, i should skip math, i really hate that class. i might make a hitlist, but i bet publishing it would be filed under "bad idea."

Thursday, November 13, 2003

dang, there are some really lonely people in the world. but life is for living, we all know, and i don't want to live it alone. i think i should have studied a little for my biology test, it's the final and it's in an hour. and my computer thinks it would be funny to act like i was continually hitting the publish button. whatever. i need to get my priorities crooked. and no, i didn't technically jack kyle's style, i called the morm and he said i should start one of these up, so i'm not technically a reflector, and anyways, the reflector cannot, by definition, be better than the original, and, my friends, this is. that was an ungodly amount of commas. publish. publish. whatever. that jack johnson line, "hallelujah zig-zag nothing," brilliant. dang, this publishing is really getting old, i'm gonna learn about some DNA replication and allele frequency. food sounds really gross, especially that same cafe mess. i wish i had some declining balance left. off to work.

sooo... tonight, i traded john the george harrison album for his slightly defunct record player which he got for 3 bucks at slvation army. then i went to walmart to get some super glue to fux it, then i bought the new coldplay record for really no apparent reason, but i plan on making trade fair, dadgummit. i'm gonna get back to my new and only dvd.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

i had a highschool flashback tonight it wasn't of those happy ones, either. me and beef were in the cafe surrounded by the very loud football team and their scantily dressed fanclub. i thought of the breezeway after 5th hour, all of the senseless jungle chatter noises. i love it how people always forget the bad stuff. c e byrd was awful, and a random escape from non-confrontationalism usually shows that most of the stuff we think if so fantastic really just sucked all along, or maybe just raised an inch or two past mediocre. dang, i feel like that girl who ate lunch on our shift last year. shiver my timbers. ben folds sounds like john martin. tonight, me and the beef went to goodwill. i bought my first beatle or ex-beatle album, george harrison's "dark horse." it's really pretty spooky, the beatles sure got bizarre. my other scary record find was the original ghostbusters soundtrack, it's pretty cool. oh my, make that three frightening finds, i passed on elton john's debut record, just too much fruit for this baptist. i think i was supposed to get a flu shot today, maybe i should take care of that. finals are the defecation on my collegiate front lawn. look at me, i'm kyle, i made a metaphor. i really need a record player, maybe i'll pick one up for the new room. i think jack johnson was shooting for poetry but fell somewhere short, in the range of nonsense babbling genius. it works for him, i guess. i think if radiohead and pink floyd are poetic, then the reefer is steriod for the lyrical muscle. what happened to jimi? i guess you had to start with something, it sure helped his guitar, though. whatever, i guess i just wish i was deemed by the dictators as a music critic so people would listen to what i say and think that i know what i'm talking about. i really like randy savage's new record, maybe i can send in a record review to the Tech Talk, i think i'd give it a D+, but you should listen to it anyways. preferably after watching that atrocious movie with tobey maguire, no, not seabiscuit, the other one. oh, and maybe review a few slim jim commercial before you download his stuff. i remeber riding to school with KB for two years and every morning eiher hearing bryan mcknight or collective soul. then, that one time when he broke up with the hot twin we had a week interlude of hootie. what came first, the music or the misery? did i listen to pop music because i was miserable, or was i miserable because i lstened to pop music? if you really wanted to mess me up, you should have gotten to me earlier... i really love that movie. cusack's best goods since forever. bill cosby pointed out the beautiful irony of acne and voice changes occurring as soon as one becomes aware of the opposite sex. dang, i really love stand up comedians. anyways, i had to take a high fidelity break, and phone home, keep it real.

so, i'm thinking about going to hang in tolliver with Endy, but it's alot more fun laughing at my roomate's misfortunes while religiously attempting to beat kirby's dreamland. and is talking to yourself actually talking to yourself if someone else is in the 14X17 room with you? is he talking to me? i hope not, because i haven't answered in the last month and a half. i think i'm going to get a to-go box from the cafe-a-licious and sit in tolliver wishing i had a laptop. one day, i'll be fit, funny, and the proud owner of a laptopular device, but for now, it's pizza in a box and paul on a sofa. keep it real.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Let's see how this first thing will go. I guess I could bash Jimmy Eat Pooh, or worship Kyle, or complain about the difficulties of the engineering program at LA Tech, but I imagine I can pass on that stuff. "A" is for apples, "J" is for Jacks. The sound of stenography is hardly something to put one to sleep. Almost as bad as the nervous giglings of that gross girl in your roomate's bed. and i think i got an ear infection from sleeping with earplugs in. you win, you lose. whatever, but in case you didn't know, that's the way it goes. Striped Shortbread should have just been finishing up their weekly set at Cactus Jack's, but Ross is ill. I like to call it Cactus Jizz-nacks, but i guess that's just another leftover of a homeschooler's supressed bathroom humor. I probably should take care of all that stuff one day, jusy say crap and tinkle and doo doo all day, reference the different waste-elimination postiions, maybe even a gas joke or two. and maybe i should do this when nobody is around. round here, we all look the same, so i guess i should brush up on that other stuff before i'm sacrificed like lamb. i really hate pop music. who told my roomate that evanescence was worth his time? either the cool-music-dictation people are super-persuasive or my generation is full of tasteless juice-box-morons who wouldn't know a songwriter if it went doo doo in their front yard. he's got a gold watch, she's got a silk dress and healthy wrists that bounce on his italian leather sofa. -guitar solo- -trumpet solo- -bridge-. the whistle goes woo. and i think i'm gonna flip this baby over, because it's finished.

Holy crap, how exciting, I feel so much like Shawn Brumder it's incredible.