Where it's at: December 2003

i'm kinda getting tired of meeting people's parents, i feel like i'd do better to just let them hate or like me without attaching my face or hulking manly figure to those feelings. i feel like i should say, "my name's paul, sorry you had to meet me, i promise it'll never happen again." actually, i gues i do have the capacity to meet people repeatedly. sorry about that, too. my big plans for tonight are zaireeka and a movie, and then a little camping up in lake claiborne. i really hope we're insanely unprepared, like forget pretty much everything and it turns into a battlefeild of grossness and dirt. yeah, that's what i hope. my zippos are broken, my fingers are sandy with that you-ass,-you-really-shouldn't-touch-drying-super-glue feel. i think i might hate best buy. i might be broke for a while, and i might shouldn't have bought so many records this past week. i listened to black oak arkansas while i was shapening my knives for camping. it's times like that that i wish i had chest hair. i'm gonna pack, i love chocolate pie.

what will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded? i hope i never have to see that day, but you can bet that it's headed our way. i vote that everyone but zaireeka by the flaming lips and pull four cars into a circle in a baptist parking lot close to midnite and spin four cds simultaneously just to see what happens. at least once a month. there will be time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. i hope ross is writing another load of music. i will stand where you put me and smile until i burst until i burst until i laugh until my head comes off. i'm pretty much glad christmas is over, i need to get back to the people i need to see, i hate being with people you see once a year and thinking about people you see twice a day. if my life is a cosmic joke or an international irony, i hope somebody's laughing, because i don't get it, and no one seems willing to offer a clue. life is for living, i just don't want to live it alone. so sue me.

holy moses.
it's been a fab 48 hours, time was on my side, raking was done, and trivial pursuit was hardly worth mentioning. i really wish i could forget about throwing a leak on the playground in second grade. and in 12th, for that matter. anyway, it's christmas eve, i'm pretty severely tired, and i'm pretty much not up for two days of "how's school?" and "do you have a girlfriend YET?" no, mrs janet, i don't. get your info straight. and maybe you could bring that up when there isn't anyone around. thanks. i'm glad i'm not living in high school, i'm glad i don't remember who we beat in quizbowl and in what tournaments i played, i'm glad i don't have to see the people who remember very often, and i'm glad i can see what i don't want to be in them. i'm in love. and he's a mormon. ex-communication, here we come! but seriously, how good was cottfest? speaking of living in the past. i bought 15-some-odd records the past few days, good ones, i think, although i passed on ted nugent. call me crazy. i don't want to die choking on a ham sandwich, poor mama cass, what a way to go.... i'm gearing up for a slow roast over a fire of 30 relatives who i am not good enough to sit with but who keep me around for fodder in their pity/mock cannons. shat, where's the ham?

i've decided that i know how i want to die. none of that old age stuff with a lincoln towncar and grandkids over every wekend and all that junk. i want to die for someone. or at least lose a limb. i bet in the pressure of the moment it'd be a pretty easy decision to make. but not too soon, if you please. i hate watching someone do something that could be easily resolved by a couple of spins of "a murder of one." you don't wanna waste your life.

welcome, home. i dig it. how much has happened in the past week? do you really want to know? i'm sure as hell not gonna type it all. i drove back to port with someone who was not liz, and had, unbelievably, worse taste in music. never confuse outkast with ludacris, they are not the same, and hey-ya, the really good song that i think i could listen to until i died is not on ludacris's beer and chicken. just going to clear that up, it's an easy mistake to make. the drive was faster because i had someone to talk to, but slower because i had to hear some black guy moaning about "who let these hos in my room?" so it was pretty much the same length as always. so i filled up my tank and went driving tonight, got pretty seriously lost. yeah, i'll drive you somewhere and we can talk about a movie, or maybe discuss ideas for a new one, just give me intelligent conversation and a double yellow line. cottfest was insane, i think it's gonna be monthly, i have picked my favorite triballistic dayze song, it's "drinking with the moon," my english teacher gave me a record in exchange for one of my players, and i guess i'm going to sleep right about now. coming home is trading your shower shoes for a curfew. and i guess there's some other things, too. maybe. take it easy, and congrats, hon, you made it.

so it's one AM and all i can think about is leaving. not the music fest, not my friends coming, but getting out of this room and into my car and driving away. i almost would tonight, but i'm just not in the mood to be that alone, at least roomie is a moving body, however annoying. loneliness has nil to do with who you're around, and you can quote that, just not to me. it's funny what kind of tricks you can pull on yourself, i could convince myself i was black with a little motivation and alot of time. i like the pissed-off music that's done tastefully. wilco and elliot smith might be my favorites, they're so stinking honest about where it hurts and so eloquent in explaining why. i had some serious plans for tonight, i guess the room can stay messy and my math homework can go screw itself, i really don't care. maybe i'll wake up early and knock some of that out. i hate vacations because your food goes bad and you have to take it home and give it to the family. i was gonna use someone else's shampoo today, but i am not kyle, and i am not nearly so brave. i suck at poker. "don't tell 'em what it means, you'll ruin it." -g ross.

so, i hate going back to shreveport. i love my family, as people, and i love my house and i love goodwills and garage sales and the things shreveport offers in such areas. and i even appreciate the job my parents did at raising me , but as a family, there are some issues that i just don't want to be a part of. you really don't want to go spend the night at someone's house when everyone in friend's house is pissed off and would love for you to know why. i guess that's why people leave, to, say, cambodia.

my life is not a series of actions. most of my decisions are not to act. i am the auto-pilot guy, i won't tell you for sure that i'm doing something, and i'll probably let you down if i do. but i think i'm getting tired of that, and i think that without the risk of losing stuff, friends, and whatever, life really isn't that fun. so i guess it's time to grow up, to learn to make decisions and not kill yourself over who didn't want to go to outback, because you had to go somewhere, dangit, and the places aren't open all night. fatalism isn't the way to go, let-it-happen is more like letting nothing happen, then not being able to be upset about it because you didn't even aim for anything better. i don't know, i guess i'm feeling drastic, look out, goodness knows what i'll do next.

the cottingham music fest might be the single most entertaining event all quarter. an insane majority of original music, barring, of course, the reunion board, who will be performing without practice. i cut my hair today. the guys down the hall are far too friendly to be in cott, someone did not get them the memo, what a shame. my mouth is blissfully numb due to the byproduct of my beloved winterfresh.

i think i talked on the phone more tonight than i ever have in the span of 7 hours. yeah, kyle, in the hierarchy of growing up, i imagine a movement from ims/blogs to business dinners is necessary. maybe the phone is an intermediary. it's gonna be so good to have everyone back, absolutely living for thursday night, i get all jittery-like just thinking about it.

so the roomate sga is not over. being home really isn't all that fabulous. i guess it's nothing that a bag of chocolate teddy grahams and a glass of milk can't fix.

not even kiddin. scenario, you and some friends are at the local smoke-house to listen to some accoustic ideoteque, an hour and a half later, you get home, eyes still swolen, clothes reeking, and a little tipsy from second-hand alchohol consumption. so, you get in, and on your bed and desk you see nothing other than two wax-casts of, yes, shockers. is this disturbing? you bet. even moreso because the hands are girl's hands. yes, they're keepers. thanks a bunch.

reunion board will rock your socks clean off in less than 6 days. i've never been so excited about anything, all the guys coming back, day before classes let out, striped shortbread's first real gig. i mean, honestly, i've really gotta be padding my average here, two bands, the girls should really go for me now. i guess i can only hope.

the roomate saga continues, if tyler didn't get assigned one today then i'm skipping chem monday and going for it. i wonder if i prayed hard enough. when it seems that someone might not like you, it probably isn't a good idea to talk to that person about how they don't like you. you won't change their mind by annoying the hell out of them. and certainly don't do it to me, because i will call the RA if you're a girl in my room after 12.

i think i've kinda gotten over the fear of being replaced by the old crew back home. i was kinda worried about it, but calling shreveport every day is just a little absurd. it's so hard to have a friendship longdistance, even if you do call it's always about who you've met and what you've been doing. one makes 'em jealous and the other one doesn't effect them at all. long distance relationships can't be where it's at. give me dinner and and movie, give me less than an arm's length away, and give me the glow of a person who's freezing and not telling anyone.

my perception of time is so freakin' messed up. on one hand, i never have any time to do, say, math homework, but on the other, i'm telling myself that there's no hurry for anything. i'm pretty sure i'm wasting time in the name of "a four-year educational experience," and i guess that it's the fear of letting things get away from you mixed with the fear of burning out that knocks my glasses off.

i chew winterfresh because it easily numbs my mouth into a playdough-lined hole where nothing tastes and nothing hurts when you clumsily bite your own flesh.

don't wear absorbant clothes when attending a place where the density of the air is doubled due to lung-cancer fans cheering on their addiction.

and never ask a girl to marry you in front of her friend, because you'll probably try her friend next, and nobody likes to be second. just ask john adams.

these things are so stupid. the email buddy who doesn't write back. if you want, you can get to know me, you've got my number and you know where i live. blog more, i will not. the end.

giving blog advice is like discussing how well some guy's jeans fit. while you're both wearing jeans. something like that.

kyle's the-manliness is comparable to that of, say, john cusack, squints palidoras, rivers cuomo, the panama slider, and the combined the-manliness of every member of the jamaican bobsledding team of 1990. or was it 94? he does for words what christopher lowell does for nick-nacks.

original music is one of the greatest things ever concieved. and apart from the infamous "Bleyce is on fire" incedent and the sharpsong productions, i've never really had a part in it. dag, you should hear it, and not because i'm in it, but because it's good, it's honest, and nobody has ever heard it, other than my neighbors up to four doors down. i've been back on a counting crows kick, mostly the b-sides like kid things and rain king/thunder road. i want to see them live before i die. i don't think there's another band that you can binge on quite like you can crows, unless it's radiohead.

the best essays, books, songs, and blogs are universal. why is country music so bad? other than such blatant sins as "i wanna talk about me" and "dubya dubya dubya dot memories," the songs are generally too specific. case in point, johnny's daddy, taking him fishing. call the next witness. seriously, though, think about it, nobody cares what i did today, but everyone can learn from seeing things in kyle's GT/rebel perspective.

life cycles can be measured in movies. mighty ducks 2, cool runnings, that thing you do/airborne, fight club/while you were sleeping, high fidelity. my life, on VHS, shockingly accurate.

marx said that religion was sedation for the masses. some days i wonder if anyone within 500 miles of this septic tank town is enthused about anything. i need a riot, a fight, give me real, don't give me fake. and take that flag out of your lawn.

You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
For a savior to rise from these streets
Well now, I ain't no hero, that's understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey, what else can we do now?
Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the tracks

- spingsteen, aptly covered by duritz and his merry men

dag, it's four AM, i really didn't have anything to stay up for. give me a triple-shot of laid back, with maybe a slap in the face. maybe.

forrest gump is the american epic, and the music, our soundtrack. and that's all i have to say about that.

i think i could use some drama in my egg-white life of saturdays. it was suggested i go kick some random girl in the cafe, but that just didn't seem like my style. i miss apologizing.

today i passed on the 4 hours of driving and $1 grand that i could hav traded some character in atlanta tex for five thousand records. think about 5000 records for just a minute. i don't even understand how much volume we're talking about here. mom said she didn't want me spending my time like that, "that isn't why you're at college." i wanted to say, "that's why i shouldn't have stayed so close to home." it isn't like i don't have the time, scroll down, i'm a bum. i felt like a criminal when we rigged up a projector for halo and a movie, we had to dismantle that mess before that cops came, i might just be a criminal. give me fuel, give me fire, give me a life without metallica. ruston does not have garage sales.

song of the year, stop whispering by radiohead.

how 'bout three cheers for the virile chris martin?

so, enter the eternal question, the resoltion of my favorite movie, the quandry of robert frost in the yellow wood, the trajic end to every comedic life ever lived. insert another SS? reference here, i thnik i did, and i love quoting g ross because it sounds like i had some part in coming up with it. back to the point. do you hang out for the next four years or more, play it safe, never commit, live every side of your life with one foot out the door. yeah, cusack hits it right on, it has to be suicide, by tiny increments. but then you run off into a disaster just because you're sick of being alone and have somehow, by some cosmic irony, come to envy the dime-a-dozen abercrombie couples who flaunt around tollie every day. yeah, that's right, i'm 18. i always hated the people who dated for convenience, especially those who swam in small social circles. they don't have it all together, on average (i'm making a ruthless assumption, someone tell me i'm wrong), but they don't give a two dollar ante, because they've got this other person who "thinks i'm the greatest", "likes me, too", "is soooooo, like, out of my league," when it's just a mutual validation of self-worth by two people who can't get their shtuff together on their own. i hate couples, but i hate being single. i oughta warm up to both ideas though, because i'm going to be one and hope to be in the other for the longest of runs. maybe not hating couples, but maybe just most of the reasons the populace would give for being in one. jewel covering "leaving on a jet plane" is one of the best ideas ever. i'd like to add ray romano, edward norton, brant cooley, and every last person in the housing office to my fight list.

i don't stand an icee's chance in hell, that's the way it is, and there really isn't much i can do about it.

i think i've spent more of my life waiting than i have thinking. i'm really good at it, thank god, because there's no end in sight.

i got no deeds to do, no promises to keep, i'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.

A rock feels no pain and an island never cries, just ask Paul Simon, you can call him Al.

"throw down your gun and i'll bury my ax, we'll review the case and then throw out the facts."

i love g ross.

i have classes, it's about time, and the fact that my blog just got cleared is completely believable considering the past two days i've had, bring on tomorrow, i can't even imagine what else is gonna go wrong.

Sunday, December 28, 2003

Saturday, December 27, 2003

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

Sunday, December 21, 2003

Saturday, December 20, 2003

Thursday, December 18, 2003

Monday, December 15, 2003

Saturday, December 13, 2003

Friday, December 12, 2003

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

Monday, December 08, 2003

Sunday, December 07, 2003

Saturday, December 06, 2003

Friday, December 05, 2003

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Wednesday, December 03, 2003

present

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