"Heaven Restores you in Life"

There are wars going on in my head that no one is winning. No one will ever win them. I always win, but to me winning often looks like losing feels. It is a selfish sort of victory. Cut off the nose to spite the face. I am a spiteful bastard who wants to always be even with those he deems adversaries. Trouble is when you get "even" with someone who's torn you down everyone just ends up in a flaming wreck. I really don't know how to end this loop but I know I just started cooking with Rosemary and may be my new favorite thing since I discovered twitter #hashtags.

If you're a fan of Interpol you've got to be a bit upset. The group has been hard to follow. Plagued by rumors of turmoil and a revolving door of moving parts, this now Trio is about as consistent as a broken clock. Always right every so often, but with long gaps in between where you're never too sure. Carlos D where are you? I find Interpol strange to write about because the ratio of how much I care about them to how much I like them (The Care:Like quotient) is amazingly small. (1:100ish) I really like them, but know almost nothing about them. They aren't my band, I didn't discover them for myself. I was introduced. And so as such an acquaintance was made I am able to fully enjoy their sad mopey music and feel unaffected by it. Cee-lo belts one ominous chord in the background of a song and all of a sudden I'm in shambles but Paul Banks can drone on all day in that monotone yell of his and I feel just fine. Perhaps it is better this way. I suppose it is important to mention that Interpol is the only thing BJ ever introduced me to I didn't hate. It was actually sad how many things I've later rediscovered that I realize I didn't hate so much, but for some reason if she liked it I HAD to hate it. But never these guys. Perhaps it is a testament to them? By contrast however, I couldn't stand to see a band of mine switch its parts around. D.A. and Max birthed Chester French. If either of them ever left I don't know what I'd do. And trust me Max is just as silent on record as Carlos is but they make their presence felt. Julian Plenti what are you doing here? I swear to christ I would punch Dan Auerbach in the mouth if he came out as Ryan T. Sanders and did a solo project. For the record Serge Tankian did a solo effort which sounded exactly like his System of a Down stuff. When I see him, to be sure there will be words exchanged. Music for me is pretty sacred. I love it, I need it. If you're good at it you're a higher being in my eyes, and if you understand it and/or have a good ear for it then I am more likely to get along with you. Don't come at me with any of this lowest common denominator stuff, these radio records. I want to hear about B-sides and live shows. And his name shall be the remix.

I'm getting back on my feet. Pretty soon I will be a whole year out of surgery and I will be able to really put that chapter of my life behind me. I don't think the timing could be worse. So much of my life, all the boyish thoughts and dreams died even when I wouldn't. I made it through the fire to appear on the otherside without anything or anyone familiar to me. Here I go as always planning to go through my life without an accomplice. No man is an island. Call me Gilligan. I'm not really lost but I know I not a mediocre person doing exceptional things. Quite the opposite. I'm a big ball of potential who has amounted to little or nothing. Maybe now that I'm a bit more isolated I'll be able to start turning the potential into output? Who kn0ws? Everyone I talk to sees someone in me that I don't fully believe is there. I think Mandela was right, fearing not what we cannot do, but that which me are meant to be and all that jazz.

I promise that as soon as I figure out what I'm doing you'll be the first to know. Maybe you can tell me? Comment if you think you know what I'll end up doing with my life! DO IT!!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

I hope my last few posts have been coherent. I used to write only once a week or so, and everything was thought out before I put it to paper. Nowadays, I get half an idea of what it is I want to say, and I’m already typing it into my blackberry as a note to self. I want to take a moment to welcome my new readers. You may already know but in case you don’t Google and Blogger allow me to see who reads my blog when and how often. How long you stay and whether or not you go leave directly from my page to go to another. I’m not sure of it’s accuracy but it’s broken down by city and browser so it appears most of you like me are staring at a Macintosh screen right now on either Safari or Chrome. In this warrantless wiretap era I’m sure someone may find this bothersome but trust me, I have no plans to sell this information or use it in any way so if this is you, relax. One thing that does interest me is finding out where my readers come from. I know some of you but not all of you. Obviously most of you are from Oregon and California but I’d like to welcome my Australian and UK readers as well. Hujambo! Besides, here I am telling most every detail of my fully uninteresting life and all I get to see are dots on a map.

Thank you all so much for reading even though you are the shyest, non commenting, no discussion having, ghost whispering, *anyonethere* ?, mickey fickeys EVER. This blog is a lot like me, Clean cut, sharp lines, lots of color, and plain rude.

Hello to London, Shelby County, Scranton, South Gate, Tualatin, Mill Valley, Northridge, Atlanta, Kalispell, Melbourne, and of course Long Beach/Signal Hill (M.S.G. I see you!) I don’t have a goal to spread this blog worldwide or anything. I’ve already talked about my lack of means and motive to market myself, I’ll just be happy if I have one reader, but since I don’t read any of my own stuff after I write it, It is up to you guys to make sure I don’t drop below that incredibly uninspired benchmark.

The title picture is STS-130 in orbit after the last spacewalk. A cupola was attached to the back of the space station so they could see earth. My question is why wasn't this a stock feature on the roughly $70 Billion dollar party favor? You mean to tell me you put a friggin' space station up there and it DIDN'T have an Earth facing view? What the fuck are you talking about NASA? By the way it cost's about $40 Million just to launch a shuttle mission so we basically spent that much just to install a sun roof in something that should have already had it. No wonder they're shutting down N.A.S.A. The good news is that the Tranquility Node (that silver thing on the left) is up there so Stephen C.O.L.B.E.R.T. is finally in space..or back where he came from.

Next week is going to be “Hate week” here at the WB & C. Sponsored by Silky Johnson, Bill O’Reilly and Curt Schilling. I’m going to do a post a day about the existence of Hate and what I think about it. I’m a bit of an expert on hating things so allow me to try my hand at breaking down the dialogue surrounding this debate.

The Wings Don't make you fly, and the crown don't make you King

So today I went to work. My blackberry sucks, and the alarm didn't go off which I hate. Not the way to start my day, but it was a Saturday so you know what that means...Oh hai thurr ladies. (I cannot wait to bag my first MILF. It will be epic.) (Sis if you're reading this and you know someone...) Today was an interesting day as far as watching youth basketball goes. It was juxtaposed with all my current life problems (insurance, school, Andrew Fernino, etc) and watching these little kids run around and act out their 11 year old angst just made me feel queasy. Let us take a moment and say a prayer for our preteen selves. That, any of us survived those times is a mystery. Girls especially. Man, oh man. The prospect of raising a daughter scares me. Expertly navigating the intricate rules society has for women, with self esteem intact, is so hard that there's nothing exciting or inviting about trying to do it. And from what I can see it's not even the kids fault (it never is really). I saw a girl out there who was having to keep pulling up her bra strap, obviously her first, during the game...Finances aside, can't her mom or dad see she is obviously in need of the Brandi Chastain special? Not to mention the girl had hair down to her waist with one stretched out scrunchy to try and tame that mane. Her mom sent her out into the world hair unbraided, bosom unswaddled, and shoes untied. How is she supposed to be poised or command respect looking like that? Furthermore, at that nubile age, she like other girls in her shoes could realistically draw attention from men ranging in ages from her own all the way up to literally the edge of death. In Japan you could sell her underwear in a vending machine for God's Sake. What kind of mind fuck must that be? We need to do better. Like the wise poet laureate Chris Rock once said, "If she ends up on the pole, you done fucked up!" It's insufficient parenting I say.

Note: when you watch 11 year old girls try and play basketball, these are the mental tangents your mind takes at times. I got my Hillary Clinton/building a better woman/save the babies on ok? Trust me the game was beyond uninteresting. I randomly guessed the over/under would be 52 combined points. I took the under...I won. For those of you counting at home; that was 2 teams, playing 32 minutes, who combined to average under 26 points each. Brutal. I'll be ranting on the WNBA soon enough.

I digress. I'm awkward now, but at least I know it, back then I was a flaming ball of awkward and I didn't even know it. High water sweats 7 days a week, hair brushing optional, the classic. So I will assert once again be glad you're not 11 anymore. Life certainly isn't looking any better on this side of puberty but at least we have some say in it now. And for the record I had a flashback of my own. I recall often walking onto the court after a timeout and not knowing wether we we're on offense of defense, what side I should go to, and my favorite calling out the man I'd be guarding even though 30 seconds ago our coach had told us we'd be in a zone defense. Yup ignorance is bliss. And I grew up one Blissful little Mug'.