My Pet Spider

July 3rd, 2003

The Leage of Extraordinairy Gentlemen looks to be a good flick. Anything with Sean “My Last Name Should Be the Final Word of a Spelling Bee” Connery is generally popcorn-worthy.

I’ve got a pet spider. Kind of. I first noticed him a week ago while I was eating lunch out of the back of Nellie. He was a big guy. Anyway, I had to tip the seats down so I could sit comfortably out of the back of the station wagon. As I was doing this, he scurried underneath the seat. At first I thought he would be pissed about his forced relocation, but I think he enjoys it.

Plus, he moved elsewhere of his own volition. Twice I’ve seen him scurrying behind the dashboard glass. I call him Norton, after Gleasom’s foil in The Honeymooners. Norton enjoys it in the car, I think. Can you imagine life forever on the road? There’s plenty of food, both in the form of candy that’s been in the ashtray for longer than my siblings have been alive to the many foolish dead insects who, in an attempt to get at that very candy, climb into the car through a window crack. Within seconds of being inside Nellie they are baked to a crisp. Norton doesn’t even have to cook.

In fact, I think he likes living in my dashboard so much that he’s been trying to ‘help out’ Nellie. I fancy that the kindly arachnid rolls back my odometer every once in a while. This is partly out of kindness to his more-than-benevolent master, but mostly because he wants said master to hold onto Nellie, lest he be sold to an oppressive overload who has an air freshener or — much worse — a bug bomb in his arsenal.

Today I got cut off in Hamilton. Norton was riding on the dashboard. I’m not sure because he’s tiny, but I think that a few of his eight legs were giving the finger.

In other news, tomorrow is the day of the river float. It looks like it’ll be pretty fun, assuming the weather holds. We’re floating from Woodside to Bell Crossing, about fifteen miles. I know for a fact that John, Shawn, Aaron, myself, and Laurel are going. There’s specualtion about whether Jillian, Meredith, Meghan, and I think Kelly are going. I have no friggin’ clue. John went to Helena today, and he’s not the best at organizing things, if you catch my drift. He’s a scatterbrain, alright?

I had a heavenly salad for lunch. Lettuce (duh!), olives, onions, cucumbers, two types of cheese — the list goes on and on! It filled me up so much that I could barely finish dinner.

I also got food for tomorrow. A thing of Coke, strawberries, grapes, Ritz, cheese (pepper jack!), hummus, and Teddy Grahams. It should be a yummy repast/snack.

Now I should go to bed. I have to get up at eight to shower and crap. I have to pick up Aaron at nine, stop by Shawn’s to see what he has in the way of river-worthy craft, and phone Laurel to make sure she actually gets up.

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July 3rd, 2003

Today is July 4, the day of American Independence. Perhaps it is not the day that our soldiers — weary, shaken, but filled with resolve — emerged victorious over the British troops, but it is the day that the thirteen colonies stood up with one voice, declaring that

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Declaring that we were fit to govern ourselves and not be shackled by chains thousands of miles long.

It is a great day. Never before had a nation been founded upon principles of freedom. Principles of free speech, in which dissent was encoraged and not frowned upon. Principles of free religion, where men and women could believe what they chose to believe and could not be persecuted simply for why they thought the world existed. Principles that made us (more or less) equal. Never before has a nation been created because of these principles. There was no economic motivation, no motivation of power, or fear, or defense. We came together to be together. And to do so freely.

And I have to wonder, watching the news, seeing this country slipping into a faceless sleep of the ignorantly oppressed, what our founding fathers would think. Yes, the image is corney, but hardly inapplicable. If they could see us shouting down others for expressing opinions, or pouring wine down the drain merely because it’s French, what would they say? Did not George Washington warn us of the evils of political parties, of divisiveness, of petty bickering?

Don’t get me wrong. This is still a great nation. How can one founded against the principles of tyranny, oppression, and inequality not be? But it is slipping. Inperceptibly, but it is slipping. And we can stop the gradual downhill slipe, if we only open our eyes. If we would only stop thinking about just ourselves and our families, and realized that there are others out there who need our help.

In short, if only we would stop bandying under our patriotic false idol, nationalism, and start uniting not only with, but for each other.

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4th of July

June 28th, 2003

Well, the show went superbly. We had fun, I only screwed up a few times, and by the end of our set sweat was getting my brow wet. And into my eyes.

Up with hope, down with dope!

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Update

June 23rd, 2003

Sorry loyal readers, but I’ve been busy today. I worked 9-5 and five minutes after I got home Shawn called me. We worked on vocals. The station wagon got a flat, so I have to go in to Les Scwab before work and get the damn thing fixed. Oh, boy! I get to be stressed out while the fix my tire, fearing it’ll make me late! So please excuse me, but I need to write a poem for the KidsFirst Poetry Slam before bed. Current listening: REM, “Nightswimming”: “Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. / The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago, / turned around backwards so the windshield shows. / Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse.” Peace.

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Update

June 22nd, 2003
Hot and Not

Lay’s Chicago Steakhouse Loaded Baked Potato Potato Chips
“Paradise Hotel” on Fox

There’s no better idicator of the health of free enterprise than a business hiring the homeless to advertise for it: Pizza Company Hires Homeless to Advertise. By the way, be doing this weird thing, they also get free coverage from major news sources like CNN and crummy online diaries like this one! What a bunch of friggin’ geniuses.

Last night I watched Big Trouble, the movie based on the novel by the funniest man in America, former Iraqui information minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf. No, sorry, I mean Dave Barry (who also has a blog). It was quite funny. One of those fast-paced, cram-as-many-jokes-into-an-hour-and-a-half movies. And the hallucinagenic-squirting toad (a great name for a rock band, zing! Dave Barryism) was classic.

I would like to point out the new feature on the blog for Sundays, the icon “Hot and Not.” Every week, I’ll pick something I find so freakin’ awesome that it blows my mind, and something so freakin’ lame it’ll make the Backstreet Boys look cool in comparison. I drew the icons myself, aren’t they pretty?

Well, today I did some work. Paid work. I had a hell of a time finding the place, though. It seems that Mapquest (I am not linking to protest) told me to turn onto Main Street in Hamilton, then left on Ricketts. For those of you familiar with Hamiltonian geography, Ricketts obviously does not go past Main Street; it stops at the graveyard. So I drove around up by Schneeb’s house for close to a friggin’ hour trying to find the damn place. I finally stopped at this bed and breakfast thingie and called the guy. Maybe I should have chosen Mapquest for my “Not” pick of the week.

Current Listening:
Bad Religion: “Change of Ideas”
So many theories, so many prophecies
What we do need is a change of ideas
When we are scared we can hide in our reveries
But what we need is a change of ideas
Change of ideas, change of ideas
What we do need is a change of ideas

Remember the mouse? The dead on that scared my sister half to death? This guy’s daughter, who is about Maggie’s age, found some live mice in their animal food bucket thingie. A mommy mouse and a baby mouse. Maybe the mummified one my sister found was their daddy, huh? Zing!

I have written three songs for the record NWI is supposed to be recording. We might learn one. They are: “I Really Do Have a Girlfriend”, one of those joke songs about a guy who makes up his girlfriend, “Someday”, a song about living in a boring, tiny, dead town, and “United We Stand”, a song about Americans standing together in ignorance. The highlight of that tune is the a capella break that describes the flag as John Ashcroft’s “stained shit rag.” It’s harmonized! I bought a special T-shirt for our next show; it’s so awesome! It’s an American flag, and below it are the words “UNITED WE STAND” in block letters. And it was only $5.99! Imagine that; patriotism can be bought so cheaply. With that digression over, I’d like to finsih by saying that I’ve also written a couple of songs that have lyrics that are too emotional or aren’t fast enough to be punk, so those go on the next solo record, which I will probably record before the end of the summer.

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Update

June 21st, 2003

What Kind of Girlfriend Am I?

You're a Motherly little Girlfriend
-Motherly- You’re the motherly type. You love to
take care of the one you love, and generally
you can be a bit overprotective and possessive,
but you know, that isn’t always such a bad
thing. At least you’ll be a good mom in the
future.

What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

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Review: R.E.M – Up

June 21st, 2003

Record Review: R.E.M. : Up

This is one of those records that took me a while to appreciate. I got it back when it came out, during my freshman year of high school. Back then I was a huge Nirvana fan, and I read somewhere that REM was an influence on their sound. So I blindly picked up the most recent REM disc. Needless to say, I hated it. It was so mellow, so acoustic, and above all so weak. Or so I thought.

This record was released after REM’s longtime drummer Bill Berry left the band, and it shows. Yes, there are some live (sounding) drums, but drum machines pepper the record. Not that this is a bad thing; they really add to some tracks, like the halcyon “Airportman”, a track drive more by Michael Stipe’s tranquil lyrics and by looped windchimes than by drums.

My only real quibble with this album is that the guitar is kind of buried. It’s still there — the striking lead on “Lotus” proves that. But it could have been louder. Maybe that’s just my latent headbanger emerging from his slumber. Standing

Current Listening:
Screeching Weasel: “A New Tomorrow”
We don’t need protection against anything anybody might say
We know the government can’t improve our lives anyway
We don’t need to drug ourselves anymore to keep the boredom away
We don’t need anything except relying on ourselves for a change
I can see a new tomorrow

in for the guitar on most of this record are innumerable keyboards: from epic synths on the uplifting closer “Falls to Climb” to organ on several songs to piano on the Beach Boys-influenced “At My Most Beautiful.”

The standout track on the album is the blissfully concise “Why Not Smile.” This one has harpsichord among other things, but it works. Beautifully. Stipe’s melody resolves to the tonic on each line, reinforcing the track’s otherwise staid “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” theme.

There are one or two sleeper tracks that have not, and perhaps will not, grow on me. The song “Diminished”, no standout itself, segues into a sparse acoustic number, “I’m Not Over You.” This vignette doesn’t work. The guitar is a little too sparse, sounding like it was recorded on a boom box. The song sounds incomplete and unfinished — an isolated island in a sea of creativity — almost as if it were an afterthought. The only other song that doesn’t really do it for me is “You’re in the Air”, a trip into falsetto that is best left to Radiohead’s Thom Yorke.

But these are merely good tracks on what is a fantastic album. Staunch headbangers like my fourteen year-old self will be disappointed, but grown music aficionados will find it strangely appealing. This record is the perfect one to fall asleep to. Not because it’s boring, but because it’s soothing. A wonderful melody and a drum loop can be strangely soporific.

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Update

June 20th, 2003

Kind of like this, but less terrifying

A dead mouse. That was why I was awakened this morning (after — thank you!– having been up very late) earlier than usual. Because my sister was feeding the cat (Boo) and dog (Cisco). She dug down into our outdoor ‘food container’ (just a black garbage bin-type thing with a lid). She says she thought she saw some duct tape and picked it up. And it was a dead and mummifying mouse! She screamed, I woke up, and was grumpy. Guess who had to dispose of it too, me being the only ‘man’ in the house?

So I chilled at Kyle’s again last night. Lots of people there at the height of the night. Shawn picked up a bottle of rum for me, so I wasn’t without my spirits! I saw Loren and Chase and Keith — basically all the guys from my class who went to UM this year. Shawn played Waterfall with six girls and of course all the rules he made up involved people licking him. Needless to say, when your only booze is rum you don’t play Waterfall unless you really hate your liver.

Current Listening:
Radiohead: “Backdrifts”
We’re rotten fruit
We’re damaged goods
What the hell
We got nothing left to lose

But that was not the only substance abuse to partake in! Kyle had some big fat Cuban cigars, and Shawn and I shared one on the porch. I’m not much of a tobacco fan, but the lure of puffing on a stoagie was too much. I eventually got to the point where it didn’t feel like every puff was a semi slamming into my chest. I do not, however, think I will start smoking. It’s expensive and, well, pretty gross.

It was Jordan’s good-bye party. We’re gonna miss him. It seems like everybody is leaving (imagine that!). Jordan. Carl went already. At least most of my good friends are heading up to Missoula next year.

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Update

June 19th, 2003

Owwww my hands hurt! I spent yesterday morning digging a ditch. Then pulling apart this wooden insulation box thingie… with a crowbar! Anyway, I was wearing gloves when I was using my shovel and the gloves took off a fair chunk of the skin on my thumb… now it hurts to play guitar… me so sad!

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A (Strange) Dream

June 17th, 2003
Current Listening:
REM: “Why Not Smile?”
You’ve been so sad
It makes me worried
Why not smile?
You’ve been sad for a while
Why not smile?

I’m typing this thing on an original iMac keyboard, which means that ever seven or so characters I hit a wrong key because the damn thing is so small.


I believe that last night I had the weirdest dream I’ve ever had. It actually had some sort of plot for a while, until the Dream Randomizer™ in my brain decided to throw all that crap out the window.


It starts out on a desert island country with an opressive dictator. When I say desert, I mean desert. As far as I can remember, there is no water on the island whatsoever. So maybe its inhabitants collected rain water or something. And when I say dictator, I mean dictator. People who oppose his will are thrown into prison or are torched with gasoline. Seriously.


Surprisingly, I was not a character in this dream. It was a little short guy who, upon reflection, reminds me of Ziggy. So we’ll call him ‘Ziggy.’ All the people on the island were short and vaguely cartoon-character proportioned: you know, their heads were twice the size of normal heads.


Now Ziggy was a model citizen. But he was always thirsty. So he started digging in the sand one day. Pretty much randomly, since the entire island was basically a sandbox with houses on it. And an Exxon gas station. I remember that it was an Exxon station acutely. Anyway, after days of digging, he found a hose with running water. Yes! A hose. Just like that. Buried in the sand.



The protagonist of my Dali-esque dream

Now, for some strange reason, Ziggy had to be clandestine about his discovery. I’m guessin it’s because the dictator would have taken the water for himself. So Ziggy showed one or two of his friends and gave them drinks. He kept the hose secret and kept it safe.


Rumors began to spread about the water hose, and the dictator sent out guards to find the person who was so selfishly quenching the thirst of the populace. Ziggy decided to compose a Jack the Ripper-style letter to taunt the king, so he did so on one of those pieces of paper with the lines on which kidnergarteners learn to write. I am not making this up.


This is where the dream gets weird.


While he was going into the ocean to deliver it (apparently, it was a message in a bottle), he ran into a mermaid. Kind of like Ariel, but lacking the sea-shells, if you catch my drift (ooo! nice pun). She had black hair. She gave him a letter, then went off. This is a paraphrase of the letter:


Dear Desert Island Kingdom,

We are writing this to laugh at you. We live on the island across the ocean [how could they inhabit an island if they’re mermaids for God’s sake?!]. We don’t wear any clothes and have plenty of water and eat fruit all day long. So there!


Disheartened by this letter, Ziggy dropped it back into the ocean and went home.


The next day, the soldiers came and arrested him. Surprisingly, it was not for being the “Hose Bandit.” They pulled an Al Capone on him and got him for theft, building sand castles, and ‘eating cheese.’ I swear to God I am not making this up. To punish him, the dictator made him work in a gas station.


The last part of the dream, the only part I was in, was me coming in while the dictator (who I guess now was only the Exxon station’s manager) berated Ziggy. I asked if they had any custard doughnuts (a favorite of mine), and Ziggy pointed to one which was huge and covered with black frosting. The dream ended there. Sadly, I didn’t get to eat the doughnut in the dream.


So my Interpunk stickers came today: Screeching Weasel, The Riverdales, The Queers, and the Ramones. My guitar was also finished up today. I think I’m going to name it “Gwen”, after Peter Parker’s first love. It was, after all, my first guitar. Electric. My first guitar, my Yamaha acoustic, should be called “Liz” after Parker’s high school crush. Yes. I am a geek. For those readers who don’t know, my newest guitar, an Epiphone SG, is named “Mary Jane” after Spider-Man’s wife. Anyway, my guitar has tuners again so I can tune it without trouble. I also picked up Radiohead’s new album, Hail to the Thief, and a new set of strings. Know how much this cost me? $32, and with my $10 gift certificate from the Battle of the Bands that NWI won, it was only $22. I was afraid I’d plonk down over fifty bucks. Now I might even go to the Warped Tour. I need to call my buddy John and see what he’s doing; he usually goes.

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