Saturday, September 24, 2005
Vent
I have spent the last 2 hours perusing over blogs blogs and more blogs…why??????? I have found only one person’s blog that interests me…some girl’s from the clouded bleached skied state of Washington. There’s another guy’s who has potential. I thought it was interesting because he had a timeline of pictures of himself from young to older. He was a damn ugly kid and it seemed he matured into his look…unlike me who has been the relatively same looking person since 8th grade..lol. My hole is getting deep this evening. I guess the only thing I can do is stop digging. I have a ton of home work to do, a ransacked room to clean (I would post a picture but I’m too damn lazy to upload a photo.) and my car needs admissions. This has been a rough start to the school semester here’s a list of reasons:
1st I got the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had.
2nd I got gout
3rd the drummer for my band The Gouts quit…and for some reason the other member of the band has decided not to call me back for our weekly jam session….hmmmmmm
4th my stomach feels like shit right now…I think this is called heart burn but I’m not sure.
5th my scalp is dried our beyond belief!!! It must me the Denver desert climate along with the need to change conditioners???
6th My car recently broke down in one of those drive through car washes
7th I had to replace the battery and alternator in my car
8th the price of gas is at an astronomical all time high
9th Work in a cube…need I say more?????
Ok so I just finished the last of my venting and scratching of my dry scalp…lol…my girlfriend looks lonely in our bed so its time to get some el sleepa.
I have spent the last 2 hours perusing over blogs blogs and more blogs…why??????? I have found only one person’s blog that interests me…some girl’s from the clouded bleached skied state of Washington. There’s another guy’s who has potential. I thought it was interesting because he had a timeline of pictures of himself from young to older. He was a damn ugly kid and it seemed he matured into his look…unlike me who has been the relatively same looking person since 8th grade..lol. My hole is getting deep this evening. I guess the only thing I can do is stop digging. I have a ton of home work to do, a ransacked room to clean (I would post a picture but I’m too damn lazy to upload a photo.) and my car needs admissions. This has been a rough start to the school semester here’s a list of reasons:
1st I got the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had.
2nd I got gout
3rd the drummer for my band The Gouts quit…and for some reason the other member of the band has decided not to call me back for our weekly jam session….hmmmmmm
4th my stomach feels like shit right now…I think this is called heart burn but I’m not sure.
5th my scalp is dried our beyond belief!!! It must me the Denver desert climate along with the need to change conditioners???
6th My car recently broke down in one of those drive through car washes
7th I had to replace the battery and alternator in my car
8th the price of gas is at an astronomical all time high
9th Work in a cube…need I say more?????
Ok so I just finished the last of my venting and scratching of my dry scalp…lol…my girlfriend looks lonely in our bed so its time to get some el sleepa.
The Artist’s Way
The Artist’s Way is a modern day Ojai board written by Julia Cameron. The Taoist have had a prophetic text in the I-Ching for centuries and now aspiring artists have a similar book in The Artist’s Way.
Cloaked in the enveloping shadows of this self-help culture I see people all the time with obsequious smiles and incessant ulterior motives. There are so many bands mushrooming around this sprawling suburb of Denver that yields perhaps a mechanical/technical proficiency at their field but lack the expression of their soul. I’m not sure if it’s the fact people don’t have feelings in this modern day or if it’s because they are too busy playing fast Mad Lib harmonies to have a grasp on the fact they have something to say. I’m sure it’s a combination of both scenarios.
I plop open my guitar mag and I see ad after ad selling flashy new equipment to capture “your sound.” This is yet another message conveying an artistic fallacy that a person needs the next expensive toy to be serious about his art. Finally, I get to the contents page and words like, “play like a pro,” “Chops Builder,” “build your ability to blaze (i.e. play faster,) and “improve the mechanics of your pick hand” litter the pages.
Not once do I see the words “express yourself,” “have fun” or “love”…yes that may sound stupid but it is what seems to lack in most people’s life. This process of assimilating to a false picture perfect image being conveyed in a way that is so unnatural and mechanical that I really have to question if normalcy is truly the new term for psychotic.
Too often I find in the world of local artists, people being so fascistly caught up in the technique and complexity of an idea that they truly overlook the most important aspect of art…the feeling. I look at guitar mags, and books, and to teachers all these available resources to help people learn and everyday I see the same mistake of “putting the cart before the horse.” People believe that spending 12 hours a day nailing their sweep picking technique is love of their art. I would argue that an artist is a person who loves and therefore solid technique pours out of him from his necessity to speak within his medium.
The Artist’s Way encapsulates that creatively based on necessity sprit in its 12 chapters of personal growth. Its pages are equipped with tangible chores/exercises called “the morning pages” and “artist dates.” The book points you into all types of creative territories and spurs you to completion of these tasks. My completion and tangible production of ideas, that I created from sticking it though this book, had taught me habits of an artist that apply to the daily sanity of my life. Most important it helped foster the idea that I was capable of pursing my silly artistic fantasies. I am a logical person but I saw the way life took different shapes as let my creative energy flow.
It was akin to the Ojai board in the fact that so many of life’s obstacles have ebbs and flows and answers rest in the power of coming to grips with the question. Imploring such questions almost inevitably manifested the face of my artistic problems in new approachable ways. It’s haunting the way fortune will change once one is willing to explore the nature of his weaknesses. This is usually accomplished by asking a random question out into the open world then following that by pushing your hands over the letters you know are right.
The Artist’s Way is a modern day Ojai board written by Julia Cameron. The Taoist have had a prophetic text in the I-Ching for centuries and now aspiring artists have a similar book in The Artist’s Way.
Cloaked in the enveloping shadows of this self-help culture I see people all the time with obsequious smiles and incessant ulterior motives. There are so many bands mushrooming around this sprawling suburb of Denver that yields perhaps a mechanical/technical proficiency at their field but lack the expression of their soul. I’m not sure if it’s the fact people don’t have feelings in this modern day or if it’s because they are too busy playing fast Mad Lib harmonies to have a grasp on the fact they have something to say. I’m sure it’s a combination of both scenarios.
I plop open my guitar mag and I see ad after ad selling flashy new equipment to capture “your sound.” This is yet another message conveying an artistic fallacy that a person needs the next expensive toy to be serious about his art. Finally, I get to the contents page and words like, “play like a pro,” “Chops Builder,” “build your ability to blaze (i.e. play faster,) and “improve the mechanics of your pick hand” litter the pages.
Not once do I see the words “express yourself,” “have fun” or “love”…yes that may sound stupid but it is what seems to lack in most people’s life. This process of assimilating to a false picture perfect image being conveyed in a way that is so unnatural and mechanical that I really have to question if normalcy is truly the new term for psychotic.
Too often I find in the world of local artists, people being so fascistly caught up in the technique and complexity of an idea that they truly overlook the most important aspect of art…the feeling. I look at guitar mags, and books, and to teachers all these available resources to help people learn and everyday I see the same mistake of “putting the cart before the horse.” People believe that spending 12 hours a day nailing their sweep picking technique is love of their art. I would argue that an artist is a person who loves and therefore solid technique pours out of him from his necessity to speak within his medium.
The Artist’s Way encapsulates that creatively based on necessity sprit in its 12 chapters of personal growth. Its pages are equipped with tangible chores/exercises called “the morning pages” and “artist dates.” The book points you into all types of creative territories and spurs you to completion of these tasks. My completion and tangible production of ideas, that I created from sticking it though this book, had taught me habits of an artist that apply to the daily sanity of my life. Most important it helped foster the idea that I was capable of pursing my silly artistic fantasies. I am a logical person but I saw the way life took different shapes as let my creative energy flow.
It was akin to the Ojai board in the fact that so many of life’s obstacles have ebbs and flows and answers rest in the power of coming to grips with the question. Imploring such questions almost inevitably manifested the face of my artistic problems in new approachable ways. It’s haunting the way fortune will change once one is willing to explore the nature of his weaknesses. This is usually accomplished by asking a random question out into the open world then following that by pushing your hands over the letters you know are right.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone because this is ending up being an even more hectic week and the craziness seems to be expanding at an exponential rate. Anywho I have this wonderful amazing psyc professor hippie lady. She has us write these short essays every week. So I’d figure I’d this week’s as my blog.
In general I feel I remember the most random of things as long as they are emotional and sense driven moments.
For example, the word obsequious was one given to me by my 11th grade English teacher, Ms. Poling. She was this adorable, older, soft spoken lady that had a mane of dirty blond and gray hair. (And no, Mrs. Robinson is not blasting in the back ground as I spend this 10 pm hour reflecting about this sweet sweet woman.) Her glasses sat as a square windshield of a façade that separated her face from the ghetto fabulous kids that attended my high school in A-Town. She had a clumsy elegance as she would fumble through the door, books would plop and pencils rolled off of her desk. Daily she attempted to get the 20 or so teenagers of her class interested in English. (I have to cut her some slack because it’s hard for people to get energized for English when they are still struggling with Ebonics.)
Still to this day I can remember the word obsequious from one of her random vocabulary tests. Perhaps my memory was evoked because this was a happy time in my life. I had friends in the class and was able to laugh. Perhaps, I can remember her class and its content so well because of her easy-at-it approach to teaching. She was slow paced and calm, she seemed to have a glimmer in eye when she taught her subject. Learning is a journey and I felt comfortable with her at the helm.
Obsequious is a word that represents a person who un-genuinely and overly kind to another person in attempt for personal gain. Obsequious is that waiter who will work you over for a good tip and as you are walking away you can hear him talking smack about you behind your back. Obsequious is a word that I conscious and sub-consciously interject into my speech and writing. I think I do this to hold onto a time and onto certain memories which were emotionally tied into learning this word.
In Ms. Poling’s class we had an assignment in which we were given a vocabulary word and we were to act it out in a way in which would help the class remember it. So, this spectacle, sporting, student took her stage in the front of the class. I could see from her nervous rush to the front she had not properly prepared for her presentation. Her word was “levity.” She had candles which she bought during our 15 minute passing period between classes. She grabbed a red colored cylinder with a white wick and lit the head ablaze. She forcefully blew the candle out and alerted the class’ attention to the rising smoke and said, “You have just witnessed my word levity.” After which, Ms. Poling asked the student, “Did you look up your word?” The girl was silent and Ms. Poling said, “Because levity means lack of seriousness.” So, to this day due to the sense driven device of the girl’s presentation along with her mistake, I can still recall the meaning of levity.
The best way for me to remember anything for a long time is to live it. I took physics in high school. I took calculus a couple years ago and I’m sure there’s a couple synapses still connected up in the good ole’ brain of mine but I’d be damned if you through a couple of applied friction problems in front of my face right now. I just don’t use those skills anymore and in time, like a muscle, they atrophy. On the other hand, I play guitar. I am taking lesions from a 60 year old professional Jazz musician. He is pounding the idea of reading music into my head. I have been studying with him now for the last nine months or so and I have been reading a lot of single note melody stuff. I probably average 15 minutes of music reading everyday, I am going at a snails pace but I can’t believe that I am seeing results. This gradual, non-forced, slow paced, interactive learning of music is going to enable me to grown into being a sight reading musician. The everyday reinforcement of these skills will enable me to learn something for the rest of my life.
In general I feel I remember the most random of things as long as they are emotional and sense driven moments.
For example, the word obsequious was one given to me by my 11th grade English teacher, Ms. Poling. She was this adorable, older, soft spoken lady that had a mane of dirty blond and gray hair. (And no, Mrs. Robinson is not blasting in the back ground as I spend this 10 pm hour reflecting about this sweet sweet woman.) Her glasses sat as a square windshield of a façade that separated her face from the ghetto fabulous kids that attended my high school in A-Town. She had a clumsy elegance as she would fumble through the door, books would plop and pencils rolled off of her desk. Daily she attempted to get the 20 or so teenagers of her class interested in English. (I have to cut her some slack because it’s hard for people to get energized for English when they are still struggling with Ebonics.)
Still to this day I can remember the word obsequious from one of her random vocabulary tests. Perhaps my memory was evoked because this was a happy time in my life. I had friends in the class and was able to laugh. Perhaps, I can remember her class and its content so well because of her easy-at-it approach to teaching. She was slow paced and calm, she seemed to have a glimmer in eye when she taught her subject. Learning is a journey and I felt comfortable with her at the helm.
Obsequious is a word that represents a person who un-genuinely and overly kind to another person in attempt for personal gain. Obsequious is that waiter who will work you over for a good tip and as you are walking away you can hear him talking smack about you behind your back. Obsequious is a word that I conscious and sub-consciously interject into my speech and writing. I think I do this to hold onto a time and onto certain memories which were emotionally tied into learning this word.
In Ms. Poling’s class we had an assignment in which we were given a vocabulary word and we were to act it out in a way in which would help the class remember it. So, this spectacle, sporting, student took her stage in the front of the class. I could see from her nervous rush to the front she had not properly prepared for her presentation. Her word was “levity.” She had candles which she bought during our 15 minute passing period between classes. She grabbed a red colored cylinder with a white wick and lit the head ablaze. She forcefully blew the candle out and alerted the class’ attention to the rising smoke and said, “You have just witnessed my word levity.” After which, Ms. Poling asked the student, “Did you look up your word?” The girl was silent and Ms. Poling said, “Because levity means lack of seriousness.” So, to this day due to the sense driven device of the girl’s presentation along with her mistake, I can still recall the meaning of levity.
The best way for me to remember anything for a long time is to live it. I took physics in high school. I took calculus a couple years ago and I’m sure there’s a couple synapses still connected up in the good ole’ brain of mine but I’d be damned if you through a couple of applied friction problems in front of my face right now. I just don’t use those skills anymore and in time, like a muscle, they atrophy. On the other hand, I play guitar. I am taking lesions from a 60 year old professional Jazz musician. He is pounding the idea of reading music into my head. I have been studying with him now for the last nine months or so and I have been reading a lot of single note melody stuff. I probably average 15 minutes of music reading everyday, I am going at a snails pace but I can’t believe that I am seeing results. This gradual, non-forced, slow paced, interactive learning of music is going to enable me to grown into being a sight reading musician. The everyday reinforcement of these skills will enable me to learn something for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
??????????Do People Who Sellout Live or Merely Burn Alive????????????
I look at the CEO of our company this tall, standard good looking older American male. He is the type of person who’s afraid to buy a new car because it would make him look egotistical and rich. He’s the kind of guy that you see smoking out in the company smoking section with a calm look on his face contemplating his next move and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was mentally preparing for a job interview at the very place he runs. I’m sure he’s heard a million candid conversations by unsuspecting workers who are still new enough to not register his face. He’s got a confident demeanor and a verbal coercion packed full of wit. At our company financial meetings his humor insertions are of the impeccability inducing even the most rigid of accountants to crack a smile. For Christ sake the man dressed up as Snow White for last Halloween and went skipping to each department passing out candy…no one can tell me he doesn’t have a sense of humor that oozes into his daily work routine. Perhaps that’s the piece of the puzzle most folks miss in life…he doesn’t’ work his job. He lives his job, because of his love and belief in it.
It seems day in day out my personality, my humor; my self proclaimed wit is outshined by the florescent flood lights that so unequivocally represent the, “business culture.” In more ways then verbally (specifically on the back with chains) is it beat into my mind that there is a certain personality that yields respect and ultimately success. (Although there wouldn’t be a way to communicate this to my managers they “are” some of the most sardonic people I have meet in my life…ever. Yet they assert they live as professionals.) See, they (my el hefes) think that the drab insipid-infested-culture personality type is the key to success and I’d like to argue against this tenant. It’s this business personality that keeps a person right were they are at. This philosophy, this style, this approach to business life (which I know carries right on into personal life) is what keeps my superiors at the upper-middle manager mark. My CEO is a successful person. Successful people are the ones that run the show with that vibrant twinkle in their eyes and an utmost unabashed personality. My managers believe that an uninhibited personality in the work place is earned through the gaining of a boss title, i.e. manager, CEO, etc. I believe it’s the genuine personality that gets a person his important post. I must defend my genuine, wonderful, spontaneous personality…even at the risk of being fired. It’s the finest tight rope in the world to walk pseudo-professional personality verses being true to your human nature. In the end you can only be successful if you are not living as a fabrication of who you are…I will continue to joke, laugh and smile in hopes the florescent flood lights don’t burn me alive.
I look at the CEO of our company this tall, standard good looking older American male. He is the type of person who’s afraid to buy a new car because it would make him look egotistical and rich. He’s the kind of guy that you see smoking out in the company smoking section with a calm look on his face contemplating his next move and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was mentally preparing for a job interview at the very place he runs. I’m sure he’s heard a million candid conversations by unsuspecting workers who are still new enough to not register his face. He’s got a confident demeanor and a verbal coercion packed full of wit. At our company financial meetings his humor insertions are of the impeccability inducing even the most rigid of accountants to crack a smile. For Christ sake the man dressed up as Snow White for last Halloween and went skipping to each department passing out candy…no one can tell me he doesn’t have a sense of humor that oozes into his daily work routine. Perhaps that’s the piece of the puzzle most folks miss in life…he doesn’t’ work his job. He lives his job, because of his love and belief in it.
It seems day in day out my personality, my humor; my self proclaimed wit is outshined by the florescent flood lights that so unequivocally represent the, “business culture.” In more ways then verbally (specifically on the back with chains) is it beat into my mind that there is a certain personality that yields respect and ultimately success. (Although there wouldn’t be a way to communicate this to my managers they “are” some of the most sardonic people I have meet in my life…ever. Yet they assert they live as professionals.) See, they (my el hefes) think that the drab insipid-infested-culture personality type is the key to success and I’d like to argue against this tenant. It’s this business personality that keeps a person right were they are at. This philosophy, this style, this approach to business life (which I know carries right on into personal life) is what keeps my superiors at the upper-middle manager mark. My CEO is a successful person. Successful people are the ones that run the show with that vibrant twinkle in their eyes and an utmost unabashed personality. My managers believe that an uninhibited personality in the work place is earned through the gaining of a boss title, i.e. manager, CEO, etc. I believe it’s the genuine personality that gets a person his important post. I must defend my genuine, wonderful, spontaneous personality…even at the risk of being fired. It’s the finest tight rope in the world to walk pseudo-professional personality verses being true to your human nature. In the end you can only be successful if you are not living as a fabrication of who you are…I will continue to joke, laugh and smile in hopes the florescent flood lights don’t burn me alive.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Clerks
A life needs to be based on love and person needs to have an opinion and be able to laugh. Day in and day out this magical force of life reminds me that I will not be accepted! My humor, my smile, my size, shape and color won’t harmoniously cookie crumble into the perfect parrallogram shape that the masses believe exists. I write this on eight hours of sleep and in utmost fatigue reflecting on the magnitude of clashes I faced today. People don’t understand my humor and I question if that’s because the culture I happen to live in even has a sense a humor. All I see around me is automaton faced drones that gripe for the easiest way to get a check. My boss said my humor is acceptable, it’s just not accepted. People don’t get me!!!! They don’t get that I have eyes and a nose and blood and god forbid feelings. Most initial actions to life are done out of some conditioned pretense. I just wonder why more people don’t even think to ask why let alone explore the question through and true. This is something I believe in and to me it spawns a live and let live approach. My journalism teacher told me not to think so much. I lost my new favorite cd…Best Friends Forever…because I was rushing home after work because I forgot to grab my school assignment for journalism class. A class taught by yet another rigid uncreative mean-o-head (I only use such a cliché word to symbolically represent what I think about her.) I have a room that looks like it has been attacked by Beagles and these tiny stress sores on my tongue. My one bright side for the day is that I am almost to the point of sight reading single note melodies. That’s awesome because it has been a long uphill battle. Somebody is throwing me crumbs. For anywho today I lived like Dante and tomorrow in the horizon I feel a Randall day coming on. Until then watch Clerks for me since I gave up my TV set and am unable to…someone deserves a laugh.
A life needs to be based on love and person needs to have an opinion and be able to laugh. Day in and day out this magical force of life reminds me that I will not be accepted! My humor, my smile, my size, shape and color won’t harmoniously cookie crumble into the perfect parrallogram shape that the masses believe exists. I write this on eight hours of sleep and in utmost fatigue reflecting on the magnitude of clashes I faced today. People don’t understand my humor and I question if that’s because the culture I happen to live in even has a sense a humor. All I see around me is automaton faced drones that gripe for the easiest way to get a check. My boss said my humor is acceptable, it’s just not accepted. People don’t get me!!!! They don’t get that I have eyes and a nose and blood and god forbid feelings. Most initial actions to life are done out of some conditioned pretense. I just wonder why more people don’t even think to ask why let alone explore the question through and true. This is something I believe in and to me it spawns a live and let live approach. My journalism teacher told me not to think so much. I lost my new favorite cd…Best Friends Forever…because I was rushing home after work because I forgot to grab my school assignment for journalism class. A class taught by yet another rigid uncreative mean-o-head (I only use such a cliché word to symbolically represent what I think about her.) I have a room that looks like it has been attacked by Beagles and these tiny stress sores on my tongue. My one bright side for the day is that I am almost to the point of sight reading single note melodies. That’s awesome because it has been a long uphill battle. Somebody is throwing me crumbs. For anywho today I lived like Dante and tomorrow in the horizon I feel a Randall day coming on. Until then watch Clerks for me since I gave up my TV set and am unable to…someone deserves a laugh.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Is Gorge W. Bush a failure?
I’m not one to judge that’s why I let the internet do the talking for me. If I was feeling lucky I would fly to Vegas right now on my flight benefits but I’ll settle for a little vicarious luck through Google…Here’s what I would do:
Step 1: go to Google’s home page: www.google.com
Step 2: type failure in the search bar: failure
Step 3: click on: I’m feeling lucky
Sometimes pictures are worth a 1000 words.
I’m not one to judge that’s why I let the internet do the talking for me. If I was feeling lucky I would fly to Vegas right now on my flight benefits but I’ll settle for a little vicarious luck through Google…Here’s what I would do:
Step 1: go to Google’s home page: www.google.com
Step 2: type failure in the search bar: failure
Step 3: click on: I’m feeling lucky
Sometimes pictures are worth a 1000 words.
How Strait Edge does All Nighters
I’m in a daze from finishing the last of my first Journalism assignment. An all nighter is pending and my writing mind is in blah mode. I’m listening to Best Friends Forever and I just realized that the blog I posted last, that supposedly had their web site, was wrong. I guess there’s a ton of Best Friends Forever in this world (I have yet to find one.) God, I’m glad there are no libel issues with posting blogs that no one reads. It’s awesome because I can truly get away with saying anything…must go to work ….no sleep tonight….ahhhhhh.
I’m in a daze from finishing the last of my first Journalism assignment. An all nighter is pending and my writing mind is in blah mode. I’m listening to Best Friends Forever and I just realized that the blog I posted last, that supposedly had their web site, was wrong. I guess there’s a ton of Best Friends Forever in this world (I have yet to find one.) God, I’m glad there are no libel issues with posting blogs that no one reads. It’s awesome because I can truly get away with saying anything…must go to work ….no sleep tonight….ahhhhhh.
Friday night was one of a sober stupor. Due to my ailments of gout I was forced to go yet another Friday living vicariously off the contact buzz of my over intoxicated friends. I’ve been jamming with this cable guy of a wildebeest named James (“come here little Jamesy boy” for short) for the last month. He is a superb lad as my girlfriend and he have a secret fling going on behind his girlfriend and my back. This is how I get all the juicy details on the juncture of his uncircumcised penis and other interesting facts of that nature. Anywho, after marking the tops of my hands with the symbolic strait edge X I headed down to the local Pub dubbed “The Hi-Dive.” There for our listening and viewing pleasure was two amazing emo bands “Best Friends Forever” and “Mutton.”
http://say-and-stay-said.com/ *correction has been made.
http://www.eatmutton.com/
Best Friends Forever was a fun all girl band from somewhere beyond the scopes of this sprawling suburb we call Denver.
Mutton on the other hand is a local giant whom is making big musical waves in the Denver scene right now. Given the unabashed pop sensibilities of their sound and rugged good looks of the three members, I’m sure MTV will be knocking down their door sometime in the near future. Times were glad, no beer was had, and I went home late avoiding the mass quantity of homework I must complete for this weekend. But tonight in order to celebrate such a successful event as Friday September 16th I wanted to share a recipe of MuTTon I had found on this thing called the World Wide Web which was invented by Al Gore by the way. I hope you enjoy.
http://tblogs.bootsnall.com/denni/archives/010441.shtml
http://say-and-stay-said.com/ *correction has been made.
http://www.eatmutton.com/
Best Friends Forever was a fun all girl band from somewhere beyond the scopes of this sprawling suburb we call Denver.
Mutton on the other hand is a local giant whom is making big musical waves in the Denver scene right now. Given the unabashed pop sensibilities of their sound and rugged good looks of the three members, I’m sure MTV will be knocking down their door sometime in the near future. Times were glad, no beer was had, and I went home late avoiding the mass quantity of homework I must complete for this weekend. But tonight in order to celebrate such a successful event as Friday September 16th I wanted to share a recipe of MuTTon I had found on this thing called the World Wide Web which was invented by Al Gore by the way. I hope you enjoy.
http://tblogs.bootsnall.com/denni/archives/010441.shtml
Middle-Aged Children will Reach APF
Today after work I went to A-town’s very own Pho 79. Upon entering the building of such fine a fine eatery my girlfriend and I saw the familiar face of our soon to be waiter. It is customary to see familiar faces of workers at an establishment one frequents but what put a spin on our encounter was the fact we usually go to the one closer to our house on Federal. We are regulars to the Denver Pho 79 as we try to eat their at least once a week. So as our waiter brings us to our table he sort of chuckles at the sight of seeing us in Aurora. He leaves and my girlfriend feeds me her compelling thesis that our waiter’s laughs were induced by us plotting not act like we are Pho addicts by rotating our overly frequent visits between the Denver and Aurora store. I acknowledge the idea with a nod and direct her attention to the ambiance around us. As our waiter returned my girlfriend tried to make small talk in some unneeded but ever-present insecure manifestation of the situation by asking him how to pronounce coffee on the menu. Our waiter replied in his thick Asian accent, “Coffee.” I seem to live my life in this constant low nagging paranoid state but these transpired moments seemed not have phased my mood’s natural ego clinging disposition into one of self despairing uncomfortable-ness. As I reflect upon this idea I feel very old due to this monumental shift of interpretation of reality at the ripe young age of 24. I sort of have to laugh as I type this because my thoughts are diverted to that stereotypical older generalization of a man. You know the guy who farts out loud and does it out of some philosophical, accredited percepts due to his established, unabashed and finely embedded position he has on life. I mean come on now!!! It’s not like the guy is gonna score with some hot chick in the near future and he knows this. When a man reaches this notion I think he attains some spiritual level of detachment to life. I also think man incurs a level of fearless with age that comes from the cliché idea that the older a person gets the more mature he becomes. This explains the common phenomenon we as a society encounter when driving by bus stops. At every other bus haven we see some middle age, bifocal rendering, hair thinning male with his finger so proudly lodged up his nose that he serves the un-championed platitude of “Digging for gold” to a tee. Face it, the more mature we become the more childlike we become to approaching the simple conventions of this world. Today in the laboratory at work I lit the fire casket from my ass like I was a burning oil well set to fire during this useless war in Iraq (not to get overly political I am just saying war in general is useless and I wish it was never an option for any nation at anytime.) Just as was topping off my piss spree at the urinal a co-worker of mine named Curt walks into the bathroom. He sees me occupying the one and only urinal so he bides his time washing his hands until I finish. He was overwhelmingly greeted by the unmerciful excursion from my gaseous bowls which had impregnated the air, that he felt the need to make some half-assed and now forgotten remark about the rancid stench. My reply was nothing more than a delightful acceptance speech as the owner to the unworldly smell to which my passionate words were not met with acclaim. Reflecting on this incident I realize that the affirmation to such a taboo social situation is not like the self I once knew. I would usually be insecure and overly embarrassed by such happenings. I would like to attribute my sudden evolution in non-embarrassment to the esteemed characteristic of maturity. Oh yes I am finally growing up…but I realize I am not there yet because I don’t quite posses the godly power that I would like to call, “Apathetic Public Flatulation.” As once a great king had the power to pull the sword from the stone. I have yet to feel comfortable pulling the gas in the public…for now one can only dream of the day.
Today after work I went to A-town’s very own Pho 79. Upon entering the building of such fine a fine eatery my girlfriend and I saw the familiar face of our soon to be waiter. It is customary to see familiar faces of workers at an establishment one frequents but what put a spin on our encounter was the fact we usually go to the one closer to our house on Federal. We are regulars to the Denver Pho 79 as we try to eat their at least once a week. So as our waiter brings us to our table he sort of chuckles at the sight of seeing us in Aurora. He leaves and my girlfriend feeds me her compelling thesis that our waiter’s laughs were induced by us plotting not act like we are Pho addicts by rotating our overly frequent visits between the Denver and Aurora store. I acknowledge the idea with a nod and direct her attention to the ambiance around us. As our waiter returned my girlfriend tried to make small talk in some unneeded but ever-present insecure manifestation of the situation by asking him how to pronounce coffee on the menu. Our waiter replied in his thick Asian accent, “Coffee.” I seem to live my life in this constant low nagging paranoid state but these transpired moments seemed not have phased my mood’s natural ego clinging disposition into one of self despairing uncomfortable-ness. As I reflect upon this idea I feel very old due to this monumental shift of interpretation of reality at the ripe young age of 24. I sort of have to laugh as I type this because my thoughts are diverted to that stereotypical older generalization of a man. You know the guy who farts out loud and does it out of some philosophical, accredited percepts due to his established, unabashed and finely embedded position he has on life. I mean come on now!!! It’s not like the guy is gonna score with some hot chick in the near future and he knows this. When a man reaches this notion I think he attains some spiritual level of detachment to life. I also think man incurs a level of fearless with age that comes from the cliché idea that the older a person gets the more mature he becomes. This explains the common phenomenon we as a society encounter when driving by bus stops. At every other bus haven we see some middle age, bifocal rendering, hair thinning male with his finger so proudly lodged up his nose that he serves the un-championed platitude of “Digging for gold” to a tee. Face it, the more mature we become the more childlike we become to approaching the simple conventions of this world. Today in the laboratory at work I lit the fire casket from my ass like I was a burning oil well set to fire during this useless war in Iraq (not to get overly political I am just saying war in general is useless and I wish it was never an option for any nation at anytime.) Just as was topping off my piss spree at the urinal a co-worker of mine named Curt walks into the bathroom. He sees me occupying the one and only urinal so he bides his time washing his hands until I finish. He was overwhelmingly greeted by the unmerciful excursion from my gaseous bowls which had impregnated the air, that he felt the need to make some half-assed and now forgotten remark about the rancid stench. My reply was nothing more than a delightful acceptance speech as the owner to the unworldly smell to which my passionate words were not met with acclaim. Reflecting on this incident I realize that the affirmation to such a taboo social situation is not like the self I once knew. I would usually be insecure and overly embarrassed by such happenings. I would like to attribute my sudden evolution in non-embarrassment to the esteemed characteristic of maturity. Oh yes I am finally growing up…but I realize I am not there yet because I don’t quite posses the godly power that I would like to call, “Apathetic Public Flatulation.” As once a great king had the power to pull the sword from the stone. I have yet to feel comfortable pulling the gas in the public…for now one can only dream of the day.
I think I can think until my head thinks off. That is a good thing...I think.
