another correction to a post made april 27th – jason asked me to point out that a vote was actually taken, and the vote was 2 to 1, that jason should shut his mouth and not talk a while, so that we could have at least one sane conversation that evening. it’s not as harsh as it sounds, it was actually kind of funny, especially while at the karaoke bar with him trying to convince me that i should sing disco inferno or free bird by only gesturing and writing words down on paper.

i completely forgot that i have a mid-term tomorrow, so it’s a jazz filled day for me.

correction to a post on the 26th – i think for the lyric quote the band was actually 4th grade nothing, not kissing book. my bad. (who says that?!)

in fourth grade, our class was reading form a book aloud. i prided myself on being one of the better readers in the class, and helped people along if they ever hit a stumbling block. people would hit a word they didn’t really know how to say, so i’d sneak in with the correct pronunciation. that would seem helpful, right?

for the most part, it was. until one fateful day, when the word “horizon” came into play. how hard is it to say that correctly? a better question, how hard is it to say that word incorrectly? well, not that hard, unless i was trying really hard to say it wrong. i spoke up, in the middle of class, when someone couldn’t put their finger on the pronunciation, “hore-iz-on,” i interjected. the teacher threw me a glance through the corner of her eye, and corrected me. i turned beet red, and sat in my chair hating myself until the end of the day.

thing was, i seriously doubt anyone else remembers that. for some reason, i’ve always remembered every single instance where i’ve done something wrong, and have been humiliated (moreso by myself than anyone else) by it.

why am i telling you this?

karaoke has absolutely nothing to do with it. i have nothing interesting to say about it, just that it was far cheesier than i ever would have imagined. jason, on the other hand, refused to speak for the entire night. instead, when we got home, he would walk by and flip me off, or log on to instant messenger and send me oodles and oodles of insults (which, for the most part, were absolutely disgusting and somewhat clever).

oh yeah, thanks to matt for props to me; just goes to show you how damn self-critical i am. now let’s just hope everyone finds their keys, so we can get the hell out of here.

i just got a frantic call from miguel telling me to go to the mandarin gate to do some karoake. i couldn’t refuse, because i have quite a problem doing so, so i’m off to do some karaoke. i’ve never been to a karoake bar, so i’m sure i’ll have some amusing anecdote to follow.

drive away, stick my hand up towards the sky / and i wave, leave everyone behind:

i remember getting up, in the mornings, in the dead of winter. i had to go to school, and the sun still wasn’t out completely. i’d walk like a zombie to the shower, put my clothes on, and then step into my car.

at the time, my senior year in high school, my car was a hand-me-down bmw; complete with a skateboard deck holding the passenger seat up, the backs of the chairs completely missing, exposing the grotesque inner workings of mechanical chairs and almost wicker-like insides, a barely working tape player (which i had to disassemble more than once in order to get it working again), a horn that sometimes went off at odd times (creating strange and dramatic circumstances, but that’s another story completely), and a useless car antenna (as it usually took residence in the trunk, after i slammed the trunk closed once, and the antenna snapped and lay inside the trunk, one of many debacles that occurred in my year long stint with that car).

did i mention that the heater didn’t work? in the summers in richland, this didn’t matter, but in the winters, it did. the heater didn’t work, so i had to blast cold air in order to get the windshield to defrost. i remember at a certain point in december or something, the tape player stopped working, with a tape stuck in it. i got it to work by jamming a wedge of cardboard in (cb4 style) so the tape stuck in the perfect spot for the tape to play. it kinda sounded like the bands were all underwater, but it was better than nothing.

the tape stuck in there was full of recordings that josh put on tape for me of his brother, andrew kaffer. there was a bunch of kissing book songs (old school kissing book, with joey kneiser from glossary), some situation no win, a bunch of 4th grade nothing songs, and some songs that andrew recorded by himself. cold as hell, i listened to 7 minutes of that tape every morning, 5 days a week, for almost a month.

with all the discomfort going on during those 7 minute long drives to school down george washington way, i don’t remember feeling a second of it.

after jason glimpsed the post, he argues that he did not “find” the picture on the street, but that it was “given” to him. also, he says the name was not crossed out, but was originally like that. i’ve submitted the evidence to our research group, in order to find out what is really going on and will be sure to keep you updated on the results. he’s so adamant about these claims, that he has consistently called me a liar for the past few minutes, and also has called me “a jealous nancy boy” and said, “whatever! you’re like carlton, and i’m like will smith”, and told me to shut up.

i begged you not to go, i begged you, i pleaded / claimed you as my only hope, and watched the floor as you retreated:

as long as i keep harping about them….

i wore my lands farther east shirt today, and in class, my friend justin came up to me and said, “hey – bellingham connection.” and i stood appalled and happy that he knew about them.

we got to sing today in that class, and i kept switching parts between tenor and bass, because i didn’t know which one i wanted to do. we’re singing some song called shenandoah (tom waits covered it once, i think), and then we talked about the book of laughter and forgetting, and just in case you didn’t know, milan kundera is one of the best living authors around today.

jason found a picture on the street the other day, and he keeps this picture in his wallet. the picture says something like “harvey you’re the pimp godfather, the king of godfathers, love ya from shante & shiquia – homecoming at nathan hale high school 2000/2001″ he clutches it close to his heart and when i make fun of him, he says, “don’t be a playa hata.” i laugh and he puts the picture back in his wallet. if you ever see him, ask him if you can see the picture. i’m sure he’ll show you, because he thinks he’s so funny. a really bad and funny picture of him, here

i’m going to give miguel a ride to work this morning, which reminds me. last time i gave him a ride, we had some coffee. i drank it without thinking that the barista could possibly mess it up – i mean, decaf, how hard is that? well you know what? the little fucker messed up, and my stomach hurt for the rest of the day. ooh…seattle’s best coffee my ass. that’s what i get for going franchise.

i swear there was something else i was going to tell you about. this may or may not have been it, but i’ll tell you anyway.

i can’t emphasize how good lands farther east is – they are going to be in seattle soon, next monday, i think at the paradox. they’re awesome and all very nice people. i got a shirt from them that has a picture of doestoevsky on it. go see them if you get the chance.

speaking of emo, it’s been two weeks and i’ve been listening to that dashboard confessional album at least 3 times a day since i got it, and i can swoon everytime i hear “saints and sailors.” last week sometime i was driving around and i could smell summer. windows down and warm air coming in, feeling that feeling that you only feel when you drive, and you’ve got nothing to overthink.

that’s what i like about driving to bellingham so much.

i can’t seem to stop wanting to post, but can’t seem to think of anything worthwhile to post.

hooray! things finally seem to be working okay for me here, so expect more updates.

the key metaphor was weak, i know. i’ll think of something more clever next time.

i’ve been thinking lately (as have a few others) about the nature of this medium called the weblog. i tend to call it a weblog, mostly because i find blog annoying because it seems to be inheriting some sort of inflammatory and durogatory connotations (remarkably like the term ‘emo’ has been thrown around and, with a few people i know, has turned into an insult). people come here to hear me lament about things (ceres) and laugh at my lapses in sense and being hard of hearing (joe) and etc., etc.

i like that people can laugh at these things, because i can, and i like it. i feel good. it feels good to give a million people access to whatever insecurities i’ve felt or have been feeling. it feels good to share it. i don’t think i’ve ever had such a reflective post about posting, so there you have it.

rowr! i like to growl! rowr! brrrraaaaaap! (brandon) (tee-hee). and how else could i get people to read non-sensical gibberish like this?

i finished a 2.5 page paper in an hour and half this morning, and it was crap. i also finished a relatively crappy paper on rilke the other day, which may, in fact interest some of you (ali) (the other would not, i assure you, so i haven’t htmled it). rilke is here

gotta go eat, i have a lot to say, so there will be more later.

i wanted to post something long and insightful this evening, but my brother is trying to get asleep, and i don’t know how well it’s going to work out with me hammering away at the keyboard, because that tap-tap-tapping can get mighty annoying.

do you ever feel like you lost your keys, and have been looking for them forever? you check everywhere – the first place you look is in the couch cushions, because that’s where they always are. next, you check your pants pockets and jacket pockets, the tables and counters, and you still can’t find them. you worry about getting new keys for everything, changing locks (if you’re not lazy), and generally going to a lot of hassle that you normally wouldn’t have to, if you just found your damn keys.

well, i feel like i found them.

and with these hypothetical keys, i took a real trip to bellingham last night, and saw a sandcastle still (as pictured), and lands farther east (as well as spare change and the anarchist’s fakebook) last night, then proceeded to go to shari’s and drip strawberry blintzes all over my pants.

my brother just gave me an evil look. time for bed.

the worst thing is, my friends think it’s funny to promulgate one of the worst pictures of me on the internet. i suppose i’m helping their hilarious cause by linking to the same picture, but what the hell. i am wearing a dismemberment plan t-shirt. how’s that for indie cred?

every time i get on the damn internet (which is all too often), i say to myself – don’t forget to get tickets for jets to brazil and the weakerthans/dashboard confessional, and every time, i forget. not today, my friend. i just got tickets to those two shows as well as the upcoming of montreal show.

i forgot to mention that last weekend, which was the real easter, i went on an easter egg hunt. the strangest thing about the easter egg hunt had nothing at all to do with the eggs, or that i haven’t been on an easter egg hunt in 12 years (i kind of miss doing things like that; on my list of things i used to do all the time but never do anymore: play with legos and draw), no, the strangest thing was the kids in the park, playing swords and falconry, talking in ye olde english, and (damn the little bastards) throwing our hidden eggs on the ground. other than that though, i had an enjoyable easter.

the weather ’round these parts has been incredible as of late. the other day, ali and i sat in the park and i tricked her into reading rilke with me, so that i could get ideas on my paper. the paper still isn’t done, but it’s sitting in the back of my mind waiting to be written; i can be effusive when it comes to rilke. the guy’s so damn great, who wouldn’t? it’s one of those convictions that you have where if someone differs, it’s not their opinion, it’s just that they are just wrong. i feel the same way about neutral milk hotel.

oh, and one last thing – apologies go out to those that have been trying to read the site (that means you!) and haven’t been able to connect, the ip address has changed, so it’s going to take a couple of days to propagate.

since my alarm went off at exactly 9 o’clock again this morning, and at exactly 9 o’clock the lucksmiths came on again, i’m going to relate another lucksmiths story (which has very little to do with the lucksmiths themselves) from the dusty confines of my brain:

sometime around november or december of 1999, my little brother is graciously invited to play at the magic marker house opening for the lucksmiths, kissing book, and dear nora.

nervous as i was, we played to a “small pond of bobbing heads” and the microphone kept shocking my lips. it wasn’t pleasant, and i’m sure people wondered why i had such a sour look on my face. i stopped the song, and we ended up putting a pink sock over the microphone. i have this nasty habit of getting real close to the mic, and touching my mouth to it (disgusting!), but i felt like a science experiment, learning not to touch my mouth to the mic lest i be shocked. oh, and the sock was clean, thank you.

i also recall rich (see also, rich) standing right in front of me whilst i tried to explain the “dog show” skits from saturday night live, because one of the songs ended with that beat they play (dun-dun-dun-dun-dun–dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun–DOGSHOW!).

the best part of any lucksmiths/kissing book show is when they play sad city, and it lasts for 5-10 minutes, and everyone is singing and dancing and everything else is set aside. completely.

the only thing that could get me out of bed this morning was the lucksmiths. luckily, some kind soul requested them on kexp this morning, and i finally got out of bed.

i remember the first time i saw them, down in portland at the 17 nautical miles, a small, small hole of a place. it was better that way, because it was like they were just playing a show for me and my friends. actually, that wasn’t far from the truth, because no one had heard about them at that time, so brandon and i drove down there (brandon from bellingham, me from seattle). after the show, we all went back to the house and just hung around. because brandon and i were so lame, we decided to drive back that evening. as we were leaving, marky (who plays some beautiful bass) tried to stop us:

“you guys are leaving already?” (add thick australian accent)

“yeah, we gotta get back up north.” (add lame nerd accent)

“well, at least take some for the road.” marky says, offering us a couple of beers. brandon and i smile and kind of laugh, when mike breaks in -

“oh mark – you can’t do that here man. it’s the states.”

go pick up the new lucksmiths album if you haven’t yet. if you haven’t picked up any, then shame on you.

a while ago, alexi and i went out to the store, and before we left, we asked my brother if he needed anything. he said, “yeah, i need some staples.” no problem, i think. staples.

we get to the store, and look around, get the stuff we needed, and eventually come into the staple aisle (not that there’s an aisle specifically for staples, and staples alone, but it was the school supplies aisle). thinking it’d be a funny thing to do, and thinking that the staples were decorative, i bought a pack of staples for my brother that were bright purple, knowing full well that he’d hate the purple staples, but have to use them anyway when he handed in his paper.

never did i think this would backfire on me. i stapled together one of my papers a couple minutes ago, purple staple and five pages. a glimpse of a paper that i haven’t proofread, nor do i care to, here.