Truesday.

Elimination

I don't blog much lately. Part of me feels that it's a rather -- overly -- self-involved affair, done so that I can wax rhapsodic or rant neurotic on any subject or whim and basically force people -- those who have the urge to check up on me, at any rate -- to focus on one or two aspects of my life. But, on the other hand, I have become one of those people who doesn't call or write or whatever as often as I used to, and this is simply one of the best ways to get caught up on all of my stupid adventures (if you want to call them that.)

And so, with the latter in mind, and that I have a lot of opinions I want to get out, and as this is as good a place as any to just practice writing, I have decided to keep it all afloat. Nevertheless, one big aspect -- ironically, the cornerstone of why I started this in the first place -- has to go. Running, for the most part, will now no longer feature very prominently here. (As I write that, I notice how full of myself it sounds... "Attention, those blessed citizens of the State! From here on out, you shall no longer be informed of the running ups and downs of Christopher True. You will have to fill the void through some other means. Have a nice day!" Sheesh.) Why? Well, I just like to keep that aspect... Well, written in a book. It's the way I used to chart my cycling, and I still like to go over those notebooks and look at the numbers every once in a while.

I will probably mention the activity now and again, in passing, perhaps to mention a race or some such thing. But %99 will be left to the notebook I will inevitably purchase for said purpose.

Now. Today. Let's clean house a bit, shall we?

First off, running. Ha! Yup, running. Yeah, I think I've made it official. I am a runner now. I have gone for seven mile runs and found it hard to stop. I have had a bloody nipple from running too long. And I have run my first races. Two 5K races (so far)... The first, the Bellaire Trolley Run, on April 5, 2008, was fun. I finished well, especially for a first timer: (Note: The number 13 represents my placing in my age group. My age may seem a bit young because they asked for my age as of April 30, 2007, the first time (22:31) is the chip time. The next time is the gun time (that is, from gun to finish instead of chip reader to chip reader), and the last time is pace per mile. And "173" is my overall placing.)

And my second, the Mothers for Cleaner Air Earth Day 5K, was today. I ran faster, clocking in at 22:14.1. Even had a little kick at the end. The best thing about this one was that Amanda ran it with me. She doesn't run my pace, but that allowed me to grab the camera out of the car and get a pic or two of her finishing. It's best when we do things together.

And that's it. No more running.

What's that? How's Sheffield Wednesday doing? Oh, well, great! They're battling relegation by either losing matches or drawing them. A week ago, Sheffield United were in the lower half of the table. But by simply winning games, they're now a slim possibility for a play off place. And I'll be supporting a club in League One. Joy. Even less information than I get now! Great! But, the odds are good that they'll get promoted out of that division next year, so, that's a plus.

I gotta say, I am really quite pleased with the football season thus far. I really hope to see a Liverpool/Barcelona Champions League Final, I hope to see Man United fall apart and somehow give Chelsea and Arsenal a possibility of winning the Premiership -- the end result of which could very well likely come down to the last day of the season, the FA cup final is not Liverpool, Arsenal, Manchester United, or Chelsea against Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester United, or Liverpool -- thank goodness -- and I hope to see Portsmouth and all their spending amount to squat on final day. All the way, Cardiff, all the way! What else? Oh! It was nice to see Tottenham take the League Cup. Don't know why, just kinda cool.

What surprises me most is my sudden interest in the NHL Playoffs. Watching Boston and Montreal in their series' game 2 was the hook. Then I was lucky enough to watch Dallas kick the Ducks around. Nice. Still like the Stars. And now I have better reason (I live in the state.) Oh, and yes, I still don't give a rat's ass about the Red Wings. Sorry, my fellow Detroiters. I just don't care anymore.

Interesting to see how the rules changes has affected the game since I was a big fan (round about 1999... Who won the Cup that year? Oh, yeah, I remember. Heh.) It's just so frantic now. Perhaps it's because I'm used to watching the pace and space of football, but when you've got ten ice skating hulks slapping a puck at each other -- and the two goalies -- the odds a pass will connect is a bit lower than on a few yards of lush green grass and cleats. Anyway, it's been interesting so far. I'm hoping for a Habs/Stars final. Mind you, I don't know (as of right now, I guess I could check) what the Montreal/Boston series is at... Ah! Game 7 is on right now. Well, there you go. Allez Les Habs!

Music! Yes, I like music too!
Well, most of this week I was in a big Prog state of mind -- usually happens at the end of a Metal phase -- and really wanted to listen to pre-Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd. Meddle, to be specific. Picked it up yesterday, probably for the fifth time -- I've sold so much good stuff over the years for really stupid reasons -- and goodness gracious it is such a damn fine record. Also picked up the new Sword album, but haven't gotten around to much of it yet. If it's half as good as Age of Winters, I'll be happy. Other things of note: Bloodbath - Resurrection Through Carnage is fantastic, the new Meshuggah (Obzen) is an improvement over Catch Thirty-Three, and I was really let down by The Haunted. Great music, iffy vocals and singer.

The old conflict that I have regarding staying 'current' with music also raised its ugly head this week. Prog, as we all know, probably hit its peak in the Seventies, and while some have managed to carry the torch for the last thirty, the best stuff is a long time gone. And that's fine. If I want to go pick up some 2nd phase King Crimson, or Camel, or whatever, fine, but I keep wanting to get turned on by the present! And there's just nothing there most days. I'm left unimpressed with the current state of Rock. It's all tarted up or too 'precious' for me. Panic! At the Disco and Feist, I'm talking to you. The Editors second album was a bit of a let down, as was Kasabian's second. Come ON. Sure, Opeth is a band that is big and relevant and making genuinely worthwhile albums, but I want more! I expect more out of 18-28 year old angst than what we're seeing up on music store shelves. There's nothing wrong with pushing the envelope, honing your chops, and choosing NOT to be a part of the business. I'd give anything for it (Rock) to be half as revolutionary as it used to want to be. Oh, and when it comes to (ahem) "modern" Prog, just because you got talent and can play it -- Mars Volta, I'm looking in your direction -- doesn't mean you have to do it all at once. Understand? Pace yourself.

I don't know, maybe I'm just old. Perhaps I should just shut up, listen to Wishbone Ash and wait for the new Opeth to come out.

I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead on this one.

What else, what else?

Yes, I've been reading comics again. I'm sure there are some deep seeded reasons for it, but I'd rather not worry about it too much. I enjoy it, and that's good enough for me. And I've come to the realization that I'm still a Marvel guy. Some things never change.

That's all I've got today. I'm DAMN hungry.

Jeez!

Damn, it's been a while. Oof. And I pay for this damn thing. So what the heck is up in my universe? Well, yes, I've been running. And eating less. I got a haircut today! Sweet.
Tomorrow I am planning on signing up for my first actual race (Well, that's partially true. I did a couple of 1 mile races when I was a kid.) in a couple of weeks. Just a 5K, but you gotta start somewhere, yes?

The writing continues... Although I am considering upgrading the office set up a bit. I went to the Apple store a while back and played around with the 24" iMac. Yummy. Normally, I'm not mad for the desktop models, but part of my job requires me to flip back and forth between Safari (Screw Firefox. Man, that thing is just touchy. More so than Safari. And that is saying a LOT.) windows, so it would be nice to have everything I need up and visible. Including the iTunes window. Nice. AND! AND! AND! My job also requires me to research. And I have to do a lot of printing (I do 2 sided printing, but...) which is taxing on print cartridges and I don't like having to use all that paper. Having a screen open to do research from would be joy incarnate. Someday, I will have the big screen. Someday.

What's on the earphones?

Well, since my exposure to the joy that is At The Gates, I've been more metal than usual. Got my tickets to see the show in July. I can't wait. OhmanOhmanOhman!
Today was the new Meshuggah, Bloodbath, At The Gates, and The Haunted. I'm admittedly a bit let down by the Haunted disc. The music is solid (the guys were in ATG) but the vocals are a little too... Well, they're just too damn male posturing.
Whatever that means. It means something to me, but I gotta live in this head, you don't. Lucky you.

I love Bloodbath. Wow.
Actually I love Michael Akerfeldt. That guy is just gold.

I feel as of late that things are kinda empty. Like I need some sort of project or goal to work towards that could help define what it is I'm doing/being. I keep going back to being some sort of writer, but I would like to add in the element of illustration to it. I have little confidence in my own skills, but I'm too much of a control freak to really work with someone else. I dunno. I have ideas. All over the place. A constant problem, really.

So I need to go to bed now. Metal rules.

One Surface-y, One Deep-y

It isn't often that I sit through a movie anymore these days, but as television has become such shit in the wake of strikes and declining national tastes, I find myself more and more getting interested in actually sitting through a movie now and again. And, I've pretty much exhausted my tolerance for all the comedies I have on DVD. The other night I rented the Kinski Nosferatu (which I have yet to watch),the Last Emperor (Expanded or something version, whatever. I really like that film, and haven't seen it without commercials in a long time. Yet to watch also.), and Waitress. Now, this type of movie (and I'm using the word in a somewhat negative manner here...) would not normally even make it into my hands at the movie shop, but my beloved wanted to see it, and I've been guilty of being one of those people who subjects others to arty, difficult works -- both music and film -- but wouldn't dream of letting someone else choose. Why? Maybe it's because I'm and only child. Maybe it's because I think I have taste. Maybe I'm just an ass. Anyway, I rented it because I wanted to watch a film my wife and best friend wanted to see, and I thought it was high time I got off my high horse and acted like the nice guy I claim to be sometimes. That being said, the film did have one thing going for it even knowing it was a romantic-type dealio: That's right. The guy from Firefly/Serenity. Ol' Malcolm Reynolds was gonna get busy with a hottie (Keri Russel). Ok, I can at least focus on that, right?

Well, the thing wasn't really that bad. Andy Griffith is surprisingly good in it, given his age and given the fact that everyone now thinks of him as Matlock. (I am not getting into the murder of the director, writer and co-star. Nope.) Keri Russel was good, and Nathan Fillion was good. It was, for the most part, a good (not great) movie. Good. For the most part. I say that because at the very end, it fell apart like... I can't even begin to explain. Did it have something to do with the director/writer's untimely demise? I don't know. But, wow. What a collapse. Too bad. But I shall press on, and not be such a snob.

What does that subject heading mean? Deep-y? Well, on my run today, I was thinking of a photograph. (I'd post a scan of it here, but I can't get this scanner working. Long story.) It was taken on February 4, 1999. Dark times for me. I was drinking really regularly, eating like a really, really unhealthy eating machine, smoking like a chimney, and spending most of my time either sleeping or hating myself. I was really overweight, really unhappy, and treated myself (physically and emotionally) like total shit.

I look at the photo and I am pasty. Like yogurt pasty. My cheeks are all flushed out. I look drunk as hell, but (and yes, I am in a bar and I'm holding a White Russian) I'm not. I remember the picture being taken like it was yesterday. My head is carrying a good deal of extra weight, and I look like a man on the way to a very bad future. I sometimes look back on those days and shudder that I got out alive. I have that blessed (sarcasm) gift of having addictive personality in my family gene stock, and at that time I was blind to it. Which is a dangerous ignorance to be immersed in.

For example...

A usual night -- usually the middle of the week, weekends started on Thursday for me back then -- let's say Tuesday, would start out with me getting a pizza (large) and breadsticks (covered in parmesan and butter) with two sides of ranch and sauce and a coke from the pizza shop I worked at. That I would either charge to my account, or hope that I could get away with not paying. The toppings? Well, back then I was quite a carnivore, so it would usually be bacon, pepperoni, banana peppers, jalapenos, and maybe ham or ground beef. After the pizza, I would finish watching the Simpsons re-run or whatever was on, and then head to the Bird (my bar at the time, a couple of blocks away) around 7 or 8. On the way, I would make sure to get smokes. Now, a sane person may pick up one pack, but since I was an idiot, I'd get two. Oops! I forgot to mention that I would have to go back to the pizza shop (also on the way to the bar) and get some cash for the night. We were allowed to take advances on paychecks. I (to put it mildly) abused this. By the time my check actually came in, I had a few bucks. Sometimes I owed money. Jeezus.

So, armed with smokes and cash, I would venture to the bird, and drink and meet up with my friends. People that I genuinely liked, but don't know very well anymore. When I look back, it feels like all of those folks -- for the most part, and those who were really close to me are still that way and I love all of them -- were just, well, acquaintances. Big time. I knew all the specials, I knew all the bartenders. I knew by heart the codes on the jukebox for the songs I wanted to hear. I knew who would be there on a Sunday and who wouldn't. I practically lived there. I was in barfly-land.

So, after a few hours of hanging there, some other fellow beerologists would venture in, and either join me and the brood for some more at the Bird, or we'd head to other locales based on a number of different variables. Better special at the Blackstone? Hot chicks at the Pub? Good band at Rubble's? Whatever. Off we'd go or there we'd stay. Time passed, smokes were smoked, Pabst's or White Russians emptied, and then... Last call. Time to go. Me, with my half pack of smokes left (and I wasn't prone to bumming cigs to others... So yes, I smoked a LOT.), did I go home, and fall asleep? Hell no! If it was a weekend, there was usually a party to crash. Weekdays, not so much, sometimes I'd go to the pizza shop and make yet another pizza, and sit up watching TV or surfing the internet. Most times, however, -- and this is the scary part to me now, and should be to everyone else -- I'd hop in my car (Yup. I am NOT proud of this. In fact, it takes a lot for me to actually write it down.) and drive to Burger King with my last five bucks and pick up a couple of burgers and a couple of fries from the dollar menu and stuff myself before going to bed. I would actually keep a little change in the car so I could afford the tax, and get the same number of items as number of actual dollars I still had leftover from the night.

The next morning, I would miss. Usually, I would skip my morning class, and sleep until noon, or -- as was the case when I worked at the flower shop -- get up right before my shift started. I shake my head as I look back on all of this. I just can't believe I made it through all that without getting myself seriously hurt or killed or jailed or... I consider myself lucky. Very lucky. Lucky that I made it to this point in my life -- which is to say happy, and okay with that (I used to love being miserable. I just didn't realize it at the time.), that I didn't end up dead or lost, and while I know I was a selfish jerk, and did make some very bad decisions that hurt a lot of people, but I console myself in the knowledge that I never did any physical harm to anyone, or got anyone physically hurt due to my idiotic actions.

I joke about that particular picture being taken in the midst of some 'dark times,' but I am totally serious when I say it. And truth be told, when I moved away from that town, I still didn't get it right. For a long time afterward. The only real difference is that I didn't drive so much after hitting the town. I know now, also, that I was headed down a very dangerous road, and that I had a real, and very serious problem. I used to do that classic "you don't understand" thing when my friends would ask why I was at a bar every single night. I was a nascent addict. Just getting rolling into a life of booze, cigarettes, and unhappiness.

And I got out of it. And I feel very lucky about that. In some ways, I feel younger than I did when that was going on. In a sense, I feel like I've given myself a chance to get it right this time.

Perhaps its age, perhaps experience. I don't know. I'm just happy to be alive in this life I have. I don't ever take it for granted.

Memories, Seventies.

I think a lot about the past. Decisions I've made, things I've seen, done, whatever. I was in the shower just now thinking about what I remember from the 1970s. Granted, I wasn't around for much of them, but there are some distinct and fuzzy bits that I can recall. So, here we go:

1974: Spent most of the year in the womb, so nothing. Nada.
1975: Still nothing. Although I do know that I had a birthday party. There were pictures.
1976: I have a vague memory of seeing President Gerald Ford on television, but that could be projecting to the past.
1977: Star Wars. Definitely the first thing I truly remember. I was scared shitless of Darth Vader, but even more so of the Sand People. Those dudes kept me sleepless for weeks.
1978-1979: Here's where it gets a bit difficult. I have some random memories of my dad still living at home (my parents divorced at the end of the decade, but I'm still a bit fuzzy as to exactly when), our dog Molly, a couple of Christmases, but what stands out are the following:
    - Being totally shit scared of any games or toys that went BAM! (the game Concentration) or BUZZ! (Operation)
    - Being bitten in the back by the neighbor's German Shepherd. That dog took a chunk out of me with a chain link fence between us. Wow, was I upset. Funny thing is, I love those dogs now.
    - Toilet training the kid across the street. His name was, uh, Jeffy (ugh), and I seem to remember his parents weren't too well off. We lived in Detroit (yes, the actual Detroit, not a suburb) while that particular area was still multi-racial (somewhat, that is, it was quickly turning into a White Flight zone) and I think Jeffy's parents were white working class, somewhat behind the curve, to put it nicely. I'm sure they were good people, just with a lot on their plate. Anyway, I toilet trained their kid. I remember telling him to aim for the big hole in the chair in the bathroom. Weird.
    - I remember being shit scared (there's that again - I was a really neurotic child) of the basement, the black leather couch with the collapsed cushion in the back room, the back seat of my mom's VW Beetle (same problem as the couch) and the garage.
    - I remember my mom working on said Beetle quite a lot, which is the reason that I love LOVE the smell of Bondo.
    - Listening to music. A lot. Bad Company's Desolation Angels, Rolling Stones' Some Girls, Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, and Foreigner.
    - My early childhood attempt at trying to eat and/or drink while lying down. My dad did it all the time, and I wanted to give it a go. Nearly choked to death.
    - My mom accidentally pulling out my pinky toe nail. Long story. Not in any way child abuse. Although it does grow up, rather than out, now.
    - My mom (I guess my dad must have moved out with some seventies remaining, after he did my mom and I spent a lot of time together. It was awesome) going back to college, and our favorite game, where she would put me in this huge suitcase and carry me around the house. I wasn't let out until I got the room right.
    - Dad memories: Waking him up in the mornings by plugging his nose or opening his eyelids. Being totally awestruck by him spitting ice cubes at the dog who would (while waiting patiently) catch them mid-air. Sitting in his lap while we watched TV. Him trying to repair my favorite toy (at this particular time it was a little Air Force jet thing, with metal body and plastic wings) by trying to melt the plastic where the wings had broken. He ended up just buying me a new one.
    - I seem to remember we had a boarder at one time. Weird.
    - My mom becoming a swim coach. And a butcher.
    - The night my mom came home from playing Racquetball, and scaring me to death when she showed my the black eye she got from being hit by the ball. I nearly peed myself.
    - The occasional -- and most awesome -- water fight. In the house. Awesome.
    - But oddly, the most vivid thing I remember from that time, and the thing that has stuck with me down to my very core was a calendar I got from Baskin & Robbins. It was pink (or pinkish with orange and yellow highlights -- ah, the seventies) and it was a poster. It had the year going around in an oval, with January starting on the middle left and going around like a track until December butted up against January. That poster was on the back of my door to my bedroom for years, and it is the way I actually think -- that is to say, visualize -- time. A chain of ovals that move in that direction. The weirdest part? The links and ovals are in those colors too. Weird.

I guess a lot of the seventies will be tied up in that house in Detroit for me. I remember ringing in 1980 in Redford, at my grandmother's house, with some news report talking about the state of the auto industry (when the news used to be newsy) and the big three logos next to some talking head. But that was the eighties, and that was Redford. There are lots of other things from the seventies that come a-pourin' in as I write this, but those were the big ones. The things that mattered enough that I didn't need deep recall to get them to the fore.

One last one:
    - I remember my dad leaving, sorta. More that that, really, I remember wondering and hoping my parents would get back together. I think it was a natural response. As I got older, I began to realize that they (and for that matter the family as a whole, albeit split in two for me) were better off. My parents got along better apart, and my dad eventually met the right woman for him, and one hell of a great step mom for me. My mom, well, she focused (perhaps a bit too much, at times) on me, and other things. Some of those other things turned out to be not so great, and in some cases probably contributed to her eventual fate. That's all I will say about that.

The seventies were fuzzy at best for me, but what I remember I'm glad. I had a ton of fun.

Always a tad behind the pace...

I am comfortable in the fact that with music, I usually work about ten years behind. I got really really into early 80s hardcore in college (missing Black Flag playing my college town by -- you guessed it -- ten years), and my current love (extreme metal, mostly Scandinavian Black) is no exception. But yesterday, I went and picked up a disc by what Decibel magazine calls the Best Swedish Death Metal Band Ever: At The Gates. Yeah, I know I am way behind the times, but holy shit! They're right. Slaughter of the Soul has been on constant play since I picked it up. It's all I want to listen to. Goddamn, this is one freakin' great record. Wow. I'm not sure if Italy Jason or Chris Dick (The Mt. Pleasant metal guys I hung around with, I exclude Mark Rudolph, he never played me any music, we were just never in that sort of context. Great guy, though.) ever played me this album. If they did, and I just missed the point, I apologize. You guys were right. If you didn't, I suppose I would have missed the point anyway -- I was really into Oasis at the time -- but I hope you would have tried. Just Amazing. Man, I'm so glad I finally came around to this stuff.

Back to work.

The Week, The Weekend, The Real.

So...
Friday (2/22/08) kinda sucked. Firstly, the powers that be who make my writing gig financially viable have decided that they are going to take all the time they have alloted to send out checks. Instead of getting them within two weeks of billing, I will probably get it just on the cusp of exactly two weeks. Very annoying, but it was the final straw for me. I finally decided to go with their Direct Deposit set-up, which I was hemming and hawing about -- mainly because it isn't a 'regular' job situation. It's freelance, and I like seeing the check in my hand. But oh well. Then...

Yes, kids, that is one sharp-ass piece of glass. That I found in my Vegetarian Roll that I bought for dinner. (Although I feel it necessary out of safety's sake to say that it was purchased at Whole Foods here in the loop, I must say that I don't want to disparage the store as it is. They were extremely helpful and understanding.) Yup. What a day. I went to the comic shop, got a few titles, and decided it was time to get some veggie rolls for me and the Dr. to enjoy over Friday night TV -- which for us is centered around E!'s The Soup. Home I go with for boxes of lovely veggie/sushi enjoyment (and dog food -- the dog eats the good shit here) and while Amanda is getting washed up, I just go ahead and dig in. Roll section #2, chew, chew, CRUNCH! Urgh. So I go over to the trash, spit it out, wash out my mouth, and go back to eating. I figured it was a rock, or uncooked something or other. No biggie. Then section of the roll #5 (I'm guessing)... Chew, chew, CRUNCH. URRGHHH! So, this time, I decide that a closer inspection is due. And the picture above is what I pulled out. Great. Rinse out again, pack up all the food (Amanda hadn't eaten any of hers) and back to the store. They were surprisingly concerned -- which was great -- and refunded us our money AND gave us a gift card so we could get food for the night. Which Amanda would prepare, and it was friggin' amazing. Carrot/Broccoli/Tofu Noodle stir fry. My god, she's just so good with flavor. I can cook sustenance type things, filling meals, but she has a skill with mixing flavor and taste that just eludes me.

So...That sucked. For the last couple of days I've been watching all my...uh...you know...for any sign that I missed any glass. No such luck so far. Thank god.
And then Saturday. Sheesh. Went to the local Randall's (downtown) to take in some change to cash in to avoid putting more money on the cards and halfway through the process, the machine jams. No biggie, right? Call the manager! Wrong. The MOD doesn't have a key. So we have to wait until today (very early this morning) to call and get our print outs and put the rest of the change in.
I think god is telling me to keep my shopping trips limited to the Fiesta down the street.

Running was good, however. I've sorta upped my standard run. I noticed that I could just keep going and going the longer I ran, so I've upped to a 60 minute standard. Three of those a week, M-W-Sa, with Friday being a 30 minute recovery run. Sorta. Still gotta get 'slow' on that one. So I ended up running a grand total of 23.74 miles. Jeez. Wow. The funny part is that during yesterday's run, at about mile 6.2, I just felt like I could go another lap around Rice (making it three) and... I finally felt that a marathon is, well, doable. A very realistic goal, really. Honestly, I didn't really feel like I hit my stride on the run until I was over 6 miles. It just felt good at that point. I didn't really want to stop. Does that make me a weirdo?

Probably.

Now, let's get all deep.

No! Wait. I want to take a moment and bitch a moment about Ralph Nader entering the election today.

Okay, I am just as aware as any left-leaning that the current system is controlled by the corporate world, that money rules all, blah blah blah...

But I am also aware that we have two courses to take here if the system is to change. First is total unabashed revolution. Scrap the system. Start over. I would love to be in a world where the intelligent fringe could be in a position of power, but there are too many stupid people out there to trust in Libertarianism (the very pure kind) and there are just too many people, period, to have some one like Nader be effective. Which brings us to the second point, if we are to make changes, they have to be gradual. I would rather have a Obama or an Edwards in office than a third party crackpot (Yes, I said it. I think Nader -- outside of his reputation and such -- isn't the guy you'd really want in office, and he's just getting old. I think he's more driven by his ego than anything) or loon from the far right being kicked around Washington for four years.

So, to all you who think that Nader is the only answer: Third parties in this country have not risen to the top by running for the executive. Start at the local level. Get Greenies or Libs or whatever on your city, county and township ballots. Then work to state. Then national. Then take majority. Then... You get the idea. You want a government that can't get anything done? Or an executive who has NO power? Put a third party guy/gal in there now.

Remember: ALL politics is local.

Ok, depth.

For those of you who are around my age...
Remember REAL? Remember how back in the early 1990s, it was all gonna get 'real?' MTV put a bunch of strangers in a house... and they got 'real?' Or how about music? Suddenly bands like Rush and Kiss were putting out albums that were 'real!' (I am speaking of Counterparts and Revenge, respectively) So, what happened? When I look back, shows like Friends and such were there to push aside the Huxtable formula of televisual entertainment, and we were all gonna act and be...well, REAL. But the truth was, it didn't get real, it just got a nicer sheen. The fashions changed, and we weren't gonna be fooled by poodle metal bands with big hair anymore. Or acid washed jeans. No way, man. Warrant had to cut their hair, and guys started wearing flannel shirts with work boots and faded jeans. Funny. Everyone tends to look on the eighties as a 'polished' decade, but the nineties (outside of the fantastically drug ridden bands that did get some attention -- drug riddled idiots, sure, but it was more real than what we were being fed -- thank you Gin Blossoms) were way too shiny. Perhaps I'm finally getting jaded about the decade I once worshipped. Truth be told, I'm not fooled anymore. The years there have a special place in my heart, but in my mind, I know better. It was a wonderful, foolish haze to be a part of, but I think we had a lot of work to do -- which, for the most part, got looked over in the end. So that's that. I'm off.

There was a thought once.
An exclamation of purity
I chose to ignore.

My eyes were turned only
outwards at you
I kept the rest buried.

Now I find myself in touch
with something
I lost a long time ago.

All myth and color and fluff
but it is mine, finally.
Am I younger now than I used to be?

For you to believe you'd
have to see.
I'm getting to the me

I always wanted to be.

CORRECTION!

I am not 34. I am, however, bad at math. Very bad, apparently.

Many apologies to those confused.

All three of you.

Friday Morning Observations

- I am 34, and in cultural terms, I am a relic. This obviously needs more explaining, but I'll have to sculpt that one very carefully, and I have work to do.

- If you don't own the deluxe edition of Rick James' Street Songs, I suggest -- no, I insist -- you go out and get a copy. I know that I have spent a great deal of time and energy listening to extreme European metal as of late, but starting your day with the live disc that comes in the re-release of Street Songs (recorded in California in July of 1981) is doing a favor to yourself and your soul. It makes the sun shine just that much brighter, brutha. And in my opinion it may be the best goddamn show ever performed by anyone. The horns, the riffs, the bass, the Rick, and the songs with Teena Marie are fucking amazing. Start your day with THAT.

- There is something quite beautiful in the garbage truck blasting "You Are The Sunshine In My Life" by Stevie Wonder as the dudes take the trash. Poignant.

- Sheffield Wednesday is going to get relegated. I can feel it.

- The record stores in Houston suck. All of the metal I want to get as of late (usually found in the new reviews or best of 2007 lists in the prominent metal magazines I read) isn't in stock. Crap!

- I have been reading a lot of comics lately. Getting caught up on nearly 20 years of development in the Marvel Universe ain't gonna be easy. Why, though? Why do I care suddenly about Avengers Disassembled, or House of M, or Marvel Civil War? Is it, as my wife so bluntly put it, that I'm a 12 year old? Or am I just jaded with the book world (working in a big box bookstore will do that to you) that it's all I've got? Whatever it may be, I'm enjoying it and I don't really care that much. To happiness!

- I used to try so damn hard. I used to wear the uniform and listen and say and take and drink and smoke the right things just to fit in with a certain element of the social fabric. And while I regret nothing, and I miss so many of those involved a lot, I wish I could have been more honest with myself and with them. They were very good friends to me and they deserved more from me as a person. Granted, this was when I was 16-25, so it's pretty hard to expect me to act with any sort of tact or class.

That's it. I got biographies to write.

Uno momento, por favor.

I have some updating to do. I've been busy.

Watching the USA v. Mexico match. Busy.

Later. Busy.