Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Rocky Elsom
Rocky Elsom is the one of the best rugby flankers in the world right now. Just youtube him and check it out.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Left Overs
Found this in my notes from 4 March 09. I remember being in the throws of self-doubt at the time, questioning my life and my choices. I re-read The Stranger. It was bad. Then spring happened and all was right with the world.
Cyclical Square?
The extistential crisis -how do you reconcile
What You Preach with What You Practice?
Day to day, tomorrow after tomorrow, until the lost.
But by now, you have amounted to nothing -
You are more a friend than a father,
And all your work is a hypocritical hoax which
Cannot be mended.
Break! Free yourself, free your mind.
Who are you but a
Cog in a larger wheel
(of Fate perhaps?)
That turns and rotates, mimicking
The Sun, the Moon, the Starts.
After all, aren't you just space dust anyway?
Aren't you
No More Than Dirt?
Look down
Under your soles to find your soul-
Nirvana is under your feet.
Cyclical Square?
The extistential crisis -how do you reconcile
What You Preach with What You Practice?
Day to day, tomorrow after tomorrow, until the lost.
But by now, you have amounted to nothing -
You are more a friend than a father,
And all your work is a hypocritical hoax which
Cannot be mended.
Break! Free yourself, free your mind.
Who are you but a
Cog in a larger wheel
(of Fate perhaps?)
That turns and rotates, mimicking
The Sun, the Moon, the Starts.
After all, aren't you just space dust anyway?
Aren't you
No More Than Dirt?
Look down
Under your soles to find your soul-
Nirvana is under your feet.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Rainy Day Jams
As a preface, for some reason my sweatshirt smells like old milk and I don't know why. But all my other sweatshirts are in the wash and it is cold so I'll have to deal.
And now more original "poems."
Weena, May We Never Forget.
Rain falls and I'm stuck in the house.
No worries -
It's only the start of spring, "Rain before beauty,"
And May holds open the gate for April to enter the garden.
"Together we'll walk and admire the butterflies,"
She'd say. "And the daffodils and the rhododendron."
Which always reminds me of The Time Machine by Wells
And then the future, eight hundred thousand years worth,
When men are midget-cows
And matches and cigarettes are kept in the museum rather then at the gas station.
And how together they walked in that future garden,
Near the rhododendron.
But the rain keeps me in with the dog,
Seemingly drugged by age, asleep on my hands,
Shifting my worn bulk and occasionally sighing.
But no worries, it's only the start of spring.
Untitled.
Emily Dickinson wrote thousands of poems
Homer is famous for two
There are one-hit wonders in literature too
Those who toil their whole lives for an
Oprah's Book Club sticker
(And those who get is posthumously)
And who decides what's tomorrow's classics?
Oprah's Ph. D. in literature.
A Night to Remember.
From the time we're born we're special;
Preschool conditions individuality, high school destroys free thought.
Remember finger painting? Snack? Recess?
Remember lockers and gym class and prom -
The epitome of cookie-cutter pre-collegiate cotillion,
The following vain attempts to continue the species,
The fumblings in dark, drunken closets, the first vomit.
Enduring, subconscious, glossed-over, gold-plated memories.
We were stars. We were heroes.
For one night we were individuals again. Then,
Like the ravages of Alzheimer's or too much whiskey,
We were forgotten.
And now more original "poems."
Weena, May We Never Forget.
Rain falls and I'm stuck in the house.
No worries -
It's only the start of spring, "Rain before beauty,"
And May holds open the gate for April to enter the garden.
"Together we'll walk and admire the butterflies,"
She'd say. "And the daffodils and the rhododendron."
Which always reminds me of The Time Machine by Wells
And then the future, eight hundred thousand years worth,
When men are midget-cows
And matches and cigarettes are kept in the museum rather then at the gas station.
And how together they walked in that future garden,
Near the rhododendron.
But the rain keeps me in with the dog,
Seemingly drugged by age, asleep on my hands,
Shifting my worn bulk and occasionally sighing.
But no worries, it's only the start of spring.
Untitled.
Emily Dickinson wrote thousands of poems
Homer is famous for two
There are one-hit wonders in literature too
Those who toil their whole lives for an
Oprah's Book Club sticker
(And those who get is posthumously)
And who decides what's tomorrow's classics?
Oprah's Ph. D. in literature.
A Night to Remember.
From the time we're born we're special;
Preschool conditions individuality, high school destroys free thought.
Remember finger painting? Snack? Recess?
Remember lockers and gym class and prom -
The epitome of cookie-cutter pre-collegiate cotillion,
The following vain attempts to continue the species,
The fumblings in dark, drunken closets, the first vomit.
Enduring, subconscious, glossed-over, gold-plated memories.
We were stars. We were heroes.
For one night we were individuals again. Then,
Like the ravages of Alzheimer's or too much whiskey,
We were forgotten.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
A List of Memorable Places I Have Thrown Up Because I Was Either Sick or Drunk
1. My first bedroom (sick)
2. My second bedroom (sick)
3. The hall to the bathroom in my parent's house (sick)
4. The bathroom in my parent's house (drunk)
5. Tina's bed (drunk)
6. Wolfe Two men's room (drunk)
7. Wolfe Two women's room (drunk)
8. Off the back porch into a birdbath at Brian Ave for Rugby Rookie Day (drunk)
9. The Wasteland, or TCNJ's famed Rugby House. Sites include: basement, my bedroom there, outside, the second floor bathroom (drunk)
10. The Octagon backyard (drunk)
11. Off the fire escape outside my bedroom in The Thunderdome (drunk)
12. My bedroom and the bathroom in The Thunderdome (sick and drunk)
13. On my ex-girlfriend (sick and hilarious)
14. Billy Donovon's downstairs bathroom (drunk)
15. Outside the Windmill in Red Bank in front of the large window and a man eating his dinner (drunk)
2. My second bedroom (sick)
3. The hall to the bathroom in my parent's house (sick)
4. The bathroom in my parent's house (drunk)
5. Tina's bed (drunk)
6. Wolfe Two men's room (drunk)
7. Wolfe Two women's room (drunk)
8. Off the back porch into a birdbath at Brian Ave for Rugby Rookie Day (drunk)
9. The Wasteland, or TCNJ's famed Rugby House. Sites include: basement, my bedroom there, outside, the second floor bathroom (drunk)
10. The Octagon backyard (drunk)
11. Off the fire escape outside my bedroom in The Thunderdome (drunk)
12. My bedroom and the bathroom in The Thunderdome (sick and drunk)
13. On my ex-girlfriend (sick and hilarious)
14. Billy Donovon's downstairs bathroom (drunk)
15. Outside the Windmill in Red Bank in front of the large window and a man eating his dinner (drunk)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Best Commercial Ever
Keep the Arts in Education. With coming budget cuts and reductions, the Arts will certainly be the fist to go. But it is Art that gives us hope in dark times.
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, 'O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.' That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse." - Dead Poets Society
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sketches 2
The place was pretty empty and there was a choice of table or booth.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Water and coffee please."
"Coke...no, sweetened iced tea for a change."
"Ok. Milk or cream?"
"Milk is fine."
She finished jotting and walked away.
"How was work? Get the exams done?"
"Yeah, I've got one set of essays left to read. I want to get to the gym today and I have to be back at school at 6:40 to judge a competition."
"What for?"
"Rock Band."
"Any good bands playing? Maybe I'll come listen."
"No, it's a video game. Kids play fake instruments and pretend to be rock stars."
"So they fake it."
"Yeah. You want my lemon? I hate lemon in my water."
Taking the lemon, he put it on the rim of his glass and began stirring with the straw. I mixed the milk slowly into the coffee.
"Ok so I've been figuring." He grabbed a napkin. "You have a pen?"
I fumbled a black felt tip from my pocket.
"Here's what you're looking at in bills." He was writing as he was talking. "Phone, electric, gas, insurance for the place, insurance for the car, food, gas, savings, and car. First off," he was pointing at the word "CAR" with the tip, "how much is this a month?"
"Three twelve."
"What're you having?"
"You go first."
"Ham and cheese omelette. Can you put sausage in it too?"
She nodded. "Toast and potato?"
"Wheat and home fries if you still have them please."
"I'll have a western omelette with white and a side of sausage. Ok so figure hundred dollars a week for food." He wrote down $400. "One fifteen for phone, gas and electric," he drew a bracket and wrote $200 next to it. "Are you filling the tank once a week?"
"Not really."
"How much was the last fill?"
"About twenty-five."
"So say seventy-five. It depends on where you live. House insurance maybe twelve thousand a year." He wrote $100. "Car insurance one twenty-five. I'll leave this blank." He meant "Savings."
He had always been good at math, as far as I could remember, and had it added in seconds, column by column like they teach in school. He turned the paper toward me. It was not as much as expected.
"Here you go, ham, cheese, and sausage and western."
* * * * *
"I make this," took the paper, added two paychecks together, "a month."
He subtracted the previous amount. "Then this is what you'd have left to pay the mortgage."
That figure was also smaller than expected.
"Don't forget that you'll need a down payment and a couple thousand for closing costs." He looked at me. "You're really ready to do this, huh?"
"Yes, I am."
"Can I take that for you?"
"You're in a good position, you're making money, you have a job, you're putting it in the bank. When we moved out we didn't have any savings and neither of us had steady jobs. We had a little cause we just got married, but it took us seven years to buy a house.
"You know you're not being forced out or anything. You can have people over if you want, that's not a problem. Did something happen? You seem hellbent on moving out. Was it driving Nani the other day?"
"No, nothing happened, it's not that." I looked away. "I set a goal for myself and I want to be out before Ali's done with school."
"And know there's no problem with staying past that goal."
"I want to move out. Staying past that goal turns us into a sit-com." Laughter. Way to diffuse the situation.
"Take that when you're ready."
He started playing the trombone with the check, forgetting his glasses in the truck.
"OK, you ready?"
"Yeah, I'm ready."
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Water and coffee please."
"Coke...no, sweetened iced tea for a change."
"Ok. Milk or cream?"
"Milk is fine."
She finished jotting and walked away.
"How was work? Get the exams done?"
"Yeah, I've got one set of essays left to read. I want to get to the gym today and I have to be back at school at 6:40 to judge a competition."
"What for?"
"Rock Band."
"Any good bands playing? Maybe I'll come listen."
"No, it's a video game. Kids play fake instruments and pretend to be rock stars."
"So they fake it."
"Yeah. You want my lemon? I hate lemon in my water."
Taking the lemon, he put it on the rim of his glass and began stirring with the straw. I mixed the milk slowly into the coffee.
"Ok so I've been figuring." He grabbed a napkin. "You have a pen?"
I fumbled a black felt tip from my pocket.
"Here's what you're looking at in bills." He was writing as he was talking. "Phone, electric, gas, insurance for the place, insurance for the car, food, gas, savings, and car. First off," he was pointing at the word "CAR" with the tip, "how much is this a month?"
"Three twelve."
"What're you having?"
"You go first."
"Ham and cheese omelette. Can you put sausage in it too?"
She nodded. "Toast and potato?"
"Wheat and home fries if you still have them please."
"I'll have a western omelette with white and a side of sausage. Ok so figure hundred dollars a week for food." He wrote down $400. "One fifteen for phone, gas and electric," he drew a bracket and wrote $200 next to it. "Are you filling the tank once a week?"
"Not really."
"How much was the last fill?"
"About twenty-five."
"So say seventy-five. It depends on where you live. House insurance maybe twelve thousand a year." He wrote $100. "Car insurance one twenty-five. I'll leave this blank." He meant "Savings."
He had always been good at math, as far as I could remember, and had it added in seconds, column by column like they teach in school. He turned the paper toward me. It was not as much as expected.
"Here you go, ham, cheese, and sausage and western."
* * * * *
"I make this," took the paper, added two paychecks together, "a month."
He subtracted the previous amount. "Then this is what you'd have left to pay the mortgage."
That figure was also smaller than expected.
"Don't forget that you'll need a down payment and a couple thousand for closing costs." He looked at me. "You're really ready to do this, huh?"
"Yes, I am."
"Can I take that for you?"
"You're in a good position, you're making money, you have a job, you're putting it in the bank. When we moved out we didn't have any savings and neither of us had steady jobs. We had a little cause we just got married, but it took us seven years to buy a house.
"You know you're not being forced out or anything. You can have people over if you want, that's not a problem. Did something happen? You seem hellbent on moving out. Was it driving Nani the other day?"
"No, nothing happened, it's not that." I looked away. "I set a goal for myself and I want to be out before Ali's done with school."
"And know there's no problem with staying past that goal."
"I want to move out. Staying past that goal turns us into a sit-com." Laughter. Way to diffuse the situation.
"Take that when you're ready."
He started playing the trombone with the check, forgetting his glasses in the truck.
"OK, you ready?"
"Yeah, I'm ready."
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Sketches, 1
I am a boy, eagerly sitting in CCD, prior to the settling in of my Irish Guilt, sharing a classroom with an elderly priest and a strange girl.
She is always wearing a purple, oversized jacket on top of a white sweater. Her hair is always nestled into a clumbsy ponytail. Her frames are out of style by at least twenty years. She is very far from being even decently attractive.
And she always is paying attention. Vividly, she sits in her chair, aside from her desk, with her elbow resting heavily on her knee. It is her hand I am focusing on - she has it turned backwards. Her chin is resting in the heel of her hand, in that groove between the end of the palm and the thumb bulge. Everyone's been in this position before, at some point. The whole thing looks awkward and uncomfortable.
I try it out. It's not as bad as I thought, the weight of your head is off your shoulders for a bit, not bad. Five minutes pass. My elbow starts to dig into my knee. I sneak another look at her.
She's still sitting like that only now she has her fingers dancing across her lip, now tapping her nails against her teeth. I am getting grossed out. I know my hands are dirty but hers? She looks like she doesn't even shower or use deodorant. No one is sitting near her. Her dancing fingers remind me of a bunch of spiders running across her face. This makes me smile a little and sort of chuckle. She looks over and sees me smirking. She smiles back, still having spiders dancing on her face. I look at the board real quick. The priest has some stupid picture of a rainbow and a pit and some fire and some other bullshit he probably considers "high art" up there.
He turns and tells a joke, one person giggles.
And that was the way class would go for an hour: he would say pathetic jokes, we would try not to fall asleep, and she smiles. And she giggles. And she sort of glows. And she has her arm twisted around the whole time.
I fucking hate her.
Every single time I am sitting like she would sit, my head in my palm, fingers over my mouth, I think of spiders. I think of CCD. I think of old glasses. I think of rainbows and a wooden crucifix and fire and smiles. And I think of Bibles and pits and off-white teeth and blue walls and the "Our Father" and Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. But most of all I think of spiders.
And I change my posture.
She is always wearing a purple, oversized jacket on top of a white sweater. Her hair is always nestled into a clumbsy ponytail. Her frames are out of style by at least twenty years. She is very far from being even decently attractive.
And she always is paying attention. Vividly, she sits in her chair, aside from her desk, with her elbow resting heavily on her knee. It is her hand I am focusing on - she has it turned backwards. Her chin is resting in the heel of her hand, in that groove between the end of the palm and the thumb bulge. Everyone's been in this position before, at some point. The whole thing looks awkward and uncomfortable.
I try it out. It's not as bad as I thought, the weight of your head is off your shoulders for a bit, not bad. Five minutes pass. My elbow starts to dig into my knee. I sneak another look at her.
She's still sitting like that only now she has her fingers dancing across her lip, now tapping her nails against her teeth. I am getting grossed out. I know my hands are dirty but hers? She looks like she doesn't even shower or use deodorant. No one is sitting near her. Her dancing fingers remind me of a bunch of spiders running across her face. This makes me smile a little and sort of chuckle. She looks over and sees me smirking. She smiles back, still having spiders dancing on her face. I look at the board real quick. The priest has some stupid picture of a rainbow and a pit and some fire and some other bullshit he probably considers "high art" up there.
He turns and tells a joke, one person giggles.
And that was the way class would go for an hour: he would say pathetic jokes, we would try not to fall asleep, and she smiles. And she giggles. And she sort of glows. And she has her arm twisted around the whole time.
I fucking hate her.
Every single time I am sitting like she would sit, my head in my palm, fingers over my mouth, I think of spiders. I think of CCD. I think of old glasses. I think of rainbows and a wooden crucifix and fire and smiles. And I think of Bibles and pits and off-white teeth and blue walls and the "Our Father" and Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. But most of all I think of spiders.
And I change my posture.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Yesterday
Student- Isn't that a drug?
Me- What? No, 'anesthesia' is a drug. 'Anastasia' is a Russian princess.
-12 January, 2009. 10th Grade CP1 American Lit 1
I love my job.
Me- What? No, 'anesthesia' is a drug. 'Anastasia' is a Russian princess.
-12 January, 2009. 10th Grade CP1 American Lit 1
I love my job.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
I have loved this picture for a long time.
Pale Blue Dot
by Carl Sagan
Consider again that dot
That’s here
That’s home
That’s us
On it everyone you love,
everyone you know,
everyone you ever heard of,
every human being who ever was,
lived out their lives
The aggregate of our joy and suffering,
thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines,
every hunter and forager,
every hero and coward,
every creator and destroyer of civilization,
every king and peasant,
every young couple in love,
every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer,
every teacher of morals,
every corrupt politician,
every ’superstar,’ every ’supreme leader,’
every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there –
On a mote of dust
suspended in a sunbeam
The Earth is a very small stage
in a vast cosmic arena
Think of the rivers of blood
spilled by all those generals and emperors,
so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary masters
of a fraction of a dot
Think of the the endless cruelties
visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel
on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner
How frequent their misunderstandings
How eager they are to kill one another
How fervent their hatreds
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance,
the delusion we have some privileged position in the Universe,
are challenged by this point of pale light
Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark
In our obscurity, in all this vastness,
there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere
to save us from ourselves
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life
There is nowhere else, at least in the near future,
to which our species could migrate
Visit, yes.
Settle, not yet.
Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand
It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience
There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world
To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another
and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot,
the only home we’ve ever known
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I Tired To Do Handstands For You (Song of the Week)
Yes, it is from the iPod Nano commercial.
This is a great video concept - the thoughts that run through your mind when you first exchange phone numbers. Thank you XM Radio for listening me to this band, Low vs. Diamond.
So Ali came home from college for Thanksgiving and she got me hooked on this song, "Electric Feel" by MGMT. This band has another song, "Time to Pretend," which I'm sure I've heard somewhere else before, but I just can't place it. It is totally awesome and, best of all, it has a Rock-A-Fire Explosion version. I wanted to put up the original, but embedding has been "disabled by request," which is thumbs down. Anyway, the song rules and I seriously haven't stopped listening to it for a few days now. Posted here is the Rock-A-Fire version but if you want to know what it is like to do HARDCORE DRUGS, view the original. You will be tripping balls.
This is a great video concept - the thoughts that run through your mind when you first exchange phone numbers. Thank you XM Radio for listening me to this band, Low vs. Diamond.
So Ali came home from college for Thanksgiving and she got me hooked on this song, "Electric Feel" by MGMT. This band has another song, "Time to Pretend," which I'm sure I've heard somewhere else before, but I just can't place it. It is totally awesome and, best of all, it has a Rock-A-Fire Explosion version. I wanted to put up the original, but embedding has been "disabled by request," which is thumbs down. Anyway, the song rules and I seriously haven't stopped listening to it for a few days now. Posted here is the Rock-A-Fire version but if you want to know what it is like to do HARDCORE DRUGS, view the original. You will be tripping balls.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Song of the Week
Way too late. But it's good, here are three for you. Listen to these, they're your future favorite songs.
Since the summer Pulse Parties sponsored by Nate Boyle on the Hook, I have had a special place in my heart for The Ting Tings. This song is different from their radio hit, "Shut Up and Let Me Go," but it is really a nice little melody which shows off Katie White's voice. This song is like the antipodal piece to "Shut Up," if "That's Not My Name" is the synthesis of the two. Anyway, "Traffic Light:"
I have never heard of this guy before. Maybe that's my fault, but his voice sounds much different than what he looks like. Know what I mean? This song follows much that is good with white-people-musical-standards and he's not going to revolutionize any genre, but he still is enjoyable. I'm down to give him some further listening. He feels like a cross between U2 and Dave Matthews, who I do not like. Oh well. I really don't know what I'm talking about anyway, I just like the song.
Following in the footsteps of fellow Drive Thru surf film star Donovan Frankenreiter, Tim Curran released this little gem. Telling the now-familiar story of guy who changes his life to regain a lost love, his style is average surfer-songwriter. But what the Hell, it's almost December and we all need a little summer again. Also both of these men prove that it was a terrible, terrible mistake for me to get rid of my mustache. God I miss that thing. Sigh.
Since the summer Pulse Parties sponsored by Nate Boyle on the Hook, I have had a special place in my heart for The Ting Tings. This song is different from their radio hit, "Shut Up and Let Me Go," but it is really a nice little melody which shows off Katie White's voice. This song is like the antipodal piece to "Shut Up," if "That's Not My Name" is the synthesis of the two. Anyway, "Traffic Light:"
I have never heard of this guy before. Maybe that's my fault, but his voice sounds much different than what he looks like. Know what I mean? This song follows much that is good with white-people-musical-standards and he's not going to revolutionize any genre, but he still is enjoyable. I'm down to give him some further listening. He feels like a cross between U2 and Dave Matthews, who I do not like. Oh well. I really don't know what I'm talking about anyway, I just like the song.
Following in the footsteps of fellow Drive Thru surf film star Donovan Frankenreiter, Tim Curran released this little gem. Telling the now-familiar story of guy who changes his life to regain a lost love, his style is average surfer-songwriter. But what the Hell, it's almost December and we all need a little summer again. Also both of these men prove that it was a terrible, terrible mistake for me to get rid of my mustache. God I miss that thing. Sigh.
Monday, October 27, 2008
A Visit from George Washington
I wanted desperately to get this out before the election, but I kind of lost interest in it. It was going to be about George Washington showing up on election night and reminding everyone about his parting words on political parties given during his leaving office speech:
"However combinations or associations of the above description may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely, in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people, and to usurp for themselves the reins of government; destroying afterwards the very engines, which have lifted them to unjust dominion."
A Visit from George Washington
'Twas the night of Election
And all through the House
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a spouse.
The ballots were counted
By computer with care
In the hopes that no Dade
Again would we dare.
The children were nestled
All drugged by their Valium
While we sat down
To the long night's tallin'.
With Ma in her work clothes
And me in my slacks
We both settled in
For the night's coming attacks.
When there on the tube
There arose such a rumble
I turned to the news networks
To see what was the grumble.
From Fox News to CNN
The Daily Show, too
There appeared an apparition
Dressed mostly in blue.
The faces of 'casters
And pundits alike
Told me the this guy
Was an unscheduled psych.
His hair was as white
As new-fallen snow
And his age seemed ancient
But it really didn't show.
I had seen him before
On the one dollar bill
But there on TV,
He arose such a thrill.
By his stance and his posture
He was obviously the one,
Our first real president
George Washington.
"My friends," he spoke
With a rumbling voice,
"Harken my last presidential words,
Amend your method of choice.
"This two-party system
Ye have set up
Has superficial differences
'Mongst this political soup.
"Abandon thy love for
Bipartisanship
And your allegiance
To many parties equip!"
With that he turned,
Leaving all in stunned silence,
And called to his mates
Without malice or violence,
"On Taft and Roosevelts,
Both Frankie and Ted,
On Jefferson, Jackson,
Abe and Wilson get out the lead!"
And in a puff of smoke
And pin-hearing quiet
He vanished that night
Like pudge during a diet.
He never came back
And wasn't spoken of again
But his message was clear:
From party politics should we refrain.
Nov 1-7, 2008
"Go-bama!"
"However combinations or associations of the above description may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely, in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people, and to usurp for themselves the reins of government; destroying afterwards the very engines, which have lifted them to unjust dominion."
A Visit from George Washington
'Twas the night of Election
And all through the House
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a spouse.
The ballots were counted
By computer with care
In the hopes that no Dade
Again would we dare.
The children were nestled
All drugged by their Valium
While we sat down
To the long night's tallin'.
With Ma in her work clothes
And me in my slacks
We both settled in
For the night's coming attacks.
When there on the tube
There arose such a rumble
I turned to the news networks
To see what was the grumble.
From Fox News to CNN
The Daily Show, too
There appeared an apparition
Dressed mostly in blue.
The faces of 'casters
And pundits alike
Told me the this guy
Was an unscheduled psych.
His hair was as white
As new-fallen snow
And his age seemed ancient
But it really didn't show.
I had seen him before
On the one dollar bill
But there on TV,
He arose such a thrill.
By his stance and his posture
He was obviously the one,
Our first real president
George Washington.
"My friends," he spoke
With a rumbling voice,
"Harken my last presidential words,
Amend your method of choice.
"This two-party system
Ye have set up
Has superficial differences
'Mongst this political soup.
"Abandon thy love for
Bipartisanship
And your allegiance
To many parties equip!"
With that he turned,
Leaving all in stunned silence,
And called to his mates
Without malice or violence,
"On Taft and Roosevelts,
Both Frankie and Ted,
On Jefferson, Jackson,
Abe and Wilson get out the lead!"
And in a puff of smoke
And pin-hearing quiet
He vanished that night
Like pudge during a diet.
He never came back
And wasn't spoken of again
But his message was clear:
From party politics should we refrain.
Nov 1-7, 2008
"Go-bama!"
And Now for Something Completely Different
The 2003 Rugby World Cup Final is one of the best games of rugby ever played. It went into double overtime and was at the point where the officials had to decide how to end the match because the players were so exhausted. It came down who could score first and England's wunderkind Johnny Wilkinson booted a fantastic drop goal in the dying seconds of the second overtime. And, while I have always been a fan of Australian Rugby over those pansy English Roses, I have to admit that Wilkinson's kick was one of the most amazing sporting moments of this century.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Song of the Week
Well, Thursday was a pretty long, bad day. Started off on a down note. Couldn't get out of bed and get moving. Woke up, forgot my wallet. Had to pay for my coffee with leftover nickels from my glove box. Spilt some teriyaki sauce on my shirt at lunch. Because I didn't have my wallet I couldn't buy a drink and the make-it-yourself Chinese bowl was spicy. Got observed (which went really well actually). Rushed home to put the dog out; he didn't want to come in. Ran back to school for two hour band practice. I have a laughably hard time conducting in 2/4. Ate a little bit of dinner and rushed off to rugby practice where I re-opened my ear cuts and got banged in the knee and it was cold.
Whine session over.
On the way home from practice, I said "fuck it" and put the iPod on shuffle. "Whatever happens, happens." The Long Winters happened, a band I had loved but hadn't heard since junior year of college. "Scared Straight" just has a way of picking you up and setting you down right ways up on your feet. However, there is no good version of the song on youtube and, while I have put a version up here, you can't even hear the best part of the song - the bass. Oh man. Just download it. You know you want to. It is off their album When I Pretend to Fall.
Right after "Scared Straight," I had to put on the second best Long Winters song, "Fire Island, AK." Both of these tunes just drive the entire song and don't let up. And this one is just a really, really good song. "They found my letters and I don't have to wonder if it reached you" while it seems that the guy is being investigated? Nice touch.
I remember the first time I saw The Long Winters. I was with Sera and Laura in Hoboken at Maxwell's to see The Decemberists and these guys opened for them. That was the most hipster-ish night of my life.
Whine session over.
On the way home from practice, I said "fuck it" and put the iPod on shuffle. "Whatever happens, happens." The Long Winters happened, a band I had loved but hadn't heard since junior year of college. "Scared Straight" just has a way of picking you up and setting you down right ways up on your feet. However, there is no good version of the song on youtube and, while I have put a version up here, you can't even hear the best part of the song - the bass. Oh man. Just download it. You know you want to. It is off their album When I Pretend to Fall.
Right after "Scared Straight," I had to put on the second best Long Winters song, "Fire Island, AK." Both of these tunes just drive the entire song and don't let up. And this one is just a really, really good song. "They found my letters and I don't have to wonder if it reached you" while it seems that the guy is being investigated? Nice touch.
I remember the first time I saw The Long Winters. I was with Sera and Laura in Hoboken at Maxwell's to see The Decemberists and these guys opened for them. That was the most hipster-ish night of my life.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Oldie but Goodie, Vol. 6
Who are we without our past? And I'm running out of decent material.
Pressing Issues
I find that the things I possess
Are often forgotten
Yet the things misplaced
Never leave me alone
The keys under the couch
The rent past due
The Brita filter
In need of a change
There are the fish that need feeding
The wine that needs drinking
The paper that needs writing
Though the research is lacking
Yet they all sink into the blue
As I lie here looking at the
Now-familiar ceiling
Of your teal room
2006
You're Playing Video Games While Sitting On My Bed
The lingering sunlight though the dull grey clouds
.....Paints your chest thought the sloping neckline
With the most perfect light to incite
.....Imaginings.
2006
Tottering
I find that a drunken fight is like
A vase on top of a pedestal that,
...While walking through the museum,
You bump with your hip.
And though nearly priceless
.....You keep going,
Both you and companion not knowing,
Until the stunned, pre-warned, class-tripping children
Witness the crash.
2006
Pressing Issues
I find that the things I possess
Are often forgotten
Yet the things misplaced
Never leave me alone
The keys under the couch
The rent past due
The Brita filter
In need of a change
There are the fish that need feeding
The wine that needs drinking
The paper that needs writing
Though the research is lacking
Yet they all sink into the blue
As I lie here looking at the
Now-familiar ceiling
Of your teal room
2006
You're Playing Video Games While Sitting On My Bed
The lingering sunlight though the dull grey clouds
.....Paints your chest thought the sloping neckline
With the most perfect light to incite
.....Imaginings.
2006
Tottering
I find that a drunken fight is like
A vase on top of a pedestal that,
...While walking through the museum,
You bump with your hip.
And though nearly priceless
.....You keep going,
Both you and companion not knowing,
Until the stunned, pre-warned, class-tripping children
Witness the crash.
2006
Friday, October 17, 2008
Mystery? Get a haircut and loose the goggles.
OK. I broke down. I saw it.
Last Sunday night, I watched an episode of VH1's The Pickup Artist. Then I watched parts of last season on the internet.
It was hilarious. I saw so much of myself in those guys (well, aside from the fact that they suck sooooo much more than I do). And I have to say, at first I was impressed that Mystery (and note that I cringe at having to call him that) could walk into a bar and own it so well.
Then I got to thinking. He is really dirty. I felt kind of disgusted watching him treat women as such objects. Yes, we've all done it (oh who am I kidding). But every night? Mystery seems doomed to the life he has chosen.
I think what puts me off the most is his philosophy - The Game. Easily dismissed as "complete and utter bullshit" at first glance, it seems to work. Which distresses me. Why are women so easily seduced by being treated like crap? I have always been confused by the "tough guy" mantra some homies (yeah, I went there) put forth.
Before we continue, allow me to make one point - I have zero game and terrible luck with women; the ones that like me I don't like and the ones that I like don't like me or are famous (ahem...Jenna Fischer...ahem).
So herein lies the dilemma: I refuse to learn "The Game" based solely on it's perceived scummyness; but do I wait until everyone else uses it to admit that it is successful and succumb to Mystery's plans or stick to my (seemingly single bound) guns?
Either way, going out and talking to random people is so much fun. It is my new favorite hobby and I do intend to keep it up. There is a certain level of insta-confidence gained by "opening a set," a high. You can be anyone you want to be for a little bit. It's awesome. For example, I convinced three different people that I had a bunch of different names and our mutual friends is still dealing with the fallout.
You know what? Screw it. This is way to whinny anyway and I'm probably just going to delete it before anyone influential in my life reads it. I'll leave you non-readers with this - Go fuck yourself, Mystery. You're giving men a bad name.
Last Sunday night, I watched an episode of VH1's The Pickup Artist. Then I watched parts of last season on the internet.
It was hilarious. I saw so much of myself in those guys (well, aside from the fact that they suck sooooo much more than I do). And I have to say, at first I was impressed that Mystery (and note that I cringe at having to call him that) could walk into a bar and own it so well.
Then I got to thinking. He is really dirty. I felt kind of disgusted watching him treat women as such objects. Yes, we've all done it (oh who am I kidding). But every night? Mystery seems doomed to the life he has chosen.
I think what puts me off the most is his philosophy - The Game. Easily dismissed as "complete and utter bullshit" at first glance, it seems to work. Which distresses me. Why are women so easily seduced by being treated like crap? I have always been confused by the "tough guy" mantra some homies (yeah, I went there) put forth.
Before we continue, allow me to make one point - I have zero game and terrible luck with women; the ones that like me I don't like and the ones that I like don't like me or are famous (ahem...Jenna Fischer...ahem).
So herein lies the dilemma: I refuse to learn "The Game" based solely on it's perceived scummyness; but do I wait until everyone else uses it to admit that it is successful and succumb to Mystery's plans or stick to my (seemingly single bound) guns?
Either way, going out and talking to random people is so much fun. It is my new favorite hobby and I do intend to keep it up. There is a certain level of insta-confidence gained by "opening a set," a high. You can be anyone you want to be for a little bit. It's awesome. For example, I convinced three different people that I had a bunch of different names and our mutual friends is still dealing with the fallout.
You know what? Screw it. This is way to whinny anyway and I'm probably just going to delete it before anyone influential in my life reads it. I'll leave you non-readers with this - Go fuck yourself, Mystery. You're giving men a bad name.
Song of the Week
Well, here we are, an entire day late. It's OK though, I'll give you three songs.
This first one is from my new favorite artist, Nujabes. Nujabes is a Japanese house DJ who (I have found out by perusing his Wikipedia page) created his name by making an anagram of his real moniker, Jun Seba. JUN SEBA. Why you would want to change that gem is beyond me. It sounds like a Jedi or some crazy Kung-Fu Master. Of DJ-ing. I really cannot explain my new found passion for house music, except that listening to The Pulse radio station almost non-stop while on stand with Nat at the nude beach this summer might have had something to do with it. I have never been into "dance" music, but damn, this gets me moving. And corny, apparently. But anyone who lists Pat Metheny (look up "First Circle) as a major influence is alright in my book.
Now I did say three this week. Number two is the background chart Nujabes dubbed over to make that song above. The reason that Nujabes' chart jumps out so much is because the music sounds like you're hearing it through walls; like there is a awesome party going on next door and you want to get in. Anyway, the original is just as good in that solid, old-fashioned Motown-style. If you scroll back, the reason Estelle appears on here is because of her Motown influence in "Pretty Please." And this band has such an awesome name, The Quadraphonics. And they sound like a poor-man's Jackson-5.
The last song today is a short track that has, arguably, had more influence on music than any other piece. This song is "Amen, Brother" by The Winstons, an otherwise unknown band. You cannot find this song in this version on iTunes or anywhere else and it has been driving me crazy. I am a sucker for these types of blaring, dirty jazz/funk beats. Maybe this is why I am finding myself enjoying house so much; maybe it's the simple repetition of phrases in the music that my ear is already attuned to admire. Anyway, at 1:27 the drum solo is so often cut and sampled in that you should recognize it when you hear it. If you don't, there is an eighteen minute youtube video about why these fifteen-or-so seconds are important. I just think it's a good song.
This first one is from my new favorite artist, Nujabes. Nujabes is a Japanese house DJ who (I have found out by perusing his Wikipedia page) created his name by making an anagram of his real moniker, Jun Seba. JUN SEBA. Why you would want to change that gem is beyond me. It sounds like a Jedi or some crazy Kung-Fu Master. Of DJ-ing. I really cannot explain my new found passion for house music, except that listening to The Pulse radio station almost non-stop while on stand with Nat at the nude beach this summer might have had something to do with it. I have never been into "dance" music, but damn, this gets me moving. And corny, apparently. But anyone who lists Pat Metheny (look up "First Circle) as a major influence is alright in my book.
Now I did say three this week. Number two is the background chart Nujabes dubbed over to make that song above. The reason that Nujabes' chart jumps out so much is because the music sounds like you're hearing it through walls; like there is a awesome party going on next door and you want to get in. Anyway, the original is just as good in that solid, old-fashioned Motown-style. If you scroll back, the reason Estelle appears on here is because of her Motown influence in "Pretty Please." And this band has such an awesome name, The Quadraphonics. And they sound like a poor-man's Jackson-5.
The last song today is a short track that has, arguably, had more influence on music than any other piece. This song is "Amen, Brother" by The Winstons, an otherwise unknown band. You cannot find this song in this version on iTunes or anywhere else and it has been driving me crazy. I am a sucker for these types of blaring, dirty jazz/funk beats. Maybe this is why I am finding myself enjoying house so much; maybe it's the simple repetition of phrases in the music that my ear is already attuned to admire. Anyway, at 1:27 the drum solo is so often cut and sampled in that you should recognize it when you hear it. If you don't, there is an eighteen minute youtube video about why these fifteen-or-so seconds are important. I just think it's a good song.
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