Coarse Discourse

No pressure, no diamonds.

2005-12-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

Another birthday approaches. I'm tired of the hype.

Everyone always says "I don't want a big party this year." When secretly, inside their wanting exactly that. They want to walk in to their house and see all the people they know and love jump from behind their sofa and barcalounger screaming at them. This year I don't want either. I want something right in the middle. Heres the idea:

I don't want excess. So many people try to cram celebration in to a period of a few hours. Tonight I plan to go out with a few friends to my favorite bar and shoot some pool and have a few drinks. I don't want them buying me shots, hell, I don't want them buying me anything. Unless they didn't get me something they should have no reason to have to pay for pool or drinks.

The day of, I want to wake up and go get some coffee and buy a new book. I want to sit in one of my favorite places and read for a few hours alone. Come home, spend time with the family (before they run off to Texas...), have a nice dinner then go to the airport and pick up the love of my life. We can go have a couple drinks and go home and climb in bed.

I just want some time with the people that are important to me. Friends, family, girlfriend and myself. If anyone reading this considers themselves in these categories heres a message to you: no pressure. All I want is to see you within the next week or so. Lets have drinks.

I will drown you in art links.

2005-12-11T00:36:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons I enjoy the internet. It is a phenominal conductor of learning for me, it's endlessly recreational (movies, games, etc) but among these reasons is one truly awesome one: the internet is a beautiful way to discover art of all kinds.

In my daily e-reading, I came across a review of a video by an animator named Laith Bahrani who does work with Macro. Flash. Amazing work.

The first peice I discovered is an adorable video to a wonderful song by the UK duo Nizlopi (dont ask, I dont know how to pronounce it). You should all check it out and have a good smile. Its an odd sound- country, bluegrassy... but with a British accent. I thought it was good enough I rushed out and got the album.

Laith also has made a brilliant video set to an acoustic "Creep" by Radiohead. Its based on the main character in Low Morale, a series animated by Laith.

I hope you all enjoy them as much as I did. Wonderful music, amazing art.

(for an added treat, watch this video of Dave Grohl covering Zepplins "Stairway to Heaven" on Craig Kilborne)

Merry Quanza, Bitches.

2005-12-05T07:19:00.000-07:00

As I sit waiting for my coffee to brew (to fill my lovely Starbucks thermos) I thought we could have a few words on the holidays.

I have a December birthday so the holidays have always seemed a bit tainted to me. When I was younger, I would often hear the words "these are some of your Christmas gifts too" or vice versa. Theres so much pressure to be cheery, to get that perfect gift or have that perfect day. This holiday season I am not going all out. I am not aiming for unforgetable- I am aiming for enjoyable and if anything more happens, super. For New Years I plan to spend the evening and night in Santa Fe with my girlfriend, counting seconds, watching balls (...?!??), kissing when the clock strikes midnight and undoubtedly somewhat stumbling back to a lovely hotel room.

It sounds fine to me. I dont want extravagant gifts. I am getting a nice hotel and thats as crazy as I go this season.

In all the hustle and bustle, dont forget what this season is all about: trying to one-up the people you love.

The hiv, the pres, the itis.

2005-12-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

A new update:

-Today is world AIDS day. Inform yourself about this virus and find out how you can help here.

-George W. Bush was called for jury duty today and opted out because he's the president. Note to self: become president to avoid future calls for jury duty.

-My wrist disorder turned out to be Flexor Tenosynovitis. Those damn *itis'. Basically, the area where my tendons run through the palm side of my wrist is inflamed for one reason or another. Its pushing against a nerve and failing to allow my tendons to move fluidly. They're scraping along inside my wrist. This explains a good deal. Or a bad deal. Or... whatever.

2005-11-30T19:36:00.000-07:00

Okay- I get the score.

Is there something wrong with blogging? Obviously not, because I'm back up to enough hits a day that tells me that plenty of people (or one very, very creepy one) have interest in my life/opinions.

I get IMs and emails about blogs- why do none of the 50+ people on here daily leave comments here? You know who you are.

Anyhow, here are the general goings on in my head/world:

-My wrist fucking hurts. Out of nowhere six days ago it began aching like nobody's fucking business. Now, nearly a week later- I can't pick up a fucking nail gun. Yes, I used nail guns for an example. My theory is tendonitis or something to that effect. I don't think it's any kind of osteopathic issue... look the word up.

-The "insert" key sucks ass. I have never in my life found it remotely useful. In fact, that whole cluster of keys out there are just a pack of loserish keys. I think I use Scroll Lock more than all of them combined. Look that up too.

-Truman Capote was fucking insane. I'm reading this old book "In Cold Blood" because it occurred to me lately that I've never read a T.C. novel, novella, article, etc. It turns out this ones being made in to a film starring Phillip Seymore Hoffman, whom I find to be incredibly talented and underrated. Anyhow, to get back on point- you can tell Capote was one of these geniuses who was one neck twitch away from spending his days staring out of a caged window in a building with soothing green walls.

Thats all for now. I am off for a couple hours of Madden. I would like to play real football right now, but its a muggy 49 degrees outside...

Oprah's never wrong.

2005-11-28T15:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I stayed up until 4 a.m. reading. The last time I did that it was Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk. This time it was A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. It is a memoir of sorts, autobiographical and dealing with a period when the author was in rehab.

James Frey was a self-proclaimed “Alcoholic, Drug Addict and Criminal.” He woke up one day on a plane, badly injured with no idea where he was headed or why. A Million Little Pieces outlines his life from that point to his release from what he ambiguously refers to as “The Clinic,” which in reality is the Hazelden Clinic in Center City, Minnesota.

The book is not intended to inspire or preach. Frey has said on this subject “I don't want to be a poster boy, the new anyone or anything, or any sort of teacher.” However, to 99% of his readers, the book is going to do just that.

Frey abandons everything a writer normally holds dear. He is brutally truthful, to the point of astonishing. He misuses punctuation and grammar, completely creating his own form of writing.

This is a devastating book. I audibly groaned and sighed often, came close to tears many, many times. It has was picked up in 2004 to be developed in to a movie. If I haven’t convinced you to read it read this exerpt and consider these links:

http://www.millionlittlepieces.com/

A review by a professional.

An essay by the author.

Another essay by the author.

A Zulkey interview with James Frey.

A truth...

2005-11-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

I just gotta say it right now:

I have the coolest girlfriend on the planet.

That's all.

Falling all over the world.

2005-11-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

Last night I sat in Starbucks and watched the snow fall both violently and gracefully, I listened to Jack Johnson, I drank a Carmel Macchiato and read a good book. I began to think:

I fell in a theater in La Cueva High School.
I fell in the foothills.
I fell outside her house.
I fell at Johnson Field.
I fell on the front porch of 1318 Tijeras.
I fell on a futon mattress on the floor.
I fell on the back porch of 404 Ridge.
I fell on a bench in Isla Vista, California.
I fell on a beach.
I fell in her car.
I fell on Main Street in Durango, Colorado.
I fell at her parents dinner table.
I fell in a theater at UC Santa Barbara.
I fell during a snowy drive through Tijeras.
I fell at a wedding.
I fell between Santa Barbara and San Francisco, California.
I fell in my car.

I remember everywhere I have fallen. I do it many times a year. If I have an ounce of luck in me- I will continue to fall until the day I die. I wish the same for you.

Last night I sat in Starbucks and watched the snow fall both violently and gracefully, I listened to Jack Johnson, I drank a Carmel Macchiato and read a good book. I began to think of the places where I fell in love with her.

A cup of Joe

2005-11-19T20:15:00.000-07:00

The other night I met a prophet. A close friend and I fell in to a night of partying on a night we knew we shouldn’t be, but don’t those always end up so well? We started as we usually do- music, pool and a couple of beers. We had very little money so we planned to only stay for a couple games matched with a couple drinks and be on our merry way.

Our music choice that night attracted a strange group. This particular friend has very eclectic taste in music and had played everything from “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” by The Police to “Family Tradition” by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.

We were approached by a 55 year old man from Georgia. He said his name was Joe but to call him “Yo-yo.” We did just that. He bought us drink after drink while we sat and listened to him. He had a way of talking that somehow allowed him to speak only in proverbs. Everything out of this mans mouth could be written down as a general rule to live by.

At one point he pulled me aside and told me that what he liked about me was I have this: and he motioned slowly with one finger from his eyes to his temple. He clarified by saying I have an advanced perception. He said that as he talked he could always tell I was not only listening, but seeing everything and learning it. He said that was my best quality and it alone would be a great ability in my life.

We sat and drank and sang three part harmonies until he disappeared in the Southwests only twin turbo Mustang Cobra that pulled nearly 800 horsepower. Needless to say, he faded as quickly as he appeared. It was an amazing night.

“As I leave here tonight, I leave in the hopes that our paths will cross again in the future. But if they do not, it has been a pleasure in the short time we have shared” –Yo-yo

Apparition

2005-11-13T19:35:00.000-07:00

I once saw a ghost.

No, that’s not the intro to a horrible poem- I’m serious. About two years ago I was walking down the street returning to my house from the school library. It was late- past midnight because that’s when I always leave the library. It was a very dark and quiet night and I was not depriving myself of sleep at the time, which Lord knows I often do (especially at times when I frequent the library too… odd).

Anyhow, I was nearly home in a dimly lit part of this ghetto neighborhood where I resided so long when as clear as day I see a cyclist zoom past me on the left. I was walking on the sidewalk and this occurred so quickly and close to my personal (past-midnight-in-the-ghetto) space that I actually physically jumped to the side. I return my gaze to the cyclist, and he’s gone. No puff of smoke, no fading eerily into the darkness- just gone.

I know it wasn’t a hallucination. This was before I could drink legally and alcohol is the only drug I use (and I do so in moderation). I wasn’t tired. I saw it so clearly I remember the cyclist was wearing a white long sleeved jacket like thing and rode a bright green road bike.

Not long after and completely unrelated, I took up cycling in a heavy way. Something inside keeps telling me that that ghost was somehow… me. Is that strange?

I’m never buying a green bike, that’s for sure.

Fuzzy Inspirado

2005-11-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

I can’t speak for every medium, but as an artist you always have things brewing. In the back of an artists head, a picture or idea is always present. However, the image you receive is always like an old rickety projector. Inspiration is a faded Viewmaster reel. Trying to take something so small and incomplete and fuzzy and turn it in to a real, physical creation is both the most difficult and the most exciting progression for artists. I draw to help get these images out- to share them with other people. I take photographs and remake them the way my mind and graphite interprets them. Yet, when finished with a duplication the final product is nearly always a bit fuzzy itself.

As an artist- is it best to take that inspiration and clarify it? Clean it up and polish it into what it could be? Or would it be best to leave your art in a pure, rough and faded form?

Time to draw.

Not-so-secret secrets.

2005-11-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

I hate myspace.
“Burn” by the cure makes me feel immortal.
I read Gray’s Anatomy for fun.
I listen to audiobooks.
I’m addicted to Sudoku.
I still own coloring books.
I dance in the morning while I get dressed.
I have a fascination with backpacks.
The smell of second-hand stores reminds me of my mom.
The smell of classic black label Chapstick reminds me of my dad.
I love books by Robert B. Parker.
I love red baseball hats.
I own too many clothes.
Seeing a girl cry is the worst thing on the planet.
I have the most comfortable bed in the world.
Secretly, I wish impressionist art would make a comeback.
I miss my grandfather more than anything, ever.
The smell of pencils makes me smile.

Finishing first wherever we can.

2005-11-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

Prepare for rant.

So I’m a “nice guy.” I’m not the type who devotes every spare moment to the care of the old or homeless, but I am a good person when you come down to it. I smile, give, vote, act politely and haven’t hurt anyone purposefully in years (which, compared to my old ways is amazing). But most importantly- I respect women. On top of this fact, I respect relationships. I am a guy who catches this line from women:

“Why can’t I find a guy like you?”

Yes, I realize the flirtation behind the statement- I’m nice, not retarded. However, I feel like punching every girl who says this to me in the trachea. If a girl cannot seem to stop getting together with worthless guys who just want sex- it’s their own damn fault.

Finding Ms. Right is just as hard as finding Mr. Right.

Attention girls:

You do not act this way because there aren’t any good guys out there. You do it because deep down, you enjoy it. If you wanted a nice guy to settle down with and enjoy the reality and earth shattering everythingness of love… you’d do it. Truth is, in most cases, you’re just trying to use me with that statement. So knock it off. Stop hooking up with guys you’ve known less than 1 week and consider the fact that you could be perpetuating a problem you think is out of your hands.

Take a second and think about who you have completely let slip through your fingers. Who have you passed right by because he wasn’t “hookup” material? Better consider it and better do something about it soon. There are plenty of Mr. Rights out there, but girls are realizing it more and more every day.

Plug me in, I'm portable.

2005-11-08T13:43:00.000-07:00

The amount of technology in our lives compared to this time a decade ago is simply incredible. If one were to enter the sacred land of a womans purse you would discover a set of keys with at least one digital gadget on it, a cellular telephone, a portable music player and lord only knows what other type of electronic gadgets one may have in ones purse…

Myself, I carry a cell phone and an iPod with me nearly all the time. A week ago I misplaced my communication device and felt completely disconnected from the world. I don’t know phone numbers without that thing. I have heard that people have cried when they lose, break or replace an iPod. This is a true sign that a gadget has become a significant force in your life.

We have televisions, home PCs, telephones, cell phones, mp3 players, VCRs, DVD, TiVO (why do I feel the need to properly capitalize these product gimmicks)- just feed me technology through an IV in my arm. Hook up my brain. Can I network the PC to my blender, toaster, coffee maker and fridge so in the morning when I log on I can make a breakfast smoothie, toast, coffee and a shopping list from the comfort of my PC? No, I can’t copyright the idea- its been done- and that’s the point. When does it come down to the fact that we are way too involved with technology??

I suppose you have to exist on a cusp. My cusp resides in a cell phone, an iPod (DAMN these product spellings) and a PC to come home to.

Send me an IM. If you cant get me there, send a text and Ill get you back.

I’ll be listening to your Podcast.

Breathe, dance, love and die.

2005-11-06T13:57:00.000-07:00

Your time is short. Possibly much shorter than you think.

Do you remember what it feels like to fall in love? Are you fortunate enough to have it to be remembered? What is it that defines happiness to you? Throw a penny in to a fountain. Dangle your legs in a cool swimming pool. Lay down with the person you love. Go to the mountains and take a large, deep breath.

Dance.

Today, don't take things for granted. I don't mean today in the "November 6th, 2005" sense of the word, I mean today. When you read this. Do you remember what it was like to kiss your husband for the first time? Your girlfriend? Do it again. How many people today are you taking for granted? How much do you want to regret today?

It's going to be over, no one likes to think it, but it's true.

Cue the music, dance, make love, breathe deep.

rumble rumble rumble

2005-11-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

I've started drawing again.

Drawing is like any art. Although you love doing it, not every project you have turns out perfectly. You dont always compose Chopin's Prelude 28xv, you don't always perform the perfect scene of Brecht and you can't depend on the concept. I have been trying to wrap my head around the idea that my drawing can be dirty, it can be sloppy.

What matters is the inspiration, drive and enjoyment. I still get the chills when I listen to live orchestras or stand in front of brilliant, original artwork.

'I don't have an artistic bone in my body.'

I weep for you.

People should learn that it is only drive. Only practice. Grab the paintbrush. Pick up the drumsticks.

The stick of graphite.

I am off to create. I'll be chilling.