IT WASN'T ME, IT WAS THE
i have a muscle spasm in my shoulder. it’s like he’s saying “hey hey you hey hey it’s me me me me hey you me it’s me me me hey”
the word spasm makes me think of spastic, which makes me think of crazy people. so is my muscle going temporarily insane? what if that muscle causes me to rob a bank when it’s spazzing? “your honor, the defendant would like to plead muscle spasm.” it could happen, my spasming shoulder could twitch and knock me out with the arm, then drag me to the bank and start shooting the place up. i wake up in jail, and- what’s that? “where’d your shoulder get the gun from?” is that your only problem in believing this story? up until then it was plausible? fine. on the way to the bank my twitching shoulder spots a gun. “how’s a shoulder going to see if it doesn’t have eyes?” who are you? go back to your own website and keep writing about how close you are to discovering a portal that will take you to the real starship enterprise.
so back to my crazy shoulder. i awake in jail, not realizing who or what, and my shoulder is no longer twitching. my knees, from their jealous rivalry with my shoulders, tell on shoulder. i ask him, but he doesn’t remember doing anything, and where does that leave me? in the big house. medaries, good thing you passed the bar. don’t forget all of those times at jmu that i helped you study.
(april 30 1:02 pm)
rock and roll summer is opening for a movie this friday. “valley of the gwangi” is the film, and it looks fantastic. i want to dress up like cowboys and turn my drum set into this guy.
(april 29 12:18 am)
ALL MY LIES ARE ALWAYS WISHES
tomorrow begins soon. nine minutes to be exact. and that means monday, which means getting ready for next week’s service. i just finished this week’s service. there is a little window that i love, the hours of 9:00 and 12:00 pm sunday evening. i don’t have the thoughts of the sunday service on my brain anymore, and i can relax with thoughts of tony hawk and girls i like (yeah, girls plural, what’s it to you? i spent a few years on one and where did that get me? in the immortal words of the godfather, “get back”) and fajitas by re re and re re (pronounced rAy-rAy) and straight honesty. not honesty with acquaintances, but honesty with re re, re re (pronounced rAy-rAy), and smitty. this is much deeper and revealing. not that i’m dishonest with acquaintances, but i just don’t share as much. i tend to get blank stares and uncomfortable shifting when i do that. i went on a blind date last september, and the advice cyclone gave me was “don’t say what you normally say”. that’s why i don’t well in shallow social situations, i can’t do small talk.
sorry this isn’t as quirky as usual, but i’m beat. two services in one day. with chili in between. although i did enjoy the mind of the four year old i had lunch with. a bunch of us went out to eat, but i was hanging with noah, who had a lot of interesting things to say. his latest term is “pen”, which he uses with everything. we asked him what chuffy’s name was, and he said “chuff-pen.” then when we were leaving, i said “bye noah” and he said “bye pen.” he really digs thomas the train, which i respect a lot. trains are cool. my great-grandfather drove a train. so all throughout childhood i associated the job “engineer” with the description “one who drives trains.” i was fifteen, at least, before i realized that when people said they were going to school to become an engineer, that didn’t mean they were going to drive trains.
i was asked to be a groomsman tonight. in seth’s wedding. seth, do you realize that you are the only friend i have who doesn’t have a nickname? even cyclone has one now. i could call you “the little prince”, like we did at your soccer game last year, when chuffy got hurt, and we were drinking beer with all of the soccer girlfriends, but i didn’t think you would like that.
anyway, i was asked to be a groomsman. i am honored, but i told him i would think about it. i like that, because what do i have to think about? am i considering our friendship? no, i am just doing it to work seth. i also told him i have one condition: that coop be placed at the end of the line.
lots of weddings this summer. i need to find me a girl to take to these gigs so i have someone to dance with, and make everyone jealous that they aren’t with her and/or me. or maybe i’ll just get rowdy and act inappropriately with the bride’s older sister. do i have what it takes to become the shady guy at weddings?
i’ll never forget the brown hornet's wedding reception. that's my sister. there was another reception in the downstairs of this place, and they conga-ed through. so slug and i joined, which was real funny until we got back to their party, and then it was just real awkward when they realized they had picked up two dudes.
speaking of the brown hornet, i’m waiting for the call. she is going to have a little girl any minute now. and i’ll be driving to the beach, imagining the future with my niece and nephew, taking them to the zoo, the movies, having them come down for a week to visit where we have lots of fun, eats tons of candy, and stay up way too late.
this blog is going to suffer because re re and i joined a gym. i have to choose: either expression or legspression. what does that mean? i don’t know. all i do is ride the bike, because of my jacked-up legs and jacked-up shoulders. the roz and re are shaking their heads right now on my stupid “conditions”, but up theirs. roz, i’m looking at a picture that i just put up on my bulletin board of the three of us in front of 6313 monument avenue, adorned in backpacks and sunglasses, i’m holding the lieutenant and his ear is in your mouth, and ireland is hours away. ha ha. yeah.
tomorrow will be more interesting. i’ll go up to chuffy’s office and throw an egg at him or something so the blog will be funnier. my day is guided now by the pressure to make this interesting to you. screw that. one more thing. one time i bought a pie to throw at sloop, but i missed. man, was that disappointing or what. a pie in the face? great. but i missed.
i realize the title has nothing to do with tonight’s entry, i just have wilco on the brain. and i wish i had written that line. all the blogs in the world for that line.
(april 28 12:26 am)
OKAY, HERE'S THE PLAN
let’s talk about tarring and feathering. i mean, what was going on back then? were things that out of control? where was the logic? where was the one sane person among them that said “whoa! did you just say what i think you said? ‘tar and feather’? are you psycho?!” there was no voice of reason that night, and look what happened. it became the “in” form of torture. no longer would they settle for the ol’ standby, “draw and quarter”- that is so 1470! not until the chinese came along with their water methods did a new torture take over as king t.
and even if you don’t have a problem with the cruelty of tarring and feathering (it is torture, after all), at least consider the practicality of the situation. it takes a lot of work to put together a good tar and feather, you know. i imagine there was someone to head the whole thing up…
alright, he stole lots of cattle, let’s get him, good, now you two hold him and you go gather some wood and you, you go find lots of chickens. after you find the chickens, pluck all of their feathers out, and put them in a giant bag. what? no, not the bald chickens, the feathers, you idiot! now get plucking! let’s see, where’s my clipboard? [tap tap tap] ah! blithe? yes, you go down to sir tarbick and get a vat of tar. tell him it’s for me. alright, and let’s move, people!
someone just get an axe and let’s call it a night.
[ april 25 12:32 am]
that’s right, l and g, last night was the wilshow. it was wilconderful, to say the wileastco. deuce, k-diddy, and i arrived around 5:00 to make sure we got in, just in case any orange plastic fencing happened to be put up later to stop all those horrible townies from coming to the show. our plan was simple: let our backpacks do all the talking. “here we are, just going to class and attending this school.” what was not taken into account, however, was that it was the last day of classes, the whole reason for the concert, and so three people with backpacks look extremely out of place. but we managed to find where the concert was being held, and as we walked by the stage there was tweedy. straight out of the documentary. i was going to ask if he would autograph his guitar for me, but i figured that may get us booted before the show even began. so we sat. and read. and sat some more. re re, re re (pronounced rAy-rAy), and turbo showed up a bit later. re re (pronounced rAy-rAy) and turbo fit in alright, but ol’ re re, with his handlebar mustache, screamed “townies.” fortunately the security had enough to handle, what with the mass pukings going on around us. better than ezra played first, and i had forgotten how much i like those guys. they have some songs that took me back to riding around in that 300zx of medaries’ around harrisonburg. there was a huge crowd that came out of nowhere, and we were worried that we would not be able to move our way up. there was a rap act on a smaller stage behind us, however, and we easily moved to the front of the main stage. we were in front of leroy bach, to my dismay, as he is my least favorite member (friends don’t “wear out their welcome”) but the rest was great. they played for-what-seemed-like-ever, and included every one i really wanted to hear. and besides the really annoying girl yelling out requests and hitting me in the face with her swinging arms, it was a great great show. thank you, duke university. thank you, wilco. thank you, jo jo, for playing bass. jo jo, do you even read this thing? do you know you look just like john stirratt?
[april 24 3:00 pm]
WELCOME TO THE NEW
welcome to talk, Stretch! this site contains an awful lot of ranting from yours truly. in this space you will my find my (usually) daily blog entry. but now it's late, and so an entry you're not getting. except to say that deuce, i caught you trying to put all those links on my site. while you did a wonderful job with putting this thing together, that was not nice. also, wilco is tonight. and re re, please don't be mad if i refused to go to the gym because i was tired. i only slept four hours last night and me sleepy. sleepy me. sleepme. me sleep. smeep le. smep lee.
ignore that last part. but if you scroll over those words there, they'll take you to other pages. if they happen to take you to rickymartin.com, or oprah.com, just come on back. that is deuce playing a trick on me.
IS DRASTICITY A WORD? IT IS NOW
deuce and i went to the grocery tonight to pick up some dinner. man, this blog is turning into the stories of gay matt. well, i’m not gay, despite what my boss’ sister thinks. neither is the deuce. i think…
anyway, we were walking down the back of the grocery and all of a sudden, out of an aisle came the tallest man i have ever seen. he was probably seven feet tall. it was amazing, and i had to stifle a laugh. deuce from behind said “oh my gosh” and i all but burst out laughing. i found out between laughs that deuce thought it was a man of normal height standing in a shopping cart. apparently he was behind me (were you staring at my butt, deuce? why were you behind me?) and couldn’t see the man’s legs.
after composing ourselves in an aisle we continued our walk down the back, and i didn’t want to laugh at this guy, or near this guy in case he interpreted my laughter as being about him, so in all seriousness i walked down the back, but he was so tall that i caught him in my peripheral vision and thought i was going to die laughing. i don’t know what it is about really tall people in person. i see them on tv and it's not humorous. i mean, i know it’s not nice, but i can’t help it. i don’t think midgets are that funny, not as funny as my mean friend jeremy does, but something about really tall people in person makes me laugh.
the only other time i have seen someone of such drastic height was in a wendy’s bathroom on the way home with popcorn. i was walking out, popcorn was peeing or something, and in walks a giant, stooping to get into the door. the look on my face must have been a combination of aghast and delight, and vert must have been accustomed to it, because he said “hey, how ya doin’”. to let any girls out there know, that is not normal. talking does not happen in the male bathroom unless it is you and a friend of yours in there alone. i managed to say “hi” before bolting out and laughing real hard in the parking lot. sorry if you think i’m mean, but i would never laugh in a tall person’s face, it’s just the drasticity of the situation. every time.
whoa, you leave a blog empty for a few days and the rumors start to fly like radagast’s birds that were lent to sauron. so today is devoted to updating and assuring you.
1. i finally finished the silmarillion, which means my analogies
won’t stem from middle-earth anymore, such as the one above. now what?
delve into the books by tolkien’s son? i’ll just go to go back and read
the whole series again. i need my middle earth.
2. another thing i need is a date, because things the other night were way too gay for my liking. deuce and i drank wine, ate sushi and brie, and played scrabble. it would have been a wonderful date with a girl. i’m working on it.
3. i beat deuce in scrabble, 241-240. we used all the tiles, and did not keep a running tally, which made the close defeat all the more exciting. well, i did not keep a running tally. deuce later told me that he was silently keeping track of his lead the whole time, until he got over 30 points on “zeal” because z was on the triple letter block, at which point he stopped counting, figuring he had it in the bag. sucka don’t sleep.
4. i spent two days last week putting up flyers around raleigh to advertise for the two easter services at vintage. lots of stop and go, and trying to avoid mailboxes. didn’t always happen.
5. wilco is playing on wednesday for free at duke university. re and i convinced deuce to stick around for that, so we’ll head out there early in the afternoon to claim spots. i imagine it will be like the flag-in-the-land scene in “far and away”
6. easter sunday was just lovely. we had two, count ‘em, two services at vintage21, which left me exhausted by the end of the day. but i dig easter. i like celebrating.
7. smitty and i went to james joyce to wallow in his breakup with the state of minnesotann. it was a good night, and i think smitty will be back to full force soon. which means more material for talk, Stretch!, as that guy is just full of it. “what’s it?” material. right, seth?
8. my sister moved to la. i don’t think she should have, but she’s into it. i won’t go into all the details, but i will tell you that in two days she has seen sheryl crow and diana ross. on separate occasions, don’t go tell everyone that you heard sheryl and diana are bff. next thing you know this will turn into some type of e! blog.
9. today is my second day off off 2003. that’s not entirely true, i was out of town for five days, but every day i’ve been here, save today and one other day, i’ve either been beading it up, or doing stuff with vintage21. so far i’ve read, ate eggs a la deuce, and played tony hawk. other things on the agenda are mow the lawn, get a haircut, and clean. plus more tony hawk.
thank you, and good day.
WHAT A FRIEND I HAVE IN DAVIS
i found out something wonderful today. my friend d-rock just may be able to take me to meet jefferson holt. if you do not know who that is, he was the first manager of rem. but it gets better.
athens, georgia is the original home and remains the headquarters of rem. their office is downtown. there is a locked door that is rumored to be the entrance but you ain’t getting in there, sucka. i may be getting in there, sucka. that’s right, matt stevens, i, may be going on a tour of the rem office. slug, are you reading this? popcorn? re re? for the rest of you, the excitement may not be brimming, so i will explain.
before i begin, i'm going to apologize for the language. i could add
asterisks and dollar signs, or abbreviate, but i'm just going to go ahead
and write them out. this is my life, uncut.
i fell in love with rem in 1989. i was cat-sitting for our next-door
neighbors, and they had a cd player. the stevens family had not gotten
cable until that year, so applying the formula of my parents’ reaction to
technology i would be due for my first cd player sometime next year. my
brother, however, must have had some sort of compact disc playing device,
as he had left a whole grocery bag full of cds at home. i toted the bag
next door, fed the cats, and plopped down to check out what music neil had
the first cd i put in was murmur. i was transfixed. back home, my whole catalogue of music blew up. three hours later, i had made it through murmur, reckoning, and fables of the reconstruction, in that order. life would never be the same. my mother wondered what the heck i had done for three hours, to which i shrugged my shoulders and said “just listened to some cds.”
that year rem was on the green tour, but they had come and gone by the time i believed them that indeed i would not hurt the horse. besides, it was three years before i was allowed to attend a rock and roll concert.
they did not tour again until 1995. during that whole time my love grew to adoration and finally to obsession. it was on the edge of stalking until the tour dates were released. i have never been more excited for a show in my life. we had seats in the second row of the upper level of hampton coliseum, which meant eye level with the band. they were about 50 yards away.
the minute the music began slug, tim, the woodbros, and i jumped up and started dancing and screaming. it was all too much. at one point i looked back at the audience behind us, who was sitting. all of them. sitting. my sister was about 30 rows up with her boyfriend, extremely embarassed. friends on the other side of the coliseum told us later they saw us, that everybody saw us.
we had no cares.
michael stipe called for the audience to get naked, and tim immediately un-donned his t-shirt. we were theirs; bring out the kool-aid, jim. mike mills soon noticed us. he flirted with us a bit here and there, looking and smiling. "is it for us? was that for us? is he for us?" we wondered shakingly. ol’ stipe noticed us as well, waving at us when re re waved to him. that was definitely for us, and the point of insanity was fast approaching with every beat and jangle. straightjackets were brought out when mike mills walked over to the monitor, put his foot up, pointed to us, started rocking out, and pointed to us again.
that's when i flipped out. here was my favorite member of rem, connected to me and my best friends, playing for us, noticing us, hanging out with us. i did what any other normal friend does to another friend in that situation.
i started yelling "FUCK! AWW FUCK! FUCK YEAH! YEAH! AWW FUCK YEAH!"
and so forth.
it seemed like the right thing to do. it was the only thing i could do, really. after the show the guys remembered and laughed. that level of excitement has never been reached again. you'll definitely know if it happens again. i just pray it’s not in church.
hey d, remember when you said you’d take me into the office of rem?
I'M A MAN NOW
i paid my taxes yesterday. as a mother hen gathers up her baby chicks, i will once again gather up my pride and, just a mother hen does next to her chicks, i will eat my pride. so, with a tummy full of pride, i will say that i had never done my own taxes. i’m 27, and every year i get big jack to do to paperwork. usually he is on me like an education credit on form 8863, but this year i have not been home much so he left it up to me. i, the responsible child of the stevens family, waited until i had seven hours left to try the online system for the first time. it took me quite a long time, as i pondered each question carefully. capital acquired during overseas traveling? did i adopt anyone during the past year, does smitty count? was i blind for any part of last year- 1/3 of the time i had my eyes closed, does that count for anything? i felt pretty good about answering “no” to most questions, but then the following question would read “are you sure you didn’t get any money that won’t show up on your employer’s tax forms?” when did my computer turn into a detective hovering a single light bulb over me, waiting for the crack? all in all it was a relatively painless process, so hold your sacks of tea.
THE CARS WEREN’T TALKING TO
there is a new phenomenon that must be stopped. i’m not sure of any official title, as i’ve yet to see it on the cover of newsweek, but i will hereto refer to it as “shaking”. let me explain: last night some friends and i attended a show by the postal service and cex. it was at go! studios in carrboro, which has both a downstairs and an upstairs. re re (pronounced rAy-rAy) and re re were sly enough to score spots on the couch upstairs. hip hip, it’s their birthday, etc.
during the opening act i noticed the sound at go studios was amazing! it was in stereo, and i was hearing things i couldn’t even see happening! during the opening band, shallow be thy name, there was a shaker in my left ear, while on the stage down below, in my right ear, there was no shaker sound, nor did i see a shaker being played by any band member on stage! as i checked to make sure re re and re re (pronounced rAy-rAy) weren’t smoking weed, causing me to experience this delusion by second hand weed smoke, i noticed a fellow standing there playing the shaker. in the crowd. is he part of the band? i thought, that would make sense as there doesn’t seem to be a lot of room on stage. but he wasn’t playing real well, so i didn’t think he was part of the band. as the songs went on ol’ shakester followed suit and was shaking out. i looked around in disbelief, as people were not staring open-mouthed at this guy and telling him to put that thing away. they all just stared ahead at the show as if he wasn’t there. i know they weren’t enjoying his antics, the only one enjoying it was shakey himself. it was as if there was a mime or a clown beside you. if you ignore the thing, it will get the hint and go away. only ‘n’ bake was not here to take hints, he was here to give shakes!
“now he was just expressing himself, he was an original soul. you know, Thoreau said all men march to the beat of a different drummer”
notice it wasn’t “skip to the beat of a different shaker”, and read on, o bright side looker. it is a growing trend, despite my early attempts to write off eggman as just some annoying guy.
the opening band announced this would be their last song and the bass player spontaneously called for “that guy with the shaker” to come up on stage. my first thought was that this guy could be heard everywhere in the club, making him even more annoying, until i saw another guy with another shaker (in the same club) climb up on stage. the upstairs shakester got all excited when the bass player made the call and started shaking the shaker real high in the air as if to shake “here i am! i am the shaker guy and here i am!” but then the shaking faded as the downstairs guy with a shaker climbed up onto the stage, and kula kind of lowered his arm with a sad shake, giving it another swish to say “are you sure you don’t mean me?” my sympathy for this person was immediately replaced by disdain for the individual now on stage, as he proved to be much more annoying than the upstairshaker. at this point all i could hope was that my shaker would see how ridiculous this trend is and stop the shaking cold shakey. but he just shakt on shakin’ on.
where did this come from? is it only in chapel hill? did someone in a cartoon do this, causing children to emulate it? if so, how did it slip by the censors? when was this considered a good idea? you don’t see anyone else bringing instruments to the show, plugging in their amps and playing along badly. “well, that’s different, that would be too loud, a shaker is just a small instrument” if i can hear it, it’s too loud, shake sympathizer.
you have permission to take any shakers away, and all we can do is stop these shakers one by one. i will encourage you with the brilliant words of cex, when in between songs he heard the shaker guy and asked him
“did you buy that thing today?”
WHY AREN'T I IN BED?
words that rhyme with oyster:
there once was a little duck, with curly tufts of hair on his rumpal region. at first all of the little ducks quacked at him because he was different, but he didn’t care because he didn’t know the difference between mocking quacking and sincere quacking. so the little duck never knew he was a freak, he just thought “quack quack quack qu-quack qua-acka” whenever they quacked at him. i think there is a lesson to be learned here.
keep in mind that i am the only person on the internet worth reading. if you shift your loyalty from talk, Stretch! to another blog, i will have two words for you: fetal position. ("now, does he mean i'll be in the fetal position after he beats the living liver out of me, attempting to scare me by fear, or is this an attempt to tug at my humane heartstrings, and this mean that he'll be in the fetal position because his world has come crashing down around him after i remove my loyalty to his blog?") you'll just have to see. or did i not tell you that i can also read your thoughts?
the following are two blogs worth checking out.
1. my boss now has a blog. she is one of the funniest girls i've ever met (ahem, raise, ahem) but also really crazy. and she has two sisters. there is an ongoing debate around the city over which one is the craziest. i won't put my vote in, but the lil' un has been kissing a lot of babies. minidonk.blogspot.com
2. this is just great. http://www.wibsite.com/wiblog/dull/
MAD DOG AND THE NINJA
welcome to the world of medaries. if i could have a crystal ball to look into any one person's life on this earth, it would be him. the following is an excerpt from an email he sent me today. medaries, if you're reading this, i hope i'm not violating some friend breach of privacy or anything. you know i'm your biggest fan.
you'll like this. andrew is out of town this week. he went to vegas for work so i'm taking care of his dumb dog. well, he gets out of the backyard today - squeezes through his favorite little hole in the fence which we attempt to block. i put him back there, put the barricade back up...little asshole gets out again. so, "fine logan, you wanna play hardball?" throw him back in the yard, put two CINDER BLOCKS in front of the hole and in the process totally cake the bottom of my shoe with his smelly, wet shit which completely covers my backyard because andrew doesn't pick it up - ever. i got 8 months of dog shit back there. anyway, i get a phone call. mclean animal hospital. somebody dropped him off because he got out again. i look outside and he's totally knocked over these heavy blocks. i'm trying to picture how he's doing this. is he getting a running start and just lowering his shoulder into them? how does he move them? so i go pick his ass up, put him back in the yard, go in my garage and pull out this big board, some nails and a hammer and tack that sucker over the hole in the fence....telling logan as i walk in, "have fun out here ALL NIGHT LONG and HAVE FUN GETTING THROUGH THE HOLE NOW." he's still out there. i need to check on him because i totally expect his ninja ass to friggin get out again.
SLOWER THAN SLICED BREAD
whenever i imagine something it seems to be in slow motion: an event from childhood, a concert attended, medaries tripping over a basketball, etc.
today i was listening to good imagination music- sigur ros- and enjoying my thoughts. at one point i noticed the scene i was remembering was playing in slow motion for no reason at all. the slowness did not enhance the scene, there was nothing special that required everything to be played at a slower speed in order to appreciate the drama. there was no drama.
this is a direct result of movies.
which makes you wonder: did people imagine things in slow motion before movies were invented? when horace peesletoon recalled the local blacksmith dropping his snuff into the doffed hat of sir noodleblake, did he do so in slow motion? i do not think so. don’t get me wrong, slow motion; i enjoy you immensely. when you slow down my daydreams, i get to watch sloop form into a perfect C as he is tackled by medaries, and the laughter is hearty and appreciative. however, i am unable to turn up evidence to prove old timey folk would think in slow motion. they weren’t stupid, it just didn’t exist.
what about when movies were first invented? with it came fast motion. did people in daydreams and memories move in quick, jerk-like motions, as they did in the talkies? i’ll bet they did, and you know it looked real funny seeing bernice brown do the charleston on the war bond tour. i think that is why old people today spend a good deal of time reminiscing. i would too if everything moved hilariously fast.
alright, alright, just give me some time. i’m working on a surprise for everyone, myself included, but it’s taking me longer than i thought. i’ll have things moving and shaking before you know it.
to tide you over, here is a story.
so i just went to the bathroom before writing the promised story, and when i came back a book was leaning on the keyboard, writing all those dots. does anyone know morse code? what does that say? it looks as if the book was just screaming. or thinking. i don’t know morse code so i wouldn’t bet the ranch on either of those explanations. i love that term “i wouldn’t bet the ranch on it” and use it any opportunity that arises. i wish i were a las vegas dealer of blackjack, i would throw that term around every hand. but then they’d bring me into the office and the principal of the casino would tell me not to say it anymore, that my job is to facilitate a table which encourages people to bet every bit of the ranch on it. i’d reply alrighty and he’d ask if we were clear and i’d reply don’t bet the ranch on it and his thugs would toss me out.
TEN SUNDAY NIGHT THOUGHTS.
have you ever played tony hawk? that game
really makes me angry. i really think something is wrong with it, because
there’s no way my guy would make that many mistakes.
i saw stars once. i always thought seeing stars
was something that cartoonists made up until i got hit by tony desue, the
all-everything senior running back at my high school. i forget what drill it
was, but he just leveled me, and i saw stars. i thought it was kind of cool, and
that took my mind off of the pain.
if you really enjoyed the lord of the rings
trilogy, and people tell you not to read the silmarillion because it’s all
tolkien writing about the language of middle-earth, don’t believe them. there
are some dry parts, but there are stories just as good as the whole daggone
is a bandwagon a bad thing if it leads you to something good? i mean, i only read lord of the rings because the movies were coming out, but they are amazingly good, and now i love them. but i guess i should forever be ashamed that i was on the bandwagon. no way, jackee
here are the different spellings i came up with for jackee before i found the right one:
speaking of bandwagons, one of the best lines ever is from the song bandwagon by r.e.m. “come on aboard, i promise you you won't hurt the horse
we treat him well, we feed him well.”
i don’t think women necessarily think that a man riding in on a horse to save them is something desirable. i think she’s excited about a. the man, and really excited that b. she gets a horse, because lots of girls like horses. but the combination of man + horse doesn’t seem to be real attractive. i think if a guy came up on a bike, but showed her a picture of the horse she’d get to ride if she were his lady, she’d be equally excited.
you may think i’m sexist for that last comment, and perhaps i am, but also remember that both of my sisters loved horses growing up, and it seems like a common desire of girls to have a pony. i never met any little boys that wanted a pony.
how many thoughts is that? hold on, let me count. eight.
remember pony the shoe brand? i don’t think i ever saw anyone wear those sneakers that wore under a size twelve. they must have just made them real big.
i think children should write street signs. not the ones that stop and yield and merge, the signs that actually label the streets. i know i wrote about street signs last week but did i exhaust the subject? no, and tomorrow hopefully the topic will be how you got off my back.
as it is, street signs are named by some guy, and the only way to get on one is to convince this guy who names them that you are worthy. threatening doesn’t work. at least it’s known that he won’t respond to any of the following measures: tire-slashing, tripping, putting your finger on his chest and then raising it up to hit him in the chin when he looks down, leaving a pile of bones outside of his door for days on end then sitting on his stoop gnawing on one of them, etc. so as it is, this snobby signsmith just puts whatever jim dandy he wants on signs all over our fair cities and townships. here are some examples:
jim dandy drive
main street (and how did this road get such prestige? the main street of what- all the other streets? was there a vote, or did this street just beat all the other streets up? or maybe he just picked one street and beat it near death to send a message)
blue hen avenue
flershemimi boulevard (say it out loud. seriously. now yell it, it’s even funnier. what? you’re where? work? what, is flershemimi a bad word? are you going to get fired, mr. babyworkypants? geez, you need to loosen up. when you get home from work today, take a nice, long flershemimi- you’ll feel much better)
as you can see, all of the present street names (listed en toto above) are dumb. they don’t relay any valuable information about the road they “represent.” for instance, i live on morrison avenue. what does that mean? i don’t see any morrisons. i haven’t heard any morrisons, unless a morrison is an old moped that the girls next door ride around on.
but if children were to write street signs! oh the information provided. we’d have such street names as…
Where The Friendly Yellow Dog Lives Circle
My Best Friend Molly Who Has Curly Hair Lives Here I Wish I Had Curly Hair But Mine’s Just Straight My Mom Tells Me That My Hair Is Pretty But I Think She Just Says That Because It’s Her Hair Too Avenue
The Candy Store Street
Don’t Go Down That Road There’s A Witch That Lives There Drive
The Ice Cream Man Always Stops On That Street But Never On Mine Lane
alright, gotta go, re re is hounding me to get off the internort, and work is calling.
IT’S TIME TO GO TO THE GROCERY
i just ate a sandwich of peanut butter, raisins, jelly, and brown sugar on toast. it was a bit sweet.
i’m going to write a movie about a dog from outer space. it will be officially titled “woofs away from home” but cult fans will refer to it as “galaxia”, for the film will be the ruler by which all other science fiction films will be judged. as well as the ruler they’ll bow down to. what is going to make this movie so good is that everyone loves dogs. everyone. and it won’t be all “science-fictiony”, because that’s unrealistic. the dogs won’t be special, they’ll just be dumb ol’ dogs who invent a spaceship. “that sounds pretty special to me. my dog can’t invent a spaceship” well, what does that say about you and your pet, pal? if you’d let me continue, i’d go on to tell you that the muttroids (that’s what dogs are called in outer space), by happenstance invent a spaceship that responds to barking and panting. it’s a good thing these aren’t the kind of dogs that lick a lot, because that’s what operates the guns. so it’s not like the dogs are geniuses or anything, they can’t talk or invent regular spaceships. just dumb dog ones. and when they get to earth, the humans are all excited since the arrival of these ‘pace pooches mean more dogs for everyone to pet. except for one jackass who’s all “what took you so long?” but one of the dogs paws a button and the idiot’s brain melts. then one of the dogs runs for king of the world, not the one who melted the guys brain but another one, and with all of the excitement of the caninvasion all of the countries forget there is no such thing and it’s unanimous, even the cats vote yes because the dogs let them tour their spaceships. and there’s world peace, because king dog decrees it so. besides, it’s common knowledge that beings from outer space are much more advanced than earthlings. the movie ends with the dogs leaving on their spaceships after an evil villain shoots a huge rubber ball into outer space, which tells you there’s definitely going to be a sequel!
what was it that made me stick that penny up my nose? was it really that funny, even then? i was in fifth grade, mind you, but still: a penny in my nose? i don't recall getting the idea from anyone else, in fact i was probably pretty excited about my originality. and it worked. people were laughing, man. until the detention monitor told me to take it out, and i reached up to comply but instead pushed it farther. i started freaking out, and my audience turned faster than a jackrabbit on a tawroot, laughing like crazy at how stupid i was. going to the bathroom only freaked me out more as i watched the idiot dig up his nose for a lodged lincoln. by the time i made it to the nurse’s office tears of embarrassment and fear were rolling. would it ever come out? i imagined a doctor shaking his head and making that clucking noise, like tsk tsk tsk but only more annoying, he saves the cluck for the really tough cases, then turning to the nurse and saying “get the saw”. no nose no more.
the school nurse kindly attempted to calm me down. i brazenly informed her that there was a penny stuck up my nose, and there would be no calming down. she tweezed that sucker out, and i’ll never forget the feeling of how deep the penny was, only shallow in comparison to my gratitude to florence nightingale.
i don’t remember the rest of that day, with all of its traumatizing jokes and ostracizing taunts, but i do remember that paula sherman made sure to remind me of that incident for the next five years.