On turning to a ghost...

A cataclysmic occurrence in a world that used to be mine. A tectonic shift whose reverberations transcend dimension, disintegrating boundaries of place and time behind which I once felt secure. Angry and accusatory phone calls received in the stark realization of life passing. Attempting to avoid that once separate reality at all cost. Knowing that's impossible, and selfish if it weren't. Worlds that were never really separate to begin with collide in a fiery crash and everything melts.

Buying what I'm selling, light it up. It's gonna be a long drive.

I must be doing something right

Sometimes all the good things in life collect and culminate into one intense and glorious moment. The breeze brushes your cheek beneath the warmth of a blanket on a cool, but mild fall night. The constellations dance and play hide and seek behind their quilt of clouds. The air carries the smoky, earthy smell of dead leaves and moist, dark soil. It is this moment that I will savor and store on a shelf in my mind with the others that came before it. One day, I'll pull this moment out, dust it off, and drink it deep, intoxicating myself with the fondness of memory. For, in this moment, I was happy.

Life is crazy

I spent this weekend with a bunch of my oldest, closest friends being "selfish and drunken and vulgar and lazy," and it was absolutely glorious. I also discovered an incredible BYOB diner open from 5p.m. - 5a.m. called Mid City Grill just a few blocks from my apartment. This was a good weekend.

I also came to a realization this weekend: this life and everyone in it is bat shit crazy, and I fucking love it.

A break in the weather

It's a great feeling when, after a long time trudging your way through a storm of shit and hard times and darkness and confusion, you can sense the fog finally lifting, the clouds parting, and a light begin to shine on the path of opportunity as it stretches out before you. Everyone goes through times when nothing makes sense---times of doubt, times when they wonder what in the hell they've done to piss off the universe to the point where it's spitting in their face and laughing---but sometimes, if you're lucky and positive and keep your head high and fight through it and alert enough to realize it when it presents itself, you catch a break and things start to change.

I rejoice when I hear of someone catching a break, especially when it's someone who has been going through tough times and is hard-working and good-natured and kind-hearted, and ultimately deserving of some grace and good luck; tonight, I rejoice.

The soundtrack of my life

Today, while walking to class, I was overwhelmed with the feeling that there was a soundtrack playing behind me. It was Sam Roberts' "Detroit '67." This, paired with the amazing fall weather here in East Tennessee, put me in an incredibly great mood.

Earlier today, I locked myself out of my apartment while helping my neighbor reset her circuit breaker. I had to sit on my porch for two-and-a-half hours waiting for my landlord to come and let me in. I kept thinking how lucky I was to have a front porch to sit on, to have a beautiful day to be locked outside in, and nice neighbors to let me use a phone to call my landlord. Everything is great right now.  I'm gaining a real sense of community here with the people that share my building/house. It's amazing, and unlike anything I've encountered before. It's different than a roommate relationship, or even a dorm-cohabitant relationship. It's unique and special and I really like it. We watch out for each other.

I'm also gaining that sense of community and belonging with the people in my department at school. We're getting to know each other and starting to have more fun and getting more comfortable with everything. It's quite an experience, and at this point, I can't think of anything in the world that I would trade it for.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Knoxville to see Third Eye Blind. I'm very excited.  Also, I think I got a job for the weekends so I'll be finding myself with a little extra cash. Everything's coming together. Life is beautiful.

And in the moments when it's not, listen to Neil Young and "don't let it bring you down."

Fuckin' a right.

The language of my unconscious

I feel as though I'm coming into my own. I'm very happy with things right now, despite the fact that, as always, I've got some worries. Those worries are right now of little importance, as the moment is beckoning. The moment is beautiful and wonderful and, dammit, it's now.

My little apartment, with the grungy old furniture that I've steam-cleaned and the floor that slants and the cold water faucet that won't turn and the neighbor that gives the impression of being completely crazy, is becoming home, and that's one of the best feelings that I've ever felt.

I think that may be a really bad sentence, but I also really like it.

I'm trying to edit myself less, to be more of who I am at any given moment and less filtered, because that's what I want to be. I want to remain as conscious of others' feelings as I am now and have always been, but at the same time place a higher level importance on my own and be bolder in word and action.

I want to make some adventure for myself, and I'm talking real, like Indiana Jonesish adventure here. I've always enjoyed the thrill of the menial and taken great pleasure in the little things, finding adventure wherever I was. Partly because of that, I've never felt the need to embark on adventures of a grander scale. But with that, I've never truly known who I was before, or who I wanted to be, or where I wanted to be, or what I wanted to do. Now that these things are clearing up (especially in this very moment---for the last hour I've been on a manic spree writing down absolutely everything as it is revealed to me through amazing epiphanies), I feel that it's time to tackle larger things and take on bigger enemies and begin to do all the things that I've fleetingly thought about for the past few years.

I am no longer tethered to anything or anyone and that is just how I want it and just how it's supposed to be. I am free to do as I please and follow my instincts and impulses wherever they may lead. This is how I was intended to feel and this is how I was intended to live. Every decision is made for my self. I finally know my self and therefore can do things to please my self and thereby have made my self pleased. My self is growing and becoming greater and more detailed and maturing and discovering with each passing hour of each passing day. I love this self. The choice has been made as to which self should be realized and the chosen self is grateful, rewarding the chooser with an overwhelming feeling of liberation and power.

I am here and it is now. My life is before me. My past is past and future is future and present is present. I am no longer outside myself looking in and seeing as the world sees, but am finally inside as my self looking out seeing as I see. This is power and purity. This is freedom. This is life.

Hello.

"I am the son and the heir...

...of a shyness that is criminally vulgar."

It's been a while. Here's the scoop:
I moved back to Johnson City where I am attending ETSU in the hopes of earning a Master of Arts degree in English. I got into Belmont too (for those of you who were following), and it was a difficult decision because the allure of Nashville was great, but in the end it came down to dollars and sense (as unfortuntely so many things do). The opportunity to work as a Graduate Assistant in Johnson City and thereby attend college on the school's dime while also making just enough to live on was too great to pass up, and I hope that my lack of (more) loans will one day be worth it. And it's not that Johnson City's bad---I love it---but it's certainly not Nashville. Perhaps another day.

An aside: I still fucking love Neil Young.

I've got a little apartment downtown and I'm paying too much for it, but it's furnished, I really like the location, and when I walked in I felt at home, so I took it.  It's not much, but I feel like myself here, and that's definitely a start.

I was able to transfer at the ol' Home Depot into the same shift and position here in J.C., so that also helps with the fundage, though the early mornings will continue to frustrate me to no end and beguile me of the temptation of late nights with friends, but at this point of the semester (only a tease, I'm sure) my mornings are looking a bit bare, so I'll opt to keep my late nights in exchange for some morning naps. Time will tell how that situation plays out.

Noel left Oasis yesterday. This news has been dominating my thoughts since I found out yesterday. Honestly, for me, it's been a really big deal. It feels a bit like the death of a loved one.

One thing about this place (the apartment) that I do have to change is the table. I've got this table in my bedroom that was meant for a kitchen---it's one of those with the fold-out edges that make it circular instead of square, and they get in the way of my knees when I try to sit at it---and it's no good for writing letters and such. I'll have to replace it with a cheap card table or something. I just don't know where to put it.

Peace.

Girl, you can call me anything you like...

My road trip south begins this Friday morning. I am very much looking forward to it. If you are reading this, live in the South, and would like to be a part of this adventure, let me know. We'll fellowship.

Life has been decidedly more pleasant recently, especially the last few days. I'd gone a while feeling like I'd gone astray, or at the very least, lost. Recently I've felt much more at ease and I've been granted a peace that has been rare these past few years. It's been nice. Getting my license back Monday has also done wonders for my mental health and happpiness. I no longer feel like a burden to everyone in my path. This is a good thing.

You know who was a pretty awesome band that didn't really catch on? Hazen Street. They're kind of a weird situation because if I had to assign them a genre, it would have to be the incredibly lame and tired rap/rock. But it's just so well done and fun that it's very enjoyable. I've always liked them. Their song "Trouble" just came on my shuffle and I was reminded.

I've been thinking a lot about my spirituality and faith lately. It's been a while since I had these kinds of conversations with myself and questioned these sorts of things or even thought about it at all to be honest.  I'm still not exactly sure where I stand on the whole thing when it gets down to specifics, but I am pretty sure that I don't think it's necessarily about the specifics. When things as big as life itself are at stake, does it really make any sense at all to nit-pick? No. That's a lesson that I think everyone should take to heart. That's always been a trouble I've had with finding a church to attend regularly. Every one that I've ever attended seemed to be preoccupied with establishing the reasons why its particular beliefs were superior to those of other religions, sects, or churches, whether that was done obviously or subversively. I'm sure that I've made the mistake of getting hung up on the trivial things a time or two myself, but in general, I like to think about big-picture kind of things. In my experience, the message is pretty universal. Specifics and exclusiveness only seems to get in the way of the entire point.

Though I have yet to find a church to attend regularly, or even attended church regularly since I actually gave a crap, I have never wavered  from two basic belief: that God exists in some form or other (I personally think of it more as an energy or something than an old man with a white beard), and that Love is good. I have always and likely will always believe these two things to be true and am trying to build my life around them like ivy grows on the sides of buildings. I can't say that I've never questioned the existence of God or a higher power; I definitely have. With so much hate and pain and badness in the world, it's nearly impossible to maintain a constant and devoted belief in the omnipotent and ever-gracious god that I was taught in Sunday school. But I keep coming back to the incredibly intricate and intelligent designs of things and the feeling I get when I'm standing overwhelmed in the midst of creation. I cannot account for these things without attributing them to a power beyond my ability to comprehend.

"Reason's last step is the recognition that there are an infinite number of things which are beyond it. It is merely feeble if it does not go as far as to realize that. If natural things are beyond it, what are we to say about supernatural things?" ---Pascal

I declare I drank my fill from that well of poison...

Awesome new CD that everyone needs to check out: Marcy Playground's Leaving Wonderland... In a Fit of Rage. I really can't say enough about this album. These guys are so under-rated it's ridiculous. They may be one-hit wonders, but they've churned out some of my favorite albums of my lifetime. Three out of four of their releases have been mind-blowingly awesome. The latest just came out last week and I'm completely obsessed. If you can't find it or don't have the cash, hit me up and I'll get it in your hands. And while I'm at it I'll get you their other stuff. I think a lot of people are missing out on these guys.

I stumbled across some videos today called "MindMovie". They have to do with all that stuff about the laws of attraction and those books The Secret and The Power of Positive Thought and all that self-help kinda stuff about visualizing the things you want and then having them magically drop out of the sky and into your lap. I'd post a link to the videos, but I'm not entirely sure that it's not some sort of pyramid scheme or cult, and I don't want to be responsible for leading anyone to that sort of thing. Basically, these things all tell you to visualize the things you want in life---money, a significant other, success, etc.---and continue this daily in an affirmation sort of exercise, and then you will get them. They're all a little over the top (I really doubt I'm going to receive an unexpected check out of nowhere for the exact amount of my debt), but I do think there's some truth to them.

Positive thought and positive thinking certainly can't hurt anything; and as a counterpoint, negative thought and thinking certainly can hurt many things and hold people back from achieving anything at all.

Do you ever have those days where you wake up with a song in your head out of nowhere? There's no explanation for how it got there. You haven't heard it in forever. But there it is playing in your head as you wake up. Then, you hop in the car to drive to work and guess what song's on the radio? You got it. Does this happen to you? Sometimes? Maybe? Well, it happens to me. It's weird. It's awesome.

Do I subconsciously control what's on the radio? Doubtful. But I do think that each of us has some sort of control over the things that happen in our lives. Our minds are really powerful things, and, let's face it: reality is perception. If you see something as a good situation, it is a good situation. If you think you've got good luck, you have good luck, etc.

This is kind of what happens to me every time I decide to "turn my life around." I've done this about 15 times over the past few years, and it's always worked on a very temporary and short term scale. Eventually, I sink back into the old bad habits and into my old ways of thinking and my life winds up right back where it started, going nowhere or in the wrong direction. This is where I think these videos may really be onto something---the daily affirmation. You've got to make it into a habit. It's just like with sports or anything else. Bad habits are hard to break. You have to force yourself to do it right something like 3,000 times or something to break bad habit and actually start doing it right. It's crazy. It's hard. But it's p0ssible. With a little discipline, determination, dedication, and proper scheduling and will power, these life-chaning revelations can have a serious and permanent impact. But it's got to be an every day thing. One miss and you're right back to the beginning.

So, consider this my statement that I am (again) turning my life around. But this time, (I hope) it's permanent. If not, I'll try it again.

I'm about two-thirds of the way through Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and one of its main themes is striking a particularly relevant chord with me right now: the separation of the self into two opposite sides, particularly in the book's case, soul and body, light and dark, light and heavy. I feel this separation. I've always felt it and this book (and translation) puts it into words beautifully.

This separation into poles seems to be a naturally occurring phenomenon in our world and respective lives here. Recently, I am experiencing it violently in the form of my continued quarter-life crisis , as it has manifested itself into two distinct and separate destinies or roads for my life, both of which seem equally plausible, each having its benefits and drawbacks. The solution would be simple if there were any way to compromise the two, taking a page out of Diamond Rio's book and meet in the middle; this however, is an intrinsic impossibility as each option is completely exclusive of the other---they are polar opposites in every sense of the word and choosing one necessarily and absolutely means denying the other.

This is the same thing I've been writing about for months and, frankly, I'm a bit tired of the subject. But it keeps resurfacing in different ways, manifesting itself through any and every stimulus available, and this is the way I think best. It's a way of focusing energy into one sentence or word at a time, a way of escaping the constant onslaught of the rampant and raging rapids of the mind that continuously beat upon the shores of thought and demand to be reckoned with but offer no starting point. Writing is the magnifying glass to the powerful and unconentrated radiation of the sun of  my inner consciousness.

Here's my dilemma, in case you missed it the first 9,438 times I wrote about it, in the words of The Clash: should I stay or should I go?

There's nothing here. That is the sentiment of everyone from here, everyone who understands, everyone who knows. This place has nothing for me. But that's not true. Not at all. Not even close. What it lacks in opportunity it more than makes up for in sentimentality, familial loyalty, and blue-collar pride.

I am proud of the work of my father and the men like him that I grew up knowing, with rough hands, bad backs, and weary souls. I am proud of the working mothers who broke the mold not because of an inner drive to fulfill a desire outside of the home, but out of necessity.

I am proud of the brick home that stands empty on three acres of beautiful land in the middle of Kibler Road that my grandfather built with his bare hands to house his family. What will become of that house? Every day that I am here, there is a sliver of hope that someday I will again make that house a home, keeping it in the family and giving it the hard work and care that it requires and deserves. If I leave---when I leave---as planned, I will be turning my back on that house. Will I be turning my back on my grandfather's hard work with it?

I like it when the mechanic recognizes me from my name. I like being my grandfather's grandson. What of the legacies they've left behind? Who will carry them on? Does anyone in Tennessee know of the Seyberts? The Bushes? The Wellmans? The Kennedys? Perhaps at some distance or some incredible matter of chance and intertwining lives, but certainly not to the extent that they are known in this dried and shriveled area of what was America's heartland.

And what of occupation? My father would kill me for saying this, but a large part of me desires to seek training in some sort of skilled labor, join a union, and pay my dues---to scrape by with just enough to be comfortable but never enough to rest like we always did. There's something to be said for that. I like the way I turned out for it. What is more satisfying than falling asleep as soon as you hit the pillow because you are truly physically exhausted? (I'm sure it's not so romantic when you've been doing it for thirty years and your bones ache worse each morning and Mondays look more and more like the face of Death himself .) I say my dad would kill me for thinking this way because the very reason he's been working so hard, at least one of them, is what I'm rejecting here. He's worked hard and run his body into the ground so that I wouldn't have to, just as his father did and his grandfater before him. But if each generation works a little less hard than did the previous one, at some point the value of actual work will be lost. Would I value physical labor if I did not know it so personally? Would I realize the sacrifice had I not seen it every day in my own home? Would it not be, in some way, a living tribute to work just as hard and attempt to pass on this ethic to future generations? I personally believe our country would not be in this mess or anything close to it if more sons worked like their fathers---not necessarily the same occupation, but with the same ethic. The ration of white and blue collar workers has changed drastically, and perhaps there's nothing that could have been done to prevent it, such is the natural order of things. But there's no reason someone couldn't take a blue-collar ethic and values into a desk job.

And I may have just answered my own question.

Where does sense of humor come from?

Where do we get our sense of humor? Everyone's is different. It can't be genetic; my parents look at me like an idiot at least half of the time I'm laughing hysterically at something. It can't all be social either; I have several friends who actually think Dane Cook is funny. It's one of the most individualized traits in each person, and I want to know where it comes from?

I wonder when the first time I saw someone fall was. It must have been freaking incredible, because I think that's the funniest thing in the world. I can picture little baby me riding along in a stroller witnessing some jogger in spandex shorts and a fanny-pack tripping over a curb, landing on his face, smushing his mustache, and breaking his aviators. Little baby me apparently thought this was fantastic and filed it away into the part of the brain that deals with intense pleasure and under the tree labeled "funny".

On that same note, where does one's laugh come from? Just like sense of humor, everyone has a laugh that is uniquely theirs, and I feel that how a person laughs says a lot about them. A reserved and shy person might have quiet little mouse laugh to avoid being noticed for fear they weren't supposed to be laughing at all. A more outgoing person might have a loud and gregarious laugh that fills a room and draws the attention of every eye. An annoying person might have a weaselly whinny that embodies their very being, and a shrew of a person always seems to have a shrill cackle that sends shivers down your spine.

Laughter, to me, is one of the most attractive qualities of another person, both what they're laughing at and how they're doing it. When I think of my best friends, I hear their laughter. All of them have good, strong, hearty laughs. The same is true with members of the opposite sex that I find myself attracted to for any extended period of time. She might look good and seem cool, but if I don't dig the laugh---that's a deal breaker, ladies.

Ahh, well... off to watch some internet videos in hopes of laughing hard, outloud, by myself, at my computer screen.

Beating Boredom by Bypassing Business Burdens

I once saw a comedy bit by someone---I'm pretty sure it was Jim Gaffigan---about how you have those days where you have only one, small, menial task, but one thing leads to another and you wind up running out of time to get it done. The example I saw used was going to the post office. My personal example today is close: mail some stuff. 

Things keep coming up and getting in the way. I took a nap. That's okay, I don't feel too badly about that one. I couldn't get to sleep last night, got up at 3:20 this morning, and will likely be up well past midnight tonight due to a baseball game that starts at 8:30, then do it all again tomorrow. So, I took a nap.

Then, I downloaded the first six episodes of the Danny McBride show on HBO, Eastbound and Down. I watched one. It was hilarious. This came after I downloaded the first season of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and gave up on it. I just couldn't get into it. Some funny stuff, but it wasn't for me. Now that I've finished the series of Arrested Development, I've been needing a new comedy fix. This one has a promising start. 

After that, I read for a bit. I decided a while back to re-read The Great Gatsby, assuming that much of its meaning was lost on me when I read it as a junior in high school. I was probably right, but my evaluation of it hasn't changed much. It's a great book, no doubt. It's beautifully and masterfully written. That said, I just don't like it all that much. I guess my problem with it is that I find Nick the more interesting character than Gatsby for some reason. He's the one I want to know about, but I'm not getting much from him. I guess I just like it better when the narrator is telling his own story rather than regurgitating someone else's. But, I'm sure that's all part of the plan. Regardless, it's not my favorite. 

 Now, I'm here writing this. It has no point. I've just recounted my day. Why? Because it's a way to avoid the tiny and trivial amount of "work" I have to get done today before 5 o'clock. Will I get it done? I don't know. Probably not. Even if I get bored (which is highly likely to occur within the next hour) I probably won't give in and just get it done. I don't know why. It's just one of those days. 

Another thing, what the hell does one include on a resume meant for admission to graduate school? "I know my grades don't look all that impressive, but I swear I was a really hard worker. No, I don't have any academic honors to point out, but I did play a lot of baseball and drink a lot of beer. Oh yeah, I also changed majors five times and have twice changed my mind since graduating because I never had a damn clue what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life. Oh, you're not impressed? hmmm well, I could mention that my GPA, while not that impressive, was accrued with the absolute minimum amount of work possible. That was pretty impressive to me, anyway. No? Not doing it for you? How about all those bible classes? Oh, those don't count for shit? They were really hard, I swear."

I guess that's probably why I'm putting the whole thing off to start with. I don't know what/how to write that resume. I didn't think I even needed it but then, wham! I get a letter from the school saying they need this and this and this and this and they're all things that I wasn't even aware I needed. I'm pretty worthless at having a clue as to what needs to get done and how things work. Someone seriously needs to lead me around like a little puppy and show me where to stand and what forms to fill out and what time to be at what place. It's pretty embarrassing.

And on that note, I'm going to list a bunch of reasons why I like words that start with the letter 'B':
Balloons
Bazookas
Boobs
Breasts
Bread
Brett
Beer
Beans
Baby
Blue
Boom
BACON
Badass
Badger
Bad news
Baggy
Bagpipes
Baths
Bail
Baked goods
Bakeries
Bald people
Balls
Baseball
Ball game
Ball
Balm "Who told you to put he balm on?! I didn't tell you to put the balm on!!!"
Bands
Bananas "BA-NA-NA-S"
Bands
Bandits
Bulbous
Bump
Bum
Boner
Bones
Blueberries
Bret Michaels
Brett Favre
Bluth family
Bottles
Birds
Bald Eagles
Brothers
Bachman Turner Overdrive (and the countless other amazing bands that begin with 'B')
Beaches (not the movie)
Bars
Black People
"Black" by Pearl Jam
BEARS
Blake Lively
Bar Rafaeli
BIKINIS
Blackbelts
Blackbeard
Bluebeard
Buster Bluth
Barry Zuckerkorn
Barry Manilow
Barry White
Bar Mitzvahs
Bobby Bonilla
Brant Brown
Barry Sanders
Breath
and... that's enough for now. But you get the idea. Oh yeah, one more---Butts.

Sympathy for the Devil (Brett Favre)

It's been said that over the past couple of years Brett Favre has tarnished his legacy by retiring and un-retiring with the phases of the moon. I've heard friends and experts say that my favorite football player of this or any other lifetime should just call it quits, that he should have gone out on top and quit while he was ahead. Well, I just don't think it's that easy. 

When you realize that your relationship with a true love is over, it's a tough pill to swallow. Trust me. Mine left me after nearly twenty years of glorious days in the sun and nights in the lights. When you've spent your whole life dedicated to this one thing you are so deeply passionate about that everything else has been put on hold or pushed aside just so you could be with your love, it's nearly impossible to imagine a life without this relationship. It's been how you've defined yourself since your earliest childhood memory. It's given you your sense of worth and a place in the world. You met all of your closest friends through it. Every major decision in your life has been made in an effort to bolster and strengthen it, to give you more time together. It has been your everything, your Alpha and Omega.  

It's not that it catches you off guard, you see it coming.   When your passion requires youth, it inevitably ends far before your life does. Even the greatest and most fortunate only get to compete until around the age of 40 (Favre will turn 40 this October). That still leaves about half of life left to live. When the only thing you've ever really cared about deserts you with half or more of your life left to live, what do you fill the rest of it with? That's a lot of time to fill with something ...else. The best response is of course is to find something else that matters, a new passion, but what if there isn't anything? What then?

And just because you've gone your separate ways does not mean that your paths are  never to cross again. It's like that pesky ex that keeps creeping back into your life at your most vulnerable and lonely moments. The separation wasn't mutual, but you've talked yourself into believing that it was for the best by listing all of the reasons that she wasn't right for you and why you deserve better and how you're better off now "sorting things out," and "spending time on yourself." Then, when all that stuff stops working for a couple of days, when you start to get tired of hearing everyone else talk about their great relationships and all the fun they're having and all the love that they're in, you hear from her, out of nowhere. You resist. It's happened before. You know better. You've learned your lesson. People break up for a reason. But the truth is, you miss it. You miss the person you when when you were together. You miss having someone. You miss being someone. You miss having something to occupy your thoughts and actions, a vessel to be the object of all of your efforts and good intentions. Then, against all better judgment, you get your hopes up. Maybe it can work. It worked once. At least you thought it did. It wasn't you that ended it afterall. Maybe she's changed her mind. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be. "The more you suffer the more it shows you really care, right? Yeah." So you give in. You open yourself back up and let those thoughts start creeping back in. You make plans to get back together. To meet up and see how things go. Just a cup of coffee. Nothing major. Nothing serious. You show up and play it cool. You say you're doing really well. You try your hardest to make it seem like you mean it. You're fine. You don't need it. Just curious to see how it'll go. But the truth is you've been absolutely miserable since the separation. You're lying through your teeth and you know it. She probably knows it too. But you've got to play it cool. You're not desperate. Not you. So you show up. You drink your coffee. You try it out. It hurts like hell. Like it's never hurt before. It's been a while and you realize you're in way over your head. You've gotten ahead of yourself. But you've missed it so much that you can't stop. You're finally back where you know you're supposed to be. Where things felt so right. Where you have a purpose. Then the meeting ends because it has to. It went alright. Started out really well and you felt really good and things just seemed like they were back to normal. But as it wore on you began to feel that first hint of awkwardness creeping up. You were too eager. You jumped the gun. You shouldn't have done this. You blew it. But the beginning was okay, so you hope that there will  be another. Maybe you've earned your way back into the game. You part ways with a semisweet taste in your mouth. Chocolate chips. It went okay. There's hope yet. It's not over. You go home to hope and wait. 

She wants to stay friends. You know that it's impossible. From your first introduction you've known you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her as so much more than just friends. But you agree. Anyway to keep her in your life. It's got to be better to at least see her and know what's going on than to completely lose touch, right? So you try. You are a great friend because you know her so well. Your whole life together, of course you make a good friend. You act like its going well, but it's killing you. Every time you see her is like a tiny dagger stabbing you right through the heart, twisting every time you see her eyes light up and shine on someone else. But there's got to be someone else. This  has been going on forever. There's always going to be someone better, somewhere, some time down the line. But she is all you've wanted and you can't move on. Seeing her only reminds you of what it was like back when things were good. When her good graces smiled on you. You were blessed with her heart and you gave her every last ounce of yours. You weren't meant to be friends. This isn't the way it was supposed to be. Finally, you can't take anymore and you work up the courage to say something. You want her back. You want to go back to the way things were. When you knew who you were because you were with her and she was good to you. You let your guard down again and let those feelings come back full force. You tell her you need to talk. She says okay and you'll get together sometime soon. She knows what you're thinking.  

You don't hear from her. It's happened again. Goddammit it's happened again. You knew better. What were you thinking? You'd moved on. You'd parted ways, made your peace. But now you've tore open an old wound and it hurts like hell. The painful realization that the past is gone sets in again, more intense than ever before.  

Never again. 

...Keep telling yourself that.

So, if I could give one piece of advice to ol' number 4, who seemingly everyone is sick of hearing about yet still intriqued and fascinated by, it would be to keep it going as long as you're able.  Even if you know the relationship's on it's last legs and the end is inevitable, ride it out until it's completely exhausted, regardless of what anyone says. There's no more chances after this. You only get one shot at life, so make it count. One day, probably soon, you'll be forced out by something or other. But in the meantime, make the most of whatever you've got left, because it doesn't get any easier on the other side.

Long may you run...

In September of 2000, I received what is perhaps the greatest material gift ever given: two-thirds (I paid a portion) of a four-door, powder blue, 1986 Chevrolet Celebrity. The Celeb. 

 I promptly bought and installed a CD player, an essential element to any 16-year-old anxious to cruise along the open road with windows down and music blaring. 

"Israel's Son," by Silverchair was the first song to spring forth from the speakers. (It was the first track on Frogstomp.)

The Celeb provided countless memories. The time McGaffic crammed an orange down over the antenna that was left to rot for months. Driving to State College through a blizzard for a Weezer concert only to have something go wrong on the way back, limiting the Celeb's top-speed to a mere 40 miles per hour, causing semis to pose a serious threat to her. Getting caught and subsequently yelled at by Mrs. Ward doing donuts in the  parking lot prior to basketball practice. Driving friends around---Steak 'n' Shake, the Southern Park Mall, Pittsburgh, wherever. Countless drives to and from Cene Park for those sweet summer baseball nights. Skipping school to drive to Best Buy and buy Weezer's Green Album---that I'd been waiting on for five years. Jamming to Good Charlotte on the way home from school with Cramer and Kayla in tow, which brings me to what was the greatest achievement of the Celeb's long list of accomplishments. 

The Celeb was the place where my sister and I became close.  We'd always had a pretty good brother-sister relationship. We got along well. There never was much fighting. But the freedom that the Celeb provided was the freedom that allowed us to really get to know one another. One of my greatest high school memories is flying down Metz Road on the way to school every morning, screaming at the top of our lungs to whatever CD happened to be in that day. Oasis' The Masterplan, Good Charlotte's self-titled debut, Weezer's first three albums, Ozma's Rock and Roll Part Three, The Return of the Rentals, Eve6, and countless others. These drives were priceless. 

My sister and I have remained close since then, and it's perhaps my most treasured relationship. I just realized a few weeks ago when she came out with my friends and I that the fact we are truly friends is something of a rarity. An older and wiser friend from work made the comment that "we seem like a blast together," and that couldn't be more spot-on. We are a blast together. 

I don't know what became of the Celeb; I can't even remember who we sold her to or if we even sold her. Her age was starting to show, but I will forever be grateful for the wonderful experiences and newfound freedom that she provided. So, Celeb, if you're still out there somewhere carting some new teenager or old man to and from school or work or wherever, this one goes out to you:

We've been through some things together,
With trunks of memories still to come
We found things to do in stormy weather,
Long may you run.

Long may you run,
Long may you run,
Although these changes have come.
With your chrome heart shining in the sun,
Long may you run.

And if it's crowded all the better...

...because we know we're gonna be up late. 

I want to go out. I want to see people. I want to laugh. I want to have fun. Here I sit on Sunday afternoon, another weekend having passed me by without even leaving the house, let alone having any sort of fun. My mom offered to take me to the Pirates' game yesterday. I declined. This is what wallowing sounds like. 

Wallowitz.

Waldorf.

Warhol?

Weird.

Anyway, there is an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel, a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Soon, my life will pick back up and I'll be having fun again and much happier with my situation, setting, and surroundings. I am excited for this. I do wish that there was something to bridge the gap between now and then, but I just don't think there is. Summer's coming. Maybe I've got an old bike laying around here somewhere... I'll have to check.

I just discovered two really great mixes that I made in the month of April on my computer. I'd completely forgotten about them, and apparently never made them into CDs for the car. The worst part about school being over thus far has been the fact that I miss that hour of driving time every day. My car, whatever it's been at any given time---the celeb, the van, the explorer, and now the impala---has been nothing short of a refuge and place of great solace for me. Especially now that the weather is warming up and the sun is coming out, very few things beat riding down the road with all the windows down and some great sing-a-long tunes blaring from the speakers. I miss that.

But the end is nigh, and a bus trip even closer. These are good things.

Where would I even ride a bike? The park? Why?

I could wear a helmet. Maybe a Vikings helmet like in that one commercial a few years back. Yeah! Vikings helmet. Viking helmet. Even better. And a horn. I'll need a horn. Not for the bike, not the squeezy kind. The kind you blow in. The kind that Vikings used. Yeah! A helmet and a horn. 

...God loves his children, yeah...

I did watch The Godfather for the first time this weekend. Helluva movie. And I also realized that I have a friend who looks exactly like a young Diane Keaton. Very strange. She doesn't look anything like the current Diane Keaton. Aging is so weird. 

...I don't hold you responsible all the time I'm alone...

I wonder if she got a nose job or something? I don't think so. Is she related to Michael Keaton? Is he an alcoholic?

...Here comes those big ideas again...

I watched the second season of Californication the other day. Friggin amazing. Just like the first. Well, probably not as good as the first, but still really good. Great great show.  Television on the internet is an amazing thing. TV on the Radio is a band. I think they won some shit for their last CD. I couldn't get into it that much myself. Ah well. 

So, I'm reading Richard Brautigan right now. Trout Fishing in America, to be followed by In Watermelon Sugar. I'm enjoying it, but not really getting it right now. We'll see how it goes. All I really want to do is re-read The Great Gatsby. Ever since I read this critical analysis of Don DeLillo's Underworld that compared Nick Carraway with Nick Shay and the both of them with "The American Adam," (I'm assuming Nick Adams falls into this category as well) I've been compelled to re-read Fitzgerald. As much as I'd like to read a whole bunch of new stuff this summer, I think I'm probably much more likely to re-read some things that I consider my favorites, or at least did at the time. My sister is borrowing The Sun Also Rises right now, but I'll probably re-read that as soon as she finishes. And A Farewell to Arms, and maybe check out some other Hemingway stuff. Now that I've read some more stuff, I'm anxious to see how well these books read now, a few years after I read them initially and they became my so-called favorites. We shall see. As for Gatsby, I read it in high school. I think pretty much everyone does. I wasn't crazy about it. But after reading all this stuff about the American Adam and reading all these other books that are apparently some sort of retelling of the same story, I'm really looking forward to reading it again. Some things are meant to reach those who are at a certain point in their life, and I think that Gatsby might be right for me right now. High school was probably too young. I don't really think that I got it, just as I'm not getting Brautigan right now. Perhaps I should put him on hold until a later period in my life, when I'm doing more reflecting. Right now, I'm trying to make those stories and memories that I will eventually reflect back on. If I don't do that now, there will be nothing to do later. You've got to fill your life with plenty of things to keep you entertained when you're old, because then it's too late. If you don't have enough the same thing will keep replaying in your head like that rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond that they keep playing. I don't want that. I want to look back and see new and fresh episodes. I'm sure it won't happen, but all you can do is try, right?

The world is such a wonderful place...

La di da. La da di da da.

I had a conversation with a girl at work the other day about some of life's finer and more enjoyable things. We are both approaching a change in geography, and this prompted a discussion of some of our favorite places we'd ever been. The places that breathe life into your lungs, that fill your spirit with the overwhelmingly satisfying feeling that this world is a wonderful place, and make you wonder just how much more there is out there to see.

Though I've been to many places that elicit this glorious sensation in a myriad of ways, there were two specific locales that prompted the strongest and most intense feelings of joy, each appealing to a different sense: the stupendous sight of the New River Gorge provided by the northern hemisphere's longest steel-arch bridge, the second highest vehicular bridge in the world, that spans across it, and the sweet scent of the air in Vidalia, Georgia.

I've attempted to post a picture of the New River Bridge, but that will not do it any justice. Crossing this bridge at any time of year provides the most beautiful view that I have ever seen. It was a staple of trips to and from Johnson City during the incredible years that I spent there. It was the bright spot of the entire trip, and I am thankful to U.S. Highway 19 and the entire crew that constructed this modern marvel in the mid-1970s.

As for the smell of Vidalia, it is sweeter and more prevalent than the sweet onions of its name. I remember nothing of Vidalia's view---I cannot recall the name of a single street or sight in the town---but the smell is one that I will never forget.

The world is a wonderful place. These are two things that I try and keep as constant reminders of just that. Add them to a list of places to see/smell during your time in this life. If you're anything like me, you won't regret it.

What does your city say?

And, perhaps more importantly, how does it fit with what you say?

Check it out: http://www.paulgraham.com/cities.html

Youtheater

The Big Ten town where I grew up is nothing  if not a great and gluttonous devourer of youth, harvesting the crops of its inhabitants, plucking the fledgling fruit from the branches of its saplings to feast on what would be considered far from ripe in other parts of the country. The Youtheater pervaded the place like a dense and depressing fog, pouring over the hills and rushing with the streams. I saw it in my parents. I saw it in everyone's parents. I saw it in my friends. I lied awake at night coughing up pieces of it.  It was added with fluoride and chlorine to the drinking water; it floated up from the fields of corn and soy with oxygen into the atmosphere, soaking into the walls of lungs; it was included with every dose of Bovine Growth Hormome, making its way into the cows and onto plates, engulfing the abeyant potential of Midwestern youth indiscriminately like a lunatic killer loose in the calm of the rural night.

It's better to burn out than to fade away.

This morning, after being up all night yet again, while sitting in class and thinking about everything---not only what we were talking about (On the Road), but everything, life, love, happiness, what the fuck I'm doing here, where I'm going, what is IT, whether or not I'm a misogynist, the risks/rewards of taking a chance with the law, why I never want to sleep again, when I'm actually ever going to sleep, etc.---I think I finally realized what Neil meant by this. I mean, I always understood at least partially, but I've never had a revelation or a moment of such clarity as I did this morning. The moment was perfect. A light went off. These are the moments I live for, the moments when something is revealed by a  lightning bolt thought that strikes straight down through the thick fortress of the human skull and penetrates your very existence. I always knew what it meant, but today I got it.

I'm not ready to put it into words. I don't know if it can be done. I don't want to ruin it or cheapen it by assigning words to it. It's a thought. It's a feeling. Language was created with the very purpose of describing it and things like it, but language fails. It's an experience.

Regardless, what it means is that I'm ready to start burning hot and bright and furious, with the intensity of that moment, like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

"...he had fallen on the beat and evil days that come to young guys in their middle twenties."

"All kinds are good except the kind that bores you." ---Voltaire.

"Boredom is the root of all evil---the despairing refusal to be oneself." ---Kierkegaard

"I am convinced that boredom is one of the greatest tortures. If I were to imagine Hell, it would be the place where you are continually bored." ---Erich Fromm

"Life is never boring but some people choose to be bored. The concept of boredom entails the inability to use up present moments in a personally fulfilling way. Boredom is a choice; something you visit upon yourself, and it is another of those self-defeating items that you can eliminate from your life." ---Wayne W. Dwyer

"Society is now one polished horde, / Formed by two mighty tribes: the Bores and the Bored." ---Lord Byron

Truth. For me, the funny thing about boredom is the fact that it comes on at times when there actually are other things to do. I am always bored when there is something productive that I could be doing instead. Therefore, I have to admit wholeheartedly with Dwyer when he says that boredom is a choice, at least in my case. I cannot think of a day or a time when I have literally had nothing to do, yet I find myself bored quite often. I think, then, that boredom, for me, is a lack of fun things to do and not just things in general.

For example, this weekend I have a paper to write (that was actually due this past Tuesday), and a book to read. Unfortunately, I do not have anything fun to do. As much as I enjoy reading and writing, they're not exactly exhilarating ways to spend the two nights of the week where I can actually stay up past 10 p.m. (though even that is getting to be difficult). What I really want is a night on the town. Strike that. What I really want is to have friends again.

And so, my plans of migration continue...

Rant

You know what sucks? Uptight people. People who freak out when they find out that a VOLUNTEER who has been helping their high-school aged children with their baseball skills got arrested one time for driving drunk. What the fuck does one have to do with the other? I really don't understand. It's not like I was on my way to practice or something. I wasn't drunk at practice or anywhere near their children.

Basically, overprotective parents suck in general, regardless of my personal situation. Let's face facts: you are fucking up your kids life and making everyone hate him or her as well as you. Back off. Life isn't perfect and shit happens. Teach the kids how to deal with some things (i.e. failure and the fact that you're probably not God's gift to everything that you ever even try to attempt).

I've noticed this in coaching for the past two years. I swear that even though it hasn't been that long since I've been in high school, this shit is going downhill quick. And I understand that it's not everyone. It never is. But it's those vocal few who bring everyone down. It's not just in sports. Not by any means. This is a very specific example of a very broad and overarching problem, but it's what I know. This is why I will never be a high school teacher. This is why I am giving up even coaching high school kids. This is ridiculous.

Coaches can't be tough on players any more. How can a coach be expected to get the most out of his team when he's walking on eggshells? No cuts. Cuts hurt people's feelings. Everyone deserves to play and be a part of the team. Bullshit. Some people just aren't cut out for some things and the sooner they can find that out the better. Michael Jordan got cut. There will never be another Michael Jordan. Kids are pussies these days. Because they've never had to work for anything. And they never will. If everyone just accepted themselves exactly as they are currently, no one would ever get better. Isn't that the fucking point? If you're perfect right now, why would you continue to strive for bigger and better things that you cannot currently achieve? There's always someone else to blame.

Look at this bullshit situation our whole country is in. It starts at the top. No one takes responsibility anymore. Instead of working for things and getting it honestly, we are always looking for a quick fix and willing to sell anyone out who stands in our way---even if they are better than us or even if they are trying to help. We don't want to do it honestly; we want to do it as quickly and easily as possible.

Let's say I fail a test. I have an opportunity to retake this test as many times as is necessary to pass. Personally, I would look at the questions I missed, find out the answers, and take the damn thing again improving on my mistakes. But that's not the way it works these days. It's the test's fault. It's the institution's fault for making the test too hard. The test should be made so that everyone can pass it, regardless of ability and effort. The teacher gets fired for making the test too hard, and the institution hires someone who will make the easy test or fudge the numbers so as not to ruffle any feathers. Our children shouldn't be expected to have to try. They are perfect. Perfect little angels who play 10 hours of Guitar Hero a day but have never even picked up the real thing, who watch five hours of television per day but never the news, who text message their friends through class and who have never known pain because as soon as a slight discomfort rears its head, they're told it's okay to stop. Don't push yourself too hard. Stress is a killer. It's not worth it. Mommy'll get you a new one.

And we wonder why we're getting our asses kicked worldwide. At everything.  Give me a fucking break.

But my mind and body fail me now...

Now accepting personal assistant applications (must be willing to work pro bono).

I constantly schedule things that overlap and conflict with each other. This, paired with the fact that I have always felt I would be awesome at being famous, has led me to the conclusion that I need a personal assistant to tell me what I have going on and where I need to be at any given moment. Sure, many times I would just tell her/him to get me out of it for I didn't feel like going, but it would be nice to at least know that I was missing something. In my current situation, I float along completely oblivious to my infraction until it is far too late.

I've tried planners. They suck. I've probably got five planners lying around my room one place or another, all with about a week's worth of shit filled out, all that I lost within a few days of purchasing, or didn't lose but completely forgot they existed. And it's not so much that I forget things. It's more that I can't connect the different things I've got going on. I cannot combine all the different mental calendars into one grand schedule where everything fits together. That's the problem.

For example, I know that I have a test on Monday at 11 o'clock. I also know that I am leaving for Pittsburgh Sunday afternoon to watch the Pirates' home opener on Monday afternoon at 1:35.  I didn't forget about either one of them. I just never realized (until tonight) that they conflicted. That that Monday was the same as that Monday. Crazy.

Any takers?

The Rust Belt Blues...

I have always seen life as having several different and distinct paths or possibilities that one could follow based on the choices, decisions, and interactions that one had made leading up to any given moment---an infinite number of combinations resulting in an infininte number of possible outcomes. My life was different because of the choices I'd made and it was always and ever changing with each new day and situation. But then I got to thinking, What if that's all bullshit? What if everything really is pre-destined or determined and we're just given the illiusion of having choice? What if, instead of having different possible outcomes where everything is connected and constantly affecting everything else, nothing is connected and everything is completely random?---That's when I convinced myself to stop thinking.

The only problem with that approach is that we, in our culture, are programmed to act and function according to a set plan from our very earliest days. As babies we eat, play, sleep, etc., according to a schedule set forth by our parents or caretakers. Despite our best efforts to thwart this attempt by crying through many long and sleepless nights, we eventually break and fall into the established law. Once we begin schooling, the conditioning sets in full-force, and we are left with no choice about our rigid daily routine.

We are a nation who achieved our greatest successes in the era of Industry, and that is reflected in the monotonous routines of the everyday ordinaries in our all-so similar and mainstreamed lives.

My biggest problem with this, is that it takes away from so much of that supposed and much-heralded freedom of choice. How else do we learn but to try and fail? Perhaps a person is most productive between the hours of 10 p.m. and 12 p.m. After falling into the force-fed habitual schedule of his upbringing, he may never know. Sure, it may be discovered during his high school or college years during a late-night study session, but by this time, it will be far too late to do anything about it, and even if it weren't, what options would he have? Certainly there are those that break this routine and through some means of self-governance provide for themselves by accomplishing their goals during whatever hours are best suited for them. Writers, artists, etc., are free to create at their leisure---once they are established and self-sustaining and well-enough established to do so. But how does one reach that point? In my mind, there are but two ways: either one is supported by the wealth of a friend or family member until he is able to make it on his own; or he takes a chance and hopes to make it on his own, by some stroke of luck or providence, before starvation sets in. Unfortunately for myself, I have neither friends or family of that kind of wealth or means to support me, nor the confidence or faith to take the chance on my own. I am not alone in this; myself and countless other great minds will be lost to the toil and struggle of the ordinary, afraid to break the chains of regularity and schedule for the ever-present chance of falling.

What's worse is that this conformity is so strongly encouraged that the desire to be different or in any way special is actually discouraged. Look at the ways our culture uses these words. Special has come to to be most commonly associated with the mentally or physically handicapped. We have special needs students and classrooms. I'm not even sure if this term is derogatory or if its the politically correct nomanclature of the current week. Regardless, it isn't something that one aspires to be. Different has taken up where Raymond Carver's funny has gone before. It's a word we use when we don't know what else to say, but wish to maintain the uber-important politeness that we so value. It's not necessarily bad, but actually, usually, it is. It's a husband's reaction upon his wife's return home from the beauty parlor after drasitcally changing the hairstyle that he has grown so used to and comfortable with. It's what a young man, used to the steak-and-potatoes that he was raised on, says when a woman that he's trying to bed forces him (unknowingly) to try Indian food for the first time. It's different, meaning, What have you done? or What the fuck did I just put in my mouth? or I  hate it, but I think this is my best chance of getting my dick wet later without abandoning all sense of truth.

...TBC (hopefully)

So where do we go from here?

We find a way to disappear.

Sunday nights are depressing. There's not much worse than sitting around on Sunday night waiting until you have to get up at 3 in the morning to start another shit week. I guess the problem is the shit week more so than Sunday night.

Thank god for Rock of Love.

Speaking of t.v., My Boys comes back Tuesday! Yaaargh! I love My Boys. That sounds like I'm talking about my balls, but I'm not. It's a t.v. show. On TBS. With Jim Gaffigan. Revolving around baseball. Awesome.

Speaking of Gaffigan, his new special in on Comedy Central right now. Too bad I have to watch Rock of Love. I'll catch a re-airing of Jimbo.

I think I'm just going to start reading whatever I want instead of wasting time doing shit homework.

Tuesday morning is the big day. By about noon I will know my fate. Hopefully my punishment is not too severe. Though, I have this sinking feeling that it's going to be really bad. If it is, it will crush me. I fear this.

"Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel / Is just a freight train coming your way"

So, I was riding in the car today with my mom and my grandma and I got to thinking about aging and how bad it sucks. I'm almost 25 and that is scary. My mom is 50 and that is really scary. And my grandma is 80-something-or-other and has no clue what the hell is going on.  If my next 25 go as fast as the first 25, (and I'm guessing they'll go even faster) I've got some serious living to do asap. Jesus.

Fuuuuuuuck Mondays. I gotta get outta here.

I used to be somebody I'd go to battle for...

A nickel-sized brown spider clung to a crease in the wall of the shower. The strand of web he'd clung to had been severed by the stream of water now pouring from the showerhead. As the water sprayed against my back the mist created by the rebound was raining down on him making his climb up the smooth slickness of the wall slipperier and more difficult. On he pressed. I washed as I watched his struggle. I could have done something to help, turned the water off cupped my hands and carried him outside, but I got the feeling that he didn't want my help. An all too familiar stubbornness and resolve that seemed to say, "I can do this myself." So, I continued as a spectator. A few times the elements combined to form a force too much and he was separated from  his crease, falling to what I was sure was his doom. However, each time about half way down the wall, before reaching the slanted edge of the tub below, he regained his grip on the crease and started the climb again. The spider did not give up. If anything, he seemed more determined after each subsequent failure and motivated by the increasing hardship. I admired him for this. I didn't know where he was going but I began to hope that he could hold on until the water was turned off and he could continue where he'd left off with his web building in the top corner. He was sure to be discovered and killed by the next occupant of the shower but for the time being I willed and wished for his success. I was proud of this spider. He desesrved a perch atop the shower for however long he could stave off the elemental and external invaders. The truth is, I wanted to see a winner, to be a part of the victory and to know that it was possible to overcome whatever was thrown in your path and survive in spite of it.

Then, as I shampooed my hair, seconds away from stopping the water exiting the shower and securing the spider's salvation, he fell again. This time, all the way down the beveled edge of the tub and into the basin below. Swept away by the current of the water and unable to free himself from the pull of the drain, he got caught in the grate and drown.

Tell me you believe in now...

Pittsburgh? Possibly.

Make way for the Cripple Creek Ferry...

You know who's awesome? Neil Young. Beyond awesome in fact. There is perhaps nothing better to just kick back and chill to. Thanks for being the shit, Neil.

You know who else is awesome? Third Eye Blind. Yep. If you want to make fun of me for loving Third Eye Blind, then fuck you. haha They are the shit. If you haven't listened to their new stuff (Red Star E.P.) do so as soon as possible. "Non-Dairy Creamer" is my personal favorite. I am going to see them at a rib burn-off in Cleveland at the end of May. I am incredibly excited. Though I think it's a bit of an odd pairing. (Bret Michaels is playing the same festival the following Monday.)

This opportunity allows me to scratch another act off of my list of those that I need to see before I die. Actually, it's not that pressing. It's more of a list of bands that I would really like to see. There are bands that have a few good songs and then there are bands that I can't get enough of and like everything I hear. Those are the ones that are on the list. Let's see if I can write it out...

Third Eye Blind
Sam Roberts
Alkaline Trio
Poison
Pearl Jam
Andrew W.K.
Radiohead
Wilco
The Rentals

I think that about sums it up. There are several that I've already been able to scratch off the list, (Weezer, Oasis, Eve6, Ozma, etc.) and Third Eye Blind and Poison will both hopefully come down this summer. Sam Roberts actually played Pittsburgh last weekend, but I unfortunately had no way of getting there. Bummer. Hopefully I will again have an opportunity to see him. Oh well, I'd rather see him in Canada anyway. There's just something about hearing "The Canadian Dream," in the States that just wouldn't feel right.

...flyin' Mother Nature's silver seed to a new home in the sun...



While we're on the subject, I'd like to take a minute to plug an upcoming album that I'm personally jacked about--Ace Enders and a Million Different People. Ace is the former front man of the Early November, who were kind of hit-or-miss for me, but his solo stuff knocks my damn socks off. He put out an E.P. a while back that absolutely rocked, and started streaming the entire album (which comes out this Tuesday, I believe) on his myspace this week. It's rad.  Check it. (Update: as of this posting the entire album is no longer streaming, so check out what's there and buy the album on the 17th.)

...I'm livin' in a dreamland...



Peace.

I want to be a country music star...

Well, not really. But the thoughts of Nashville remain. And it keeps sounding better. 

 And, I wouldn't mind being a country music star. That would be a pretty good life. But I can't sing, so I guess it's out. And that's not one of the reasons that Nashville sounds good. 

I have recently rediscovered the havoc that messing with your sleeping patterns can play. Yesterday, I hated everyone and everything and was basically convinced that I was doomed to live an unhappy life and got so angry and frustrated that I literally yelled several times. Upon further reflection I realized that it was probably because I've been working midnights this week, sleeping for a few hours during the day and working all night. A good night's sleep is really under-rated. 

As I write that, it is 10:38 a.m. and I've yet to go to bed. I am waiting to hear from my lawyer. I want my license. Quickly.

I realized today that I pretty much love Papa Roach. Totally not my style, and I haven't really been able to admit it until now, but there's just no denying it anymore. They are awesome. Even when they were rap/rock. I remember playing homerun derby over at D.K.'s and blasting that shit. I loved Infest. But I was 16. And it was way different from what they've become. That doesn't matter though, because I still think they're great. The new song, "Lifeline," has got me all fired up. Plus, it doesn't hurt that I'll always associate them with D.K. Helluva guy. I miss him. 

So, what kind of a job does a 24-year old with a Communications degree apply for? I'm up for anything. 

As Jasmine and Steve from Full House would say, "It's a whole new world." (Holy god that is a nerdy reference.) A new day of opportunity is about to dawn and my world will change. It has to. This cannot continue for much longer.

I keep on forgetting myself...

Third Eye Blind, anyone? Yes, please.

Had a couple of great conversations today with friends that are both old and current. It was good. It's nice to have people there for you that you've known for most of your life.

In one of those conversations, I was informed of some of the pros to a life in Nashville. It sounds pretty swell. Especially a bar called "The Greenhouse" that sounds like the best freaking thing ever imagined. "There are places I've never been and always wanted to go." Well, technically, I've been there. But in my opinion, you've got to live in a place to really know it. Definitely.

Another thing that came up today was what I think is one of the greatest lies that has been passed off as common knowledge that everyone knows--the fact that people don't change. That is completely and utterly false. People change. All the time. Every day. When I look back at my life I can see significant change almost constantly. I'm sure it's the same for nearly everyone else. I know that the saying is usually used as a device for giving advice to someone who is thinking about getting back with a significant other who has cheated on them or something, but that doesn't change the fact that it's bullshit. Just because someone is going to do something again doesn't mean that they aren't changing. There may be a certain behavior or pattern that is unlikely to change, but that's most likely because that person doesn't want it to change. We can consciously change ourselves. That is one of the most beautiful and liberating things about this life.

I can't wait to get my license back. So many things to do, so many places to see. With the windows down and "1979" on repeat with the volume up to 11,  I will drive America's highways in topsiders and wayfarers, smoking cigarettes with the sun burning my left arm from just above the elbow down and the air turning to wind. With no destination but the horizon and no worries but when to stop for gas, I will take the road as a lover and begin what I hope to be a long and passionate romance.

Man up...

Ahh, spring break. How I love thee. Even though I have no license and thus cannot go anywhere and I have to work so I couldn't go anywhere anyway. A break is always nice. There's just something about the changing of the clocks that always forces me to realize that the seasons are changing. Annnnnd we've had some wonderfully warm weather the past few days. Nice.

Despite the much-welcomed arrival of spring, I've still got movin' on my mind. As many memories as this place holds and as great as it is to be near family, there's just nothing here for me. I am glad for the things that this place has taught me and the life that I've had here----but there comes a time when you've just got to do what's right for yourself. That time is as soon as I get my license back.

And now the deicision process starts. Again.

Where to?

There are several viable and enticing options. Since I don't really have any sort of plan for where my life is going, it is difficult to say which place would be the best for me. It is hard to find something when you don't know what you're looking for. I will not make the mistake of believing that whatever I decide is permanent. I have been down that road and learned a lesson. My only plans need to be for the immediate future and what is best for, say, maybe a year at a time. That definitely helps. I can't help but worry----I guess that makes me a worrier. But if I maintain focus on short amounts of time, I am less likely to freak out, spin my wheels and dig a deeper hole where I am. That has happened one too many times.

What it really comes down to is people. Because, really, don't the people make the place? They do. (Warm weather sure doesn't hurt either.)

That is not to say that there aren't great people here. There are great people everywhere. Then why isn't everywhere a great place? I guess it takes more than people. What else?

Opportunity.

Because isn't that really the American dream? I know that there's the suburbanite version of the American dream which often gets confused with what I feel is at the heart of the true American spirit of endeavor. Some people, surely, want a car and house and wife and 2.5 children with a job that pays well and a driveway where they can wash their car. That's fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. I could be happy with that. It might even be what I want. I don't know. But that's not the American dream. The American dream is something very individual. It's the opportunity to be who you want to be and go where you want to go and do what you want to do.

People make excuses for why they can't do these things. Hell, I've made plenty of excuses for why I can't. But the fact is, you can. Any cage or chain you feel keeping you in or holding you down is of your own construction. And that's not to say that there aren't actual factors outside of yourself that can hinder your journey and make it difficult for you to achieve what you want. But how many stories are there of someone who comes from the bottom and rises up? That's the American dream. The underdog story. Because it signifies what America itself represents----that opportunity. It's not a level playing field. Obviously people start out at different places with different advantages and different advantages that can make the journey either more or less difficult. But the bottom line is, with motivation and determination, people can do things regardless of their starting position.

Maybe it takes a little luck. You've got to get a break. But it happens. Maybe not for everyone, but for some. And everyone should have the hope that it can happen for them. And that, to me, is the real American Dream.

I've got some doing to do. Because thinking is over-rated.

Better late than never...

Thanks to the wonderful power of Hulu, I have finally discovered Arrested Development. After countless recommendations from trusted friends and rave reviews, I am now indulging in the hilarity.

Holy balls this show is funny.

And, for my money, there is no one better at being nervous/awkward as Michael Cera. Seriously.

Also thanks to Hulu, 30 Rock has entered my list of hilarious shows and regular viewing.

See, because I work at fucking four in the morning, I can't stay up to watch t.v. shows when they're normally on. Thank God for the internet, which allows me to watch these shows when I should instead be studying or otherwise bettering myself.

My life wasn't always this exciting. There was a time, back when I was in college the first time, and before I moved (back) in with my parents, when i used to have things other than watching t.v. on the internet to do on a Friday night. That time has since passed. I am now a 24 year old male who lives with his parents (and grandmother) who also recently lost his driver's license. Now, if these things had either one occurred separately--that is, if I would have lost my license a little over a year ago when I still lived with friends in the beautiful hills of East Tennessee, or if I lived with my parents and hadn't lost my license--they would have been bearable. In one option, leaving the house wasn't all that great anyway, because in the house I had Rock Band and all the beer, wine and friends a guy could ask for. In the other, I could drive wherever the hell I wanted whenever I pleased or when this place got to be too much. These things, however, happened to occur simultaneously, leaving me in my parents house with my grandmother and no way out. Fucking awesome.

Hence, you have a blog and plenty of time to catch up on now defunct television shows.

Feeling infinite...

So, I finally read The Perks of Being a Wallflower again. This time I did it for class as my "choice" book. I don't think I followed the assignment, but I don't care. I'd been meaning to read it again and this was a good opportunity. (Thanks, Megan, by the way, for giving it to me what, in one sense, seems like an eternity ago yet in another seems like only yesterday.)

Though I can no longer say that it's my favorite book, (I've read a lot of books since then) I can still say that it's a quality read and I enjoyed it again. My favorite part is still and likely always will be Charlie's poignant line as they are driving through the Fort Pitt tunnels emerging into the city, "I feel infinite."  Because that describes it so well, doesn't it? We've all had that feeling (at least I hope we have), and there's nothing else like it. So, in keeping with my promise to myself to write more often, here's a story about some characters feeling that exact thing.


They raised the back hatch of the old Cherokee and retrieved three lawn chairs, unfolding them and setting them up in the gravel in front of the camper. It was a quiet day at the lake, as it always was. There was never much stirring among the campers in the day-time. Most every one was out in the water doing one thing or another and those that weren't, hid in the dark corners of their shelters, making coffins of their beds, serving their penance for the night before. The three of them had been granted a reprieve--this weekend would soon be over, and their time could be served after they'd returned to the daily drudge of their all-too academic lives. This weekend was borrowed time. They sat upon the gravel in their lawn chairs shirtless like animate chloroplasts, allowing the sun's rays to fill them with nourishment and energy they could feel as their skin basked in it, seeking saturation.

Jesse was hard at work packing the Camels.  As he worked, his mind wandered to the times he'd spent over the past year, fondly reminiscing over the many nights at school spent learning but not studying. As he finished, he let out a knowing and satisfied chuckle. He admired his work, and saw that it was good. He lit, hit, and passed, drawing another from the pack to repeat the process until they each inhaled, leaned back and sat silent and still as the trees. The reflection of the sun on the water filled them with joy and the sound and smell of the smoke paired perfectly with the warm embrace on the sun's love. The three of them smoked in silence until the last of the embers was extinguished, having fulfilled its destiny admirably. These were always the times when they felt the smartest and most at home, among kindred spirits and like minds, discussing anything that the wind introduced. The world was their prompt, and on that day, they wanted to tackle it--all of it--starting at the beginning and working up to the previous second, accounting for everything that was and was to be. All was clear. They had succeeded in decoding life's veiled codes. They each understood fully and exactly, sharing thoughts as they shared air. All they saw and smelled and thought and heard was life, and it was perfect. What had been a mysterious mistress always flirting from afar yet remaining out of grasp had today revealed herself and all of her deepest secrets. She had given herself to them, completely submitting to the passion of the moment. It was a triumph; the stone was rolled away and the truth shone bright through the clouds. In that moment, they were infinite.

Incidentally, I am planning a Great American Adventure, in which I will take several months to drive cross country, stopping at whatever place catches my eye or piques my interest. Any suggestions?

Getting your money's worth...

During some rousing discussion in class today about the cop-out that is Cather's epilogue to The Song of the Lark, I was reminded of a Hemingway quote that I took note of while reading The Sun  Also Rises, and it got me to thinking about life and how it works. Here's the quote:

You payed some way for everything that was any good . . . Either you paid by learning about them, or by experience, or by taking chances, or by money. Enjoying living was ;earning to get your money's worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money's worth. The world was a good place to buy in.

Aside from re-realizing why I love Hemingway so much, this quote got me thinking about life, especially in regard to the most recent version of my philosophy on how it works. See, since so much of my life has revolved around baseball, I tend to relate everything back to it. Recently, I've realized that one of the things I love about baseball so much is how, in my opinion, it reflects life so well.  In giving some advice earlier this morning, I brought up the old analogy of the scales of life, and of balance and harmony and equal & opposites and all that. In baseball terms, it goes a little something like this:

A player that's a .300 hitter is going to hit .300. That's it. Slumps come and go, and they are bound to run their course no matter what you do about it. Like, as former Padres' catcher Terry Kennedy said, the common cold. As a player, you just keep plugging away, putting your work in and moving forward with the faith that, eventually, you will pull out of it. And, if you're a .300 hitter, you will. Then, in theory, for every slump, you're going to have a hot streak to balance in out. For example, you might hit .200 in April, but go on a tear in June and hit .400. Those two months, roughly, cancel each other out bringing you back to your true average.

To put a face to this argument, let's take a look at current Pirates' first baseman, Adam LaRoche, one of the better examples of this theory. To start, LaRoche is a career .273 hitter. In 2008, LaRoche had a typically horrendous start, hitting just .163 in 23 games in April (and one in May). However, he also had a typically strong finish, hitting .321 in 23 games in September and October. Now, let's take a bigger sample. In 87 games before the All-Star break, LaRoche hit .251; in his 49 games after the All-Star break (he spent some time on the disabled list), he hit .304. What was his average, when all was said and done, at the end of the season? .270, just three points below where his career numbers would indicate.

See, that's why they play so many games in a baseball season. The nature of the game is that there are going to be ups and downs, highs and lows, much like the nature of life. But that's why we (hopefully) get so many days in life. You can't judge things by a day or a week, a month, or even a year. You've got to try and see the big picture, the entire season, the entire career. Because, in time, things always even out right to where they should be.

So, how does this relate to Hemingway and Willa Cather? Well, that Hemingway quote is describing that very thing. In order to gain something, you've got to give something up. Nothing comes for free. Why do hangovers exist? To balance out the feeling of the night before. They are the price we pay for that great feeling of drunkenness. Just like slumps and hot streaks, just like paying for things---this is the way of the world.

This is what Cather ignores in her epilogue. In order to be great, you've got to make some sacrifices. The entire novel pays this close attention, and does a fine job of describing Thea's sacrifices as well as her successes. Unfortunately, the epilogue completely ignores this fact.

But seriously, read the book. It's awesome.

Valentine's Day...

So, in the spirit of the holiday, I am going to take a minute or two to write about the loves of my life that I am spending my evening with: baseball, music, and literature.

Today was the opening day of Spring Training for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Although I have no reason  to be positive or enthusiastic about this season, as management did next to nothing to improve one of the league's worst teams from last year, I can't help but get excited when the players finally report to Spring camp. Because, after all, it's about far more than wins and losses; regardless of the record, the Pirates have 162 games to play this year, and I will enjoy watching as many as I possibly can. Baseball is still baseball, no matter how good or bad your team is, and that is one of the most beautiful and perfect things in the world. That is my first love.

Seventeen years ago today, in a garage in Southern California, four fellows gathered for their first rehearsal together. Those four fellows were the members of Weezer, and though two of those members have since been replaced, the spirit of the band remains relatively in tact through some tumultuous and terrible times, no less. It's been a long road for Weezer and for Weezer fans. Like a love that starts out hot and passionate, Weezer burst onto the scene, emerging at the perfect time to pave the way for the power-pop post-grunge era in music history, and what an amazing era it was. Most of my favorite modern music comes from these few years starting around 1994, including two undeniable classics from the Weez. Though they faded away completely for a while, and are unlikely to ever fully return to the greatness that they achieved in their original incarnation, a Weezer fan can't help but be a little proud of their staying power. Their latest album, the self-titled "Red Album," showed glimpses of greatness again, and I can't help but be a little excited about what the future might bring for the band that changed my life so many years ago. To the first band that I ever loved, who piqued my interest in music and paved the way for my future expanding tastes, I thank you.

As for literature, you are my newest and freshest love.  We discovered one another amidst a sea of confusion and perhaps because of that, I have yet to give you all of my trust. It took me a long time to make a move at all. Despite the years of playful flirting, I kept you waiting, experimenting with other potential suitors. Even now, I have yet to take the leap of faith required to reach our full potential together. But that's what I wanted to talk to you about: I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time. We're good together. We understand each other. I can see parts of myself in you, and there are parts of you that I can see that others can't. We bring out the best in each other. I feel as though you make me a better person, as though I'm more with you than I am without. And although I struggle at times in having the confidence to believe that I am good enough for you, I am working on it. Time and again those whose opinions I value, those who hold you in the highest regard, have tried to make it clear to me, that I am good enough for you, that I do get you, that I'm not merely fantasizing. The signs have all been there, but I've been too unsure of myself to accept them. So, forgive me for dragging my feet. Forgive me for selling myself short and for giving up on us too early. It's time. After more than a year of him-hawing and postponing and talking myself out of it, I've made up my mind.

I'm going to tell you this in all sincerity, and I know you've heard it before, but this time I mean it---more than all the other times, though I meant it then too. This time, I think I'm finally ready. After this semester, I will no longer be an English Education major. Instead, I will take the time, however much it may take, to get my shit together and do what I've known I wanted to do for some time now. No more taking the safe way out. I'm taking a chance. I don't know where I'll end up or when I'll get there, but it's coming. I'm over the quarter-life crisis that I've been going through where I thought that I'd better hurry up and settle down into a boring life in a boring town and start a routine before my  hair turned gray. Here we go. Here I come.

And some Jay-Z lyrics that popped into my head during the last paragraph for good measure:

They say an eye for an eye, we both lose our sight
And two wrongs don't make a right
But when you been wrong and you know all along that it's just one life
At what point does one fight? (Good question right!)

We've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world...

I am thankful for much in this life. Perhaps the one thing for which I am most thankful for is good friends and family. What would life be without them?

This weekend, many of my friends were gathering near our old stomping grounds for a makeshift reunion which was certain to consist of countless old stories rehashed over beers and endless laughter. It was this weekend because our old ball team was playing their home opener, which was a great excuse to get together, and just another reason why the weekend would be so grand. I'd been looking forward to this even to see old friends and get refreshed and recharged, which is what seeing them always seems to do for me. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend this weekend because I am without a driver's license at the moment. Honestly, the worst part about the whole thing was the fact that I was going to miss the fun that was to be happening this weekend.

Luckily for me, I've got some amazing friends, two of whom decided to bring themselves to me as a surprise in an attempt to lift my spirits. Words cannot describe what this meant to me.

Not only did they have to drive the nine plus hours that it takes to get here from there, but they also made a choice to miss out on all the fun that was happening down there (and take some serious shit from the guys that were going to be there, I might add). This act and this weekend has reaffirmed my belief that I have some of the best friends in the world. Without whom, I would truly be lost instead of just feeling like it at times. It's good to know you're missed and it's good to know that people care about you.

So, thanks guys. And to the rest of you, I'll see you as soon as I am able. A road trip is going to be just what I need. I can't wait.

With Arms Outstretched...

Now some days, they last longer than others
But this day by the lake went too fast...

The four of them had spent many hot summer days on the cool, murky waters of Lake Norris, but this one, as was evidenced by the moments of awesome silence, was perfect. The water somehow still enough for a soothing calm and choppy enough for a rhythmic rock and sway. The sun shone down a nurturing warmth, arousing a feeling of complete contentment, at its hottest moments counteracted by a well-timed wind. The sweet smells of heat and sweat and the thick Tennessee air and the water filled their nostrils with sheer pleasure. The mountains pierced the crisp, clean blue sky with their blunt peaks looming large----both spectator to and spectacle of the day. The water kept time, gently slapping the sides of the pontoon. Birds sang out in exuberance, praising the day and applauding its maker. The breeze pushed its way through the tall grass and trees on the shore, sounding its approval. The four lay on the boat soaking in the beauty, basking in the outpouring of divine love...

The black sky raged electric as the thunder marched over the mountains, ricocheting off of the dark, still water and back into the starless night. The two of them sat huddled together beneath the shelter of the camper's awning and listened. The rain drummed against the rows of aluminum and peppered the hard, dry ground, seeking its place in the earth.
"Do you think it's raining at home?"
"Maybe. But not like this."
The two sank back into silence, bodies weak from the day on the water, hearts full with young love and joy and pure contentedness and the satisfaction of a perfect day that was finally drawing to a close. Eyelids were heavy and necks grew limp but the day fought for survival, scratching, clawing, clinging, fighting for its last breaths. The faint sounds of Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter seeped from inside where the other two had given in to the creeping call of the night on the couch.
"I love the way it smells."
But she was floating away on the lazy waves of sinking sleep.

Horoscopes, Questions, and Bob Dylan

I read a horroscope last night at work that said something to the effect of "make mental health your top priority," so I skipped class, finally got a couple hours of sleep and am currently doing absolutely nothing but thinking, (which has got to stop because it's a filthy habit) and trying to get myself back to a functional condition.

That thinking that I just mentioned has been going on constantly since yesterday morning, but it's  been lingering since a long time before that. It's most likely a product of lack of sleep. It's also likely a side effect of working your ass off towards something you're not even sure that you want, and in all likelihood, will give up on eventually when you realize that it just ain't for you.

The truth is, I'd probably back out now if it wasn't for all the money I've got tied up in it.

And so, I look for other options.

What's got me the most worried about this whole situation, (because it certainly isn't anything new) is that I just can't help but make the comparison to Frank Wheeler from the recent movie (which I understand is based on a novel) Revolutionary Road. Which, if you've seen the movie, probably sounds dramatic, and it is, but I assure you there are similarities there. If you haven't seen it, you should.

See, I'm the kind of person that can, eventually, find a way to be happy with almost any situation. That's why this weird point in my life is so important--because while I know that I'll be "happy" in some way wherever I end up, I don't want to look back and wish that things had been different or that I'd had the guts to try something. If there's something that I really want to do, now's the time to figure it out and go for it, before all of the responsibilities and weights of the world that I'm bound to end up in start to wrap around my wrists and ankles and keep me in one place for the rest of my days. But half of the time, I think that to be more desirable to the alternative. The problem is, I don't really know what that alternative is. There's a million different paths, a million different destinations, and, as exciting as all of that is, it's equally as terrifying. It'd be one thing if I could just narrow it down to a few choices--I'd make a list of pros and cons or something and go from there--but there is no narrowing. If anything, the list gets broader and more extensive with each passing day. The only way I've ever been able to rule anything out is to actually try it, and there's no way that I have time to try all of these possibilities.

The problem all comes down to something very fundamental about myself: I've always had this feeling or sense of being meant for big things and that I had a special purpose and place in this world, that I was going to be different, that I was going to make a difference. While this is great because it means I've had an upbringing that reared me to expect things of myself, to have confidence, that I've had opportunities, it also sucks because it means that I'm not satisfied with the idea of a life that the majority of those around me seem to have no trouble settling into. At least not yet. Will I eventually just roll over and fall in line? That's what I've been planning. That's why I'm in school to be a high school teacher and why I'm coaching a high school baseball team and why I moved back with my parents and why I got a job at Home Depot and why I lie awake at night and can't fall asleep and why, half the time, I feel sick to my stomach.

And what really pisses me off about all of this, is that I should be grateful to have such an opportunity. This is the opportunity that my parents worked so hard to give me. An opportunity that how many people around the country, around the world, would be more than happy to have. So why can't I embrace it? Maybe one of these days, when the last shred of my youth sloughs away like a dead skin cell, I'll make something of myself.

So how about Bob Dylan's ghost pushing product along Wyclef Jean during the SuperBowl?

I've never felt this way before

I screwed up. It's not something that I've done very often in my early life, but when I do, I generally go all out. This time most definitely tops the list.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just me that had to suffer, but I feel as though I've brought shame and disappointment to everyone--my friends, my community, and most importantly, my family.

I know that everyone makes mistakes, and trust me, I've heard it more recently than normal--but that's no excuse for doing things that bring negativity to everyone around you. We live and we learn, but what about those around us? I've always felt that there's at the very least a lesson in every mistake that we make, but I've never thought so hard about what possible good can come out of bad situations for those people affected by someone else's mistakes. It just isn't fair.

And isn't that the way it goes?

I know what good has come out of the situation for me--I see it every day, and it is constantly becoming clearer and more defined. For this, I am beyond grateful. Think of this as a sort of sequel to my last post about whether or not everything happens for a reason; I stand by what I said before. I believe we are given things to deal with, either out of our own doing or someone else's, and we must make of them whatever we can. Sometimes, these things just so happen to come at a time that may seem at onset to be the absolute worst; however, these same times may, and hopefully do, end up to be at the best times. Perhaps we were struggling with some sort of doubt internally, or a big question that we just couldn't find a concrete answer for. These answers may come to us in a time that is the most inconvenient; however, I've come to learn that what is convenient is rearely the best in the long run. Life ain't meant to be easy, and thankfully, it rarely is.

On another note, I've discovered after re-reading Mark Twain, that I love dialects, and am going to try my damndest to embrace my own--whatever sort of hodge podge makeshift mess that may be. Mostly, my practice with typing in dialect has been by way of text message. Ahh, the joy of technology, and a full QWERTY keyboard on cell phones to give me the freedom to express myself however improperly I wish to do so.