a break in narrative.

eleven.twentyfive.twothousand.

I'm ready to hit my head on the ceiling.

Don't pull your thang out, unless you plan to bang.
Bombs over Bagdhad.
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something.
Bombs over Bagdhad.

- Outkast, B.O.B.

Thank you for reading.

3:13 PM | plink

Brother, 19, Home With Grizzly Beard.

Wednesday the 21st.

Suddenly the days you've been looking forward to become the present, things start going all at once, people and places and time to spend. Caught off-guard, a busy joy wells up inside--like we're on a field trip or something. There's a lot of driving to do. There's movement, pulsing internally. I need action, direction, forwardness, possibility.

Stuff happening.

At the coffee shop tonight, Joshua and I were playing chess. Plenty happening on the board. I said, "I wonder how drunk Kasperov would have to get to lose to me?"

2:48 AM | plink

Tried To Say.

Monday, November 20th, 2000

I woke, blinked a few times, and got myself ready for the day. The sun was slowly rising. I dropped banana slices in my cereal. I went to work, and kept myself happily busy. I completed many important tasks. When lunchtime came, it felt nice to relax and eat a homemade sandwich.

The air grew cool during the afternoon as I kept working. Daylight began to fade as I arrived home. I showered and washed my hair. I put on a set of warm, clean clothes. Listening to a great song on the radio, I leaned againts the windowsill and thought about somebody special. I read some of my favorite book.

Dinner was hot and delicious. I headed downtown with a friend, for conversation and something to drink. Outside, the moon looked almost full. Once I got home, it was late. I fell asleep quickly.

I hope everything goes well tomorrow.

11:31 PM | plink

Your Day Breaks.

November Sunny Day Weekend, 2000.

Interesting, isn't it, the extent to which emotional and mental states are dependent on physical well-being... An extra nap, and my whole life gets thrown off-kilter, mussed up and whatnot. It takes a healthy self-skepticism coupled with occasional scans for early warning signs to make sure you're thinking what you're thinking on purpose. Bottomless cups of coffee help, also.

I'd rather be a ninja than a pirate, but it's a close call.

David Bias sent me a great email in response to my recent coffee and culture postulates. It confirmed most of my suspicions about pre-1989 joe being inexpensive, standard-sized swill. Kudos to both of us. Whatever that means. David has posted his email and my reply on his weblog, within his 11/14 and 11/18 entries, respectively.

I've been mulling over these paragraphs from his latest message during the couple of days:

re: referential humor thread: I'm sure these things have parallels in the former generations, but they are probably far more localized to specific cities or even neighborhoods. My (our?) generation is the first raised completely in a televised, information-rich world, and as such, our references are cultural instead of local. My dad always talks about this malt shop/hot dog stand in Huntington, WV where most of his teen years were spent. I talk about the TV shows and songs I grew up on... Whole towns had reputations and people upheld them to a degree. We uphold the reputation of television - be quick and funny because we have to get to commercial.

It's the same talk, just different words... These are the memes I want to uncover. The ones that are just newly clothed (now, probably pierced) but are actually very old.

I can think of some questions that might lead to uncovering this meme: Who was the Douglas Coupland of the 20's? ...of the 50's? Who was the David Foster Wallace of the Victorian Age? Who was the Adam Sandler of the Renaissance? Who was the Nicholson Baker of Greek Empire?

It's nice to get a little back and forth going.
I'm working on getting more. Just hold tight.

I also found The Beatles.com through David's site. Coincidentally, I've had Beatles on the brain since the ABC special that aired on Friday night. Thus, hither and to there by, there's been plenty of Revolver and Sgt. Pepper's airplay on my stereo this morning. The new web site is beautiful; it uses plenty of Flash, but in the best way possible. Now the music fan AND the designer in me are drooling.

Michael Moore always has a way with words.
Dubya's such a baby.

11:55 AM | plink

There's a Bagel On The Rise.

Thursday, November, 2000

Isn't it suspicious that ALF is the only situation comedy in history to feature a costumed muppet like creature as its central character within a world otherwise populated by humans? I still don't understand how that concept made it through NBC studios unscathed. And it was actually a pretty funny show, somehow, no thanks to the annoyingly stunted speech mannerisms of the Dad character, played by actor Dick Cheney.

Well, he's a sharp-witted hairy alien who likes to eat cats and cause mischief around the house. And underneath it all, the audience recognizes him to be a lovable, caring, moral guide for the suburban family that was lucky enough to get his spaceship lodged in their garage.

I think there are two kinds of people in this world. If you had to choose, would you rather watch three hours of A Small Wonder or three hours of Out of This World every evening for the rest of your life? This begs the question: who is less bearable, Uncle Beano or Harriet?

12:22 AM | plink

For a moment there, I longed for the glory days when you'd visit Blogger to post an entry, then notice that one of your favorite sites was recently updated. Now it seems, the 10 Most Recently Updated Blogs list just reminds me that there are thousands of sites out there - some great, some crappy - that I'll never have time to check out, let alone follow. And they all have clever names.

11:34 PM | plink

Sleep Sleep Sleepyhead. Decaf.

Moonday, November 13th

It's fun to bend Al and Dubya's faces into funny shapes.

I have this theory that before 1989, all cups of coffee came in only one size and always cost exactly 50 cents. It was the same everywhere, everytime, so you could just say "Gimme coffee," and throw down ten nickles in anticipation. Also, this coffee usually tasted like ass. The size was probably about 8 ounces, which, in my experience, is roughly equivalent to a mouthful.

I wasn't drinking coffee before 1989, though, so I can't prove this. If there are any old timers reading who might remember back that far, please contact me with comments before your aging memories decay any farther. I'd like to establish my theory as an axiom as soon as possible, so don't crap out on me.

I have this other theory that before there were funny movies and episodes of the Simpsons to quote, people spent a lot of time talking about things involving meaningful stuff. Like ideas and politics, and love and whatnot. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's funny to imagine. Every time I think about that, I'm reminded of that line from that movie with what's-her-name. They don't make 'em like that anymore.

Ahh, the early years. How sweet they must have been.

11:28 PM | plink

Rainy Day, Indoors.

E-Day+3, 2000

Don't provoke me, you insolent bastard. You're a walking, talking billboard, a victim of a society gone awry, one that you take for granted and would never even THINK to criticize. Under the guise of Pizza Hut, the government has changed you, cultivated you into believing that the so called "Insider Pizza" is fit to rule the country of your stomach. And hook, line and sinker, you bought it like the blind, media brainwashed, proletariat-material-consumer that you are. Didn't you, bitch? Didn't you? You think that because it's your only option, that it must be the best, most delicious option. But really it's "clotted, clumpy, greasy, synthetic."

It might sound cheesey, Andrew, but I dream of something better.

I forsee a world where politicians aren't afraid to form biparmesan alliances to tackle the issues that are tearing this country apart. A world in which our healthy diets aren't determined by corporations, the diagnoses of our chefs undermined by UNOs like International OmniFoods, the parent company of PizzaBellKFCTacoHut. It's time that our children ate in larger dining rooms, with a greater customer-to-server ratios. And if the pies aren't satisfactory, we need 100% accountability.

Look, it's a difference of opinion. See, I trust you with your toppings. Those toppings don't belong to the franchise, they belong to you. And you should be able to apply those toppings as you see fit, even if that means making, like, a happy face using pepperoni and onions. If you want big corporate chains tossing your hard-earned dough into ovens that give a 3% return, that's fine. Me, I'll stick with Al's or Mamma Mia's, because I think it's important to support local business.

12:20 PM | plink

Where The Wind Will Take You.

E-Day+2, 2000

Tonight, whilst eating noodles and watching improv comedy, my attention was grabbed by two television advertisements. The first was ABC network's self-promotion of a Very Special edition of Prime Time Live airing tonight at 10 PM, EST. The show will offer us a close, in depth, hour long look at every aspect of the election mish mash thus far, including ballots and recounts and phone calls and law suits and blah presidente frickin' blah. 941 votes, 359 votes, 240 votes. I thought it incredible that the network, seeing fit to milk this thing even further, found the time and resources to throw together such an extensive recap. I'm even going to watch it, the same way I watched CNN during the Gulf War and Court TV during the O.J. trial: in my sleeper pajamas with a 72 ounce bucket of RC Cola and a big big sack of Twizzlers.

Then I saw a Pizza Hut ad in which the narrator makes a bunch of jokes about Florida, as a picture of the state flashes from red to blue and then back again, repeatedly. "Where were you when the country elected Gore, I mean Bush, I mean Gore, I mean Bush? Enjoying a Pizza Hut pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni." And then they include old footage from usual Pizza Hut ads. Incredible. So cutting-edge, those guys. I imagine that such up-to-the-minute humor boosts their sales remarkably well. Too bad their corporate Pepsi-Co subsidiary pizzas still taste like ass.

10:11 PM | plink

Late Night Evening.

Monday, November 6th, 2000

where do we come from
who are we
where are we going

12:33 AM | plink

Vote tomorrow. Visit NPR Election 2000 for information about candidates and llinks to pages that give a breakdown of state ballots. I never would have known details on the Massachusets questions without it.

It's the World Series of politics, a wicked big game of futbol americano, complete with play by play, lame men who make pointless predictions, and fanatics who wave silly signs. Things got much more interesting during these last two weeks. But it still makes me wanna Ralph.

11:37 PM | plink

Now, on to more important issues: which of the following songs that I just downloaded through Napster is the best song ever recorded? Is it Boston's More Than a Feeling, Spinal Tap's Big Bottom, or Murry Head's One Night in Bankok? I suggest you download all three and see for yourself. Then tell me which you think is the most important musical achievement of all time.

11:42 PM | plink

too much stuff, a blurred perfume counter.

Thursday , November 2nd, 2000

Blurry indeed. Lots to do. Leftovers to reheat. Big decisions to make. And when it all came to an end--the usual video montage pathos, the amusing reactions, the honest romace, the beaming tears--one thing was certain: I had sat through at least 73% of a Fox Reality Television special entitled Suprise Weddings, with witty host Pat Bullock.

Hand drawn robots. Tuned. The man they call-a-Mario.

Exactly, and there's more. What do you say to the kind of Sophist my friend Jake encountered recently at Drew University? According to Jake,

His primary contention was that since he had no part in his creation, it was incubant upon his creators (parents) to support him. They should not have had him and then expected him to work.

Amen, my brother. That's the kind of reality-challenging self-examination that will prepare you for an uber-hyphened life of critical-thinking, no matter what direction your life takes. You took the words right out of my spoiled-skinny over-educated throat. Let's go into the bathroom and blow some lines.

A nice bowl of soup, often, is a good time.

11:07 PM | plink

Smell My Feet.

November First, 2000

And already, it's November.

At my fathers recommendation, I read Apocalypse Not, an article that appeared in a recent Boston Globe Magazine. It's a quick reminder that thanks to pop culture, the western world is facing a "collective identity crisis" that we need to overcome before things fall apart. The article refers to several books written on the subject, which I'm now iching to read:

Fukuyama's The Great Disruption lays out a detailed road map of how, in passing from the industrial age to the information age, the bonds of community were severed between individuals and institutions such as political parties, churches, and the family. "A society built around information," he writes, "tends to produce more of the two things people value most in a modern democracy: freedom and equality." As freedom of choice exploded through avenues such as the Internet and cable channels, the new knowledge-based economy has begun to erode political and corporate hierarchies.

There's been a cool community-building project floating down my street during the weeks leading up to Halloween. Several days ago we were "ghosted" with a cutout of a ghost and a bag of various treats. The deal is, you post the cutout on your front door, then pass the favor on to two more families by anonymously delivering candy or cookies or wine to their doorstep, accompanied by a ghost cutout. It spreads good cheer throughout the neighborhood. The reconnection process has to start somewhere, small, local.

11:14 PM | plink