"Summertime"

A&W Root Beer, Canadian magazine for kids, banana, tissues, lucky "Babies 'r' Us" pen. 

Thoughts:

So this school year has ended. The crush ended. I was basically shunned out of the group I hung out with most of the year. God! They made me feel like I was some un-charismatic fool in shallow waters. If they swam with me, boy, would they drown. I could swim circles around those tools. Oh, well. Now I can hang around with the jazz and art children.  I actually want to hang out with people this summer. But I also want to practice saxophone everyday, so... eh = Jam! Ponder, Chiltins.

Practical Jokes that Shaped History:

Defenestration of Prague: So, two Bohemian officials push this important guy from the Holy Roman Empire out a window into a pile of dung! Resulted in the Thirty Years' War, in which Catholic France fights with the Protestants, and Spain/HRE start to decline in power...

Charles II: Flees to France (from England) dressed as a woman! Oliver Cromwell, the Protectorate. Ha, good one.

Battle of Poltava: Peter the Great (Russia) defeats Swedish generals, captures them, and then invites them to dinner just to tell them that they basically screwed themselves over. That Peter... Swedish decline from a great power in the Baltic. Peter - what a hoot!

French Revolution: National Convention! Just kidding. Directory. Nope! Fooling around - Consulate! We've gotten you again - now we are an Empire! Metternich - "Enough stupidity, France. Man up and be a damn Monarchy again. Do the French ever make up their minds? *cough 1830 and 1848*" 

Imperialism: Dr. Livingstone and similar explorers strap a shocking device to the palm of their hand to make tribesmen believe they were actually magical. A couple decades and some machine guns later, Africa is just a great big cake. 

W: We misunderestimated his strategedy - eh he he eh?

Soaps:

"So, let me get this straight - Kelly slept with Kevin, but then Kevin had herpes (which he got in Guatemala) and they weren't protected. So then Kelly was seeing Ashley's brother Derrick, who had gone out with Mary?"

"No, Mary's lawyer - Derrick had supposedly being suing Mary for something having to do with lots of margarine, but then Derrick dumped her for his cousin."

"Oh no, honey - Derrick went out with his second cousin, who is actually also Lauren's third cousin."

"And Lauren was that girl who babysat Carol's baby when Carol had that affair with Tim."

"No, affair with Tom, married to Tim. Then Tim tried to commit suicide, but was saved and he hooked up with one of the nurses in rehab."

"Right, and that nurse is related to Tony, the guy we met in Italy."

"No, that it his evil twin brother."

"Oh."

"And that person is me." Pulls coat jacket away to reveal gun. "And I want Andy's funeral/wedding money that he got from his cousin in Jamaica!"

Ponder, silly silly people. 

The End

Sour Patch, Blue Dew, Rubiks Cube, and a metronome.

Mean Things to do to Cashiers:

Lady with the Bad Hair = "That's funny... I could have sworn I saw that weasel on your head this morning. On the side of the ride. Dead."

Lady with Facial Hair = Buy lots of shaving cream. And razors. 

Nothing much to say. Done with school for the summer. Done with her. I don't know what will happen next year. I don't know. I'm just watching Seinfeld. Hoping something will happen. 

Secrets

Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, red felt-tip pen, real book, "Jukebox Romeo's" 

I really need a good band name, and today in English I was thinking of some pretty good ones - 

The Acoustick Blue

The Boom Acoustick

The Acousticks

Acousticism

Acoustic Candy

The Acoustic Postcards

Acoustick Street 

Acoustick Killers

San Acoustic

The Battle Acousticks

or Jukebox Romeo's

Secrets-

Secretly, I am a capitalist and a liberal. I want to become rich and roam the world and retire early and eat abroad. I want to wake up in Japan and go to bed in Paris, to have breakfast in New Orleans and dinner in London. I want to wear fancy clothes and be a beautiful richie with money and privilege. I want to live life to the complete fullest and never regret a thing. I want to fall head over heels in love, and never look back. I want to be exotic and domestic, and I want to be a father and a friend and a husband too. I just want to truly live. Isn't that all anyone wants? Ponder, locavore.

Night time is the right time

to be with the one you love. 

The Real Book

An Otto Link, used tissues, scraps of paper, and an empty Coca-Cola.

Love Colossus:

When love

comes to town

don't look up

and don't look down

cause he don't wait

for no one at all

ain't "love" nobody

not big or not small

cause he lives on depression

thrives from failed expression

and then the succession 

of another profession

so if songs don't slow him

ain't nothing will

Love rules supreme

He lives and he kills

quitters never win

and cheaters never lose

winners never love

because all winners are fools

there are the few

who love is but a joke

just like free cookies

or fat-free coke

but love will win supreme

he always does anyways

he might look upon you

but if only for a day

Ponder, love supreme = saxophone colossus.

Not much to say. Should have gone to the party. Stuck at home on the computer, pretending that I have work to do. Instead, why don't I go out and have fun? She was there. Damn, never mind. But Buddy wasn't there, so he wouldn't have made any really awkward hints ("Ah, like ___ last night?" "No, Buddy, please - I only make love to fine women, not little boys. You wouldn't know"). 

What I look for in the Opposite Sex:

Physically:

Legs

Symmetrical face

good eyes

Slim

Hair doesn't matter

Skin doesn't matter

I'm like one-twentieth Swedish, so some Scandinavian lineage would be nice (no particular reason).

Mentally:

Nice, but also a little bitchy

Mature

Smart

Kind

Funny (because I am not)

Strong

Able to realise that the only place that I truly make sense is in my brain.

Ponder, single for life.

Book and Set: Time = nothing/everything!

How to get thinner, fitter, smarter, happier, sexier, stronger, nicer and richer! Just send lots and lots of cash to my house! (If you don't pass this message to another twenty people in twenty minutes, voodoo witches will send a zombified Abraham Lincoln to wrestle you to a bloody corpse, forced forever to roam the world with only the words "four score and seven years" to speak), Residence Hall Linens? Talladega Nights, and my acoustic.

The Continuing Confusion of Jerry and James.

Jerry and James got to the party exactly twenty minutes late (fashionably, of course). They just buzzed right in, and Jerry immediately got to work on a particularly beautiful geranium. James stumbled over to the pollen bar and ordered two shots of nectar (this was in vain, because Jerry had already begun to engage the geranium sensually). James watched in disbelief for nearly twenty seconds before he quickly flew over to Jerry, who has actually quite busy. "Jerry," James approached, "We are bees. Not butterflies."

"Well l-look what the spider dr-drug in," said Jerry, already inebriated, and actually very busy.

"Honestly, I didn't know it was possible to get drunk so fast," James countered. He sighed. "Look at you, sir. What have you become? Barely out of the larvae stage. Can't even terrorize the Fat Ones? What are you, some kind of plant whore, a botanical slut (if you will)?"

"Th-that's not what you're mother s-said last n-night?!" Jerry spewed, stumbling into the side of the pot, so discombobulated that he didn't know how to fly. Without further ado, Jerry's drunken motions threw him off the earthen balcony, and into the water that plant was sitting in. 

"So," said the geranium, with a hint of lust in her voice, "Doing anything tonight?"

End.

What can I say? I hvae a way of dsetyoring wrods!

Good night, kind sir.

On Dreams

Three packs of Swiss Rolls, Kleenex, Otto Link, and Tiny City.

Dreams are interesting, to say the least. Why does the human mind create dreams? To entertain? My dreams, that is, my subconscious dreams and my en-dormio dreams are entertaining. Last night, I was playing frisbee with my old red frisbee, and every time I threw it, it would hit one of my teachers in the back. We (every one from school) were standing outside, on a really muddy beach by Lake Norman. After I accidentally pegged Mr. Hoffman, I was driving on a boat. I saw a dolphin. And then my foot wasn't on the gas (boats don't even have gas pedals). Then I saw a pod of dolphins. Then the boat was spinning out of control. Then I woke up. Before that I was working at Home Depot/Best Buy. And just before I was working I was a customer. 

Dreams, like the aspirations and goals are also curious. Motivation. Is that what drives the human race? Motivation x money = greed (humanity). Not always. "I have a dream." Perhaps the sublime motivates us. I love the sublime. Sometimes it inspires me more than anything else. The overwhelming power of nature. Sometimes I can't stand it when too many things are going on, too many people are talking, especially lately. I have been very angry lately. 

I talked to her. I apologized. And just like that, it was over. I had a dream. And yes, it was both. Motivation. What motivated me to pursue such a dream? Loneliness. Feelings of sadness, fatigue, perhaps anger and definitely confusion. How could I have been so blind? Every night in bed I would just lay there and think about it. I would dream about it in that sense. I tried to make sense of everything when really, nothing is real. Nothing makes sense. Two plus two is four, but those numbers and figures seem detached. If I had been told that two plus two equals five my whole life I would've believed it too. Tabula Rasa. Nothing is real. And I thought skepticism was a bad thing (Hume). Ponder, Lock locke my mind. 

As I said, it is done. I said my sorry. She pointed out that I was just a creeper. I thought on this. I guess that always happens to me. I fancy a woman and all the sudden, I can't talk to her. I can't be what I should be; I can't function. Immediately I separate myself and suddenly she becomes a whole different person, I become a different person. I'm trying to re-introduce myself to her now - old Cam, silly Cam, why-the-hell-not Cam. That is who I was before. Carefree. Easygoing, fun, helpful, joking. I just wish she would remember me as that person, and not as an adult. I've had to live like an adult for the last couple of months now, and life beyond adolescence is not what it seems. Taxes. Bills. Life. Death.

I've thought a lot about what it means to be alive. At status quo, you are already dead. Your days are numbered, my friend. The numbers may be changing, but they are still there. If you are not dead, you are dying. If you are alive, then call me, and let's party. So to live is to shun these numbers, these sheets of information that life gives you to keep. To live is to forget conformity and do things that defy gravity and entropy. To live is destroy defeat, and never look down even to tie your own shoes. If your shoes become untied, kick them into the air and see who can the shoes the farthest. If the ground itself gives way, learn how to fly. To live is forget and forgive, to die is live. Dying is living is death is life is living. Ponder,

Good Night, really good dreams.

Shimmer and Shine Shine Shine

Crush Grape Soda (sneaked), "Blues Up and Down" (Gene Ammons blues solo, 250 bpm), a new 'tude, Jazz Saxophone Etudes. 

Evolution of a Relationship (via answering machine messages)

*beep* Hey guuurl, wats up?

*beep* Um... hey? .... yeah.

*beep* If you need my notes, just call me.

*beep* Your welcome for letting you use all my notes.

*beep* Silence? Two people can play at that game.

*beep* Go to hell. And burn in it.

*beep* Sorry. I'm just sorry.

*beep* *end of messages*

ponder, over.

The Saga of Kevin.

Kevin, Kev, Kevin. Kevin graduated from high school in '12, and decided to pursue a career in music. He moved to NYC (was not kidnapped) and became under the tutelage of a strange man known as "VW", an eclectic but kind teacher. Kevin learned many lessons from VW, until VW was busted for possession of illegal chewing bubblegum (smuggled in from the Democratic French Federal Republic). Kevin, who was at VW's shack when the arrest went down, fled the premise but was caught by a cop. The cop looked strangely like Kevin, and in fact was Kevin's long lost twin. Kevin quickly tackled his terrible twin and tossed him into a gutter, taking his twin's uniform and identification. For the next three months, Kevin successfully posed as his twin and worked as a policeman in NYC, also playing in clubs and culturing various cheeses and fine wines. He even got "cop of the month", as well as Cheese Culturer of the Year! Kevin was on his evening rounds one night when he pulled over a fine-looking woman, and it was love at first sight. Kevin and his elopee drove to his friend's Cook's flat to get married (as Cook was an ordained minister) and eloped to Arizona. There, they lived in harmony until Kevin's lover left him for some guy named Earnest. Kevin, deeply depressed, forfeited his job at the Country Club's jazz band position for a janitorial job at a local convent. It was there he reunited with his child-lover Emily. They re-hit it off immediately and secretly began seeing each other. When the Mother Superior, Agnes, found out about their secret love, she destroyed Kevin and Emily with a dull-bladed letter opener. The joke was on Agnes, as Kevin and Emilys' love was so pure they were sent to sweet sweet Heaven, while Agnes ended up going to fiery Hell. There, Kevin played bass in the Gospel Angel Praise Band while Emily taught the fine sport of tennis to little cherubs. The lived happily ever after. Ponder, Kevin.

I was thinking the other day (this happens to me a lot). I thought about how everyone in the world has their own story. Six billion people (6000 million) (100,000 x 600,000) all working and living and breathing together under one sun, one moon, and one sky. We are all human. Some are white. Some are black. Some are big. Some small. Some freckled. Some with lots of moles. Some that are rich. Some that are poor. Some that are Christian, some that are Jewish, some that are Muslim. We are all human. We all have the same sun, the same moon, the same earth and the same wind. We are connected, whether we like it or not. We should bond together, to fight a much more daunting evil than each other - climate change and primates (or insects). Ponder, 6,000,000,000. 

I'm getting over her. People told me that she only likes jerks. I can't be mean. I just wish she would stop being beautiful. Whatever. We used to be friends, but now we are nothing. I don't know; I need all the friends I can get right now. I wish I could just talk to her face-to-face, but we both know that nothing will be between us besides a huge, dismal gap. I don't need counseling, just the knowledge that it's finally done. Ponder, over. 

Night. Nghit. Nhigt. Thgin!

I am.

Oh! I. When the Saints Go Marching In. G seven flat nine flat thirteen. Harmonic Minor Scale. Melodic Harmonic Scale. Dorian Melodic Harmonic Scale. John Jacob Jingle-Heimer Smith. 

I am free

So don't think about me

I am free

so don't think bout me

I am free

You didn't want me, so leave me be.

I really want to form a band. A trio. Acoustic/Electric Guitar, Bass, Drums (w/ cool percush). Late Beatles/ Ben Harper/ Jack Johnson/ Flight of the Conchords/ Ron Sexsmith/ Gnarls Barkley/ Marc Broussard/ meets Avett Bro's / Al Green/ 10,000 maniacs. It will happen. Now I need a band name... Ponder, tri-o.

The Tubaphone. The sound that dominated the post-Modern polka scene during the late 20th century. Invented by blind and deaf Bosnian politician, popularly known as "WWIII" because of his harsh political tactics, which include throwing temper-tantrums and taking candy from babies to get what he wants. The instrument itself is quite an anomaly. It is made from a single brass tube, twisted into the shape of a pretzel (which is actually Roman in origin). The Tubaphone was used in polka chart-topping hits like "Don't Stop Polka-ing," "Smoke on the Polka," "Polka Shop," and "Polkanizer." This instrument has revolutionized the polka industry. Ponder, Chris....

Good night.

Sleep tight.

Don't fright.

Don't let bugs bite.

Or pigs. Swine flu is still rampant!

Jazzed in My Pants

Tree man? Elvish guitar ballads, junk music and urban Dairy Queen.

Wow. Just, wow. I am, and always was, a fool. Of course they were joking! Ha ha! Joking about weed is just like joking about brain injuries and cancer. Life is a joke; is it not? Life is a joke like "the chicken crossed the road" is a joke. It's not, just a monicker for hell and sadness. Did I know that you, ---- had known about my blog? Probably. I don't know. I think that's clever. I know you hate me. Obviously. I'm not blind. Just a fool. But seriously - get over yourself. Look in a fucking mirror. Yeah, get over yourself is right. Sure, I'm not handsome or beautiful, but no one is. Truly the only thing I will miss is our friendship. Yes. Cliche (that means common). But then you got too big for your skinny little britches and really? Whatever. I knew it was never going to amount to anything. I'm just a dreamer like that. You're probably giggling right now about how stupid I am. Stop. Please. And go burn in Hell.

Thanks, 

The Management.

Anyways, Symposium was so awesome! The Elven song was so cool! Chitlins Con Carne was cookin', P-gang was rockin' the house, and Gatch was so sweetly distorted. Why is the Chicken so hard? Cause we don't practice. We should. Ponder, 4 choruses?

Bueno Noche, folks.

On the Impurities of Busking Discrimination

My baby, saxophone, Lucille Carmen. Phone, tissues, lots of CD R discs. 

Do you know how hard it is to obtain a Busker's Permit? Let me tell you. It is hard. You have to appear in front some sort of Council and pay lots of money. Neither of which I have (where I am going to find a Council?). And then they may take away your permit. Its like Fascism all over again. The government takes your permit and then enlists you in the army. And my own city does not appreciate our kind. How dare they! Bankers... Ponder, permits.

um. She knew! Obviously. I have now come to terms with reality. Again. How many times shall this world reject me? Lots, let me tell you. At least I got into band camp. Maybe that's why?

Ponder, 4 weeks till Band Camp!

A Funk Song:

Jack is the preacher's son

He is quite the son of a gun

Jack is the preacher's son

And he's only begun

That was Not A Funk Song.

Symposium is tomorrow! I can't wait. I really want to play "When the Saints Go Marching In" and really 'soul' it up. It's the last one of the year, but next year it will be even more awesome. 

Really bored and not productive blog post, but here we go:

The Life and Times of Emily:

Emily, after graduating high school, got a job at the local Bojangles. She worked diligently and eventually moved up to the position of manager at age 23. But she grew tired of her tasty work and packed her bags, moving to the prairie to start a new life. Pretty soon, she met a beautiful farmer named Gary,  a man of large stature and kind eyes. Gary was deeply in love, as was Emily. They eloped to Las Vegas to get married in matching Elvis costumes, and moved to Florida to clean assisted living communities. For years, they loved each other in the Southern Floridian sun. Suddenly, Gary was called away to serve in the Third World War (2029-present), after a skirmish had erupted in the Balkans (again). Emily stayed at home and turned her sorrows to the grand sport of Tennis, and adopted the ways the Tennis Mom. She forfeited her existing car for a Minivan, and refurbished her wardrobe with skorts and Underarmour. It was not long before the transformation was complete, and Emily would never change. She was at a tennis match when the Barackian Third Continental Army called to confirm Gary's death. She never looked back. On the eve of her fiftieth birthday, Emily realised the sin of her obsession and recognized the error of her ways. She became a nun, moving to Sister Mary's Holy Convent of Arizona, an arid but hospitable location. It was there that she was re-introduced to her child-lover, Kevin. He worked there as a janitor, working the day shift and then going to jazz gigs at night as a bassist. They immediately re-engaged, and Emily was secretly for some time when the Mother Superior, Agnes, found out. In an ecclesiastical frenzy (claiming it to be the wrath of Jesus Himself) Agnes fell upon Kevin and Emily with a letter opener. Kevin and Emily were canonized recently as Martyrs of Love, Kevin the Patron Saint of Bassists and Emily the Patron Saint of Tennis Mothers (ironically, Emily was agnostic!). They live is Suite I-IIm-V7 on the Holy Boulevard of the Lord's Good Assisted Living Community (LGALC, or "Heaven"). Ponder, there is a good life story.

I thought I was out of touch with the life stories, but I still got it!

Good night folks.

26 Ways To Kill A Man With A Lemon

Water, Saxophone (yes), Dolly Parton Bluegrass, and Pen.

Today = Satire:

World, hang your head in sorrow. I don't know if you have been watching your own news, but the Good Green Earth has been betrayed by one of it's own. Miss California has fake breasts! Upon hearing this new, many of the masses shed a melancholic tear, for surely their God has left them. How can such a sinful, shameful crime occur in such a beautiful, lemon-drop and/or lollipop world? It cannot! World, please proceed to mourn. In fact, make light of this story on every single day of every single week. Follow in the footsteps of the glorious and fantastical Fox News. Let their beacon of stupidity shine out for all the nimrods of the Good Green Earth to follow. Unite for the dignity of all beauty pageants ever! In other news, a baby cat was born today with two different eye colors. This incredible phenomenon has caught the minds and hearts of Good Americans everywhere. Also, the economy is in the crapper and we are losing thousands of millions of dollars. 

America, stay classy! Ponder, don't even want to. 

I think it would be really cool to have some farm animal follow me around. Mary had her lamb. That girl had that one pig. And I, adding to the glorious tradition of platonic adolescent-farm animal love, will have a rooster. His name will be "Owl". He will follow me around, and perhaps a cute little diddy will be written about him. Perhaps he will meet a spider and they will make really awesome web-signs to tell the world how awesome he is. Whatever the matter, after about an hour and thirty minutes of fun-filled platonic adventure, he will have to be killed an eaten. The barbecue sauce, please. Ponder, 2 times 4 is 8 chicken breasts.

Twenty-Six Ways To Kill A Man With A Lemon.

I read a New Yorker comic recently:

Two men. At a bar. The one on the left is in a business suit, the one on the right in a leather vest, sunglasses equipped with a shady bald head. The man on the left says  "When life gives me lemons, I know 26 ways to kill a man with a lemon." I was like "ha ha!" 

1. -obviously- Skirt the lemon juice in the eyes of victim until he drops dead (may require more than one lemon).

4. Hurl seed at victims jugular, hoping the seed hits and splits the vein open. 

7. Attach lemon to thumb, use to poke the victim in the eye.

16. Find a stick. Spear the lemon with the stick and beat the victim using the stick as a blunt object.

20. Cook a fish with a slice of lemon on top. Then feed the entree to the victim and hope he/she chokes on the lemon slice.

26. Forget about the lemon and attempt to make friends with victim. Have life adventures, share bromance and become brothers-by-matching-tattoo. While the victim is getting his picture taken by the bridge, throw the lemon at victim so as to knock he/she off balance and into the rive. Preferably San Francisco. Then mourn loss. Then buy another lemon. 

Paper:Rock::Sun:Moon

Ray-Ban Wayfarers, Cell Phone, and Volvo Sedan Car Keys.

Thinking of things

Don't throw things out of swing

A ding-a-ling sin

So don't betray your own kin

As in the kindle

the flame

the big fat name and the big fat game

that brings

a ding-a-ling

out of swing.

Another reason to shun organized sports. The yelling. What is with the yelling? Just because someone wants to practically scream a kidney into my face doesn't mean I want to go faster. "You can do it" is fine. "Finish tired" is even better. Or just tell me my damn split, and skip the politics. If I want to pass that guy, I will pass him. Jeez luweez! Ponder, four laps and sixteen hundreds yards.

It's almost like she doesn't even know. She probably knows - she has to know by now. It's been like a couple months since I told the first person. I just want to know what she thinks. Scratch that, I know she almost hates me. I just want to know if I can do anything about it. It's probably because I'm not funny. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I'm just awkward. Most of the time ignored. As I have said before, the words that come out of my mouth would be much more funny coming from anyone else. What ever. Ponder, ugh.

Yet another song for _ _ _ _

This one is called "Ballad for Marie"

This girl that I knew

She did bid me adieu

and her name was Marie

I met her one night

I said "dear you look fine"

That girl Marie, made me free

Pretty soon I was hooked

just one single look

could make my whole day

Marie was so good-lookin'

Made sure that life was cookin'

but good things, never last

O Marie

How easy it would be

to forget the things between us

O Marie

Was is you or was it me?

that caused all this angry fuss

As I wore thin

I knew it would end

As she moved on, I grew bitter

The blondes w/ blue eyes

don't go for quiet guys

just the ones who are bigger and quicker

End quota. I was inspired in part by the rhyming scheme of "Rocky Racoon" and sample part of the chord changes of "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay." Ponder, four songs.

Miles

Nutini, Barkley, Talking Heads, and 10K Maniacs.

Tonite, I write:

Love 

is like

a flower

it's beautiful and clean

Love

is like 

rain

heard but never seen

Life 

is like

a cage match

it's going to hurt in the morning

Life 

is like

road signs

Always the "danger! warning!"

XXXXXX

I hear that rain, pounding on the roof like a machine gun shooting a drumset. My fingers reek of cheap cheesy bread and greasy wings, my eyes red from pollen, my feet swollen from the morning's run. I roll into bed, throw the covers over my aching bones and turn out the light, reaching out to silence the lamp's loud rays. good night.

-------

Life isn't fair, so get used to it. 

ffjjjffjjffjjffjjffjjffjjffjj

Dear Pillow:

Many nights have passed

without you, alas:

my efforts of sleep have been fruitless

I have nightmares of whales and chocolate desks

Awakedness never leaves me

Sleep never receives me

O, But now! I found you upon my bead.

A big featherful rock to rest my head

Never again shall I go sleepless

Dear Pillow, God Bless.

When Sunny gets Blue

Spoon, kind-of-stolen tuner, and little guitar.

I have an AP exam coming up. In AP European History. I really, really loved that course! My teacher was amazing, and everyone was really tight and we all helped each other out. It was almost like the Paris Commune, only we didn't each dogs (or each other). Whatever. Ponder, 80 questions in 55 minutes, 1 DBQ, and 2 FRQs. 

I wrote another song for her. I can't believe it; sometimes I think she is my muse. She probably is. Irony is so stupid.

I wish love would come to me

I wish my love was meant to be

When I look to you 

even when the sky is grey

I'd lighten up

and you'd brighten up my day

Chorus: You're the bounce in my step

the apple in my eye

My moon and my stars

The tears that I cry

Your hair of gold

and your eyes of deep blue

Your face like the sky

If only I could sing to you

I wish love 

would come to me

I wish my love

was meant to be

chorus

For you I'd do

most anything

Like run to Mars

or go to Smoothie King

I'll make dinner

and lunch and breakfast too

I'll write a song

and I'll sing it just for you 

Chorus

I'd follow you

To where the sea meets the sky

And I will love

and that ain't a lie

Remember that war isn't glorious

and life is ugly

love is beautiful

but it don't like me

I wish love 

would come to me

I wish my love

was meant to be

Outro.

Thats all I got.

Let your dreams run wild. Only in your head though.

The Ultimate Third Wheel

The Beatles Anthology, more Kleenexi, empty G2 bottle, and sax!

"Before you accuse me 

Take a look at yourself

Before you accuse me

Take a look at yourself

You say I'm spending money on other women

You taking money from someone else." - EC

I am, what some might say, the Ultimate Third Wheel. A perfect example of a third wheel is like most Flight of the Conchords episodes, in which Jemaine or Bret sit in on each others dates. Sometimes, they have both gone out with the girl. Extremely awkward! But I am unique in that I am able to "third wheel" an entire group! This surprising and rare talent has really been cultivated by a decrease in overall charisma and increase in maturity. Unfortunately, I find myself increasingly deserting my own group. Most of the time, it's not even my fault, but prior commitments. It seems that anything I say is out of place whereas said by another mouth it would very funny. 

Some people will get it

and others won't

I used to have it

but now I don't

Lordy! Ponder... that's what she said? See, awkward!

Oh well.

Hey Hey! Macaya!

good night...

Cowboy Boots and Suspenders

Junk Club, portable home phone, Bb Real Book, Derek Trucks Band.

It's not over... dammit. It's hard just to forget about her. I see her every day, and I just can't let go of her. I don't think it ever started. Sometimes I think she doesn't even know I exist. I know she knows I'm alive, but it feels weird. She is just too beautiful... What can I ever do to get her? How could I keep her? I'm not funny, I'm not too handsome, I'm smart and musical, but nowadays girls don't go for the jazz musicians. I'm athletic - but then again, the things that matter in real life don't matter in high school. She is just too beautiful...

Ponder, never.