Lyrics

Saxophone Neck, reeds and a New Yorker magazine. And some measuring tape.

Life, my dear, is a fickle friend
he's with you till the sidewalks ends
no doubt about it, that lying thief
always takes my trust and leaves me grief

-or-

Life is like my milk.
I love milk.
But if you buy too much at one time, then it expires.
So I buy only two gallons of milk. (I have a glass of milk with my cereal).
Oh, and I drink life from the carton.

On Tissues:

The best tissues are not Puff's Plus.
Nay - the best tissues are the two-ply proletariats of Kleenex, the workhouse comrades that uplift the whole of peoples to proper nose-blowing. The tissue should be grasped by placing the thumbs firmly on each side of the tissue, with the fingernail about a half-inch from the lining. A satisfying, wholesome nose-blow should be full of texture and volume, and delivered in a single, blasting manner right into the center of the tissue. After the excavation, the thumbs should retract and the main fingers of the hand should be used to draw the center of the tissue down and away from the nostrils, sweeping any stray object into its beautiful two-ply construction. Then the tissue should be examined for any unwanted subjects in the discharge (i.e. chocolate or other foodstuffs) and then discarded.
The problem with the Puff's tissues or any tissue that offers softness is their ability to draw the material from the nasal cavity. In using a soft tissue, these unwanted remain are left to dry and harden, becoming an object of attention for other patrons. Also, the use of a "Plus" tissue leaves the user with a feeling of regret and incompleteness, which I find can never be avoided.
Therefore, the whole of society should revert back to the use of the humble and appropriate two-ply Kleenex brand tissue. It's modesty is punctual and very much useful, more so than the idle, lazy Puffs brand.

Thank you,
a concerned consumer and connoisseur.

Go, Going, Gone

Deodorant, a towel, an upside-down tissue box and some Christmas CDs.

I want to go.
Far AWAY.
To places I have never known, and will never get to know.
I want to wake up every day and get lost, and then find my way. Only to get lost.
I want to struggle with language.
I need to go.
I need to go to Italy, to Europe, to somewhere without America. I want to see the past and the future collide, I don't want to live in the present. Forget tradition and being safe and sorry, I want to be smiling where it is sunny and the water is clear and people don't talk in a language that is easy to speak.
I wish.
I wish I knew what it was like to not be American. I want to be born in England, or Czechoslovakia. Maybe Denmark. Definitely Switzerland. or Belgium.
If only.
I could go.
Be going.
and be
gone.

I am in the bathroom.

Anniversary

An empty bowl of ice cream, parts of a saxophone, a highlighter, and a steel bottle filled up with water from my bathroom.

Hello, Internet.
If feels good to, once again, write on your vast walls, to scribble little memories and splatter stories on the cavernous alleyways that are your body.
I came for the truth, but the truth came for me.
I came for the lies, but the lies came for me.
I came for the love, but love can't set you free.
Just me.

The Anniversary is on this day. I remember it. It seems like a dream. It felt like a dream. In some ways, what happened 10-16 was a dream. A very badly written, teary, sadist-masochist dream. It happened here. In reality, but it doesn't feel that way. I want the past to rewrite itself, to re-right itself.
But it can't. Time is a fragile and broken, out-of-touch deity. It never does what you want it to. Even though it travels in a straight line, it still gets knots.
And you can't untie knots.
He took a fall.
He fractured his skull.
He had a concussion.
And then they said would be okay.
[...] (This is where the knot is)

I arrived at four of five o'clock in the afternoon. It was sunny, that dark dismal dreary doldrum damned day. My uncle dropped me off by the emergency entrance of the hospital, and I began my ascent into the ICU grotto. My journey took through a back entrance. I walked like a ghost, or like a man going to a funeral, and like a man [period] I wore a ragged smile on my face, and I held anxiety in my twittering hands. I found the ICU waiting room - a small labyrinth of cubicle walls - and my mother. Needless to say, she was not completely sure of the situation. Other people sat through the walls around us, craddling their heads in SorrowFearAnger. No one could get cell reception. There was light, and a little of it, but not enough.
None of it was enough. Nothing a doctor could say could fix anything. Doctors are trained to give the worst case scenario so that all hope is crushed. And if they are wrong, then no one is hurt. No their fault really - they get crap for being the bearer's of bad news.
The system told us he was going into surgery. Complications. Blood in the brain. Swelling. Demons. Pressure. Brain, surgery.
We waited in the OperationRoom waiting cell. We met someone who had a brain injury. My mom read magazines. A friend of her's (an ER doctor) called all of Jim's family to tell them what had happened. I wrote down the Lord's Prayer. We felt the SorrowFearAnger.

Then Dr.F----- came and broke the tension. With a double sided sword. As I recall -
"IF he makes through the night, there is a SLIM TO NONE CHANCE that he will ever be the same." Dr.F was 6'5", grey haired, and big. Looking down. Those words dropped like a tree.

if a tree falls in a forest...

but we heard it. it was a gut wrenching noise - have you ever heard a tree fall? So many little things snapping and crackling, they come together in a guttural democracy of cacophony - each little snap is so silent, yet one thousand of them together is enough to deafen the ears of the mighty and destroy the minds of the weak.

some would say we were deafened.

but,
never -
defeated.

the ride home that night was
silence.

My uncle followed us home, and in case my mother had to steal back to the hellspital in the darkness of the night, he would be there to help my brother and I get ready for the day.

There was a phone call that night.

And just like, when you search hard enough to find light in an abyss, just like when you strive to hear mellifluous music in the melancholy melody of life, we felt hope that night.

Simply, a light in the shape of a hand - the four fingers curled peculiarly into the palm, the thumb stretched towards the heaven - a simple, kinetic, universal, godly, loving, symbol. Maybe that's all I needed. That night, my father, after suffering a skull fracture, a concussion, swelling in the brain, and perhaps irreversible damage to the brain stem and maybe even more things that we couldn't even yet comprehend, that father, simply said to us "yes."

I still don't know what it means.

I do not struggle with Adversity - Adversity struggles with me!

I do not bow down to Calamity - I show myself before and Calamity falls on its bloody, broken knees.

And while sometimes I feel that I do not deserve tragedy and strife;

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me."

Psalm 23:4

I hope I don't appear evangelical; I hope not to convert anyone.
I am just a boy walking. and walking. and walking.

Amen,
Sholom,
Sal am,
Peace,

Cameron

Desires (piano)

HN White Alto Sax, Vandoren V16 reed, rolled up Avetts Brother poster.

I want to learn to play lots of instruments. I already have a few under my belt - saxophone, piano, guitar, bass guitar, harmonica, and now I'm learning clarinet. Well, I should say that I know how to play them - I should say that I'm still studying them. I have a really long way to go before I can say I've mastered any one of them.

But I want to talk about piano. I love piano. I love all forms of piano, like saloon style or ragtime, or modern jazz or baroque. I started piano a couple years ago, under the instruction of a man who I knew only as Joel. He was about seventy years old, and he drove around in an old Camaro with his dog, smoking cigarettes and wearing faded blue jeans. He inspired me. Joel was a good teacher, and very disciplined. If he knew I could do something, he wouldn't stop teaching until I had done it. In short, Joel believed in me. He made he love piano, unlike some piano teachers, who just pound classical music and training till the cows come home. He showed me jazz piano, but he always made sure to ground me in classical music as well. In this way, I grew to love and appreciate classical music rather despise. Later, I found that Joel was a child prodigy - he had already played Carnegie Hall at age nine. He played and lived in New York City - he even met and studied with Dave Brubeck and Oscar Peterson. And then, after two or three years under Joel's instruction, he had to leave. Life is so fragile, so delicate. Sometimes I scorn the way that life has in-confidence, the way that it is afraid that it will crumple under the pressure of happiness and enlightenment. Ponder,

Shining Star.

I want that guitar from the antique store. Can't wait for Avetts!

Belief

I believe in certain things.

I believe in music. I believe in the power of tones and sounds and chords and rhythms. I believe in it's ability to heal. I believe in the blues scale. I believe in singing, badly or otherwise. I believe in drum circles. I believe in synthesizers and even DJs. I believe in instruments. I believe in breaking instruments (the power of music compels you, right?). I believe in the twelve-bar blues. I believe in the AABA. I believe in music.

I believe in food. I believe that when food is cooked from scratch with the best ingredients, that it cannot be bad for you. I believe in the power of baking bread. I believe in yeast and warm water. I believe in salt (sparingly) and I believe in black pepper. I believe in red meat, steaks cooked rare. I believe in seafood, even shellfish. I believe in the grill, the oven, and the stovetop. I believe in food.

I believe in exercise. I believe in running till I can't run any more. I believe in swimming till my arms and legs refuse to move. I believe in biking and hiking. I believe in the power of teamwork and sportsmanship. I believe in hard work. I believe in breaking human limits. I believe in exercise.

I believe in something bigger. I believe that He is the same, as Jehovah or Allah or G_D or Buddha or Shiva. I believe that He can see us, and that sometimes He can even interact with us. I believe that sometimes He is just the wind, and that sometimes He is an earthquake or a hurricane. I believe that in some way, shape or form, He loves us. I believe even He cannot control the stream of events in everyone's lives, but He is here to help us. I also believe that theology is a very fast way to distance yourselves from others, and I say these things with the upmost consideration of other doctrines, beliefs, and ways of life.

And that leads me to ask you:

What do you believe in?

Thoughts

Five. Phone. Pick. Vicarious Viking.

God. I really screwed it up. I am just now realizing my shit-crap mistake. Usually I remember mistakes and shudder, smile, roll my eyes, and pass on, but this mistake is too far-fetched for a traditional rememberance. I'm just too damn creepy. It could have happened. I need the courage. Honestly, I missed my quota. Ponder, lately.

Ok. I hope you have seen the new Pizza Hut commercial. The one about "the Edge". It makes me want to strangle someone, for instance the young child in question or the particular commercial writer. Yarg! Pizza is NOT about the toppings, adolescent fool! Pizza is about the crust. If you knew your pizza history, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Pizza evolved from an herbed flatbread thousands of years ago, a flatbread baked on the hearth, underneath the fire. The word 'focaccia,' (an Italian cornbread that is very similar to pizza) actually derives from a Latin stem that means ashcake. Before 1890, pizza was often a flatbread with with onions, anchovies, or tomatoes on top. Then Pizza Margherita was introduced in honor of Queen Margherita (not the alcoholic beverage). Pizza Margherita was topped with simply sliced tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese (for the first time ever)! The point of this tangent is that pizza is about the crust, not the toppings. Before one masters pizza, one must master the dough. Ponder, "herbed" is probably not a word.

Night you all.
Vosotros.
Hey, when in Spain!

Blogger Returns

Quantum of Solace, Burn After Reading, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and The Truman Show.

So. Hello again. We haven't spoken in a while; my name is Cameron. You are the world-wide Web. It was nice catching up. Let's get to business.

I went on a pilgrimage. It opened my eyes. They were shut; now they are receptive. I realise the power of silence. Before I had acknowledged it, but now I understand and embrace it. People are too loud. I wish people could slow down, and just go to the library or go for a walk or read a book. Instead we are trapped in our cars and schedules. We do it to ourselves. We should stop. Busy-ness is overrated. I'm not encouraging idleness, just contemplation. Have you ever just laid down in the grass for no reason? Have you ever meditated? Have you ever just sat and thought? Sometimes the answers to these questions are "no." Then I tell them they were rhetorical questions, and they needn't answer. But nonetheless, everyone should try to slow down. Ponder, 2(3+2) = 10.

I like making things from scratch. I shun pre-made pizza crusts and pre-mixed ingredients because that is cheating. One time, I made tomato ketchup just for a barbecue sauce. It was cool. Did you know that tomato ketchup or catsup evolved from a Chinese fish-based condiment called ketsiap. It was adapted by English sailors and eventually brought to America. Different varieties ensued, such as mushroom ketchup, but in the 19th century it was tomatoes that gain their rightful place as the ketchup base. I like to say that I made everything. When I do New-York pizza, I always make my own sauce and my own dough. I don't have a cow to make the cheese, but I always choose the mozzarella blocks so I can cut it myself. I started an herb garden. Basil is so awesome and aromatic. Best herb. And then oregano. Marjoram. Ever heard of it? It's a cousin of oregano. I think spinach and basil are related. Anyways, when things are made from scratch, then they are usually healthier. At least in my kitchen, because I don't own high fructose corn syrup. Corn products, and pork products, are bad for your body because it doesn't really know what to do with them. Besides, Coca-Cola made without high fructose is better for you and it tastes better. If you want some, order it from Mexico. They make it without that corn-crap. Europe also shuns corn syrup. But they are just smarter than America. The food industry in America has a monopoly over the business. They completely control food in America. So fight back! Become a locavore (one who uses local ingredients and such) and make food from scratch. Ponder, pizza neopolitan.

I don't like people who pretend like there smart. Yes, it's possible. They will just repeat things smart people say, or just know one fact and simply reprocess that fact. Sometimes they will read things out loud. I'm at a museum, and this anti-smartsy is going through an exhibit and he just says "Oh yeah, there's the 'Landlocked stage' and then 'Continental shift and motion' with 'Shallow Seas'", reading off the titles of some of the micro-articles. I'm sorry, I'm pretty sure all of us can read. Thanks for making a fool of yourself though. It was fun. Let's do this again sometime.

Oh well. In heart, everyone means good. Whether for themselves or otherwise, they all strive to get attention in some way. No one means to come off as a moron. It just happens. Speaking of the word "moron," John Malkovich manages to say the word nearly a million times in the movie Burn After Reading. It was funny, but I want to see The Big Lebowski. Ponder, why the hell did Brad Pitt have to die?

Cool, cats.
Chill.
Sleep.
Tightly.

Cameron.

March is National Toaster Month

Stella By Starlight

Real Book, failed CD burn, note on water-stained paper, and tiny-cheap headphones.

I am terrified of talking on the phone. I don't know why. I just freeze up, and for some reason I just want to email instead. Sometimes I beg for the answering machine. But today I faced my fears, and now I have a gig. Good deal. In retrospect, it seems my fear was irrational. I guess, the phone is a commitment. You can leave an email or a text message, but if someone calls you, you can't just up and leave. I'm scared of commitment. That's why I don't have a girl. That and I'm part creeper. But I fear that I may not be committed. Or that she may not be committed. But in the end, I will figure it out. Ponder, eh.

I am Episcopalian. I love the Episcopal Church. We have freedom, and instead of just handing you a set of beliefs and rules and curriculum, we have questions. What does God mean to you? Why? If you disagree with this person, that's fine. Let's go have some drinks. We still have wine, and it tastes pretty good. There is such a variety of people, and we all love each other. We accept gays and lesbians, and they are some of the most awesome members of our congregation. The Anglican sect (Episcopal is the American Anglican) is the second largest in the world, next to Catholicism. Speaking of religion, I heard an interesting point - sometimes the people who doubt a religion also know more than the average church-goer. Because if you doubt, you think. If you have "faith," then sometimes that means you are just a blind follower. I encourage you to think about your own morals and ethics and beliefs and question them. C.S. Lewis, who wrote the Chronicles of Narnia, was originally a scientist. His goal was to prove that God didn't exist, but instead he ended up embracing Christianity. You might be thinking "'Deus ex machina' much, pal" but I want you to think about who you are and what you believe. Ponder, and also with you.

I hate bugs. And bug bites.
Go to sleep.
Good night.

Band Camp

Thoughts and Things I learned from Band Camp.

I flew there, on a plane. Being in a big airport is confusing and enlightening. So many people, of all shades and hues, different clothing and different faces and different smiles. Overhead, the announcements ring like Big Brother or Fahrenheit 451 in sweet strange tones. People walking, machines talking and the old-people cart beeping out of time. Sandwich inflation is rampant; water costs money; this is airport.

The plane is also interesting. I still don't know why I can't listen to my iPod during takeoff or landing. People coughing. The air hostess shows us how to save ourselves. We barely listen. Fasten our seat belts, get ready for takeoff. In the air in no time. Fly through and above the water mountains and finally I can listen to music. Not a long flight, but we still get soda. I just sight-read some music. I did not sleep. This is airplane.

Family. Gasp. Some are incredible. Others are talkative, and some discourse on matters that never seemed important. They are still not important. I'm sorry that you had to stay extra hour at work. I don't really care. Token grandfather popcorn. A board game with dice. Luck is always involved, but strategy never takes back seat. The drive to the university was cool. My aunt and uncle bought me dried apples at the Trader Joe's.

Camp. Making new friends. Always hard, the first day. An unfamiliar place, with faces and smells and sights to boot. At least the lobby had a piano. Found old friends. Made new ones. Played music. I auditioned and was placed into the top wind ensemble, second chair to someone who had never played tenor before. It angered me, but it was an angsty teenage anger, the kind that comes from jealousy and hate. I practiced hard. I auditioned for jazz band. I am a horrible sight reader, but my improv turned out well. I don't think the auditioner dug my sound, and I was second chair tenor in the second band. With my bravado and general enthusiasm and jazz style I convinced everyone I was first tenor. Ha. I love music.

Jazz music is free. I cannot emphasize this enough. It is not something that should be controlled or forced. It should flow, light from light, true jazz from true jazz. Jazz is improvisation; Jazz is personal expression and telling a story without using any words. Jazz should not be arranged and caged, like in the sense of middle school jazz bands, where there aren't any solos at all. To them, jazz is just notes on a page, placed and played. Oh boy! Gee willickers! By golly, jazz is swell and kosher! Huge vibrato, big claps, smiles and snaps on one and three. I'm sorry, but this is not the case. Jazz is heavy. If you can't say "I'm angry" or "I love you" in words, Jazz can say all that and a bag of chips. The salt and vinegar kind. Something that takes class and taste, acquired and always different. To those seek to contain jazz with tangible notes on a piece of paper and destroy the solo, I despise you. To those who seek to bring jazz into it's true setting, the unknown and the ever-changing, I admire you. Jazz ponder.

I also learned that using the word "gay" instead of "stupid" is in essence idiotic. No, really that idea can not be gay. Any jokes, for that matter, that insert the word "gay" are completely foolish. Gay people are often much cooler than straight people. On a side note (with zest of sarcasm) Fox News should go screw itself.

Anyways,

enjoy life. Don't postpone it. Let is happen. Nothing good comes from holding things back. Except the Hoover Dam.

I want to be Chet Baker.

On Food.

Money clip, unknown (adjustable) strap, iTouch, and hand grip workout thingy. 

Food, in short, is amazing. The fact that we humans can take random plants and animals and add heat and flavor is awesome. And there are so many foods already! French (very rich, buttery. I'm told something about snails). Italian (uses oregano, basil, excellent herbs and spices, and pasta is shown in many dishes, and of course the Neapolitan pizza). Spanish (spicier Italian? Cilantro/coriander). Mexican (Spicy, uses cilantro and other herbs as well). Continental (Steak and potatoes, surf and turf, etc.). Creole (Crawfish, anyone?). BBQ - many subdivision across US. Argentine (lots of meat). Japanese (use of Hibachi grills, Teriyaki, sushi). Chinese (use of wok, stir-fry, and NOT chinese fortune cookies, an American invention). Thai (emphasis on balance of meals, bitter, sweet, salty, sour, etc. Also in food types - meat and greens, always). Pizza (New York, New England, Chicago, Argentine, Sicilian, Neapolitan, Californian, Tex-Mex). Seafood (see continental, except replace expensive steak for expensive lobster). Greek (gyros and souvlaki - so good). And there are so many more types!

Pizza Dough -

I have been working pizza dough for five years now - and I have come really close to capturing a beautiful dough recipe. Dough is actually really easy to make; the trick is how long you knead it. For a stretchier, more New York style dough, you must add less yeast, a little more flour, and knead a lot longer. Here is a good recipe you can jump off of - 

4 cups flour (preferable bread flour), extra for flouring the cutting board

1 3/4 cups of warm water 

1 packet of yeast (or about 2 1/4 teaspoons)

1 tablespoon salt 

1 tablespoon sugar 

2 tablespoons olive oil (extra for bowl and cookie sheet)

To begin, mix the packet of yeast and sugar in the warm water. Pour the flour and the salt into a large bowl and form a well in the middle, pushing the flour to the sides of the bowl. Add the olive oil and then add the yeast-sugar mixture and begin stirring. Stir until a dough ball forms, and if the dough is really dry, add a little more water. Plop the dough ball on a cutting board dusted with some of the extra flour, and knead for 12 minutes (if you don't know how to knead, go on youtube.com). But the flour in a bowl brushed in olive oil and let rise for about an hour or until doubled in size. Preheat the oven to 500 degrees and brush a cookie sheet with olive oil. Cut the dough ball in half, and roll it into a circle on the sheet, and add toppings. I usually add mozzarella and tomato sauce. I'll do the tomato sauce recipe next time. Thank you!

Cook

So, summer has started but I'm really bored. It feels like I have nothing to do, when in reality, there is so much I must be doing. I need to start my summer reading, do all of my AP assignments, I need to practice the saxophone religiously and I wanted to run every day. Not quite. I will discipline myself. Tomorrow. Procrastination! The best nation in the world. Ponder, eh, I'll do it tomorrow. 

"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.