Next time you are under the influence of... whatever you decide to put into your body (Liver has spent the last few nights crying himself to sleep...ease up) do not eat half of a try of mini cupcakes. Ignore the bright colored frosting that stands out because of chemicals. Ignore the sprinkles, made of substances that are probably not pronouncable to normal folk. Do not eat cupcake after cupcake, pausing only to take sips of beer because the cake itself is a little dry--even when under the influence you are judgmental about food, you prick. Okay? Ya got that Sam? Stop being an idiot. You're going to get fat if you keep this shit up.
So I sent out my application packet thingy to my last grad school today. I decided on applying to Montana.
(pause for comprehension)
Big Sky Country.
Land of four people.
and Bison. I hope there are bison out there.
I think I have a shot at this one, the standards are a bit lower than the high hard other programs I applied to.
But ya know what, I think I'd be happy out in Montana.
I could be a rustler of cattle, or like, a cowboy
or a flyfisherman.
fuck, montana actually sounds good.
so yeah, now it is a waiting game.
sorry, this entry was a bit boring, but nothing's really been going on. I am currently working concurrently on 3 research projects about Cowee (mentioned before, alot) about the artists and sich. Yes, sich. Watch South Park if you don't get it.
oh, we opened our brew last night, the Two Drunken Writers' Red Badge of Courage. It was heavenly. No foolin'.
You, Me and Everyone We Know are telling me that their family is shouting have another.
"The voice sounds a little like Fall Out Boy."
Not really, no.
Fight Fair slides into the next playing spot. I am some girl's James Dean.
"It sounds like that song, like, five songs ago."
No, again, no.
Bryce Avery is extolling the need to write music to be happy, not for business.
"This sounds familiar. You've played this before haven't you?"
Well, actually no, never in front of you.
I turn my I-tunes off. We'll just watch some tv instead.
(skip ahead, skip ahead)
John and I are crusing up 85, Jersey-bound. We've listened to Slam Crunk about eight times in the past two hours. We rock out. We jam to Sixpence None the Richer. We seat-dance to The Outfield (don't judge you all know you do it, too). Then a few bands come on.
Boys Will Be Boys.
"These sound like Forever the Sickest Kids Bonus Tracks."
School Boy Humor.
"Okay, how is this that different?"
"I heard about these guys. I heard they sound the same as everything else."
And so on and so forth.
"There just needs to be a pop-punk super group," John is telling me. We're in Virginia. Haze hangs over Alexandria. The road is a little bit clogged, but not so bad as I dream about taking John's head and beating it against the window. Or doing it to myself.
"How would that work," I say. He shrugs and we get to thinking.
[sidebar: I have always been against grouping every little band out there together. I have always been one to defend band A or band B because the vocals are slightly different in this way, or they don't have a synth like band C does or anything like that. it annoyed the hell out of me that I had to deal with this all the time. Yeah, things sound alike, but if you like if than what does it really matter...and then I started listening more and more on my semi-frequent 9-hour drives up the Eastern Seaboard. These bands do sound alike. It feels like they are not trying to sound different, just blending in to maybe sell a few records. Their hearts may be in it but what's coming out has already been done, sadly. That said, if you do like the stuff, keep on liking it and don't listen to what others say when they trash the music you like. THAT said, I continue out of this extended sidebar]
We never did come up with anything concrete in our thoughts, but I have since determined a few different things that I think would need to be involved in this pop punk super group.
Lead Guitarist: Lead Guitarist must be able to play three of four notes, over and over. Solos can max out at 7 notes, maybe a bend or a vibrato. This is played in sync with the synth playing. Sleeve tattoos that have no meaning a must.
Rhythm guitarist: Just make sure they're not an idiot. If they can hold a guitar and strum in pattern, you're set. Tell them what to do and let them wear tight pants. Long hair is also a must.
Synth Player: Any good pop punk band includes a synth player these days. It is just, well, the law, it seems. Without them, how could we be able to have all those cool Moog sounds in the middle of songs? On top of that we need those little odd sounds that replicate whatever--instant messages or phone dialing or anything like that. We have the technology, we can rebuild them. If they can dance, well bonus points for them. if they can dance on their synth, well, again, set.
Singer: If they can't sing fast during the verse then ululate uselessly in the chorus, we don't want them. If they whine, they're in. They will need to take two classes: emotional songwriting 101 and mic tricks 211.
Drummer: Teach them to use Garage Band. Teach them drumstick tricks. Make sure they know simple bass-bass-snare beats. Done.
Assorted Instrument Player: Must be well versed in Cow Bell, Keytar, Violin, Cello, Sitar and any other instument that doesn't really go in the usual pop punk. Can wear glasses and look eccentric while they dance.
Well there is a basic outline for the band. Choosing these members, though, that's the hard part. I have one easy solution.
So I did this a while ago. I have some new beer recommendations for y'al. Seriously check this stuff out, they each have their own particular flavor that I think works really well for the types of beers that they are. Please share comments on your own favs, too.
These are in no particular order, just try them.
1. Wild Blue Blueberry Ale (8%! Yehaw)
2. Rising Moon (Blue Moon Spring Ale)
3. Long Trail Blackberry Wheat
4. Heineken Light (so much better than regular, totally not bitter)
5. Saranac Pomegranate Wheat
6. Shiner Helles Lager
7. Sam Adams Irish Red
the selection isn't very international or anything, but we've been drinking these lately and they're tasty. We bottled the Two Drunken Writers' Red Badge of Courage today (red ale w/ apples/blackberries) and we're starting our next brew tonight--a pale ale with oranges and cherries. we have no name yet
Tomorrow (well, today) is the start of classes, my last semester at Elon. It has fucking flown and blown by, and that's scary as fuck to think about, to think that four years ago I was coming down here, having never really been in the south before thinking I wanted to be a psych major eager to sign up for everything possible just to ignore the emails of 90% of the stuff and in a long distance relationship that, if i wasn't in, i probably would've started this blog a little sooner, having most likely accrued many stories of freshman indecency in that time. But alas.
I am a senior, in my final semester and a shitty time in the economy. fuck. fuck. fuck.
Have I grown in these four years?
Well, I've put on weight (har har, a funny)
And I've been through a number of relationships that good or bad I've learned from.
And I think I found out what I like doing in life, even if I suck at it (there need to be shitty writers in order for there to be good writers, I feel. I'll handle one of those fronts. Time will tell which side I'm taking.)
And I've done shit ton of stuff I regret.
And a shit ton more that I would like to never forget.
I guess these next fifteen weeks are gonna be big.
I find out about grad school.
I find out about life.
I find out how well I can hide the fact that, like many, I'm scared shitless to be out on my own because I don't have enough confidence in any of my own abilities to be able to sustain myself with something that could be called a 'job.'
I really wish I could sleep.
I also wish I could stop listening to 'Poppin'. ' Goddamnit its infectious.
I know, I know, I know that there's a place for me somewhere
A homeless man was found frozen in a block of ice with his legs sticking out.
I had a problem with this for a couple reasons.
First. The person who found it didn't call the police, they called the news.
Second. The reporter didn't call the police right away either.
Third. The reporter treats this like some fucking circus act. The whole article seems like this is just some shit job for this guy and he has dreams of writing the next great thriller novel. What a fucktool. This is somebody, dead, and he's novelizing it.
Is that all news is anymore? A chance for a big break as long as you let go of morals and ethics and all of those things that we were raised to have? Okay, i get that the person who found the dead person didn't want to get caught there cause it was condemned or whatever, but they said homeless people live there, how are the police going to tell? On top of that, someone had the nerve to take a picture? That is someone's legs for christ sake.
ugh, people annoy me. there is no decency anymore, it seems.
We were south of Baltimore, on a highway that had promised us gas station but failed in actually delivering us one. My gas tank was beeping at us and John was getting a little frantic. I had just woken up from a nap and was hungry.
"Almond Joy," I said. I could already taste it in my mouth. The smooth creamy coconut mixture. A healthy coating of milk chocolate and that signature lumpy almond sitting on top of it all, setting off a waxy crack in your ear when you bite into it.
"Fuck yeah, man. I love Almond Joys, they're one of my favorite candies," John said. "The thing is [girlfriend] calls me a pussy for eating them. She's says they're not real candy."
Well, if you couldn't tell by the title of this, I called shenanigans. I would've pointed at John to drive home my point, but my hand was still asleep from leaning on it and the only thing I could manage to do with it was watch it flop around as i tried to lift it.
"She's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong," I said as we finally pulled into a gas station.
"I know man, she just doesn't get it. We had this secret santa in my group with a ten dollar limit and I asked for Almond Joys. This girl got me eight of them." Yet another reason reaffirming why I like this kid and can easily handle a nine-hour ride with him. I told him I was jealous. I filled the tank and he went to get food. I followed him and picked up--well, duh--an Almond Joy.
I will now list a few reasons why, in fact, Almond Joy ranks near the top of the Great Candies List.
1.Texture. There are two distinct textures in an Almond Joy. Crunchy nut and smooth chocolate coconut mixutre. See if Skittles can reproduce that.
2. Taste. Three flavors in a tiny little package. Sweet, creamy chocolate--dark enough to give it that rich, deep feeling but not too dark as to make the chocolate unpalatable to anyone who likes food on a level lower than obsessive compulsive freak (we prefer the term 'foodie,' though) Mix this with that signature coconut combination of sweet coconut flakes and even more sugary milk sorta stuff binding it all together. It breaks apart easily yet stays together so you can chew it just enough to extract all of the juices from it. And the Almond. Oh, the almond. A subtle nut, especially when cloaked by the chocolate. It adds just enough crunch so that you're not only orally pleased but also aurally. I mean come on, it's a proven fact people like crunchy stuff (as long as it doesn't, you know, break a tooth, unless your into that pain thing).
3. Sharing Capabilities. Two pieces, one package. If you're a nice person, 'nuff said right there. If you're not, well you can pretend to be a nicer person. "Sam, do you want one of my Almond Joys?"..."Why yes, Sam, how kind of you." (this works especially well if you have voices in your head)
4. If you haven't realized this is a great-nay-awesome candy bar by now, you're a silly person.
it makes the queerest ping/plink sound. Pink, i guess.
During research I was out for dinner one night and we decided to get some air and take a walk down the road our hosts lived on. At the end of the road was a lake, with a single light standing guard. Other than that, it was dark. The light reflected off the ice the cool blues and whites and grays that you see in ever national geographic special about ice or water. Not quite as stunning as a glacier off the coast of Chile, but after a few glasses of wine, it is still awesome.
I picked up a rock, maybe the size of a quarter and the weight of four of them, and chucked it.
It bounced. The plink/ping was high pitched and resonant. It seemed to burrow into you but at the same time hang there, especially cause we were more or less surrounded by nothing. A little eerie, a little cool, a little different. it was fun.
and it was a cool sound. i guess that's all. it was something.
So, my blog is one year old today. woohoo! It's lasted this long and i've kept with it. awesome.
hooray! to many more and such. here here and huzzah.
edit: super weird fact. i posted this originally at 5:55AM. that makes like, double wish making capabilities for blowing at that candle. man. i wish i could fall asleep, this might not seem so cool if i could.