Two Things

1) I don't remember the first time I went to the drive-thru by myself after I turned sixteen, but I have a feeling it was the greatest thing ever at the time.
2) Do you think it really is Maybelline? I am leaning towards born with it.

Week at a Glance

A while ago I decided to write down all the interesting things that happened to me in one weeks time and then write a post about it. I usually try to write down interesting or funny things that happen to me so they are not lost, so then I can maybe throw them in a story one day, but as I went about this particular week I spent extra special attention to my surroundings for things that had narrative potential, and holy crap, there was so much stuff that if I wrote about it all the post would be forever long. It is crazy how interesting life can be on a day to day basis if you are paying attention.

My week was a bit busier then usual, however. I moved down to school, and then had to come back home for my friends wedding at the end of the week and be back before school started Monday. Things like school, weddings, and Hooters are the main things that happened during the week, but they are almost too obvious to be interesting. It is the things like passing an old man on the freeway in Lehi and noticing that he is brushing what is left of his teeth, and then being passed by said old man in Spanish Fork and looking over and seeing that he is still brushing his teeth, that are interesting and that people want to read or hear about. Or the kid at the gas station who was listening to a Harry Potter book on tape and knew all the words and followed along like most of us would sing along to the radio. Those are the fun things. The things we will forget about the next day. I also met a kid named Jordan Michael Erye. Say it in reverse.
So, I suppose the moral of this experience would be: If life has got you down, pay attention to it.

Hannibal

Hannibal is a guy in my Creative Writing class. I forgot what his real name is. Everyone calls him Hannibal.
Today as we were waiting for class to start he picked up a copy of USA Today and mentioned how he forgot that the five year anniversary of 9/11 was coming up.
"The more I think about it the more I think that it was planned, " he said," I mean, think about it. 9/11. Who are they going to call? 9-1-1."
Holy @^#%! Did you come up with that all by yourself? It is funny how nobody thought or mentioned that the day it happened. You should call and let somebody know!

Then during class he taps me on the shoulder and asks what the assignment was the teacher just gave about .2349856204674 seconds ago. I told him it was to read the first section out of the book we are reading.

"The first chapter?"
"The first section," I correct him.

He gives me a look that tells me I am being stupid and repeats, "First Chapter," as he writes it down. I was about to say, "No, numb nuts. The first section. The first section is seventy-seven pages. The first chapter is only like ten," but I stopped. I figure letting him read the first chapter instead of section will be a more valuable lesson.

Jordan Michael EryeHead

In the previous post titled "Week at a Glance" I mentioned a kid named Jordan Michael Air. I was introduced to this person the first day I got back into town for school. He told me his name and stuff and I told him mine. It was a pretty standard intrduction on both ends. A few days later he came up to me while I was waiting in the line in the cafeteria. He asked me stuff about the meal plan and if i was glad I did it, and how the food was and so on. I told him that I was very glad I was on this meal plan thing. He then told me he thought he was going to do it too, and then he introduced himself to me again. I realized he didn't know I was the same person from before. I didn't want to go over all the other stuff again so I just told him my name. I kid you not, the very next day while I was in Staples he came up to me and asked if he could help me find anything, being that he worked there. I told him I found what I was looking for. I asked him if he was going to get the meal plan, since that is what we talked about the day before. He said he thought he was going to. I then went to check out. He came up to me a couple of minutes later and said, "I will probably see you around so I might as well introduce myself. I am--"

"Jordan," I said.

Yeah--"

"I am the one you asked about the meal plan."

"Oh, that was you?" How else would I have known he wanted the meal plan if I had never talked to him before? What kind weird butthead asks random Staples employees if they are going to get the university meal plan? How in the crap did he not put two and two together? And if you think that maybe I could be the one confused I am not. He looks exactly like John Heder, and I know it was the same kid. Anyway, he introduced himself for the third time. That was a Monday. The next Thursday Jordan and one of his friends came over to talk to my roomate. I came out of my room and the three of them were in the front room so I stopped to talk to them. After about 15 seconds of me stadning there he stuck out his hand and said, "I don't think we have met." I just stared at him for a second, trying to make him feel as dumb as possible with his hand stuck out like that before I said, "We have met like nine times."

"We have?"

"Yeah. The first day I got into town in the parking lot, then in the cafeteria when you asked me about the food plan, then in Staples, and just now." He was pretty cinfused.

"Did you trim you beard or something?"
"No, I haven't shaved in like 9 days."

"Maybe it was your glasses."

"No." I always wear my glasses when I drive to and from Cedar, so I know I was wearing them when I first met him, and I am 95% sure I was wearing them in the cafeteria that day. Glasses really don't make you look all that different anyway, he is just an idiot. My roommate and I were going to be hanging out with the people who lived next door, and he had come over to hang out with us, but when my roommate left to to put his shoes on or something his friend and him ended up leaving.

"That's what I like about it. It's not so complicated."

This past Friday I went to see The Blackout Pact at Kilby Court in Salt Lake. I was super excited. I had never seen them before and had got their album last February, and it has by far eclipsed any other album in listening time since.

I couldn't find the venue, however. It was on a street called Kilby Court, which I drove past at least eight times because Kilby Court is a tiny alley way. Down the alleyway a bit it opens up and there is like a shack that is about the size of a four car garage, but with a lower ceiling.

There were a few people outside the shack. It was raining and was pretty cold. Someone grabbed a barrel and threw some wood and gas into it and started a fire. About ten of us sat around the fire waiting for it to start. I got to talking to a few kids who were from Vegas that came up for the show. I told them I was planning on leaving after The Blackout Pact.They had never heard of The Blackout Pact. I told them how cool they were and to get the CD. They had come to see the second band, The Draft, and convinced me to stay for them, which I did. (It is weird that for how anti-social I am, how easy it is to talk to my fellow concert folk, and how much I enjoy it. I would feel much more comfortable in a room full of these kind of people than in a room of strangers who were like some of the people I know best, if that makes any sense.)

On the smaller shack outside by the fire where they take the tickets there is a sign made out of cardboard that had "No Moshing" written on it. I soon found out why, because the freaking place would collapse. There were about fifty of us there by the time it started. The Blackout Pact set was awesome and I got to talk to the singer for a bit after. The Vegas kids were convinved about getting the CD. Then The Draft came on and I liked them right away. I got the CD before I left and have listened to it almost non-stop since. I am not sure what my favorite song on the CD is, but the title of this post comes from the first song on the album, "New Eyes Open." That is what I loved about the concert. It wasn't so complicated. Throw a bunch of amps and drums in a shack, wait for the faithful, and rock and roll.

I know that most people who read this thing don't like the same music I do, but if you have a sec follow The Draft link above and listen to "New Eyes Open." You probably won't want to go out and buy the album, but I think you will at least see why I like them.

Songbook

I recently finished reading Songbook by Nick Hornby. It is a collection of essays he wrote about songs he loves, or “…a kind of prose equivalent of the mix-tape,” and like when you discover a great song or movie and want to tell all your friends about it, I figured I would share a few of my favorite parts of the book.

“…if I ever had to hum a blues-metal riff to a puzzled alien, I’d choose Zeppelins’s “Heartbreaker,” from Led Zeppelin II. I’m not sure that me going “DANG DANG DANG DANG DA-DA-DA-DA-DA DANG DANG DA-DA DANG” would enlighten him especially, but I’d feel that I’d done as good a job as the circumstances allowed. Even written down like that (albeit with uppercase assistance), it seems to me that the glorious, imbecilic loudness of the track is conveyed effectively and unambiguously. Read it again. See? It rocks.”

“A couple of times a year I make myself a tape to play in the car, a tape full of all the new songs I have loved over the previous months, and every time I finish one I can’t believe there’ll be another one. Yet there always is, and I can’t wait for the next one; you need only a few hundred more things like that, and you’ve got a life worth living.”

“There is no doubt, though, that lyrics are the literate pop fan’s Achilles heel. We have all lived through the shriveling moment when a parent walks into a room and repeats, with sardonic belief, a couplet picked up from the stereo or the T.V. “What does that mean, then?” my mother asked me during Top of the Pops. “ ‘Get it on / Bang a gong’ How long did it take him to thinks of that, do you reckon?” And the correct answer—“Two seconds, and it doesn’t matter”—is always beyond you, so you just tell her to shutup, while inside you’re hating Marc Bolan for making you like him even though he sings about getting it on and banging gongs.”

Writing is Funny and Love is Stupid

I have had a few experiences over this summer that I would like to say has taught me a lot about stupid love. I can’t say that, however. I can say that I have had a few experiences that told me a lot of stuff I already knew about love. I’m not quite sure what I want to say about it here; I just thought talking about it could be cathartic and good for me, and writing usually brings out the things I think, but don’t know that I think—if that makes sense. I think it just warms up your brain and you can separate your thoughts and pick them out better and teach yourself about yourself, which is an addictive and always fun experience.

As they say, “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” I would guess that means that the memories of what was lost outweigh the loss itself. Maybe. But unless the other party left some of their things over at your house, or lent you money, what was gained from this now not shared love besides memories? And should memories really be chalked up in the things gained column? They seem to be the most painful part of a love lost. The memories are what make up most of the losses. They get attached to music, places, jokes, movies, games, and ideas that can no longer be fully enjoyed because they have been stained with the memories of loss. Being in love is great. Not being in love really isn’t that bad unless you were recently in love and are able to compare the two. In that case, not being in love can be suicidal, and memories do nothing but point out the incredible differences between the two.

So, what now? I am not quite sure what I have really gained from these experiences, and even though the math doesn’t add up I am sure it is better to have loved; if not, the saying would be, “It is worse to have loved and not gained than to ever have loved at all,” and that is just depressing.

?

When meeting new people I usually get asked what I am studying. When I answer creative writing, eight and half times out of ten the sub-question, "What are you going to do with that?" then follows. Ten times out of ten I want to answer become a doctor or start a restaurant or coach women’s volleyball or tell them they have three guesses. I suppose it is not that stupid of a question. I guess you could write about sports for the newspaper or essays for some magazine. There are novels and poetry. What pisses me off about this question is that I don't know the answer.

There are three ways one can go about deciding what he or she wants to study. The first would be to decide what you want to do for a career and then study the courses to help you do that. Second, just start taking different kinds of classes until you find something you like. The third, and the path I chose, would be to find what would make school the least miserable and go with that. When I found that there was actually a creative writing major I knew that it was what I wanted to study, and I knew where I wanted to study; of course that school didn't have a CW major so I went to a different school. I realized after that I definitely wanted to be a writer.

Now, I am not naive (at least I like to think that I am not entirely) and I realize that the chances of me being able to be a full-time writer are slim, and that I will more than likely always have a job that doesn't have to do with writing at all. "But this is America," you say, "you can be anything you want to be." Or so they say, but remember, only one person out of millions get to be the American Idol. So if your dream is to become the American Idol, at best you have a .0000005% chance of accomplishing your goal. There are more writers than American Idols, but I am sure you get my point. I am confident, however; I am just trying to find the line between reality and stupidity.

I learned quickly not to answer this question with an I don't know, because then the asker (usually a stranger) either gives me a weird look that says, "How can you not know?" or tries to help me figure it out by giving suggestions. Thanks for being nice and all, but shut up. I have also figured out that saying I would like to write stories is not acceptable either.

"What kind of stories? Non-fiction or fiction?"

"Probably both."

"What would you write about when writing non-fiction?"

"About when I was in the peace-core and lived in Yemen for a year," or "My triumph over brain cancer."

"Really?"

"No."

Only a certain kind of person has their life all figured out and laid down nicely waiting for them to get on with it at twenty-three. Shame on you for making me think that I should be one of them.

"Beavers and Ducks!"

I am not prone to nightmares, but I recently had two.

It is almost time to move back down to school. I am moving into a different apartment to get away from my old roommate. I dreamed that something happened and I had to move back in with him. I don't ever remember being suicidal in a dream before this one. It was a nightmare in every sense of the word (if there are more than one sense, I guess).

Number Two - The Minnesota Twins star pitcher, Francisco Liriano, has been placed on the DL due to elbow problems. This of course happened when they were about to pass the White Sox in the wild card race. The doctors say that there is a chance he will pitch before the end of season (about a month from now) but aren't too optimistic. Anyway, I dreamed that, while injured, Liriano got so frustrated with one of his teammates because he (the teammate) couldn't hit. Liriano picked up a bat and started yelling and showing him how to swing a bat, and while doing this really hurt his elbow and was out for the 2007 season. Yes, it is silly, but I seriously woke up worried and mad at Liriano. Being a Cubs and Twins fan I don't get the chance to root for a team in October very often, and being so close has stressed my brain out enough to give me nightmares.

"Sometimes we forget who we got. Who they are. Who they are now."

I don't do crack or shoot smack. I don't smoke the cheeba or cigarettes. I love to buy music. Like junkies of other types I will come up with excuses of all kinds to spend money on tunes, whether it be momentary depression or a great day, just about anything can be turned into an excuse. A lot of times the fact that I have no excuse is what has me wondering through a world of album covers. There is so much good stuff out there and I know I have hardly scratched the surface.

I think I have had this Amos Lee album for over a year, and I am not sure what it is that got me to write a post on it now. I just know there are times where, in middle of the absurdity we have to put up with in order to survive, I am grateful that I have this album to listen to.

Here are a few songs to listen to, and if you feel so inclined go right ahead and purchase this record. I believe a generous portion of Amos Lee in the musical diet of all is good for the heart.

The Bush fan (the band) and The Clash

I left work yesterday at about 6:30 and figured that the freeway should be alright by then. I was wrong, so I got off at 53rd. I was listening to my mp3 player and I had my window rolled down. At a stoplight I pulled up next to a car that was loaded with stickers all over the bumper and rear window. The girl inside had a black and purple striped shirt on. The sleeves were extra long and had holes in the end for the thumbs to go through, and her purple hair was trying to match the purple in her shirt, but it looked like it had been washed a few times. The Clash was currently playing on my mp3 player.

"Hey! Are you listening to The Clash?" she screamed at me. My head was resting on my left hand and I didn't budge."Are you listening to The Clash?" she yelled loud enough for everyone around us to hear. I still didn't feel the need to respond. Stupid questions are pet peeve of mine. Either I would answer yes, and she would say something like, "They rock," and then I would nod and hope for the light to turn green, or I would say no, creating a very awkward situation and she would wish for the light to turn green. Being that I was alone with no one to enjoy the moment with, I just didn't say anything.

The light eventually turned green and we went on the the next red light. She pulled up next to me again, but by then The Clash had ended and Less Than Jake was playing, and I guess she didn't feel the need to yell at me anymore.

I know I said I was going to try and meet new people, but my mom taught me never to talk to strangers dressed as b-side punkers but with Bush stickers on the back of their car.

I Hate Kathy Griffin

I Hate Kathy Griffin

A Fire Inside

AFI's new album Decemberunderground came out this month. It had been over three years since their last release and I was getting itchy.

Three years is a long time to wait, but it is now here, and it was well worth it. I knew they weren't going to let us down, but they exceeded even my expectations, and for the past nine days just about nothing else has entered my CD player.

I have talked to a lot of AFI fans during the past couple months. A lot of times people would tell me that they hope that the new CD will sound like one of their old albums; Black Sails in the Sunset is the one most often mentioned. This does not make me happy. You should want your bands to push themselves, and if they are, their sound will be a little different everytime. They should not digress into something they have already accomplished. And to those of you who get mad at artists for not "sticking to their roots," go fist yourselves because you don't know what you are talking about. AFI has yet again succeeded in taking a couple more steps in the right direction.

A couple of days ago I was driving home from work through a summer thunderstorm that we tend to get in June, and listening to "Summer Shudder." There is a lyric in the chorus that goes, "Under the summer rain, we find a way." It was clear to the west, the sun was setting and the sky was a bright white. Those are my favorite types of sunsets. It was a really cool moment; one where you can't help but think to yourself that life is good. Everything just fit.

So, as long as they keep making records of this caliber, and showing the love they have for their fans on tour, and helping to keep the flood behind from putting out the fire inside of us, we will be more than happy to wait endlessly for every word, every one.

Happy Pops Day

Troughout my life I have met a lot of people who tell me I have had an easy life. Some say it with envy, others say it like I just lost some contest, and I will have to admit that it is true. I don’t think anybody’s life really is easy, but what I think brings about these comments is the fact that all my faults and troubles are pretty much self-inflicted. I can’t blame anything on my parents. I would like to thank them, and especially my dad, today.

On my first New Years in Chile, while I was on my mission, it was our turn for my comp and I to go to the office downtown and pick up everyone’s mail etc. Most of the trip is spent on the subway. We were the only ones on the train, and when we got to street level we found the usually very noisy and crowded Santiago to be empty. New Years fell on a Monday, and being the prolific wine drinkers that they are, the Chileans had spent that Sunday night doing just that. So while the city slept their holiday away, we walked the empty streets of Santiago. I got a picture of me standing in the middle of an empty Pedro de Valdivia, a street that is usually bumper to bumper with busses, taxis, and collectivos.

When we got back to our train I started opening my mail. I found a letter from my dad and started reading it. He told me about how he had been able to come home for Christmas one year when he was in Vietnam, when he didn’t think he was going to be able to, and how he surprised his family. I knew that he had felt just as lonely as me once, as I sat on an empty train during the holidays in a place where a hundred degree heat brought in the new year instead of a white snow. That was the most powerful letter I ever read. I knew he missed me, and more importantly I knew he was proud of me, although those words didn’t appear on the paper anywhere.

I read it again.

While I was growing up, he always wanted to make sure I was ahead of the game. For example, I got the birds and the bees talk a good year and half before most of the kids in my school. That way when it was time for all the kids in my grade to go the famous ‘Maturation Program,’ it was old news for me. I think today I am ahead of the game in a lot of ways. I know my dad had fun as a kid, and I was allowed the same privilege. I never needed to worry about getting what I needed (and I got a good portion of things I wanted) and that freed me up to be a kid, have fun, and make choices for myself. Because of how I was raised I was able to discover, amidst the ups and downs, what life was supposed to feel like, and now I know what I am looking for. How many people can say that?

Thanks Dad. I appreciate it.

Summertime and Geography

Aww...Summertime. Just a day of work and a night of apathy for three months. Nice.

So I go into the Graywhale in Draper to pick up a couple of CDs, and as they do everytime, the kid asks me if I am a member of the killer whale club.

"No, I'm not"

"Do you know what it is?"

"Yeah."

"It's a lifetime membership. Did you know that?"

"Yeah, I know what it is. I live in Cedar City so there is really no point."

"Well, we are getting another location in Provo, so it will be a little closer." Now I have a couple options here in the order that they came to mind:

A: "Really! Sign me up then!!"

B: "You must not be from around here, so let me give you a lesson in geography. Here is Cedar City. Here is Provo 200 miles away. Now, given the gas money and the time that would be spent, I don't think that it would be worth the drive; especially when I am in walking distance of a record store that has a better selection and where the employees leave you alone and just let you buy your music and leave."

C: "..."

I chose C, but kind of wish I was able to choose A or B."Well, you would have saved two dollars today." He started to sound emotional at that fact, like I was making some horrible decision in lifestyle, and I was endangering myself and those around me.

"Cool."

Well, my workday is over, and I have an entire night of falling asleep in front of the T.V., waking up, playing xbox, reading, falling asleep again, turn on the T.V in time for Simpsons, and then - who knows. My night is pretty open after that.

How I Spent my Life?

I have found out that one can only take so much apathy. In the same way I found out that there indeed is such a thing as too much cheese on your cheese fries, I have pushed myself to the very limits of laziness, and now the sight of my couch makes me want to weep, but being that I have nothing else to do, I am sure that my buttocks shalls grace said couch all too soon.

This weekend I watched four Star Wars movies in two days. I don't even think I wanted to. This has left me, for the first time in my life, saying, "I wish summer would get over with." I am sure that that first night of homework will make me wish that the semester would just get over with, but at least then Trash will be around and we can return to Big-Mac Monday and Taco Tuesday (Now yous can't leave).

How does a person live in a way where he or she isn't just wishing that that period of life would just be done with? I mean, it has to end somewhere, right? If you keep going eventually it will end up being, "I just wish life would get over with," and according to the pattern once you are dead you will just wish you were alive anyway. So where is the escape? I wish that the weekends and concerts would never end, but they hardly qualify as a period of life. I guess this means that changes have to be made. Darn. But because I haven't made an effort to change in a while, I am sure I am due.

I believe that first on the list is to change my not-so-sub-conscious thought,"People Suck," and switch it to, "Some May Not," and try not to be such a dick when someone I don't know talks to me, and maybe even try to talk to a few myself, and then go from there. I am sure that will at least end in giving me something else to do.

Now, I do have a lot of things to look forward to this summer still; the World Cup is coming up, and there are still a few concerts and new albums before the summer ends (the Warped Tour is going to be awesome!). I suppose it is all the time in between these events that I need to fix. Maybe if I can do that i can get back to being my normal self and wishing that summer won't end. I would rather spend my life wishing for things that I can achieve.

Everytime

Me: Can I get a number 6 not bi...

Fast Food Employee: Would you like that biggie sized?

Me : No, and can I get a Dr. Pe...

FFE: what would you like to drink?

Me: (sigh) a Dr. Pepper. And can I...

FFE: Anything else?

Me: and a cheeseburger. And that is it.

FFE: Anything else?

Me: No.

A Missed Point

A conversation between me and my neighbor outside of my apartment.

Me: Where are you guys going?

Her: Wal-Mart. Want to come?

Me: I am going to get some food.

Her: So? Come with us.

Me: Wal-Mart takes a long time.

Her: So? We don't care.

Me: I know you don't care. You are the ones going.

Her: Let's go then.

Me: I don't think so.

On Turning Three Days Old

One of my very best friends had a baby boy the other day. He is the first out of all of us to enter that phase of life. It is so crazy to me. In the coming years I am sure more will have followed, and to think that there will be little True Believer Jr's running around is quite the thought. I can't help but think that we will finally get what is coming to us. All the fires, wrecked cars and fourwheelers, hospital visits, sluffing, destroyed homes, and cake fights just might be on their way to show us what the other side of things looks like. It sure will be fun to see.

So, as B and J make the transition into becoming parents let me say Congratulations. And B thanks for always being there for me; even at three in the morning, and I am sure you will make a great father. And to baby J: may your stay here in this crazy crazy place be filled with good friends, good tunes, and good times.

Chapter One | The beginning of the start of the first part of my story that I will commence to tell you now

I haven't really talked to my roommate before this night. I had maybe said all of ten words to him, and he had let a few sentences slip out. I am pretty sure they were all about macaroni and cheese, and one time he came into my room without knocking while I was sitting on pot that everyone became so familiar with a few posts back. Trash was supposed to be coming over, so I opened the door expecting to see Trash. Instead I saw my roommate just standing in the doorway. It was freaking creepy. I quickly shut the door.

"Yeah?"

"I just paid the power bill. It was 58 dollars."

"So I owe you 20 dollars."

"Yeah."

What the dump? (Pardon the pun) That was one of the weirdest experiences I have ever had. I recognize that now as a foreshadowing of the adventures I was going to embark on with Ryan, my roommate.

I just got home and was about to start work on a paper, when he knocked on my door.

"Do you know anyone with a four wheel drive?"

"Phil in #4 has one," I said thinking that that was the end of the conversation. He wanted info and I gave it to him. But the conversation continued after about thirty seconds of the most awkard silence. I wished I was back sitting on the toilet with the door shut.

"I think he is home."

"Could you ask him if I could borrow it?"

"Why?"

"I got my truck stuck up in the mountains."

"Where at?"

"Duck Creek."S

o I mosied on over to #4 and asked Phil if we could borrow his Jeep. Phil came over to my apartment to talk with Ryan. We walked in the dark living room. I walked into the kitchen to turn on the light. When I turned it on Ryan was there standing in front of the fridge. What was he doing just standing there in the dark? And why didn't he say anything? This dude is creepy. Phil needed his car, so we asked some kid if we could use his truck. He told us we could take it but he couldn't come with us. At this point I realized I was going up the mountain with Ryan, and I didn't feel comfortable taking this kids truck because it was stinking nice, and I didn't know where we were headed. I tried to ask my roommate several times how his truck was stuck and how it was situated on the road only to get so frustrated by the inability to answer the question that I wanted to punch him in the throat. I did know it was in the snow. After about a half hour it was decided that I would take Phil's Jeep and he could borrow my truck. We borrowed a shovel from the hick with the truck just in case. We didn't, however, take his tow strap with us because Ryan had one in his truck.

Chapter Two | Time, a waste of

You see, I am new around here. I had no idea where Duck Creek was. Duck Creek is about 55 miles east of Cedar City up and down and up the canyon. Two miles past Duck Creek is a dirt road. Three miles down the dirt road, it turns into a pure snow road. Five miles up the pure snow road is where our new friend got his truck stuck.

I knew making conversation was going to be difficult, but I had a long ride ahead of me and got started.

"So what were you doing up there?""I don't know anybody in our apartment. You know more people than I do. I know Elle, but I don't really go over there to see her. I don't really know anyone in our apartments."

I was going to re-phrase the question, but from what I had experienced already I knew it would be to no avail, so I just took that to mean, "I had nothing to do, so I took my truck up the mountain."

"I only really know the guys in #4 and the girls in #3." I knew that was a dumb thing to say because that was still like 9 times the amount of people he knew.

"What about Stefanie?"

"Oh, well yeah I know her too."

"And Elle?"

"Yeah, I know her too I guess." That's what I get for trying to make him feel better about not knowing anyone. He continued to ask me what Elle was up to, and to tell me about how much he cared for her. Apparantly, he had waited too long to ask her out. By the time he did, she said that some guy had just asked her to be his girlfriend. I knew she didn't have a boyfriend, or want one, but I knew I better keep my mouth closed tight about that. I did think about how awkard that conversation must have been. He later told me of an experience he had that had to do with Elle, and I don't feel comfortable talking about it here, so if you want to know, ask me in person, and depending on who you are, I will tell you.

This was also my first dose of how he talked. He has a tendency to repeat the same phrase over and over again. It is quite entertaining to listen too actually. "It's my grandpa's truck. I have taken it everywhere. It's my grandpa's truck and he his dead now. I will never get rid of it because it is the only thing I have left from my grandpa, so I will never get rid of. It is like the only memory I have left of my grandpa. That's why I won't ever get rid of it. Even when the engine is shot and there is no way it will ever work again, I still won't get rid of it." And to those of you who think I am exaggerating, I am making a considerable effort not to exaggerate any of this story. It doesn't need it.

Eventually we made it to his truck. He was completely sideways on the road and his front end was buried. I have no idea what he was thinking. His truck isn't even four-wheel drive. There was no way we were getting it out with the Jeep. We would bury right in the snow. That is why I tried to get this information out of him earlier. Plus, I guess when he got stuck, some guy tried to help him and ended up getting his car stuck, and that guy came back earlier this day and got his car unstuck and took Ryan's tow strap and come along with him. So we turned around and drove back down the canyon.

On the way home I said I didn't think that we would be able to pull the truck out with the Jeep. He said he agreed. Agreed!! Couldn't you tell that it would have been impossible without dragging me up the mountain!?

Chapter Three | The fact that there is a chapter three makes me very upset

It is now a few days later and Saturday. I am making a mixed cd and awaiting a phone call, and thinking to myself, "It is 10p.m. If I had a TV I would be watching Simpsons right now.

Knock, Knock. Aaah @#$%.

"I just got a call from the sheriffs office. They say I have to come get my truck tonight or I will get a citation and it will be towed."

During the awkard, but expected silence that followed, I realized that this is a pet peeve of mine. That is, when someone needs something of you, but instead of asking, they just sit there and hope that you will offer whatever it is they need. And as bad as I wanted to hold out and make him ask, I couldn't take it anymore. I wonder if the agony showed on my face. I bet it did. I bet he saw it too, and thought, "I have him for sure."

"Well, Phil isn't home. He is at work." I didn't know that. He was earlier anyway. "We couldn't get it out with his Jeep anyway."

"The Sheriff's department pulled it out."

"Oh." These awkard silences are really starting to wear on me.

"You don't think your truck can make it up there?" Look at what happened to your truck dummy!

"No way."After a few phone calls we ended up borrowing Stefanie's Jimmy. She is my neighbor and Elle's roommate. Of course he didn't go over there with me to get the keys and stuff. I stalled over there for as long as I could. I tried to persuade her to come, because I had had enough alone time with my roommate to last me forever. She of course knew Ryan also, and declined in a very determined manner.

We had just about the same exact conversations on the way up that we did the last time we drove up the canyon. I wasn't in too poor of a mood. I was bugged that I had to drive him up the canyon, and I wouldn't receive that phone call, but at least we didn't have to pull out his truck. We would drive up and drive back, and I would be my myself on the drive back. This time the drive to his truck seemed to be about twice as long as last time, but we eventually made it to Duck Creek and then the dirt road and then the snow road, to his truck.

I stopped a bit away from where his truck was because I didn't want to get stuck. We walked up to his truck. The Sheriffs department, in their spirit of service, decided it would be a good idea to pull his truck out of the hole it was in, and plop it in another hole on the opposite side of the road. You know, then they could call us and tell us that they pulled it out, and when we got there we would find that they indeed did pull it out, but put it into a freaking ravine on the other side. What a gas. They sure got us this time.

"Well, we will have to go to that guys house and get my strap and come along."

"You know where he lives!?"

We went to the Jimmy to find that it was stuck. The four-wheel drive didn't work at all. Stefanie must not have known because I told her like three times that that is why we needed her car and couldn't take my truck. Now we were in a pickle. We didn't have gloves, hats, or coats because we thought I was just going to drop him off at his truck and come back. It is easily single digits way up there. We tried pushing and digging it out with a stick; it didn't go anywhere and only one tire was moving. I then caught a glimpse of a cabin through the trees and started hiking to it through knee deep snow. By the time I got there I was soaking wet. My feet weren't quite numb yet, so they really hurt. I looked all around for a shovel or something useful. I found a big long board underneath the cabin. While I was trying to weasel it out I heard Ryan scream, "Where'd you go?" I ignored him and tried to get the board out. He yelled again. "Shutup!" I said to myself outloud. The third time I yelled back and told him I was coming. We wedged the board under the the tire to try and give it some traction. It didn't work at all.

"We will have to go to that guy's house. It's down the road a ways, but it is our only option. It's down the road a ways, but it's really our only option." After hearing him say this again I started working vigorously. The last thing I wanted to do was start walking down the road but I eventually gave in. It was also at this time that I started making up my own swear words. The strongest curses I could think of could not sufficiently represent my frustration. They just couldn't do my anger justice. So, I made up these words and pretended that they were really horrible and strong. I don't remember most of them, but I know Dagle and Snart were two of them. I realized Dagle didn't work. All the great curse words have good hard consonants. Dagle started off ok with the D sound, but didn't really go anywhere from there, so I adapted and made sure my words were more harsh sounding. On the way down I asked why we didn't get the strap and come along on the way up, or the other day when we had the Jeep. His answer was that if he had thought about it we would have. How could you not think about it? If someone takes your stuff and you know where it is, don't you go get it? That would have shaved off hours from this excursion.

And then he said laughing, "Don't you just hate stuff like this?" I couldn't quite pin point why this made me so mad.

Chapter 4 | So close, and yet so very very very very very very very far away

We made it to that guy's cabin. It was about two miles away. We found the strap and come along laying on a snowmobile, and we turned around to start the journey back. By this time my feet were sufficiently numb, and it felt like I was was walking on stumps. My face felt like if I wiggled it, it would crumble into pieces and fall off.

I think it was around this time that I realized why that statement made me so mad. During this whole experience there was no "Sorry about this." or "Gee, thanks for wasting two days helping me get my truck unstuck." Maybe I wouldn't have been so mad at him if he showed that he was tiny bit grateful.

I was on the verge of losing it--and then I did, but not the way I expected. After about a mile of silence he said, "It would suck if a cougar came out of those trees and attacked us." And I lost it, except I was laughing really really hard. I think I found it so funny because he wasn't joking or trying to be funny. He was just stating that it would probably not be a very good thing at this point. I mean that really would suck. You know what else would suck? If a centaur came out of nowhere, and told us that his name was Wayne, and that he would protect us from the cougar, and we felt relieved that we wouldn't die, but then the cougar killed the centaur and ate us anyway. Man, that would blow.

We hooked the come along to a tree and started to pull out the truck. I got in to turn the steering wheel. He was making some good progress, but then it got really hard. I got out to try and help him, and then it suddenly got easy.

"Did you have your foot on the brake?" he asked.

"No."

"Well, it's a lot easier now."

I thought for a second. I must have had it on there out of habit. I started laughing, "What a moron!" I laughed, but then I saw that he was really annoyed, and then I got mad again. What right did he have to be bugged with me!? None. I don't care if I did have my foot on the brake. Screw you! You are lucky I don't shove that come along where the moon won't shine and tie you to a tree.

I started working the come along after a bit, and we got it out in just a few minutes. One down one to go. And then a very unwelcome thought entered my brain. This is what it said: "I almost wish that something else would happen to make a this story cooler." It was quickly thrown out. No, I just want to get out of here!

We walked down to the Jimmy. There was only one tree big enough to handle it, but it looked like it was close enough. The tow strap was 20 feet long, and we had an extra 6 feet with the come along. But the guy who had took the tow strap had tied two knots in it making it six inches too short. We could not get these things out. They had been through pulling two cars out, and were super tight. I still have no clue why he would do that. We tried to extend the come along but it had jammed. Trying to get that thing unjammed was the worst. It was metal and freezing cold, and you could only have your hands out of your pockets for so long. We worked with the come along and the knots for awhile until it became clear that another walk was in order.

Chapter 5 | Suicide. Easy way out, or doing yourself a favor?

Walk walk walk. All night long. Walk walk walk while I sing this song. I can't feel my feet, I have no nose. And now I will repeat: Dude, this really blows.

This walk seemed to be the longest of the three. To make the time go faster I would pick out checkpoints a ways down the road, like a tree or a clearing, so that way when we got to the checkpoint it felt like we were making progress. Neither of us said anything until about half way again, and then he made another random comment.

"I can't help but think about what Elle is doing. She is probably sleeping, but I wonder what she is dreaming out."

I wanted to scream from weirdness overload. He has said maybe 20 words to this girl in his entire life. That does not warrant a 'I wonder what she is dreaming about' statement, and I don't care if you are married; don't say that to me, or anyone. Say it to yourself. In your head. Where no one will hear you.

"I am thinking about a hot shower," I said.

"I waited too long to ask her out." Coo-koo. Coo-koo.Once we would get to the road where the guys cabin was, there wasn't much snow on the road itself, but it was very muddy, or was muddy earlier on because now it was frozen solid. And since there had been big fourwheel drives driving over it all winter it was very rutty. It seemed a sprained ankle was inevitable. But, alas, we made it yet again to the cabin without serious injury and without me assaulting my roommate.

"He is going to be pissed," Ryan said as we banged on his door.

"I'm pissed. You should be too. He stole your tow strap and your come along, and then tied a knot in the strap making it too short. Who cares if he's pissed," I said.

Dogs started barking from inside the house. Us knocking on the door hadn't woken him up, but the barking did. He didn't realize we were there, and we could hear him swearing at his dogs to shutup. We waited for the dogs to take a breath and knocked again. He eventually came to the door and we told him the whole situation. He said he needed a second to get dressed and stuff. So he went back inside. I then looked at my phone. It was ten to two.

"Best case scenario is we get home by four," I said.

"What time is it?"

"Ten to two," and then the guy came out. We started walking down to his little Suzuki. He had a flashlight, but the battery was super dead. I don't even think the light made it to the ground. He also had a sprained ankle, and limped creepily. My roommate brought up the knot in the strap. "Yeah, I got that bastard tight," said the guy, completely missing the point. I sat in the back of the car. The backseat was folded and wasn't attached to the floor anyway so I sat on the car floor amidst a mass of mystery items. I pictured greasy car parts and tools, oily rags, cigarrete butts, and old socks. I was sure when I got home I would be filthy from sitting back there. He smoked a cigarrete with the windows rolled down, but I really didn't mind that much because it gave the impression of heat.

Chapter 6 | The end of the last part of the story that will stop now

I got into the Jimmy and the guy tried to pull me out. It took a few minutes and he really had to jerk the car to get it out, but we kind of went off the side of the road and we were still stuck. The guy had unhooked the tow strap and drove away already. We just sat there waiting for him to come back. He eventually did, but he was walking. And since he had a hurt ankle it took him forever to get to the car. The gimp looked like a zombie coming up the road.

"We are still stuck," I yelled, "you will have to pull us out again." But he just kept coming. He arrived and just walked around the car looking at. Then he sat in the car and tried to drive it out. I bet I said we need to pull it out again like five times. I was screaming inside my head. "HEY!!! YOU YAKK WERT!!! THE BLOODY CAR ISN'T GOING TO GET UNSTUCK WITH YOUR LOOKING AT IT, YOU DUMB DERKIN DIKKLE IDIOT!!!!!!

Around a century later he started his limp back to his car. We pulled it out again and had to reverse it down the road about 100 yards to a big pine tree. There was a dry spot under it and we were able to get turned around there. And we were off. We were mobile. Hoo-rah.

It was a little before three by the time we were off and running. As the heat got going in the car it seemed like I was getting colder. I was thawing out and all the feeling was coming back to me, so I was able to feel how cold I really was. On the way home the radio played 'Cumbersome' by Seven Mary Three. Spooky.

I stopped off at the gas station to get something to eat, and walked in the door at 3:45 a.m.

The frickin end.

Schoolio

Who knew keeping a blog up to date would be so hard. I forget I have one sometimes.

I have recently moved away for school. For the most part it is pretty much what I expected; except for a few things. I am really really busy. More than I thought I would be. I also didn't know how much I would enjoy studying what I am. Especially my creative writing class.

I think I really enjoy it for a few reasons. We write. I like that. The teacher is really good and seems intent on teaching us things as opposed to telling us how much he knows. And on the other end; the class isn't full of people who want so badly to be recognized as academia-ites that they won't shutup and won't stop trying to disagree with what anyone has to say. Probably because we have to write and read it in class and most everyone feels a little uncomfortable with that for now. So that is really refreshing.

It also makes me wonder if people doing other things feel the same way I do. I can see just about anyone in the arts feeling this way. Or like someone who is studying to be an architecht. I could see them really enjoying class. But, for example, does a math major really get excited to go to class and learn some new theorum? Maybe. You can do cool things with math. Does a business major just love studying what the benefits of outsourcing are? I don't know. I suppose they might.

I am just happy I found something I feel that way about.

All English Majors Are Gay

I recently had someone ask me if I was gay. When I asked for reasons as to why they thought this, my major came up as one of the reasons.

I, of course, immediatly thought of the quote from Orange County. "What do you have to write about? You're not oppressed. You're not gay."

So, in short, although I am not oppressed, depressed, gay, or an addict- I would still like to be a writer.

P.S. Remember the Schmidts Gay Saturday Night Live skit? That was funny.

To plunge or not to plunge (viewer discretion advised)

This would mark the fourth time I have sent an email to people who were not intended to receive it.

I flooded my toilet. I was stuck there for a while; no plunger and not able to put toilet paper in the toilet. I couldn't really do anything. So I texted C and told him my predicament. Anyway, I managed to get away. It evenually drained, but it was still plugged up, so there was a one flush per four hours minimum I was working with.

About two days later I was still in the same situation due to my laziness to walk around the corner and get Trash's plunger. I ended up spacing the four hour rule and flushed and flooded the bathroom.

I wrote this story, along with some movie quotes and stuff, to a select group of people. There was nothing terribly bad in these emails, but not everyone would find them amusing. Ha Ha, we had a laugh. Then the next day I ended up sending all these emails to almost everyone I knew. I felt a bit sheepish.

This, however, was not the first time this embarrassing situation had happened to me.

The first was when a girl at work and I had been arguing for a few days. I sent C an email telling him she was really bugging me, and I think she hates me. (The 'I think she hates me' was a good thing at the time. This would mean that she would stop talking to me.) I, of course, sent it to her. Oops.

The next one was when C had told me a story of when he got a hold of some anti-mormon pamphlets. One of them said, "Everytime you masterbate God kills a kitten," and there was a picture of a kitten running through a field. The reason this came up was because a girl had that same picture of the kitten hanging in her cubicle. So we had a laugh. The next day I sent an email to C quoting the phrase on the pamphlet to be dumb. I of course did not send it to him, but to a girl I had been talking to over email at that time, so I was in the habit of putting her name in there. I did not realize what I had done until I got her response of "That's disgusting." Which of course it was, being taken out of the context of the story I had been told. That was a bad one.

The last was just asking someone if they wanted to hang out, but sending it to someone I really didn't want to hang out with. Not that bad.

Anyway, I'm sure I'm not done. It will probably happen again. So I will apologize in advance to anyone who reads this for offending them by accident next time.

A Simple Pleasure

I was walking to the campus library yesterday in the snow. I love snow, and it was snowing big flakes. The campus was really quiet, and there was hardly anyone around. I thought to myself, "This is why I like winter. For moments like these."

I began to look to the sky and pick out a snowflake up high and then try to catch it. They of course move all around and sometimes you have to adjust quite a bit to end up beneath it. So, I would catch them, look at them, watch them melt, and then look for a new one to catch. I did it about four times, before I realized what I was doing. I looked to see if anyone had been watching me. There was a person walking toward me who had just exited the library, and three or four others walking on the sidewalk perpendicular to mine. No one had noticed me that I could tell. I then looked around thinking that there might be a girl walking around doing the same thing. We could then catch each other doing the same thing, laugh at each other, find out how much we had in common, and live happily ever after.

I didn't see one, so I entered the library telling myself I didn't live in a book, and making fun of myself for thinking such funny things.

Burrito Lips

I was again walking to the campus library when I saw on the sidewalk that someone had written in the snow "Burrito Lips." this made the rest of my walk quite entertaining.
I thought of what the person might have meant by Burrito Lips. Was it their band name? A digestive problem? A nick name?

My mind began to give me all sorts of different images; like the words Burrito Lips had just been Googled.

So now, I say to you my friend--Burrito Lips.

On Turning Twenty-Three

Youth. Where did it go? Apparantly right down the drain. I'm twenty-three now. That's old, Chach. You know, I can picture some old woman in my head telling me, "You are only twenty-three. You are still in your youth." You know what old lady? Today, I'm as old as I have ever been, and my 'youth' was a long time ago.

Ever since I was wee lad I can remember saying "These days aren't coming back again." My friends and I usually would say it as an excuse to do something dumb, like picking up all the road barricades we could find and placing them in such a way as to make two cars crash into each other, and then throw water ballons at them after they got out. Or starting Corner Canyon on fire. Anyway, I can't really say that anymore and I find I am a lot more lame now. I don't have an excuse to do anything, and i don't think it is that I am growing up; I would still stick my butt out the car window if I was with a group of people that thought it would be funny. There is just no motive anymore.

Now the one constant I have in my life, besides my family, is starting to go a bit squirly-my music. Lryics like "and now the fear in me is gone," are giving way to lyrics like, "Now I'm lost," when it seems like it should be the other way around. And some of the music of my youth is beginning to slip away along with the memories that are so firmly attached. And you know what else? The last concert I went to I stood in the back and watched.

I grew up with the same four kids all my life. Now they are all married, besides one who is in the national guard. For my entire life I have been defined through my friends; to me that was how I pictured growing up. How am I supposed to do that without them? It's the only way I know how. This is where the little old lady pipes up again. "Maybe you should find a nice young lady and follow suit." She's knitting now. Nice thought Aunt Jemima, but didn't you just finish telling me I'm in my prime? I'm confused. Plus I really couldn't, even if I wanted to. If it was the next step, wouldn't growing up have to occur first? I mean, I still think mooning people is funny. That can't put me very high on the 'most eligible bachelor' scale.

A Memorial to Beef

Yes, it is what's for dinner, but it was also the name of my truck from 1999-2002. The name was similar to Little John. "Ah, they call me Little John. But don't let my name fool ya; in real life I'm VERY big." So, he wasn't beefy. He just thought it was. And he thought he had a lot to prove.

It was a 1986 Chevy S-10. I had been driving my sister's car and I came home one night and there it was. The dull black paint was far from glistening in the twilight. It was beautiful. We were instant pals.

Everyone liked Beef becuase of his great confidence, and how he took no guff from anyone. No matter how large the task, Beef was always up to it. What he lacked in power and speed was more than made up for in imagination and creativity. He had a one of kind canny to think outside the box. For example, unable to pass Andersen's Ram Charger, Beef knew there was no way to pass it on the road (because the blasted thing was the same width as the road); Beef popped up onto the sidewalk and was able to pass the Ram Charger. However, he didn't always think ahead. He soon found himself coming up on an intersection with nowhere to go. Beef squeeled to the right and down a grassy hill, inbetween the trees, and jumped off the curb into a church parking lot where the on lookers were quite confused.

Rumors of Beef began to be whispered among the people. And soon tales of him began to spread far and wide. He ran wheeling machines into the ground. He proved the doubters wrong time and time again, until it seemed that nothing was impossible for him. Beef was not a ride; he was an experience. An experience not for the faint of heart, but those who dared enter the extended cab were treated to the most comfortable seats ever (Seriously. Maybe because they were really old and worn) and access to a cooler that was never lacking ice cold Mt. Dew.

As do all things Beef grew old and passed on, donating his parts to other Chevys. He is, however, far from dead and gone. His legend will live on forever. And his memory will forever grace those who knew him.

I write this memorial becuase I realize I never properly mourned for my good friend. So long, Beef ol pal, you were one crazy SOB. I can't believe I am still alive.

YAKS

Someone put a flyer by 'Youth Against the Kingdom of Satan' on our fridge at work the day we were having our Halloween party (I'm not sure it was for real). The headline was 'You wouldn't leave your kids with this babysitter would you???' Then there is a picture of Satan. 'Than why support Halloween?' It then talks about how Halloween is bad bla bla and gives reasons that we should dispose of Halloween. Here are a couple of my favorites:

-Sexual Activity increases 73% on Halloween.Who conducted that poll and who was polled?(Members of YAKS) Wow! We better get rid of St. Valentines day right quick. Not to mention prom.

-Halloween increases the following- anxiety, doorbell ringing, pumkin mutilations, (Not smashing. Come on. Now you're forcing it) deappreciation of the ten commandments.-Halloween decreases the following- self esteem, school attendance, (Aaah!) smiles, healthy teethal tissue, appreciation for the ten commandments. (You already mentioned the commandment thing. We get it.)

-Appropiate footwear is worn by very few at-risk trick-or-treaters.Dude...eh...uh...

-The following are known to have trick-or-treated: Adolf Hitler, Glen Danzig, Ted Bundy, Ozzy Osborne, Scott Bayo, and Connnie Chung.I wonder how many other Austrian youth were trick-or-treating along with Hitler. What's up with Scott Bayo and Connie Chung?

-The following are known to not have trick-or-treated: Abraham Lincoln, St. Nick, Kenny Loggins, Barbara Walters, and Moses......It then gives a time line starting with Hell giving birth to Satan in 2050 B.C. Then he celebrates his 544th birthday on October 31st. Apparantly we don't know what he did on that date on the other 543 years prior. And did you know that the Roman Empire fell because of Halloween fanaticism?

Don't get me wrong; I'm not a Satan lover. It's stupid people I'm not a fan of.