Top Ten Albums of 2007 (or my fiftieth post!)

Since I've done this list since '04, and published one last year, here we go.

Yes this is the only list you need to know about. Purchase everything on here. It truly was a great year and top ten is very difficult.

10) Once (Music from the Motion Picture) - Various Artists: I'm a fool for Irish folk, and this is some of the best. Glen Hansard's got passion. But how come these Irish songwriters are always writing about breaking up?

9) There Will Be Blood, Original Score - Johnny Greenwood: See the movie before you buy the album, but understand that both beg the questions to each creator: what else can he do? PTA can do everything that is film, Greenwood can constantly redefine what music means to us.

8) The Flying Club Cup - Beirut: I didn't think this guy was that great at first. My mistake this album grew on me more than anything this year.

7) Sky Blue Sky - Wilco: Tweedy grew mountains as a poet and composer, but who the frick mixed this album a monkey? P.S. Thanks for keeping that old sound while pushing into some uncharted waters.

6) The Shepherd's Dog - Iron & Wine: They've done the best job of moving from that lo-fi independent folk sound to a major release artist. Some beautiful composition as well. He's not just a singer-songwriter.

5) Cease to Begin - Band of Horses: The first track shows what kind of rock stars these boys really are. They are not afraid to let their music ride and rock.

4) Icky Thump - The White Stripes: CONQUEST. I liked this album a lot more than most people and jeeze I'm sorry. Jack White is the guitar hero right now.

3) Easy Tiger - Ryan Adams: I hated everything he put out since Gold in 2001, but I randomly picked this up and love everything on it. The writing is that good old stuff and whoever mixed this one should get in contact with Wilco. Aced. Not many people liked this as much as me, but dangit this is an album.

2) Neon Bible - The Arcade Fire: Holy crap thank you. Rock and Roll needs you Win Butler and so do I. This was in my car for almost two weeks just playing straight through. This is a musical accomplishment. I am very late on the Arcade Fire train, but I'll ride it.

1) In Rainbows - Radiohead. It's Radiohead. Any questions?


Honorable Mentions:
Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga - Spoon: "The Underdog" is such a hit, I just couldn't get into the rest of the album like all the kids could. I know I know.

Favourite Worst Nightmare - Arctic Monkeys: Yes, I spelled it correctly. I need to find more time and money and just get into this band a lot more.

The Con - Tegan and Sara: Produced by Chris Walla. Job always well done.

The Remedy - David Crowder Band: I wish I had room. Really really good, just not great or as innovative as his last album.

The Disappointments:
Under the Blacklight - Rilo Kiley: Why do people like this album? This band is so good and I was really looking forward to this release until I began vomiting while I listened to it. Why Jenny? Why?

Join the Parade - Marc Cohn: The great American singer-songwriter tries to be a fusion of Tom Waits and a 20-year-old indie rocker. Barf city. It should have been great.

Cassadaga - Bright Eyes: Dude I love you Conor O, but whatever happened to your talent of matching poetry to melodies? It seems like everything on this album is fantastic independent of each other, but when put together sounds a little like poop being thrown at a car.

Well seriously, give it up for 2007. I never really pay attention to music until school starts, and this year I was a touch late. But in spending so much time in my car it was not difficult catching up. Start listening to what's up. I feel like we're taking a really good turn.

Rock and Roll.

Propaganda, or I really try not to do this...

I am not the film fan of my family or my group of close friends, but I was chatting with some people who are and realized there are some solid films out right now. I saw a midnight showing last night of Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood and am under the realization that it is my duty as one of the privileged who saw it to tell you that you must see that movie. It comes to Cinema 21 in Portland on January 11th and it is worth your allowance.

The other movie I thought I could bring up was Juno. If you just never got the balls to ask her out this is just a cute date movie. And the bonus is you can take her out afterwards and talk about the repercussions of premarital sex!

I'm about to see Charlie Wilson's War and will just go ahead and recommend that to you.

But seriously, art has a big affect on me, but mainly in song or the written word. It has been a very long time since I have been so entertained and moved by a motion picture like I was sitting in that midnight sneaker of There Will Be Blood. It was just so solid.

Saw it with a steller group too.

So, you know, go see stuff, be entertained, think about it, talk about it. You live in the 21st century America! Act like it! Yea! Totally! Do it! America! Newsies jumping!

Merry Christmas

I beat you Scott.

My brother received one hell of a Christmas record entitled, A Christmas Gift for Your from Phil Spector. It includes this legendary photo of the master of pop music and I must say it was my bros idea to post it first, but I just could not resist. All humans should see this.

I'm off to upload new music (hello new Marc Cohn album) and read new books (hello Mystery Train) and party with the most excellent family (hello Niece and Nephew).

Merry Christmas. This is my gift to you all:


His button says "back to mono." Brilliant.

Rock and Roll?

We have some work to do. And when I say, "we," I mean, "we." As in, humanity.

Today, it was announced that Madonna would be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. This is weird because Madonna doesn't make rock and roll music. Maybe rock, but the woman has never rolled in her career. We need to define Rock and Roll. I am no man to do this, but that doesn't mean I can't hold the opinion that it needs to happen. C'mon, Madonna is on the list with the Dave Clark Five and the Ventures. Rock and Roll!

I know we lack Hall of Fames, but is there a pop music hall of fame? I don't know, but it seems a stretch to put Madonna with Rock and Roll. She's awesome and a matriarch of pop music history as well as entertainment history, but I feel like we're all becoming music pluralists...or relativists...or fascists.

Like a friggin' virgin.

"You Ain't Gettin' High Are You?"

"Hey brother!...Hey, man!"

He was slurring. It was 11pm. I knew before I even turned around.

Bum.

"Heyer man bro, look...I...don't. I mean I'm druhnk and I have no idea where I am"

This was a good one. The man couldn't even walk. You may call it walking, but when I see the feet cascade diagonally, I call it a drunken stagger. I responded with glee:

"Where do you need to go, man?"

"I need to-you need to-it's totally that."

"-"

Right. Maybe I should leave. He could kill me just because he's been bored the last two days. But I asked him again and he gave me a more sensible response. Remember kids, always ask dad twice when he's drunk.

"I need to go to fifteentn!" he shouted.

"Just head right down this street." I pointed to Lovejoy.

"That is NOT fifteenth brother, I checked. I looked. I saw like twee times dude."

"I know, but head down it and you'll get to fifteenth."

There was a small pause.

"What the hell is that train doing?!"

"..."

He was angry. But a comfortable anger. I repeated my directions (twice, kids), telling him to go down Lovejoy, to which he replied with changing his direction and muttering, "uh huh okay hey I've known...and stuff, and you." He trailed off.

As he staggered away he turned back to give me one last quotable phrase before he rode off into the sunset night:

"You ain't gettin' high are ya boy?"

"No man, no weed."

"CohCANE?"

"Um. no."

At this point I decided to leave because I could have a better conversation with my toaster (and, actually you would be surprised at that toaster's wit) and really wanted to relay the story to John immediatley. It was just another night where I was thankful I live in the city. You'll never get that kind of entertainment in the 'burbs.

I'm a Soul Man

This is about that time.

Motown comes back through my speakers right around now and I'm always reminded about my obsession because of Christmas music.

Why?

Because you're ignorant of the early 1960s African-American music scene, I will tell you this: the greatest music was all written, composed, produced, and performed by one individual and one band: Phil Spector and The Funk Brothers. No, that's not one entity, but rather quite separate. Spector created the teen love song and essentially defined what pop music was and is today. This was all predominately the white community. While he worked with black artists like Same Cooke, Spector's main arena was the white teen community. What no one knew then was that his songs are now accepted and loved by anyone and everyone. Black or white, rich or poor, old or young.

The Funk Brothers were Motown. They stood in the shadows of every Motown hit and are present on more number one hits than the Beatles, Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, and Elvis...combined. You need to know about them because they crafted that Motown sound. If you appreciate music, watch their documentary. I can't be sure right now, but I'm pretty sure it changed my life. There was a reason their studio was nicknamed, "The Hit Factory." (No not the club in New York...posers).

I can't tell you while I like Motown. Some of the early guys talk about the signature beat. But there's such a deep soul found in that era of music. It's in drums and bass and guitar and most definitely in the keys. It's like gospel music. Because of what was happening in America during that time and where technology was, this era will stand as simply the greatest era of American music.

But I have to get back on track. It's connection to Christmas music. When I say "Christmas Music," I'm not talking about Jingle Bells or those old hymns like "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." I'm talking about American pop Christmas Music. Like "What Christmas Means to Me" and "All I Want for Christmas is You." These songs were mostly written by the Funk Brothers and performed by artists they backed. The sound is that Mowtown sound because it's written, composed, produced, and played by those guitarists and bassits and drummers.

I suck at explaining these things. I just know that when "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" comes on I don't think about anything but the music coming out of the speakers. Do you think we'll ever get anything like that ever again?

I don't know if I want anything else.

Do you have music like that? I mean, we've all got the stuff that makes us think and feel. But what about that music that doesn't recall many thoughts or emotions but just makes you enjoy the music for what it is? When I hear Stevie Wonder, The Four Tops, or the Temptations, I just think, "this is exactly what music should sound like."

In no way do I think or wish everyone to think this about Motown. But I hope you have that music that does that to you.

It's Not Funny! [Part 2]

Why Jesus? (Holy frick I just said "Jesus"...stick with me). Above everyone and all those ideas about finding fulfillment in "God"? Why Christ? Well, that's a long answer. I've answered that one a lot. Here's the short version: Because he's the only one who claimed to be God, and suffered just like you and just like me. Oh, and then he rose from the dead.

Caesar claimed to be God, and so did Alexander the Great. Those guys claimed things even Muhammad and Joseph Smith were too afraid to claim. But all those guys are dead. They're buried somewhere. Dead. Rotting. And Caesar had a damn good life. So did Alexander. I see no evidence in the life of Christ that said he had anything good. It was bad for thirty years for that guy. From birth into poverty to the death of a criminal. But his mind and his eyes were on something else. Caesar looked to the mirror, Alexander looked to the land he conquered. Jesus looked at you. He looked at me. And in being completely God and completely man, he saw that you and I are broken because he was broken. We're dirty. Mean. Nasty. Since he was God, and he created you and me, he wanted to save this wrecked creation. Not that he messed it up - it's pretty obvious you and I screwed with it huh?

So he came. He taught good principles for life. And he lived in a way that modeled those things. Perfectly. So we could look to him when we were stumbling. But then he died. God died? Jesus died. But the story doesn't end there. He's the only man in the history of the universe to do this: he beat death. Death had him for three days. He fought it, and rose - physically - from the dead.

People doubted, of course. I mean, even people who saw it doubted. They couldn't believe it. But that didn't seem to phase Jesus. He said that he would be with us until the end of the age, and when we need him, we can call out to him. This goes way beyond Caesar. I wouldn't believe Jesus if he just died. God's don't die. But I believe Jesus because he said he would die, and said he would rise. And he did both, and in so doing, gives me reason to look up, gives me reason to live, and gives me reason to think that whatever I accomplish is nowhere near anything he ever did, is doing, or will do. That's why I live, work, laugh, breathe, rest, wake, and strive for him. Not because anything I can do, but what he did, is doing, and will do.

That's why I just can't write about theology right now, or scripture, or doctrine. I guess I just had to write about Jesus. He's better than all that, and writing about this helps me laugh at the fact that I'm in pain, and things aren't necessarily going my way. But the ultimate realization that things are going His way. Always. That makes me feel good. I am not in control. I am not in control. We are not in control.

Things are going His way. And anyways, who the flip cares if things are going my way...except for me?

Oh that's right.

No one.

It's Not Funny! [Part 1]

I just cannot write about theology right now. I can write and write and write and write, but just not about theology. Nothing about God or his attributes, or how the human can experience the divine, or how the scriptures prove this and disprove that. I just cannot.

This doesn't mean I don't believe in all of that anymore. It just means what it means. I can't write about it. And I like the fact that I cannot always write about it, because if I never got sick of writing these thesis papers, it would mean that I would be taking it way too seriously.

There are moments, especially as of lately, where I believe I am a person of great value. Like the world would screw up without me. But I'm in a constant state of realization that that is simply false. I can get lost in this doctrine, or that passage, or this type of ministry, but in the end I don't want any of that. I want what you want.

I want joy.

Joy doesn't come from books (although it often seems like it), and joy doesn't come from the television, or magazines, or movies, or...bible college (definitely not Bible college). I believe happiness is found in these things, but I don't see joy coming from those things.

Honestly and truthfully, my belief is that God, in making all things, made joy, and I believe that life in Christ is ultimate lasting joy (Ok, I realize I just said "Christ" and half, if not three fourths of you, just decided to stop reading...just hang with me!). And I usually find this when I'm not taking my job, or my ministry, or my life seriously. Because that's not what it's about.

The record of the apostles in the Bible is totally this way. The author of Hebrews says that some of them were risking their property in order to help other people out, and that they "gladly" gave their stuff to be burned in order to help their friends who were in jail. The early Christian writer Paul is always talking about the future joy he'll find in Christ, and how his present suffering or issues were not a big deal compared to the end game.

There's this colloquial saying amongst us evangelicals that goes something like this: "A heavenly mind makes a crummy earthly life." (Just read that again with grandma's voice). This phrase infers that if you think too much about heaven, you'll never be satisfied with what you have or are doing, and in turn, rot somewhere in Florida. I think there's a good amount of truth to that, but I would say that a heavenly mind often makes a more joyful earthly life. Because you're not taking the earthly part as serious as the heavenly part. Because it was those people in high school who thought their life meant everything and three bags of Fritos that were either failures or douchebags. Sometimes they got lucky and were both.

I see it boiling down to this: seeking "fulfillment" or "enlightenment" or "joy" or whatever we all want in common is not found here. Haven't we figured that out yet? I mean, hasn't your life sucked enough? Aren't there more wackjobs and freaks than heroes and saints? The common denominator is not that life right now rocks. For some people, it's awesome right now. But not everyone on earth will experience those good times. Some people live their whole lives without the good. But no one on this earth lives their whole life in bliss and total joy. And so the answer has to be found in suffering, and in pain. And, to me, the right answer would say, "This isn't it. If fact, it's the worst you'll ever have, because what's ahead is amazing. So stop sitting in your pain, stop wallowing in your sorrow, and pick up your head. Look the frick up! See? Every mountain, every blade of grass, every tree, and flower, and natural growth GOES UP! So why don't you?"

Look up.

Because the up is blue.

The up is limitless.

The down is the ground.

The down has limits.

The down is your own feet.

And your feet smell.

Saturday Night

I'll be receiving fifty American dollars for chaperoning a Bar Mitzvah downtown. I just thought you should know.

Ride it

I just - what? I - I'm sorry is that - is that really - ? What? Ok ye - nevermind.

Look.

It's October, and you know what I ask myself every October?

Where the hell did September go? Like, I could have sworn just last week we were preparing to launch the new Study on Saturday night, but I guess that was three weeks ago. Holy. And then I look at this blog and realize I haven't given it the time of day since, well, about three weeks ago, and then I look at my life and think that I haven't done much for well, three weeks, and now I'm in the middle of a run on sentence and have no idea how to stop it or reconcile it and furthermore am too lazy to go back and try to repair it.

October.

From here on to Christmas, things just don't stop. School, work, play. It will be Christmas before you know it. So break out Hanson's Christmas Album or else you just won't enjoy it that much.

I'll be wearing a tie tomorrow. What are you going to do?

I'm Probably the Only One

I hope you noticed (and were impressed by) the fact that I crammed three prepositional phrases into my last blog title. I'll accept your gifts and burnt offerings later.

It has become a routine for me to go to Powell's every friday. This is good for all reasons except for the fact that my back account takes a hit every friday and saturday. But that just seems to be the life around here. I have no idea what the purpose is behind this post, but just wanted to inform you of my triumph over the English language (see previous post).

I have no time to wrap this up in a clever way, I am late to class.

At the End of the Second Watch of the Night

For the first time in a long time, I am up at 2 AM.

In college, the late night was a constant. In fact, thinking about it now, I remember my roommate Zach and I would look at one another strangely if we started "packing it in" any earlier than midnight thirty. Lately, Johnny and I have been "hittin' the hay" long before that time and are normally completely tired by 11. And if we start a movie later than 10 we're done and will be "turnin' in" in a Mississippi second.

Yes, I'm getting older. I feel like an old man. I found a gray hair the other day. My kid's are telling me I "don't know the scene."

Whatever that was.

I just thought it strange to be here and think it's weird I'm up this late and don't feel like "un-doing the belt."

The bad thing is that this is on a Saturday night.

"I thought that was the best night to stay up late," you say.

No no no, my child. I think you're forgetting something. You see, when you work for a church, you work when everyone else is "slappin' that easy chair." The rest of the world sits on their ass on Sundays. I work up to twelve hours.

***Bible College Story***

I actually sit next to a guy in my World Christianity class who cannot name one Beatles song. Not a single one. He told me he was a man, and that he tells the truth quite a bit. Not one. At least there's another side of things; I met an old guy there who has every Beatles album on vinyl. Vinyl. I smell bacon...Christendom is alive baby.

San Diego plays New England tomorrow.

The Most Fun We've Ever Had

The callbox rings and we're both surprised.

"You expecting someone?" I ask John from the kitchen. I was doing the damn dishes again and was pissed.

"No man." He says this just sitting on his ass. The guy just sits on his computer "punching his hours" for the church as a graphic designer. My foot. I should ask him to buzz them up to see who it is. This hasn't happened yet but it's probably Suz or Ali.

"Just get the door man they'll be up in a minute," I say from the kitchen over the sound of the water.

"Alight alright."

John opens the door and to his dismay finds a barrel sitting in the ground outside of our place. He observes it quietly as to make sure nothing shifty were to happen.

"Who is it man?" I say curiously.

"It's a package," replies John carefully. "Or, a barrel," he says to himself.

"What? Just open it man it could be those Beanie Babies I got off eBay."

"Alright. I think I need some type of tool to open this thing man."

"Grab the crow bar. It's right there." I'm still saying all this from the kitchen, not expecting this to be any sort of huge deal. I have to knock out these dishes in order to get my homework done tonight. I continue to scrub and dry the large pans used for breakfast.

"CHRIS...." John says slowly but loudly. Before I can get a word in I hear animal noises. It must be...monkeys? It sounds like...

"IT'S A BARREL OF MONKEYS!!!"

As I round the corner with intensity and adrenaline, I see John playing with three primates while about four others begin making their way through the foyer and into the living room. I have no control over them as they begin throwing things in my living room at each other and on the floor. Their shrieks become hilarious and my laughter becomes uncontrollable. John's smile meets mine and we ensue in having the most fun we're ever had with that barrel of monkeys. So thanks to whoever brought that our way.

"Gayest Bar in Northwest!"

Living off of NW 23rd isn't as glamorous as most would think. Every time I reveal the fact that I live in Northwest Portland most people say something to the effect of, "Oooh, very nice," in a very non-Borat inflection. Truth be told, I don't fit in with the whole yuppie 23rd deal. I used to try in high school...I think. But now I've accepted my fate as a nerdy student of the a 1500 year old book.

In saying that, the yuppie scene is interesting. I can't decide if the hipsters who live here live on their own dime or not. The coffee shops are full at two in the afternoon. I often wonder if these people actually work. So I ask them.

"I'm a writer, actually."

"I'm an artist. Visual"

"I write."

"I sell knives."

Whatever they do it seems as though they are never doing it. Somehow their bank accounts are plugged and they have those fresh prescriptions for those thick-rimmed glasses they really don't need. They fill the bars five days a week. These bar owners must be stoked because they aren't banking on a good weekend, but the wine is being poured seven days a week and they're drinking it up.

People just don't do anything. Really. They do very little. And what they do seems somewhat individualist and in the end...boring? Maybe I don't get it, and I don't expect to understand everything, but I want to get excited about wine and cheese as much as the guy down the hall does. But I just can't, I don't think I'm wired that way.

But c'mon. I'm exactly like them, just at a different angle. Sure I don't wear those cool glasses, let alone the perfect vintage clothes or the retro pants. And I'm no artist or writer, and certainly have nothing to do with knives let alone the selling of them. But I work for a church, work that mostly keeps me at home. I study at a Bible college for about three hours a week and come home to study and write either for work or for school. I spend most of my life reading words or jotting them down while I drink too much caffeine and then too much water (yes it's possible). There's no point to this just the usual ramble. My life is a lot more interesting, I swear. I just don't blog about those things. At least not that much.

The quote which has been placed in the "title" section comes from a good bum John and I had the pleasure of speaking to. We were eating A Lotto Galato (is that how you spell that?...you get the picture shut up) and this bum starts yelling. Nothing out of the ordinary if you know bums. But this one has purpose man, he's got a vision for this fine city. He approached our table. We're with the ladies and Suz is telling this story when Bum decided he had to tell us about the informants and the gay's parading around Northwest.

He continued to go through an incoherent but purpose-driven monologue where the only thing I could pick out were certain expletives and the word "informants." He was speaking softly and actually quite punctual with his tone and inflection, until someone at the bar down the street must have made a face at him. Suddenly and with incredible clarity he spoke up with a shout:

"Gayest bar in Northwest!"

At that the group lost it in complete laughter and tears of hilarity. He saw our laughter and thought that was great that he was making us laugh and continued to give us his stand-up routine for free. Gracious men still exist my friends.

The Good News

I love living in Northwest Portland. The Streetcar takes you right downtown in minutes for absolutely no price. I am taking advantage of everything I can before I start school and my already obnoxiously busy schedule gets busier.

A great addition to any city street are the street evangelists. Everyone loves to hate them. We love to write about them, and we love to watch them. Interacting with them is our last desire for fear of being trapped into their fascinating theatrics.

"The Good News man!" one said. "It's the Gospel! The Good News!"

He was preaching fire and brimstone before telling me about good news.

"What's the good news?" I had to ask.

"I'm glad you asked," he replied.

He went on to tell me that I was a bad person, and that before I could even do anything about it, I was a sinner; born in offense to God, the creator. He said that if I didn't accept Jesus into my heart that I would go to a place with "gnashing teeth" and fire.

Unfortunately, this is "the gospel" to most people. But how is this "good news?" I'm an awful person and unless I confess to Jesus I'll burn forever away from God? This isn't good news at all. In fact, this is pretty shitty news to me.

But this is the world we live in. We've westernized close to everything we've heard about Jesus. Turned him white, painted his eyes blue, and put him through a makeover at the make-up counter at Nordies.

Search the Bible, search the life of John the Baptist and Jesus. The "good news" was in no way a path to heaven or a ticket to the big show in the sky. The good news was that Heaven came to earth, and we could actually know God. And that our troubles will one day be delivered from us - lifted off our backs. The good news was a king came to earth, and that hope for a restored broken world is now more real than anyone could possibly imagine.

The "good news" has been turned into information of how to get to heaven, instead of transformation of the life you live now. Christ rarely talked about the future of earthly things going up to heaven, but he could not stop talking about heavenly things coming to earth.

"Pillow Fight!"

Last night marked the second annual Portland Pillow Fight. I have no idea who organizes these or how they corral this many Portlanders together, let alone making all of them hit each other.

But nonetheless I somehow found out about this and Scott and I decided we should check it out. Luckily, we have great friends that thought it was a sweet idea as well. So here are some epic pictures from an event that was the greatest thing I've ever done with strangers.


I didn't get a picture of the most dangerous one. He was a pink haired, nipple-ringed punk in camouflage. One time, as my friend John and I ran through the mob of pillowing Portlanders, he hit John on the top of the head with two pillows. His nipple rings shone in the sunset embers and a pang of fear rushed through my body. You should have been there.

Change in Current

My new job at Rolling Hills Community Church has shifted almost everything about my life. I have totally enjoyed getting paid for the type of work I do. Working with students and kids my age wrestle with the question of faith is one of the most exciting things possible. It is real and more rewarding that I think it should be.

It has come to my attention, however, that my creativity has taken a new outlet. My job requires much musing over ministry strategies, sermon topics and execution, as well as positive ways to serve the city of Portland and surrounding communities at large. I have met powerful people and incredible leaders, but have seen a lack of substance in my previous creative outlets. I have not written many songs over the last couple months, I haven't blogged about anything funny or odd, and I haven't been reading the same type of literature I read before.

I haven't really come to the conclusion of whether or not this bothers me, as it will probably take some time to sort out. I will say that when you truly offer all your gifts to God, including your mind, things sort of look different. Luckily, I have been content with what has come of this new channelling of creative juices and perhaps this blog will see some reports of what has been happening at Rolling Hills and the church at large.

I don't know.

But I really don't want to become another one of those blogging ministers...although it most likely is my fate.

Moving Out, or Why I Have a Shit Eating Grin on My Face

I needed boxes. Let's face it, when you move out, it's the one thing you hate getting. I have to get effing boxes. And you try to think about ways around it. I could just throw all my clothes in the car...

But alas you succumb to the chore of getting off of your fat ass and buying some boxes.

Or not.

It dawned on me, after my dad had explained thoroughly how to purchase boxes, that I live on a college campus, and there are tons of businesses and offices on that campus. Along with my need for boxes I had a need for cash, so I trucked down to the bookstore to see if they would pay me a dime for my beat up psychology tome. And they would. The dude scanned it and said in a monotone, "thirty bucks."

"I'll take what I can get," I said. His response was a blank stare and a slap of the Return key on his vintage PC. Okaaay. As I was walking to the cashier to obtain my cold hard cash, I realized that this place would be excellent for getting some boxes. I got my money and asked the guy at the desk if he had boxes he was going to recycle. He took me to this sketch back room where, for a moment, I actually thought I would die a slow death. Instead, Jolly George thanked me for relieving him of his menial daily task.

"I dunno," I said with skepticism. "These may not do the trick."

"I'll pay you ten bucks right now if you take this boxes," he said with complete determination.

"No, I don't think I can use these boxes," I said with a sigh. He opened his wallet and revealed that he only had twelve American dollars.

"Here, twelve man, I really want to get out of work early and recycling takes me forever."

"Ok. But I'm doing this for you, not me, George." I said compassionately.

I walked out of the bookstore astonished for multiple reasons. First, my Psychology book was not worth more than 20, secondly that the first place I asked for boxes I found them, and third that the boxes were perfect and not worth close to three dimes.

Walking up to my room I could not stop smiling. I passed some people who acknowledged my happiness and pleasure. They knew that I scored big time by getting what appeared to be free boxes. What they didn't know is that those boxes were far from free. I was plus forty bones and feeling like it.

Sucka's.

Come on Now!

I am not really sure how this is going to go, but I feel like I owe this blog some attention.

Did you know that some Hong Kong students actually tried to ban the Bible due to its "offensive sexual and violent content?" It was actually quite a fluke after they realized that it was considered a "Holy Book." God bless the HK.

So, after that.

Ali and I were waiting for a bus downtown and ran into this hilarious and somewhat out-of-mind woman named Angie. She was sweet but it was unclear what she was actually up to as she was heading to Desert Sun Tanning at 10 at night...but who am I to say that's shifty? Ali and I got chatting with her and it turned out she actually lived in "the shitty building on 1st and Denny." This is funny because my good buddy John actually lives in the same place. There's no way she lives on the 3rd floor, let alone knows who John is...it's a huge building.

"Yea, the third floor," she said excitedly. "I live right by the stairs."
"No way! My friend John lives in 301!"

I now come to a final conclusion and rest my case that John's place is really really crappy. But that's what makes it so amazing. Wow I wish I had something to write about. The funny thing is I've been out and about exploring now with the weather being nice, but I haven't had anything out of the ordinary happen. I will inform you that I am wearing a red shirt.

Good day!

O English Major!

Now that I am no longer an English Literature Major (and I put that in proper form for a reason), I am ready to completely bash the field that I have enjoyed so greatly. Believe me, I would make fun of Bible majors much more than anyone in the English Department, but that would just be hypocrisy in its most simplest form.

So here's my list I've compiled of the many things that I laugh at in my random English lit classes I've taken thus far:

1) English majors have a ridiculous obsession with the characters they read about. In the middle of a novel, the class will be discussing whether they "trust Captain Benwick" or not. The guy is not real. Get the net. These are fictional characters that were made up three hundred years ago. It doesn't really do anyone any good for us to have a little pity party over your feelings towards the actions of King Duncan. I'm sorry you feel as though Anne should have been more forthright with the Admiral, but you'll just have to move on with life.

2) There seems to be "relevance" to every piece printed in scholarly anthologies. We were just discussing "Kubla Kahn," an eighteenth century poem written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and some of the comments made by the class made me giggle. The author admitted to being hyped up on opium while writing it - he says so in the introduction. But many of our famous classmates had to insist that "the imagery of the cities falling and the women calling for demon-lovers had a pang of resemblance to the political happenings of the time." Opium kids. This is your brain on drugs.

3) They actually believe T.S. Eliot was a poet.

4) English majors love hating on the most established and famous writers of the past. Milton is trash and Wordsworth is simply reckless. Arguments about such people and their value in English literature could be pressed on for days. Days, seriously.

5) Perhaps my biggest complaint about English majors is that they're really just wannabe philosophers. Every English teacher, professor, or Dr. I've ever had has said that they are not like the other English teachers, but that they really like the text. "I'm all about the text," they say admirably, "I don't like random, abstract ideas...give me concrete evidence and then we'll talk." Yeah right. We'll read a short poem or a paragraph from the novel and talk for the rest of the class period on how God could create evil or why we all end up suffering.

That felt good.

The irony in this is that I will actually miss so much in being an English major. The ideas that literature brings to the table and the way they are communicated are so incredibly fascinating. You just have to poke fun at what you love. Plus, my way of dealing with my grief of leaving is through inflicting pain on others. So tearing others down lifts me up...sue me.

Oh, and since I'm no longer an English major, please don't correct my grammar and spelling...I truly do not give two craps about it. Instead, keep me accountable with my morals or my theological ideas. I'm a Bible major now, bitch.

Little Announcement

Well, now that I think about it, it's kind of large. You may think it small, but I'm going through "dem changes," and this seems like an "announcement-worthy" change.

If you have not heard through the grapevine, I will not be attending Seattle Pacific University next year, but instead will be transferring to Portland Oregon to attend Multnomah Bible College and Biblical Seminary. I'll be making this move primarily and basically due to what I believe to be what we Christians have deemed, "God's calling." If you don't understand this, I'd love to talk to you about it sometime.

If you're around my age, you're trying to figure out what to do with who you are. In high school, I figured out who I was (barely), now it's time to figure out what to do with who I am. The Bible and the study of Theology has been an increasing interest of mine. At Multnomah, I'll be getting the training to go into full time ministry work. That means a lot of things and include, but are not limited to: telling people about the real God and his Gospel, working overseas, perhaps teaching the Bible in schools, and basically working to try to change the image Christianity has...which will be difficult. We appear to be a bunch of old white republicans who hate sex. To many we are people who cram religion down throats and love war, we have become massive manipulators of the soul. This hurts me. This is not the Gospel I read.

The only way to change this image is to serve the world that has created it. If enough serve, I'm convinced this world would be a better place. It's all about service. But that's a whole other subject...

I'd really like to talk to you about my decision to move, as it involves much more than I can write here. And if you don't care, well then, it's all good...just smile at me.

Secondly, (yes a second announcement), I'll be working for Rolling Hills Community Church starting this summer and going through the school year. I'll be working full-time this summer and I'm really excited. Rolling Hills is a great place, but like every church or organization, has lots of work to be done. I've seen too many people hurt by churches and I want that to change, especially at Rolling Hills.

Ladies and gentleman let me say it again: I'm not about law, rules, creeds, church, or even religion, I'm about redemption. And the only One to do so or even claim to do so thus far is the person Jesus Christ. I'm all about redemption, and I'll follow the Redeemer until I die...who's with me?*

*The author apologizes for such a boring and arduous announcement. He promises to get better and hopes you don't think of him to be a sap. He really had nothing to write about and thought this would take up some space. While all the previous is totally true, he knows that a fake announcement would bring a lot more laughter, he just thought the truth may be more insightful for once. He knows he was wrong. He wishes to inform you that you, the reader, are a sap.**

**The author has no clue as to what the term, "sap," actually means and apologizes for his arrogance and ignorance.***

***The author has gotten much better at spelling!

Old Man, Casanova

So there we were. Just the two of us sitting on a bench at Kerry Park. The view of the entire city of Seattle and the Puget Sound was before us like a painting laid out across a museum's wall. We had walked the mile and a half to watch the sun set behind us and reflect off of the Space Needle and the city's water.

There is a motor scooter.

I can't really tell where it is coming from, but I know it's approaching us. I turn my attention away from her to see if we would get in a small fender bender. Scooter. Approaching us is a somewhat overweight older man wearing an over-sized bass fishing shirt. His hat is cocked above his head to the left and his large glasses take up close to three fourths of his face. The cigarette is dangling from his mouth...I swear it is going to fall out...catch it...

He stops.

Ok, look at him. Ah ha.

"Hello dere," he says. Watch the cigarette.

"Hi," we say simultaneously. His gaze turns toward her.

"Well then. What's such a fine lady like yourself doing with such an ugly brat like him." His chuckle takes more energy than it should. Watch that damn cigarette. Before we had time to respond I began laughing uncontrollably, as I often do in circumstances that complete my existence. His exit was the most excellent part of our engagement. He sort of looked around smiling, as though he had won her over. He had though...he really had, that Casanova.

You must understand that I think I have actually prayed about this moment before. I have often thought about being old and the super powers you get. He used his unmatchable superpower of offending anyone younger than him. I mean, you sit there reading this thinking that you would have said something witty, but you really wouldn't...no, you wouldn't.

Because I had a couple remarks in my holster as I have been waiting to be offended by an old person for quite some time. But I can't actually say anything. What am I to say?

"Oh yea, I ask myself that a lot, she does deserve a man on a scooter with maybe 5 years left."

"Yea, I know, she's always wanted me to pick up the whole smoking while scootering thing...I'm just not man enough. I don't got it in me."

"Old man, don't even start with me. She's mine!"

"Alright that's it. You. Me. No scooters - it's GO TIME BITCH!"

But you can't say anything. You can't even do anything. The guy is old, c'mon. Anyone with half a heart isn't going to say anything. The guy is out for a freaking walk...or, scooter. But nonetheless, I can't insult him, all I can do is rejoice in the completion of something I've been waiting for for way too long. God Bless America.

A Bunch of Lemmings

My dorm room sits under a small ledge by a parking lot. Across the parking lot there is an enormous knoll. The hill cascades up at a respectfully steep rate, leaving the hike up and down to be quite difficult - rain or shine.

Today was one of the first sunny days in a while. Perfect, I might say. It was about 63 degrees and the sun was shining brightly outside of the clouds. A small breeze blew the shade from the trees across the plush green grass. Beautiful day.

Naturally, college students just flock to this grassy knoll to sit and read, or perhaps poorly play Jack Johnson on their $250 guitar. Maybe they will toss the frisbee or kick a soccer ball. In the late afternoon there were about 25 collegiates out there. As dinner time rolled around (about 6pm), all - and I really mean all of them - simultaneously packed up their guitars and threw on their flip flops as if mom rang the "come and get it!" bell. I had the ultimate pleasure of watching all 25 or so slowly make their way down the steep slope. The greatest satisfaction of this event was that they had no idea that the rain from the day before was still making its way down the hill and into the parking lot. The hill was quite damp, to say the least.

One by one, and in a systematic fashion, men and women alike began to fall on their asses. Like a bunch of lemmings the students were falling down the hill, not learning from their peers falling around them. First the girl in the sunglasses and blue top eats it hard, then the bro in the trucker hat is taken out while his friends giggle. But I would have to say the best was the hat trick: three girls holding hands while walking down the hill all took grass to the ass. The center female slipped causing a chain reaction to hit her supporters. All three fell right on their caboose, and while after falling on her butt, one toppled over on her stomach loosing her sunglasses and small satchel.

In all seriousness I truly think I saw 12 individuals bite dirt on that small but steep incline. I'm sure some of those students could tell me all about first century philosophy or George Washington's opinions on strategic neutrality, but for all the knowledge we pretend to attain and for all the intellect we believe we foster, we're still a bunch of animals.

A Couple of Things

Let me be honest, I have never enjoyed the word, "things," but it is really all I have for what I was trying to get across. Right then. Here are some happenings in my world and perhaps a piece of yours.

1) April is Jazz History Month! So keep doing what you always do!

2) "Hot Fuzz" is the new movie from those dudes who did "Shaun of the Dead." This one is remarkable and perhaps one of the funnier movies I've ever seen...ever....

3) The Second Earl of Rochester could be the most disgusting men in all of English history. He's at least on the top 10. Right next to Judi Dench...

4) Greek Orthodox Church service tomorrow. I have no comments on this, nor feel like I need them.

5) The NBA playoffs are on and they are a pleasure to watch.

6) Yesterday we were walking downtown and there were at least five people holding signs in hopes that they would either get weed, or score money for some hash from aimless pedestrians or tourists. Happy 4/20...and make sure the kids get some, for the sake of our future.

7) I can't wait to see what I get for Earth Day!!!!

So all I really wanted to tell you about was that it was Jazz Month, but then I just kept going. Alrighty then, don't light your houses on fire, and see you soon.

For Your Namesake

I am a Christian. I do not ascribe to a religion or list of rules or sayings. I live my life by, for, and in a person: Jesus Christ.

I wish there was some way where I could tell every person who has had some sort of scar from Christianity in the past, that it wasn’t God or Jesus that hurt them, but that it was man. It was the Priest who raped the child, the pastor who excommunicated the lesbian, and the preacher who told you that you weren’t good enough. These are not Jesus’ words. You want Jesus’ words? These are the Red Letters:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything ill fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely…”
(Matthew 11:28-30 MSG)

Jesus Christ never called us to a set of rules. He calls us to Him. “Follow me,” he says, “Keep company with me,” he says again. Jesus doesn’t just know the truth or possess it like many other religious figures claim, Christ is the truth. He embodies it. And the truth is, while humanity has screwed up so much in His name, Christ still stands tall and mighty.

The Gospel is good news, not news of hell and fire. The difference between Christ and anything else out there in the “religion world” is this: Redemption vs. Religion. Religion gives a guideline, a book or creed that you must live by or else God hates you. Christ is Redemption and this means God loves you. Period. You’ve done wrong. Hell, who hasn’t? But don’t you think the Creator of the world knows that? Don’t you think if he created the world, that he knows and already knew that his creation would choose to do bad things? That’s exactly why he sent Jesus Christ. When Christ died on the cross his last words were, “It is finished.” Religion says you have work to do, and if you aren’t doing that work, God will hate you. Memorize this, give all that, preach till you are soar, then God will love you. God says, “It is finished. I have always loved you, and will always love you. Accept with faith, and My Grace will cover those things you have done and will do.”

April Fools

I approached her slowly, because I was so nervous. You would be too, so don't get all righteous about it. This situation was as tense as a trip to the bathroom that lasts longer than 12 minutes.
"Excuse me, Ma'am?" I say with caution.
"Yes?" she replies calmly. Oh man she's kindhearted, gentle. I wouldn't slap this woman for a million bucks...well, maybe a million, but still, she's freaking kindhearted; I can tell by her eyes.
"Do you own a black Labrador?"
"I do, yes."
"Oh, wow...um....shoot. I, um,...I...hit it with my truck..."
"Oh God!"
"Yeah, it was crossing Borland and I was changing my iPod from this soft India Arie song to something more appropriate for the weather conditions and my mood when I totally rammed into your dog...I'm so... sorry..."
"Oh no! She's dead?! She can't be! No! No!"
"Yeah, and...um, well, after I hit it, my adrenaline was pumping at full and I wanted to destroy any possible evidence...so..."
"So what?!"
"Well."
"?"
"I ate her."
"You...ate....her?!"
"Did I stutter? I ate your Labrador! I'm sorry, my bodily instincts took over, believe me I didn't like it, I felt like an animal!...I mean, I can't even believe that I actually did it...it was so intense...I...I don't know what to say..."
She started crying deeply, her hurt was in her chest, the woman was weeping. Pull the plug this has gone way too far.
"April Fools!"
"What?"
"April Fools! It's April 1st, and I didn't eat your dog ma'am....haha, oh wow that was a hoot!"
"Oh tha---"
"But I did hit it with my truck."
"-"
"It's dead. But at least I didn't eat her huh? Huh? Yeah? Yeah, at least I didn’t eat her"

It's Been A While

That title is the worst yet. Primarily for its association with that detestable song by the fizzling one-hit-wonder band, Staind, and secondly for it's large and annoying cliche factor.

But moving on.

It has been a while. And beyond my disgust for becoming another one of those people who abruptly stops blogging for no apparent reason, I found out something very important.

People actually read this thing.

This frightens me because I get an average of .456 comments on each entry, but apparently that is because all you who read it like to just give yourself pleasure by staying up really late at night and pouring over my words with lustful eyes. Sinful, this is sinful. I do have to admit it has been interesting to witness the different ways people have told me they like my blog. Some of you have told me over facebook, which is (I guess) alright and others have been hilarious about it and told it to my face, which is respectable, then there's those of you who enjoy these pointless rantings and videos without saying a word to me. Maybe you've never met me, maybe you want to meet me, maybe you've known me forever. Whatever it is, it's kosher to let me know that you a) read it and b) enjoy or despise it. And if there's one thing the author has learned in life it's this: do what's kosher.

I have a story ready to be published on this little site here soon and I will throw it up ASAP*. Stay tuned, I'll be back.


*The author notes that some who read this blog are mentally retarded and share their IQ score with that of an old toaster oven. He now lets you know that ASAP stands for As Soon As Possible and that when he says "throw it up" he doesn't mean he will literally vomit a story or tall tale seeing as that is physically impossible and emotionally exhausting, but that "throw it up" is just a slang term used by the kids to say "one will be putting this information on the internet." He also thanks you for your time and patience with this small print. He furthermore wishes to say that the first Matchbox Twenty album doesn't get nearly as much credit as is due.

His Airness Michael Jordan

I stepped into this guy's room the other day and he was watching "Michael Jordan: The Greatest," and I was thinking that I need to see more Jordan. I loved this era of the NBA, and I actually miss it. Just watch this video, even if you don't like basketball. This guy isn't playing a game, he's painting a picture. There will never be another like him. Michael Jordan is a complete legend.

R Kelly in the background...you love it.

That's What She Said!

I've been wanting to write about "That's What She Said Day" ever since the celebration on Thursday. First of all, if you know who invented it, please let me know because I will find him and give him a firm handshake. He deserves more than that but I'm afraid that's really all I can offer with complete confidence.

On Thursday, February 15th 2007, we as a community of Americans celebrated "That's What She Said Day" or TWSSD. On this day, it is your duty as a male to comeback with "That's what she said!" to anything that requires some sort of verbal response, regardless of context of sensibility. For example:

Victim: I'm so exhausted
Perpetrator: That's what she said!

This day was perfectly selected to be celebrated on the day after Valentine's Day - so the impact would be much more satisfying to the male gender. However, while that example somewhat made sense, I'd like to share with you my first "hit" of TWSSD:

I was walking to the bathroom after I arose from my slumber to go take a shower. In one of the shower stalls was our ultra-tight-bathroom-cleaner-dude Michael. Michael was working hard and I didn't want to disturb him. I approached and asked him a simple question:

"Hey what stall would you like me to use?"
"Oh, anyone is fine, whichever makes you happy," he replied.

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID. Boo yah, and my first hit was complete. While Michael was incredibly confused and not entirely sure what I had said, I knew in my heart I had won him over.

A couple notable capitalization's that occurred throughout my day:

"Chris Nye, you know you need a workout right now"
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!

"How could you follow that up?"
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!

"I left that ish on your bed"
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!

"The mustard looks weird"
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!

Oh Yeah. That IS what she said.

Happy February

Grammy's 2007: As If Rick Rubin Didn't Have Enough Cash

Well right before the Grammy's turn the big five-oh we get to watch the music industry celebrate 06 and a little bit of 07. I've got to say that I was actually somewhat surprised. The Grammy's have always been somewhat fair, I guess as fair as you can get with the modern music scene, but there was one thing that really pissed me off tonight.

The Dixie Chicks won five of these little suckers. Five. Here's my huge beef with the Dixie Chicks. They used to be a country band, and a good one at that. They sang cute songs about how woman are better than men and laid down tight harmonies with lush fiddle and banjo licks.

And then they dissed Bush.

And when you're from Texas and singing to the south, you do not, I repeat, DO NOT DISS BUSH. Because of what the Chicks said on a European tour in 2005, their boondock followers said "hell no" to their music. Small towns in Texas even burned their records, and mayors spoke out against their outspoken beliefs against the President and his policies in Iraq.

After their disaster in Brit-land, the Chicks made a public apology. However, it wasn't really true. They said their sorry's to everyone and told them they hope to still perform for them. However the Chicks stated in a Rolling Stone article that they weren't affected by any repercussions of the statement and that they'd keep "doing the Dixie Chick thing" so to speak. But when the stadiums start to turn into auditoriums and the auditoriums start to turn into clubs, well...it's time to light up the Batsignal because we need a hero.

Enter Rick Rubin. The outlandish and daring producer who singlehandedly created the hip fascination with Johnny Cash, and revitalized the careers of people like the Chili Peppers and Aerosmith. The guy can freaking create. His breakthrough moment was coming up with the idea of combining Run DMC and Aerosmith for their smash hit "Walk This Way." Hello? Who the frick do you think you call? Our Batman is Rick Rubin baby!

The Chicks called up Rubin because they needed a new image, thus totally proving that they care about nothing but fame and money. Whoa that was a blanket statement. The Chicks talked about not changing their opinions, and they didn't; but they did in fact change image so that it would conform to their opinions. That means that the Dixie Chicks were lying to us before. They're not just little country girls from down south...they're bleeding heart liberals!

Believe me, I am in no way making a political statement. Everyone's got their opinions. But Chicks, why were you frontin' me? I loved your first album, and your song about a World War II soldier capture my historical heart...but now you're pop stars using formulaic progressions and a banjo pick on your Telecaster. I just want to know who you are! Who are you?!

But you've got to hand it to Rick Rubin. The guy is truly a master in pop music. He hooked up the Dixie Chicks with five Grammy's, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers with four. Not to mention he's got his name all over many other various albums that were honored tonight. He knows what needs to be heard and then produces the crap out of it. My hat tonight it tipped to him, even though I'm not that big of a fan of his projects, he's got one hell of an ear.

* * * *
I must say that tonight was the best group of performers I've seen in any Grammy Awards. By far, the singer-songwriter performance was the best, displaying the fact that the singer-songwriter is not dead (and Stevie Wonder says so!). I'm a sucker for medleys and this one stole my heart for the night.

But I'm still thinking about The Police. What a hot show, but what awkward tension. Oh, well...they busted "Roxanne" badder than ever and I'm so happy they opened the show.

Christina? Thank you. JT? Thank you. All of these performers were tasty and made me happy that the industry is still putting out pretty rad pop musicians...now we just need better and more recognized rock music. Ugh, maybe more on this later...my fingers hurt and you've realized you don't care.

Cheap Thrills

I was sitting outside of Cupcake Royale reading this really crappy book when I heard drunken hollering about thirty yards to my left (yes, I just used yards as a means of measurement, and yes thats because it's Super Bowl Sunday today). The drunken hollering came from two somewhat overweight men that were hobbling on Market street. I began to pay attention as they looked up at the marquee of the theater that was right beside me.

"Pan's Labyrinth dude, I wanna see Pan's Labyrinth," said the first.
"Panties Labyrinth man, I want to see Panties Labyrinth. I like panties," the other said as he trailed off
"Panties dude?"
"Yeah, I like panties a lot," he slobbered.

It was at this point in their in-depth conversation that they were crossing by me pretending to read my book.

"This guy likes panties man watch out!" The one said to me. The other responded eloquently, "I do man, ain't no crime..." I looked up and gave a smile.

Holding in my laughter was the most difficult part of tonight, and probably the best part as well.

This is called cheap thrills children.

The Frisbee is Missing

I visited my friend Alex in Bellingham, Washington this past weekend. Along with the Alex and I were my good friend Mitch and my other friend Brittany. We were all out late playing frisbee at about 1am or so when we began taking pictures of Alex running on walls.

This is interesting because if you take a picture of someone doing the "Matrix-esque" wall run correctly, it looks a lot like they are casually walking on a wall. This is also funny.

We were laughing and taking other strange pictures when all of a sudden Alex addressed the group:

"Hey, who has the frisbee?"

We all looked at ourselves, and then at each other. Alex's eyes were saucers. Mitch immediately began the full force sprint in the direction we had come from, Mr. Ward followed close behind. Brittany sort of jogged for a bit and then realized I had no intention of picking up my pace, so stayed behind.

Brittany and I approached the gentlemen expecting one of them to be sporting a frisbee (pun both intended and included - bitch - frisbee is a sport). They were both, however, still looking.

"Where is it?" I asked
"Not here," Mitch said.

Obviously. We retraced our footsteps, all having the same memory of where we last had seen it. We all remembered Alex doing a sweet-ass trick with the frizz while we played the "Snap" game across Red Square. We scanned the area from where we last remembered it to where Alex asked which one of us had the frisbee.

"What the hell?" said Alex, "I loved that frisbee." I offered the suggestion that perhaps one of us laid it down and continued to walk, and in the meantime, some loser-face found it and picked it up.

"Horseshit!" he said. Okay, bad idea...maybe he'll go for the idea about the ghost. After successfully freaking each other out and bothering a security guard we decided to head back, accepting that if we left it out in the open on a college campus for more than five minutes, someone took it. Even if it was about one in the morning. We walked back to Alex's room in a collective sadness.

And then I found five dollars.

Holy Frick!

Well if you haven't noticed yet, this blog has been getting less and less interesting as time passes. Wow. And if you've been paying even closer attention you'll notice I've run out of crappy short stories or funny things that happened to me. Truth be told I sort of forgot about this thing, and now comes the time that separates the boys from the girls. Yes, for the few readers of this blog, I will continue to write. I've been writing, just really crap-ass stuff. So keep checking back on me, maybe a gem will show up.

A few orders of business:

1) If you are not watching "Studio 60" it's your chance to redeem yourself: Monday nights at 10pm!. Just watch "24" at 9 on Fox and flip down to NBC to catch "Studio 60" right after. Heart-pumping adrenaline to heart-pumping dialogue...boo yeeaahh!

2) James Blunt was nominated for five Grammy's...what happens if he wins? Read the last book of the Bible, Revelation, for more.

3) I have a tinge of heartburn from this burger joint we went to last night at about nine.

4) A 'litotes' is a form of a literary understatement.

5) Please go see Children of Men.

6) Please read the Old Testament book of Ruth.

I think that's it for now, I'm quite surprised at how much I came up with on the spot like that and...oh look at your watch I've wasted a good amount of your life.

I Totally Ate It

We were working out in the REC center (and when I say, “we” I of course mean Me, Hensley, and Teng, and when I say REC center I of course mean small workout facility below my residence hall at SPU) when I realized I had not worked my legs enough. We had done some wall sits and what not, but I needed to burn. I told the guys I would go for a run. I said this to them by looking at both of them and doing a running motion because they of course could not hear me due to the whole iPod thing.

I left in a bustle and hustle. As I climbed up the stairs I looked outside the large glass panels of windows and doors, I saw it. Yes. Snow, bitch. It was really comin’ down too. Ok, that was kind of a lame sentence seeing as it’s used in most every storm situation. And why does everyone use the word torrential when describing a downpour? It’s like the only word we know when we want to describe a downpour. Torrential could really be used for anything with a nature of torrent, or some rapidly falling water. Torrential waterfall, torrential wave, torrential pee…you know.

Anywhore.

There’s an ass load of snow falling and I get really excited. I walk outside and feel the tight, cold air and begin running. Oh yeah. Do it. I start to feel really hardcore running in the snow and get this immense confidence. I start to take long strides and breathe really heavily to make more clouds come out of my mouth. Awesome…yeaaahhh…total Balboa. I’m in an old crappy black hoodie and sweats. Totally awesome. I start running incredibly quickly up this massive hill as the snow hits my face and drips down my cheeks and chin. So radical…As I’m about to climb the Bertona hill for my final incline I catch the edge of a metal sewage grate and take a swift fall to the ground catching myself with my hands. I did what we all do: looked 360 degrees before I did anything else. I noticed that not another soul saw me, and my first thought is of thanksgiving. But then I get this really stupid feeling. Someone missed out on watching this skinny white boy fall in the snow. I began to feel a little guilty, like I had done something at the wrong time. Like when you tell a story you thought was hilarious to your family and they are not catching on so you try to save it by changing the ending but then only realize that the “new” ending actually is worse…yeah, like that. I wanted to laugh with someone about it. I wanted some guy to be getting into his car a block down and project a huge laugh that I could barely hear, and when I look over I laugh back and turn a little red, and we have a small moment together. He can tell his associates and I can tell a friend or two. And then I never see him again.

So laugh with me because I totally ate it.

Top Ten Albums of 2006

1) Continuum – John Mayer: “I Don’t Trust Myself With Loving You” is a pop song that no one has heard anything like. The rest of the record dances from throwback masterpieces to fresh, all-star pop ballads. He’s on top of the world and he knows it. Can you say Madison Square Garden? Welcome to popular music history Mr. Mayer.

2) Return to Cookie Mountain – TV on the Radio: My friend Sean told me they were “the Radiohead of hip-hop” and I couldn’t agree more…this is just such a cutting edge record.

3) Putting the Days to Bed – The Long Winters: Pop/Rock heaven. John Roderick is the best simple songwriter out right now.

4) St. Elsewhere – Gnarls Barkley: Enough has been said about this record…I have nothing original.

5) The Crane Wife – The Decemberists: Root-Rock beauty. Is this really them? Because it’s miles better than their previous stuff.

6) Stadium Archadium – Red Hot Chili Peppers: Because these guys should never die. A double album!? I think the last time this was done (well) was Songs in the Key of Life in ’73. I will always love RHCP.

7) Black Holes and Revelations – Muse: It’s freaking Muse. They puke beautiful music.

8) Orphans – Tom Waits: How many tracks are on this album? It’s like 53 or something. Tom Waits is finally getting the popularity and respect he’s always deserved.

9) Oh! Gravity – Switchfoot: Maybe just for the album art…This could be another band that does very little wrong in my eyes. John Foreman is the next Bono.

10) Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not – Arctic Monkeys: I haven’t heard this album enough, and I’m sure if I heard it more, it would climb up this list. Fantastic band that’s about to conquer the world.