Wednesday, June 27, 2007

What I've Done

June was supposed to last forever.

It didn't. In past years, a summer has proved to be an eternity that doesn't seem to last long enough. This time it seems too short in every capacity.
What it really comes down to is that I've wasted this month. Sure, I hung with friends (about 3), had a handful of good times, logged an easy 10 hours of blogging, but other than that I've been a complete couch potato. It's ironic, then, that I came into this summer emotionally full-force, ready to have a great time, since I haven't had a great month as a whole. You see, when I first came into this, I had big ideas of what to accomplish with my new free times. Write a play, start that band (for real this time), and just have a generally awesome time with a variety of friends. What I found tonight, however, is that that is not the makings of a great summer. A teenager who comes into his summer dreaming spends it dreaming. What I've missed out on this go-round is the little moments. Little moments like sitting in a friend's garage at 1:30 in the morning, eating cold pizza, and reminiscing about the good old days of pokemon trading. Things I'll remember a little better than "Apartment", "Larry is Stuck in Time" or even "Diddy Kong Racing" (Solo, that is- Together it'll be a blast).
Indeed, for the last few months I feel like I've put my life on auto-pilot. I don't remember why I ever stopped "seizing the day", but somewhere along the way I became content to let life pass me by, as long as I got some indulgence now and again.
Well, that contentment is gone. There comes a point when you're sitting beneath a pine tree by the side of the road at 2 in the morning, trying your best to remember the opening lines of "Two Coins", and you realize it might be nice to have someone there to remind you. Whether that someone is a friend, or whether you could actually unpocket a girl's lips and the "two coins" of her eyes, companionship is such. This is why I text some of you at 2 in the morning.
I've found that the majority of my posting since I've returned has been more or less poetic bullshit. I used to come on here and talk about things that really epitomized me, and they were shallow and uninteresting. Now, in an attempt to find a deeper me, my posts have become very much a congregation of random profound-ish thoughts from the day which I end up linking with some forced metaphor. I'm not going to say I regret it, I'm hatching. Just help me find my inner blogger.
So there's your random poetic bullshit for the night. Now, here's a bit of the old me. Maybe I can find a blend someday.
Good news for State Radio fans- New single on JUly 16th, plus "Year of the Crow" album drops September 18th. Oh, and I'm totally seeing Transformers now that they're using "What I've Done" to promote it, primarily because no one besides Warner Bros. and Machine Shop have had the balls to support a Linkin Park which doesn't scream it's head off.

'Til next time I care this much.


I stick loneliness
Your lips
And the two coins of your eyes
Into my pocket, yeah yeah

Friday, June 22, 2007

THIS is Mongo

Skiffy's bringing it back, man. this almost makes up for how much they suck...wait, no.

Is there a limit on how long a fortune cookie can be? Does it ever cease to be a fortune cookie?

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Another Older

Mornings after marathons are interesting, to say the least. Generally you don't sleep for more than 4 or 5 hours if you're lucky. In a way that's a good thing, seeing as you'll actually be tired enough to sleep the following night, but it often also means that you're tired enough to sleep right now. Your body often demands more sleep, sleep that you need to ward off unless you're planning on not sleeping that night again.
So fatigue is a factor. Then of course there's always the massive crash you're still experiencing from sugar intake. Gumdrops and Vault don't necessarily settle very well when gluttonously inhaled in such massive quantities. When combined together in such quantities, I'm willing to believe it can be coma-inducing as far as its massive crash goes.
Point of the matter is, mornings after are weird (it'd be nice if they made a pill for that one). You're tired, you've crashed, but you can't let yourself sleep, and you feel like a huge loser and bum if you let the crash keep you on the couch all day. Still hasn't gotten me off the couch, maybe sometime soon.
But after a quality marathon, the somewhat surreal attitude of the hazy day after often gets me thinking. I often become nostalgic about the marathon which has just passed, seeing that its beginning and its end ( 9 hours apart) seem to be more like days apart. Honestly, you don't need drugs when you've got that much sugar and caffeine. In this way, I believe that my appreciation of marathons past is strongly built upon my nostalgic morning after as well as upon the actual marathon.
This morning, however, I found myself reflecting not upon the marathon recently past, but rather the year recently past. If you'll take a moment to make a hop and a skip into my archives (or just take my word for it, probably more convenient for you), you'll see that my very first post on this blog was made the day of last summer's second Voyager marathon. Now having completed the second Voyager marathon of this summer, it's shocking to look back on what things were like a year ago.

Hey, everyone does a reflection post, I guess it's just my turn.

Let's start with me. The now old joke is that I used to be an optimistic little freshman (maybe not so little), and I was corrupted by J_Verts' cynicism...Yeah, you remember J_V, that guy that used to post around here, or maybe you don't. It's been a while.
It's true, in one way or another, that I've ceased to be the sunny freshman I was a year ago. Was I really affected by those around me? Probably somewhat, but I'm guessing this was truly my own doing. When it really comes down to it, I'm still a positive person, I've just stopped being a flaming optimist by throwing my synthetic sunlight into everyone's face whether they ask for it or not. Actually, I don't believe that I've become more of a cynic at all, but rather more practical. I used to live in a world where I refuted anything negative, combatting it by lathering my surroundings in my positivity, even when it wasn't necessary. I was essentially coating my entire being in insect repellent to ward off one or two unseen mosquitos.
I've had a sort of development of people skills this year. Whereas freshman me was fairly quiet and not necessarily outgoing, this year I've destroyed any social barriers I may've had before. I talk to anyone I want to, even if I haven't ever before, and at least half the time it turns out pretty well. However, my increased outgoing nature has ironically resulted in revealing many of my bad people skills. These flaws were known to my friends (How I can be unbearably awkward, how my sarcasm and sense of humor are so razor-sharp that if I'm not careful I cut someone every now and again), but friendly acquaintances are another issue. People who I seldom talked to as a freshman, people who knew me as that really nice, kinda quiet guy, I suddenly made an effort to talk to very frequently this year. Nothing terrible happened, but I could tell that several people who thought highly of me last year didn't quite appreciate the somewhat crude me they came to know. Luckily, that was not the case with most.
It is interesting, however, how highly we take into account the opinions of our friendly acquaintances. Of course, favor of friends is first and foremost to a person, but there's a certain amount of importance that we put on being thought highly of by those not so important to us. All in all, I'm happy I've become more outgoing.
Speaking of friends, our friend group has changed dramatically as well. We had a few new additions, which pretty much rocked our foundations, as some people took them in happily and most did not. Even now, we're not completely used to what's happened. In the long run, I think the relationships that flourished and those that didn't have helped strengthened our friendship.

Now I'm going to call this one before I start rambling. Take care.


No thanks. Maybe when I'm older...Alright, maybe now.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Out and Aboot

I almost cried today.

Laughing, that is. You see, I walked past a fine (heavy sarcasm) establishment outside of the stadium, and ran straight into a figure from my past- Or rather, a figure from my present in its youth. You see, there were a line of hats, identical to my own, except that they were bright (BRIGHT) blue.
For those of you who aren't aware, my hat is death grey. And it is only a year old. Needless to say, I am essentially a hat-murderer, as a mere year of my treatment turned it into a thing only I can love. And I'm not saying these babies were just blue, they were fucking blue. I mean, bluer than the fake, died water at our town's local mini-golf course. Yeah, that blue.
You may understand my dissapointment, then, when I discovered that I was actually looking at completely the wrong hat. Turns out I bought a darker version, showcased directly next to the blinding blues. Suddenly I felt like an idiot for almost laughing my ass off in public.
I never really liked New York City. It always seemed so crowded, so loud, so foreign. I could never understand the people that loved that city with all their hearts; It just seemed like a blatant declaration of "I AM A CITY" with all of its tourist attractions, massive business buildings, and hellish traffic that could drive you out of your mind even if you were taking a stroll on the sidewalk. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it has its charms, they're just not quite my style.
Here, however, I truly feel like Americans have constructed a near-ideal city. Sure, it's got its business complexes, and its tourist attractions (better traffic), but it just has such a small-town feel to it. When standing in crowded public transportation today, I got the feeling that I was surounded by pleasant, fun people. These people aren't afraid to get to know you, even if it is just for five minutes, but at the same time they'll leave you be if you'd like. I guess what I've found here repeatedly over the years is an outgoing nature that is lacking in a good portion of America. So much of our country is full of people who would rather listen to their iPods or read a magazine than give you the time of day (or ask for it, for that matter). People need to be less socially shy. At least some people.
Since last time I've been thinking a lot about summer. Or "summers", I guess. I think the key to having an exciting summer is doing new things. Last summer was a summer of new things for me. New family trips, new friends, Vger marathons, new house even. Everything was so fresh. This summer has had a good start, too, but that's all. Good. Yeah, I'm having fun, sure. Still, I want that feeling of adventure. So what do you say, friend group? Let's do something new, go somewere new, meet someone new?

Either that or we can sit around in the Batcave. Your call.

-OSK, new and improved- Ultra sweatproof, won't run into eyes and sting!

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


I sometimes find myself wondering if one's perception of sound is altered on a dark staircase. I'm the last one asleep in my house, and I must be careful when ascending from the Batcave not to wake anyone. So, while ascending the second necessary staircase, it seemed to me that I was completely silent. However, having been awake many times in bed and having heard family members carefully climb the same stairs, I know that it is near impossible to do so without noise. Perhaps when I believe I've silently stepped on a stair, I've actually caused the wood to buckle under the pressure and release it (audibly) somewhere else...
In fact, it seems our perception of many things is altered on a nocturnal staircase. Time seems to move infinitely slower as a result of anticipation, sight is almost completely nullified, and memory gets all funky. I mean seriously, do you ever really remember walking up your home stairs, even in daylight?
Nocturnal staircases are like lunges. They never seem to end, but at the same time when they end the memory can't be retreived. While you're doing them you have this strange feeling that you're going nowhere, and yet the end is imminent. In this way, nocturnal staircases are a bit like summer vacation. Now two weeks into my vacation, I can't believe how quickly the two weeks have passed. Indeed, all of Februaury break (all 4 days) seems to have lasted longer in my mind than these past two weeks. At the same time, the end of summer seems an eternity away, but just like my lunges, I know it will end before I know it. Hopefully it'll be good enough that I can retrieve the memories.
So how do I make them memorable? Well, I feel that I need to achieve. I've now been struggling with this play thing for a while, and all of my pitches just don't even seem to sell myself. I seem to have become obsessed with the idea of picking a fixed location and running an entire play in the confines of that space with just a few characters (the hotel idea {i'll bring it back eventually}, "Prom", "Apartment"). Now I'm thinking: What makes good writing? Inspiration. Write what you know. And what do I know? Three guys, sitting around over a vacation, bored in a basement (Not usually bored, but it happens). So how's this for writing what I know: "Back Porch". Three guys, bored on a hot, slow day over summer vacation, sitting around on one of the boy's back porch, which faces out toward the heart of the neighborhood. Throughout the course of the day, these three make idle conversation which sometimes turns heated, get deep into talks about feelings, and interact with characters in the neighborhood. These characters would not be seen, as the stage would be set up as just the back of the house with the porch facing the audience, so that when the actors adressed people on the street, they would essentially adress spots in the audience. At our most cooky points (and some less cooky, even), I believe the real-life friend triangle this is based off could be quite amusing to a detatched party. In this way, it would be a comedy, and I hope would capture the feeling that comes with friendship, the feeling that sometimes we don't need to do anything exciting together to appreciate each other.
Eh, it's something. Then, of course, there's the accomplishment of music. Unbeknownst to many, I have a real and truly strong desire to someday be very masterful in music. It's been said before, and I feel that music is such a strong way to reach people, not necessarily to always get a message through, but to let them draw their own conclusions. Even now, I'm listening to my recently rediscovered, beloved James Taylor collection, and for no apparent reason, I can't seem to switch away from his rendition of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" which iTunes has selected for me, even though it is the morning of June 14th. In some ways I think summer is one of the best times to listen to Christmas music. Whereas in the winter, the same old jingles are force-fed to us to the point where we just want to drown them with our bare hands, in the summer we can really take them as they come, and almost get a completely objective perspective of our yuletide memories. And what I see is good, I think.
But to be able to create music is such a mystery to me, at this point such a seemingly unreachable aspiration. I don't always mean the reflective kind of music that gets you nostalgic and teary-eyed, but also the kind of music that just tells you to rock until you fucking can't, tells you throw 'em up and punch some fists. It must be such an awesome feeling to know that your music got thousands of those fists in the air, or that its laid back punk rock feel got someone to detatch themself from the world and their problems for three minutes and thirty-nine seconds and just think "I'll deal with all that next commercial break."


July thunder, something's undercover
Something's lost, something aint right
You slide by me in the cool air of night
Drive by in my car for you
Look me in the eyes, that's what I can believe


Angus, Paul, and Lindsay are not-too-well-off juniors in college attempting to make it by in a cheap apartment in NYC. Angus is a skilled athlete, semi-successful student, and a real lady’s man at that. Indeed, he seems to be living the life, held back only by his various drug addictions which he claims he “can’t” break, and viewed poorly only by those who detest of his severe addiction to sex. One such person is Lindsay, a not too obviously geeky brainiac who has never been involved with a man and was struggling with her questionable sexuality before she became emotionally fond of Angus, who has no idea of her attraction. In turn, Lindsay pays no attention to Paul, who is head over heels for her, though she does not know. Paul is not skilled in much, not sports, not school, and certainly not with his people skills (or lackthereof). Paul has a sort of addiction of his own: theft. Trained to steal all his life by his impoverished, morally crooked family, it is all he knows. He usually makes a clean getaway, but there are those four or five times a year when he’s up for bail in the local jail. Angus and Paul go way back, having come from the same small rural town in New Hampshire, and having been strong friends through all of middle school and high school.
It is spring term; there are less than two months left before the end of the year, they have all now been living together for a good 7 months. They have become good friends, and all aforementioned sexual tensions are firmly established in the respective piners’ minds. The tension is building, however, as both Angus and Lindsay have been offered separate housing arrangements for the next year, effectively splitting the trio up. But suddenly money, grades, sports, and their lonely hearts aren’t the only thing these three need to tend to when a suspicious-looking “friend” of Paul’s named Quincy shows up in a panic at the apartment door one night. Paul takes him in, claiming that he’s harmless, but as time progresses, Lindsay and Angus begin to uncover a frightening truth: Quincey is a suspect in a murder which took place that past summer in Paul and Angus’s home town, a murder with which Paul may also have been involved.

The play takes place completely within the kitchen/living area of the apartment. It begins shortly before Quincey’s arrival, so that the inter-character relationships between the roommates can be somewhat established. Once Quincey arrives, the plot becomes very central to how this affects the relationships of the other three characters and how his presence and predicaments act as a catalyst for said relationships.

Comedy or tragedy? Tragedy

Let me knw what you think.

Once again, fuck you, George Sullivan.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Toss- Up

I felt like kind of a loser for wanting to post twice in one day (I'll admit, there's a somewhat dorky rush that comes with returning to blogging after four months), so I shot some pool for 40 minutes so that it would technically be tomorrow. I know, I'm about as awesome as this analogy. So be it. Trouble is, when you're coming back to the blogosphere ( It's weird, I feel like a total poser whenever I use that term, even though I don't know who started it) you want to post until your eyes bleed green (Saturday night!!! Maybe Sunday though, depending on the family plans), but you quickly realize that you don't actually have that much to share with the world. Oh, the taste of some good-old, farm-churned BFTSOB, just like Grandma used to make. Not to say this is BFTSOB, but I'm probably about to torch all my good material for a post or two. Hopefully not.
First on tap: Dispatch. I've recently discovered my Dispatch collection, and boy, have I been missing out! I'll admit, I went through that stage where I'd rather take some "Us Against the Crown" than lose myself in the masterpiece "Bang Bang" (Technically released under the band name "One Fell Swoop", but it's all Dispatch in my eyes). I got lost, searching for entertainment in a slew of new music types. This was a rewarding experience, as my music collection, and indeed appreciation, has blossomed in the last 6 months, but it made me forget my roots. There's just nothing as perfect as the imperfect harmony of the trio, their seamless blend of acoustic and electric instruments, and their ability to get my adrenaline pumping whilst at the same having a contemplative edge.
Wow, that was a lot of praise. Needless to say, anyone that holes up in the bat cave for the next while will be mercilessly subjected to their musical stylings.

On a different note, I'm developing that script idea. Unfortunately, most of my old ideas seem bland now that I've left them out in the sun for so long. I have no enthusiasm for them. I need something fresh. A comedy? Maybe. Winter Formal gave me the idea to create a lengthy one-act (lengthy, that is, for a one-act) which would take place completely in a lobby setting , in which the audience would watch a multitude of characters, some recurring in appearance, some not, pass through the lobby on their way in and out of a dance. It would be a high school setting, so there would be plenty of laughable teen angst as students experienced relationship turbulence, some characters try to fish for dates, and others just want to get the hell out.
Mocking angsty teens? Seems like my cup of tea. Unfortunately, I'm not positive that I want to go with comedy, or at least the breed of comedy "Prom" (Sweet working title, I know) suggests. Humor can be smart, or humor can be shallow, and there's a lot of "shallow" coming off this idea, maybe even to the point where it's more slapstick than "Museum". I just shivered, in case you were wondering.
Then there's the idea with the horridly lengthy working title "Larry is stuck in time", or "Larry", but that doesn't exactly help me remember the plot. Now, Larry isn't literally stuck in time, but basically everyone and everything important to him seems to always move on in life (away from him) or go away just as he's really coming to appreciate them. He's gone through oodles of friend groups over the years and works alone in an empty insurance building where everyone has been promoted except him (among other inconveniences in life). In a nutshell, Larry is stuck at one point in his life while everyone and everything progresses around him. The only thing that has stuck with him since this began several years ago is (insert name here), the only woman he has ever truly had feelings for. She is a woman who is a masachistic lover, only falling for pretty boys who are bound to leave her broken-hearted in the end. She has never had feelings for him in the slightest, still he secretly loves her. When he learns that she is going away, it is the last straw. He begins to fight his way out of the boring hell his life has become, finding old friends again (those who moved on) and re-establishing ties with them, as well as putting great effort into furthuring his financial position and quality of life. All this he does as mental preparation for his declaration of love to (insert name here) , even though he knows the attempt will be futile. In a sense, it is a tragedy, as he will not get the girl, and will be crushed. Their friendship will be ruined and he will be left to contemplate the consequences of his actions. In another way it will not be a tragedy, as he has now made himself hapier in life in other ways, and also adopted my own "If she doesn't dig you, fuck her" mentality.
That's actually solid. Unfortunately, it comes off to me as a film idea. That's not to say I'm adverse to writing film scripts. Keeping with a theatrical theme, however, I'm flat outta ideas right now (then again, it is 1:20 in the morning. Shit, I have to get up in 6 hours!!!). I'd like to do something with a fixed set- I feel like set changes marr the illusion of reality (unless they're done during an intermission, I suppose), but also something that's dramatic. Involving 3-6 characters, perhaps. Something which is truly a character piece. All I know right now is that the idea of a jail setting, or a courtroom (Now that's a cool thought) appeal to me.
If you actually read all that, thanks. Have any ideas, let me know.

-One of those guys from Star Trek...Ummmm...with the ridges....yeah, one of those ridge guys!

And I should stand up for my friends
Because I believe in them
And if someone puts them down
Why am I silent 'til the end?
You better smile when I say hi
Because I'm smiling whenever you're nearby
Well I guess you don't make a big deal
Out of anything anymore

Forfeit the Game

Well, summer's no longer on the horizon. Believe it or not (I don't), it's here. And as usual, we all have to find ways to occupy ourselves. Okay, throw friends in there, eating, running, lifting (Yeah, maybe someday), I still have an abundance of time on my hands. I would dedicate it to working on my instruments, but I'm not much without instruction on either those guys. Okay, writing. I really would like to start working on some kind of script this summer, film or theater (leaning towards theater). I've got no shortage of ideas (One great thing about being "The TBK" for six years is that you have an excess of creative plots), but there is one problem- starting. As anyone who's ever tried to write a serious, somewhat lengthy work of fiction knows, creating the environment of a piece is a real pain in the aft quarters. Trouble is, I can write something great, but as the writer, it feels fake because I can see the real life source I've derived every idea from. It's kinda like being the special effects guy for a movie; I can't exactly suspend my imagination, because I'm the one guy in the theater who knows that that's just tin foil and smoke. Basically, anything quality I write looks a piece of feyu to me. Not only that, but any good writer knows to lay a detailed storyboard out before they even pick up the (proverbial) pen (I'm too lazy, I'll type). My problem is, I get an idea and immediately go off on it like a...I don't like where that analogy's going. By the time I realize I've ruined teh story in my haste, I've either 1) marred it to the point where complete rewrite is necessary or 2) Burnt myself out already.
To take a break with struggling with that, I have turned my free time, 100% of it, to videogaming. Unfortunately, I picked one of the most difficult games I have ever encountered, "Diddy Kong Racing", and am now at a standstill there as well. At times in my life like this, I turn to the figures who inspire me for advice.

"Forfeit the game", but there's "No turning back now!"

I'm confused...


Invert that, bitch.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Ummm....Whad'I miss?

I'm not asexual.

I've beaten Sonic the Hedgehog.

I am Batman.

In every way imagineable.

I may have grown again.

I no longer have an aversion to rap.

I'm back.

This concludes my return post. I'll post something worth reading in the next hour, I'm sure.


"So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late", "But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate."

I don't get it... it doesn't even work in a mirror...
(Fortune cookies are back? FUCK YEAH!)