I am exactly .013 GPA points away from graduating with honors this May 1st. Cum Laude or whatever they call that shit. It puts me in an interesting position because the train that's keeping this educational journey of mine moving along has run out coal, gas, or any other kind of earth material that somehow enables big metal machines to move. In the fall the conductor came outside and pushed a little bit... but now he's tired, unshowered, and hung over most of the time. - I'll just keep my fingers crossed and hope that the BS still sticks to the wall a little while longer. *

I was very happy to see Mr. Jimmy finally accept my invitation to write for this weblog after about a years worth of begging and pleading. He's not just a pretty face anymore, ladies and gentelmen... he's a living breathing human being and fucking-A he knows how to use BOLDFACE! *

Apparently I'm going to be visiting Europe for about a week after graduation. My parents have offered this to me as a present in lieu of something like a down payment for a car. But my question for them is... how the fuck am I supposed to get to the airport?

Har, har, har. *

Someday soon I will not have to force these entries into the five free minutes I get once every three days. I will no longer be balancing three jobs and school but will be working one job, with normal hours that allow for normal social interaction with other individuals and even time for relaxing. When that occurs, folks, I promise you a more well thought out in.circles that relies a whole lot less on the words 'fuck' and 'shit' and a whole lot more being worth reading.

Until then... fuck. --

"Did you guys hit the deer?"

We're trailing a cop home from a local hippie-type watering dookie. Gunna get pulled over. Gunna fall asleep. Tasty beer, strange people, good juke, early last call. I'm thinking, 'ah, a turn-a-bout of the controls, he can't do anything to us from up there.'
"You guys see the new cop cars?"
A minute later I'm sneaking through some bushes to watch a female officer laugh with her co-workers, and proceed to shoot a deer in the head. I've never actually heard a shotgun blast before. Much more quiet than in the movies. Even quieter than the first one. The other one got away. Alive. Dead. Probably the best thing to do, hell I wasn't gunna nurse the thing back to health. Care enough? Lazy. I did make sure my kitty was around to greet me when I got home. It's way too late, and I'm way too tired to make any sense of it. Doesn't matter either way. this beer. that beer. together. apart. dead. alive. I started reading 'The Stranger' by Albert Camus and I'm listening to 'Charles Manson - Look At Your Game Girl'. I'm gunna sleep a little closer to her tonight, and make sure I pay more attention when she gets out.

Last night I dreamt that I was record shopping at The Sound Exchange, a record store I grew up frequenting. There were new owners, not the guys that at my tender young age of 13 would correctly insist that I'd be better off picking up records by Pop Will Eat Itself, Pigface, and Fugazi instead of whatever other crap I was probably buying at the time. I went to the register to pick up my copy of the Iron & Wine album and had an altercation with the gentleman ringing me up about the amount I gave him, the cost of the album, and the disparity between them and the amount of change he gave me.. I ended up leaving the store without the album, claiming that I would never listen to music ever again.

Sorry, I just wanted to see if that dream was just as fucking stupid written down as it was in my head. Turns out it was. *

Yesterday I drank my balls off. I'm talking non-stop from like 10:30AM until about 7 at night. I suppose that's par for the course in South Boston on the day of their big St Patty's parade... however, the fact that I was on the clock made it quite interesting. Four of us were DJing a bar on the parade route. The initial gig-time was 12-2, but the owner offered us $250 cash, on top of our (shitty) hourly wage if we stayed until 5. As much as I get annoyed with my part-time job for eating away at my precious and few college weekends... playing rock music for five hours, getting shitey with a bunch of Irish cops for free, and making about $200 ain't a half-bad way to spend a Sunday. *

Why is Jimmy's picture over there on the left side of the weblog, a few folks have wondered, when he's never actually contributed? The answer, my friends... is to promote traffic to the site. We needed a pretty face to lure in the little lovelies, and I couldn't think of a better way to do it. --

So how do we all feel about Braid getting back together for a reunion tour? Personally, I'm excited to be able to see one of the many bands that I've always wanted to see live but never thought I'd get the chance to (believe it or not my band was asked to play a show with Braid in 1998 at the Melody Bar in New Brunswisk, NJ and we turned down the offer because we thought that the haul to South Jersey was too far for a school night!?). Although I must admit that the whole thing is a bit curious in an out of left field kind of way. Regardless of the intentions, hearing songs off of Frame and Canvas live will probably bring me right back to being 17... which I remember being quite fun. If I had my way, this tour would turn into more than just a one time thing, spawning a glorious follow-up to Frame and Canvas that far surpasses anything that Hey Mercedes or any of Chris Broach's side projects have been able to attain. *

Don't forget, new Iron & Wine album out Tuesday. --

If there is one thing I've learned from doing this weblog - and I'm sure it's fairly obvious that I haven't learned much more than that many things as long as i've been doing this - it's that if you talk too soon or too much you'll most likely end up kicking yourself for it later. So excuse me if I've been quiet lately... I've been pleasantily, ableit busily, living my little life.

I know that not talking about things going on in your life goes against everything that a personal weblog stands for, and I'm fully prepared to respond to that statement by saying: sorry, i'll figure out how to deal with that later. *

One thing I can always talk about, though, is music. Musica, if you will. These past few days I've been listening to Holopaw, Plow United, and new tracks from Reubens Accomplice and The Descendents. I usually tend to stick to one genre at a time... so I honestly can't explain the delving into electronically-tinged southern folk, hard pop-punk, wimpy emo, and melodic pop-punk all at the same time. But it's been the happy little soundtrack to the life that I'm restraining from talking about. *

I will tell you that I blew out my much beloved Marshall Valvestate guitar amp on Friday night, while drunkenly performing an improvised Happy Birthday death metal song for my roommate. --

Hello there. I'm home safe and sound. Back to the east coast where March snow pounds down with a bitter and moist vengeance, you're likely to receive a "what the fuck?" if you bump into someone accidentally on the subway, and where cab drivers seem to be doing their best to ride over pot holes filled with water for the purpose of splashing you for kicks. Ahh yes... home sweet home. I spent a week in a place where the weather drifts from warm and sunny on low ground to pleasant powdery snow in the mountains, people almost always apologize when bumping into you... even in bars, and the closest thing to a pot hole is the place where some hippie college student stashed his gram of cheeba.

My vacation to Colorado was excellent. I slept an average of about 4 hours a night, skied four of the most amazing ski mountains I've ever seen (Arapaho, Breckenridge, Copper, and Vail), consumed more alcohol than I ever believed possible, and ate lots and lots of Mexican food. Most vacations I've taken in my life have been of a restful nature... but last weeks balls to the wall spring break trip has left me ridiculously fucked up. My body is sore in places that I didn't even know existed and there is a lump in my throat the size of Texas. Today's extreme discomfort is in no way directly proportional to the amount of incredible fun I had on my final spring break, though. To be honest, I didn't know I had that much college-kid left in me. Graduation is in 7 weeks... glad I'm going out with a bang. *

Much to write about, but not much time to do it. Gimme a few days to get back into the swing o' things. --

I'll be in Colorado until 3/7

I'll try to post. If not, eat it bitches! --

The weather's here - wish you were, beautiful.

It's unbelievable how 15 degrees one way or the other can impact my mood. After a bitterly cold winter in more ways than one a 41 degree day can do wonders for your optimism. It can turn your ten minute walk through downtown each morning from a distraught walk through the Valley of the Twisted to a hopeful stroll through the City of Possibilities. Motherfucking Nature, brah. *

So I've written some songs. Some I've had kicking around for a long time in one form or another... but lately I've really buckled down on them and fleshed them out so that they are in near complete form. Complete enough to try them out for the few individuals I trust for feedback on that sort of thing, anyway. If all goes as planned in my life I will figure out what I'm doing with myself after graduation soon enough, which will hopefully allow me the opportunity to quit at least one of my three part-time jobs and concentrate on putting these tunes to tape. This excites me to no end. I know I've said things like this for years on this here blog. Even more so to Jimmy who always responds to the effect of "OK, now show me", which is pretty much where the whole thing ends. But not this time. Oh no. One way or the other, this is going to happen. Get ready to shake your asses. --

Ben Foster has some interesting things to say about the A-Rod deal that I think are worth reading over at Weasel Manor. He breaks the whole thing down better than I ever could and I share his opinions, for the most part. Especially the part where he talks about the stingy manager effect. Theo Epstein and Co. let quite possibly the greatest player in the game slip through their fingers because of $12 million dollars. Sure, he's old and he's crazy, but Stenbrenner wants to win. You can't blame a guy for putting his fucking coffers on the line if he thinks he's got a chance at taking the pot after losing three hands in a row, can you?

My feelings on the implications of the whole thing are pretty much pulling in two different directions... as a Yankee fan living in Boston, it's quite possibly one of the most hilariously enjoyable feelings in the world. It's like the city of Boston had finally finished saving up for that really big penile implant... but just before the end of the surgery, Ron Jeremy came in with his super-wang and used it to knock them off of the fucking operating table. Conversely, there's a certain amount of guilt that comes with being a Yankee fan. A white man's burden-esque sort of feeling. But just like Red Sox fans refuse to be swayed by their teams mind-boggling ability to lose, Yankee fans know how to take the "bought Championship" insults with stride. Should we feel guilty for being born in a city of winners? Fuck no. And when I say winners... don't assume I'm jumping the gun here. I'm talking about winning in a sense of beating the Red Sox to the punch in terms of A-Rod. October is a long, long time from now. *

I had a really great weekend. I didn't work a lot, which my bank account won't like too much come payday. But I just had a really enjoyable, stress-free, drink until you pass out kind of swell time. I was starting to think I'd forgotten how to do that. *

* Imri, Mr. "I can provide you with all of your desired digitally delivered Modest Mouse related thingies" himself was kind of enough to shoot me MP3's of a pre-released / taped off of the radio version of Good News for People who Like Bad News. I don't really know what to say. Something certainly seems missing, though. Could be the beginning of the end. Or maybe this is already the end. I really don't know. More on that with repeat spins. --

The following are my results from the You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize thingamabobber:


You're Generally Indie. There's nothing wrong with
this. You like music all over the map and
aren't adversed to listening to some Top 40
here and there. You just know to comment that
The Neptunes are the best producers around
right now. You don't feel the need to debate
constantly with other music geeks, because you
know that Pavement were the best band of the
90s.


You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
brought to you by Quizilla *

Can you tell that I'm fucking bored? --

Perhaps 'fornicated' wasn't the exact word I was looking for. And I didn't mean the amount of states that we had fornicated together in... in fact, the two people involved in the conversation I was referring to have never... umm... fornicated together at all. ... OK ... enough of that. *

Yesterday I was lucky enough to be provided this movie link to Modest Mouse playing Bury Me With It on the Carson Daily show. I'd love to hear what you think about it. I like it. I think. *

Work has hit an all-time boring high and satisfying low, the amount of effort I've been putting into my schoolwork is about as much effort as Paul puts into updating (oh snap), and I'd say that my social life was OK except I've been too drunk to remember most of it lately. Smile! You're in your early 20's! *

This just in... more movie footage of new Modest Mouse stuff. Thanks Erms. --

The following is an image representing the 30 states I have visited during my short time on this planet:



create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide

This is not to be confused with the conversation I had the other day with a friend, about how many different states we each had... umm... fornicated in. I'll leave that number up to speculation. --

Yeah. About that epic post. Fuggit. Chances are you didn't want to hear it anyway. My favorite part of it, however, I'll provide you with. It's an excerpt from "The Vice Guide to Finding Yourself", a frickin' hilarious list of shit that people in their early 20's need to have experienced to figure out just why the fuck they are on this planet. My personal favorite entry:

"This one is only for guys. In order to become a man you have to: 1) break someone's heart; 2) have your heart broken; 3) get the shit beaten out of you; and 4) beat the shit out of someone. That means: 1) she has to be so fucked up she almost kills herself. Like, doesn't eat for three days and falls down the stairs drunk; 2) you are so fucked up you have to punch yourself in the head to stop thinking about her; 3) you end up in the hospital with a severely broken nose and some sort of permanent facial scar; and 4) he's not really moving at the end. You're just kind of kicking a blob."

There was some other shit. My commentary. A Bukowski poem. Whining. Like I said, you're all better off for not having read it and I'm probably better off for not having finished it. *

Am I terrible for enjoying the song So Alive by Ryan Adams? Blatent bad Morissey ripoff and all? *

Picked up the Microhones Live In Japan on Saturday in the midst of my worst hangover since new years. I remember having read about it awhile ago, but didn't remember reading that it consisted of all new material. Not a single previously released song on the whole damn thing. The short review: first four songs - just Phil and a guitar, mostly. Along the same lines as the alternate recording of The Moon on Song Islands. If you dig that shit... makes the album worth whatever K's charging for it. The middle: just weirdness. He covers Silent Night and These are a Few of My Favorite Things. I think it's acapella, too. The end: bluesy. Yes, fucking bluesy... but in a Phil Elvrum kind of way. It's live and sloppy, but in a different way than the intentional sloppiness of The Glow Part 2. Shows promise though... put these songs through some Phil-like production and dub it Mt. Eerie and I think we might have a winner on our hands. Goddamn... anyone that doesn't know anything about the Microphones must think that I am writing complete fucking jibberish. Moreso than usual. *

About that hangover. Friday night I fell down a flight of stairs at a downtown bar and threw up out the window of some unkown individual's car that we apparently got into to get back to the South End. God bless Tequila and Bud Light. --

I think that work is starting to get in the way of my drinking habits. Three of my last four hangovers have been interrupted by web design work requests, meetings, and secretly looking for jobs while my boss' back is turned. What right does work have to get in the way of letting my ailing liver lay in bed all day? None, as far as I'm concerned. But there's nothing that can be done about that, I suppose... money being a necessary evil and all. *

Today whilist at work I've listened to Against Me!'s 'As the Eternal Cowboy', M83's 'Dead Cities, Red Seas, and Lost Ghosts', and Nine Inch Nails' 'And All That Could Have Been'. I'll the incongruity speak for itself. *

I have a bit of an epic post planned to go up within the next two days or so. And by epic, I mean strictly in terms length... cuz the motherfucker's gonna be long. Fortunately, the length stems from words other than my own... two particularly different but fitting texts that I feel very much prove the pointless point that I plan on making. In short, when you see the long-ass bitch go up... don't not read it based on the length of it, because most of it's written by people much smarter than me. Thanks. --

Dear New England Sports Fans (of the Northeastern University persuasion),

FUCK YOU.

Sincerely,

Chris *

Quite an eventful weekend. Friday afternoon I took a run up to Sunday River in Maine to do an event for the radio station I work for. All things considered it's a pretty good gig. Cars are provided, lodging is comfortable and free, lift tickets are free, and food is paid for. All we have to do is DJ for and entertain the patrons of the Ski Lodge during apres-ski. Two hours of actual work that I will get paid for about 28 hours for, plus all of the aforementioned benefits. Skiing and working on three hours of sleep was rough, but in the end certainly worth it.

I hadn't skied in going on three years now and was a bit worried that my skills would be severely lacking. However, as most people have told me lately, it's just like riding a bike. Two runs in I was feeling confident enough to hit the double blacks and veer off course for a little bit more variety. I'm heading to Colorado in three weeks and couldn't be more excited to do some west coast skiing again. The first time I went out there, with four buddies when I was 16, was one of the most memorable weeks of my life. This time out there's five of us and alcohol... so I'm thinking that my former trip might have some contention for favorable placement in the happy memory bank. It's also probably worth mentioning that one of the four that I went out with at 16 will be accompanying me again this time out. Thinking about that warms my heart. *

I see no reason why everyone on this planet of ours isn't listening to The Lawrence Arms' 'The Greatest Story Ever Told' as part of their daily routine. If I was forced to choose between the few things that I very much rely on to get me through the day... Coffee... Coke ... Water... or The Greatest Story Ever Told I'd have to go The Lawrence Arms route. And I don't care if you think the vocals sound too much like Blake Shcwartzenwhateverthefuck, I've never enjoyed listening to any Jawbreaker as much as The Lawrence Arms. Shit's chilling sometimes. *

I've got a few friends that are stomaching their way through an episode of The Carson Daily Show tonight to see Isaac Brock and his band of misfits known as Modest Mouse play their new single 'Float On'. Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen. The episode will be airing sometime next week. --

I've never figured out whether it's best to respond to blog feedback via the feedback window or a shiny new blog entry. Thus far i've responded strictly through the feedback button, but everytime I do so I've considered the new blog entry thing, which is what I'm doing now. Does anyone even care? Anyway, in response to Luna's feedback... the "not a single friend" comment was reflective of my situation a year ago.. having lived in Cleveland for only two weeks and legitimately not having a single friend, in the sense of a person you could call up and say "hey dude, wanna go the record store, drink a bottle of whisky, and then piss the rest of the day away running around the city?" to. I worked with people. And I lived with people. But neither were friends in any sense of the word, unfortunately.

In context of Boston, however, where I've resided for five years... the path which led me to my lonely state the other night was quite different. I returned from friendless / loveless Cleveland in June and found myself surrounded by a ton of friends and feeling very loved. I might argue that last summer was one of the most fun times of my life. I had enough cash saved up to put off working for a few months, spent time with my friends taking trips and going out, and spent the rest of my time doing the same and more with Marissa. Every day and every night had meaning to me. I embraced every minute to make up for all of the lonely days that I spent in Cleveland. Fast forward to winter. While I still enjoy my friends immensly, I've gotten used to having them around again. I certainly don't take them for granted, but it's become commonplace. Marissa's out of the picture and I've found myself with a much larger amount of free time than I had grown accustomed to. I spent those summer and fall months on the high side of being optimistic and I am now having a really hard time getting used to what I suppose is normalcy. Maybe the lesson is that the optimists will eventually end up hurt. But I still have a hard time believing that living pessimistically and being pleasantly surprised from time to time is the way to go. I can't help but wonder if I'd reached the mountain top and am now forced to head back down, despite desperately wanting to enjoy the view for awhile. Forever, if possible.

I guess nothing is ever certain.. except my incessant rambling. --

Every once in awhile, usually in what I feel like are the tumultuous times in my life.. I go back and look at my old weblogs and journals to remind myself of exactly what was going on in my life in years previous. Usually it's just a straight trip down memory lane and nothing more. But this time it seems to be something more:

1/29/01: " I am pretty sure I am at some sort of turning point in my life or something... one of those times that leaves you forever changed. Yipee. Bring on the epiphany, I'm tired of waiting. Unfortunately (for me) these changes are usually sparked by things happening that I am not too fond of. Be prepared for a little run of un-happy posts."

1/21/02: "After two full weeks here in Atlanta i'm starting to feel a bit lonely. Besides my new roomate i do not have a single friend down here, and although i was craving the solitude prior to me moving down here, i'm starting to wish that from time to time there was at least the option to hangout with people. The grass is always greener, i suppose."

1/28/03: "I don't really know for sure why all of my bitterness comes pouring out when I sit down at this damn keyboard lately. But I do know that it probably doesn't make for interesting reading."
---

Granted, I've been known to embarassingly spill my guts about stupid things on in.circles in my weaker moments. Glancing at the rest of the year's entrys, though, show that my weaker moments usually come in fairly random order. What the fuck is it about the end of January that makes life suck so horribly?

Tonight, while drinking coffee and eating stale lemon-glazed cake at Espresso Royale I realized that here in the city that I've come to call home that I am no more or less alone then I was last year in a new city... without a single friend... sitting at a coffee house and reading by myself.

I also realized that chapter 13 of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" is quite possibly the most amazing piece of romantic literature that I've ever had the pleasure of reading:

"If this was how it was then this was how it was. But there was no law that made him say he liked it. I did not know that I could ever feel what I have felt, he thought." --

I think I want to move to Atlanta. I have a possible lead on a job there and just the thought of it working out fills my heart with happiness. I spent six months living there two years ago and remember it being possibly the best time of my life. I was happy, even though I had very little to be happy with. I had no friends. I didn't know where to go or what to do with my time. So I idled it away. I took drives. I sat on my porch and played guitar or read a book. Every little stupid thing I did with my spare time was an adventure. And it was mostly by myself... and still had meaning. I fell asleep content with myself and my actions every night. Since I've returned from Cleveland about 7 months ago I've spent nearly all of my time trying to create meaning out of something that was completely reliant on someone else. I can't for the life of me figure out how just a year and a half can allow for that kind of 180 degree turn.

I know that changing the scenery doesn't change who you are. No matter what physical location you are in, the person you are remains the same. But I think the bitter coldness of this place has begun to wear me down. The bitter things I've witnessed from people that supposedly cared about me has taken this once thick skin and sanded it down to just tendons and exposed muscle. While I know that no physical location is devoid of cruelty... whether it be Boston, suburban Jersey, Cleveland, Atlanta, or any other place I might find myself on this little journey of mine... I can't help but feeling that something is terribly amiss in this part of the world i'm currently in and that resting my head in an apartment on a side street in between Huntingon and Columbus Ave's in Boston is just not a right fit for me anymore. --

After tooling around with it for a little bit, and some last minute additions... here is a list of my favorite songs of the year that proceeded 2004 (in the order I first heard them throughout the year):

crooked fingers - you can never leave
the notwist - this room (the us release was in 2003, so I guess this one's in on a technicality)
microphones - solar system
exploding hearts - sleeping aides and razor blades
cursive - a gentleman caller
the rapture - olio
earlimart - we drink on the job
death cab for cutie - the sound of settling
the shins - kissing the lipless
decembrists - the bachelor and the bride
constantines - young lions
cex - the strong suit
m83 - be wild
the unicorns - ghost mountain
sufjan stevens - for the widows in paradise; for the fatherless in ypsilanti
broken social scene - kc accidental
dizzee rascal - i luv u*

I'm trying to put these tracks together on a CD comp to hand out to friends, etc... but deciding how to setup the track listing is insanely difficult. Suggestions?*

I want to play music again. In front of people. *

Food.

For the most part, that is what the best parts of my fairly relaxing weekend consisted of. The usually disappointing Vinny Testa's and never-disappointing late night Tiger Lily on Friday. Eggs benedict, chocolate french toast with almonds, and two hour cups of coffee with Marissa on Saturday and Sunday mornings, respectively at The Clairmont Cafe' and Brassiere Jo. Most of my other meals consisted of leftovers from the previously mentioned, aside from my Sunday night fast food indulgence of the Taco Bell variety.

Now that I think about it. The best parts of my weekend had nothing to do with the food at all.

It was a good weekend, all said. I feel rested. And relaxed. And happy. And poised to take on what's thrown at me... good, bad, or indifferent. *

I've been so distracted and so frustrated with my channels of hearing new music lately that I resorted to taking shortcuts. My method? Plugging through Pitchfork's top 50 list and exploring the things I've never had a chance to hear otherwise. Sufjan Stevens? Broken Social Scene? M83? Yes, yes, and hellz yes. While I idled away my time in between pricey meals perfecting the art of Mario Kart Double Dash blue motherfucking sparks I was incessantly listening to these three records and kicking myself for not having heard them sooner. Is it lame that I had to refer to the likes of Pitchfork to satisfy my need for the latest and greatest new music? Maybe, but at this point I just don't care.*

Apparently my last semester of classes have started and very obviously I don't care. It's the second week already and I haven't even bought a notebook yet, nevermind the actual textbooks for the classes. The fact that I'm in my fifth year of college is absurd. The fact that it was my choice to choose a five year program is even more absurd. My mind is on everything in the world but school right now. And I'm ok with that. I've spent way too many years caring too much about my scholastic performance. I need a break. --