Failed Career in Marketing

"Since 1981.

Hole's smoking when we're done."

=REBEL FUCKIN' MACHINE=

Schaaf Appearance!

The Oarsman Stays The Oars.

He brightened the bit with a stick wrapped in emery cloth. Holding the head in the tongs he began to move it slowly back and forth over the fire. Keep her out of the fire and keep her movin. That way she'll draw down even. Now she's gettin yeller. That's fine for some tools but we goin to take a blue temper on her. Now she gets brown. Watch it now. See it there?

He took the axehead from the fire and laid it on the anvil. You got to watch her close and not let the temper run out on the corners first. Shape ye fire for the job always. 

 Is that it? said Ballard. 

That's it. We'll just fit ye a handle now and sharpen her and you'll be on your way. 

Ballard nodded. 

It's like a lot of things, said the smith. Do the least part of it wrong and ye'd just as well to do it all wrong. He was sorting through handles standing in a barrel. Reckon you could do it now from watchin? he said. 

Do what, said Ballard.

That Pewter-Rican Strange

I've always just been slow about growing up. It just takes more time for me.

I'm not proud of this, but what can you do? There's always been food on the table and I've never been forced to defend my life. Summertime, and the livin' is easy, so the tune goes.

Case-in-point: Even until my third year of college, I still very much believed in the exceptionalism of my heroes. Counted among my heroes were BMX riders. I do not apologize for this, but I was twenty-fucking-one.

Landon and I (and I think some other heads- we did have friends) were at a bar downtown. Might have been the bar right next to Creekside, but I can't be sure. So we're drinking, standing around, and in the corner, behind the pool table, is Tony Cardona.

Tony "more-sausage-on-that-pizza and toss me a Mickey's" Cardona. BMX legend. Chicago-gone-PA-gone-Austin transplant with mean transition skills and a rather miniscule fear of death. And a drinking problem, but whatever.

A very decent video had just come out, some of it show-casing Tony's incredible talents on a bike. I had seen it, and it had made me all gooey inside. SO- we're in the bar, he's in the bar, and I'm like,

"Fuck it. I'm gonna go give this dude some propers. Propers when due! I wanna let him know I dig his riding." I was gonna be that asshole, making it weird. I'm always that asshole.

It didn't go the way I envisioned it going in my head. Mostly 'cause, from across the room, I couldn't tell that Tony was so drunk he could barely stand. I moved in, told him he was Tony Cardona (which I'm sure, even in his current state, he knew) and shook his hand. I told him I thought his video part killed and that it was great to meet him in person.

What he replied back to me- I'll never know. Mouth full of marbles, head full of booze. A jumbled fucking mess. He slurred, quite literally, every fucking word.

But he smiled, and seemed happy. He shreds still, and his legend grows.

I learned something that night. Hero-worship is unhealthy. I can picture someone reading this and thinking,

"Yeah...and get better fucking heroes! He rides a goddamn child's toy for a living."

And to that individual, I say,

SHUT UP, YOU DICK!

Good-lookin', Smooth-skatin' Bastards.

Brand-New. Second-Hand.

Maybe a month ago, we're all hanging out at Brian and Mark's apartment complex. Drinking our tallboys, shit-talking, trying to line up our plan of attack for the night.

We get to discussing sweat-breaking, working out. 'Cause we do that from time to time.

There's the stairs right there, so we start hanging off of them, and doing pull-ups. I get to my fourteenth or fifteenth one, and Mark says something like, "Fuck, man. You're just gonna go all night."

He was behind me, so he couldn't see, but I smiled when he said that. I very much felt like a strong dude, like a badass. Like I said, that was maybe a month ago.



This past Saturday, I left work an hour early 'cause I wasn't feeling that well. I think I was having a massive allergy attack. Snot everywhere...it was gross. So I left.

BUT- I didn't go home and rest, like I should have. I went home, popped an allergy pill, ate, drank some water, and ran off to meet Brian and Andrew. They were moving Andrew and his girlfriend into a new apartment, and I told them I wanted to help. 'Cause I did. And I knew it'd be a good time of laughing and beer-drinking too. Which it was.

But it wasn't all radical. Because I threw my back out.

First fucking box off of the truck. Couldn't have weighed thirty pounds. Lift, pivot, and...fuck. Just fucking hurting like I haven't in a while. I know it had nothing to do with the box, or the way I lifted it, and everything to do with a 55-hour workweek that had just seen me burnt up. Plus, all week I hadn't eaten well at all. Wasn't putting back in what was being taken out. Just burnt up.

ANYWAY- the past two days have been a very humbling experience. Other adjectives, too, but mostly humbling. One minute you're active as fuck, stretching every day, reaching past your toes, grinding it out and feeling good. And the next day you can't walk, can't shower, can't hardly look up. I'm at an age now where I know that, with rest, order will be restored. It'll be interesting when I reach that age where rest alone won't do it. I wonder how I will handle it.

What set you claimin'?

"Aight, then, ho. Aight then! Let me see Jesus!"

One Thing Is For Certain.

Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. I can type at sixty words per minute. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Find a typo, motherfucker. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Yeah, I've been drinking. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. How can you not think about it? Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all. Death comes for us all.

Ugly, and heartless. And nostalgic.

Winona's Ryder

Son of a bitch! I know it's a Monday night, but I haven't been this bored in a very long time.

Eternal Sunshine

"This is it, Joel. It's gonna be done soon.

What do we do?"

"Enjoy it." He answered.

"I do  not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books. I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams- like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves."

                                       - Herman Hesse

Last Word

Paying // Playing. Arcane Myst'ries.

"Another bag of glitter? Bet your ass. It's Renn-Fest, 2013. Don't get cheap on me."