Babies

Babies smile as I walk by

They do not cry

I wonder why

Maybe time will tell that I

Have a softer side

I’m really kind

Despite

What my actions right now prove

It must be something they learn in the womb

That we forget as we grow long in tooth

Ask the babies, maybe they know the truth

Judgment swings so far and wide

Inside my mind

I’m never right

Anymore I’m giving up

On trying to duck

The verdict of

My life

Is my attitude really all that bad

Do boys pick poor rolemodels over dads

Cuz children seem to like me as I am

It’s easy for their minds to understand

My actions are so childish too

It must be something they learn in the womb

That we forget as we grow long in tooth

Ask the babies, babies know the truth

Medication

This is the part of me that hates to believe in spirits
This is the part of me that thinks I have nothing to offer
This is the part of me that never finds me funny
This is the part of me that hopes disaster strikes

This is the part of me that pretends I'm only faking
This is the part of me that has great taste in movies
This is the part of me that has no interest in learning
This is the part of me that hates my old best friends

This is the part of me that wishes I was lonely
This is the part of me that screams inside my car
This is the part of me that downloads too much music
This is the part of me that's wanting to be famous

Poor John Mobius

John is driving on the highway to meet his wife at work

He sees a spot of road construction ahead of him

He shifts lanes to avoid construction

He ends up behind a dump truck carrying gravel

Pieces of gravel fall off the top of the truck

The gravel bounces fast and high off of the road

A piece falls on John’s windshield

It splinters, cracks, shatters

John loses control and consciousness

He wakes up in the hospital

His wife is sitting beside him

She says that when he lost control the car drove off of a bridge

In the ensuing destruction, traffic below destroyed the bridge supports

It was a miracle John survived

He was almost entirely unharmed physically

The city has been rebuilding the bridge since the accident

It is almost repaired

Because of his accident John is extremely skittish

He is unable to hold a job

His wife must work to support them both

She takes a job farther north that pays better

The job is far more stressful than her last

She resents him for not working

John feels badly for being unable to work

He decides to surprise his wife for lunch

He knows he shouldn’t drive but gets in his old car anyhow

John is driving on the highway to meet his wife at work

He sees a spot of road construction ahead of him

He shifts lanes to avoid construction

He ends up behind a dump truck carrying gravel

Pieces of gravel fall off the top of the truck

The gravel bounces fast and high off of the road

A piece falls on John’s windshield

It splinters, cracks, shatters

John loses control and consciousness

He wakes up in the hospital

His wife is sitting beside him

She says that when he lost control the car drove off of a bridge

In the ensuing destruction, traffic below destroyed the bridge supports

It was a miracle John survived

He was almost entirely unharmed physically

The city has been rebuilding the bridge since the accident

It is almost repaired

Because of his accident John is extremely skittish

He is unable to hold a job

His wife must work to support them both

She takes a job farther north that pays better

The job is far more stressful than her last

She resents him for not working

John feels badly for being unable to work

He decides to surprise his wife for lunch

He knows he shouldn’t drive but gets in his old car anyhow

John is driving on the highway to meet his wife at work

He sees a spot of road construction ahead of him

He shifts lanes to avoid construction

He ends up behind a dump truck carrying gravel

Pieces of gravel fall off the top of the truck

The gravel bounces fast and high off of the road

A piece falls on John’s windshield

It splinters, cracks, shatters

John loses control and consciousness

He wakes up in the hospital

His wife is sitting beside him

She says that when he lost control the car drove off of a bridge

In the ensuing destruction, traffic below destroyed the bridge supports

It was a miracle John survived

He was almost entirely unharmed physically

The city has been rebuilding the bridge since the accident

It is almost repaired

Because of his accident John is extremely skittish

He is unable to hold a job

His wife must work to support them both

She takes a job farther north that pays better

The job is far more stressful than her last

She resents him for not working

John feels badly for being unable to work

He decides to surprise his wife for lunch

He knows he shouldn’t drive but gets in his old car anyhow

Bus Wreck

At first I was thrown too far off-balance to wonder what had happened. The noise was the only sensation invading my mind as I tried to scurry off of the hard, wet floor under my hands and knees. Children were yelling and screaming and even crying already. The bus driver was on the intercom immediately; she was shouting sedative phrases at a volume that pierced the commotion it was trying to control.

“Everybody calm down! Quiet! Everyone sit down! Be quiet and sit down!”

Most of the kids ignored the request. I listened. I sat down on the seat I had been kneeling on a few moments earlier. I always sat in the back so I could see everyone in front of me. Right now that was too much to see, so I hunkered down and allowed my brain to review the sensations it had just experienced.

There had been a loud noise. Swerving. Disorientation due to the sharp reduction of momentum and the side to side swaying of the school bus. That’s when I must have hit the floor.

The inside of the bus was now erupting with children’s voices. I chanced a look out the window.

Grey sky. That’s wasn’t right. It should be the trees that line the established suburban roads that sliced up the neighborhoods surrounding our school.

Ignoring the deafening roar around me I crept across the vinyl seat and onto my knees to peer out the window. Before I could see outside I looked down and noticed Tommy Harrison sitting calmly on the seat in front of me with his knees drawn up to his chest. His back was to the window. I suddenly remembered him standing up with his head against the glass before it all happened. Now he looked up at me and shook his head. His eyes clearly said “don’t look.”

But I looked.

The bus was sort of sideways across an intersection where two neighborhood entrances faced each another. We had been on the main street between the two and somebody had tried to cross over. That explained the loud noise. A red sedan was setting up against the outside of the bus with its belly up. The wheels of its left side were reaching toward the sky.

People were getting out of stopped cars on the other side of the bus. I saw them scurry around the damaged vehicle, a few stopped to kneel down and see the person inside. A larger group ran around the front of the bus to check on us. From where I sat we, those of us in the bus, looked fine. I focused on the outside again.

A man in a black baseball cap got on his belly to see under the sedan which was lying against the bus. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse through the front windshield. From my raised position above him I could’ve spit on his back with no trouble. He suddenly got up quickly and made a pained expression of recognition. He took off his hat and slapped his mostly bald head with his empty palm. After this gesture of exasperation he ran around to the front of the bus. My eyes followed him until he disappeared around the corner.

I heard the bus door open and he leapt up the steps and leaned toward the bus driver. Her arm dropped as the man spoke, still holding the intercom transmitter. Her face squinted up before going deadly serious. She looked back at the first few rows of panicked children, scanning the faces for one in particular. Upon finding it she looked away quickly, dropped the intercom, and dropped her head in her arms on the steering wheel.

The man with the black hat also dropped his head. Then he placed his hat back on top and took a deep breath. In an attempt to balance out the pandemonium around me I looked down again at Tommy. He was still shaking his head. A tear was on his face. He had seen it all.

The man with the black hat walked back to the third row and looked down at a girl named Melissa. She had blonde hair that was almost white. She looked scared. She was younger than me. The man knelt down beside her and explained something terrible. I can only guess what words he used to communicate the sudden misery Melissa was about to experience. I was distracted by the sound of sirens.

The next few minutes passed quickly. A police officer was on board in a flash, organizing children into a steady exit stream. I was blinded by the reflection of ambulance red on the pale bus windows. A fireman made a great deal of commotion just behind me. Apparently the emergency door was stuck, so I would have to wait my turn. As my classmates disappeared down the big black steps at the front of the bus I turned to sneak a last look at the wreckage below me. A stretcher was rolling towards the car. Police officers were keeping traffic at bay. A fireman had wrenched the upside-down passenger door open and was reaching with the help of another to remove the men inside.

I recognized Melissa’s older brother, Jason. He was a fifth grader when I was a first grader. He had been a hall monitor. All the other girls thought he was the cutest in the Christmas program so some of them had tried to get bathroom passes when he was working. I never had a crush on Jason. I thought Terry Jackson was the cutest in the program. He was only in third grade at the time and I thought maybe when we grew up I would have a chance.

Jason didn’t have a chance. Neither did the driver. I didn’t know him for sure, but his bloodstained mustache and balding head made me guess it was Melissa’s dad.

One of the “rescue” workers tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Come this way please.”

That’s when I decided that nobody on the scene needed rescuing. It was too late for Melissa’s brother and her dad. It was too early for the rest of us.

Deer Me

Deer scare the shit out of me. I am not joking; I am really afraid of deer. I drive a lot and I live in the midwest. It's deer season. I am scared.

This weekend we drove to Kalamazoo, MI for a show at a new venue called Dino's. On the way we saw a car on the other side of the road with the passenger side of the windshield demolished and paramedics surrounding it. Animal attack.

On the way home I shifted lanes in the dark only to find the pieces of a deer strewn all about my lane, most remarkable being the upper torso and its still gleaming eyes staring right towards me (dead things can't stare "at" you, only "towards" you.) I freaked, but couldn't steer around it. The tires went bump on that awful head. Twice more we saw bloody streaks, a foot or two wide in some places, leading off of the road. Where did the animal go? Did it drag itself away? If it lives, is that a failure?

See, I think these deer are on a kamikaze style mission. I think they get overpopulated in the area, some of them can't find mates, they get really depressed, they decide to end it all and take some of those wasteful humans with them and they go for it. Human lives are taken. These beasts must be hunted and killed. They must be hunted by others though, because I'm very intimidated.

When we were finally back in Fort Wayne I was driving along Dupont Road and in the opposite traffic lane I spotted two deer standing at ease. I was terrified. Any moment they could leap into my way. Well, they weren't quite ready like Biggie Smalls, so they stayed put. But they eyeballed me like I was a small boy, something with no balls, a pathetic inferior with my life in their hooves.

I know anybody reading this probably doesn't care and doesn't believe me but I shook for ten minutes straight. My wife felt my arm and it was like a cheap rubber basketball of goose flesh.

Not convinced? Look at this shit:


A cross between a cougar and a deer. Terrifying.


An actual five-legged deer.

Scary shit okay. And regular deer are too.

The Things About Thanksgiving

The things about Thanksgiving I will not forget:

- My uncle and my great grandmother arguing over whether whipped cream should be put on the whole pumpkin pie, or administered by each individual up to the amount of their choosing.

- My mom and dad playing Guitar Hero II.

- Finding out that my uncle and I went to the same elementary school, had some of the same teachers, and that we have a flat tire and a dead battery (both) in the parking lot of said school.

- Remembering that I like babies.

- Hearing freshly mastered tracks off of the upcoming Vampire Weekend LP.

- Drinking beer in front of my family.

- Seeing my mom drink beer for the first time.

No. Don't Worry. I'll Do It Myself.

Basically it's time to stop guessing around and start to formulate this elusive sensation called inspiration. I'm getting organized: cameras, microphones, motion-sensors... it's going down. I'm really going to catch it this time. I'll trap that golden-egg laying slave of my happiness once and for all. Wish me luck. And sanity.

Mulholland Drive

So it'd been a while since I'd watched a movie that left me brain-chewed. But I've been working through David Lynch's amazing filmography and last night I ended up on Mulholland Drive. Apparently when you buy this film it comes with a list of 10 clues to help you figure out the movie, or at least guide your interpretation. Well, needless to say, the video store forgot to include that little detail and my friend Eric and I (the only ones determined to see the end after everyone else got too frustrated to finish,) gave each other blank stares when the credits rolled.

So it makes sense now; it makes sense now that I've gone online and looked up a few interpretations of the film and discovered the clues I never had at my disposal. The last movie I took this way was Donnie Darko, a movie with even less resolution that I enjoy, regularly, but which has been blown out of proportion in my mind. These movies really gather a following by demanding that the viewer take ownership. It's brilliant in one way, but at the same time it sort of masks some shoddy film making. I don't mean this about Mulholland Drive. Even if it had ended a random assortment of 3-5 minute puzzle pieces with no picture it would still be a beautiful and intriguing film. Donnie Darko: not so much.

I think people, once they've been suckered into "figuring out" the film they just watched, take possession of their entertainment in a way that makes them unable to criticize some of it's flaws. They want it to work, so they don't feel they've wasted their time, so they make it work. I think Vanilla Sky's failure was that it didn't leave viewers confused enough at the end. It has you pretty bewildered right up until the last ten minutes or so and then it spills the beans. So with Vanilla Sky, you can remain aloof, tie the film up in a little bow and add it to the list of films you saw. It never ascends to the list of movies you "figured out" like Donnie Darko or Mulholland Drive, these movies you have to do extra-curricular work to make sense of.

Anyway, on to Eraserhead and Lost Highway.

Fame and Respect

I want to be famous. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. That is, I'm not sure which role I want to fulfill in society. But I'm sure I want most everybody to know that I'm doing it. Up until about three weeks ago I was fairly convinced that I didn't care if anybody liked me; I just wanted them to know about me.

The problem is, that I'm a pretty likeable person. At least I think so. I mean, I bitch nonstop on this blog shit, but in person I'm pretty easy to like. So if somebody really despises me, chances are they don't know me all that well.

I used to say that I could get any woman. Literally any woman. All they'd have to do is get to know me. I'm not the most attractive guy physically, but I've got some pleasant features and my future seems to be going places (hey, I'm planning to be famous) so I figured I had a chance with anybody who'd give me one. Fortunately my wife felt this way too, so we hooked up and yeah, look where that went. People just need a chance.

Think about it: most everybody is pretty likeable. Even villains. Take a look at film. The only villains that you despise are the ones you never get to see both sides of. Every villain has a softer side, a vulnerable side that was exploited to make them villains. And we're all weak in some way, so we can identify with villains, so any villain you get to know is pretty difficult to despise.

I'm not saying I'm a villain. Or at least that's not exactly what I'm saying. But I think that if people dislike me it's because they haven't seen the other sides of me. They're probably judging by one smallish example of my personality and not taking it in stride with the rest of me. If you got to know a well-rounded picture of me you'd see that I care about more than just myself (shock.)

So lately I've been really careful around people I just met. They don't have a lot of material at their disposal to use in measuring my comments, so if I make a wrong move that could be the most they ever get to know of me. Once they spend a good amount of time with me I can feel more comfortable to act like a jerk or joke around about their problems, etc. (villain type behavior)

The prospect of fame is really frightening to this newly sensitive me. All anybody ever gets to know of you is those single comments. You have to be careful all the time. And yet, few well-behaved people ever make history. Predicament.

I need to find something righteous to be villainous about. Those are the folks that get attention and respect both. I think.

The Video Store and Its Children

I cannot be trusted in the video store. I cannot be held responsible for being late to classes, appointments, family gatherings, etc. after being sent to the video store to pick up a film. Time spent at the video store is difficult for me because I take pride in what I watch and watch only what I want to tell about later.

Some would argue that I watch far too many movies. I would argue that the only way you can watch far too many is if you're watching the wrong ones. I mean, come on: by a percentage basis I've really only seen about ten percent of the films at my Family Video Store. Granted only about fifteen percent are worth watching, but that's just my point. If you stray outside that fifteen percent then you're watching too many. I watch more than the average fellow, but I'm still well within the quality range, so I'd say I'm doing fine.

The people that think I watch too many movies are in one or both of the following categories. Category A sees the issue on a purely numerical plain and assumes that anyone who watches more movies than they do is unhealthy. Category A folks are usually convinced that anybody experiencing more than they do is clearly overexperiencing and should slow down so Category A personalities like themselves don't look utterly boring. Category B contains people who have poor movie selection skills and watch whatever looks good based on the cover of a film or the amount of advertisements or recommendations they've heard about it. These people naturally blunder into a ton of shitty movies and therefore assume that anybody watching more films than they are must be watching even more shitty films.

People that actually watch more movies than I do are similar to the people who, when asked "what kind of music do you like?" they say "I listen to everything." These are the people who lack a critical skill, the ability to discriminate between worthwhile, or even more enjoyable art. In movies, these Category C people are like Category B folks in many ways, only they don't realize that they're swallowing shit. They even go on to recommend the shit to Category B folks who receive so many Category C recommendations that they go out to the video store and burn themselves again on another log of canned characters, rotten dialog, miserable acting, and cookie cutter plotline.

You can't take recommendations from Category A, B, or C people. The first two don't watch enough, and the third watches too much. You've got to be the perfect balance. You've got to watch enough to know what's out there, even watch enough to know what's quality, and then stop before you start to watch just anything.

I myself am caught at the point where the remaining 5% of movies in the video store that are worth watching but which I haven't seen yet, are getting tougher and tougher to identify and I don't trust anybody to tell me which ones they are. That's why I walked around Family Video by myself for 52 minutes this afternoon.

Posting My Thoughts Is Not My Forte

Sitting on the back porch of my, oh wait I don't have a back porch.

Standing outside on the deck of my second story apartment I can see the leaves are bright yellow. The color is similar to the sun which has failed to make an appearance today. The rain drizzles on, occasionally thickening to sleet. I like icee drinks. I hate it when God dumps them on my head. Just kidding, God. But really, I hate it.

Tonight the band practices again. I wrote new songs to rehearse. We'll see how that goes. I better come up with some more specific musical ideas. Coming up with them on the spot isn't really anybody's forte. What does it mean to say something is your forte anyway?

forte1 /fɔrt, foʊrt or, for 1, ˈfɔrteɪ/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[fawrt, fohrt or, for 1, fawr-tey] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun

1.	a strong point, as of a person; that in which one excels: I don't know what her forte is, but it's not music.

2.	the stronger part of a sword blade, between the middle and the hilt (opposed to foible).

So there you go. Apparently not related to the musical term with the little angled line above the "e."

What astonishingly interesting information that is. What a lame first post. What a good time to go to class and think about how I'd rather not be alive than go to class. By the way, I think there's a big difference between wishing you were dead and wishing you weren't alive to be doing what you have to be doing at a particular time. The latter implies that you would like to be alive and doing something else. I'm that one.