I’m going to listen to this song until I die. Whenever I drove to or from Marist, I’d always listen to the Scrubs soundtrack. Yes, I managed to find a huge download of the music featured in the first 4 seasons of Scrubs. And yes, I would listen to it, in order, every time I drove to or from school. It was a 3 hour trip. It was a 3 hour block of music. It worked out.
But this song… when I listen to it, I’m back in my blue Jeep Cherokee (stick, ladies), driving down the New York State Thruway, the leaves halfway off the trees, in a Zen-like state of contentment.
This mirrors my opinion of Michael Vick. He was, by all accounts, a pretty unlikable guy. He got busted for some pretty terrible crimes, went to prison, filed for bankruptcy. Now he’s out, working to make up for his wrongs, and finally getting his life in order. What would you want him to do otherwise?
The third track of their new album, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. This entire album is awesome and I want to start wearing paintball masks and fighting Daft Punk wannabe fascists and singing terribly overdramatic rock ballads about everything.
Once I dated a woman I only liked 43%. So I only listened to 43% of what she said. Only told the truth 43% of the time. And only kissed with 43% of my lips.
Some say you can’t quantify desire, attaching a number to passion isn’t right, that the human heart doesn’t work like that. But for me it does-I walk down the street
and numbers appear on the foreheads of the people I look at. In bars, it’s worse. With each drink, the numbers go up until every woman in the joint has a blurry
eighty something above her eyebrows, and the next day I can only remember 17% of what actually happened. That’s the problem with booze-it screws with your math.
- Jeffery McDaniel
I’ve been reading through his stuff again. I’ve got 2 of his books (and just bought another 2 from Amazon). His work is such a great mix of aggression, sadness, sarcasm and just plain weirdness. He’s either a brilliant writer, or a merely great writer who had the (mis?)fortune of having some incredibly damaging stuff happen to him in his life.
Yesterday, in my heavy-handed attempt to write something interesting about dreams, I used the line, “Dreams that coat the roof of your mind with peanut butter that you spend the rest of the day trying to lick off. “
I’m kind of proud of that metaphor. I really like it. It both sounds cool and translates a very specific physical experience to an emotional experience.
What I’m saying is I’m the best writer in the world.
That statement might be false on a biological level and on a metaphysical level, but on a practical level, it’s true. I don’t dream.
I remember maybe one dream per month, if I’m lucky. It just doesn’t happen for me. I lay in bed at night, thinking about something or other and; the world cuts to black. Then I’m listening to John Mayer or some equally emasculating music on my computer alarm’s “Wakeup” playlist. No epic battles, lusty romances or conversations with my uncle who was a vegetable (but who I still knew was my uncle). Not even a simple flight across a never-ending cityscape. I just don’t dream.
Unless, it seems, I have a ‘bad’ dream. Not ‘bad’ as in a nightmare. Nightmares you wake up from and take comfort in their unreality. I’m talking about dreams that trap you with the thoughts you don’t want to be around. Dreams that take over your night and leave sitting hunched over the side of your bed in the morning thinking, “Shit. Where did that come from?” Dreams that coat the roof of your mind with peanut butter that you spend the rest of the day trying to lick off. Those kinds of dreams.
Certainly we can and should back sensible center-right candidates in bluer states, but I see no point in backing someone who supports cap-and-tax, Obamacare, bailouts, taxes, and more useless stimulus packages. If you think such a candidate will be with us when it comes time to vote down an Obama Supreme Court nominee, you’re living on a unicorn ranch in fantasy land.
“Failed Mr. Boehner. You lost. You blew it… . I would think the “will and desires of your fellow countrymen” should be pretty damn clear by now: Your countrymen think your policies are of the past, and your tactics are of the gutter… . And so I offer this olive branch to the defeated Republicans and Tea Partiers… . You are rapidly moving from “The Party of No,” past “The Party Of No Conscience,” towards “The Party of No Relevancy.” You are behind the wheel of a political Toyota. And before the mid-terms, you will have been reduced to only being this generation’s home for the nuts.”—