My diamonds are weckless, feels like a midget is hanging from my necklace

Hello,


I hope you understand that simply had to be the title of this post.

To start, I was recently challenged to make movie titles, given rapidly, into porno names as quickly as I could. NOTE: This was a boast I made.

Although I did quite well (with a low being The Boobsic Man: A Boobsical), I was stumped on one front. The Color Purple. However I, since returning home, realized.....that IS a porno title by itself. THE BATTLE IS STILL MINE!

*****

In exhilarating other news I have decided to get a new piece of furniture for my living room/entire apartment, amid much controversy. The contentious issue is fairly basic. Where am I going to ballroom dance? ...while that still is an issue I have decided to forgo (for the time being) that luxury and invest in some sitting. Currently,(so currently that I'm sitting on it now...which is what she said) I have to rest my weary bones, only a bed and a floor. Picking the more logical of the two most times I find many things are made more difficult. Eating AND baseball are both tough from a semi-laid down position. Although, generally, it is where I do of my best work...BOOYAH.

Aside from that paragraph being one long naughty joke other things are quite well too reader. I'm reminded often of memories past it seems. Even though one braces for change and pushes/pulls it is still difficult to live them. Personally, I find completely losing yourself in your work to be the most challenging. That threat, especially for me, perhaps might be the most off-putting. I've been doing sit-ups for many years and it has lent me a stomach worth showing off. Now it seems, work and societal endeavors tear my away from the world/beach. Alas, worry not 98 pound weaklings....your 99 pound superior will return to you soon. Of that I assure you.

********

Whippoorwills and Blue Bonnets, break softly into cool summer air,
Sharing a softness made softer by gentle, blonde hair.
Leading and leaning, spiking and sway,
Shiver and tremble, embrace and then lay.
Blankets made soft, worn with touch and with use,
The reds and the blues, untangling, becoming quite loose.
A hodgepodge of feelings, a mishmash of song,
Lays still in light summer air,
but it won't lay for long.
A shadow, some rust, a trinket or two,
A brass bells strikes clearly, through crisp air it flew.
Sharp summer fancies, warm melodies past,
Birth more brief Septembers, perhaps some one's last.

*****

I also hate sap.

Cheers,
Andrew

A.A.R.P. (Andrew's American Reality Program)

Yo,

Well obviously you knew something was up. Although I've noticed, the middle east non-withstanding, the world didn't collapse completely in wake of my blogs semi-retirement. This semi-retirement, not unlike probably most others, wasn't planned but after it went along far enough it seemed to make sense. I imagine that's usually how it goes. Once you hit 54 you probably just don't decide to become irrelevant. It's simply that one morning you wake up and have no idea why the flip Hogan's Heroes isn't on anymore...... and that's about all she wrote.

I guess it was kind of like that. In the beginning I really didn't think that this blog would make it the two year mark. The fact that it is approaching that benchmark really begs the question of this particular endeavor's mortality. Despite my initial claim that I was in this to quote "spray on all deez hatin mufuckazz fa evah."

That being said I write these words as a slap in the face to my slap in the face. Whenever and wherever I feel like I posting I think that I ought to, nay SHOULD, post. What with the (non-existent) public outcry it might be lunacy to stop.

Not like it isn't completely without pleasure, in fact this blog is probably a good dose of medicine for me. I lead ever lengthening days it seems and perhaps this will be a good vehicle for me to take stock of the day's passings. After all, I'll be mother fucked before I ask anyone why Suddenly Susan got cancelled.

*************

To follow the format of the rest of the blogosphere, here is something that is minuscule but bothering me in my everyday life. It seems life is actively working against me in the "Andrew is never going to get to see the Darjeeling Limited," world. This isn't one of those..I could do it if I really wanted to things. This is one of those picturing God as dangling meat (no pun intended) in front of my face without letting you have it for so long that eventually I just start grazing instead. That's actually how cows were invented. It's True.

Not that that this frustration is remarkably or even notably bothersome. What do I have to really complain about? After all i know FULL well why Suddenly Susan got canceled. Simply put, the American public just wasn't ready for the well-read of a show. I believe the term for it was "Too high-end" Whoa is the fate of the intellectual in today's titillate oriented television. Rest in peace Susan.

***************

That's it for now......keep the radio dialed in however, perhaps I'll muse with other stylings in the attempted humor/satirist fashion soon. Until then.......here.

Stay up till you get lit up,
Andrew

Heat, Heat, HOT

It is without fear or regret that I readily admit being hot sucks the proverbial egg. Wow, sweating all the time is for the birds. That being said there are some up-sides and they are as follows:

1.) You get to look more like Nick Nolte.

2.) Pools are more refreshing.

3.) You always might have just exercised.

4.) You can always one up someone not from the south in the unpleasant category. For instance: "My mom Died last night, I had to pry the will from her cold dead fingers so I could manage to re-allocate her meager funds to raise her several young kids who need braces."

"....It's 99 degrees with 110 percent humidity"

"Really? 110 percent? How does that even work?"

"I don't know really, but wow, is it uncomfortable."

"Man, I feel bad for you."


******

In other news I heard today there might be a Men in Black 3. Egger, get an agent.


Cheers,

A.J.S.

Inhale, Exhale

It was tough even walking down the sidewalk. Usually, though a problem physically, there was really no mental issue with that habitual straining and flexing of the muscles required to move his taunt, thin body across pavements in any given direction. However, it seems like lately, that was all he could think of, at least in passing thought. "Flex and release, left and right,' he reminded himself. Ever since the car accident he had kept a strict sense of what he was doing physically. "What a luxury,' he thought "being able to move without being conscious of it."

He noticed it immediately after losing it. The effortless way in which people strode around, going to Pet Smart and Target. Going down and up moving around, throwing Frisbees, going to movies and making coffee. These quintessential moments, frozen in their seeming permanence, but fragile in their reality, were his to enjoy no longer. He was vividly aware of his impairments. Some days, he supposed, that was all that got him up the morning. Every morning it was the same thought. Crunched and scraped through the years but the spirit remained. "Simply: put one foot in front of the other you fuck up."

Today was a day that, unlike many that had proceeded it, was fairly carefree. The sidewalk was free of people. Free of judging eyes unlimited in their potential for notice.He forgave them, obviously, he was no paranoid. Still he couldn't help but have a point of view tragically given to those who can see only through the lens of someone impressed upon. He knew all too well the reflexive extra glance shot at someone who exhibited the slightest difference. Knew all too well the thoughts that are nothing short of whispers of cognizance. Recognizing life's inherent dichotomy. There is the healthy and then, the infirmed. Joining the latter was no joy.

These truths did not embitter him. Despite knowing, what he was almost certainly sure, was a perspective forged out of truth and experience he still indulged fervently in humanity. Trying to remain active though he often fought back chasms of non-interest. He did throw the occasional football and still enjoyed a constitutional on Friday afternoons. In fact, come to think of it, there was nothing that he would give up for those Friday afternoons. Everyone sitting comfortabley on the precipice of freedom. He drank heartily from that particular cup, sensing physically the abstract. In fact you could say that was his passion. As his days had wore on, he simply put more and more stock into things that weren't of critical importance to his peers. Slants and impressions. Physical manifestations of concepts and passions. More and more he saves the used coffee cups and the half eaten microwave dinners. Thinking them artifacts in a life lived, vessels through which a experience that flourished, now resides in.

It was that attitude that brought him here today. Down an alley, so stereotypical in its dankness he thought it might be from Hollywood set. He was drawn to it. A flickering street lamp hummed in the corner, a stale half fog floated the expanse of the street as the occasional can littered broke up a monatany of a blemished sidewalk. Halfway down this urban ecosystem was nothing but a simple door to a bar. There, was of course, nothing different about this door. Not blood red, or gifted with a memorable knocked, this door was only exceptional in its blandness. It looked, not unlike the rest of the alley,like it had been delivered fresh from the "Doors that belong in an alley store." So it was with an understandable lack of respect that he wrapped his hand around the mildly tarnished brass handle and gave it a half twist, powerfully, the twist of a muscle memory. Of a task off repeated.

In the midst of this bar he sat. From "left, right," he now progressed to the "up and down," of the lifting of a glass of modestly priced American beer.

She approached like all woman who want something. A demur walk, one that speaks another word with every dip and compensation for a limbs movement elsewhere. It was in the beautiful counterbalance of weight shifting that he noticed her. Alive in death. A breath of fresh air in a place where the most explosive movement had been a yawn.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he replied.

"What's a girl like me got to do to get a drink around a place like this?" she jested. He knew, at his core, the core that made him human, that the ball was squarely in his court.

"...Depends greatly on two things." He replied with all the mystery he could muster.

"What would those things be?" she played back.

"One, of course, is a girls aptitude for enjoying whiskey." he replied.

"Certainly a rigorous test," she said coyly.

"Second," he marched on as if to a final goal, "is without a doubt, a girls propensity for starting something she can't hope to finish."



............left and right, up and down.

A definite Baldwin.

Yo,

Losing your grip on what's real and what is not real is, perhaps, the most fundamental element of insanity. I was giving it some thought and, outside of liking The Postman, that truly might be the pillar upon which losing your grip is based. I can comment on this specifically in today's post for the following reason: Living alone will freak you the fuck out.

"But, Andrew, aren't you a sissy?" Well put reader, and the answer is unequivocally, yes I am a sissy. However, this extends far beyond sheer girlishness. The answer to this question I'm afraid doth lie in wait for anyone of you. Yes even you, whom nothing rattles, there is the possibility that you will, one day, live by yourself. The following are observations about living (terrifyingly) alone:

1.) A simple realization, no one will ever see anything. -Ex. Your hand washing silverware...there are some spots on it that are tough to get off. You try to get them off. This completely sane and rational exercise is interrupted by the realization that, once clean, who cares if there are spots on them? Why work hard at getting them off? NO ONE WILL EVER SEE THEM. This ethos is quite simply put, the beginning of the end. Laundry, cleanliness, hesitancy to read Ann Rice, all this slowly eeps away while you wallow in the deep dank pit of self engorgement. Want that extra slice of pizza? Have it! Don't want to throw the box away? Who would!

It's JUST YOU.

2.) Often times you can scrape the crumbs off you in a timely enough fashion to have a discernible thought. Often times this thought might be something like. "What was that noise?" (FYI-The world at large is full of noises. A more accurate distillation of the world there may not be than "Shit is moving and making sounds.") However, you did not know this, but the presence of others has buoyed your "insane," reflex. When you are alone on the other hand....paranoia is allowed to run free and unchecked. Furthermore, this debilitating prognosis is degenerative. The longer one stays alone the greater the risk of turning a muffled thud sound into someone sharpening an ax blade on the human skull of a very (formally) pretty blond haired woman who, amongst other things, was on her way to warn you that her killer was also after you on his way to killing all four of the prophets who, when combined, could come together and summon the sun go Ra in order that he might deflect the eventual coming of the dark lord who would throw this planet and its people back into shackles of servitude they served in before they rebelled successfully against their reptilian overlords early in this planets history.

Or something like that.




There are of course other things that come as a by-product of living alone. The rest of the list is, and will hopefully remain, comfortably out of your understanding.

*******


That all being said, it would seem as if the housing market has finally brought to bare what anyone, who is not a CEO could have told you two years ago. This recovery has been a hollow one. Predicated on shaky lending practices and an American desire to "keep on spending no matter if your children still need school clothes and you have a medical problem." This slash of the fed rate will mark an unprecedented era of "Andrew was correct," the likes of which haven't been seen since I totally figured out Alicia Silverstone was in love with Josh before she did.

*******

That's all for now, thanks for checking in and to wet your whistle here's this golden piece of cinema. This is both a testament to my effort to keep the links relevant and also to the complete crapification of youtube.com...R.I.P.


Cheers,

A.J.S.

THE MOMENT HAS ARRIVED

All,

As I'm sure you all have, if your anybody whose anybody (sorry nobodies), you have been keeping track of the amount of blog posts I have put out there. Yes, it isn't a staggering amount and no, the counting is not what this gloating is about. I am gloating a slim victory tonight. A minimalist victory (which also is the victory of most Simmons men...if you catch my drift...if not we have small penis') That victory is, unabashedly, that this post (YES THIS POST) is post 69.*

I didn't really know how to approach it. This being somewhere around the two year mark for this blog I thought, maybe it's a good time to let it die. 69 is a nice time to fade. However, as I specialize in the excruciating and painful, I thought the better of it. I also thought, for the first time, I might actually write something of substance. Despite that initial foray into short stories mid-blog I haven't lately ventured into the seductive wood that is yarn weaving. However, that also lives now on the back burner with the idea of this blogs demise. So... after careful consideration I thought, nay, knew the way to handle this momentous occasion. I give you haiku 69:

Here:Post 69
A number, vivid, divine;
Do it in the butt!



There it was suckas. More later. Andrew has a date with Bobby. The movie, not some dude named Bobby. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some of my best friends are named Bobby.

Cheers,

A.J.S.

P.S.--You don't think I'd leave without a dope beat for you to step to, did you? Check it out. That's a classic.


*Note: That many uses of the word post next to all the 69 references was unintentional.

Summary of the Synopsis

All,

Hey there, I know, I know. I am sure you missed me, in fact I'm a little too sure. I wish you would stop sending the naked photos.

Anyway, sitting squarely in the Midwest for the first time in a long time is, surprisingly, a refreshing place to be in. Little did I know that I might actually (grab you bible's) miss America. That's right Ms. America. It's good overseas but to be short, they're different, you have to pay for ketchup and Clint Eastwood doesn't sound right dubbed into German or Flemish. Although, strangely, Al Roker sounds much better in Italian...couldn't figure it out save I guess it's because he used to be fat. That's really all I could come up with.

Quick question...have you ever been ready to make a move, a major move, and not had exactly where you're going to live worked out? I know this sounds (b)anal, but beleive me....it is quite nerve racking, but that's it. That is all the complaining I'm going to do about that. For now. On that topic.

On another completely unrelated note (sorry for the scramble of the post) is there any better total body cool down that a slushy? Truly slushies are to body temperatures what Bea Arthur is to erections. The temperature in my home town at the moment is approximately 8098923849025 degrees peeling your bodily fluids from your body with a frank force that generally is reserved for doctors and plungers. However, once consumed a slush can really help. There it is. No joke. Andrew's completely selfless tip # 1 (Tips 1-234993249 were self-aggrandizing) When your hot, try a slushy. Grape for most effect. Bubblegum if your a tasteless weenie.

To the point of relief it is nice enough to be back posting and I have decided that I am going to try to more completely update. As I have mentioned before, only someone with my work ethic could think that they need a break from something as trivial as a blog, but I did and it was hard for me so back off!...which I couldn't find on youtube so instead you get this Billy Madison clip, and you'll be glad for it if you know what's good for you.

Just as a closing note it looks like the stock market is going to crash and kill everyone in a grizzly gruesome death with limbs everywhere, lots of blood and someone screaming "Won't someone think of the children?" SOO stock up on weapons now....I suggest booby trapping the front door.

Hugs and Kisses,
A.J.S.

PS- I bet you were wishing I settled on one way to spell Slusheigh. Well I didn't.

Monsieur, there is a U in your pretension.

All,
So what If I have only been coming at you once a week as of late, so what is it's only one every two weeks? You think I don't have things going on in my life that are more important than pontificating on the days happenings with Internet strangers that (absolutely do not) masturbate to the very thought of me?

I'm sorry i didn't mean that. You know I don't have anything better to do. The pay for this blog is,actually, quite good I'll have you know. Why just the other day I was uptown when some bloke yelled, "Hey man, don't you write that blog?"

Me- "Yes."
Man given an air of supreme authority from his Snoopy shirt- "Fuck you."

So There you have it. Indisputable proof of this blogs incalculable success. As defined by me not,as of yet, going to jail and for the (RECORD!) 54th consecutive time out in public someone swore at me. You wouldn't think wearing a "Hitler was innocent," shirt would be so caustic.
(Ed. Note- Andrew is a large patriot and under no circumstances does he think Hitler was innocent...guilty, guilty, guilty they should rename guilty to be Hitler).

****

Let me tell you something dear reader, as I know it's been quite sometime since I spoke to you directly (sorry about canceling Friday but I really didn't want to see "Whose you Caddy!?") The Kinks are really an under appreciated band...truly ahead of their time. I know this probably comes as no surprise to you as I know my average reader is both a music fan and brighter than I am but still they kick an, almost, unparalleled amount of ass. Mind bending with three chord riffs their manipulation of guttural music rock and/or roll (and some surprising versatility on more melodic jams) left me both awed and astonished. Tough I didn't get to them before. Ah well, I was probably happy listening to Winger anyway.

****

Asides aside it is nice to be back on this text page. Holding at my mercy both these words and the precious few that read them for whatever reason.It is always tempting to be more abrupt and hate-filled in this blog. In fact I can surmise almost every popular blog in about three sentences. "Welcome to my blog, I fucking hate stupid people. Angelina Jolie (by the way both her first name and last name are ACTUAL WORDS in the blogger spell checker...I almost rest my case) is fucking hoTT, and there is a current trend in popular culture that bothers me but I enjoy catering to it."

Wow...got it in two.

Your welcome for the unapologetically mundane,without fire, blog you see before you. It takes a lot of work to suck. Tragically, it seems it also leaves you without a theme or talent.

That's something that suits me fine though, as I've been leading a life almost tirelessly dedicated to production without talent or skill. Let's see where this goes, it certainly has got to be better than my tree house....Check back regularly as my travels will in the next month take me to

A.) Europe
B.) New Orleans
C.)Your mothers house to show her how to live in a BIG HOUSE WITH FINE WINE AND CHEESES.*

cheers,
Andrew Simmons

*I don't particularly know what that means.


*****

int main()
{
cout << "Hello,Bloggers!"; return EXIT_SUCCESS; if (i=0; i {
cout << "Thank you."; }else{ cout << "screw off"; } } }

When in doubt, GUNZ BLAZE!

Ahoy,

Hello there, it seems in a single hour I have aged a hundred years. Class trickles on with all the roaring speed of Mr. Bean and somehow I'm losing the ability to use mine. Spose that's why i am rapping at you in the first place, lord knows I don't come at when I've got other things going on. (Note: I am juggling flaming penguins carrying knives with liquid explosives coarsing in their veins).

Morning cracks
unhinged like common loons,
smooth and azul
calling me a fool,
Me believing it and thinking it must have a point.
After all it usually does (breakfast).

Light and Panes
light pains
small gains
stay in my lane
train
in vain
like a common loon.

It sits there, festering like a fat fig in the blistering sun,
and I can't be done
can't run.
I look at these hands
their lines both long and crackled,
worked and loves running in directions that only they know;
but I defer to them, always have.

Our House, In the Middle of Our Street.

Hey all,

There is something to be said for sitting in ones bedroom for over an hour at least something more than you would suppose. It seems like, and maybe this is just (absolutely is) me talking, but once you hit that hour thresh hold, you get this ability to start seeing things. If your like me, and you probably are more than you think (word of advice: CANCEL SUBSCRIPTION TO SHAPE MAGAZINE) you have decorations in your room. Decorations defined as posters, photos,posters,model airplanes, signed poster of the cast from X-files (and by signed poster I mean the autograph of the guy who photo shopped Gillian Anderson into a bikini revealing a little more than paranormal activity) [ed. note- if you can think of a way to turn paranormal activity into a breast joke other than paranormal acTITity, let me know], etc. etc. This being the case and as I'm not in my room much as a result of my staggering amount of female callers/trying to figure out how to play "Everlong," on the guitar, my room truly fades into a dull roar of blues, yellows and mildly offensively positioned women.

However, when you hit the magical hour mark, and really there is no reason for you to do that save NOT studying or preparing something that you should for all intents and purposes be doing (and here I'm aware that taking down the Gillian Anderson probably qualifies) but when you hit it ,the room fades in from scene left. You start to notice things and I'll give you a concrete example. I simply did not know that I had this...
actually hanging up in my room. I had forgotten I ever listened to Savoy Brown. A tragedy to be sure.

This is not to say that you, dear reader, are anywhere close to as unobservant as me. In fact as I type I'm sure you finding Waldo in places he was never thought to be found again (although he probably should stop hiding in Middle Ages Battles for Castles that always the first place I look) and tying people shoes so they don't/do trip over their shoelaces. You Samaritan you.

In essence I suppose it reminds me, and you eagle eye, that rooms and lives deserve and demand constant attention or threaten to leave you striving and moving in a sea of gray. Forever condemned to watch everything and see nothing. If that's what you want, watch PAX.


Not as condescending as I may read because you've probably all been down the same road as me and it's difficult for me to think sometimes so lay off and get your own blog Melville,
A.J.S.

Titlein'

Afternoon All,

Sposin' I get to Toesin'
'Round something real.
Sposin' this Toesin'
makes you feel.

Feel like something that burns inside.
Feel like something that makes you hide (Hyde).
Sposin' this Toesin' begins the Disposin'
of something that makes you (identity) real.

If that high Fallosin' begins the Boozin'
which leads to the Snoozin'
would whomever wakes up be steal (olen)?

Probably not, but there is Sposin'
of all the Toesin',
but sometimes, just sometimes,
A thought can be made into a meal.

Pedantic Pedestrian Pontification for People

Hey all,

As per the usual I apologize for the latency since my last entry, but (and here I'm always reminded of that scene in V for Vendetta when that woman, reduced to nothing but her sense of pride, wrote on toilet paper in her holding cell.......however in my defense she was a lesbian, I've heard they're a communicative people) life has been somewhat fractured as of late, sitting smack dab for whatever reason in the "never enough time," category. Despite this being true, it also smacks of 45 year old mother mantra and, my affinity for track lighting and propensity to TiVo this aside.....
..I Still feel like anything that puts me into that category is probably for the worst and as a result here I am blogging again, Don't call it a comeback.

As I'm sure like it has been with you, as it has a tendency to do so, time has been moving forward at exactly the same pace at which it ought to move. Which, might seem unremarkable to you, but then again your the person putting Sidney Poitier's autobiography in the top ten best sellers, so what do you know? Sorry, I shouldn't have said that, he was good in The Jackal and I respect that....but to me, especially within the context of one of those pending "life watershed moments," (births, weddings, funerals, when you learn that Carlton from Fresh Prince IS actually much more black than he portrayed on the show*) it would seem to either slow down or speed up, neither of which is the case.

Instead, time has been moving as a function of normality and I suppose because it's a product of how I'm spinning this in the upstairs lab, I guess I'm dealing with it fairly normally. That is to say unless you think that because everyone else handles it with stress and apprehension than I would be the one, by definition, outside of the norm. Perhaps making me, not normal, and I think you would be correct. Congratulations you, I really mean that, you worked hard. [Ed. Note-I've yet to receive YOUR congratulation card on my graduation; although I'm sure it's in the mail. (Just so you know, Sidney Poitier now has $12.99 of your money Andrew Simmons, dear friend and role model $0.00, just a thought)].

Other than that, and the pending next step apps process, every things been pretty cool with me, I guess that frees me up to speak, anecdotally and with great embellishment of course (as I know you have come to expect certain standards and who am I to disappoint, outside of the bedroom that is--ZINGINLY!!!) about observations made today while pedestrianizing around.

1.) Truly, the average car driver wants appear just flippant enough as to seem that they don't see you. We get it, you don't care if we live or die you just want to get to Subway. I understand, I'm sorry I was in the street. Hope you enjoy your 6 inch.

2.) You miss a lot walking around with headphones. On the upside RATT's killer licks almost make up for it.

3.) Summertime is in full bloom. Which, sickeningly, as soon as I typed that made me think of the pending Pirates movie.

Well, only someone as truly lethargic as me could ever use business as an excuse to not exercise something as minuscule as a blog (particularly this tiny blog) but I did and I'll deal with your judgements. I can handle them. I'm a recent gun owner.

Don't go away mad,
A.J.S.

Actually, we're all near death...try and act accordingly.

Hello,

Top' o the afternoon to you in blogosphere. I suppose you've been wondering what's been going on with me (get me oucha head girl) and I guess the answer is, according to CNBC, stagflation, but you already knew that you go getter. Every time there's a lull in SUV driving socialites purchasing penchant it's the indicator of the final economic decay of our hemisphere. Well you know what? Screw that. It's time they started understanding the true reason SUV sales are down. That is quite simply, that Fresh Prince episodes have become a late night staple on TV; rendering the entire country unmovable. Difficult to understand I know, but this country lives and dies by the television plus have you seen the one where Will gets a car and doesn't have insurance?

Answer this question though, which do you think would stir the American Public more, if the President Pro Tempe got shot on his way to work by a mugger or if Simon showed his genitals on American Idol? The answer is obvious however, what's not is the joke that sets me up for.... Simon's genitals? Wouldn't that be an American I"don't"?

That aside, it's been pretty okay although, I suppose with graduation looming I should have more to say. In instances like this though I can't help but think of Beetle Bailey. Would he have something profound to say on this topic, shit 'naw. However, he, mainly because you can never see his eyes, always has a air of knowing what's going on about him. Smug and sly, he always seems adjusted quite right. He reminds me of myself, although with me you never see my eyes because I'm always right behind you, plotting. With a knife. Sharpening it. To use it. On someone.

I'll tell you this though, before I run, it doesn't take a lot to completely take the oomph out of your padoodle. If your like me then you like to regard yourself as somewhat of a "person." As such (and contrary to what you think I am) you might be as foolhardy to think that no matter what. you'll always be able to say: communicate, converse, convene, connive, concierge, conflagrate but what you don't know is how easily that can all be ripped from you. All it takes is deprivation from some very basic things and, voila, you are a screwball. Think you interact well in social groups? Try not sleeping for four days. Think you can construct a semi-meaningful presentation on something pertinent to your career? Try starving yourself for five days prior. Necessary, no, but try and find your limits. I think you'll find yourself startlingly vulnerable.

Pussy.

Check ya,
A.J.S.

A CD or a VD?

It's like this,

I'm certainly not going to pay for music. That much has been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. I no longer hold any illusions that if B2M FINALLY came out with a follow up CD I'd buy it. Furthermore, it is no longer something that i can excuse as a generational trend, this theft that is. Granted, Matt Lauer has discussed it on his daily show and usually when that happens (with the notable exception of Al Roker) it's a fairly sterile topic. However, as of late I've found myself on some unsure footing. The intellectual in me, which usually only surfaces during Frasier re-runs, tries to rationalize it. Yes, its on the daily show. Yes, it's in the NYT. Yes, any industry that has the sheer audacity to release another Bjork album probably deserves a fiscal cut, but alas, I still can't get no satisfaction. MUSIC QUOTE TO END A MUSIC PARAGRAPH. BOOYAHH!!!!

That being said though, It becomes exceedingly more difficult for me not to blame the grandiose institution of popular music for these lashes that now rain down upon their, entirely too large, homes. For years, over-inflated managers have been robbing pre-teens of babysitting dollars churning out Ricky Schroeder's debut album. THAT MUST STOP (not you Ricky,your gold).

Think about it in parallel industry terms. Suppose that the automotive industry faced the following crisis. Some underground environmental gang got together, invented a medium for super convenient free popular transportation, for everyone instantly. Car sales would come crashing down as people all over this great land, despite it being illegal, got rides from these rogue environmentalists. What would be the car industries response? It had better be something to the tune of competition, to make it illegal and prosecute your potential customers makes about as much sense as left handed scissors (but Andrew, I'm left handed regular scissors are difficult to use: I still feel like you could use them, they're scissors) they would immediately have to contend with this new service, offering a similar substitution or face being ground out of the market completely.

In a similar predicament is the music industry. I like this challenge and time. FOEVER the recording industry has expected an unfair compensation price point for things like this.

......That's just unfair.

Perhaps the RIAA, whatever the hell that is, will understand that this is a crossroads that demands a rebirth, not an upsetting of your market base. You must give us more, not less. (Which is the same thing your Mom said to me last NIGHT!!)*


Well that's all for me and know in mind that this perspective comes to you from the man that bought the Cam'Ron album "FIRE," for Horse and Carriage. Grain of Salt.

Cheers,
A.J.S.

*Yes, she actually did say that last night, hard to believe I know, but you wouldn't know about her needs would you? Always running off to work, never letting her vent about what your father does and doesn't do. She's human too. Bottom line.

Skating on Hot Ice.

Hey there you, little miss thang,

This transition from classes being almost over to over-over is, indeed, an interesting one. I think perhaps the most visible phenomena being the array of different reactions to the impending close of yet another chapter in your College Reader's Digest Collection. These reactions run the gamut from trepidation to excitement, but often I find myself wondering why, I, the famous (not actually famous) author, are completely bereft of almost any emotion towards it what-so-ever. Lately it truly seems like the only reaction I have to to the progression of time is a refraction of others behaviors. Yesterday, I too, found myself mired in the middle tracks of a "Clap your hands and say yeah", album trying to figure out what everyone saw in it. Believe me, that is not somewhere you want to be.

I suppose this too will pass, after all your talking to the man that, after some of the most pivotal epiphanies in his life, went straight to a four hour binge of Tekken and subsequently forgot that Ezra Pound ever existed. Which, by the way, is something I recommend to everyone.
(I'll leave the Pound joke juxtaposed with a fighting game reference to your imagination).

As immune as it would seem I am to my own reactions ytd it also, conversely I think, makes me hyper aware of everyone else's. These I don't seem to understand. I can't seem to drive home for myself people's investment in the future. For instance: "Panama City: 7 more days!!" While I, of course, am no stranger to sunning and funning , I guess maybe I'm too invested in the now. Tuesday's can be more fun than an entire week spent Mediterraneaning- circumstances pending.

"But Andrew, I'm just looking forward to spending times with friends, is there anything so wrong with that?"..............Nice question reader. I understand that comment. Really I do. Some of my best friends, as I understand it, enjoy spending time with me. But to that I say, just make sure your getting the worth out of every moment. Don't lose today for tomorrow. Tomorrow probably will closely resemble Today, I mean you'll be there anyway. After all, almost inevitably* tomorrow will turn into a today.

Yes that's right, They still play "Adventures of Pluto Nash," in the Bahamas as well.


Well, that being said that about does 'er for today. Concise (laziness) was the goal today. Hey, I don't have to savor the day. That's for you. I'll see you guys at the TNG Convention.

Cheers,
Andrew J-Free



* I will allow for the possibility of tomorrow to be stored/twisted or perverted. Your not the only one to see the Matrix.

and....BALL FIVE! You were never up in the first place.

Hello All,

And a pleasant Tuesday to you, I hope it finds you as well as it finds me and believe me I"LL ALWAYS find you.

After all, your probably in the phone book. Remember that. Plus I own several guns. (That specifically goes out to the person who recently stole one of my Nalgene bottles. Congratulations. You have made it more difficult for me to drink water. A basic human function. If I see you I'm going to make it harder for you to blink. How? You'd be surprised what a man armed with Tweezers and nude pictures of Betty White can do; you rat bastard).

Enough of that though, I believe this post is unabashedly dedicated to Homer Bailey. THE number one prospect in these major leagues, and you know who his contract belongs to? That's right boys and girls, the Cincinnati Reds. A club who has systematically either thrown talent out of its organization or signed people bereft of it. However, by sheer dumb luck it would seem as if Narron's boys have an up and comer, up and coming. This of course leaves only two possibilities to unfold...

1.) Homer is brought up to the Major Leagues prematurely following a fan outcry and consequent pressure from management that knows little about baseball. Jerry Narron reluctantly calls him up prematurely because he thinks it might save his job and heck, maybe he's the spark plug they need to make a playoff push and finally be able to beat someone over .500. Tragically, though, Homer steps up and immediately people understand why that's his name. Throwing balls some might call of the gum variety, everything he throws seems to land somewhere between Saskatchewan and the moon. Then, confidence shattered, he gets demoted to Triple A Louisville where he is mired somewhere between good and mediocre leaving fans like myself to only mention his name 5 years later, drunk, and discussing funny sport starts that never were. You hear me Harold Miner?

2,) He bursts into flames and dies at 22.

Either way, you might want to send his mom some cards now. Although I haven't seen the " My condolences that my poorly ran major league team broke your sons promising dream into a million pieces and barbecued those pieces into something that tastes a lot like complete failure," card at Hallmark, which is weird because you would think after Ryan Wagner they might have that one.


Well I suppose in the history of the blog, it's okay to make one sports related post after all I am a man. Complete with Kung-Fu grip. Although also I cost about as much as G.I Joe with it. Maybe there's something to be said for economy. I'm the "Falls Creek," version of man. Seemingly okay, poorly put together and I wouldn't show the tag to someone I was trying to impress.

Enough self loathing though, it's about time for this savvy vet to hit the road. Advice for you readers? De-list out of the yellow pages and get me back my Nalgene.

A.J.S.

Pants at a Pants Free Event

Often times I'm tempted to give these blogs a title BEFORE i write whatever it is that I write about, in fact I think I might do that right now.....there, now THAT title is sufficiently ambiguous.

---"Andrew, why no one can write a decent post right after working out, are you INSANE?"

True doubter, true it may be impossible for lesser men, but I dare to dream. I live my life counter to e-trends. Why just the other day I went you youtube and looked at something other than a teenager lip syncing to Dido. Although, I don't think I'll be searching for middle aged man lip syncing again, it seems that lacks a necessary modifier to get what your looking for.

I'm sure its been great out there in you world, but rest assured that over here, its always one point better than you and you had better get used to dealing with it. I kid, I kid, but if the good weather outside is any indicator you had better pickup a new hobby that you REALLY enjoy.
Because I am truly in a rock solid, unflappable joy and to keep up your going to need something new. It is my sincere belief that you cannot understand exactly how great it is to be indoors until the option of going outside is actually frightening (and you don't count Alabama).

Today marks the first day in a long time that I wore shorts and although probably incredibly boring to you (LIKE THIS BLOG!) It was no small victory for me. In fact I can't help but say, as I traveled the streets, I knew what was on peoples minds as I passed them. I mean usually I have a fairly good shot at what they're thinking "man, is that a roll of quarters?" but this time I knew. The thought was a constant " I don't think it's quite warm enough man, get some sense." Well you know what pedestrian that I have a incredibly low probability of telling this to in real life?

Get Bent.

I'm loving my legs and, save for the blinding light that must reflect of my alabaster flesh, I don't think its causing you any harm. So let the calves begin.

Also, for anyone reading this with a conscious (re: no one), in Athens, Ohio : Ohio University we are hosting a 5k run/walk to benefit the Invisible Children Inc. A non-profit dedicated to education and relief in Uganda. For more info check out invisiblechildren.com or leave me a comment and I'll get back to you. Don't all rush to your wallets at once.

Cheers,
A.J.S.

Bowl on the Run

Although, granted, it's fairly difficult to approach a blog the day after the Superbowl and NOT talk about the Superbowl, I'm just the guy with the balls big enough to do it.

.......Really.

Plus, what's pseudo-intellectuality if you don't pretend to sooooo hate things that the public does en mass!!!! I mean Pirates of the Caribbean was nothing more than a dark vehicle to show special effects to entertain dumb people who like to watch squids talk. (Note-the author enjoyed that movie).

But here it is: my unabashedly super-free post (note the lack of bowl in that modifier) and it sits here wondering exactly what to discuss. Although, there is much floating about the world (pop and otherwise although who cares about anything but Britney) nothing, and i mean nothing, is catching my eye quite like the president's determination to convince the American people he is a bi-partisan guy. I mean, I flip on the television two days ago and I see him knee deep in all the Pelosi one person can (for physiological toxicity reasons) stomach in a year cracking jokes and wearing a, get this, GRAY, WORN SUIT.

I spent a couple seconds unfazed (thank you T.V for turning my life into a dull roar) but then it hit me. I was watching the President mingle with the democrats. Which of course wouldn't be that unusual if earlier that day I had seen Jesse Jackson hanging with Jesus lunching at the Neo-Nazi Veggie Deli, but since today isn't "No Fucking Way in Hell Day," I was a little taken aback.

Not that I didn't see this coming. In fact nothing could be further from the truth. Check these archives for further vindication (Second Note- I understand no one is going to check the archives). I understand the mandate the public pushed forth, it's just so unsettling. It's like i continue to wait for some celebrity to thank the band for coming and tell the T.V. audience how much they loved doing the show.

The Policy Wonk (what little there is) in me is intrigued. You have to wonder what this forced coupling could possibly breed. If logic serves it will probably be a harpy.

For actual political insight, perhaps stayed tuned to the next post, although Jazzy Jeff just released a new CD so, if I were placing a wager, I might anticipate a review being next. Your call.

Well, enjoy your day folks. I suppose I'll do the same. Keep the wheels grinding because I'm about to the tear the roof off.

-A.J.S.

It was tough for him. In this little mountain town everyone knew Dave. It's tough for anyone to get over EVERY one knowing you, but in this particular town of Sunset Falls, by virtue of the gossips tenacity for Dave, it might have driven someone else insane. Well, looking back maybe. it was impossible for someone like Dave too. You see, Dave had been in the town's eye for the whole of his duration on this earth and until he moved on (his ultimate intention) it looked like everything, from his slightly droopy jowls to his always covered legs, would be under constant assessment.
It wasn't like he did anything wrong. In fact Dave was the type of guy who was proud to be constantly on the straight and narrow. Didn't understand how people got in fistfights and spoke in a manner that reflected that ethos. Once, when he was downtown to to get some candles, ol' Mike McConnell and Jimmy Refets got in a brawl over some damned thing and the first thing out of Dave's mouth was "What could possibly be worth fighting about?" Now this disposition wasn't exactly why Dave is the focus of this story but it sure doesn't detract from the picture at all, but I don't know exactly why I mention it save as to get a better picture of the man.
To that point though, often while walking down streets, knowing that everyone was looking at him out of the corner of their eye, getting permission for complete stairs from his back, he wondered how he had gotten into this town. He wasn't much to look at. A skinny man, with a fresh mop of blond hair with enough brown in it as to leave no doubt he was a mix of every descent this great country had to offer. No, he wasn't much to look at but he wasn't that ugly either. Dave had always been acutely aware of the premium on beauty. Had been aware of it every since that haircut in the sixth grade when he read that People magazine article that said plainly that 90 percent of CEO's were rated as good looking or very good looking. So, in Dave's mind, that's just how it was. Good looking people got ahead and he didn't have very much going for himself. Dave just knew himself as a farm hand, but then Dave didn't quite it or himself.
Well, get it in regards to being a CEO, but that wasn't quite what he wanted to do. No, to Dave a CEO was someone who had lost himself. A CEO was someone who hadn't quite figured out what they wanted to do but had instead gotten mixed up in the constant caterwaul of what he assumed (being as he had never put on a tie in his life) was the cacophony of business life. Demanding blue teeth and trophy wives, this never appealed to Dave in the slightest. He was a rare bird. The kind that immediately once spotted, you knew it was to be noticed. A friend once told Dave, "Dave, every damn time I see you it's like I just a snake for the first time, and it's like no one had ever told me that there were snakes on this planet." And that description suited Dave just fine.
I guess in the end, that is what made people look at Dave and that did make him uncomfortable. It follows suit then that Dave did what he did, looking back I suppose there was really no way around it. It just seemed like, well back then, that because everyone was always talking about him, that he would always be there. I mean, you don't expect the weather to go anywhere do you? However, that wasn't the case and I'll never forget that week. He did more leaving than he ever did while he was here. People spoke of him like it was going to put out a fire at an orphanage. Half of it true, and half of it not. I s'pose that wouldn't have mattered to Dave either.
Guess you can accomplish a lot when your not someplace. Trouble is, most times, you have to be there first, and most times your not Dave.