thangzz.
weekend thangzz!!
beer sucks.
luv,
jason c
almost a full month of blogs. and my new year's resolutions go into effect on february first. it's kind of like a month of going 'woot a toot toot!' in january i guess. a new method, we'll see how it works.
i like sports. they are fun to watch. but seriously, athletes can be/probably are all major dicks. that's why deadspin (.com) is hilarious. cheq it out!!
luv,
jason c
to the one true god above/here is my prayer/not the first you've heard but the first i wrote/not the first but the others were a long time ago/there are two people here/and i want you to kill them.
first she can go quietly/by disease or a blow/to the base of her neck/where her necklaces close/where her garments come together/where i used to lay my face/that's where you oughta kill her/in that particular place
him just fuckin kill him/i don't care if it hurts/yes i do, i want it to/fuckin kill him but first/make him cry like a woman/no particular woman/let him hold out hope that/someone or other might come and
fuckin kill him/fuckin kill him/kill him already kill him/fuckin kill him/fuckin kill him/kill him already kill him (repeat)
kill him already/kill him already/kill him/just fuckin kill him (bleep)
kill him/fuckin kill him/kill him just fuckin kill him/kill him already/kill him already/kill him/amen.
(probably one of the greatest songs ever recorded. steve albini, you may be an asshole but you can write a mean break-up tune).
luv,
jason c
true or false:
cap'n crunch is the best cereal there is.
luv,
jason c
p.s. at this moment, very true.
two short stories for class tomorrow. don't know which to choose. pardon the html!!
Frank (or Heaven Help Us)
“Four,” says Frank. “Four.”
He looks around with cautious eyes sunk deep into his face. Frank’s face is emaciated and bony, an archaelogical dig, a celebration of potholes. One eye is blackened and the swell surrounding it is the only thing that could be mistaken for fat.
“Five,” says Frank. “Five.”
Those cautious eyes of skeletal Frank catch nothing. He is alone on the street, save for the fluttering paper wrappers with elaborate names in garish designs proclaiming ‘fast food inside’, the few stray diapers that always manage to escape a tipped over trash can.
“Six,” says Frank. “Six.”
His arm begins to shake, a bad habit. After a moment he notices, uses his other arm to steady it. The day is cool, a summer night with sun. Wisps of Frank’s greasy brown hair dock and take off, alternately, from his sweat stained forehead. Heart beating, he chances it.
“Seven,” says Frank. “Seven.”
The day is bright, the trees are content. Frank wants to join them, to fall onto his back in the grass under their shade. He wants them to cover him in patterns like the embroidery on on-sale curtains, jungle-themed children’s shit.
“Eight,” says Frank. “Eight.”
Frank’s brain sizzles. Out comes his tongue, pink and dry, sickly veiny on the underside. It wets his teeth, his lips, as best it can. He’s a husk at the moment. Dried out, ready to crack, a junebug’s skeleton on a summer screen door.
“Nine,” says Frank. “Nine.”
There is a sign of life. Overhead. A buzzard or a vulture, what’s the difference? The trees’ branches, their vibrant green heads, sway to and fro, to and fro, a Baptist congregation singing the hymn of July, August, whatever. Frank fights to contain a nervous giggle before it bursts out of his throat.
It’s the moment of truth, Frank. The moment of truth.
Chit chit chit chit. Frank’s teeth perform a Fred Astaire routine against each other. But the weather’s the same, the air is fair, the trees still sway, the sun hangs high in the sky and that buzzard or vulture continues to swoop in its own parabolic rhythm. Ugly fucking bird.
“Teh-” Frank stutters.
When the going gets tough, Frank. The tough get-
He doesn’t care what the tough do. Not now, not at this juncture. Out of the corner of one eye, he thinks he sees a scarlet tail with an arrowhead at the end whip around the wheel of an old Dodge Plymouth, rusting, dusty, that color of blue found only on cars of that make and model, sick metal. And it’s now or never for Frank.
It’s now or never, Frank.
“Ten,” says Frank. “Ten.”
And now he feels something strange across the boards. He lets his dry tongue loll out of his mouth before he pulls the tip back into his mouth. Down go his eyes to catch what glimpse they may of that vein-riddled underside. But there’s that tail again and his eyes dart. As they do, a sharp sting, not painful but more surprising, reverberates in his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s hot or cold, but he knows that it’s wet. Now, surreptitiously, Frank’s tongue once again lolls. But it is cut up, covered in a spackle of blood, burst blue veins hanging blasé down to his chin.
There’s that tail again and his eyes dart. He is panicked now, Frank. He wants to go back to one, maybe two. Those were the best. It started to turn at eight, he feels. And now it’s turning again. He feels…he feels shrunken veins in his arms enlarge, swell, pull at the skin enveloping them, before they scuttle back into his body like some scared-shitless hermit crab. It happens again and this time the veins reach even further out, the blue bastards. There is no pain, just the sensation of being concussed, a pulse amplified like popped ears on an airplane.
And through the skin they go. Underneath the flaps of skin, like Jesus’ after the scourging, Frank can see letters. But there’s that tail. He looks and catches it but then there’s another, then another. They scamper about. The ground is red velvet dirt. The trees have stopped swaying. They are dead trees now, blackened, scorched. (Hello Mr. Friedrich, I do admire your work).
There is a sound, a ghastly echo that hits Frank in the pit of his stomach. He cringes and tries to close his mouth over that lazy tongue, just hanging in the breeze. But it is arid now.
“Hello, Frank,” says Frank.
“Hello, Frank,” says another Frank.
“Hello, Frank,” says another Frank. And so it goes.
Frank looks at the tens of Franks surrounding him. A younger Frank, an older Frank who he hadn’t the opportunity to become. His arm, the one that twitched, now stings. It shakes violently and then there is a pop of his shoulder dislocating followed by another when it repositions itself. With an effort, Frank grabs the wrist of his flailing arm and holds it, holds it. There are those letters again. And now he ignores the tails. There are his muscles, underneath all that dead skin. They look blacker than in the medical books. What a structure God has made, huh, Frank? Frank? Frank is busy. Frank is busy reading the golden text on the structure God has made. “Welcome to hell,” Frank’s arm says. “Welcome to hell, Frank.”
Goosebumps and Gadflies
His long, bedraggled beard nearly reached the parquet floor. At his feet, Stalactite Jones’s cat pawed at the beard’s tip. It swung back and forth, a hairy pendulum. Pictures of Stalactite hung on the yellow wall. In most of the black and whites, Stalactite stood next to (or sat or hunched or commingled) with another boy (then teen then man) who resembled vaguely the cat’s new friend with the metronomic beard. The long, thin nose was there, on Stalactite’s constant companion, the slender handle to a fine china cream cup, and even in those black and whites, the vividness of his eyes—which in color were reminiscent of those ice caps on the (formerly) unscalable Mt. Jumongo (with a silent J)—showed brilliantly. In a mish mash pattern akin to that of a cat’s cradle game within the yellow wall of photos, an evolution of spectacular facial hair was readily available for the eye to see, including but not limited to various stages of this current monstrosity. Footsteps clambering down wooden stairs painted white momentarily reached the man. He reached down and scooped up the cat.
Holding a platter made of ivory with selfsame cups, teapot and cream jar (and an ivory plate of sugarcubes), a smooth faced Stalactite stood in front of the man.
“Campbell,” said Stalactite, the timbre of his voice matching surprisingly well with the just-begun purring of his cat. “Coffee?”
Campbell Jones reached out and poured a cup. He wondered how awfully stained the inside of the teapot must be and what its elephant(s) would have thought. But then he looked at the cups: pristine, sparkling, smooth. They resembled white chocolate so that he was tempted to take a bite. Boney fingers with hairy knuckles delicately poured cream (the same amount as the coffee) into his cup before dropping five—was it six?—sugarcubes in.
After Campbell had finished, Stalactite did much the same, if not the complete opposite. He poured coffee but had little cream, added sugar but half a cube (a neat trick he learned in Guetamala [eight, nine years ago?]). He then took a seat opposite Campbell, the big white vinyl chair, the shape and make of a shark’s head, emitting a gusty ‘whoosh’. The two brothers lazily regarded each other. Stalactite blew into his coffee. Campbell took long, full-bodied sips. Amazingly, it stayed out of the wiry confines of his beard. The cat had slinked out of Campbell’s arms and with its feline stealth, leaped onto an old oak table—worn, circular, small—where Stalactite had placed the tray. It lapped at the cream, intermittently licking its paws and combing its head.
An ivory cup crashed heavily against a picture of the brothers cooking at a barbecue, shattering the glass of the frame. The ivory, however, remained intact. Campbell sat back down just as the cat’s back half disappeared, in alarm, around the corner of a nearby door.
Stalactite glanced to his right at the yellow wall, stained now by coffee, but disinterestedly. He soon returned his attention to Campbell.
“I’m sorry, Camp,” Stalactite began.
Campbell looked away.
“But in all fairness she did as you to shave the damn thig.”
Campbell nodded.
“She’s upstairs right now, Camp.”
Campbell looked at his brother. A trail of tears left dark streaks down his cheeks, stained the upper edges of his beard (mostly the moustache part, if that’s the correct etymology).
“We’re getting married.”
Campbell looked up at the high white ceiling at the lights stashed in perfectly shaped cubbyholes. He lingered on them, wondering who knows what, if anything at all.
An understandable silence hung in the air between the two brothers. The hum of the refrigerator in the nearby kitchen was audible, so much so that it nearly drowned out the quiet dripping of coffee off the yellow wall. A last shard of glass, teetering on the point of taking the leap, dropped and shattered. Neither brother flinched. Stalactite blew once more into his coffee and then finally took his first sip. His cheeks became inverse, a mechanism against the bitterness. She, the one of the upstairs antechamber, she of the smooth shaved school of attraction, thought he looked rather like a harpsichord fish when he did this and Stalactite smiled at the recollection. He had always thought Campbell had rather resembled a clavichord shark when having his concoction he regarded as coffee.
After his cheeks returned to their normal contour, he set his cup down on the tray beside him. He regarded his brother, his hairness, and worried that Campbell might soon go blind if he didn’t stop staring at those globules of filament and electricity. But this is not why he spoke.
“Would you like some soup?”
A smile slowly spread over Campbell’s face. The cat peeked its head around the doorway corner and when he sighed, exhaled his sadness, Campbell’s big, bedraggled beard swept the floor.
luv,
jason c
all my fly bitches like 'dirty money dirty money'.
luv,
jason c
does anyone remember the mtv cartoon 'clone high'? or the show 'downtown' for that matter? both great shows. neither on dvd. stupid mtv. stupid dvd. you should def check them out by 'other means' though, if you catch my windy drift.
in other news, clean rooms are good for booms, non-economic and otherwise. i hope all is going well with everyone else in these dog days of january.
and joel, that is quite a sapicy meataball. but were they out of pork too? are you jewish? a muslim? how did i miss these intricate details about you?
luv,
jason c
as you may have ascertained from this particular blog's title, i can't stop eating flipz pretzels. thanks to that, i now have 140%+ of my daily value of saturated fat. hooray!! but if something tastes that good, it can't really be evil can it? just fattening. very, very fattening.
to erik!: yes, indeed. i did forget about dre.
and to the rest of the world: cleopatra, comin atcha!! (10 points to whoever knows where that's from because for the life of me i can't figure it out). something that has to do with disney as i recall.
i can't believe i can't remember. that's so raven!!
luv,
jason c
ps, in all seriousness, r.i.p. heath ledger, mang.
hmm. for some reason that line makes me think of one of the only pink floyd songs i know/like: 'wish you were here'. had a tie for the best veggie-burger of my life tonite, tied with a veggie-burger from the same place.
yooooze, if you ever be in new york city and like vegetarian or even vegan cuisine, you should cheque out quantum leap. no, not the show with scott bakula. the one that my girrl introduced me to!
thanks babe.
luv,
jason c
a failure at life/blogging? who knows the answers to such questions? class having been canceled and a hard snow coming down, i figure now's as good a time as any to lay down some ground rules.
1. if a day of blogging is missed, it should and will be made up within two days (48 hours).
2. bizzy bee with you and me.
if this 365 day mission fails, i will buy every wandytooth and continual commenter an ice cream cone.
in other news, school is starting so things might start getting pretty tough. looks like i'll be seeing you all later today/nite.
luv,
jason c
am i disqualified or do i just double up?
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. i say it is like a sort of 'if you haven't gone to sleep yet from when you woke up that day' deal. yeah. i like that.
luv,
jason c
if everyone knew the meaning of life, would anyone want to live?
luv,
jason c
it's getting closer and closer each time! some rules need to be established methinks. perhaps tomorrow, when i do my first ever morning-ish blog (9-5 workday nuccas), all will be well.
in the meantime,
elebits izz boss.
luv,
jason c
yooooo! so this is def a central time zone blog. no way will i/have i make/made it through this year going by new york timezz. sorry for the brevity of the last few. i'll def catch up with all y'all tomorrow and saturday morning.
until then, hang tight, strap in and keep the groove in your melonzz.
luv,
jason c
eastern time is the devil. and iammetalmetal.
luv,
jason c
i am legend.
i am excited.
imax.
knowing i luck, it won't be showing anymore. : (.
luv,
jason c
two weekzz!!
this is the first time i've used internet explorer exclusively in quite awhile. it is, i don't know, not as bad as i remember but firefox is so much sexier. and sleeker. how is everyone out in blog-a-wog city?
hopefully it's not cold and rainy as a sasquatch's snit. and hopefully this will be my last blog written after standing up for like seven hours straight.
you should all probably see persepolis. especially since it's around number 3 on my best movies of ALL TIME in 2007 list (coming soon to a blog near you! this blog, actually).
keep ya head up.
luv,
jason c
'bottle rocket' at work. it really is a pretty good movie. today we've watched both the anderson debuts (p.t. and wes) and they're pretty overwhelming but what're you gonna do? it's almost closing time and my legs are awful tired. they're nowhere near the point of dave's famous episode (alleged) when he stood for so long that when he got home to his dorm, his feet was bleeding(!!)
insane.
this is the year of the double exclamation mark.
luv,
jason c
bleep!
it is day 12 of my quest. my right index finger is out of commission. but it's all gooood. not much rx to my listang!! i realized i have not listened to quite a few albums this year thoughh. any suggestions hit that shit.
the weather in the kity was phenomonous the past few days so hopefully it will move westward to you folks.
i am very excited for nebraska football.
luv,
jason c
watching three kings at work right now and this movie is fucking awesome. probably my favorite war film ever. it might be a good idea to detail my faves in an upcoming blog but who knows. now, onto what was promised.
1. metalocalypse
this is the greatest show ever for a multitude of reasons. it is only 15 minutes per episode which keeps it short and concise, it is hilarious (based on your sense of humor i guess), there are copious amounts of violence which is pretty great for def especially because they're wildly overexaggerated (sp?) and animated hilariously.
secondly, in a way i guess, the theme song trumps any other theme song in the history of theme songs ever. cheque it out: skwisgar skwigelf taller than a tree, toki wartooth not a bumble bee, pickles the drummer, doodily doo. ding dong, doodily doo, william murderface, murderface murderface, nathan explosion!! all this in metal and also with 'do anything for dethklok' involved. awesome.
now, the:
2. 20 best records of 2007
in no particular order at this point in time: kevin drew's 'spirit if', burial's 'untrue', kanye's 'graduation', wu tang's '8 diagrams', ghostface's 'big doe rehab', les savy fav's 'let's stay friends', liars's 'liars', caribou's 'andorra', shocking pinks' 's/t', panda bear's 'person pitch', dan deacon's 'spiderman of the rings', lcd soundsystem's 'sound of silver/45:33', radiohead's 'in rainbows', arcade fire's 'neon bible'; peter, bjorn & john's 'writer's block; lupe fiasco's 'the cool', grinderman's 's/t', explosions in the sky's 'all of a sudden i miss everyone', devendra banhart's 'smokey rolls down thunder canyon' aaaand finally i guess do make say think's 'you, you're a history in rust'.
just so you know, that took hours to compile (granted i'm also at work) but it was definitely a struggle to come up with 20 albums to put on the list. that is a sad state of affairs. 10, maybe, but 20, very roughhz.
and now i take my sweaty, computer addled leave.
luv,
jason c
next blog:
why metalocalypse is the greatest show on television.
my 20 best records of 2007.
how overly ambitious blogging can lead to stunted exposition.
this blog:
yoooooze! i want to read rob's blog but still haven't. jayme, it is good to hear from you. where have you been? africa or something? i kid. but for def, let's all go to village inn. later.
luv,
jason c
so i bought two separate journals today. i've always figured maybe i should keep one but it is a harder proposition than one might expect. the first page is especially daunting to me. how do you start off something that is going to/supposed to become such a monumental part of your life? it is basically a paper time capsule, a container of your essence at the time of its creation.
that is some heavy shit.
or maybe i'm just looking at it too seriously. it is not even two weeks into the year and i'm already a little stressed/bummed. this should be a condition. like seasonal affective disorder, there should be like a post new years trauma syndrome. no good abbreviation there though. i'll have to think on it.
it could also just be 'in rainbows' or burial's 'untrue' or brian eno's 'music for airports'. or this book i'm reading. or that everything is kind of crumbling and falling while everything else is building up in its own strange way. it could even be this pressurized pain in my left testicle.
happy new year. happy new year indeed.
luv,
jason c
so right after i showered and was getting ready to have a slumber party at my babe's, i realized i hadn't blogged(!!) so once again, this is going to be rather uninvolved (apologies now).
i just want to say that my paw, right now, looks like a japanese school girl's bedroom wall: i.e. it is covered in pink hello kitty band-aids covering cat scratch fevers and cuts from printer duels. i'm particularly fond of the one that has hello kitty in the middle surrounded by various other hello animals, namely a rabbit, beaver/otter, bear, rabbit, dog, other kitty and some...thing. i think it's a sheep? crazy japanese people.
chocolate is good for the complexion, right? (is that even how you spell complection?)
luv,
jason c
so we be watching 'rock & rule' here at kim's right now. it is kind of freaking me out in a great way. it definitely reminds me of like 'rock-a-doodle doo' mixed with akira. quite a trip. i wish that rob or joel or someone was live-blogging the national championship game. instead i'm settling for like some aol online blog but am happy with the coverage. there is just very little life to it.
ps when i typed in the title of this blog, it knew what i wanted. i attribute that to dave.
ps also, i got a raise. is it an attempt to keep me working here? is it respect for the months of labor i've spent here? or is it just a clerical mistake? i've gotta think the latter. hooray for clerical mistakes!!
luv,
jason c
allo allo!!
is sunkist the greatest pop of all time? no. but what is? i vaguely remember a combat rhino entry which rated sodas, including the dreaded, legendary suicide. at work right now, i'm watching rob's favorite show and probably one of my top three: sur park!!
it is the oprah episode and it has inspired me to call vaginas minges from now on. awesome. i'll finally have a day off from work on tuesday!! so then i can finally maybe blog a long, involved blog concerning my resolutions, etc.
BUT on the national championship game tomorrow (why do they abbreviate it mnc? is it men's national championship? weak.) i am pretty excited. i wish i could watch it, for def, especially because they'll be talking about pelini. hopefully lsu's defense goes 'hey osu, welcome to the THUNDERDOME!!' and then everyone commits to nebraska, even to walk on. awesome.
luv,
jason c
blog loglob. you get it.
luv,
jason c
kevin bacon with a shaved head and shotgun! pretty groovy stuff/the perfect work movie. vapid, overly sentimental but with parts that are worth paying attention to (i.e. when he's going crazy and killing mothafuckas!)
what i have to say i say is that when i start a new blanza (blog stanza), it does not appear in my posted post! it will most likely prove problematic in this particular blog. for it is the list of bookz!
now i'm not a big reader, especially during the school year but i decided that this past year i would try to read at least five books. i think i did and so, here is a list from best to worst. and keep your eyes peeled for the upcoming book related resolution!!
1. love and rockets vol. 2
fantastical and fantastic, full of frenzied fun, love and rockets is probably the best comic book compilation available. from los bros. hernandez, it is literally the most scatter-brained monstrosity out there with kick ass art and killer stories (they are all shorts compiled, some sci-fi, some traditional superhero, some about a mexican village with a great name). too bad this got stolen with the rest of my backpack stuff.
2. jitterbug perfume
tom robbins always seemed like an indie chick's author. especially with the pussy-fest also known as 'only cowgirls get the blues' (i haven't read it but it seems pretty vagina-ey). but jitterbug perfume has time travel!! everlasting life!! interracial couples and a guy named alobar. and well, it's about perfume. so maybe it is a vagina fest. dangit.
3. kornwolf
a pretty rough book (probably thanks to the fact that tristan egolf killed himself pre-editing/post-manuscript), it is nevertheless quite awesome. about the appearance of a monster terrorizing the amish community of pennsylvania and owen brynmor, washed up youngsta journalist covering the story. it really gets great in the end when metal starts getting in therre. it is pretty radd!!
4. white noise
crazy book, very woo woo so much so that it will probably hurt your head a little. i wouldn't recommend it as winter reading as it is pretty depressing shit and totally weird. the plot is about a college professor teaching hitler studies and just like insane/inane stuff going through his head. in a way, it is like 'there will be blood'. at least in reaction. still not sure if i like it or not but i'd feel comfortable recommending it.
5. fortress of solitude
so the book is very good except for asd someone i know put it, 'the second half he is a total asshole'. and it is agreed. the book becomes hipster mcgipster but the first half and the second half plot are strong enough to carry it through. it's about this kid growing up in brooklyn and him being white and other people being black. but not in the same way as all those other shitty 'ooo i'm learning to become tolerant blah blah' movies/books. cheque it uot.
whoa. a spanish version of ocean's 11. weird.
and so those are five of the books i read! there may have been more but i don't particularly remember if they were this year or the last. smang!!
luv,
jason c
bleep!!
hello all. regarding my earlier word jumble, well, the solution is overhead. and regarding this return to blogging, here is how it went. a certain mr. joel f recently reminded me of a certain magnificent feat i had taken on in the past, that of a 30 days of blogging and his subsequent plan and execution of a similar feat which i am glad to say he has done very well with. most definitely better than me.
but i could not stand idly by while the stakes were raised and so, in a recent conversation with this same mr joel f. it was decided that a massive 366 days of blogging would be undertaken. and what better day than this first day of january in the new year of oh ate (chomp chomp)? and what better song to bring it in than fatlip's "what's up fatlip?" none, i say.*
i hope everyone's new years was awesome. and, in effect, i hope everyone's new year will be equally awesome. and even more so, i hope everyone's new year's resolution(s) are just as awesome. and thus, i suggest a posting (perhaps) of wandy year resolutions! now, i know some might be a bit too sensitive to post in such a public forum but surely there are a few which can be proudly displayed. for example, in this year of oh aight (kan-ye! crs!), "i resolve to see 'there will be blood'". now while that is not one of mine, i do plan on seeing it today/tonite.
and you should too.
daniel day lewis gives me a boner.
luv,
jason c
*(or it was until movabletype decided to publish only the title of this entry's first draft. :( [emoticons forever!] copy and paste, i have learned. copy and paste. damn you movabletype!)