But We're All Getting Older, Anyway - Looking back on 2007

The Only 5 Records that Mattered in 2007
5. Lifetime – Limfetime
I was never really that in to old Lifetime, and I think with this record I never will. This is everything I could have ever wanted out of Lifetime

4. Glass and Ashes – Glass and Ashes
I think only 200 people are lucky enough to have a copy of this record before the year ends, and I am one of them, and it is seriously incredible. Leaps and bounds above their last effort. Brutal and melodic and awesome

3. Young Livers – the New Drop Era
Just something incredibly special about this record. Cant put it in words. Just fucking incredible

2. A Wilhelm Scream - Career Suicide
These guys step it up on every record. I have no idea where they will be going from here. They have practically mastered fast punk rock

1. Fake Problems – How Far Our Bodies Go
Simply one of the best performances in a long time. Seeing this band now is like seeing Against Me when Against Me was still fun to see. These guys just embody the spirit of this music, its fun and honest. I cant remember many records that have ever come out that I think are on par with this.

In 2007 I learned that the worst drivers in the Southeast can be found on the stretch of I-75 between Gainesville and Tampa, FL, and that Chicago is just another city. In 2007 I fell apart and put myself back together. I played some killer shows, met some great new friends and didn’t get tattooed enough. By the age of 22 I have done almost everything in the world I wanted to achieve by now.

In 2008, I have my whole life ahead of me.

So here’s to that.

the other day I was carrying on a conversation with a girl that I am at least mildly attracted to. The thing about girls is that, 85% of the time, they are only really interested in talking while in conversation. That is not to say that this is a Golden Rule, but, for the most part, a female just wants to talk and they want you to listen idly listen.

So while I was sitting there listening to this female acquaintance rabble on about something, I started to wonder what it would be like to be in a relationship with her. And all I could see was fighting. And arguing. And drama. And Bullshit. And woes among woes.

And this is not restricted to simply this girl. Every girl i think about now outside of a platonic context, all I image in a future full of bad times. I foresee the ways that she will probably get pissed off about all the little dumb things I do. I see her getting mad about me going on tour. I see us bitching about hating each others friends. Essentially, i don't ever envision any kind of pleasurable circumstance with a female in my future. ever.

And I suppose now that I have a realistic view of the future, all of life will be much more bearable

Closing Doors. Metaphorically, of course.

Kat Amaya is getting married later this month. I don’t have many ex-girlfriends, but this is the first ex-girlfriend I have ever had to get married. At first it felt a little weird, that someone I use to date was now getting married. But, in all honesty, this was the inevitability of it all. I sort of always knew that Kat and Jeremy would get married someday. Looking back on my experience with her, it seems as though that our relationship was that of convenience and circumstance. Everything we said about how much we liked each other was something to just say, in order to validate being there. I don’t doubt that we liked each other at the time, but I would say that we more so liked not being alone. There were many instances where I knew there was no future between the two of us, and that I was just saying things and acting the way I did simply so I wouldn’t have to be alone. I am pretty sure that things were exactly the same for her.

Regardless, it is a little weird to see how nonexistent you can be in someone’s life. Especially someone who you use to, presumably care so much about. Prior to today, I hadn’t talked to Kat in months. Who knows when the next time will be.

At least that is a period of life that is closed forever. There is no chance of relapse or being stupid and lowering your guard enough to get involved with someone you know you aren’t really interested in. She is married.

And that is that.

And I suppose all is right in the world.

I suppose Chuck Klosterman is not as irrelevant as I once thought.

Let me explain:

Just recently I have been in a rather interesting situation. I have become decently good friends with a girl who has a boyfriend. Now this is not really a big deal, I have had friends who were girls that were not single. However, within our group of friends, there has been a fair amount of chatter of something going on. Now I am hearing this all third, fourth and fifth hand, so I really have no idea who is starting this and who believes it, but suffice it to say that I have heard from quite a few people that some people within our group of friends believe that my relationship with this girl is not strictly platonic.

For the record, it 100% most certainly is. The amount of time spent hanging out with this girl outside of any kind of large social gathering is non-existent. I will admit, however, that there was a time when I and this girl would flirt a lot, but again, it was all strictly platonic. I have never given this girl so much more than a hug. In the scope of the past couple months, we have both reached out to the other when we were in some kind of woe situation. But i must reiterate that we have never done anything. Ever.

I can understand how this must seem a little fishy on the surface, but, like i said, there is nothing going on, so I really dont feel like I am doing anything in the wrong.

But this all comes back to Chuck Klosterman because of something he said in one of his books (they are all essentially the same). The reason dating is so hard is because guys who are looking for single girls have a very high bar to hurdle. What i mean is that you have to be more desirable than every other guy on the market. You have to seem more interesting and like a better investment than every other guy who will hit on that girl that night.

But with taken girls, you simply only have to be more desirable than the person she is dating. With taken girls, the bar is only set as high as the person she is dating has set it. I dont think this girl is at all interested in me, and really she is just a friend to me (i understand that this constant reaffirmation of the platonic nature of our relationship sort of goes against my argument, but I swear, we are just friends), but I think that if I wanted to get involved with the girl, all I would have to do would make myself seem more interesting and desirable than her boyfriend.

Lucky for everyone, I am a nice guy. Because I would honestly never want to put anybody through the strain of having some other guy scheming on their girlfriend.

anyway.

real life

I am applying for a job as a "writer" for PRICK Magazine in the next week or so. I wrote this today and will submit it with a resume and etc. I haven't edited it yet, that is why i am posting it. so i can read over it over and over again and find the mistakes, etc etc

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

On Paying Someone Lots of Money to Draw on My Skin
- or - Validating My Stupid Tattoos
by Zac Hobbs

I suppose there are those decisions in life that we will ultimately regret. Most tattoo collectors keep this thought in the back of their mind every time an idea for a new piece enters their head. As human beings, we are able (at least in some capacity) to mediate our decisions and ultimately hope that when the grim reaper comes to read our name from his tome that the bulk of our major decisions wont be filed under the “regret” category. “Maybe I shouldn’t have dated her,” “Maybe I shouldn’t have quit that job” and “maybe I shouldn’t have gotten that tattoo” are all phrases that no one wants to utter on their deathbed.

When I was 20 years old, I began a 2 and a half year odyssey of having a rendition of Gotham city, complete with Batsignal and Bat Mobile, permanently drawn onto my upper arm and chest. I have spent well over three days worth of hours of my waking life in a tattoo chair in Valdosta, GA (three and a half hours from my home, mind you) while Craig Beesly jammed insane amounts of colors under my skin. I am significantly poorer because of this experience.

I have a green Blue Whale tattooed under a banner that says “Brodependant” on my left arm. When I was in Chicago I had an apprentice tattoo a red one line drawing of a polar bear onto my badly sun burnt arm, which now looks more like a pink Arby’s Hat. I have a koi fish missing half of its body tattooed on my foot and a star on the back of my arm that I can’t really explain.

I may not be the king of stupid tattoo’s, but it is a fair statement that I have quite a few bad ideas permanently drawn on my skin. But the way I see it, tattoo’s are sort of like an old photo album. They are reminders of where we have been, what we have done, what we have loved and what we are dependant on (in my case, Bro’s).

Tattoo’s are not some manifestation of your inner most being, but they are also something a little bit more than some ink jammed into your skin. If it takes you more than 2 minutes to explain your tattoo, then it probably doesn’t really mean anything to you at all. At the same time, you shouldn’t just jump straight into every single bad idea, either. I suppose if nothing else, tattoo’s are just a rather absurd way of visually explaining the kind of person that you are. I have a religiously confused friend who has a tattoo of a devil with a sword kneeling below a bloody cross. I have another friend whose only tattoo is the initials for the group of friends he grew up with. Every tattoo says something about us, even if they are something as stupid as discolored blue whale.

If tomorrow some revolutionary company invents a cream that will lift tattoo’s from right under the flesh, then the day after tomorrow I would still have a bunch of kind-of-sort-of (probably real bad) ideas forever tattooed on my skin.

a pathetic attempt at bringing something back

1. "Another Sappy Song About Hate" - Tiltwheel
2. "Maestro of this Rebellious Symphony" - Fake Problems
3. "On the Picket Fence" - The Good Life
4. "Little Light" - Jets to Brazil
5. "Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart" - Against Me!
6. "Woodson" - the Get Up Kids
7. "the Futile" - Say Anything
8. "Real Problems in SRQ" - Fake Problems
9. "Bee Spit" - Lemuria
10. "These Dead Streets" - A Wilhelm Scream
11. "Communique" - Jena Berlin
12. "Fireman" - Jawbreaker
13. "The Horse" - A Wilhelm Scream
14. "Haircuts and T-Shirts" - Lifetime

on Record Reviewers

I absolutely hate record reviewers, or at least the ones in the punk rock community. Aside from a select few on punknews.org, every record “reviewer” on every other website is nothing more than a pretentious idiot who thinks they have a big vocabularly and can cram words like “whimsical” or mouthfuls like “spitting, fury-fest of angst” into a couple paragraphs that somehow quantify the likeability of a record. Who the fuck cares. The Beatles Sgt Pepers and the Lonley Hearts Club is widely regarded as the best record ever. I personally don’t care for it all. People seem to forget that there is no golden rule for taste. People like what they are going to like even if some asshole on punknews.org things the new Say Anything record is 3 and a half stars. The worst part is that some people actually give a shit what these jerk-offs have to say.

I need to start writing more stuff. But, I just don’t really give two shits right now.

its finally raining.

I haven't written in a while. It's not for a lack of things to say but moreso because I am sick of saying the same thing about the same thing, etc etc. Nothing is new and what is the point of writing if you are saying the same thing over and over again. Especially if no one is listening.

Benard leaves on tour the day after I graduate (which is a month away) and then fly up to Richmond, VA on January 1st to ride with Worn in Red for a little while.

I discovered this Fake Problems lyric today by accident, but it sums up my outlook right now

Living life in constant motion is the only way that I’ll be content. And I’ll go until this body doesn’t work.

Its the first night it has rained in these parts in a long time. There is some symbolism there.

on Foreseeing My Ideal Death

I suppose this isn't my "ideal" death, per-se. I have two ideas for ideal death, and they are both on opposite ends of the spectrum: Id either like to check out of here quietly while asleep, presumably with someone I love, or to go out with the biggest fucking band possible (car bomb, for example). Although, I hear drowning is suppose to be one of the most zen and peaceful ways to go. So I suppose a shark attack would be a good blend of the two ends of the spectrum. Anyway. Long story short, I think if i died in our van on tour, I'd be ok with that.

---

Nathan was driving and Alan was in the front passenger seat. I think they were listening to some fantasy dragon-story book on tape, but, honestly, I don’t really remember. I think James was laying in the first bench seat with Marc in the next, but that just doesn’t seem right. I mean, I vividly remember it this way, but Marc always sits in the first bench seat. I suppose it isn’t really that important, because when Nathan jerked the wheel to miss the deer that darted out into the road, no one ended up where they started off.

We built a loft of sorts in the back of our 1991 Dodge Ram 3500 van where the back two bench seats use to be. Our two guitar heads, my fifteen hundred dollar bass head that I bought when I was 18, our guitars and all of the drum kit, as well as my five foot tall, one hundred and fifteen pound bass cab, all fit under this construction of ply wood and 2x4’s. The One hundred and fifteen pound bass cab was an essential element of the loft’s construction, as it was the center support for the whole structure. The one structural flaw of our ingenious construction was that we never secured the loft to the body of the van. And when our blue four-wheeled highway vessel began to roll and eventually settle on its roof, all of that gear landed right on top of me as I met the roof of our van, which was now sitting crumbled against the pavement of Interstate 85 Southbound.

I felt the rims of my Versace glasses cut into the skin around my eyes as the weight of a whole bands worth of equipment sandwiched me into the ground. They say that life moves in slow motion during a moment of catastrophe, but this is completely untrue. One second I was laying on my back on the loft in our van listening to “In A World of Ghosts” by Lemuria, and the next second I was laying face-first amidst mounds of shattered glass as I gasped for breath through my surely collapsed lungs.

I am quite confident that either a leg or an arm or both were shattered because I remember telling my brain to tell my legs and arms to do something. Anything. I heard Marc say “What the fuck,” and I think James say something along the lines of “Holy shit” or possibly “what did we hit” and heard Alan say my last name. I suppose I should of shouted to someone for a helping hand, but, honestly, the only thought that crossed my mind as every last ounce of blood and oxygen escaped my body was that I wished I had treated my bass head better.

Because it sure was good to me during our short life together.

crossed with the Mendoza Line

I have figured out this complex that I have.

I do things to make myself miserable. It is not that I do not want to be happy, it is just that I do not know how to handle myself when the situation arises.

I purposefully make myself miserable.

This is why I try to stay friends with the girls that broke my heart. This is why I watch episodes of the Office or Scrubs that mimic my short comings with females. This is why I listen to that goddamn Fake Problems song over and over and over and over and over again.

This is why I am rooting for the Rockies for this world series. Because I know there is no way that they can possibly win.

I have put on anywhere from 5 to 7 pounds in the past couple months. I havent been gaining any weight since, but, I have developed some shitty eating habits. I was going to do one of those Master Cleanse Lemonade Detox diets, but, they are really complicated and honestly, a 10 day fast seems like a it of a jump for starters.

So, starting tomorrow, I am going to be doing the all apple 3 day diet. Its pretty simple: eating nothing but apples for three days. I've never really bought into the whole natural healing herbal detox shit, but, I have been feeling pretty sluggish and shitty for the past couple weeks. the whole goal is to just try it, see how I feel, and, ultimately, to lose the weight I have put on, while simultaneously demolishing my current shitty eating habits and start working with a clean slate to start eating right and getting back into a decent exercise routine. Lose the little fat I have left with this, and then start toning and getting back into decent shape.

So i will post daily updates here. Hopefully it would be interesting. Can't be any worse than how things have been.

i feel like i want to start writing a book that is a collection of memoirs based around the following premise

Sometimes, the quickest way to lose something is to want it too much.

And that is the story of every relationship I have ever had with a female, summarized in one simple sentence.

Today i was driving home from class and had one of the most surreal moments I can remember. I was stopped at a red light on Windy Hill Rd in one of those rare circumstances where everyone was waiting for the light to change. Some turn lane had a jump light, although their was no one turning, and for about 25 seconds, there was complete silence on the road. There were probably 50 something automobiles in my line of sight, but no one was moving, no ones radio was blaring, the lunch-hour intersection was dead. It is very rare that at 11:45 in the afternoon, surrounded by motorist in the beaming sunlight do you find yourself a moment of sheer peace. This is the kind of stuff that is reserved for open fields and mountain ranges and nature at its finest, not a major suburban intersection.

And then the light changed and we all went back to our noisy, boring lives.

new Sports Themed Blog at http://mendoza-line.blogspot.com.

This will probably turn into me griping about, well, everything else.

Hotel Chevalier

I suppose I am a little bit of a Wes Anderson fan-boy. I haven't seen a Wes Anderson film that I didn't like, and this short prolouge to his new feature The Darjeeling Limited is no excepton. I think I really like it so much simply because it is pretty real. When you take the core of the story, what happens in the narrative, it is as real as it gets. I can't really talk about it without giving it away, but, when I watch this, I just think about how this is the opposite of the Pam/Jim debacle going on with The Office.

And my affinity for the film has nothing to do with Natalie Portman being naked for most of her screen time.

Click here to download. You have to have iTunes open. I think this will work right, if not, just open iTunes and search for "Hotel Chevalier."

Speaking of The Office...even though Jim and Pam are together, this is starting off promising. I really need to start watching Scrubs or something

I said I wasn't going to write in here until I had something to say about something that isn't about me.

Comfort and Joy are a Complete Farce

For some reason, I feel like I cannot escape loneliness. Last night, I was “writing” a song for a pop punk band that will never see the light of day (this is the classic tree falling in the woods paradox – does writing melodies and verses and bridges and choruses that no one will ever hear qualify as “writing”? Isn’t this essentially “practice”? Do the songs exist if no one will here them? And furthermore, if no one will ever hear them, then what was the point of writing them?) and I wrote the line “I’m going to sleep until I am over this or until all of it makes any sense” on a pad of paper as I walked out to my garage to plug my Rickenbacker back into my volume pedal that is connected to my Mesa Boogie Triple Rectifier that powers the 4 Celestion Vintage 30’s housed in my Avatar cabinet and churn through an intro, verse, chorus and interlude that will never be accompanied by a bass guitar or drumset or the cutsey female vocals that I hear in my head singing the line “I am going to sleep until I am over this or until all of it makes any sense.”

I will probably never finish the song because of the futility in investing into something that means nothing.

Obviously, this loneliness transgresses sleeping alone and the extended time lapse between the last time I kissed a girl and the next time I get the chance to.

After I finish this, I will drive 25 minutes and be in the company of people whom would do anything for me. When I get home, I will listen to “In a World of Ghosts” by Lemuria and sit around feeling sorry for myself until the shot of Nyquil does its job.

When I started writing this I was listening to “The Impression That I Get” by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. I have put this song on every Mix CD that I have ever made for a girl I have had a crush on, in hoping that we can share this guilty pleasure together.

To this day, I still have no one to share the song with. Which is sort of like a metaphor for every relationship I have ever been in. I’ve done nothing and I am all out of ideas as to how to fix all of this.

Sadly, this is content.

I am not going to write another word until I have something to say about something other than my pitiful self.

40 Items When Not Able (Willing?) to Sleep.

1. I constantly study The Office on levels that I am positive the writers did not intend.
2. This is how I know that most literary criticism is in fact bullshit.
3. In reality, I sort of really hate my bed and bedroom.
4. Yawns mean nothing if heavy eyes don’t follow them.
5. Nyquil does not cause yawns, yet cause heavy eyes.
6. This is how I know that yawns are in fact bullshit.
7. (or that Nyquil induced sleep is not genuine sleep).
7. There is nothing nearly as lonely as checking your e-mail in the morning with nothing new worth reading, only to check it 12 hours later to identical results.
8. The only thing worse is sporadically checking your cellphone over the course of your waking day to see no new text messages or missed calls or voicemails.
9. I probably wouldn’t respond, anyway.
10. I turned the answering machine on my home phone back on so that the phone wouldn’t ring 15 or twenty times while I am ignoring it.
11. It becomes increasingly hard to ignore 15+ phone rings.
12. I could take or leave the ink on my left arm.
13. Usually I am asleep by now.
14. Today I drank a lot more caffeine than usual.
15. This is how I know that caffeine is in fact not bullshit.
16. Right now, I am of average weight for my body type.
17. This week I will do 300 crunches, 75 arm presses, 75 arm pulls, and do a minimum of 60 minutes of cardio everyday.
18. Weight is the only area in life where below average may be beneficial.
19. I don’t delete anything.
20. I delete everything.
21. Both 19 and 20 are completely true, and totally false at the same time, respectively.
22. I am still bored with everything I listen to.
23. I have no ambition to find any new music.
24. Because of 22 and 23, I listen to Neal Boortz on my drive to campus.
25. I honestly hate Neal Boortz.
26. Brett Favre is one touchdown pass away from breaking Dan Marino’s all time touchdown record.
27. Tom Brady, Peyton Manning and Bret Favre will, eventually, break every record Marino ever set, all with at least a one Superbowl Ring under each individual’s belt, eventually rendering Dan Marino’s career completely moot.
28. This is how I know that statistics are in fact bullshit.
29. I got my hair cut this week and no one noticed.
30. These are the kinds of haircuts I want from now on.
31. I bought two new shirts that everyone commented on.
32. I am obviously very reluctant to buy more new shirts.
33. In the absence of any evidence to prove otherwise, I constantly, and honestly, believe that the career of Dan Marino will be an allegory for my life when I finally check out of this planet.
34. I should spend less time thinking about music and sports and TV shows and more time writing.
35. If I close this laptop right now and instantly fall asleep, I will awake with a cowlick on the back right side of my head in six and a half hours.
36. It is 1:57 on a Monday morning and my mom will be waking up in an hour and thirty-three minutes.
37. I only intended to write 35 Items.
38. I only intended to “take things slowly.”
39. Both 37 and 38 are completely true but did not happen.
40. This is how I know that the phrase “best intentions” is in fact bullshit.

Sundays

It seems as though that Grad School is becoming a much more plausible reality. Normally, this would excite people; The chance at furthering a career and education with a masters degree is, I suppose, the goal of many my age. I just want to play punk rock with my band. Grad school is where my adventurous, youthful and ambitious soul goes to die. Grad School at the University of Arizona means working for my dads company while I get a Masters in Creative Writing. Grad school means "the dream" of sustaining myself off the one thing that I feel I have ever been any good at is over. Grad school means my one goal in life is never achieved.

Being an Atlanta sports fan is becoming increasingly easy; all of our teams stink. Here's to the Green Bay Packers and Bret Favre.

Die Benny just finished up a new song I wrote that is less than 60 seconds long. I think the lyrical subject matter is going to be about wanting to take a machine gun to all the happy couples you see while out at parties or out in public.

It's bad news isn't it? I should never get my hopes up. Nothing ever works out for us. - The Simpsons.

I just heard this quote while writing this post. Seems very fitting.

Don't Do That

I often think that my life would be a lot more simple if I would just stop thinking so goddamn much. Maybe if I just started listening to music that simply sounded good, as opposed to getting absorbed into music that says something to me or bands and songs that have some idealistic quality that makes it more than just sounds that sound good when going through my ears. I think that I would probably be a much happier sports fan if I would just root for teams with players I respect, as opposed to constantly rooting for the underdogs because of the metaphoric nature of those teams. I think life would without a doubt be a lot more simple if I would just stop thinking about things so much and start treating movies, sports, music and TV shows as simple entertainment.

That being said though, I wonder if my life would be any more or less meaningful.

Generally speaking, popular culture, when taken simply at face value, is pretty much worthless. The only time there is any value in the TV Shows and Movies and Albums and Sports Events and etc that consume the American Popular Culture is when we examine these within the context of the “big picture.” Hank Aaron setting the new Home Run record back in 1974 was obviously about something more than a guy hitting baseballs out of the ballpark; Hank Aaron’s homerun chase embodies triumph over adversary, especially under racial tensions. Cary Grant’s mistaken identity in North By Northwest is more than just a thriller spy movie. Similarly, NBC’s hit show The Office is something more than a comedic mocumentry about the office work environment. The Office isn’t really worth examining unless we look beyond its narrative and premise and examine what the characters and their interactions really mean, and, more specifically, Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly.

The Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly relationship, obviously, is more than just a cute love-story shown on Thursday nights; Their relationship a visualization of the old cliché that “nice guys finish last.” Every guy whom has ever fallen into the “just a friend” category will instantly fall in love with the show, regardless of their affinity for Steve Carell’s comedic style. However, those who get roped into the show because of this relationship will almost always find themselves instantly rooting against the Pam/Jim union. Every “just friend” kind of guy out there does not want to see Jim finally get the girl, because Jim finally getting the girl of his dreams is not reality. In reality, Pam dates Jim for a couple weeks before Roy re-enters the picture, causing Pam to leave Jim to try and work things out with Roy. This is what really happens, and people invested into these characters for this reason do not want to see Jim finally get what he wants, and, sort of pretty much deserves. Because, like as I just said, that never fucking happens.

Season 4 of the Office is just around the corner, and if Pam and Jim hit things off and start a successful and loving relationship, then I am done with this fucking show.

Fat Ass Disease

The below “blog” may be perceived as borderline offensive. While I understand that this is sort of a touchy subject, at the same time, this is how I see things. If you have a problem with it, argue with me. And if I offend you, then I apologize (sort of…)

I suppose that I am just a very, very vain and superficial person.

I am OK with this.

This all started because of a comment I made about the last girl I was involved with. When I was incredibly fucked up about our “split,” I said very candidly that I am worried that I will never meet another girl half as beautiful as she is. This is completely true. I honestly have a hard time believing that the next girl I get involved with will be able to top the sheer gorgeousness of the previous. I honestly hope that someday I will meet a girl that makes my jaw drop further than she did, but, right now, I really feel like I am just going have to settle for a runner-up. She set the bar so high that it seems unfair to expect any other girl to match her.

Of course, I had people jump all over me, stating that looks are not that important.

This is obviously a fucking lie.

Sure there is more to human compatibility that the outward appearance of the opposite sex. But, at the same time, no one ever approaches a person they find visually unappealing with hopes of understanding whom the other person really is at their core. I would argue that attractiveness is, at the very least, the single most important aspect in choosing someone of the opposite sex. If it isn’t for the initial attraction, then there is no reason to purse the other. I do not know many people that are really interested in getting to know the personality of people they find visually unappealing. I honestly do not believe that the sentence, “I saw her across the room, and she was just, really, really unattractive, so, I knew I just had to get to know her” appears in many stories of how couples came to be.

I have no pity for fat people. I was once fat. This morning when I stood on the scales, I clocked in at right around 175 pounds. Eighteen months ago, the same scale would have probably put me in at a tad over 220 pounds. Although I lost the weight in probably the unhealthiest fashion ever (depression -> stress -> loss of appetite -> starvation -> borderline eating disorder), I alone stand as proof that it is possible to shed pounds. My mother stands as an even healthier testament to weight loss; When she was finally fed up with her appearance and weight, she started waking up at 3:30 every morning and began walking 15 miles every day. She ate right and utilized basic principles of self-control. In the most basic terms: she didn’t fucking gorge herself at every meal and got a healthy dose of exercise. This is all it takes people. No one is born overweight. No one forces double cheeseburgers and gallons of beer down an unsuspecting skinny kid's throat. The ability to lose weight and maintain a healthy body is not a highly specific task; anyone can fucking do it. Fat people will never grace the covers of fashion magazines as the new “hot.” If you are overweight and are genuinely upset with how you fit into this “thin” world and being perceived as a “fat person,” then, run yourself around the block a couple times. Or starve yourself. It’s not impossible.

I am truly sorry to say this, but, I don’t think I have ever found a very obviously overweight girl to be drop-dead-gorgeous, just like how I would never expect any girl to find me attractive when I topped the deuce-twenty mark. I had an “ex” who constantly ridiculed me for my constant worry of gaining weight. She would tell me that it didn’t matter if I was a little fat, because I was (am?) a great guy and had a beautiful personality. This is obviously a very nice thing to hear, but, it fell on deaf ears then, and it falls on deaf ears now. No girl is ever going to see me with my stomach hanging over my belt and consider the idea of being with me. Unless, of course, they are into fat guys.

And if that is the case, then I guess there really is someone out there for everyone.

Nope

Last night, i sent this message to a friend in response to a bulletin she posted on myspace:

could be worse.

could be sitting around watching episodes of The Office and writing an essay about how Dan Marino never winning the Superbowl symbolically represents your love life.

Or you could just be me in general. that in totality seems worse than reading Joyce.

i wonder how my mom would feel if she knew this was how i felt 4 days out of the week.

1:13-1:12 in the below video were possibly two of the best seconds of my entire year.



this needs to be my life.

Only on the other side of the microphone

My Unanswered Whys

I am sick of writing about this. I'm sick of thinking about it. Sick of feeling how I feel. But since I am sick of writing about it, I am just going to let Small Brown Bike say it, since Mike Reed said it best the first time around.

What went wrong? Did you even try?
You made me think that this would work all along.
I should of known better. You made me try.
You made me feel like I was everything.
One of us has to get hurt (Don't fall for this boy).
And the other asks, "was it worth it this time?"
She said, "pick one," so I took both (I had the look in my eyes),
the Good and the Ugly.
I couldn't wait to see you.
I couldn't wait to hear you.
You can keep those three words wrapped up for yourself.
What went wrong? What did you see?
You looked right through me...you looked right through me
Everything meant everything to you (I have to write you).
Everyone mean everything to you (I hope you get the pieces of me).
I have to write you. I hope you get the pieces of me.
Pen and Paper is all I have.
Begging you lease, I'm sending you my hands and knees.
Why must I try?
Why do I try?

A (supposedly) great city that I will (hopefully) never return to.

Nothing Special

“The shore is death”
- My favorite quote from a book I never actually read.

---

Whenever I have finally had enough, I am going to get into my car and drive around the suburbs going 5-7 miles per hour over the speed limit. And the first time someone between the ages of 20 and 45 pulls out in front of me, instead of getting on my brakes, I am just going to go limp, keep my pace, and blow straight the fuck into them.

Fuck up their day, and hopefully give myself some new perspective.

A hypothetical that isn’t really about Dan Marino or Brad Johnson.

You are being forced to switch lives with an NFL quarterback. There is no way to escape it, and the only option you have is which quarterback whose life you will inherit: Dan Marino or Brad Johnson.

This is not as easy of a decision as it may seem.

Dan Marino is, arguably, the best quarterback in the history of the NFL All subjectivity aside, the record books seem to indisputably show that, without a doubt, Dan Marino’s tenure in the NFL as a Miami Dolphin was without a doubt the most impressive career of any quarterback, living or otherwise. He holds over 15 Quarterback records and retired with a very impressive Career Quarterback Rating. However, he retired in 1999 having never won a Superbowl.

Brad Johnson, on the other hand held the Vince Lombardi trophy above his head on January 26, 2003 after his victory in Superbowl XXXVII as a Tampa Bay Buccaneer. Now, no one really remember his name or who he currently plays for[1] or any of his career highlights. I would argue that if you asked Dan Wilbon to name the only Buc quarterback to lead his team to a Superbowl victory, the PTI host would baulk at the question. All that aside though, Johnson does have a Superbowl victory under his belt.

Every fair-weather football fan knows who Dan Marino is, yet very few are concerned with the life and career of Superbowl XXXVIII winning quarterback Brad Johnson. One is a legend whom will go down in history as the best quarterback to never win the whole thing, the other is just a merely mediocore player that achieved the most prized achievement in all football.

So who would you switch places with? [2]

=============================================
1) After some research (wikipedia), I came to find out that,
at the age of 38, he is the backup to Tony Romo as a part of the Dallas
Cowboys.
2) As the title insinuate, this is obviously not really a question about
football…

Becoming a Ghost

I listen to my phone ring over and over and over and over again. I turned off my answering machine weeks ago, so the phone just rings. and rings. and rings. and rings. I listen to it ring simply because I know that on the other end there is nothing that I am remotely interested in hearing. I don’t check my e-mail anymore because I know there is nothing interesting in there. I only log into myspace to book our December tour. I avoid facebook at all costs. I delete all of my old text messages daily; there is nothing worth remembering in them.

If I wanted to talk to someone, I would call them. If I wanted to get out of my house, I’d get in my car and drive. But today, I would rather be a ghost. I would rather forget that the world knows that I exist. I would rather forget that I am capable of loving, and therefore capable of being left, and ultimately capable of being hurt.

Today I would rather forget that she use to call me every night and we’d talk each other to sleep.

Something That Seems to be About Something, but is Sort of Really About Something Else.

I lost my sunglasses a week ago today.

These sunglasses had no real importance to me; I found them on top of a TV under a couple of flyers and zines at a house in Buffalo, NY when I was on tour this past summer. I assumed no one was missing them, so, I put them on like I had a reason to be wearing sunglasses at 7:45 in the morning in Buffalo, NY, got in our van and headed towards New York City. To put it rather bluntly: I stole them. So it seems only fitting that I would end up forgetting them on a table in a classroom in the English building at Kennesaw State and that they were gone the next time I came to said class. I suppose those aviators belong to the world now, and that their destiny is to be carelessly passed along from person to person, never really finding a true home.

I have replaced them with a new pair given to me by a friend, but I am still constantly wishing for those glasses that I carelessly left behind.

7 Records That Totally Have the Right to Exist.

I am not sure if anyone has noticed this or not, but I totally dig lists. For some reason, making lists seems to somehow justify why certain records are better than others. Sitting in front of a computer and meticulously arranging songs, albums or artist into some kind of specific order helps me to conceptualize what makes a certain record (or song, or artist, or etc etc) incredible (or shitty).

Having said that, I think too much of an emphasis is placed on the total extremes of the “goodness” level. People are often way too concerned with either a) the great records or b) the most god-awful of the god-awful. Nobody ever focuses on the records that are simply just pretty OK.

Below is a list of 7 records that totally have the right to exist. These are not records that are necessarily riveting, but they aren't exactly garbage either. These are the records that you hold on to while scourging for the real find in the used record bins; If you can't find anything else, these records aren't a total waste of money. . They aren't bad, but, they aren't that great either. They simply exist, and totally have a right to do so.

7 Records That Totally Have the Right To Exist.
7. Jets to Brazil - Orange Rhyming Dictionary
It is not fair to compare Jets to Brazil to Jawbreaker. To compare Jawbreaker and Jets to Brazil is like trying to compare and Apple to an Onion. They are vaguely similar in that they share a couple similar features (shape, style, Blake Schwarzenbach), but one is quite obviously a fruit and the other is, well, an onion. Anyway, since I don't think this metaphor is working anymore, I'll just say that Blake should of stuck to making great Jawbreaker records as opposed to making decent Jets to Brazil records.

6. Say Anything - …is a Real Boy
A lot has been said about Max Bemis and Say Anything. When …is a Real Boy came out, it made quite a few “Best of” lists, as well as 'worst of the worst” lists. Both of these polarized statements are wrong, however, as Say Anything is merely just okay. Nothing on this record screams of originality. Just a bunch of pretty decent pop-rock tunes.

5. Cursive - Happy Hollow
Not better than the Good Life's Album of the Year, but certainly not the worst Cursive record ever, either. We can't expect Tim Kasher to stay depressed for all of his life. Consequently, we cannot expect him to write incredible records forever, either.

4. Alkaline Trio - Crimson
Not worth the 20 something dollars Vagrant wants for the “Limited Edition” red vinyl, but, you know, picking up a new copy of it on CDs isn't that bad of an investment. Some of the songs - “Mercy Me,” for one - are actually pretty decent. Only problem is that said songs were awesome the first time around, a couple records ago.

3. The Falcon - Unicornography
A lot of what makes some of the best punk bands so great is that they are nothing more than a couple of decent musicians whom get together and bring in different elements of songwriting that totally click. This is a perfect example of what happens when decent musicians start a side-project that doesn't really click: a moderately decent album.

2. The Draft - In a Million Pieces
Better than the worse Hot Water Record (The New What's Next), but, obviously not better than the best Hot Water Record (pretty much everything else).

1. The entire Get Up Kids catalog after Something to Write Home About
Something to Write Home About and everything before it are all pretty much flawless records. Everything after it kind of falls within the “meh” and “eh” category. Could be worse, but could have been a lot better as well. This, obviously excludes their live album.

Five Albums That Should Have Never Been Made.

In light of Abel Baker Fox – a band that is essentially Small Brown Bike sans a guitar player and plus the dude from the Casket Lottery – releasing their debut record on Second Nature Records here in a month or two, I have come up with a list of 5 records that have come out in the past 5 years that should have never been made. Because, lets be honest, with the upcoming Small Brown Bike reunions, no one wants an Abel Baker Fox record. We want another Dead Reckoning.

This is completely different from 5 Records That I Hated, because that would just be a terribly petty list. And it is not that I am above being petty (anyone who knows me well knows quite the contrary), but bad albums and meaningless albums are completely different. These are albums that were simply a waste of time in every regard. These are not to be confused with records that are very, very bad, yet, that we somehow needed. Green Day needed to American Idiot to remind us how much we could hate a band that was once pretty awesome.

Anyway.

Five Recent Albums That Should Have Never Been Made
(In Semi-Particular Order).
5. Against Me – New Wave
Tracks 1-3 and 6 would have made a killer EP or something, but the record as a whole, aside from the context in which it was released, is largely forgettable. Except for the aforementioned track 3. Because “Thrash Unreal” just rules, no matter which way you cut it.

4. Tie Between Angels and Airwaves We Don’t Need to Whisper and Plus 44’s When Your Heart Stops Beating.
Dude Ranch will always be one of my all-time favorite records, but as long as Mark and Tom keep creating these records, I start to bury this fact about myself further and further. I don't think this requires any further explanation.

3. If Reel Big Fish are still making records, then their entire catalog since Why Do They Rock So Hard?!?
This statement also applies to Less Than Jake and anything they have done after Hello Rockview, if there is actually anything. I honestly have no idea. I think the chances are better than not, though.

2. That New Atari’s Record.
Pop-punkers have a tendency to insist on re-inventing themselves as “mature” musicians (see Item Number 4). While trying to write their “mature” pop-rock records, most of these guys try to forget that they once wrote a song that contained the line “I’d go to the pound and let all the cats run free, as long as you’ll be with me” AND “I’d rob a Kwick-E-Mart For You.” These facts, however, cannot be forgotten. It will haunt these musicians for the rest of their lives.

1. Explosions in the Sky – All of a Sudden I Miss Everybody
The problem with Explosions in the Sky is that they are pretty much just a forgettable band. That isn’t to say that no one will remember the band or their contribution to Independent music, but moreso that no one will ever remember their songs. This is probably related to the fact that they have no words, and that their music does not suggest hyper-drug use, as displayed by other pseudo-indie instrumental bands (read: Don Caballero). Really, if you want to get the total Explosions in the Sky experience, just listen to track 1 off their Second LP The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place. It pretty much embodies the totality of Explosions in the Sky in like, 5 minutes.

Honorable Mentions: The Entire Brand New catalog. But mostly just because I am petty.

the High Life Generation

Is it just a marker of our generation, or is it that maybe we've just become a little boring? Is it just my group of friends, or is every group of early 20 somethings everywhere unable to have a good time without alcohol? Do people in towns I've never been to have groups of kids in their early 20s that can find a good time without getting loaded? Or has our generation become a generation that will only be defined by the amount of PBR we consumed? Am I the only one thats just a little bored these days? Am I out of line by trying to find ways of having a good time that don't involve sitting in bar's or living rooms watching the intelligence of my friends decline?

I’ve never been drunk in my entire life. In less than a month I will be turning 22 years old, and aside from what I’ve gathered by witnessing those around me, I have absolutely no idea what it feels like to be intoxicated. And granted, it seems like a biased argument to be knocking on alcohol when I am not a consumer. But, this is a serious topic, and I swear is not just a clever way for me, the Sober Guy, to bitch about having to drive everywhere. It just seems like I use to have a lot better stories, and a lot better time, when going out and doing something didn't ALWAYS involve drinkin' some brews. I mean, is drinking a tall boy and playing that fucking bowling game in the back corner of the bar still that much fun? Can we really have this same drunken-half-brained argument about music taste over and over again? I mean, it sure as shit doesn’t mean anything sober, does it really mean anything when beer is introduced to the situation.

I’ve been told by many that alcohol makes you feel good and allows you to enjoy even the most mundane events. While I have no tangible proof of this notion, I’ll concede to it just because it seems to be the general consensus of the general drinking culture. But, why drink to make boring situations more enjoyable? Why not find new situations that are enjoyable without alcohol? No more than 3 years ago, all my friends and myself would meet at a local parking lot and play Ultimate Frisbee until the nights end. And while I’m sure a few of my friends were probably drunk at the time, the activities of the night did not center around the amount of alcohol we could consume. It seems as though we don’t make plans anymore that don’t either involve going some place that sells alcohol, or stopping by a gas station on the way to wherever we are going, to, you guess it, buy some beer. Not too long ago, a group of friends and myself were going to see a movie on its opening night. One friend wanted to pick up a flask to fill with alcohol so she could get loaded while watching the movie! Seriously, how is being able to chug whiskey in a movie theater going to make Hannibal Rising any less shitty? If being drunk is the only way to enjoy that stupid fucking bowling game, then why bother playing it?

Most drinkers usually tell me that because I don’t drink, I don’t "get it." I guess I never will. In the past my friends have shared emotional bonds by simply sitting on a back porch somewhere drinking beers, or tossing rocks by the train tracks while sipping on a 40. I guess I never will “get it,” simply because I don’t understand why beer makes that situation that much more emotional, and bonding, and enjoyable. Are we such a stale generation that we have to have a beer to loosen up to do anything? Are we so incapable of talking about our lives to one another that we have to chug a beer, simply to be able to open up to a pal?

I’m not dumping on anyone who drinks. My decision not to drink has not given me any kind of condescending tone towards anyone who drinks. You’re decision to drink matters to me about as much as the color shirt you are wearing. I just wonder if there is more to being 22 than bars, keg parties and funneling 3 MGD’s.

Sometimes I wonder if we are a generation that will be known as the High Life generation. When I look back on my parents generation, at least they were known for their drugs. And while we have our drugs too, and I would much rather sit around watching my friends chug some beers as opposed to snorting lines, I still wonder if we look just a little lame. There is nothing more pathetic looking than a smashed, blacked out, barley conscious drunk (1). I know alcohol has always been present in America, but you looking back on 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and 70’s youth, the beer belly isn’t nearly as fucking big. Every generation has its defining crutch. I’m pretty sure that ours is Coors Light.

And maybe I am a little off by claiming this is a problem with our culture. Maybe it is just my friends; Maybe this problem is simply an Atlanta thing. But still, I wonder if in every city, no matter where you go and no matter what kind of kids, whether it be punk rockers, fashion fucks, jocks, thugs or geeks, I wonder if all there is to do on a Friday night is to get "fuckin' drunk!"

=======================================
1) You know EXACTLY what face I am talking
about: When a person is so drunk that they give the exact
same expression to people they’ve never met that they give
their best friend. That blank, utterly confused look. You know
in old cartoons where the cartoon would zoom inside a
characters head and their brain would replaced by a mouse
running on a wheel? Well this is the face when the mouse has
run himself into the ground, fallen face first into the ground,
just after vomiting from over-excursion. It’s the face when that
bright idea bulb has burnt the fuck out.

Sixteen

When approaching the situation rationally and logically, as opposed to legally and practically, no 16-year old youth should ever be allowed to drive a car. Allow yourself to perform a brief exercise and reflect upon the person you were at the age of 16, and come up with a few adjectives to describe that person. I’m fairly certain that most people would use words like “immature,” “Irresponsible,” “brash” and just “down right stupid.”

I got my drivers license two days after my 16th birthday. Within a month, I had wrecked my first car. My family and I spent around two months adjusting the car situation, which eventually ended up with me being the proud owner of a 1991 Honda del Sol, and my dad with a brand new 2002 Volkswagen GTI 1.8 liter turbo. Now, the operative word in that sentence is obviously the word “turbo,” and you don’t have to be a car nut to know that the word usually goes hand and hand with the word “fast.” Well, fast doesn’t even begin to describe this car. Even “fast as shit” may be an understatement.

Now, the GTI was OFFICIALLY my dad’s car, but since he worked out of the house, he very rarely drove it. He gave me my own set of keys to the car and allowed me to drive it pretty much whenever and wherever I wanted. Obviously, I drove his car more than my car, with my poor Honda sitting in our driveway most of the time, except to occasionally be taken to parking lots to do burn-outs and to spin doenuts. One weekend, a friend of mine coerced his parents into letting us stay at the family lake house on lake lanier unattended. Having 6 unattended high-school sophomores at a house on a lake with no parents within 75 miles, it’s a miracle we didn’t burn the fucking thing down. Somehow we all survived and made our way back home after a long weekend.

By the grace of God, Allah, Buddha, Satan, or whoever, none of us died then either.

See, my friend Kerry had a nice Dodge Neon that he had begun to trick out with vehicle modifications. While it was a nice car for what it was, his little Dodge was no match for my dad’s GTI. And I decided to prove that to him. So, down a strip of GA-400, I proceeded to floor it in my dad’s immaculate silver GTI. Slamming gears with the turbo winding and pushing, I proceeded to blow past Kerry at a reasonable 85 miles an hour. Maybe it was adrenaline, or maye because I was “immature,” “irresponsible,” “brash,” and “down right stupid,” I continued to leave my foot againt the pedal that was against the floor board and watched the speedometer tip over 100 miles per hour. And over 105. And 110. And 120, and 125. Once we reached a speed of 134 miles per hour, I finally let off the gas pedal, stomped on the brakes, and somehow, I have no idea how, stopped the car before a redlight that could not of been very far down the road. Andrew, a friend of mine who was in the passenger seat, could only proclaim “holy shit” for about 5 minutes, as I nervously laughed it off. We continued our way home, at a seemling tortise-esque pace, and once there, I placed my dads car in the garage and began driving my little Honda around town again. I mean, the speedometer on that thing only went up to 100….

But, the lack of a speeding car didn’t stop me and my hoodlum friends from having a good time. One particularly boring Friday night, we all gathered at what became to be known simply as “the Park.” Hurt Road Park, as it is known to locals is a small sports complex in Austell, just a couple minutes from the Austell/Smyrna border. The lack of sports-goers and police officers attracted us to this destination, although, we never really had and illegal intent. We just liked to smash stuff. And smash stuff we did.

It started first with a water-balloon launcher we used to launch anything BUT water balloons. Potatoes, apples, golf balls and pears were all shot at rocket pace from one end of the Parks parking lot to the other, with a resounding thud and explosion on the other end. Sometimes we would take old computer equipment and smash it with baseball bats, or simply just drag it behind a car. Whatever seemed like the most fun at the time.

But then we had to learn to deal with the cops. You see, this particular boring Friday was just after Halloween, and while some friends were off at the local Publix looking for interesting things to launch, they found out that pumpkins after Halloween were on sale for quite a bargain. My friends returned with a trunk full of at least 9 or 10 pumpkins, all of which were purchased for just under 15 dollars.

Now I would like to try to Blame my first interaction with a police officer on the foolish clerk who sold two teenagers 10 pumpkins, because, lets face it, how dumb do you have to be to sell 2 teenagers fucking 10 pumpkins? But I guess the clerk didn’t make us smash them all over the parking lot. And I guess the clerk didn’t make that passing by fire truck call the police. And I guess the clerk didn’t tell my friend Martin to lie to the first cop by stating the parking lot was “like that when we got here.” I mean, sure, its not all their fault, but I would like to belive they hold a little bit of responcibility for all of this.

After a 15 minute lecture from Officer McBraire, whom turned out to be quite a spectacular guy, we were ordered to clean up all the pumpkins and dispose of them anywhere but the park. We through them all in my friends SUV, and even though the car has long been sold, I’m fairly certain that is probably still smells like pumpkin to this day. And I cant help but think this whole situation would have been avoided if we weren’t allowed to drive and were reduced to playing Mario Cart 64 in my basement like the years prior.

I love my mom and dad to death, they are the best people on the planet. But they were fucking stupid to put keys in my hand when I was 16

Note: Written to fulfill an assignment in class. I'm not sure if it's all in chronological order, and, thinking about it more, I think we were 17 when all of this happened...