Saturday, January 29, 2005

Savannah, the city (not the dog)

Hello from Savannah, the City of Brotherly Love! (looks up into his inner brain, quickly checks his facts, then smiles and nods, knowing he's right).

To say that the that this year's conference has been eventful would be somewhat accurate, and somewhat inaccurate, but mostly amibiguous. So I will elaborate and let you decide.

I brought my friend Bryant with me to Savannah. He is starting a new business geared directly toward bands... specifically, he supplies alcohol to band directors, and needless to say, business is booming!

(Editor's note: Bryant does not supply alcohol to band directors)

We arrived at the Hyatt to find that it is in the midst of what is known as "renovation" which is a big word that means "Tow thu hell up." I was thrilled to find that I had to pay $15 per day for valet parking, which makes perfect sense, as sitting there not watching my car probably pays very well. I pay with a smile!

The conference is in its first year of being held at the new International Trade Center. It's rather charming. The best method of getting from the river district to the new center is by....

Ferry. Yes, you ride a boat. It's probably pretty awesome for summertime conventions, but the suck factor is greatly increased as the winter winds mock your skin for being exposed to the elements. Thanks, God. Nice job on winter. It's a real hit.

We sound checked the Wind Ensemble in the ballroom in which we were to perform. It was just that, a sound check. We were then treated to a fine dinner of sandwiches brought to us by the trade center. They forgot the napkins, which was really cool. The performance came and went, and was received enthusiastically. People clapped and sometimes stood and clapped, rarely in the middle of a piece of music, confirming that the tradition of concert ettiquette is not lost on modern society. JNC received a couple of awards and was built up by his colleagues in public in order to make a point. Though he would never knowingly allow this to happen, it did and needed to.

Following the performance, we moved promptly to The Office, and many drinks were consumed. This was pleasant.

The following morning we returned to the center for the "reading session" which was just that, a reading session. There really is nothing like sight-reading a piece of music in mixed meter in front of 300 of your colleagues. It was the best.

A nap was in order next. The 30-minute nap turned into a three-hour nap. I managed to plan much of my life during this nap. Unfortunately I did not write it down, and forgot the whole thing as I was startled by Housekeeping. There's always next year. Wait... there's not.

After returning briefly to the conference, I ate dinner, and (you guessed it) we returned to The Office. It was quite fun listening to individuals tell others how highly they viewed them, then turn around and call that person a gutter slut to someone else. I had to pretend to be our harp player's boyfriend for a few minutes as we attempted to get rid of a gentleman in an Auburn hat who thought she was purty.

As you in the great white north (greater Atlanta) were waking up to ice this morning, we were waking up to cold winds and rain, the knowledge that we had nothing to do today, and the inability to travel. Neato! So all day, we have been tooling around the Hyatt, talking about farts, and finding other ways to waste time. I'm sure there will be exciting events tonight that are financially unwise.

That's pretty much all there is to tell. I'm hoping the streets clear up a bit tomorrow. I have no desire to be trapped in Sandersville, Georgia again.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

State of the Whatever

This is another one of those times when I'm going to sit down and write, though I don't necessarily know that I have anything to say tonight. So, how about if I just update?

Response: "That sounds good, Brett!"

Excellent. Glad we agree.

Tomorrow is the somewhat annual trip to Savannah for the GMEA Conference. This is big because the Wind Ensemble will be performing there for the first time since 1993. I know it's unlike me to get too excited about band (the activity, not the people) these days, but I'm excited that the program is taking this step. This has needed to happen for a long time, and I'm glad it is.

We're premiering a transcription I did of an aria for soprano and winds. It's pretty, and pretty depressing. But it will be nice to be musically productive, which is my preference, versus sitting around administrating all the time. It will also be nice to conduct the WE again. I haven't done that since 2001, the "Short Ride" and Schwantner year.

Some of you who aren't still living here in God's Hometown are not going to know what I'm talking about when I say this, but I have finally given into the pressure and joined the Facebook. All that really means is that now I can talk to and keep up with a lot more people at Georgia than I have been able to in the past. So if you see some names you don't recognize popping up on comments, it's because you don't recognize them. Er, whatever.

Any case, not much creativity in me tonight. Nothing's wrong, just not really in a place where I can comment on the uselessness of toenails or give you a new quiz. Busy couple of days coming up.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Note to self: Shutup. Just shut up.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Go get 'em, tiger.

Randoblog II

My next bit of total randomness... enjoy.

I had a discussion with a group of people tonight regarding the outcome of the following potential fictional battle: Jesus Christ vs. Spiderman. Everyone was saying Jesus would win, and I swear I don't think they get it! Spiderman can spin webs!!!

Gunner is right about fear. I don't know why it took me this long to realize that everyone else is just as scared as I am, and that no one has the answers. Cheers!

Some females think that the term "girl" is an insult. Please tell all females that you know that I don't utter it as an insult. I think of myself as a boy, and I think of females whom I consider to be roughly of my chronological or emotional age as girls. Plus, woman sounds like it should be on the police blotter or in an Enjoli commercial.

I'm going to hell for the Jesus discussion.

I wrote the following quiz for a girl I've been talking to a lot lately. You can take it yourself, or you can declare me an idiot. Don't care.

Do you prefer:

Sandals or tennis shoes?

Coke or Diet Coke (trick question)?

Paul or John (Beatles, not apostles)?

Surprise gifts that you really didn't need/want or gifts that you knew were coming that you picked yourself?

CNN or Fox News (MSNBC is not a valid answer)?

A guy who's graying or a guy who's balding?

Country or western?

Rhythm or blues?

Milk or honey?

Which of the following do you consider to be true:

"Haste makes waste" or "he who hesitates is lost?"

How about this one?

"Don't sweat the small stuff" or "It's all in the details?"

Random questions:

If someone orders a plain cheeseburger, is it because he is boring, or because he really likes the taste of beef and cheese?

Do you find any validity in this statement: "I would rather be alone than wish I was?"

Last question: Would you rather have a front porch with a swing and rocking chairs, or a back patio with a hot tub? (hint: both might be possible, but for the purposes of the quiz, ya kinda gotta choose).

End of Quiz

I don't seem to be too humorous today. Too bad.

Now be careful out there.

Friday, January 21, 2005

from Brad Barnes:

"Dude, how do you have time to...? uh!!"


I'm sure there is some evolutionary reason why we have them, but I've not found a contemporary use for them.

Let's compare with the numerous uses of fingernails for a moment, shall we? (yes) Fingernails are oh so useful for scratching. One may scratch himself or herself (often to the great dismay of many an onlooking female TV baseball spectator). One may rub the silver off of a lottery ticket in the absence of change. Said absence might be a motivating factor behind purchasing a lottery ticket in the first place. One might choose to scratch a blackboard to annoy one's classroom peers. (Aside: I am convinced that the rise of teen pregnancy and drug use in America's youth is not due to the supposed moral decline of our entertainment media, but rather because the innocent destraction of aggravating one's cohorts by scratching a blackboard is no longer possible thanks to the rise of dry erase boards.) Once can pick scabs, pick eye boogers (carefully), and in dire circumstances use one's fingernail for resistance in popping an unsightly and terribly ornery pimple. Lunch anyone?

Classical guitar players grow their fingernails out and use them to pick their nylon Strings of Love. Girls love this.

In the absence of strong teeth, one might use one's fingernail to open a stubborn canned beverage. One can bite one's fingernails to curb nervousness (you KNOW who you are). Pesky small objects, needles, and not-too-advanced splinters may be secured by the use of one's fingernails.

"Wow!" one might say. "I guess fingernail's can come in really handy!"

Right you are, pupil!

And now let's look at the uses of toenails.

They can be painted. That's pretty much it. So the next time you start feeling all good about yourself, remember, part of you is absolutely useless.

"Now go take on the day!" - Dr. Laura Schlessinger

Thursday, January 20, 2005


Janfest starts today (tomorrow to me, but today to you faithful blog readers). This will be my 16th Janfest, including when I was a high school student. That's just sick.

For some reason, a misguided rural Georgia mom yearly mis-pronounces or misspellz the name of this festival as the following: Jamfest.

If it was called Jamfest what could possibly be going on? Here are some possibilities.

1. 800 lovers of preserves, jelly, and other fruit-based sweets would descend on Stegeman Coliseum for three days of tasting, sharing, and critiquing one another's homemade jams. You can be certain to encounter much frivolity, and probably a fair number of insulin injections at this event. What fun?

2. 800 flannel and Birkenstock-wearing (well, that's kinda me, minus the flannel) part time musicians would join at Legion Field to hear Fish, what's left of the Grateful Dead, and various other jam bands. Special clinics around campus include "That's Just Parsley: How to hide your stash of pot in a guitar case without drawing the ire of the TSA," "The Fourth Chord: Expanding the horizons of your harmonic language," and "Who's Counting: Successful methods for making your songs under twenty minutes in length."

3. 800 athletes with pain on their faces meet at the Woodruff athletic fields to compare seemingly minor injuries to their digits. While most of the event normally consists of this pain-sharing, the much anticipated highlight of the weekend is the appearance of some dude who knows how to pull on a digit in exactly the right way to unjam it. Non-participants should make it a point to avoid the Lumpkin at Carlton Street area at this point in the event, as the residual effect of this much finger-pulling can tend to be nauseating to the weak of stomach.

4. 800 urban-dwelling optimists converge on the 10 Loop at College Station Rd. at 7:45 AM every day for three days. Feeling that voluminous traffic has received "an unfairly negative reputation," these individuals meet to set the record straight and embrace the positive effects of traffic jams. Each session should be assumed to start 15-40 minutes behind the published schedule due to... well, you know.

Considering these possibilities, what kind of parent would possibly consider sending their kid to Jamfest? It's more than a mis-pronunciation, it's bad parenting.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005


... I'm just so unpredictable. You just can't tell what I'm going to to do ne...

Monday, January 17, 2005

Dial-up sounds and missed opportunities

I know. I shouldn't be on dial-up anymore. So you get on-demand internet and I get more whiskey. Priorities.

Any case, I was just dialing up aol... I know, I shouldn't be on aol. See above... er, whatever. I had the modem sound up and my iTunes up and running "Pink Houses." As the modem started, the pistons fired, and the turbines of free speech began to spin to the sounds of modem and "Ain't that America, for you and me," I became more excited to be connecting to the internet than I ever recall.

As I raised my arms in victory, I identified a lost opportunity for ISP's in the day when dial-up was king and our great land was in love with Toad the Wet Sprocket and Home Improvement. "They" should have found a way to replace the modem sound with a theme song for their ISP. The aol one is obvious, although late at night as the nation was dimming its lights for another few hours of sleep, the theme song should have changed to "America" by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't know what Compuserve would have used. Prodigy should probably have used a Prodigy song, though I don't know that "Smack My Bitch Up" would really have been considered "customer-friendly."

Perhaps this missed opportunity was the true reason for the dot-com bust.

Welcome, Gunner

A quick shout away from center to the Gunner who has entered the realm of those who have developed a dependence on self-expression. His blog is up and running, and he begins with an excellent parable on fishing. The Gunner is wise.

Sleaux Sunday

First off, kudos to Russell for the new appearance of his blog. Very sexy.

The responses to my previous blog have been a little slow, but so far Mike and Russ are tied for first place. I'm very excited for the rest of you (well who reads my blog? uh, Steve, Sarah, Lindsay, Trey, Tony, Ellen, Will -if he still has a computer- and possibly Molly) to submit yours. Come on now, quitters forfeit their right to succeed.

It has been a slow Sunday. The Lady Dogs of UGA defeated the Auburn Tigers today, in what could best be classified a total blowout. Though some say that seeing a Georgia women's basketball game is a must, I completely disagree. They're all blowouts. Games at home are almost never close, and I repeatedly find myself browsing through my phone hoping to find the one amazing feature that I have somehow missed, or coming up with something else stupid for the band to say during the SEC action.

Speaking of that, for some reason, the Redshirts have decided that the following cheer is appropriate and meaningful for basketball games:

(to the rhythm of the famed "LET'S go BULL-dogs" or "GET her DIG-its" cheers of basketball band lore):

"GIN-gi-VI-tis" [clap - clap - rest - cl - clap]

They recently have been attempting several different physical maladies inside that same rhythmic frame. Among them are:

"IN-grown TOE-nail"
"AC-id RE-flux"
"IM-pacted WISDOM tooth"



As Dan Quayle once said, "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is very wasteful. How true that is."

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Do we really need all of these quotes?

A dear friend was at my house the other night and commented on the relative cleanliness of my kitchen, which those of you who know me know is monumental. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, then I'm pretty much in hell. She made a comment to the effect that this might mean I don't cook that often. I shook my head, said "Yeah, I guess you're right," and thought no more of it.

I was cleaning my kitchen tonight, which those of you who know me know is monumental. For some reason, I felt the need to make her statement seem more profound... to sort of immortalize her observation and turn an off-hand comment about a room in my apartment into a report on the human condition.

Why? I dunno. It's not like we don't have a wealth of correct and flat-out wrong wisdom from the last several thousand years of human existence. I'm not exactly Confucius. But I did it anyway. Funny how when you listen to it but don't try to read too much into it, it sounds profound. But when you truly identify the meaning of the quote, it really adds absolutely nothing to the collective wisdom of our culture.

So here's the quote: "Clean kitchens tend to be quiet kitchens."

What? Clean kitchens tend to what? Who gives a damn what clean kitchens tend to be? That's not exactly "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" or "You can't build a reputation on what you are going to do" or "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." But I did it, and I can't undo it.

So I think it would be a worthy waste of time for you to submit your own quotes. Preferably these quotes should mean nothing. But they should sound like you have two doctorates in particularly deep sub-disciplines of philosophy.

So please submit your quote by commenting on this entry. Quotes will be adjudicated one the basis of 1) profundity of sound and 2) absence of meaning. The winner will get the satisfaction of winning, unless she is cute and single in which case the details can be worked out later.

Until next time, keep in mind, "The best things in life are the things we remember."

Friday, January 14, 2005


I took down yesterday's blog because I didn't like how I had written what I tried to write... the complications of a night on the town with the Gunner. So let me try again.

Miss Saigon was fantastic. The things that those men and women do, their willingness to expose themselves (mostly figuratively, except in "Hair"), and their raw talent is stunning. The production was visually and aurally beautiful. It's important to me to see things like that regularly, and I'm looking forward to a life that will allow me to do that, both in terms of time and finances.

I was also stunned by Tim and Leigh. They are such different people from one another in ways that many people think are important. I'm starting to realize that they aren't that important (those things). They are in luv, though. And that's cool too. It is refreshing to see people who feel that way about each other... who move heaven and earth to make each other happy, but who also exist as individuals. I learn a lot from watching them, and really appreciate their friendship (along with a lot of other people).

I've been revisiting a song I wrote for Rusty and Ellen some time back. Just on my mind, and a melody that I still intend to use at some point. Get me to sing it for you. I like the lift but the bridge could use some work.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

"Shout Out"

No offense to any of you who uses that phrase but...

Dear friends, I think it's time we retired this phrase, this "shout out" phrase. I understand the need to recognize the existence, importance, and contributions of those who are important to us but who can't be present when we happen to get the mic on a TV show, or who aren't necessarily regular readers of your blog, or who aren't able to be on stage with you at the talent show. But folks, this phrase must be replaced.

If you recall, "shout out" entered the American vernacular by way of The Arsenio Hall Show. Since that time, Arsenio has become the Monkees of 1990's television talk shows. Come on, does anyone still pump their fists and go "woo, woo, woo" other than when one is calling the dawgs? Does anyone still tell a joke and say, "Just another thing that makes you go, 'Hmmmm...?" Hell no.

I'm sure Arsenio is a good person, perhaps a God-fearing man, and for a while there he gave Carson a run for his money. But isn't it time we retired this one last remnant of the Arsenio Legacy.

Just a thought. Any suggestions?

Feeling It

Ok. I'm feeling it n..... wait, no.... Yes. I am feeling it.

Not Feeling It

As indicated by the heading for this entry, I am not feeling it.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Love notes and ghosts in Stegeman

Tonight was a VERY strange night between the rickety walls and disconnected ceiling of Stegeman Coliseum. There was something in the air from the start.

First of all, I would like to point out that Spike indeed did not hug me, saving me from having to fulfill my threat of several days ago. The team waited so long to come onto the court that the sound booth "ran out of music" which means they weren't prepared to switch "playlists." So for the first time in a long time, the Redshirt Band played before the team came onto the court.

In the midst of this change in plans, for some reason the game management person (who's name rhymes with Fohn Fateman) could no longer hear your's truly. I could hear him and I could talk to everyone else but him. This phenomenon is known as an "impossibility" meaning someone somewhere was screwing something up. I had a new headset for the beginning of the game.

When the lights came up (they don't really come up, they open the shutters), two entire banks of lights were....

...extinguished, like a lost lover's scent, or a dream that has passed unrealized...

or like a light that has been turned off. We killed time as they solved the problem by turning the old lights "on."

About 2 minutes into the second half, a band member asked me for a pencil. Suspecting hijinx, but nothing that could potentially damage someone's person or emotional well-being, I obliged. I start hearing whispers about "checking yes or no" and "which one" they "should give it to." The next thing I know the entire band is laughing...

and a Dance Dawg is blushing. Mike, you would have messed your britches. So I had to ask what happened.

It seems that one of our "part-time members" whose name rhymes with Fobert Lundy was at the game on a night when he didn't have to be. He was in what we in the business like to call "street clothes" and was seated behind the band with a couple of friends. The most reliable report I received says that the recipient of the pencil wrote a note which contained the following query:

"Do you love me? Check Yes or No


The guy behind the band"

He passed it to one of the really cute Dance Dawgs. She blushed, checked yes, then apparently sent it back to him, knowing that this was typical band silliness.

At this point, the band is laughing, making fun of the person whose name rhymes with Fobert. Fobert-rhymer is embarassed, proclaiming his hatred for all of the band members, and flashing a look of intended revenge in his eyes.

As I called up a tune for the 8-break, a few members suggested that we change the selection to the never-too-overdone "Hey Baby" in tribute to this love connection. Though we've never actually "rehearsed" this selection as a band, I chose to do it anway.

Editor's Note: At this point, the band had good cause to lead the "Thrice Your Score" cheer, as the Lady Dawgs were thrashing the Hatters of Stetson University. They were looking in directions other than courtward for entertainment, as was the crowd.

So we begin playing "Hey Baby." All of the audio and video engineers and game management personnel knew what was happening. But the big surprise was when the band began to sing. The new lyric was as follows:

"Hey, hey Ashley
Rob wants to know
If you'll be his girl"

Ashley was apparently the name of the Dance Dawg whom the Fobert-rhymer was purportedly attempting to court. Rob is short for the real name of the young man whose name rhymes with Fobert. For the record, Ashley was on the court dancing at the time, doing her damndest not to laugh her butt off in the exact place where Michelle-the-Georgette (my ex) tore her ACL in 1999. Fobert-rhymer was stricken with the worst look of horror and shame I have ever seen on a clothed person.

As the song ended and play resumed, the band wasn't finished. They continued to sing quite loudly for several minutes, earning the curiosity of much of the Stegeman Hall throng of onlookers. Fobert-rhymer's shame only worsened, and grew to a fever pitch at which point he finally couldn't contain his urge to approach Ashley and tell her he didn't do it. As he descended the metal stairs to clear his name, the band caught the action out of the corner of its collective eye and screamed as though Fobert-rhymer had just fouled out of a big game, "Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!"

Unfortunately, this was right in the middle of a Georgia player shooting free throws so I had to put an end to it. Buzzkill... always the buzzkill.

And for a nice additional touch, one of the custodians came up and asked me "when" he "could get one of those fancy red hats like the band." We had just finished a time out, so there was NO WAY someone would call a time out while I was gone. So I headed to the storage room to retrieve a hat for the nice man. Sure enough, I hear a whistle. Followed by another whistle, and Dave Johnston's voice: "Stetson calls a time-out. That'll be a full time-out."

"Sunuva....," I said as I threw the hat at the poor fella and ran back into the main area of the coliseum screaming over my headset, "I got it, I got it" to keep promotions from using canned music when they have a perfectly good band sitting right there. I looked like I had been in le pissoir taking care of business.

I'm sure the people who regularly write the Athens Banner-Herald about the poor sportsmanship of the band will soon be complaining of the band's lack of focus and the director's poor sanitary habits upon his exit from the restroom.

Monday, January 10, 2005

blah, blah, blah!

blah, blah blah blah!! blah!

numb, nothing blah absence. No not nothing blah. Unless bl blah &*%$ blah freaking humbug. Nil not blah empty.

blank rasa purged blah gone out audi bl missing huh? zero naught zilch zip nix bare vacant clear unavailable free plain void.


Sunday, January 09, 2005


My mom's birthday is tomorrow, so I went to Gwinnett to have lunch with them. Carter has an eating disorder... he can't keep ice cream off of his shirt. My dad's "new" Caddy is a "lemon." Landon is going to turn out to be one of those people who is all over the place, the type you can't keep up with. Carter is going to sit there and watch him and wonder why he's so lucky.

I saw Napoleon Dynamite again this weekend. It's really good, but it is much better with a large group of people. Saw Anchorman again, and was pleased. I too love "a nice pair of slacks," but I prefer jeans.

Saturday, January 08, 2005


As I sit here opening your window into my world, my fingers are greasy. One may ask, "Brett, why ARE your fingers greasy?"


I'm eating a delicious bacon cheeseburger from Sonic. When I opened the foil package to reveal my burger, I noticed something unusual. I eat burgers from a lot of places. Wendy's cheeseburgers are always greasy, and they have that extra meat from the square patty hanging from the edges of the bun. McDonald's cheeseburgers are consistent... I expect that the next 1/4-lber. w/ cheese I eat will be exactly like one I got in 6th grade. Burber King burgers are kinda, "eh, whatever."

But this Sonic burger is different. Here's how...

I can tell it was made with love. And that, my friends, is why Sonic is "America's Drive-In."

Friday, January 07, 2005

Buh, buh, buh!!!! uh!

There is a very specific category (I wonder if the Brits say "ca-TEG-or-ee") of human beings who have this need to include not only effect, but also cause in EVURRY LITTUL THING THEY TELL ME. I call these people "suckthelifeoutofmes." Me, I just have to talk and get things off my chest and bore you with the mundane details of my life, but these people do that, then tell me why.

So, if we're ever speaking and you tell me a fact, I will probably pretty well be engaged in our conversation. If you so much as say the word "because" without my asking "why," I apologize for the inevitable wincing you will see in my face. It's nothing personal... well it is, but I don't mean for it to be. Forgive me in advance, and try to consolidate.


Did it again. Hang on, I've gotta go shave. Back in a bit.

Not sure i have anything to say...

... but I see you all. This whole blogging business was to have been therapeutic, or so I was told by more than one of you, and now I feel this pressure, this unforgiving pressure to post every single day.

So, I am posting but I'm not sure I have anything to say. So I am literally going to say exactly what comes into my head, and not be too concerned about it making sense... kinda like Larry Munson's "Insight on Sports" without the growl, or like shower-sitter Ellen S. all the time, minus the boobs.

I found out that someone I really think is cute is Jewish, and that made me smile. What made me smile more was when I saw her eat a piece of pepperoni off of a pizza. Birth control is a mind-boggling thing for me. I don't take it, it just really screws with my head. I was busted text messaging someone at the game tonight by the person running event management. Guess how he busted me... he text messaged me "Hi from the scorer's table."

(Inserting new paragraph just because)

If Spike hugs me one more time I'm going to take off my pants and hump his leg. Beer should taste better than it does. Everyone should see Napoleon Dynamite and believe in it. I am going to start wearing yellow and green more often. I am tired of living by myself. I want a job that does not require me to wear a tie, but encourages me to wear clothes. Everytime I think about the fact that my mother thinks the word "license" is plural, I laugh, and sometimes I belly laugh.

"Honesty (everybody sing) is such a lonely word." Although I don't know that everything that isn't honest is necessarily dishonest. Just as there is a difference between not being sure and being "unsure." One day, computers are going to be very important. Can you believe we're talking about terabytes now? If most of the people I know have a blog and can respond to mine or IM me on a regular basis, does that mean we can't hang out? If we do, what ever are we going to talk about?

I think I might start telling girls I have crush on them, and when they say "Really," I'll say, "Nah, i'z just messin' wif ya." Apple and Comcast have a brilliant marketing thing going, independent of each other. I'm concerned that IM language shortcuts might ruin the written word. ;-) I'm not watching TV anymore and I'm not sure why, but I feel behind. I met someone yesterday who is taking Noassitol.

I got my hair buzzed yesterday and it looks remarkably mediocre... whelming at best. Bad habit of late... getting out of the shower, putting my clothes on, getting online, then realizing I haven't shaved. I am finding out that I have some pretty serious Pavlovian reactions to certain sounds. I wonder if there is a cool part of town in Nashville where you can sit and have a nice cup of coffee and just enjoy being with someone you care about like there is in Athens, complete with cool small town scenery.

A girl of whom I am very fond said the following to me by IM yesterday: "You're different." I asked how. She said, "I don't know, but you are." I think that's good, and wish it was good enough. Did you ever check your email, knowing good and well that the email you wanted to be there wasn't going to be? I am getting tired of people asking me if I will remember them when I'm famous. So please pass along to everyone that I'm not going to be famous unless my kid falls into a well or I am wrongly accused of a crime that grabs the attention of local news and a DA with an itchy trigger finger and political ambitions. Run-on sentences suck. Also sentences with no verb.

I have finally realized that my habit of watching the last 10 laps of a NASCAR race with the sound down and John Adams' "Short Ride in a Fast Machine" blaring is just flat-out retarded. I look forward to continuing that. I dreamed that Loretta Lynn had brain cancer, and I'm really glad she doesn't. I have been getting mad at several of my friends lately because of things they have done in my dreams. The solution? Stop taking advantage of me in my dreams.

And lastly, one of my favorite people of all time gave me this quote the other day: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, margarita in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming--'WOOHOO what a ride!'" That's why she's that.

Perhaps I will make more sense tomorrow.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


If I could, I would spend the rest of my life in the shower. I really see only two major problems with this.

1. The logistics of a social life. Let's just say that all relationships would move very quickly.
2. Wrinkles.

On second thought, that's a bad idea. Breathe deep everyone. I will continue to shower once or twice a day, but pledge to you that I will not so much as think of sitting down and getting comfortable.


After seeing tonight's orange bowl halftime show with Ashleeee Simpson and reviewing the responses to my previous entry, I would like to amend the previous entry as follows:

"I think pop music expletiving sucks a$%."


Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Eureka (not the city or the vacuum cleaner)

I have this terrible sense of insecurity and guilt buried deep in my soul. I have been trying to figure out the source of this guilt for the better part of 31 years, and I finally have found it.

I like pop music.

Not so much the Ashlee Simpson type, though I must admit I like a lot of her songs, and that knowledge is causing me several physical symptoms, including a nasty case of gout which I won't describe any further. But I was cleaning my house (do not laugh) last night with the door open (it's rather balmy in Athens right now, parenthetically speaking of course) and running my iPod through my dinosaur stereo in the den. What selection did I play after my current "theme songs?" "Sailing" by Christopher Cross, the live version. And when the band kicked in, I smiled and said "yeah."

One might think I should keep this to myself, but I am not going to apologize for who I am anymore.

I am a pop music lover. Take me or leave me.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Change, openness (if that's a word), etc.

I hate to be so thinky all the time on this blog, but most anyone knows that I have a one-track mind and can't help but tell more of the truth than is often to my advantage.

I am amazed that I'm still okay with all of this but I am. It still just feels right. Yes, it was tough encountering all of those "lasts" and a bit tough to hold it together when someone came and told me what I meant to them. But I haven't been sorry at any point.

I also began to think about the first thing I'm going to work on before I leave, and that is being "open..." or not attempting to dictate the world around me or being picky about the way that reality chooses to present itself. I found in my very early attempts to do this that it made me comfortable. I found a lot more in people that was of benefit to me than I had chosen to see before. I'm going to try to keep that up, because I felt so much better around people when that was the case.

And I'm going to try to deal with the fact that life has changed in more ways than this one. Frankly, everyone knows now that I'm leaving and may be tempted to let me be because they may believe that I don't have anything else to offer them in the all-too brief time I have left in the place I have felt most at home. I hope that doesn't happen, but it's likely to. Just another one of the tragedies of being true to yourself.

Remember.... I ain't gone yet.