Volsequoyah*

poke her knight...

2005-05-18T19:51:00.001-05:00

It starts as usual with a friendly lynching from a tree. This is how we begin everything in Arkansas. I don't have all the answers. I just follow tradition. Tuesday nights have recently become poker nights at the Baribeau Ranch, and since I am a member of the infamous A.I.M. (Architecture Intern Mafia, a.k.a. Architects who Instant Message...alot) I feel obligated to attend. Not that it is a huge strain on my schedule or anything. I pretty much show up for anything that starts with a hanging, even on week nights. This particular one needed help from a professional, so obviously I offered my skills with a rope.

The other Chris is not a professional.

After many failed attempts at setting the loop on a branch, the other Chris reluctantly bestowed upon me the responsibility of getting this party started, to use the parlance of our time. No big deal though, seeing as how I've hung plenty of people, this one should be a breeze. I successfully set the loop on the third attempt. I then gently placed the noose around Lance's neck. He volunteered, I swear. He was that dedicated to this thing.

They all wanted this thing to happen so badly.

The onlookers began to get excited. I started to wonder if this mob would get to witness the lynching they so deserved to see? After all, they had traveled for several quarters of a mile to attend. The tree looked weak, but we had faith in it. We couldn't let the kids down.

They call this 'failure'.

As soon as it began, this party came to a crashing halt...literally. We had just finished kicking the stump from beneath our victim's feet when the branch gave way under the intense weight. It smashed to the ground suddenly, nearly killing a dog in the process. Lance sat there staring at the debris in disbelief. Meanwhile, the crowd quietly filed into the house to partake in some serious food and libations. They needed something to take their mind off of the sadness, something tasty, something dead, something covered in cheese and placed between two buns. That pretty much narrowed it down to hamburgers. Pretty much.

From the left: Hope, Knitting, Boredom, and a Wal-Mart Flush.

After the royal stuffing of our faces, we decided to continue with the poker night, despite the fact that it was no longer official from lack of pre-game execution. Unfortunately, what little enthusiasm that still existed from the burgers was quickly lost in a simple game of cards. There was something in the air, an emotion, which had taken over the room. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I'm thinking it had to do with the fact that one person had quit the poker game in exchange for two knitting needles and some thread. It was complete and utter boredom. I had seen it once before, when some friends and I attempted to play Trivial Pursuit: The Accounting Edition.

Raise? On a queen and an eight? They must be joking.

I tried to spice up the night by obviously cheating everyone out of several hands. I discovered that a translucent glass table and a tiny digital camera with the right exposure settings can be a healthy combination for a successful card game. I was quickly outed and there was a slight ruckus for several seconds, but the hum-drum mood came back with the quickness.

It was getting late, and I had work in the morning. I decided the only way to do my duty as a card carrying member of A.I.M. was to leave with style. I had to do something that would light a fire under these people's asses, even if it were after my departure. But all I could think of was to leave my empty beer bottle on the table along with a nice little mustard stain. Also, I took a dump in the grill. I'm sorry Chris.

los extraños están en efecto completo...

2005-05-16T00:10:00.000-05:00

The beauty of sitting near a window at work is that I can completely distract myself with the activities of the neighborhood. While mindlessly drafting details of aluminum composite wall systems, I concoct insane stories in my mind about the Mexican family that lives across the street. Most of the time they seem fairly normal, normal to most people who would consider themselves normal. I do not consider myself normal.

As I'm typing this, the family, who I've nicknamed The Extraños, has just awoken from its slumber. The padre has pulled an old 70's model yellow lawnmower out of the garage, started it, and put it in front of the madre who has proceeded to begin mowing the lawn. She's a tiny gal, no more than 100 lbs. It is not surprising that she's having quite a bit of trouble pushing the narrow wheels of the mower through the rough terrain. One of the hijos just appeared at the front door. I say "one of" because I'm still not quite sure how many hijos live in the house. Its very difficult to tell, but so far I'm at two hijos and an hija. This particular hijo is at least 16 because he has a car, and he's no small fry. He's a very long fry as a matter of fact, one of those fries you get that hangs all the way out of the box and out the top of the bag. I thought for a second that he would take over for madre on the lawnmower, but instead he's following her around holding a cell phone in her face like she's got a call. Well, it was apparent five minutes ago that she did not want to talk on the phone. She wanted to cut grass. Hijo has been persistent with the phone thing though and is still following her around holding the phone, tugging at his baggy jeans to keep them clear of grass stains. All the while, the padre is using a weed-eater to remove the tall grass that has grown up around the abandoned cars in the front yard.

I watch this family obsessively throughout the day, afraid that I'll miss the climax of a story that I'm not quite sure exists. They're one of only a few remaining families living on the street. My office is located in a neighborhood of old houses which have all been slowly converted to businesses such as law firms, catering services, and child psychology clinics. As interesting as those places sound, they do not provide the quality of entertainment that the Extraños do. These places operate on a similar schedule as my office. Workers show up in the morning, go to lunch around noon, take the occasional smoke break, and then leave in the late afternoon. I can't get interested in this.

The Extraños seem to operate on an entirely different schedule than the rest of the world. Just the other day, I watched as the padre parked a small grill on the front porch and began grilling some sort of meat. This was at 9:00 AM. On any other day, these people do not emerge from their house until at least 11:00 AM. This guy was grilling legs of a recently killed animal for an early breakfast. There was one thought that I couldn't get out of my head. Why haven't I heard their dogs barking from the back yard lately? Now, I'm not accusing anyone of eating their dogs, I'm just pointing out a strange coincidence.

The couple that lived in that house before the Extraños had somewhere between eight and twelve dogs, depending on the day of the week. Half of them lived in the back yard, the other half lived inside with the family. I could only imagine what the inside of the house smelled like. Normally, a white family with that many dogs in Arkansas means you have yourself a Jerry Springer episode just waiting to happen. This wasn't the case here, as these folks seemed to behave themselves somewhat. They were obviously unemployed though. They spent the majority of their time taking the inside dogs out to the front yard to do their business one at a time. So basically throughout my day I had the pleasure of watching the little doggy poop parade, single file.

When that couple moved out about 4 months ago, I was worried that the next family would have jobs and the house would sit empty all day. I hoped everyday that the next family would be unemployed, convicted criminals with visits from the occasional parole officers now and then, something to keep me entertained. Little did I know that the first hint of new hope was right there on that little white sign that read "Mi Casa Realty"

'peace' like five times rapid fire...

2005-05-12T15:02:00.000-05:00

I have an intense twitch in my left eye today. I wonder whether my boss could see the twitch while I talked to him at his desk. He probably thinks I'm on a heavy dose of meth or something. My hair is pretty messed up, I'm unshaven, my eyes are red, I'm walking with a slight limp, and I'm wearing the same clothes as a couple of days ago. I also think I slightly smell like bug spray and I'm a little more talkative than usual. I guess these chopped up rubber bands separated into tiny, color coordinated piles on my desk might seem a little odd too.

there is no life i know to compare with pure imagination...

2005-05-11T10:30:00.000-05:00

This morning I considered buying tickets to the Cubs game online. The problem is I'm a 10 hour drive away and the game is at 1:20 PM today. There's a direct flight from XNA that I can make if I hurry. The flight is only an hour and a half. That would give me plenty of time to get to Wrigley and make it in time for part of the first inning.

According to RTA, and for a mere two dollars, I could just take the Blue Line from O'Hare to Addison. Then I can take bus 152 eastbound and arrive at Addison and Clark by 1:26 PM. I'll probably just stay here and work though.

I daydream way too much.

an unillustrated guide to self induced general discomfort...

2005-05-09T20:43:00.000-05:00

I'd like to begin this discussion by simply pointing out that there exists in Fayetteville a band by the name of (hold your applause) Anal Blast. I just thought I'd bring that up for discussion. If you don't have any comments about that, there's something wrong with you, like maybe you can't read. I said someone named their band ANAL BLAST! And you wonder why I love this town so much.

As I sit here and write this, I'm sweating. Not because I'm nervous that some ass-raping freak will stumble upon my blog after Googling anal+blast, but because it is hot in the attic today. That's where I typically blog from, a finished-out attic space above my house. We turned it into a studio space of sorts and it can be pretty cozy when the temperature is milder. It got a little warm outside today, so now the heat is transferring from the roof straight into the house. We have air conditioning, but I guess we are being cheap and we'll wait until someone passes out before we'll turn it on. Until then, we will all have swamp ass. In case you don't know what I'm talking about because you live in a colder climate or have no sweat glands, swamp ass is the condition when one's sweat glands around the buttocks and genitals become overactive due to heat that gets built up inside of the clothing. It causes much discomfort when doing everyday things such as walking in jeans, riding in a car after walking through a large parking lot, or simply just watching television while sitting on a suede couch. This condition is similar in discomfort yet is not to be confused with what is known as mud butt.

I'm stopping here because I have this insatiable urge to start writing about the many changing ecosystems of the human anus. Nobody wants that.

sometimes you wanna go where everybody looks the same...

2005-05-08T11:54:00.000-05:00

There's a bar in Fayetteville called On The Rocks. It is the most frightening experience to be had in town for certain, but I'll save that discussion for a later date.

What do I do when I feel like posting something but don't actually feel like writing? I post old photos of random crap. Today I've chosen Andrijana's birthday at On The Rocks as the random crap topic. I look sauced in these pictures.

We're obviously the coolest people here. Shit!

Could Philip's behavior be any more disgusting? And the answer is YES.

2005-05-06T17:04:00.000-05:00

The squirrels are coming.

i hate the kids...

2005-05-05T08:43:00.000-05:00

I must have ate like four strawberry cupcakes last night. They had cream cheese icing, what the heck was I supposed to do? My friend Kim made strawberry cupcakes at my house last night while the rest of the gang watched South Park. It sounds strange out of context, but trust me, it was nothing unusual. Kim's entire life could be viewed with absolutely no context and still make about as much sense. She was born, she snuck out of her house to give her boyfriend some pixie-stix, she married him and had a baby, she threw up in my driveway, she made strawberry cupcakes, the end. Actually, that makes quite a bit of sense.

Truth be told, I think my life makes even less sense when laid out in that fashion. With another year of it gone by a few days ago, I've realized that 26 means nothing except that I'm just getting older from here on out. Turning 16 was the driving thing, turning 18 was the chewing tobacco thing (and subsequently the cancer rotting the jaw off thing), turning 21 was the drinking, hotel room renting, and official adulthood thing, and finally turning 25 was the lower car insurance and ability to rent a car thing. Now what? Twenty-freaking-six, what the hell? I'll just keep 25 for a little while, thank you. If you're really old (and you know who you are) and you're reading this, I can read your mind at this moment. You're about to say something like "26 isn't old...that's young...blah blah blah" right? Well, I'm curious to know if you thought 26 was young when you hit that age? Ok, well actually I don't care to hear your answer, so keep it to yourself. I don't like hearing old people talk. Your breath smells like moth balls.

Yesterday, I was definitely feeling old though. We had a "job-shadow" kid from the local junior high school following us around at the office. I know now for a fact that I am no longer "hip" to the youngsters. I tried chatting with the kid. It was difficult. The only thing I knew enough about to hold a conversation on was a video game called Halo. I was feeling pretty cool talking about strategies of the game and how I've played it once at a friend's house while linked up on the internet, tournament style and all that nerdy stuff. Apparently though, this was not cool enough. I was quickly informed of just how uncool I actually was because I hadn't been aware that he was talking about Halo 2 the entire time. Halo 2? Damn it! I mean, uh...yea, I've seen it. But I've been too busy driving my CAR in REAL LIFE to play it! Yea! Take that, you little 8th grader!

I find joy in belittling the youth. Does anyone have a breath mint?

boom...

2005-04-29T13:17:00.000-05:00

Holy mother of Schiavo, it has been a long time since I updated this thing. I don't even know where to start. Oh, wait. Yes I do.

Begin spew! (events taken from my new daily journal)

I thought I had a hairline fracture in my wrist from bowling or something, but it turned out I was just a pansy. I slept through my alarm a few weeks ago and ended up being almost two hours late for work and nobody cared. I tried to grow my hair out a little longer, but that only lasted about a month. Bloody neck hair. I drove my old truck through several tanks of gas this month. My car was in the shop because it is a "low-rider" and apparently things like busted oil pans just seem to happen to pimped-out cars such as mine. I blamed it on poor road conditions. I have yet to receive my claim form from the city. I was lucky enough to have a Brown Recluse jump into my lap while I was driving my truck on the interstate. There was a bit of swerving involved, but no one was injured. I drove Natalie's Jeep after that incident. I saw David Sedaris at Walton Arts Center. After his show, I got to meet him and he signed my book "I wish you were MY architect." Fag. I love that guy. I realized earlier this week that I need to stop hitting the snooze button for an hour each morning and just get up instead. So far I'm still doing it, but I'm so close to stopping. So close. On Wednesday, April 13th, I ate tuna sandwiches and guacamole for dinner. This is the first time in the history of human existence that those two foods have been combined for a single meal. I worked on a lot of boring code research at work. Code books piss me off. Going to work to find out I have to do code research is like taking a drink of something you thought was your favorite soda only to discover it was in fact a refreshing glass of loose stool. Speaking of poo, my friend Kim had a birthday and we threw her a party. Some funny stuff happened at the end of the night, but if I go any further on this topic, she might not be my friend much longer. I made her a CD to play during her birthday party. It was titled "Butt Rock and Mulletude 101: 101 Songs To Make You Rock Out With Your Cock Out". I spent days working on it, and it was so worth it. No one can resist Twisted Sister. Many of you already know of my hatred of birds. Recently however, I decided that baby ducks are alright. I had a dream a few nights ago that Natalie and I moved into an apartment that I use to live in like four years ago. It was freakin' sweet. The swimming pool that was once filled with dirt was back and in full effect. There were hot tubs and waterfalls connecting to it. And also, my neighbors didn't suck this time. The funniest thing about all of this was that we just moved our stuff into the apartment without asking. It could have been rented out already, but we didn't seem to care too much. We just took a chance that they would hand us a lease once we were moved in. Dreams are fun.

End spew!

As a side note to all of this randomness, I'm taking my first business trip this weekend. Even though it is only to the exotic city of Hot Springs, Arkansas, I'm still excited to spend someone else's money on what is basically just a trip to my mom's house. I'm going down there to verify existing conditions on a tenant finish-out project we're doing for an investment firm. On my way back, I might just blow through Little Rock to see a Travs game or something and maybe see how tha brotha's is doin' back in tha old B-World hood, yo. Peace.

and in a cloud of disappointing bliss...

2005-04-20T11:45:00.000-05:00

I can't keep up with this blog thing these days. I don't know what it is lately. Maybe it has to do with my new spring strategy of staying off the computer as much as possible. I've been doing this so that I'll do other, more physical things with my free time instead. I guess this strategy doesn't work well for someone trying to maintain an up-to-date blog. I wonder how many calories 5 minutes of blogging will burn?

freedom fuel...

2005-04-08T08:40:00.000-05:00

I think it's time for the weekly update.

The top news story around here is that I cracked a hole in the oil pan
on my Jetta. Never fear, the local Euro-car mechanic is on the case.
He should have it replaced by this afternoon, just in time for a
lovely weekend of driving. I plan on burning several gallons of
gasoline when I get it back, which is now on the endangered liquid
list. Fun fuel isn't free. No, there's a hefty fee to be certain.
Or is it freedom that isn't free? Freedom, fuel...same thing.

This Monday I'm going to the WAC to see my favorite writer, David Sedaris. I've read almost everything he has ever written, but right now I'm in a mad rush to finish ALL of it over the weekend. I am by far not the reading type, so this is a really big deal for me. This is also most likely the reason why I haven't posted anything to this blog in a week. I can only command a few extracurricular activities at a time, and if reading a book is one of them, count me out of everything else.

Speaking of extracurricular activities, Eric and I went to the driving
range last weekend. I learned that I need practice and that I also
need more physical activity in general. I woke up sore the next day
like someone had kicked me in the ribs repeatedly. It reminded me of
an email conversation I had with my friend Posey about an imaginary
gay bar in Las Vegas called The Driving Range. I guess you can
probably wake up feeling sore the next day after going there too if
you aren't careful.

Besides reading a book, driving my car, and the usual Wang Chung this weekend, I'll be watching lots of baseball again. The Hogs take on Vanderbilt in a three game series. I can't get enough of it. It's in the blood. Laugh it up, go ahead. They sure did on the new episode of South Park last night. It was a really funny episode about how the children hated playing baseball so much that they tried to lose all of their games just so they wouldn't have to keep playing in the tournaments. Stan's dad was one of those violent dads that cursed and fought opposing team dads. Ah, the memories. I don't ever remember not wanting to play baseball though. I was very serious about it until I got older and started playing with people that were even more serious than I was. But I still love the game.

The basement flooded Tuesday night. I was trying to do laundry at the
time. The washing machine is in the basement. The water wouldn't
drain out of the washer because of the flooding so I forced it out and
manually carried buckets of water out the back door. I had to do it.
I REALLY needed to do laundry. I was on the last pair, know what I
mean?

Highlight of the week: I fixed my flashlight last night.

hey, kids...

2005-04-05T15:13:00.000-05:00

Rock with the Aqueduct tonight on NBC's Last Call with Carson Daly. And yes, Carson Daly is in fact a massive tool.

success dependent on chance...

2005-03-30T17:08:00.000-06:00

Last night's show at JR's turned out to be much more socially arousing than I had expected. While the bands were all great (Woods Afire, The Prayers and Tears of Arthur Digby Sellers, and The Mountain Goats), I couldn't quite focus on the second half of the show. This was after I had gone to the bathroom to relieve some excruciating bladder pressure. I had done so with an unknown partner of course, as you must often do in a piss trough situation such as it was. While I washed my hands, the stranger who stood next to me in my private moment of waste removal suddenly walked out, and without washing his own hands I might add. Catching the door before it slammed shut were two noisome frat-esque boys who proceeded to ask me what took "us" so long in the bathroom. One of them even said "You two weren't in here yankin' each other's puds were ya?" I ignored their comments, giving them a blank stare while I dried my hands with the last two paper towels. Ignoring people who are quite obviously desperate for attention isn't always the best idea. Especially when they're twice your size and have a penchant for picking fights with queers. I tried to walk out, but the talkative one grabbed my arm and asked why I wasn't in the mood for a laugh. I think I might have crossed the proverbial line when I said, "I didn't hear anything funny." In moments like this, my mouth says whatever my brain thinks would be the most entertaining response before it actually rationalizes the entirety of the situation and then realizes the inevitable repercussions. I walked out of the bathroom with my face still arranged properly. I had stunned them. It wouldn't last long. I knew that as soon as they finished at the trough, they would come looking for me. I stayed close to the bar like a child on roller skates for the first time, clinging to the outer wall of the rink. An old co-worker from my short stint at a popular chain of import stores suddenly approached me out of nowhere. I hadn't seen this guy in almost a year. He's not even from here. He lives in some other town. What the hell was this guy doing here? He doesn't like this type of music or this type of bar. Either way, this is where my luck suddenly turns around. I don't make a habit of considering myself lucky very often. When good things happen to me, I usually blame it on things like the fact that I'm just totally awesome or that "I'm just that good." But this time...this was luck, pure and simple. You see, this guy that sought me out through the crowd just to say hello, this guy that I truly don't consider a friend but simply an acquaintance or as I said before "an old co-worker", yea...he just so happens to be best friends with Mister and Mesdames Pud Yanker. How did I know this? Because when they found me in the crowd, grabbed me and spun me around to get a clean punch at my jaw, they noticed I was having a friendly chat with their bestest little redneck buddy. After a few exchanges of "I was about to kick your ass, dude." and "no, I was about to kick YOUR ass, dude." one of the guys leaned in close to me, turning his eyes away like he was looking for the cops and said "you want to go party?" I immediately said no thanks. "Party" in frat language, and especially with that body language, means let's go do something illegal that might permanently affect our health. No, thanks. I get enough of that while watching television. Then I stood there pretending to listen to the band as I watched the three wankers walk up the stairs and out the front door together. I had to verify with my friends that they indeed would have got my back if the situation had turned nasty. Of course they responded with a resounding yes, but that's easy for them to say now. The threat had left the building. I left the building too eventually, with my jaw intact and my luck laying somewhere on the stained industrial carpet next to the bar.

what in the wide, wide world of sports is going on here...

2005-03-27T23:50:00.000-06:00

Ok, maybe I like baseball a little too much. Maybe I'm crazy for sitting out in the freezing rain only to watch my Hogs go down two games to one this weekend. I did begin questioning my behavior while sitting amongst only a handful of people this afternoon, slightly damp, covered in blankets, and shivering in the cold, all to watch some dudes toss a ball around and adjust their junk repeatedly. But that's what everyone should do occasionally. No, not adjust their junk, I mean they should stop and question what they are doing. I did it, and I realized something about myself. I enjoy adjusting my junk...and I like baseball more than the average person, and I'm OK with that. It's a simple, honest pleasure that I can enjoy legally and without risk of catching anything other than maybe a cold or a foul ball.

2005-03-22T20:09:00.000-06:00

Apparently the "No Public Dumping" sign with threats of a $500 fine was not enough to keep the locals from abusing the oh so popular, easy to access Putman Street dumpster. My neighbors have resorted to using some creative, albeit slightly unorthodox and overly logical, thinking to create what they hope will keep entire living room sets from mysteriously filling their trash receptacle every night. Unfortunately this method backfired a few nights ago when the unknown furniture dumpers instead used the garbage guard ghoul itself to fill the dumpster.

to the sunrise and the sunset the master and his servant have exactly the same fate...

2005-03-18T09:24:00.000-06:00

Getting up before the sun is like visiting a foreign country. I was supposed to take Natalie to the airport this morning, but her flight was cancelled. We didn't find out until right before we were about to leave the house. So there I was, showered, dressed for work, and nowhere to go. I sat around the house for awhile wondering when stores and restaurants opened, but then out of frustration I decided to just start driving. I took my time, going the long way whenever I could, and then I stopped at the deli for some breakfast. At the deli, everyone kept giving me weird looks, like "who's this guy, where's he from, and who told him he could be up this early?" Anytime I venture out this early in the morning, it always seems like everyone is staring at me. Then I grabbed a cinnamon roll, strawberry yogurt, and a milk, and dashed for the register. I couldn't tell you one word the checkout lady said to me, but I think it involved something about a penny. Was it English? I didn't care. I had my breakfast and she couldn't take it away from me. I took the food with me and decided I'd go to work really early and eat at my desk while reading the newspaper online. On my way there, it seemed like there had been some changes to the official Arkansas state driving laws that I had yet to be informed of. I was honked at twice and received a gracious bounty of dirty looks. Was I on the wrong side of the road? I know I was sitting on the correct side of the car. After getting to the office, I found out that apparently the internet doesn't open until eight o'clock, or somewhere around then. So I sat there eating my food while staring out the window watching the leaves blow in the street. When the internet finally came back on around eight, I read for a while and noticed everyone was late for work. I started working on a project and then nine o'clock rolled around and still there was no sign of anyone showing up today. I began questioning the clock on my computer and comparing it to my cell phone and every other clock in the office. Was there some change in the office hours today? Was this something else that I was not informed of? Better yet, did I even have to work today? Keep dreaming, Chris. Just as I had made a mental list of all the fun things I could do on my day off, everyone arrived. No explanation was given. I just assumed it was a Friday thing. Production is always severely tranquilized on an American Friday. But as everyone creeped into the office with that morning zombie walk, I suddenly felt as though I had the advantage today. I was awake before them, I had breakfast, I made it to work early, and I was already elbow deep in a drawing. Yes, today will be different. Today is the day that will be forever known as the day I woke up early.

they throw a good sound...

2005-03-16T10:53:00.000-06:00

Music. That's what happened last night at JR's Lightbulb Club. And it was good. My friend Po drove up from B-World last night, making the dangerous trek across rural Arkansas just to see a couple of great bands, Calla and the French Kicks. Even after the insanity that is sometimes known as mid-term critiques, Natalie took time out of her busy schedule to join us. That's how cool these bands are.

Calla

French Kicks

French Kicks

French Kicks

"the terror of tiny town" was the first all-midget western...

2005-03-15T13:31:00.000-06:00

Everything has a damn computer in it. I heard a rumor today about a mishap with Lexus. Their cars come with Bluetooth technology and the geniuses decided that it was a good idea for the cars to come "equipped", meaning the Bluetooth comes activated on the car. Not surprisingly, they began having problems with the cars getting viruses. This rumor actually turned out to be false. But just imagine what could happen if your car could get a computer virus. I could be going 70 mph down the interstate and the driver's seat could reset its position from my personal settings to that of a tiny midget with a gimp left arm.

I don't drive a Lexus (nor do I have automatic seat settings), and my car doesn't have a virus, but it does have a psychotic computer. If you've been reading along to the lame story-of-my-life that is this blog, you know that I thought I had some kind of sensor out on my car. It turns out that my car is actually a hypochondriac. It is working just fine. It pretended to be sick and went into "limp" mode which is like safe mode in Windows. It was trying to prevent me from further damaging anything, but in reality there was nothing wrong to begin with. My mechanic reset the computer and now all is well. If my car was a person, I'd slap it around a bit and tell it to stop acting like such a pussy. But it's not a person. It's a car. And I'd never slap a car.

There's an unwritten rule in parking lots, street sides, driveways, and garages across the world. You never touch another man's car. I've always followed this rule. I'm careful when I open my doors in a parking lot, not just to avoid damage to my own car, but to avoid denting others. You all know that some folks just didn't get the unwritten memo on this. Wait...what? I could go on and on about people who I've seen slam their car doors into the side of my car or the people who have used my side mirror or my bumper to prop their shopping carts on. But the perplexing moments are when I walk to my car to find someone just leaning on it, or using the hood to write something on a piece of paper, or just touching it in general (stop touching my car please, sir). It happens. It happens to my car way too much. But get this...I walked out to my car this morning, which was parked on the street in front of my own house, to find some little high school dude PICKING at the trunk like it had boogers on it or something. He was casually scraping the gap between the trunk and the tail light with his fingernails like he was flaking off paint or some dead skin from a sun burn or something, while at the same time staring up the street like he was waiting on a bus. The paint was fine. This kid's brain was not.

Me: "Can I help you?"

Dude: "No. I'm waiting on a friend."

Me: "Can you go wait somewhere else then?"

Dude: "You don't have to be rude about it."

Me: "I just don't like people touching my car."

Dude: "I wasn't touching your car."

Me: "Yea, ok. I didn't just see you picking at the trunk. What was that?"

Dude: "Pfff, whatever dude."

People shouldn't deny their car picking habits. The first step is recognizing the problem. The second step is eradicating it.

That's Fayetteville for you though. There's always some rando dude doing something completely strange. This weekend while Natalie was pouring concrete on the front porch for a school project, some rando hippy just walked up out of nowhere and asked her what she was doing. After she explained it, he didn't say a word. He just took a seat on our front porch and lit a cigarette. I came downstairs and saw some long-haired hippy lingering in my yard. I laughed at first, then I started thinking about how truly absurd this image was. I walked outside and gave him my usual unhappy with the situation look. He soon left, but not before telling me his name was Fred. Well, good for you Fred. You managed to waste an hour of your day sitting near people, not making any friends in the process, but still giving me at least another paragraph to blog about. Thanks, dude.

it starts thursday as usual with the canteen quiz and again no one wins the big cash prize...

2005-03-13T16:32:00.000-06:00

I sometimes find myself going to places solely to watch other people. It's way better than television. Like last night I went to Brewski's with some friends. I grabbed a beer and quickly found a booth, sliding into the seat against the wall so that I could face the front door and the rest of the bar. The best seat in any place is always the one facing the front door. As the night went on, I noticed that I really wasn't doing anything other than casually conversing with friends and watching everyone else that was there. Even our conversations were about the other people in the bar. I saw lots of people doing lots of things last night, none of which was too memorable, but I still cataloged it all in my head.

I watched my friend Anna, who works at the bar, chase after some guys that were too drunk to realized they walked out without paying. I saw a girl dressed just like Cindy Lauper. I commented on her attire, then it turned out she knew one of my friends and sat down with us. So then I had Cindy Lauper at my table. I thought I knew Cindy, but it turns out I didn't. I saw a girl with huge breasts popping out of her tiny shirt. I saw the same girl constantly tug at her shirt to keep those bad boys under control. I watched as some guy at the bar slowly lost all of his friends to other groups of friends. After realizing he no longer had anyone to talk to, he began looking around the room with this look that said "where did all my friends go...oh, there's a few over there...oh, and there's some more of them talking to those other people...well, I'm cool just sitting here alone...totally cool with this...just watching soccer...no big deal...totally cool." I saw a girl put her hands on her ass and shake it up and down for seemingly no reason at all. I watched as another girl repeatedly rubbed her ass on my friend's shoulder, also for seemingly no reason at all. Each time she did it, she would turn around and apologize, sometimes hugging my friend as if that was her motive all along. I saw several of my friends passing through the bar. We waved at each other, exchanged hellos, then they continued moving along. I have no idea where any of them were going. They simply vanished into the crowd. I watched some guy use the table I was sitting at to write a girl's digits on the back of a receipt. A few strangers sat next to us at the table because the place was so crowded that people had resorted to sharing tables with strangers European style. I saw a girl spill a drink at our table, and then magically whip out a dry towel from nowhere and quickly clean it up. I have no idea where that towel came from. I was perplexed for a good 5 seconds. On my way to the restroom, I weaved in and out of a large group of people playing pool. There must have been like 15 or 20 guys with pool cues standing around two pool tables. I'm not sure what game they were playing, but with that many players it was sure to be complicated. In the restroom, I stood at a trough style urinal next to a guy that was whistling a song that did not in the least bit resemble the song playing over the speakers in the bathroom. On my way back to the table, everyone was staring at me. I thought I might have dribbled a bit of pee on my jeans or something. I checked when I sat down. The jeans were dry, but the zipper was half open. I'm sure no one noticed the zipper because of my blinding good looks and dashing style. Then the lights came on, and we were all ugly again.

archie was the bitch and jughead was the butch, that's why jughead wears that crown-looking hat all the time: he's the king of queen archie's world...

2005-03-11T08:43:00.000-06:00

While Natalie worked on school stuff late last night, I sat at my computer and read ghost stories to her from the internet. It was fun for awhile, then when I decided to go to bed I realized I had freaked myself out. I could hear every single noise both inside and outside of the house. Suddenly the rattling vent in my bedroom became the sound of someone walking through the house. The kids playing soccer on the high school football field became the sounds of lost children's souls trying to find someone to play with. The cat licking his butt at the foot of the bed became the sound of the walls bleeding. I worried myself to sleep. That's nothing unusual though. It's just normally not caused by thoughts of ghosts and apparitions. Natalie's parents have a haunted farm that I've stayed at before. I say "stayed" because I definitely don't sleep there. I just kind of stay there. Ghosts bother me. Ever walk into a room alone and feel the presence of another person, like a really cold feeling and the hair on the back of your neck stands up? That kind of thing happens to me alot. Am I a wuss for letting this bother me? Probably, but at least when some gangsta' spirit comes up behind me and tries to cut me, I'll be ready for him. I keep my eyes OPEN!

don’t be in love with the autograph, just be in love when you scream that song on and on...

2005-03-09T16:23:00.000-06:00

Poo.

It's like that first line you have to draw on a blank page to get past the mental block before beginning a drawing. "Poo" is what I use to battle what little Writer's Block I have. I don't usually have a problem with Writer's Block. I guess he's probably got bigger fish to fry. I mean, why bother someone who begins writing everything with the word poo?

My car is sick. Yes, Nubian Magic has a weak oxygen sensor, or possibly a broken mass air flow sensor. I don't know yet because I can't get her into the shop until Monday afternoon. I was going to Little Rock this weekend too. It's my friend's bachelor party weekend, but scratch that I guess. I don't trust my truck on a three hour trip either. I sure hate not having vehicular transport. I think I'll just go hippy this weekend and walk everywhere or just not leave the house. Sure, my truck can get me around town, but it seems more appropriate for me to just sit around and complain alot.

I guess I have to look on the bright side, the baseball stadium is within walking distance and the weather should be terrific this weekend. Nobody said I can't enjoy myself while my car is broken. It's another three game series starting tomorrow. Too bad I have to work all day tomorrow. I'd almost kick a puppy to have tomorrow off. I said almost.

po' folk cakes n shit...

2005-03-09T11:28:00.000-06:00

This cakes often appeared on tha Sunday dinna table trippin tha depression n tha war years so jus chiznill with the S-N-double-O-P. It's bizzle in some families fo` three generizzles . Bow wow wow yippee yo yipee yay . Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. Durn tha "olden days," many families could not afford tha luxury of tha traditizzles fruitcakes, so this recipe became tha popular Christmas fruitcakes of tha pizzy . Hollaz to the East Side.

1 cup cold D-R-to-tha-izzug deala
1 cup packed brizzay sugar
2 cups raisins
1/2 cup lard
1/2 teaspoon siznalt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon clockin soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven ta 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Lightly greaze one 9 x 13 inch pan fo sho.

Place cold crazy ass nigga briznown sugar, raisins, lard, siznalt, cinnamon, nutmeg, n cloves in a large saucepan so sit B-to-tha-izzack relax new jacks git smacked cuz its a G thang. Bring this combinizzles ta a boil. Ya F-to-tha-izzuck wit us, we gots ta fizzy you up fo' sheezy. Let cracka fo` a fizzy 6 minutes, thizzay allow mixture ta coo` ta lukewarm cuz its a G T-H-to-tha-izzang. Hollaz to the East Side. Set aside.

In smiznall ballin biznowl, combine flour n soda. Gradually add tha dry ingredients ta tha cooled mixture. Add vanilla, n blend into gangsta. Pizzy batta into prepared pan cuz its a G thang.

Bakes in tha preheated oven fo` 90 ta 120 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into tha centa of tha cakes comes out clean. Allow ta coo` upside yo heezee. Store fo` at least a wizzy before cizzay. This cakes will remain moist fo` months. One, two three n ta tha four.

Lata. Crazy Ass Nigga.

tulsa is a drama, and that's a genre i'm not particularly interested in...

2005-03-06T16:46:00.000-06:00

More baseball. That's all I have to say. Three more games this weekend and I'm pooped.

The mother came to visit, and so I obviously attempted to entertain. I did an "ok" job of it too. This morning was a little different though. She brought some movie that "I had to see" and I quickly learned that seeing it wasn't exactly a necessity like she said. I sat and watched the parts when people fought, were killed, and cursed alot (the good parts), then got up and went in the other room pretending to do something when the sappy, girly parts came on. I came back at the end and said "that was pretty good". Some movies are so predictable, and so are some people.

a saturday in fayetteville...

2005-02-27T16:46:00.000-06:00

I went to the Razorback baseball games this weekend. Today it rained on us and soaked every piece of clothing we had. It was fun though. Saturday was much better. Some friends and I staked our claim in the left field "Hog Pen" and cooked tons of food. Philip went all out with his brats, pork, and squash. Some other guys had duck wrapped in bacon with cream cheese, stuffed peppers, and an assortment of other goodies fit for a king. I even got the first bit of sunburn this year. It feels weird to have a tan in February. All in all, it was a good weekend for baseball though. The Hogs swept the Gophers in a three games to nothing series.

Baum Stadium is lovely.

This is Philip stroking his tenderloins.

After the baseball game we went to Sodie's to watch the end of the basketball game on TV.

semi-local indie pop band makes good...

2005-02-25T13:48:00.000-06:00

I feel obligated to tell everyone in the world this. One of my favorite bands, Aqueduct, will be on Conan O'Brian tonight at 11:35 Central Standard Time. Don't let them lie to you. They're not from Seattle. They're from Tulsa. And they rock hard.

delegates for our species...

2005-02-20T13:54:00.000-06:00

I’ve never been too fond of birds. Yes, like so many other things in life that I dislike or just down right hate, this distaste for birds is a direct result of a childhood experience. I was playing in my dad’s yard, on the side of the house where I probably shouldn’t have been, and sitting right there in front of me on the neighbor’s chain-link fence was a baby robin. It still had its little spots like a baby dear. It was crying and looked lonely. I wanted to hold it. I guess I thought it would just jump right onto my shoulder and whistle me a tune like in those Disney cartoons. I was wrong. When I approached it, it began screaming bloody murder. I decided that spending some quality time with this bird probably wasn’t such a great idea after all. Then out of nowhere its mother came diving from the tree above. It was a trap. This mother robin was using her child as bait, like an excuse to just drill a human’s skull. I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I had ever run before. I remember this because while running I thought to myself, “Wow. I’ve never run this fast before.” My instincts kicked in, and I headed directly for the front door of the house. Right before opening the door, I turned around to see how close the bird was to me. I don’t know why I did this, because I could distinctively hear the robin screaming as though she were somehow perched on both of my ear lobes. When I realized that she was in fact at about an arm’s length from my noggin, I quickly opened the front door and slammed it shut in her face. I remember thinking “What was that damn bird’s problem? I just wanted to make sure her kid was alright.” I guess birds are just so stupid and mean that they enjoy picking fights and stuff. Well, that was enough evidence for me. Birds were on my list.

I thought I would never get to enjoy any quality time with a bird for the rest of my life. It just wasn’t meant to be. Birds are an angry lot. They’re mad at the man, and for good reason. We chop down trees. I don’t personally chop down trees, but I’ve heard that it’s a pretty common occurrence. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve thought about chopping down a few trees. I’ve never acted on those emotions though. I think that fact should be considered by these birds before they just toss me into the category of your average, everyday human and peck out my eyes without any conversation.

Things all changed one summer day at the lake. While some friends and I were sitting on the tailgate of a truck at our campsite, an extremely obese crow began talking in the tree branch above us. He was apparently talking to another bird in a nearby tree. It seemed like a fairly interesting conversation between the two. It was obvious that they were friends and that they were very much accustomed to humans camping below them. I think the majority of the conversation had to do with a human’s relationship to his or her environment, the human acceptance of changing environmental variables, and how he/she invents certain new conditions in response to said changes, et cetera. My friend Larry decided it would be courteous of us to join in the conversation and be delegates for our species. I didn’t speak crow, but Larry knew enough to get by. It didn’t take long before I picked up on the language (it’s quite simple actually).

Here’s a direct partial transcript, not translated, of the discussion:

Obese Crow: “Caaaaw.”

Distant Crow: “Caw.”

Obese Crow: “Caaw. Caaw.”

Distant Crow: “Caaaaw.”

Larry: “Caw.”

Obese Crow: …

Larry: “Caw.”

Obese Crow: “Caaw?”

Me: “Did he just ask you a question?”

Larry: “Caaaw.”

Obese Crow: “Caaaw.”

Distant Crow: “Caaw.”

Larry: “Caw. Caw.”

Obese Crow: “Caw Caw.”

Me: “Caw?”

Distant Crow: “Caw.”

Me: “Ha ha!”

Larry: “Wow! He sure told you!”

This discussion went on for maybe another half an hour. I can’t remember exactly. It was a healthy discourse for certain. We all agreed to be more accepting of each other’s kind…well, at least tolerable of each other’s kind. I can honestly say that I have done nothing since then to harm, annoy, or just get in the way of any birds. I can’t say the same for all birds though. They regularly poop on me, but I think that pooping on a human directly might actually be a sign of friendship. Pooping on a human’s car means something different. The lesson here is that we should all be more open-minded when it comes to birds. You can hate the old ones all you want, just don’t mess with their kids.

...

Thanks for the story topics everyone.

what's right is right, what's wrong is wrong, now everybody dance to my chicken song...

2005-02-17T11:11:00.000-06:00

I can't quit you, Blogger, so sometimes I have to put you down for awhile. Why am I talking in Led Zeppelin lyrics? Anyway, I've been really busy lately. One of my bosses went to China for about a month to adopt a new daughter. I've taken over his work load and man is it ever a load. When a three man firm suddenly drops down to a two man firm, things get turned upside down quickly. I've managed to handle things so far, but as far as blogging goes...well, it's been put on the back burner. Valentine's Day got put on the other back burner as well. Don't say it. I already know I'm a terrible person. My mother called to tell me.

I wish there were more exciting things for me to discuss here. The weather has been beautiful lately, but I barely have time to notice. It was sunny and almost 70 degrees a few days ago, but the best I could do was rush home from work and sit on my back deck reading a book during the last 5 minutes of daylight.

Something's got to give soon. Maybe I'll win one of these trips to sunny Orlando and tickets to Disney World that I keep getting faxes about. I mean, do I really have to enter the drawing to win? Can't we have an essay contest or something. "Why I Deserve To Get Things For Free" - By Volsequoyah* has a nice ring to it. It would be a fascinating read, chocked full of lies and deceit. They don't have to know that I'm really not an 8 year old boy, starving to death, and drowning deeply beneath the surface of the poverty line in rural Mississippi.

I have an idea for my next post. I'm going to ask everyone else to give me a random topic to write about. I'm not going to tell you my approach to the topic. Just give me some suggestions, I'll pick my favorite one, and I'll make my next post entirely about that topic. And it won't take me a week to get around to it. I promise.

running her hands through my fro, bouncing on 24's...

2005-02-10T23:31:00.000-06:00

Have no fear! Aqueduct is here! No, for real. Tuesday night I saw my favorite indie popsters at JR's. It was pretty darn fun as usual. They haven't changed much since they signed on Barsuk Records, which is cool. I need to go up to Clunk and pick up their new record "I Sold Gold". Their old album and the new EP have been on heavy rotation in my disc changer and have become a morning commute tradition for me. I'm addicted to it. I have to have my daily dosage before work.

"Who wanna rock with tha Aqueduct? The ladies line up for tha Aqueduct!"

san diego, which of course in german means "a whale's vagina"...

2005-02-07T21:07:00.000-06:00

Drink orders, everyone?

I'll have 3 fingers of Glenlivet with a little pepper and some cheese. She'll have a Manhattan, kick the vermouth in the side with a pair of steel-toed boots.

Now, on to the conversation.

So...how about that Superbowl? Yea. I wasn't impressed.

Boy, this weather sure is strange. Yep. It's just plain annoying, I say.

Hmm.

Yep.

Ok, well...what do you say we just finish these drinks and leave. Yea, this place is dead anyway.

2005-02-04T15:04:00.000-06:00

Here's one of many shots I took at the Lucero show at the Dickson Theater last night. Ben was dressed like my grandpa again, in his thermals and a freebie trucker cap. Anybody who sings like that can wear whatever the hell they want. That's all I'm saying.

2005-02-02T12:39:00.000-06:00

It actually snowed like they said it would. Well, don't that just beat all...

2005-02-01T14:16:00.000-06:00

I apologize to anyone who might actually be upset that I haven't posted in awhile. To be quite honest, I just haven't felt like it. There hasn't been much to talk about lately. I drove down to Dallas and surprised my dad on his birthday a few weeks ago. That was pretty fun. Um...I watched my friend Posey spend some money at a local modern furniture store on Saturday. That was pretty cool. Yea, otherwise it's been fairly uneventful around here. I'm hoping for a major snow storm tonight, but it will probably only be enough to make it dangerous to drive on, but not dangerous enough to not go to work in. Damn you, El Nino or La Nina or El Pedro or whichever Mexican is in control of the weather these days. Bring me 3 feet of snow or bring me Summer. Quit messing around.

I've been trying to drink the recommended amount of water for my body weight every day, but I've found out that it is really hard to do. I'm supposed to drink between 60 and 70 ounces per day, but when I do my urine turns so clear that it is almost nonexistent. Isn't that bad for you? I don't know, but it makes me very unproductive at work. I have to go to the bathroom every half hour once I break the seal at about 10:00 AM. It's crazy.

just a southern bad-ass lookin for trouble...

2005-01-24T21:53:00.000-06:00

Hello. My name is Cecil. I'm a rescued cat from the mean streets of Fayetteville. I'm about one foot tall, 15 pounds in the winter, and...well, nevermind, I'm freaking huge. I enjoy long walks on Chris' face, sleeping all day, waking up at 11:00 PM to trash the house, taking a dump and then running from it like it's going to get me, trying to open doors without the use of thumbs, chirping like a bird, chasing invisible bugs, kicking water's ass (I hate that punk), and sharpening my claws on anything of value. I am most comfortable when I'm sleeping on Chris' clean and pressed work clothes. I am looking for companions (preferable with thumbs) that share my ultimate goal of world domination, or at least just want to eat everyone else in the house.

2005-01-21T18:58:00.000-06:00

I decided to do a little experimenting with my banner at the top of the page. I'll be changing it every so often to feed my creative hunger and show off some of my photography.

when you raised hell in the burger king because they stopped making those cardboard crowns...

2005-01-21T13:11:00.000-06:00

What is it with me and this alt-country-folk-sad-sappy-crap music? I went to see Ben Nichols (lead singer of Lucero) and Cory Branan last night. They basically just sat down with their guitars and played each other's songs. I couldn't stay for the entire set though. I'm an old man with a job. I had to get up early today and grease the wheels on my walker.

heal our land, spinauguration...

2005-01-20T09:45:00.000-06:00

I'm watching the stupid inauguration on CSPAN right now. I love CSPAN. There's no ridiculous commentary, just the sounds of old people waiting to hear some other old people talk. "Mildred wanted so badly to make it here today, but she broke her hip opening a jar of pear preserves. I just love Laura Bush. Just look at her. She's so beautiful. And I hear she's quite the housekeeper as well." Nazis. What?

Oh, and Mary Cheney walks like a man. Ok, I'm finished.

No wait, just kidding. There's more. I like how they've strategically placed a handful of black people right behind the singer so that when the cameras are on him it looks like a diverse crowd, when in reality it looks more like the Million Old White Man March. Ok, ok...now I'm finished.

podiatrist, periodontist, whatever...

2005-01-18T16:48:00.000-06:00

I'm working on an addition/remodel of a periodontist's office. I've been working on the drawings off and on for months, but I have somehow avoided doing any visits to his office so far. That was until today. I had to go there and measure some cabinets. Meaning, I had to go into the horror chamber that is known in Normal People Land as the "exam room". The nurses took me back to a room that wasn't currently being used (thank you, Jeebus) and let me take my photos and measurements. On my way out, I glanced into another exam room from the hall and saw some poor old dude kicked back in the chair with like 20 hoses coming out of his mouth. He was making this terrible moaning/gurgling sound. It looked like a Star Trek torture chamber in there. I quickly turned my head away and concentrated on my ever weakening stomach. I don't know what that guy was having done to him or why, but I'm guessing it wasn't because he takes awesome care of his teeth and gums. It looked like they might have been either removing something or installing something new in his mouth. I bet the old guy was getting himself some new gold fronts. Oral Bling Bling.

if there was a sequel would you love me like an equal...

2005-01-17T13:49:00.000-06:00

It has been a busy day so far. I don't get off work for MLKJr day like so many others. No, I work. I work real hard. Thank you, Indie Pop Rocks! and iTunes, for getting me through yet another frustrating day. If I didn't have you, I'd have to listen to the adult contemporary station coming from somewhere down the hall. Yuk. Now I must attend to a fax machine that has decided to start some trouble with me today.

point me in the direction of danger, i'm ready...

2005-01-14T14:44:00.000-06:00

I made it to work today. I wish I hadn't. It's funny how a head cold can make you feel so delirious and out of place. I usually feel pretty much "out of place" with the rest of the world, but when I get a stuffy head, lookout! I lose what little logic and common sense abilities I usually have and talk in circles (yes, more than I usually do). This is not a good thing to bring into an architecture firm. I can't seem to even have a simple phone conversation without confusing me and the other party as well. Here's a sample conversation I had on the phone with a typical southern contractor today:

Me: *voice breaking up due to junk in my throat* Suchandsuch Architect, this is Chris.

Contractor: Hello?

Me: Hello.

Contractor: Don?

Me: This is Chris.

Contractor: Yea, ok Chris, sounds like you're breakin' up over there.

Me: No, I have a cold.

Contractor: Well, yea, I guess it is pretty cold today.

Me: What?

Contractor: I said it's cold.

Me: Oh. Yea.

Contractor: Uh, well anyway, this is Bill Soandso over here at B.S. Construction. I've got some submittals I need to drop. Will somebody be there around 5:00?

Me: Where?

Contractor: There...at your office.

Me: Oh, yea, I'm here.

Contractor: You'll be there around five-ish?

Me: I have some samples for you to pick up too.

Contractor: You do?

Me: Yea.

Contractor: Of what?

Me: Huh? Oh, sorry, I was answering your other question.

Contractor: Oh, ok...you're breakin' up again, I think. Which samples you talkin' about?

Me: Oh, uh...cork.

Contractor: Ok, good. I'll see around 5.

I'm sorry, sir. I've been temporarily rendered useless as a human being, and so therefore I am currently not contributing to your society. Good day, sir.

everyone come over here and see how good i look...

2005-01-13T18:46:00.000-06:00

Yo, what tha crap, dude?!? It's already dark outside. I took the day off today to try and overcome my sickness, but I'm not sure it helped much. I finally took a shower a few minutes ago and put on some "ok" clothes. Now I feel like I could actually do something. I could make my day off productive. I'm not currently hacking up any mucus, so that's a bonus. But I have suddenly noticed that it is already dark outside. My day off is over. What a waste. Now it's just like any other day. I'd be home by now just like I am now. What happened? Let's see, I slept until 8:00, called in to work, slept until 12:30, then got up and moved to the couch. I then drank some tea and watched a movie. I think I drank more tea and watched MTV Cribs and then ate lunch after that. I guess after that I drank some water and watched another movie and then...oh wait, that leads me to now, when I moved my sickliness to the computer and wrote this. I guess I just answered my own question. I'd better go to work tomorrow lest I feel guilty about not doing anything all day. Damn architecture school warped my perspective.

my body is under attack...

2005-01-12T10:06:00.000-06:00

We've got reports of a possible sore throat and fever in our direct vicinity. All white blood cells report to the deck immediately! Man your battle stations!

Contagious Alert Level: HIGH

fate my friend, you say the strangest things...

2005-01-10T14:42:00.000-06:00

Let me just say this. Here I am, it's the middle of the afternoon, I'm at work, and I'm waiting on a certain piece of technology to finish it's task. It has one task, mind you, and it has taken 10 minutes to complete it. It's technology for crying out loud. Shouldn't it be waiting on me? I don't know.

Boy, was I productive this weekend. Oh my gosh. I can't even begin to list all the things I accomplished. Let's see, uh...I watched the NFL playoffs, made a sandwich, watched more NFL playoffs, made another sandwich...alright, you know what? Let's just skip that topic for now.

Anyone know how to take a garbage disposal apart? Someone dropped a shot glass into my garbage disposal and didn't tell me about it and well...let's just say there's still a shot glass in my garbage disposal, but I think it's no longer functional. The shot glass, that is. The garbage disposal still sounded like it was doing a bang up job. I also shattered a glass water pitcher in my sink the other day and there might be some glass from that in there too. This isn't standard operating procedure at Duncan Ave, let me just get that out there right now. I rarely break anything. None of this was really my fault. I didn't know the shot glass was in the garbage disposal, and the water pitcher had structural flaws that I was unaware of. I am responsible for removing any glass from the disposal however, since the shot glass was apparently dropped in there by one of my friends and it was me who was holding the water pitcher when it experienced structural failure. So...again, the topic is disassembling a garbage disposal. Any do's or don'ts involved?

Another quick topic here. Why do realtors insist on putting their faces on everything? This lady said she was going to give me this cool little calendar for my desk at work. I said, ok thanks. Then she gave it too me and I wanted to give it back. It has her face on it. Not on the cover, not on the back, but on the part that shows no matter what month it is. So now I have this person staring at me while I work. I don't have any pictures on my desk, no friends, no family, no pets, no nothing. But now I have this near stranger's face on my desk and it seems a bit awkward. I can't just throw it away. She'll ask me where it went the next time she comes into the office. Maybe I'll just get some scissors and cut off the part with her face on it. But what if she sees what I did? I'd feel terrible. Ok, I've got it. I'll just stick a mini post-it note with some scribbled numbers and such over her face. That way it looks like I got busy and just stuck it there at random. Yes. I'm such a social genius.

2005-01-08T19:33:00.000-06:00

This is my cat, Cecil. He doesn't sit still for very long, therefore all photos of him are slightly blurred. Every day, he takes about 700 to 800 naps of approximately 60 seconds each, slowly building up enough energy to stay up all night breaking things.

2005-01-08T19:14:00.000-06:00

Natalie of the i don't like to wear shoes blog fame is currently sitting behind me talking on the phone and playing solitaire. She's a multi-tasker. I personally would have just called whoever back after my solitaire game or just not call them back at all. I have bad phone etiquette.

2005-01-06T14:26:00.000-06:00

This is going to sound perverted, but everyone please stick your pin in my guest map. It's one of the icons at the bottom right of my blog. Let me see if I have the record for the most readers in the Bible Belt. Seriously though, I want to see where people are from. Pin me.

the last days of a could've-been...

2005-01-05T13:48:00.000-06:00

This was my first lesson in strange humiliation. In kindergarten, I went to a private school near my home in Little Rock, Arkansas. They had a drive-thru drop-off type of thing in front of the building. Parents simply lined up in their vehicles on their way to work or wherever and dropped their kids off at the front door. One day, my mom was dropping me off and we were second in line to the front when I suddenly decided that I wanted out of the car immediately. At the same time, my mom began driving forward. Before she could stop me, I was opening the door and taking my first step out of the moving car. I quickly noticed what was going on and pulled myself back inside. Mom screamed bloody-murder at me in front of the entire school. I don't remember exactly what she said. I actually don't remember any of what she said. It didn't matter. It was that tone of voice and the fact that everyone on the playground and all the teachers had turned around to see what the commotion was, only to find that it was little Christopher getting his butt chewed out by his mother.

maybe i am being pretentious, but at least you're smarter now because of it...

2005-01-03T15:27:00.000-06:00

Someone just took a monster dump here at the office and tried to cover it up with some kind of aerosol deodorizer. I'd rather just smell the crap straight, because now it smells like someone shat a pine tree.

I had a dream last night that I got into a fight with some guy in line at a grocery store. Afraid he would beat the crap out of me eventually, I climbed on top of a display shelf across from the cash register. I proceeded to taunt him from there, while the cashier and other customers looked on in amazement. Does this mean I'm crazy? I sure hope so.

I've come to the conclusion lately that everyone around me takes me way too literally and seriously. I think I must have the darkest, sickest sense of humor of anyone on the planet. Nine times out of ten I'm making a joke, yet nobody gets it. I get serious answers to my ridiculously rhetorical and absurd questions. No one is actually listening.

so i sat back down, had a beer, and felt sorry for myself...

2005-01-02T22:38:00.000-06:00

Anyone care to read about my awesome New Years celebration? Good. I didn't want to write about it anyway. I'll sum it up just to piss you off though. Surrounded by lots and lots of drunk people, who for some reason felt it necessary to hug me, I counted down to an imaginary clock somewhere in the bartender's head. Then, poof...it's like 2005 or something. Also I watched the Hogs slaughter some poor team, listened to good music, and danced around like a white guy with something sharp up his ass. So yea, it was pretty fun I guess.

Last night I went to a place called You Know?!? Uno's! (I shitchoo not, pardner). It's this karaoke place here in Fayetteville that broadcasts your terrible version of Baby Got Back all across the parking lot of all the bars and clubs downtown. So if you suck, everyone knows it. People will sometimes even make a special effort to walk across the parking lot and step inside the door to tell you to shut up. I was originally supposed to do my excellent impression of Aaron Neville, but it fell through due to my throat being abnormally narrow or something. I sat there for hours and hours listening to all the different types of karaoke...uh...ers. There are the really serious regulars, who go there every night and do the same song. If someone else does that song before them, they get fumed and walk out murmuring "that bitch...that's my song...I can't believe this". Then there's the drunk guy who does a song for his special lady friend. Sometimes that special lady stands on stage and holds the hand of the drunk guy while staring straight into his eyes. It normally sounds terrible, but you forgive him for his sweetness (I didn't just say that). Then there's the guy who will do practically any song, but sing it in a death metal, I just killed a baby fetus and it looked good so I swallowed it now it's lodged in my esophagus and it's causing me to sing like a gigantic frog, Marilyn Manson type voice. Surprisingly enough, he knows all the words, and usually does anywhere from five to ten songs in one night. Then comes the person, be it male or female, that picks a song that they suddenly forget or never knew in the first place. They usually just sway back and forth or hum while looking at the words on the screen like they're reading a medical dictionary. They may actually sing one complete line of the real words and then end it with an insincere "sorry". And then there was our group of people. The evenly mixed group of guys and girls who sit there for hours passing the book of songs back and forth going "Do this one! No you do it! I'll do it if you do it with me. Ok. Maybe." The girls do three or four classic songs together at the same time, giggling and acting cute while looking over at the guys in embarrassment any time they mess up the words. Last but not least, there was me. I don't think I really fit into a karaoke stereotype, or maybe I do and I'm just in denial, I don't know. I sat there all night listening to other people's suggestions, waiting to hear the name of a song that I knew absolutely all the words to and that didn't require hitting any high notes (I have testicles). Finally, at almost closing time, I heard a suggestion by my friend Reed. "Let Her Cry", by Hootie And The Blowfish. I thought to myself for a second "Yes! I remember that one! I use to sing it in the shower and I sounded pretty sweet." Ok. Hootie it is. And Reed decided to join me. I had heard Reed sing before, and I thought we would make a pretty good duet. When I got up to sing, my stage-fright from middle school kicked in, but I dominated it before the music started by a quick lounge singer impression freestyle, something like "Guess whoooooo's the soberest of sobeeeeeeeeer". Reed looked and sounded very comfortable. I tried to feed off of that. When the music started, I suddenly became very focused and serious. This is normally not my nature when I'm in control of a microphone. I was mentally in the 10th grade...singing along to my shower radio. It was brilliant. Everyone said it was a hit. And I think I might have accidentally dropped the f-bomb in there somewhere for humor. I went home satisfied with my performance, and happy that my friends were still talking to me after my show.

Tonight, I scored my new bowling high. 207. Life is good.

2005-01-01T11:14:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ JR's
THREE...TWO...ONE...HAPPY NEW...wait, no that clock's fast.

2005-01-01T11:13:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ JR's :: Ryan and Ashley

2005-01-01T11:12:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ JR's :: Jana and Megan

2005-01-01T11:11:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ PR43's :: Some guy with greasy hair walked in front of my photo of Philip and Jena dancing. Idiot.

2005-01-01T11:08:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ JR's :: Anna and Wes

2005-01-01T11:04:00.000-06:00

New Year's Party @ JR's :: Dave from Aqueduct

painting lines in a school that was too well known...

2004-12-30T15:59:00.000-06:00

I have a very full schedule for tomorrow's New Year's Eve festivities. I'm kicking it off by going to the Razorback basketball game. The Hogs play Louisiana-Monroe, who probably aren't the pushovers that people are saying they are. It should be a fun game to watch. After the game, I'm going to JR's to see Aqueduct, one of my favorite bands. I'll probably see the passing of the old to the new year while I'm there. The next step is to head on to the party at PR43's house. There should be lots of entertaining shenanigans occurring there. Doesn't sound like much when I type it all out, but I promise it's a heavy schedule. The best part about it: I don't have to go to work! I'll try to post a few photos from my holiday adventures later.

it was a really good episode about love always ending in tragedy except, of course, for marge and homer...

2004-12-29T09:43:00.000-06:00

I had a wicked dream last night that I had the ability to melt people with my eyes. I was out shopping and there were all these people being rude, so I would just stare at them really hard. They would scream and try to release themselves from my visual grip, but it was all for not. They would quickly melt into a pile of goo in the floor. The other people around me didn't seem to notice that I was killing folks, which was cool because I didn't want to stop. That wasn't the only strange thing in my dream. My mouth would make the deep bellowing sound of a large ship blowing its horn whenever I would try to speak. Again, nobody seemed to notice. I was walking around alone in some kind of indoor mall, but lots of strangers were talking to me. They were telling me about things going on in their lives that only close friends would discuss. And apparently my ship horn sound that would come when I would try to say things like "Do I know you?" translated into "Yes, this is fascinating. Please tell me more." because they would just keep on rambling until I would finally walk away. Oh yea, and I also had a vacuum hose for an arm.

no wonder i hate theaters...

2004-12-28T10:52:00.000-06:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

blogging for others...

2004-12-27T18:58:00.000-06:00

In case anyone is wondering, Natalie is back in the states safe and sound. I just talked to her on the phone and she's heading to The Cracker Barrel in Little Rock for some good home-cooked Southern food. She hasn't blogged in awhile due to her hectic schedule of transit (them's some fancy words, Chris). By tomorrow afternoon, she'll be back at her pseudo home in good old Fayetteville, Arkansas. But wait all you fans of random brisk travel across the globe for seemingly unrelated reasons, there's more! Natalie will only be here in Fayetteville for one day, then she's Jeeping it to New Orleans. Ah, the life of the Natalie. Never a dull moment.

2004-12-27T08:54:00.000-06:00

Update to that last post: I now have the hat with the ear flaps.

Thanks, Mom.

eating your parents and other archaic forms of rebellion...

2004-12-23T15:43:00.000-06:00

I've always wanted to become some sort of nomad with the mis-matched socks, the full beard, and the hat with the ear flaps. But days like this, when it gets so cold your face hurts, are the days I realize I'd never make it as nomad-beard-sock-hat guy. I can't grow a beard anyway.

nothing feels good...

2004-12-23T13:51:00.000-06:00

This is from The Onion. I thought it was pretty funny.

By Lloyd Schumner Sr.
Retired Machinist and
A.A.P.B.-Certified Astrologer

Taurus: (April. 20—May 20)
There is nothing in your world more satisfying than a good taco and a can of beer, but then, there is almost nothing in your world at all.

this is my stab at being post-rock and slightly seasoned...

2004-12-22T17:29:00.000-06:00

It looks like Fayetteville somehow avoided the snow. It has tapered off to nothing. There's less than an inch on the ground. I guess I could have gone to work today, but...no. I enjoyed my day off. I cleaned the entire house from top to bottom, and boy did it need it. I'm probably going to make myself some hot pockets tonight, chill on the couch, and watch cartoons since I'm ahead of schedule on my cleaning and gift wrapping. Oh yea, and I'll also be enjoying my squeaky clean house. Hooray for bleach, man.

2004-12-22T13:58:00.000-06:00

I'm now halfway finished cleaning the house. The snow has started falling again and there is a little bit more on the ground than there was several hours ago. The temperature has definitely started dropping rapidly. Ok, back to cleaning house.

2004-12-22T10:03:00.000-06:00

This shot was taken around 9:00 AM. The snow was starting to fall quite a bit in Fayetteville, although it had stopped momentarily while I was taking the photo. Yes, I'm at home right now. I drove about a third of the way to work today before my boss called me and told me to turn around and go home for fear that I would be stuck in Rogers. The bridges were a little icy and the on-ramps were too. I couldn't tell how most of the main interstate was because I was mostly sitting at a dead stop. I turned around at the next exit and came home. Now I must make use of this valuable time by cleaning this dump.

2004-12-22T09:56:00.000-06:00

I'll be taking a series of photos from the back deck at my house to document the excitement that is known as snow in Arkansas. The deck overlooks the local high school football stadium, and well...that's about the best view I could get from my house. This was taken at approximately 7:00 AM. Nothing. I whined and complained to my cat about it. He whined and complained back to me, except probably because he was hungry, not because of the lack of snow.

i'm placing you under arrest, so cover yourself in whipped cream...

2004-12-22T01:17:00.000-06:00

I just finished wrapping all my Christmas presents. It didn't take as long as I thought it would. Maybe that's because I was watching Busty Cops on Showtime while wrapping them. Those girls sure know how to clean a jail cell. They washed that thing from top to bottom. Left it spic & span, they did.

No snow has fallen so far. Just a little rain and a little ice here and there. And to anyone else from up north who stumbles upon my blog: Yes, I'm aware that it snows more up there. Yes, I'm aware that you know how to drive in the snow better up there. Yes, I'm aware that snow isn't a big deal up there. Yes, I'm aware that schools and businesses don't close for snow up there. It may come as a shock to you, but we DO have mass media and communication methods down here. We ARE connected to the rest of the world. We know things are different up there. We don't care. We enjoy freaking out when it snows. It is a part of our culture. But thanks for visiting. Truly.

I'm going to bed now.

i sit there in my easy chair, looking at the clouds, orange with celebration...

2004-12-21T20:03:00.000-06:00

I should be seeing some snow tonight and tomorrow. I'll hopefully be documenting it from the warmth of home and won't have to drive in it to work in the morning. I just got back from the grocery store. I was stocking up on some food in case I do happen to get snowed in. I'll keep my imaginary readers posted.

this is way beyond my remote concern of being condescending...

2004-12-19T22:08:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I wonder if my life contains enough valuable events to deserve its own blog. Most things that occur in my normal, day-to-day life aren't worth kicking, but tonight I've included a few blog items that normally would get canned at the last second. These are things that have happened in the last few days that I would not typically write about (or hardly be able to put into words period), but this time I think it might actually be slightly more interesting than to not write anything at all.

The smell of coffee in the mornings at our office has been making me feel sick lately. It makes my stomach feel like there's something ripping several large holes in it. I don't drink coffee, unless it's the gay kind with the flavors and the ice and the whip cream and the what not, so I don't make it for everyone when I get to the office like the guy that used to have my job would do. I know I probably should, you know to kiss ass and stuff, but I would probably offend my bosses with my coffee making abilities. I usually just pretend I don't know that the coffee pot exists, while I'm doubled over in pain at my desk from the burned bean smell.

Our secretary at work likes to talk to me while we're working. Her desk is very close to mine, so we have no excuse for not conversing. She's a nice, attractive, fit, Christian, republican lady in her 40's that is married with two young kids. She gets up every morning at 5:00 AM and runs about 5 or 6 miles, then makes lunches for her kids, and then takes them to school. In the afternoons, she leaves work at about 3:00 PM to pick her kids up from school, then they go home and make arts and crafts or something, I don't know. I find her stories to be almost offensively bland. I only hear the first part and then the last part, you know, enough to nod my head and get the gist of it. They're mostly about how appalled she was about an event that happened to her the day before, which I never understand the appalling nature of this event. I typically follow these stories with an insincere "Oh, man...that's terrible. I can't believe that." Then I fight the urge to top her story with a story of my own, which I know she would most certainly find even more appalling than her own. I fight the urge because in my stories, I'm the one performing the appalling act. I could change it to a "I knew this guy that..." story, but then she'd really think I was a freak if I hung out with people like that. I feel bad about not being interested in her stories. I can't help it though. They suck. Her life is lame. I don't want to be her when I'm 40. I guess that's the lesson here.

I hate birds. There's a flock of these nasty black birds that hover over the street on my way home from work every day. I floor the gas pedal to try and avoid any poo, but it never works. White poo on my shiny black car...not cool. Can you imagine if we had the excretion edicate of birds? I could just be walking around in the supermarket and decide "Hey, you know what? I need to have a bowel movement...right freaking now." And I could just pinch one off right there on the floor, because hey...that's how we'd do it. If we did it like birds do, I could defecate WHILE I'M EATING. And I could do it on other people's food, because hey...that's how we'd do it. Yea, so the other day, I was driving with the windows down and guess what happened. Yep. Shit on my shoulder. That's how they do it.

At Saturday's basketball game, I sat in front of these three little spoiled dungeons and dragons kids, who didn't know the first thing about how the game of basketball was played. It seemed that they had also never been to a basketball game before. At one point in the game, a certain black player had made several good plays in a row. When the coach sat him down to rest, they replaced him with a white player. The crowd cheered with encouragement for the black player who was heading to the bench. This is pretty standard stuff in college basketball. When I player who is having a good game hits the bench for a few minutes, the crowd claps for them. Well, these little zit-faced amoebas decided that the crowd was cheering because the coach replaced the black player with a white player. In fact, they stated this loud enough for everyone around us to hear it. This isn't what really set me off into a daydreaming marathon about spinning around in my chair and sucker-punching one of them. What really got on my last nerve was that whenever the game clock would reach 3:50, they would scream in my ears the words "TREEEEE FITTY!!!" Now seriously, whitey...you're going to sit there and call 10,000 people racists and then turn around and yell in a stereotypical African-American accent? Call me sensitive, but...no wait...just go to hell.

I drank Miller High Life in a can last night.

On Friday, I had a conversation with two lesbians in which at one point one of them said, and I quote, "If I were a dude, I'd suck your dick." Really? If you were a dude? Twisted.

Have I ever told anyone that I'm glad my mom doesn't read my blog.

I went to a party down the street last night and there was a living room full of indie rock, hipster kids dancing to rap music by the likes of Ludacris and Ja Rule. One of them stopped dancing long enough to tell me a story about his 30 pound cat. I don't remember the story. It must have been stupid. My friends that were there were too busy making "the sweetest dance party playlist ever" on their iPods to talk to me, so I mostly just wandered from room to room being creepy and looking at the paintings on the walls. I went to the bathroom and while I was peeing, some guy walked in and asked me if there was a Maxim magazine on the stand next to the toilet. When I told him there was in fact a Maxim on that very stand, he proceeded to walk right up next to me while I was urinating, pick up the magazine and walk out. I grabbed my coat and walked home, saying goodbye to no one.

I decided this week that I want to learn how to sew upholstery so I can make furniture with cushions. My friend Ryan said he could teach me how to knit a scarf. I told him that sounded cool, but I think he missed my point.

How do you piss off an archaeologist?

Give him a used tampon and ask him which period it came from.

Thank you. Good night.

2004-12-14T19:53:00.000-06:00

The only thing that massive amounts of X-mas lights are good for: crazy long exposure shots.

2004-12-14T19:50:00.000-06:00

Eric and Rusty were just kickin' it at Ozark Lanes...what the hell?

elvis is pissed...

2004-12-14T19:09:00.000-06:00

This is the day I had to clean the blue room at work, which includes organizing the flat-files, a few product samples, our mess-o-tools and various other what-have-you.

ok, so i'm bored...

2004-12-14T13:48:00.000-06:00

I know, I know...another stupid quiz thing. I put this one on here because it actually seems kind of hateful. Holy crap.

i am a scenester!

How indie are you? test by ridethefader

You are so indie it hurts. You hang out with the coolest people in your city. It doesn't even bother you that none of them know your name. You know lots of bands personally, you know a couple of guys from We Hate The Mainstream Records, and you blag your way into getting almost everything for free. That fanzine you write gives you extra kudos. You probably don't even care that non-scenesters think you're a pretentious fuck.

i'm sorry for this...

2004-12-10T18:23:00.000-06:00

I took one of those stupid quiz things. This is the anticlimactic result. Yay.

You're the Indie Guru!
Take What sort of Hipster are you? today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

You're practically too cool for words. You've got more indie rock knowledge in your pinky finger than Guided By Voices has songs! You went to your first Mudhoney concert when you were 14. You knew Green Day before they sold out to the masses. You can name every side project Lou Barlow has been in, complete with all album and song titles. You throw out words like "Thurston," "lo-fi," and "Kill Rock Stars." You wear jeans, old band tees, Converse. You hang with other gurus and people you can lord over. You're intelligent, but big-headed. Passionate, but hot-tempered. You will one day rule the earth.

2004-12-10T15:07:00.000-06:00

If I had kids, and I home-schooled them, they would never learn biology. This is by far the most disturbing image (besides Janet Jackson's mondo nipple restraint) that I've seen in quite some time. It's basically a pile of dead animal bodies, neatly placed on a white background in photoshop, with some lovely shadows added as well. Yes...you can buy the kit online. Animal set w/Pig, 9 specimens - $12.95

our troubles are over, dude...

2004-12-10T11:39:00.000-06:00

Last night, I discovered a new favorite food. It's called the Royal Red Robin Burger, and I can see why someone might consider it royalty amongst food. It can only be found at Red Robin, and it is described on their menu as the aristocrat of all burgers because they crown it with a fresh AAA jumbo fried egg. In addition, it has three strips of hickory-smoked bacon, two slices of American cheese, crispy lettuce, tomato and mayo. Now, seriously people...anything crowned with a AAA jumbo fried egg should be worshipped in my opinion. And whoever thought of the idea of putting a fried egg on a hamburger should be crowned king or queen of all that is great about food, but not with a AAA jumbo fried egg crown. They'd wear one of those cardboard crowns from Burger King or something. When I ordered this aristocratic burger, the waitress said "Um, you know that has an egg on it right?", to which I replied "Hellsyea!" It is by far the tastiest burger I've ever had. *wipes tear from eye*

it's skintastic...

2004-12-08T13:35:00.000-06:00

When the world runs out of fossil fuels, scientists should research a way to power things off of oil from my face. I have the oiliest (real word?) facial skin of anyone I know. It starts in the morning, basically as soon as I wash my face. The pores begin production immediately. By high noon, my forehead glimmers like the Exxon Valdez just sprung a leak above me. I try to wash my face about mid-day, but it is all for not. By six in the afternoon, I'm slicker than Schwarzenegger in the javelin-thrower pose. Don't believe me? Hand me that frothy beer you got there and watch me use my nose to counteract the foam.

2004-12-07T23:22:00.000-06:00

Hey, everyone! Look how much Chris loves folding and hanging his clothes! Yaaay!

a truck-load of dick and jane...

2004-12-07T08:23:00.000-06:00

I knew I should have brought my camera with me this morning! I drove by the Scholastic Book Fair truck on the by-pass, probably on it's way to yet another elementary school to encourage the youth to read more by selling them overpriced books about firetrucks and baseball players. The guy driving looked like a child molester. I guess that's pretty standard though.

bunny says you're good for it...

2004-12-06T20:37:00.000-06:00

I really want some chicken chunks from Charlie's right now, but it's raining so hard outside that I'm afraid I'll get ran over by Noah. He'll be screaming from the starboard bow, "Two at a time, you dumb jackass!" I'm willing to take that risk though. Hunger calls. I just hope they have those pre-packaged mini buckets of Louisiana hot sauce. I don't want chicken chunks unless they rip holes in my stomach and esophagus.

every time you eat a steak, a hippie's hacky-sack falls in the gutter...

2004-12-05T22:18:00.000-06:00

I had the wonderful opportunity to make a quick trip to The Rock over the Thanksgiving holiday to visit Bill Clinton's newest monument to himself, the William J. Clinton Presidential Library. It's a beautiful piece of architecture. I hope that it sets a standard for all future construction in Little Rock.

That said, I would just like to add that if I hear one more person say it looks like a glorified mobile home, I'll take their bottom lip and pull it over their head, right after I slap them in their teeth. If the sight of an inventive, highly creative, well thought out project like the Clinton Library only brings up an image of a trailer in your simple little mind...well, I don't know what to tell you. Go get yourself cultured. Besides, the American mobile home was originally an inventive, highly creative, well thought out project itself. I think tornados and white people with too many kids have given it a bad name. Awww, I'm so mean, I know it. Shut up. I spent a large portion of my childhood in a trailer, so I probably aided in their current stigma and therefore earned the right to discuss them however I want.

instant message conversation of the day...

2004-12-01T11:44:00.000-06:00

Ben says:
wanna here somethin funny?

Ben says:
i had this dream I crapped my pants and I was all embarassed.. then I woke up in that dream and thought I was awake.. then I was like "thank god i didn't crap my pants right.." well then I realized (in the dream) that I really had shat myself... then I was all embarassed.. then I woke up again.. but this time it was real and I did NOt shit myself.

Ben says:
I sighed in relief

Lankford says:
what did you eat last night?

Ben says:
hotwings

Lankford says:
ah

Lankford says:
that IS funny

Ben says:
anyway the moral of the story is.. when you think you shat your britches.. always make sure you are really awake before you get all stressed out

Lankford says:
good thinking

the road to mediocrity is littered with empty ketchup packets...

2004-11-19T18:37:00.000-06:00

Is there anyone else out there that hates ketchup as much as I do? I don't even like saying the word or typing it for that matter. I'm not sure when this all started, but I think it was at the same time as when I began hating children. I can remember as a child going to birthday parties at McDonald's, the other kids with their red-smeared faces, French fries with bloody tips being carelessly flung around the table, and me not having a bit of control over any of it. Their aim was terrible. They would take three ketchup tainted fries at once and try in vain to shove them all in their mouths, of course getting the nasty red filth not only all over their mouths, but their cheeks, their noses, foreheads, and yes...even in the hair. There were instances where one child would nearly have his handful of stink fries in his mouth. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, another child would desperately need this boy's full attention and would grab the arm holding the fries, causing speckles of the smelly red sauce to disperse across the table. I ducked for cover each time this occurred, like a soldier avoiding shrapnel from a grenade that had just exploded nearby. Often times I took fierce hits during these condiment explosions. I would go home with crusty, dark red speckles all over my arms, face, hair, and clothing.

This is an absolute horrid memory that I try to suppress as much as possible, but each time I'm around someone who is ignorant enough to eat that crap, the memories quickly begin to return. Most people who have known me long enough know about my deep hatred for the stuff. Some are courteous and slide the ketchup bottle to their side of the table during dinner. Others are not so friendly. During high school lunches, my friends would jokingly threaten to bust open the ketchup packets in my face. Luckily, it never happened. I would have lost some friends. That stuff isn't funny at all to me, seriously. People laugh and joke when they scare me with ketchup, but in my eyes they look like demons with blood red eyes, straight from the bowels of hell, here to cover the walls of the Earth with the most evil condiment ever invented by man. Ever watched the deleted scene from the movie "Jackass" where Rake gets mustard poured all over him and totally flips out and kicks a huge dent in Bam Margera's BMW? When I watched this I thought it was completely ridiculous that someone would kick someone else's car just for getting mustard on them. But put in his place, and replace the mustard with ketchup, I think I might could kick a beamer's ass.

In all seriousness though, some people get over dislikes for different foods as they get older, but this is not the same. I use to not eat hot dogs and balogna, but now I eat them (ok, I still can't eat bologna because it smells like the dollar store). Ketchup is different for me. My hatred for Ketchup runs deep. I don't like the taste, smell, or look of it. I don't like hearing the word ketchup or even seeing it. The word catsup is even worse. It's like a cat puked up a red substance and some Canadians decided to bottle it. No, people, this is a bonafide phobia. It's been dubbed saltomaphobia, the irrational fear of ketchup (it isn't very irrational to me, but then again I do have the phobia). There are support groups online for this. Ok, so they aren't actually support groups. They're mostly just a bunch of people going "Oh, dude...are you serious? I have that same shit, dude! Whoa...", but at least I know I'm not alone. And hey...at least I don't have the fear of undercooked tater tots, or the fear of toast crumbs in the butter tub. That would suck.

I just realized I left this SO open for heinous comments. Let me just go ahead and say this now: You are not funny.

2004-11-14T21:56:00.000-06:00

I've tried posting this photo like four times now. This is from the Pinback show on Wednesday.

yea i'm still in school, the school of rock...

2004-11-07T22:23:00.000-06:00

This week was nothing but rock, or at least a punkish, pop-tinged version of rock. I was taken away from the stress of the election coverage on Tuesday by the sounds of my friends The Rumors Are True, making a pretty good attempt at polishing their turds. These guys went from annoying the crap out of my neighbors while practicing in my basement, all the way to annoying the crap out of people in a live music venue. It was a beautiful thing. Also, on Friday night I saw the show I had been looking forward to the most, Aqueduct. These guys are one of my absolute favorites. I can't get enough of them. I made a few people angry at this show, because I was that annoying guy with the video camera. I was attempting to record a few songs for Natalie, since she can't be here. I got one of their old classics, AND I was able to get a goofy cover of hip-hop artist Jay-Z's apparent hit "Dirt Off Your Shoulders". My oh my, how ashamed I was to have immediately recognized that song.

So now I'm chilling at the house, preparing for another week of work. Last week was not so much fun at work, and I don't expect this week to be much fun either. That's work. That's life. I'm getting use to it. I hate Sundays though. They remind me of back in the days of grade school, when all you could think about on Sunday was that you had to go to bed at your normal bed time because you had to go to school the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day and the next. Sunday isn't really a day of rock. It's mostly just a day of laundry. I did get to sit down on the couch for a few hours and watch the Jack Black movie, School of Rock. I'm also rocking out to Yes. So I guess Sunday can be kind of rock and rollish.

Wednesday will also be rock and rollish. Pinback is coming to Fayetteville! Holy cow, dude. I'm going to be tired on Thursday.

Happy Rock and Roll Laundry Day.

2004-11-07T22:21:00.000-06:00

Aqueduct.

2004-11-07T22:20:00.001-06:00

Aqueduct.

2004-11-07T22:20:00.000-06:00

The Rumors Are True.

2004-11-07T22:19:00.000-06:00

The Rumors Are True.

2004-11-03T18:19:00.000-06:00

Well, things didn't go as I had hoped in the election, but hey...at the watch party at J.R.'s, I took this hilarious photo of Philip and a couple of really nice douchebags, Patrick and Matt, from Representative Boozman's D.C. office. Is Matt throwing up a victory symbol or is that a British "shove it up your arse" symbol? Hmm...and I thought we agreed to be friendly. Tisk, tisk. I guess I'll just have to take back my promise of not publishing this photo anywhere.

i'm scared...

2004-11-02T18:22:00.000-06:00

I voted today, and it felt great. It also felt strange, like I had committed a crime. Hmm.

shake them titties when you vote...

2004-11-01T19:49:00.000-06:00

So I broke my non-political blog promise. Shut up. Tomorrow is important.

I'm going to vote tomorrow and nothing can stop me. I've got 10 different forms of identification, including my voter registration card. I'm going at the butt crack of dawn so that I can be one of the first to vote in my precinct, not that it makes a difference in the election, but because I have to get to work at a decent time. My polling place is one of the busiest in the county, right smack in the middle of town. Unfortunately, it's at a church. Now I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings here, but sometimes I question the methods of the fundamental Christian Right. Things start running through your head when you've been driving past that church for years and have always seen nothing but "W" stickers on every car there on Sundays. Will they throw my ballot out? Will they find some way of turning me away at the poll? Probably not. I'm white and I will be dressed conservatively. But hey, at least it's at a Methodist Church and well...I'm just not quite as worried about them as I am of some others. The media has me in a panic thinking that my vote won't be counted. What's the point anyway, right? I mean I live in a red state, a.k.a. (to quote Rick Moranis) I'm surrounded by assholes. I just have this hope though, that my state will shockingly fall to the Left, and there will be tears of joy from every compassionate human who hasn't already moved to Canada. "Hooray! Hooray!" we will say, as we take to the streets and proudly march through the swarms of Right-wingers who'll be screaming "Go back to France, you commie-fag-socialist-nigger lover-bomb throwing-hippy-marxist-liberal-weak spined-atheist-flag burning-unpatriotic-evolution teaching-poor-worthless piece of crap!" I love America.

hmm...that should get me a few hits from the Google.

No matter the outcome of tomorrow's election, you can bet that I'll be proud to have voted and utilized this wonderful freedom that we have and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Boink.

good ol' drippy...

2004-11-01T19:43:00.000-06:00

Cartman didn't stand a chance after a week of unyielding rain and heat.

2004-11-01T19:41:00.000-06:00

We literally watched this stuff growing and spreading in the dank, wet Arkansas air.

is it wicked not to care...

2004-10-28T18:58:00.000-05:00

There's too much pressure to write something here these days. Almost every week or so, while I'm telling a story to someone, they'll say something like, "oh, yea...I read about that on your blog." You what?!? Uh, pardon me, but you don't know I have a blog. You don't. I mean, you can't. I hardly ever mention my blog to anyone, yet somehow I have developed a shy handful who never comment, but lurk deep in the shadows of my eLife. Sure they may not check it every day, but at least once a week. I have a webcounter site that tracks my hits. There are too many hits for it to just be from the casual passerby. In a way, it puts a new exciting spin on blogging for me. Honestly though, it just makes me nervous as all hell. Okie dokie, I just had to get that out of the way.

For the last few weeks, I've been watching alot of baseball. Not in a healthy way either. In a crazy, obsessive kind of way. Last night was different though. I put aside baseball to watch the new episode of South Park. Sure I watched the first few innings, then flipped back again in the 9th inning, but it was a much healthier approach to it I think. I didn't miss a thing, even though it was the last game of the World Series. The Red Sox scored all their points in the first few innings, then shut the Cards down for the rest of the game. So the Red Sox finally won a World Series and many people are screaming "finally" and others are screaming...well, their mostly just calmly saying "whoopty frickin' doo". Now I can get back to doing things that don't involve the television. I'm not quite sure yet as to what that is exactly, but I'm sure it will be much better for me than the old boob tube.

I was honored with a phone call from Natalie tonight. We talked for a little while about how much she's ready to come home already, and how much I'm ready for her to come home. That's pretty much all we've been talking about lately. I remember being over there in Rome and getting pretty darn sick of the place after the first several months. What ruined it for me was going to the Netherlands on spring break and seeing how wonderfully efficient those people are. Then I spent the last part of my semester hating Italians. The culture makes no sense to me. I simply do not relate. *[I removed several sentences here because bad memories came to mind and caused me to rant on and on about the things in Italy that annoy me]*

I can't wait until November 10th. Pinback is coming to Fayetteville, and I will most definitely be there. I love those guys. They have been rocking my half hour commute for several weeks now in preparation for the show. They're one of those bands that make it nearly impossible to convince myself to remove any of their CD's from my CD changer. I especially enjoyed it the other day, when I was blasting Pinback at a stop light on the university campus next to a Tahoe full of frat boys and I overheard one of them saying "what the hell kind of gay-ass music is that dude listening to?" Hey, guys...just because they don't yell about bitches and ho's over stolen 80's back beats doesn't make them gay. Would you like it better if there was a turn table thrown in the mix, cutting up bad cock-rock guitar riffs? I bet you would.

If anyone gets a chance, I highly recommend checking out the newest issue of National Geographic. Mine came in the other day with a new world map, which they update every year I think, but the great thing was that there was a long exposure photo from space of the world at night on the back of the map. I think it was a collage of multiple long exposure photos that they merged together. It is absolutely amazing. You can learn so much just by staring at it for a few minutes. In it, you can obviously see lights of cities all over the world, but some of the more interesting things you can see are things like forest fires burning, natural gas burn off, and squid boats lighting the oceans. What you'll also learn from this is that I'm a big nerd.

a giant douche versus a turd sandwich...

2004-10-26T23:48:00.000-05:00

I love South Park, in case any of you don't already know that. I also
love Halloween. And what better way to celebrate my favorite holiday
than with my favorite TV show. Yes, tonight Eric and I carved
jack-o-lanterns of Eric, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny...the kids of South
Park, just in time for the new episodes to start tomorrow night. It
was alot of work, but we had a pretty good time doing it. We sat on
the front porch and watched the rain and listened to game 3 of the
World Series, all while sculpting our newest masterpieces. They're so
beautiful. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

when you were born I was far from tennessee...

2004-10-21T19:07:00.000-05:00

Sometime during my last semester of college, I had a dream that I got a job and I showed up on my first day without any clothes on. Nobody freaked out or anything, they just looked at me as if to say, "duh...didn't you know we wear clothes at this firm?" The ceilings above my desk were mirrored. When I looked up, all I saw was a naked baby in a pleather office chair.

how i got here and why my pants are on backwards...

2004-10-16T18:13:00.000-05:00

There's nothing to say that hasn't already been said. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say here. Even if I thought I did, would anyone else actually agree? I'm sure most of the things I write here aren't terribly interesting to anyone but myself, and rarely even that. I have thoughts and ideas that pop into my head occasionally, mostly when I'm in the shower or driving. I always think to myself, "You know, self...we should really share that one. Maybe put it on the blog or something." But as quickly as my interesting thoughts come, they vanish into the dusty attic that is the back of my head. And once they get back there, it seems they have a very difficult time getting back out. It must be one hell of a labyrinth in there. You see...I have this condition...nevermind. Hold on a second. I think one just escaped. I'll try to share it with you guys as quickly as possible.

I have a theory that I am a certain king reincarnated. Now, I know this may sound far fetched to you, but there are so many signs pointing to this that I absolutely can't ignore it. Elvis Aaron Presley supposedly died at Graceland on August 16, 1977. There is speculation however, that he did not die then. Some say he is still alive, which is highly unlikely given his addictions to food and drugs. There's a theory that at one point, late in his career as we know it, Elvis met an impersonator of himself. He decided that he no longer wanted in the spotlight anymore, and for that and other various reasons Elvis asked the impersonator if he would trade places with him. Of course the obsessed impersonator said yes, and so they switched lives. This idiot that took Elvis' place wasn't ready for the crazy life of the King of Rock and Roll, and he too got heavily addicted to pain killers, which in turn led to his eventual death on the toilet. While all of this is going on, the real Elvis was touring and doing shows impersonating himself (yea, pretty easy gig), but wasn't feeling the stress of being the real king. He had come to terms with himself though, and decided he wanted to switch places and get his old life back. At about this same time, he found out about the death of the impersonator and it crushed him. He knew he could never make a come-back now, and he certainly couldn't go near Memphis and see his family again. He decided to move as close to Memphis as he could stand, so he settled in Little Rock, Arkansas. He lived in Little Rock for well over a year doing impersonator gigs at weddings and conventions, and also working as a draftsmen at a small residential architecture firm (because, as many know, Elvis fell in love with the profession during some remodel and addition work on Graceland). Elvis had kicked his drug habit by this point, but his addiction to food was at an all-time high. He passed away from a heart attack alone in his one bedroom apartment on Baseline Road on the night of May 2, 1979. But the soul of a king never gives up quite that easily, and the very next day, at Baptist Hospital in Little Rock, Elvis' soul possessed the able body of a new-born baby boy named Christopher, so that he could have another chance to continue doing what he had discovered such a passion for...architecture.

I honestly can't remember when I first decided to become an architect. Maybe that's because I had actually made the decision in that previous life. Sure, I always recall that time in 3rd grade when I first laid eyes on some blueprints of a house and said, "that's what I want to do when I grow up." But I believe that was simply when my soul was stimulated by the desires of my previous life, when the cloudiness of my new youth was momentarily cleared away to recall my thoughts as grown man.

Images of Elvis have always brought a comforting feeling to me. When I visited Graceland recently, I felt strangely at home and very proud, as if I were actually showing off my home to the tour group I was with. The site of my supposed grave produced no feelings of sadness, weirdness or anything else. Perhaps it was because I knew it wasn't really where my old body lies, that it was merely another guy that I had traded places with, but hardly knew.

So there you have it people...a quick trip inside of the mind of one strange kid. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you will still talk to me now.

ps - I've posted some photos of the bike festival below.

2004-10-16T18:08:00.000-05:00

Bikes, Blues, and BBQ. Fayetteville, Arkansas.

2004-10-16T18:07:00.000-05:00

Bikes, Blues, and BBQ. Fayetteville, Arkansas.

2004-10-16T18:05:00.000-05:00

Bikes, Blues, and BBQ. Fayetteville, Arkansas.