Eargasms or And Then There Were Three

Dude.

Full weekend.

Lots of work stuff, and cool stuff, and switch-y stuff.

I got to see the Shins! They were at our amphitheatre on Friday with Blind Pilot and the Head and the Heart. And they were great. Good mix of old and new songs, went with good people, just had an excellent time groovin’ and listening to our TD geek out about how much nicer their lights were than the theatre’s. Golden evening.

Saturday night: Same venue, but with… Wait for it… Tenacious D. Oh. Sweet. Moses. Now, I can honestly say I’ve never wondered what a giant, inflatable, penis-shaped phoenix would look like, but whatever expectations I didn’t have were blown out of the water. (They used confetti in a way confetti ought never to be used.) Basically, JB and KG are golden gods. Oh! And I unexpectedly ran into some friends from high school, so we got to rock out with our respective unmentionables out and belt along with the D. It was glorious. (Totally made up for the impressively mediocre opener.)

Later, came back to the house to find a bunch of people trippin’ balls, which is usually fine, but this time… BITCHES ATE MY APPLES. I was peeved. Plus, there was some middle of the night naked time, followed up by throwing up (both of which sounded uncomfortably similar), that took place in the living room. So, that was cute. Got a stain on our carpet that kind of looks like Tennessee, now.

Highlight: Super terrific Eugene/Monmouth folk were visiting. We wandered around and took an obscene amount of pictures (well, they did) and made ice cream and hung out with their parents and it was the best. I’d been missing just hanging out and talking and watching movies with people.

(I’m pretty sure I like Bend and all, but there isn’t really anyone who I have long-into-the-night 

conversations with here.)

(…Yet?)

Last, but not least, the tall one and the lady one moved out this morning to work at their respective state parks. The times, they are a-changin’.

( Incidently, they took the internet with them, so I’m reporting to you from Shari’s. The next month is going to be interesting.)

Aaaaaaaaaand, back to my research paper and mozzarella sticks…

Livin’ the dream.

Mike Tyson Has Said Some Gloriously Unsettling Things

Not sure why, but I felt compelled to research some wrestlers/boxers during class this morning. One thing lead to another, and I found the treasure trove that is Mike Tyson's wisdom. Holy moly, that man is nuts. 

And it's awesome.

Here are some gems:

"I don't want to be a tycoon. I just want to conquer people and their souls."

"I'm not Mother Teresa, but I'm not Charles Manson, either."

"He called me a 'rapist' and a 'recluse.' I'm not a recluse."

"I probably have a 20,000-word vocabulary. I'll match my wits with anyone on literature, science and the arts."

"I want to rip out his heart and feed it to him. I want to kill people. I want to rip their stomachs out and eat their children."

“I could sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating.”

Aaaaaaand my personal favorite:

"I don't understand why people would want to get rid of pigeons. They don't bother no one."

Dude goes hard. 

To be fair, Tyson seems to have mellowed over the years. ("I ain't the same person I was when I bit that guy's ear off.") But good googly moogly.

Women, men, children, journalists, mirrors, Jesus, Russia, and ears, beware...

Pigeons, you're cool.

Let's Just Go

Hey.

Never mind about rehearsal and finals for a while. And work. Responsible people worry more about work than I do...

Come on an adventure with me. Big or small.

We could drive to New Orleans and pinball through as many states as possible on the way. Maybe think of some kind of scavenger hunt along the way? Sweet Local Radio Station. Underwhelming Roadside Attraction. Buffalo. That kind of thing. Maybe not get there, maybe decide to stay, maybe keep going. (Hope your AC works...)

We could go on a mission. Let's see where your favorite movie was filmed. Find the weirdest museums. Hit up some kind of festival. Hit up tons of festivals. Or amusement parks. Or rodeos. I've never been to one of those.

Head down the coast until we get tired of beaches and light houses and aquariums and mist and weird coastal towns and sleeping in the car and seagulls. Salt for days! Booyah.

Take the train up to Canada? Do stuff. I hear there's stuff there. In Canada. Canada stuff. Let's do Canada stuff.

Maybe just something for a day or so. Find a place in the middle of nowhere for a little. We could climb things and explore and paint our faces with mud or just mellow under a tree or on a rock or next to a creek. Swim. Try to do cartwheels. Get drunk and cloud watch and read to each other. That sounds nice.

Or OMSI! Ooh, let's OMSI it up.

Walk somewhere, bike somewhere, drive somewhere, fly somewhere, hop a train and see what happens?

Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?

...Who are you?

Let's go.

Pillow, a Haiku

My eight-legged friend,
That is not where you belong...
OKAY, THE BED'S YOURS.

Irony Impaled My Foot

That might even be a pun. And I hate ambiguously present puns...

Alternate title today is "THE ONE DAMN DAY I WEAR SHOES."

Background information: My feet are generally naked.Well, this side of the year. Once the ground stops being all frosty-like, you can pretty much count on me being barefoot (with the exception of the workplace, because apparently the health inspector frowns upon dust and cooties or whatever). It's not a hippie thing, I just...like it. I like not wearing shoes, I like getting tough feet, I like the gravel massages.

Anyway, today (yesterday?), I had a couple of shoe-requiring activities in a row, so I left them on in between.

And after.

This, lady and gentleman, was a mistake.

I fell down.

I was walking along this cement/cinder block-ish thing, slipped, rolled my ankle and this wire (hopefully?) got all up in my foot's business. Unsavory things were yelled... I fell down.

Oh, cruel Mistress Irony.

Now, realistically, I understand that, shod or not, I am clumsy human being... But damn it, I'm blaming shoes!

Maybe I'm just bitter because I caved into the you-have-to-wear-shoes and it's-dangerous and stuff that I've been getting recently. Maybe I just have a ton of unwarranted shoe-hate. Well, MAYBE, if they hadn't been imprisoned, my petite and creepily dexterous toes might have saved me from pointy stuff!

Once the wrap's off, my feet are becoming hecka nude. 24/7.

Shoes...

We'll Eat You Up. We Love You So.

Maurice Sendak died yesterday... And it's a bit of a bummer, ya know? The man created some truly wonderful things.

Now, to be honest, I probably thought he was dead already. Well, maybe not, but I'm fairly certain I've never given the status of his pulse any thought... I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not really qualified to mourn him, but certainly to remember.

Okay. His stories are the bomb diggity. They're odd, they're perfectly illustrated, nonchalantly sentimental, plenty adventurous, occasionally musical, and (possibly best of all) full of nonsense, but free of bullshit. The amount of trust he had in children and his respect for the imagination is tangible on every page. (I love that they're written to a child, and written to an equal.)  Oh, and he managed to put in blatant morals that didn't feel preachy or overstated. That's super impressive, considering that, sometimes, the moral is literally "care about stuff, or a lion will eat you." HE MANAGED TO MAKE THAT SOUND NATURAL.

Also, he said this and I like it: “Children do live in fantasy and reality; they move back and forth very easily in a way we no longer remember how to do.”

Alright, this is becoming an inarticulate, sleepy ramble...

The point: He was all up in my childhood. He taught me that it's never not time for chicken soup with rice. He taught me that I can count with more than just numbers. He taught me how important it is to care, to love (or at least helped with that).

He taught me how to be a wild thing. And I will forever be grateful.

Sleep tight, you strange, brilliant man.

Cinco de Mayo is a Questionable Time to Feel Brave

Gastronomically, anyway.

There are several things that I enjoy and there are several things I do not enjoy. "Bonding experiences" falls into the first category. "Refusing dares" lives in the second.

Coincidentally, I'd place the sensation of eating a raw habanero somewhere between the Rapture and a dragon orgy on my tongue.

Tonight, I learned just how desperately 6 dudes can want milk and just how hilarious the fight for that aforementioned milk can be... And as we all alternated crying, laughing, swatting each other in the stomach, and trying to grab the gallon from one another, I could only think one thing: We are the poster children of friendship.

Stupid, excruciating friendship.

We then proceeded to eat things and set stuff on fire and prove that none of us can really play guitar.

Rock on?

In other news:

-The play I'm working on opened the other night. So, that was cool. (Readers: If either of you happen live in Bend, you ought to check out Sordid Lives at 2nd Street Theater. There's yelling and casserole and lots of bras.)

-I just figured out what "YOLO" means. Boo, humanity... Boo.

-Made flan tonight. Considering the reverence with which its name is generally uttered, it's disappointingly un-weird. Tasty, though.

-Midterms.

Awwww, yeah.