small month, BIG NIGHT

Well, blogging for the month of February turned into a complete and utter failure. I could blame it on school, I could blame it on work, I could blame it on illness. But I can't. The truth is I just didn't do it. (Although, I recently purchased a new videogame and caught myself playing it for extended periods of time during the wee hours. I could promise to try better next month, but it won't happen. Because blogging, just like women, is one of those things that I jst can't commit to. Yippy Skippy, last day of the month!
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I always enjoy watching the Oscars every year. I'm not one of those people that gets all dressed up, or even goes to some fancy party, or any party for that matter, just to watch millionaires give out golden statues to each other. But, I usually try to watch as many of the nominated movies as I can beforehand, and see how they do and if my opinions matched the critics'. Because they've raised the limit of Best Picture nominations to 10, it has gotten increasingly difficult to catch them all in theaters, and this year I only saw The Help, Midnight in Paris, and The Artist. So, here are a few of my observations of the show last night.

- I respect Billy Crystal, but he is just no longer a relevant host. His jokes would have been funny if it was the year 1994, but his performance just felt old and recycled. To be honest, I'm not sure that Eddie Murphy (the original host) would have been better. Golden Globes won this year with Ricky Gervaise as host. Oscars has a long climb back up.
- I was surprised by the love for Hugo. I figured it might win something, but it ended up tying The Artist for most wins with 5. About halfway through, I started believing it might actually pull the upset in the Best Picture race. I had wanted to see it before, and now I really! want to see it.
- I figured Harry Potter would win at least one award. After eight films and many years of hardwork, that team deserve to be recognized. This was their first year to be nominated for an Oscar, and they got shut out in all three of their categories. Although, they got jipped for Best Makeup by The Iron Lady. Come on, Academy!
- Best Animated Film category was a dud this year. Were there really that few good animated films made this year. Rango won, the only one nominated I saw was Puss in Boots and it was so-so.
- Best Song was from the Muppet movie. Bret Mackenzie, from Flight of the Conchords, wrote it.
- During the memorial sequence of the show, they left off Bob Anderson. He was the swordmaster and fight choreographer for Lord of the Rings, Robin Hood, Princes Bride, Mask of Zorro, Darth Vader's stunt double in Star Wars, Pirates of the Carribean, and James Bond movies. RIP Bob Anderson.
- Octavia Spencer was a great choice for Best Supporting Actress. The Help was a great film, and I only have positie things to say about it... More on that later.
- Kudos to Christopher Plummer for his first Academy Award win. He's done so much over a long time, and I can't wait to see his performance. Although, I saw Nick Nolte in Warrior, and it was a very powerful performance. Good group this year of veteran performers.
- FUCK MERYL STREEP! Iv'e never liked Meryl Streep cause I've always thought she was just so full of herself, and she showed it last night. How the hell can you not give the Best Actress award to Viola Davis. She brought me to tears in that movie, I'm not afraid to admit it. I've never seen Meryl Streep do that. Maybe it's cause I'm a man, and Streep always plays such polarizing, strong female leads, but I've always walked away from her movies just feeling sour. Viola Davis got robbed.
-Iwas surprised The Artist swept Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Picture. It is an amazing and endearing movie, something remarkably unique for this era. I think it will remain a legendary film for a long time, but I just didn't think it would survive the politics of the Oscars. Kudos to those guys.

All in all, It was a great year for film, as was last year. Here's hoping for three good years in a row.

Speaking of Love #2

Introducing the new Mitt Romney condoms- for the lover who likes to constantly switch positions!

LoveNote #2

I'm starting to run out of steam on this blogging thing. It's been a few days, and I've been to busy procrastinating on some of that schoolwork. Oh me.

I'm not quite sure how I went 26 years of my life without going to a Karaoke Bar. It would seem, with my personality, charisma, and musical inclinations that I would be a natural. Alas, I've never really never had a friend or "homie" that would willingly step up to the mic with me. All that changed this past Friday night.

We were supposed to go to Whitewater Tavern to Cory Branan and Ben Nichols play. By we, I mean James, myself, Jon, Nick, Mike, and Kenny. We even had a Designated Driver lined up for the evening in case we imbibed a litle too often. We've literally gone to dozens of shows at Whitewater, seeing these guys play and standing right up front. It's always a fun night when they come to town. And we've never had any problem before. That's why it was so weird to hear when we arrived that the show was ticketed and already sold out. Tickets?!? For what? People just stand up the entire time. Whitewater never does ticketed shows, so you would think that they would mention this on their website or show posters. We drove all the way up there for nothing. Crap!

We quickly huddled together to plan our next course of action. It was far too early to go home, and now we were so pissed we literally had to have some beers. So we jump in Mike's old ass minivan and struggle to find our way (no thanks to the GPS) to a little dive bar called the Town Pump. They had $1 Pabsts', and to our surprise a raucous Karaoke night goin on.

Now, I've been to a bar with a Karaoke night before, but on that particular occasion they had a very limited selection of songs that I knew or could perform. However, this guy at the Town Pump had nearly everything. And with my homies by my side and a little (which turned into a lot) liquid courage, I set that little bar on fire with a terrific rendition of Salt-n-Pepa's "Shoop"

What a fun night, and I can't wait to do it again, although next time I may hold back on the number of beers. Shoop ba Doop!

LoveNote #1

Ben Nichols and Cory Branan at Whitewater Tavern tonight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Speaking of Love #1: What I Love

It's February now. It has been for two days, I've just been too busy to celebrate its' grandness right away. Yay February! (still waiting on that sarcasm font)

So I decided to change the design of the blog to coincide with the arrival of the month of Love. I guess pink is a pretty accurate color for love, and at least now I can say I'm doing something for Breast Cancer Awareness at the same time.

I'm not a mushy guy. Sure, I enjoy the odd chick flick from time to time, but I'm not one to go overboard on the romantic route on Valentine's Day. Perhaps the main reason for that is simply because I've never had a significant other to shower with romance and sex on V-Day. Not once. Not one year of my life. I've literally avoided so many purchases by skipping this rite of passage. I don't regret it.

Contrary to popular belief, Brian Chambers is perfectly capable of love. I'm not a cold hearted bastard. But, I'm not in love. At least not with anyone I'm comfortable revealing to the one person who may read this blog. So, when you don't love girlfriends, you gotta send that love somewhere else. Here's what I love.

I love Haribo Gummi Bears.
I love Apple Products.
I love music.
I love Converse Sneakers.
I love ice cream.
I love the snow days that usually come in this month.
I love The Office and King of the Hill. Oh, and America's Funniest Videos. Oh,and Conan.
I love Mila Kunis, my hollywood crush.
I love swimming.
I love Salsa, the dance and the snack.
I love Basketball. Go Trojans!
I love performing for an audience, even if it's in a 7-11 parking lot.
I love that February is the shortest month, because no matter how shitty it may be, it'll be over soon.

King of the Hill quote #2

"You just go ahead and grieve any way you want to. Red Book says that the death of a boyfriend is the fourth most painful loss- right in between grandmother and penis."- Peggy Hill

God, I love that Woman!

King of the Hill quote #1

"If you want, I can teach you how to make a bomb out of a toilet paper roll and a stick of dynamite." - Dale Gribble

No Sleep Blog #11: Just Plain Stupid

What's your most embarassing moment? Name a time where you truly felt stupid.

For me, that moment happened just over 5 years ago. I struggle to remember a llot of moments where I have faced public humiliation, considering that I've always been a willing participant of my own shenanigans and am proud to display my wackiness to the world. But, we still all have those moments where we can ahng our head in shame and failure. Fortunately, I have recovered enough to be able to blog about it now.

I had just bought my car 5 years ago, a beautiful new 2006 Hyundai Tiburon. I was so proud! It was my first, brand-new, state of the art vehicle. It was also my first vehicle to include a keyless entry device. I couldn't be more excited. I could now unlock my car without actually standing two inches away from it. Somehow, though, the excitement and new technology slowed just a bit of my brain. Not long after purchasing this vehicle, I awoke one morning and prepared myself for the coming day. Yes! I would get to drive my brand new awesome car to work! I showered, dressed, gathered my belongings and headed out the door. Keys in hand, I pressed the magic button to unlock the car. Nothing. Okay, I thought, I probably just hit the wrong one. I checked to make sure my thumb was on the correct rubber circle. I pushed it. No lights or sound. By this time I had reached my car door. I grabbed the handle and confirmed it was still locked. Again, I checked the device, pushed the correct button, and waited for the unlocking sound. I frantically pushed the button while yanking the door handle. That certainly didn't help. I checked the passenger door. It was locked. Oh no, I thought, how am I going to get to work! I can't even get in my car! the battery in the unlocker device is dead!

(I know what you are thinking at this point... Boy, do I know. Just save it.)

I went in the house and thought about what I should do. I quickly thought, wait, maybe the battery is working on the extra pair of keys. I went to the key rack and realized I had given my dad the other set. He was at work. I would have to either call him and have him drive home with the extra keys or call in a personal day at work. So, I called my dad to bail me out, cause that's what parents do. So, I called him up on the phone, frantically explained my situation and how the battery was dead on the device and I couldn't get in my car to go to work. His response...

"Why don't you just use the key, stupid."

Dream Step #96

I'm so stoked about my friends status updates! Going to the gym? Awesome!!! Pursuing your career in babysitting? Rad!! Going to Sleep? Tell me more!!!!!!!!

No Sleep Blog #10: At a Loss for (written) Words

I'm pretty proud of myself of the commitment that I've made to try and write in this Got-dang blog as often as I can. At the beginning of the year, I thought "Hey, I'd like to write a blog entry for every day this year and see how it goes." Well, I've missed a few days, and some days I just add in a funny quip or so. However, I've gotten a lot further than I thought I would, so kudos to me.

Most of the time when I write a longer blog like this, I get a great idea of an entry while in the shower. Something will come to my mind and I'll think, "Yeah, I can write about that." I don't know why some of these topics hit me during my shower, but that's where I do some of my best thinking. I understand thatone might find it a bit awkward, but when you are 26 and still living at home with your two parents who are retirees, you quickly find that you have very little private time.

Today has not been one of those days. I'm not really sure what to write about, but I am still clinging on to my blogging commitment, so I'm just gonna go for it. My apologies if this entry isn't of the highest quality.

I have a friend that is getting married. While hanging out the other night, she couldn't resist telling me of some of her elaborate wedding plans, as girls often will to any who will listen. She was telling all of her planned wedding songs and reception dining options. Her specific colors and dresses that she preferred. She was very excited. So was I.

Women dream of their wedding day from the time they are little girls. I'm sure that it's fun for them, however I'm not a woman. Obviously.

I don't have any wedding plans. I'm not sure if I'll ever get married, so I'm not going to spend time planning a day that is not certain to arrive. However, I do have funeral plans, of which I am very excited about. A little morbid, I know, but if I have to die then I would like to have a say over how people (or funeral goers) shall remember me. Without further ado....

Funeral Songs: (in order, please)
"Adrift" by Jack Johnson
"Oh, Danny Boy" as sung by The Muppets (it's on youtube, look it up)
"Because He Lives" my favorite hymn
"Ground Control to Major Tom" by David Bowie
"The Road" by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis

That's it. I don't presume to think this will actually happen and I don't really care since I'd be dead anyway. But, if by some chance someone sees this and passes it on to those who are in charge, you would have my eternal thanks. Everything else can go on as they want.

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the same song still in them"

Dream Step #28

Per Sarah Snell

"A single woman comes home, looks in her fridge, and then goes to bed. A married woman comes home, looks at the man sleeping in her bed, and then goes to the fridge."

Happy 28th Birthday, Sarah!!!!

No Sleep Blog #9: Speed Blue, Through and Through

So I took a few days off of writing any kind of meaningful posts. I guess getting back in the swing of school tok me by surprise, and my internal clock isn't used to appointments after a month and a half of doing nothing. Bite me.

I spent the majority of today watching football games. This was championship sunday, with two games deciding which teams will get to battle it out in the heroic Super Bowl. This year the world will get to watch the Patriots take on the Giants in an epic rematch of their previous Super Bowl meeting four years ago, of which the Giants were victorious. I can only hope for the same outcome.

For as long as I can remember, Football has been a part of my life. When I was a boy, my grandparents lived in a large house on hill in Eastern Arkansas. They had two stories, complete with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, two living areas, two kitchens, a garage, a mechanics shop, forty acres of land, and possibilites only limited by ones imagination. It definitely made for some memorable moments with my huge extended family. However, one thing they did not have was good television reception. And with the number of footbal games broadcast during Thanksgiving and Bowl Season, this did not sit well with my football-crazed family. I can vividly recall my uncles and cousins wrapping me in tinfoil and sending me outside with an antenna and shouting out the window their desired positions for me in order to recieve the best reception for the game. My uncle and cousin were football coaches, and another cousin was a referee, who currently is an official with the SEC. I've been to more football games than I can count. In high school, I was much to small to compete, therefore I was relegated to the Water Distribution Department. Football was ingrained in me very early.

Over the years, though, my passion for football has waned. I guess I have suffered from overkill, and the landscape of the fans has certainly changed. Sports were once looked down upon by intellectual types and "artists" as being a meaningless pursuit of bulked up pituitary cases. Now, the world of sports has become very "geek chic". People love to get dressed up for tailgating, and probably are more interested in the commentary than the actual game. And I can't stand the relentless barrage of sports opinions on facebook from people who've barely ever set foot on a football field. It's no longer fun for me anymore. But, to each his own.

I never got a lot of "sportsdom" from my dad. He never was much of the athletic type, and didn't ever have much riding on the outcome of silly games. But, I always enjoyed hearing his stories of all the old greats he watched and loved while growing up. His favorite was the great Baltimore Colt Johnny Unitas. My dad never went out of his way to catch a game on tv, unless it was the Colts playing. And that may be my dad's greatest accomplishment as a father. Because, let's face it, to be a real sports fan you gotta have a favorite team. And, as a dad, it is your responsibility that you pass that love for that team down to your son. So the Colts were his team, and now they're mine as well.

The Colts, since relocated to Indianapolis, had their own star quarterback during my generation. These past 13 years have left me in awe of the skill and prowess of Peyton Manning. I've watched not only become one of the greatest qb's, but also change the way in which the game is played. Every Sunday, me and my dad would sit together and watch Peyton Manning don his Speed Blue and White uniform and masterfuly lead his team on the most glorious drives with the most beautiful and accurate passes. He would shred defenses with his arm and his brain. We didn't always come out victorious, but for three hours on sunday me and my father had common ground.

Some are Cowboys fans
Some are Steeler fans
Some are Patriots fans

But, Our house is Speed Blue, Through and Through

Black Keys lyrics: Gold on the Ceiling

Down in the waves
She screams again
Roar at the door
My mind can’t take much more
I could never drown in

They wanna get my…They wanna get my

Gold on the ceiling
I ain’t blind
Just a matter of time
Before you steal it
It’s alright
Ain’t no god in my eye

Clouds covered love's
Barb-wired snare
Strung up, strung out
I just can’t go without
I could never drown in

They wanna get my…They wanna get my
Gold on the ceiling
I ain’t blind
Just a matter of time
Before you steal it
It’s alright
Ain’t no god in my eye

My new favorite Black Keys song

Dream Step #432

Never get into fights with ugly people. They have nothing to lose.

No Sleep Blog #8: MLK Day

I went to sleep at 1 o'clock this morning, and awoke at 5 o'clock this morning. I enjoyed watching a couple of hours of America's Funniest Videos this morning, and then celebrated my civil freedom by ordering pizza and watching the entire first season of Game of Thrones in honor of Peter Dinklage's Best Supporting Actor win at the Golden Globes last night. Go Peter! You Rock! And I'm extremely tired. So, have a happy MLK Day and wish me luck as my second semester of Grad School begins Wednesday.

Peace and Love

Dream Step #67

You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

No Sleep Blog #7: Dog Sees God

I've always heard and witnessed that death usually comes in pairs. Well, today, sadly, that old adage held true once again. Just as I reported that my cousin Davina's cat Mr. Kitty died earlier this week from a reaction to anesthesia during surgery, so too did a good friend of mine also lose his cat this morning.

Fatman, also known as Fatty, had been the proud pet of Johnnie Brannon, whom I had met through my work with Red Octopus Theatre. Although I only had been acquainted with Fatman for a short time, he left a lasting impression on my heart. Unlike so many cats one meets, Fatman loved to be around large groupsof people and was never scared to make his presence known during writer's meetings with his pathetic and adorable wail. Living up to his name, Fatman was a large cat of approximately 20 pounds. He loved to take naps, perch himself on the window seal, and be held in anyone's arms like a young baby. Many times during our Red Octo meetings, Fatman's curiosity would get the better of him, prompting us to abruptly stop our meetings to clean up his inevitable messes. And when we halted for our usual smoke breaks, Fatman challenged our poor cardio systems with his escape attempts into the backyard. Unfortunately, Fatman fell ill in the past weeks, losing a considerable amount of weight and energy, and seeming to suffer from dehydration. Johnnie learned at the vet this morning that Fatman had developed kidney failure, and felt that humanely euthanising him would be the best and most merciful end to the suffering.

As macho and manly as I always try to appear (and I assure you, it's not that often), I will never be ashamed to admit that I am a cat person. That's not to say that I don't still enjoy dogs. Dogs can be cute and loving and playful, and warm your heart like nothing else. However, there's something so majestic that I have always found in cats and their lifestyles. Usually, when a person admits to liking cats over dogs, they will bring up the subject of ease in cat ownership. And it's quite true. Cats bathe themselves, poo and pee in a contained area, don't jump on you and knock you down, don't usually make messes, and don't hump you and all your friends. Having been an owner of both, I would say that cats will be more of a lazy roommate, whereas a dog will be like having a child that needs constant attention.

I would say that my love for cats extends beyond those simple traits. I love the demeanor and calm reserve that a cat possesses. Cats are not stupid, merely curious creatures that do not always understand the idea of depth, weight, and shape. Cats are extremely independant creatures that refuse to take stupid orders or lessons from humans. Simply put, cats have no rulers.

My first pet as a child was a cat, a beautiful orange and white feline that we named Sugar. Sugar was a fierce loner, and never limited herself to any space in the house. Sugar was quite large, and quick to show her muscle to anyone who got in the way of her plans. When we moved into our new house when I was in third grade, my mother insiste that Sugar would stay outside. However, more times than not Sugar would find herself sleeping at the foot of my bed, as I would sneak her in after my parents would go to sleep. Sugar enjoyed being outside, though, and used her large stature to fend off any challenger to her territory. She also enjoyed catching the many field mice that would attempt to sneak their way into the house during winter. I guess she was trying to pay for her keep. I had Sugar for many years, even through High School. Unfortunately, I never got to say goodbye. Sugar was beginning to grow old and feeble, and just like many cats do, she left home to pass her final days. I never found her, but I've always had the feeling that her spirit lives on in the yards and fields she loved to prowl.

I'm reminded of a line in a play titled "Dog sees God".
"They say that a Dog sees God in his master... But a Cat just has to look in the mirror."
I always liked that.

To Absent Friends,

White Stripes Lyrics: Effect and Cause

I guess you have to have a problem
If you want to invent a contraption
first you cause a train wreck
And then you put me in traction
well first came an action
And then a reaction
But you can't switch around
For your own satisfaction
Well you burnt my house down
Then got mad at my reaction

Well in every complicated situation
There's a human relation
Making sense of it all
Take a whole lot of concentration
Well you can't blame the baby
For her pregnant ma
And if there's one of these unavoidable laws
It's that you can't just take the effect and make it the cause

Well you can't take the effect
And make it the cause
I didn't rob a bank
because you made up the law
Blame me for robbing peter
Don't you blame Paul
Can't take the effect
And make it the cause

I ain't the reason that you gave me
No reason to return your call
You built a house of cards
And got shocked when you saw them fall
Well I ain't saying I'm innocent
In fact the reverse
But if your heading to the grave
you Don't blame the hearse
You're like a little girl yelling at her brother
Cause you lost his ball

You keep blaming me for what you did
And that ain't all
The way you clean up the wreck
Is enough to give one pause
You seem to forget just how this song started
I'm reacting to you
because you left me broken hearted
See you just can't just take the effect and make it the cause

Dream Step #114

"Dogs have masters, Cats have staff."

This one goes out to my cousin Davina, whose cat Mr. Kitty died during surgery today.

To Absent friends,

No Sleep Blog #6: The Excellence of Execution

I'm going to make a confession. It's a little embarassing, but the embarassment of this obsession I am about to make has diminished with time and more understanding of the true nature and artistry of this wacky love that I had. So, without further ado, I can take a deep breath, relax, and finally get this burden off of my chest.

hoooohhhhhoohhhhhh... (That's me simulating a release of deep breath, in case you didn't know.)

I was a professional wrestling fan.

I know, I know. It's stupid. It's fake. It's trashy. It's bizarre. It's over the top. It's unintelligent.

And when I was 10 years old, it was absolutely fantastic. Where else could you possibly see the most wild and fascinating characters duke it out in a fantasy world. Say what you will, but in many ways the world of professional wrestling was my first love and introduction into the world of theatre. It had every theatrical spectacle you could include in an entertainment industry. There were fireworks, music, costumes, acting, choreography, and unbelievable storylines. It was performance at it's finest.

Whenever somebody would tell me the simple truth that it was fake, I would get very upset. Not because I didn't want to believe that it was all a farce, but more so because I always felt that that was an incredibly shallow and one dimensional arguement to denounce something. I mean, shoot, would you stop watching Grey's Anatomy if you found out they weren't really doctors. Of course I knew it was all choreographed fighting, but I still enjoyed watching because it was entertaining. I understood, as I still understand, that in reality professional wrestling is not fake at all. Sure the storylines are all pre-determined and pre-written, but so is any television show that hopes to pick up ratings and keep the audience interested. The true beauty of pro wrestling is that the bumps and hits that they take are quite real and painful. They are only choreographed to the extent that they keep each other fom killing one another or seriously hurting each other. Why do you think so many wrestlers die at such a young age. Painkillers, concussions, steroids, constant traveling, and alcohol will take it's toll on a body over time. But the good wrestlers, the really great ones, can be like artists in the ring, great dancers who can tell a whole story in twenty minutes with their bodies through beautiful choreography.

I just finished reading the autobiography of Bret "The Hitman" Hart, one of my favorite pro wrestlers as a child. I loved him because he was a skilled mat wrestler, a fan favorite, had a cool demeanor, kick ass music, and indeterminable will in the ring. He was also man enough to wrestle his entire career in Pink and Black wrestling gear, something unique and inspiring. Hart came from a very large family of 12 children, whose father was a prominent wrestling promoter in Canada. Bret became the best known wrestler of all his brothers, and rose to prominence in the 90's as a great worker and even served as champion of the World Wrestling Federation on several different occasions. He rarely ever missed a show, stayed off drugs and steroids, neveer injured another wrestler in the ring, and always worked fairly with all of the other talented performers around him. Unfortunately, towards the end of his career he went through a multitude of personal tragedies, from being legitamtely screwed and embarassed in the middle of a match by his boss, to the tragic death of his brother Owen, who fell to his death from the rafters during a wrestling show performing an over the top stunt. His family was later torn apart from the subsequent lawsuits. And while riding a bicycle, he hit a pothole and hit his head on the pavement, causing a career ending stroke which probably was not helped by the severe concussion he had recieved a few months earlier.

When Hart retired, that was the end of my wrestling days. Wrestling was just beginning to become more of a raunchy and out of control, nonsensical charade. I could no longer stand to watch something that had nothing to do with the art and entertainment that I had enjoyed watching as a child. The old wrestlers had thrilled me with the physical art of wrestling, and I had great respect for what they did. They were masters of a beautiful dance. Bret Hart had always been at the top, and when he left it merely became a soap opera. I still flip over sometimes on Monday nights to see the wrestling show, but I rarely see them actually wrestling, And with the advent of the internet and tweetering it's kind of impossible to cover up the "biz" anymore. But, I'll never forget all the lessons I learned watching the cartoon world of wrestling.

Thanks Hitman. You really were the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.

Dream Step #217

Google maps should really start their directions at number 5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my own neighborhood.

No Sleep Blog #5: Yay! It's here! And I'm about to blog about it!

Attention Non-Football Fans: The college football season is almost over. Please be patient as your facebook feeds will soon return to normal and the constant stream of baby pictures, youtube music videos, religious repost this status or go to Hell and I'm so in love/ hate with this person I've been having sex with updates will return to their usual frequency. It may take up to 3 days for your timeline to update pending the number of LSU and/or Alabama fans you are friends with.

Today marked the arrival of something very special. Something Fantastic! Something I have been waiting to arrive in the mailbox for five long years. True, the U.S. Postal Service has been on a sharp decline recently, but today they brought me the best gift I have recieved in a looooooooonngggg time. And that iece of mail was...
...dun,DUN,dunnnnn

The title to my car!!!!!!!!!!

That's right, after 60 long months of regualr payments I am oficially the owner of my car! Excuse me if I am overusing the the exclamation point a bit, but this is quite possibly the most exciting thing that could possibly have happened today. Screw Football! I have assets!

No longer will I have to mail a check of $333.86 to Compass Bank every month on the 13th. Been there, done that. Never again do I have to wake up in a panic in the middle of the night because I can't remember if I remembered to mail the check. Never will I fear the dreaded masked Repo Man coming to claim what is mine. It's mine, my own, MY PRECIOUS.

But, on a serious note, I want to congratulate myself. A little over five years ago I stumbled into a car dealership in Conway, AR with $3500 saved up to buy a chick magnet. I ended up paying way too much for a Korean sports car that has in no way ever improved my love life and severely limited the number of friends I was allowed to have. (Seeing as the backseat is slightly bigger than a matchbox.) I'm not quite sure how I managed to make every payment, on time, with merely part-time, minimum wage jobs. But I did. I have the piece of paper to prove it. I also gained the knowledge and experience of how to make a major purchase like that, so next time I'll be a little more prepared and know what I'm looking for. It's such a great feeling to have a loan completely paid off and good credit history on my record. Just to know that it is possible to buy a car and pay it off before trading it in and only digging myself deeper into the debt-hole is a satisfying feeling.

I guess I'm just repeating the same thing in this entire blog, but you know what...

WOOHOOOOOO!!!!! YEA!!!!!!!!!

Now on to the pesky student loans.

"The Office" quote #1

"Once I'm oficially Regional Manager, my first order of business wil be to demote Jim Halpert. So I will need a new number two. My first choice? Jack Bauer. But he is unavailable. Fictional. and overqualified." - Dwight Schrute.

No Sleep Blog #4: What's in YOUR fridge?

Now I know I said I was going to blog in this darn thing everyday this year (Actually, I never said that to you, that was more of an inner-monologue thing. But, I guess I just said it, so there.) but I missed yesterday by a couple of hours. So sue me. I was out enjoying myself, which rarely happens anymore. And you wanna know what I was doing? Well, I'm going to tell you anyway.

(I don't know why this has started so angry. Again, that sarcasm font would really be useful right now.)

I was watching a movie. What movie? Parents starring Randy Quaid and Mary Beth Hurt, and directed by Bob Baladan. I don't know what year it was filmed, don't ask me that, but a safe bet would be 1980's ish. The film is set in the 1950's and revolves around a little boy slowly discovering that his parents are cannibals. As with any good cannibal movie, it has your nice touches of odd meats and such hidden in the cellar and mystery boxes in the freezer. (Presumably, they were body parts or organs or dead bodies or whatnot.) Oh friends that love comedy horror movies!

I'm a lot like that little kid. We had the same dorky haircuts, wouldn't eat our dinners, and snuck around the house at night in our underpants. (Unfortunately, I can't get the Batman style in my size anymore.)

Oh, and we also both had weird body parts in the fridge. Creeped out yet? Well, if you said yes, I would say "Come on, quit thinking about me in my tighty whities. I'm pretty sexy." That's right, body parts in the fridge. As a kid, my dad worked as a research biologist at UAMS doing cancer research, and occasionally he would have to bring his work home with him. It was not uncommon to have to move the piece of brain sitting in the formaldehyde just to get a drink of Sunny-D. And our kitchen table would often play host to some random human bone. Yea, it was unusual, but it was the kind of life I grew up around. I'm sure your household and parents were just as wierd or unusual as mine were.

Nearly a year ago, my dad lost his job. Doing cancer research requires that you work off of federal funding and grants, and I guess when you have to pay for wars, and oil, and healthcare, and politicians salaries, cancer cure just isn't very high on the list anymore. The lab that my dad worked at for nearly twenty five years was one of the first to get disbanded. Fortunately, my dad is at the age that he can draw social security and unemployment for a while and just retire.

I once heard it said that when we ask God for strength, He gives us challenges to make us strong. My family has gone through a lot over the years, and there were times when I was never quite sure how we would be able to muddle through. But we did, and we're still trudging along. They may embarass me sometimes, but they're my embarassment and I wouldn't trade 'em for anything.

I sure do miss those shocking fridge discoveries sometimes, though.

Dream Step #13

Why does someone believe you if you tell them there are four billion stars, but they check if you say the paint is wet?

No Sleep Blog #3: Rapidly Aging Adolescent

Despite all of the oddball and socially awkward physical traits that characterized me during my pubescent period (i.e. oversized tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, braces, pants that were slightly too short, poor clothing choices, poor hairstyle choices, sometimes greasy hair, dorky sense of humor, and a myriad of embarassing moments.), I can count myself lucky that I was able to sneak through those years with a relatively acne-free face. Sure, I had the occasional pimple or blackhead, but nothing that required standing in front of a mirror for hours try squeeze and poke every pore I could locate under the bright bathroom light. I always took a sense of pride in my complexion because I had seen the terrors that my sisters, classmates, and peers faced, and counted myself blessed that I wouldn't have to carry the scars of zit-wars into adulthood. I supposed that if there was one area of teenage angst that I could choose to bypass it would be that one anyhow, seeing that my confidence level usually won out over any fear of bad style and wore my exterior fashion like a shield of armor, refusing to allow anyone to stop me from marching to the beat of my own drum.

But zits, that was another thing, because there really is no good way of "cooling" them up.

Why, then, has the good lord decided to bless me with the little buggers so late in life. I think I've read about pepole who suffer from adult acne, where they only begin to have breakouts in their mature years. I'm not saying that I should be hanging out with Jessica Simpson on a proactive commercial by any means, and lightyears away from the "Mackenzie Philips experience" (which ,by the way, she was on Meth... Meth'll do that to ya. I watch Cops). However, it seems like I'm constantly having a little buddy just about every week. Grrrr!

I didn't really want to write this bolg about zits, but it seemed like a nice intro.

I can be immature. I might be 26, but I still enjoy a good fart joke, have an infinite love for the "Jackass" years, and will never, ever, eeeeeeeevvvvvveeeeeeeerrrrrrrr get tired of playing videogames, boardgames, tea parties, monster hunts, "house, school, and doctor", disney movies, sports, random dancing, flatulence, and funny faces with my glorious nieces and nephews or whatever other audience I can find. About the best New Year's Eve I ever had involved unlimited go-carts and laser tag at Playtime Pizza, showing those little brats how 24 year olds run shit. (Sorry Georgia, if you ever read this, but our New Year's Eve was pretty kickass, too) I once had a girlfriend break up with me for pulling a few harmless little pranks on her. (Come on, I didn't really think tapping the brakes so she would hit her head on the dashboard while she was bent over looking for my "secret wallet that I hid underneath the passenger seat" was all that bad.) But hey, that's who I am. I'm a big kid. I'm dedicated to feeling young for as long as I can, since I'm only gonna get one shot at this here life.

And if that means I have to put up with a few measly zits for a little while longer, then so be it. At least now I realize that chicks dig scars.

Dream Step #1784

To go along with yesterday's post:

"Apparently, if you play Nickelback's new album backwards, you can hear the devil. Even worse, if you play it forwards you can hear Nickelback."

Currently listening to The Black Keys new album "El Camino". Gaah, they are so good! I'm telling you, The Black Keys are the number 1 band right now.

No Sleep Blog #2: CD's are my shoes, CD's are my timekeepers

CD's

They are beautiful things. I love them.
Even more than that, I love to shop for them. As a small boy, I was a passionate fighter against shopping, but with two older sisters and a mother and a father who loved all sorts of the latest gadgets and trinkets on stroe shelves I usually found myself in the front end of a Sears or Sam's (or as I called it "The Dark Place" for it's high ceilings and poor lighting) or Wal-mart buggy being pushed around against my will. I hated wasting the hours browsing for clothes I would not wear or food I would not eat. Luckily, these trips usually had a stop at some Department store with racks that naturally made the best hiding places or "secret forts", a distinction that still held true 24 years later when I became an employee of Dillard's. It wasn't until my junior high years that I finally found my true passion for shopping. CD's.

We've all been at that young age where we have to default to the musical tastes of our parents car radios, and with an older sister 7 years my senior who was already shaping her identity I was given a large dose of country, country pop, and folk for years. It would be years later that I would grow to like folk, country, and americana, but I can easily say that both my sisters have the worst taste in music in the world. (Gaaah, older sisters are the worst!) But just like all american children, cartoons taught me more than I can ever give them credit for.

When I was fourteen, my oldest sister had her first child. One afternoon, I found myself tuning in to The Muppet Show with my new niece. The guest for that episode happened to be the legendary alternative rock band R.E.M. They were performing with The Muppet's house band Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. It was the first time I can ever remember thinking, "I wanna go shopping." Next shopping trip to Little Rock, I picked up that CD and forced my parents to buy it for me. Little did I know, that one instance of consumerism would create a domino effect of gigantic meaning.

R.E.M., The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Stone Temple Pilots, Blind Melon, Nirvana, and The Smashing Pumpkins would be my first loves. For some reason, I was really into early 90's stadium alt-rock. Through high school, with the help of friends, I found more and more that I liked. I can't be more thankful for meeting James Dorris, who shared much of the same musical tastes. He brought me the genius of CAKE, Ben Folds, Jack Johnson, The White Stripes, Lucero, and Cory Branan (along with many more, but, come on, I'm not trying to write a novel tonight.) I can't forget those that began the movement, with special shout-outs to The Beatles, The Doors, Booker T and the MG's, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin.

In my college years, I landed a job at Barnes & Noble and found it a daily struggle to keep myself out of the music department while on the clock. Sarah Snell, fellow co-worker and future greatest roommate of all time, helped me refine my musical tastes and knowledge, and produced in me a love for just about any sound. I finally felt like I really knew about music.

You know, if women can have hundreds of shoes, I see no reason why a young man can spend his hard earned refund check on a few cd's. And so what if I count my driving time in cd's instead of miles, minutes, or hours. While the ipod and digital downloading is great, I hope there never comes a time when I can't burn hours in a music store listening to whatever I can get my hands on.

So...
Thanks to every and any music store, for being there for me on Friday nights when I wasn't invited to the cool kids High School parties.
Thanks to James Dorris, for being the best sidekick ever.
Thanks to my sisters, for teaching me to run from anything they listen to.
Thanks to my nieces and nephews, who give me the purpose in life to make sure they don't fall under the spell of computer music and teenage douchebags. The power chord isn't gone yet.
Thanks to Sarah Snell, for giving me knowledge and a cool place to live in college.
Thanks to David, Amy, Micah, Matt Steele, and all the staff of B&N music department, for all the help in taking my money.
Thanks to all the great bands and artists I have mentioned, and all the ones I haven't, for changing my life.
And Thanks to any of you guys, who have ever given me a musical recommendation. I promise it did not go unheeded.

Dream Step #352

The evening news is where they begin with "Good Evening", and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.

No Sleep Blog #1

I had not visited this blog in quite some time, and before I could even be tempted to go through and read all those old posts that I'm sure attempted some kind of pathetic philosophy from a Little Rock, AR college student in his early twenties that had such strong convictions about life that he just had to share them with the World Wide Web, (at this point, I find myself wondering why noone has ever thought to create a sarcasm font. That could really save the world from a lot of trouble. But I digress...) I quickly hit the delete button.

I'm not entirely confident that my grammar and phrasing was completely correct in the previous paragraph, but I'll let those English Majors out there decide. ;)

So now, to those interested, you get to read the same crap all over again, except this time I'm two years older and two years dumber. You may be thinkng, "Well, two years doesn't seem like that long. What could possibly change in that short of a time?" For lack of coming up with a better quippy comeback to your supposed inner-monologue pessimism, you're right.

I'm still sitting in the same exact chair and looking at the same ugly brown walls (I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to paint my bedroom "Mushroom". Gaah, 16 year old self!), but two years later everything seems to be much more comfortable. Perhaps I've finally broken in the leather on this office chair with all my gained weight.

Ya know, sometimes ya gotta lose a lot of stuff before ya realize that losing stuff ain't all that bad. Sometimes you find things you never knew you were looking for, and if it was really important it just means you get to buy a new, shiny, better product to replace it. I've lost a lot of stuff in the past couple of years, but in hindsight it was probably about time I lost them anyway. I can be happy that I continue to wake up and breathe and go about my day. I've found that I can be comfortable in my own skin and I'm thankful that I have a better understanding of what's happening on the inside. I'm happy that, even though I still may be wrong at times about what I want in life, I now have the strength to pursue it on my own and stand on my own behalf, and to the nay-sayers I have the courage to give them the proverbial "Fuck-off." I'm excited that I've made the choice to enjoy my bachelorhood, and I'm confident that I know all the qualities that I would want in a future wife (or "the old ball-&-chain") and I'll be happy to settle for nothing less. And on that front, it's just gonna have to be a "It'll happen when it happens" strategy. And I'm glad that I don't feel like I have to lie to impress people anymore, cause all those lies were starting to get difficult to manage between everyone. Mom was right when she said the truth is always easier. And I'm thankful that every time my back feels like it's against the wall, the big guy upstairs always sees fit to throw me a rope. And in the times he doesn't, I'm glad that I can keep my composure. (Geez, it's not the end of the world, that's coming later!) I think I've finally fit into this perfect space that I call my body.

I guess the biggest thing I've learned up until now is:

Despite what I thought, success in life depends alot less on the things you learn along the way, and lot more on what you have inside of you right from the start.

Peace and Happy New Year!

Everything I ever wanted.

"I wanna have friends
that I can trust
That love me for the man I've become,
Not the man that I was

I wanna have friends
that let me be
All alone when being alone
is all that I need

I wanna fit in
to the perfect space
Fell natural and safe
in a volatile place

Will you understand?
When I am too old of a man
And will you forget
when we have paid our debt?

Who did we borrow from?" -The Avett Brothers