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drinking wrong since day one

GIS for sunshine.
Today a buddy at work sent me a news story about the Hubble telescope’s latest findings. The folks who run the telescope had it do it’s “deepest” probe ever of the universe. Looking as far out into space as possible and gathering data from that point allows scientists to see light from events that happened just a few hundred million years after the big bang. It’s pretty insane to think that we’re looking out across a massive amount of distance to point X, to collect light that has itself traveled a massive amount of distance just to get to point X – and this effectively enables us to see back in time.

After chewing on it for a while, and thinking I understood for a while – I think I totally out-physics’ed myself. If the universe is constantly expanding from the big bang, then that’s the reason we’re so far away (distance-wise) from that point of origin. So now we’re using a telescope too look back over a long amount of distance towards that point of origin. However, light from the events that happened billions of years ago at that point of origin have been traveling outward since the events happened. So as we look back over distance to point X, we’re capturing light that has managed to travel to that point X from the point of origin. The farther back in distance we can look, the earlier we can intercept light emitted from events that took place at distances even farther away. Right?

But, we were also a part of those early events right? In some way, at least. How did we manage to get so far away from them that we can look back on them? Why did we get to our current point in the universe before the light that we’re now looking back on? To simplify it, let’s say that the big bang happened and our galaxy as we know it now was created right off the bat. We’re right at the point where everything exploded into stars and energy, surrounded by those events. How did we then manage to drift so far so fast to some point that we can now look back on the light of those events? How did we so well “outrun” the light from those early events? My lack of understanding comes from a severely physics-challenged mind.

I do know that listening to Godspeed You Black Emperor! and A Silver Mt. Zion puts you in the perfect mindset to think about the beginning/end of the universe. You know, confronting your own mortality and insignificance and whatnot. Good music that most people would hate, or as Sharaun calls it “that stuff you listen to that makes me want to kill myself.” Can you guys believe we can look back in time?! Jumping to what Sharaun’s essay trumped for yesterday.

Sunday afternoon and one of the most beautiful days I’ve seen in a while. Not a cloud in the sky and the perfect temperature. I’ve got all the windows in the house open and some Stills‘ “Logic Will Break Your Heart” on the stereo. I know, britpop is old ‘n’ busted, but for some reason I love this album – even if it is Canadian britpop. It reminds me of my brit-soaked last years of high school – and hints somehow at Nada Surf’s underappreciated “Let Go.” Wow? the OC is playing Death Cab and I’m listening to britpop again? maybe my whole musical microcosm is turning inside-out.

This morning I caught up on some much-needed house cleaning while Sharaun was at her game. Now I’ve got to create an “instruction sheet” for using the hack on my Pioneer CD burner – since it sold last night for $250. Then it’s off to a matinee show here in town at Old Ironsides starring the Stars and Dears. We were actually supposed to do that same show last night in San Francisco, but Sharaun discovered on Friday that they would be in Sacramento the next day. Considering the cost of gas to the city and back, and eating out on the way there – we decided we’d actually make money by skipping the one we’d already paid for and taking in the show locally tonight. (From the future – the show was good).

I think I’ve been drinking beer wrong since day one. When I was in middle school and I got my first real taste of beer, I can recall thinking it was completely horrid. I think it was the bitterness of it that put me off at first, I just hated it. After much practice though, I came to love the beer as I do today. Last night we were enjoying some at Anthony’s, and my nose started getting stuffy – like it often does when I drink beer for some reason. I started thinking about why my nose would be affected from one beverage over any other, and I decided it had something to do with the way I swallow beer. And get this, I think I discovered that I’ve been drinking beer completely wrong for like 12 years. See, back in my na?ve youth, the bitterness of beer bothered me so much that I must have subconsciously developed a technique to minimize my tasting of it. When I drink beer, and only when it’s beer, I “throw” the beer right past the front of my tongue and directly to the back of my mouth. I hold it at the back and then let it drain down my throat more than swallow it. I think I must have developed this nasty habit in an attempt to let the beer bypass the front part of my tongue – which in my mind somehow reduced the bitter taste. I think the “draining more than swallowing” is also an effort to keep the front of my tongue beer-free. I don’t drink any other liquid this way.

So, I am now making a conscious effort to drink beer like I drink any other beverage. I mean, I’d hate to think that I’ve been missing out on a whole other element of beer’s taste. It would certainly be a shame if I were to go through my whole life never knowing what beer tastes like when you let it hit the front of your tongue.

Dave out.

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ghostwriting about ghosts

The only thing I'd ever need on that desert island I always talk about.
Sharaun ghost writes today’s blog without even knowing it. From some document called “SUMMER93.doc” I found while cleaning out my “My Documents” folder. The date says it was written a few years ago. I liked it.

Praise the Lord! Tenth grade was over and the summer was here. Those were my thoughts walking out of Rockledge High School. My sophomore year had been a difficult one, especially with geometry, but that was all behind me now. I would spend my summer with friends on the beach, just letting the sun melt the geometry from my brain. I vowed to never speak the word again. That is until three days later when my parents received my final report card in the mail. I spent about an hour trying to justify the “D” I received in my geometry class. I could have sworn I had a solid “C” in there. Anyway, my father concluded our conversation by letting me know I would be on restriction……the entire summer. I stormed off to my room where I sobbed for two consecutive hours. How could my father be so irrational? At least I didn’t fail.

Fortunately, after having been restricted for only two weeks, my father decided that a whole summers restriction was a somewhat extreme. He told me that I could start going out again. Those words were music to my ears. I immediately called my friend Natalie to make plans for the night. I was excited about what the summer had in store.

Nothing could have prepared me for the summer of 1993. I’ve never had so many memorable experiences in such a short amount of time. During those next two months I made a new friend, started a relationship with the guy who is still my boyfriend, and had the most fun doing the dumbest things.

My first night out was going to be with Natalie. Upon calling her, she informed me that her cousin Heather had flown in from Pennsylvania. She said Heather was our age and that she was “real cool.” Natalie had recently turned sixteen and gotten her license, so Natalie, Heather, and I were set to cruise the thrilling city of Rockledge. Rockledge, for those who don’t know, (which is everyone) is a small town. It is a good 30 minute drive to get to a town that has some sort of entertainment. That night I was introduced to Heather. She was “real cool.” We got along great. Heather was a petite girl, with short, light brown hair which framed her freckled face. She wore wire rimmed oval glasses, and spoke with a slight accent. I don’t know exactly what kind of accent it was. She spoke different from Natalie and I. I suppose it was a Pennsylvanian accent. Anyway, she fit perfectly into our group of friends. It was me, Natalie, Heather,David, Andy, and Kyle. We were inseparable that summer.

The six of us spent countless nights together. We didn’t do much hanging out in the daytime. That was when the girls would go to the beach and the guys would do…well, whatever it was that they did in the daytime. However, once the sun set, it was a given that we would be getting together. We never did anything significant. We usually just found a place where we could talk, whether it was at someone’s house, the beach, the dock, the circle, Wendy’s, or the local elementary school’s playground. We had numerous conversations that led to us all growing very close. I, in particular, grew very close to David.

I had met David the previous year in school. He, like his friends Andy and Kyle, was kind of weird. They were different from the typical tenth grade boys. They were sort of like loners. They weren’t the party boys or the jocks, they were in a class of their own. In fact, at one point, I found David to be a little scary. He always wore satanic looking Led Zeppelin shirts. I learned much more about David during those summer nights (like the fact he didn’t worship the devil). David and I enjoyed talking so much that I began calling him. After returning home from our outings, I would sneak the telephone into my bedroom to call David. Talking to David, on the phone, became a nightly event. We had so much to learn about each other. On many nights we would talk until the sun came up. We would talk on the phone for seven hours and it would feel like only two. David and I became best friends.

Heather and Natalie noticed mine and David’s fondness for one another. They would often tease us about “liking” each other, but I assured them that I would never “like” someone so weird. Pretty soon, Andy and Kyle joined in on the teasing. So one night when we were all at the circle (an empty cul-de-sac in an undeveloped subdivision), David and I hopped into his red Nissan to talk. The others must have thought we were having a make out fest because they began circling the car like buzzards. It was a humid evening, and David turned the air on. This caused the car windows to fog. Kyle, Heather, Andy, and Natalie stood outside the car trying to peer through the frost to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Deciding to give them something to talk about, David jumped on top of me. It was kind of uncomfortable being squashed on top of each other in the front seat, but it was well worth it to see the looks on their faces when we climbed out of the car.

The six of us pulled a lot of pranks that summer, only we pulled them on one another. It seemed to be our way of showing affection. We would take turns toilet papering each other’s houses, along with other unusual displays of liking. I will never forget returning home from a softball tournament to find every inch of my yard covered in toilet and newspaper. It could only be the work of David, Andy and Kyle. My neighbors actually came over to take pictures. My front yard consists of a lot of shrubbery and a huge oak tree. Those three guys must have spent hours, and a fortune, on toilet papering my house. They claimed to have used forty-three rolls. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they used shredded newspaper to coat my lawn. I don’t think a square inch of grass was visible. After four hours of cleanup, which still wasn’t to my parents satisfaction, I was exhausted. I used every ladder, step stool, and lawn tool to remove the toilet paper from the oak tree, but nothing worked. I believe there still may be white remnants in the top branches. It was time for revenge!

Natalie, Heather and I wanted to get them back, in an unusual way. The toilet paper thing was old, so we decided on pork-n-beans. We scrounged up as much money as we could find, and purchased half a shopping cart full of pork-n-beans. This was going to be great! We emptied the cans into as many Tupperware containers they could fill, then hopped into Natalie’s car to complete our mission. We coated David’s front porch with a thick layer of pork-n-beans. Driving home, we laughed until we cried at the thought of having to clean that mess up. David said it didn’t take him long to hose down his porch, however the pork-n-bean juice did leave his porch a beautiful shade of brown! That summer the pranks continued with such items as creamed corn, dirt, dog food and vegetable oil.

It wasn’t long before Heather’s three and a half weeks were up. We all told her good-bye and how much we would miss her. We had shared some wonderful times with Heather. She became a part of the best experiences I ever had. Through letters to Natalie, Heather kept us posted on how she was doing, but after that summer we never saw Heather again.

The summer went on as before. Nothing special, just spending time together and pulling pranks. Well, I suppose there was something special. That would be David. We were closer than ever. Over the summer I contracted a very mild case of mono. Over the two weeks I was sick, David brought me flowers, balloons and food. He really showed me how much he cared by spending time with me while I was ill. I knew everything there was to know about David, just as he knew everything about me. We began to wrap up our nightly phone calls with “I love you.” I can’t explain how I fell in love with David, just as I can’t explain how I grew so close to Heather in a mere three weeks, or what possessed us to pour pork-n-beans on someone’s porch. They all just happened. There was something magical about that summer. Something that made it unforgettable.

No one wanted to see summer end, but before we knew it our junior year had arrived. Although I despised going back to school, at least there would be no geometry. Shortly into eleventh grade, David and I officially started a relationship. We are still together to this day.

I continue to keep in touch with the others from that summer, that is everyone but Heather. About two years ago, Natalie told me Heather was involved in a serious car crash that took her life. I couldn’t believe someone as lively as Heather could be dead. Although I had spent just a few weeks with Heather, she effected me in a big way. She is a part of some of my greatest memories.

It would be impossible for me to put on paper everything the six of us did that summer. It would also be impossible to describe in words the feelings I felt. All I can do is recount some of the highlights and say that they were the best times of my life. I left the summer of ’93 with a new friend, an exciting romance, and stories to tell my children.

Dave… er… Sharaun out.

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family photos

How did people make their friends look dumb before this program?!
Today we got into a little Photoshop war, and instead of writing I thought I’d just post the results – it’ll be more interesting anyway.

It all started when Ben’s dad scanned in some old family photos and sent them to Ben. Ben thought he looked funny in a couple of them, so he forwarded them to Anthony and me. After looking at one picture, I told Ben he looked like devil-spawn because of the evil look on his face. He also looked decidedly evil in another one of the images.



 		   

 

Ben’s bro Dave acted on the evil theme, and crafted up a Photoshop which he sent in an e-mail called “I’m taking control of this town!”

He followed up the morning after with a pretty involved animated version. Not about to let Dave to get all the glory, I came correct with “I’m taking control of this continent!”

Apparently not wanting to be outdone, and most obviously cowering before my PS skillz, Dave fired back with “Benan.”

I countered with “I’m taking control of this movie,” which really doesn’t make that much sense. But the jogging suit was too good to ignore.

That’s it guys. Nothing more for today. I think I’ll go home early and mow the lawn, since I’ve obviously decided that my “work day” will contain no actual work today. Until Monday, Dave out.

PS – Sorry Ben and family if you didn’t want your family photos on the web, I’ll take ’em down if you file suit or something. No really, just say the word.

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smoke ’em if ya got ’em

The dirty South.
When I was in Florida for Christmas this past year, I had a lot of good food. I don’t know what it is, but something about home-cooked Southern food is totally awesome. It’s not just the taste of the food, it’s the whole “ambiance” that goes along with it. A real Southern meal implies things more than just good eats to me. For one meal, I was invited over to Bob in Florida’s house. His wife had prepared a honest-to-God Southern meal, and it was totally awesome. It was a fine meal, fine to the point of inspiring me to write about it in detail.

On the menu was a roast, a tossed salad, some red potatoes, and some green beans Of course, also present were the requisite “greens.” I don’t know about you, but being a Florida transplant from the west originally – I hadn’t ever heard the term “greens.” If you’ve never heard it, greens are the leafy parts of all sorts of stuff, and Southern people love ’em. They cook up greens with all sorts of interesting flavors, and then put hot pepper sauce on ’em before eating. Kinda like a warm leaf stew, or something. Thing is, I’ve never liked greens before. They tend to be bitter and kinda slimy – and I always passed on them. But man, we’re these greens awesome. I even used the hot pepper sauce like a true Southerner. I had like three helpings.

Anyway, we sat and ate and talked. Long leisurely meals are appealing to me, as long as the company and conversation is good. My family always used to talk at dinner, it’s where we’d catch up on everyone’s day. We always sat down and ate together, every night. I actually remember looking forward to dinner time when I was a kid. My mom would plan out the week’s meals in advance, so she could do the appropriate shopping. She’d also “post” the week’s meal itinerary on the fridge each week – I guess her way of keeping us informed about what we were having. Probably it was more of a reminder to her in case there was prep-work she’d have to do or something, but I always thought it was so neat to be able to “look forward” to a meal later on in the week. Thanks mom.

Here’s a long-winded story that eventually ties into the above rambling. I was a junior in college and my friend Kyle was in the Air Force stationed in Abilene, Texas. One winter, we cooked up a scheme where I would come out to visit him. However, being a broke college student, I opted to take a Greyhound bus from. Yeah, a Greyhound bus halfway across the country – 36hrs. I was never what I consider to be a “real” smoker, but throughout college I would occasionally indulge with my smoker roommate. I enjoyed a social cigarette with him quite often as a way to wind down in the evening, or to compliment a few beers and an evening out. The only time I ever bought cigarettes though, was on this particular Greyhound trip.

I mean, I was on a bus guys, for 36 hours. The only time the bus stopped was for a few minutes every few hours, for… you guessed it – a smoke break. At the first stop, I just got off the bus and mingled with the smokers. By the second stop, I was so compelled to get off that bus for some reason, I actually bought a pack of cigarettes and started having one each time we stopped. Normally, I hate smoking. I’ll have a cigarette and halfway through wonder: “Why am I doing this?” I hate the smell, they give me headaches, and they are just nasty all over. But for all their bad points, they can be extremely “rewarding” in their own way. They do promote a feeling of “ahhh,” and relaxation in some cases.

Anyway, back to the story. I arrived in Texas and met up with Kyle, who had been a smoker for a few years. For the entire week, we smoked like smokers. We took full advantage of the smoking sections in restaurants, sitting down for long meals while tugging on smokes and laughing. We smoked in the car, we smoked at the barracks, we smoked after meals and before meals. And for one week in my life – smoking ceased to disgust me. In fact, it became something supremely enjoyable. I remember fearing that I was liking it a little too much, but upon getting back to Florida – it once again became the occasional vice. Something about kicking back at a table, having just enjoyed a fine omelet, and breathing deep from a lit cigarette while discussing random events… I guess it only makes sense in Abilene after two days in a bus.

That bus trip was fun though. Sleeping on my suitcases in Dallas overnight so no one would steal them, playing poker with four old black guys on the floor of a bus stop in Louisiana. My bus leaving Dallas for Tallahassee was so late that, out of frustration, I ended up sneaking onto a bus for Atlanta and pretending to be asleep with they came by and asked for tickets. I figured, at least it’s closer to Florida than Dallas. It all worked out, but man oh man was that an experience.

Out.

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no diving

Ouch.
Here’s the deal y’all. It’s Wednesday night, but I wish it was still Tuesday because I have so much to get done this week. Work is really kicking my butt lately, it’s almost like they expect me to actually exert effort before they’ll write me a check. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ve got my best people looking into it.

Nearly 100 people have looked at my latest auction on Ebay, still no bids. I did get a couple questions from people who were curious about how I actually did the mod, but that’s about it. Looks like there’s a lot of interest in the auction, so hopefully it’s buyer interest and not just looker interest. I’m imagining a last-minute bidding frenzy where the price soars into the tens of thousands of dollars. Yup, that’s what I imagine.

This weekend is Ben’s birthday. For the occasion we’re going to see a show in the city, this time it’s the Stars and Dears. The Stars were great last time we saw them with Broken Social Scene, and the Dears’ record is amazing – so I’m anticipating a decent show. The morning of the show, Anthony and I are serving as judges for an Odyssey of the Mind competition. If you’ve never heard of OM, it’s like a fun organization for brainy kids. They have competitions where kids come and compete, kind of like a big “gifted” class or something. The do thing like build cars out of macaroni and make matchstick rockets and try to safely drop eggs from heights. Anyway, we’re the “weigh-in” judges for the “Balancing Act” problem. “Balancing Act” is the OM version of the balsa-wood bridge problem that most kids do in high-school physics. I’ve even seen them do this on ESPN before.. I think. Using only balsa wood and glue the kids must create a structure that can support as much weight as possible. There are restrictions on the structure’s weight, and what types of glues can be used, etc. Should be fun, and I’m hoping for some good stories to come from it.

It was my first year at community college, so I was probably 19. We were organizing a familiar camping trip at a natural springs about an hour from where we lived. I can’t believe my memory is already this bad, but I think I went with Jeremy and maybe Joey. Whoever it was, there was three of us.

The springs had a few “primitive camping” areas that we’d been to before. For the non-campers out there, primitive camping is defined as camping with no necessities – no water, no fire ring, no RV pad or outhouse. Usually just a clearing that’s marked and some spots to setup a tent. We really enjoyed going to the springs to camp, since the campsites were so isolated from everything. You could only get to them by a 40min hike along a foot trail through the marshy forest. Once you arrived at the clearing, you were truly removed from everything. Not only that, we would usually organize trips during the week – so we’d be sure to be the only ones out there. It was a perfect camping spot, relaxed and private and in a great natural setting.

Our trips would normally last three days and two nights. Since the actual freshwater spring was only a 40min walk from the campsite, we’d trek into the actual park each morning after breakfast for a dip in the water. We’d usually hang out at the springs all day swimming and barbecuing, and then head back to camp in the early evening. Sometimes we’d stay at the campsite all day, but the springs served as our daily “showers” so we tried to make it up there in the mornings at least.

It was the last day of one of our three day trips. For some reason, we had elected to stay at the campground the whole time – and we hadn’t showered in two nights of primitive camping. I think we stayed at the campsite because we had brought along a respectable amount of alcohol, which we often did when camping. The booze tended to keep us near the tents, fire, and poker game. Anyway, we woke up on that last morning and broke camp to hike back to the car. We stowed all our gear in the car, but before leaving decided to “rinse off” in the springs. (Two nights of drinking and firewood-foraging and pooping in hand-dug holes can make a guy feel kinda ratty).

When we got to the springs it was already mid-morning and several people were swimming and sunbathing around the area. The park service had made some changes to the area around natural spring itself to make it more conducive to swimming. It had a concrete sides to the swimming area on one side, and there were places were you could easily climb in and out. They’d basically turned it into a freshwater springs swimming pool.

Even though the spring was deep in the middle, it could get rather shallow on the edges since it was basically a natural lake and could fluctuate. To warn people of this, the park had “NO DIVING” signs stenciled on the concrete wall and posted on signposts around the water. The signs even showed a crude stick-man foolishly diving head-first into the water (represented by the universal water symbol of peaked wavy lines) and hitting his head on the bottom. Lines clearly meant to indicate “pain” were shown escaping from the stick man’s head at the point of impact. I got it, diving = bad.

So maybe you can guess where I’m going here, but I’ll go ahead and fill in the blanks anyway. I’d like to preface the story by stating the fact that none of us had had anything to smoke or drink that day, and were stone-cold sober. We walked down to the water’s edge, where we all stood on the concrete wall ready to get in the water. If you believe my friends, I was actually standing on the stenciled words “NO DIVING” when I dove… but I think that part of the story was invented later for the sake of comedic irony. Either way, you already know what happens… I walked right up to the edge and dove head-first into the water.

I think I got about… uhh… up to my chest before my head hit the rock. I do know that most of my body wasn’t even underwater yet when it happened. Apparently the scene from above was pretty funny, they said I walked right down to the concrete wall, dove in, got into about my chest, and then all they saw was a cloud of dust rise from the bottom of the water as the rest of my body crumpled into the springs. What I remember goes something like this: dive off the ledge, head hits the water, head hits rock really hard and I do a little summersault underwater and bring my feet back underneath me so I’m standing. Now I’m standing in what is clearly only waist-deep water, holding my head.

At this point all I know is that I hit my head, but when I come up I realize I’m having a hard time staying on my feet. My friends are standing above me, looking down on me from the ledge, doubled over laughing. They’re laughing so hard, in fact, that they don’t hear me dizzily say “Guys, I think I’m fucked up.” When I repeat myself and this time hold out my hand to be helped back on the ledge, they grab me and hoist me up.

Suddenly everything is red. I look down at my chest and I am absolutely covered in blood. It’s in my eyes so bad I can’t see. I think as they hoisted me up, my friends realized I was indeed “fucked up.” Now I’m starting to freak out, usually the sight of my own blood makes me pass out. I know, I’m a puss – but if I could help it I would. It’s some kind of involuntary reaction that I don’t have control over. Other people’s blood, no problem. My blood? You better go fetch the smelling salts ’cause I’ll be out like a light in no time. This time though, I didn’t pass out.

I remember taking my t-shirt and pressing it to my head to try and stop the blood. Then some nice lady who noticed this dumbass kid just split his head open diving off the “no diving” sign rushed down to the water’s edge from where she and her family were having lunch. She brought some ice wrapped in one of those mini-Lays chip bags that you used to get when mom packed your lunch. What a smart idea. I remained pretty calm, and remember thinking that I just had to find somewhere to sew me up. Once we had the blood pretty much stopped, through ice and pressure, we walked to the car and headed out of the park.

We stopped at the ranger station on the way out to ask for directions to the emergency room, since we were in a town about an hour away from our home – and had no idea where anything was. He gave us some directions to the hospital, which was a 30min drive according to him, and we set off. Around the 40min mark it became apparent we’d missed whatever hospital this guy had directed us too. We pulled off the freeway and stopped at, of all places, a karate dojo to ask directions. Funny enough, they said there wasn’t a hospital on this side of town and suggested we try one of those walk-in clinic places. Whatever, it had been almost an hour since I split my head and I wanted it closed up.

We followed the sensei’s directions to the first clinic. We could see the sign from the road: “24 Hour Emergency Clinic.” Sounded perfect! Of course, they were closed. The sign on the door said, and I’m not joking, “Closed Due to Terminal Illness.” Now, what that means I have no idea. We stopped in at a gas station across the street to try and find another destination. Finally, we pulled up at another clinic – this one being open.

When I walked in, the place was absolutely packed. However, I think the fact that I was wearing a t-shirt which was completely red with blood and holding a chip bag to my busted head helped catapult me to the front of the waiting room. I was in the back in no time, where a “doctor” looked at my head. By now I had all but stopped bleeding, so he just had to clean some dirt and water-muck away before he could fix me up. I assumed I’d get some stitches and be on my way. I was wrong.

The doctor told me that my wound was a good candidate for “staples” instead of stitches. Sounded strange to me, but he assured me they worked like stitches and would be easier to apply. So, I agreed (not that I think my consent would’ve really mattered had I not). He brought over a shot with some anesthetic and what looked like an honest-to-God Office Depot-bought Swingline stapler. No joke. I expected some fancy stainless “medical” stapler, but this thing looked totally consumer-grade to me. It obviously wasn’t, but man did it look it. He told me I would feel a “pinch” when he injected my scalp. I did feel a pinch. I felt a pinch and then watched him immediately put down the syringe, pick up the stapler, and proceed to shoot several staples right into my wound. Nevermind that the anesthetic wouldn’t start to take effect for another couple of minutes, I was healed.

So, that’s how I ended up with eight staples in my head. When I went to my normal doctor several weeks later to have them removed, he said I was lucky that I didn’t break my neck and die or get paralyzed. Yeah, I guess I am lucky.

Stick around, I’ve got plenty of emergency-room stories. Like when I filleted my thumb on a genuine samurai sword or my last time ice-skating when I had to get stitches to put my bottom lip back together. w00t.

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scoietal dregs need to drive too

It's a place you can go.
What a weekend. I don’t really feel like writing about all the shows, but I’ll just say that the Decemberists were the feather in the cap of a great musical weekend. They are so good live. I missed writing yesterday, things were just too busy and I wasn’t in the mood.

Yesterday I put my Pioneer CD burner on Ebay, starting it out at $200. I’m hoping that the little hack I did to the machine makes it more desirable, instead of less. So far there have been a lot of lookers, so that bodes well. I’m not worried about lack of bids at this point, things usually take of near the end. Hopefully I can make a buck or two on it, since it’ll be all profit to me. Actually, that thing has brought me plenty of money in the past. I sold Beatles bootlegs all through college for extra cash, brining in about $900 in a good month.

Today I had to go to the DMV to get new license plates (I lost one of them). Why is it that the DMV is so busy? I mean, surely there are other places that see as many people per day and aren’t so chronically backed up. There were nearly 100 people in there waiting for their numbers to be called. It was the same thing when Sharaun and I went to the Social Security office to get her new card after we were married. Not only do these offices for some reason move in slow motion, they always attract a very interesting crowd. I mean, “normal” people have to go to the DMV and Social Security right? When do they go? I’m just saying, it seems like the place is always chock full of… umm… people “from the other side of the tracks?” Oh whatever, you know what I mean. The DMV is full of single moms with kids running loose, barefoot rednecks, ex-cons, and every other societal dreg you can think of. Why is this? I did see a handful of regular-looking Joe’s… so maybe this is just my racism and stereotyping showing through.

I’ve half-decided that I’m going to start taking lunch at home whenever I can. Since it’s so close, and I have an hour to myself – I’m going to use that time to get things done around the house. As the weather improves and summer gets here, I can get a lot done in the 40min that I’m not eating or driving back/forth between work. I can even get the lawn mowed if I take an extra 15min or so. Not only is it a potential time to get some work done around the house – it saves me money in the long run by not dropping $8 every day on food. I can make a week’s worth of sandwiches at home for the same amount of money I spend daily on lunch now. Today was my first go at this new plan, but the fix-it man was there to do some house-warranty stuff, so I didn’t get a chance to get anything done. Hopefully I can stick to the plan.

Since I’ve been making some money of late by selling things on Ebay, it’s made me want to work harder to get this t-shirt site live. I’ve been working on creating a functional web storefront where Shaine and I plan to hawk our t-shirt wares. The development is going a little slower than I’d like, but I think we’re pretty close to having a working website. From then on it’s all about marketing. If people start buying, that’s great. One thing that gives me some hope is the reaction I get to the Kiss shirt I wear to concerts. It’s one of the shirts we’re going to sell on the webpage, and I like to wear it to our shows (for some reason, Kiss has lots of indie-cred). I must get about ten compliments on the shirt for every show I go to. Right now I just say “thanks” when someone pays me a compliment on it, but I’d love to be able to say, “Yeah, I got it at angelsnot.com, you should check it out.” Yeah, the website is called www.angelsnot.com – it’s not live yet, so there’s nothing there… the development is going on at an unmapped domain. I’ve got my fingers crossed that we can turn at least a small profit with this thing – I definitely think there’s potential for it.

Today NASA was supposed to make a huge announcement about “significant findings” on Mars. There was a lot of speculation that they might announce they had found evidence of life, either by way of fossils or current biology. That got me really interested actually, and I was hoping that’s what they were going to say. I thought that maybe this Rotini-looking shape was a Mars-worm fossil or something. Turns out they just wanted to tell us that the place used to be “soaked” in water, which is something that most people already believed to be true. So it was kinda disappointing to me. I was really looking forward to hearing the fundies‘ reaction to an announcement of life on another planet. I don’t want to get into where I stand on religion, but I am always interested in religion’s reaction to new science. I would think the affirmation on life other than Earth might cause some interesting waves in the religious community, and with fundies in particular. Owell, the rovers are still there – so there’s still hope.

That’s it for today. I’m gonna cut out a little early and vote, since I’ve been more and more interested in how my opinion can matter lately. Dave out.

Posted on

belgian benefactor

Stop! It's the International Police.
S’appenin’ y’all? Me, nothing much. Just sitting here watching the OC on a Thursday night. That’s right, the OC on a Thursday. Yes, I have magic powers.

Tomorrow (tonight when you read this) we strike out on the Noise Pop warpath. Three concerts in two days, a music bender if you will. We tackle Vanderslice and Pedro first, then move along our battlefield to confront the Wrens and Earlimart, and wrap up with a pirate battle asea versus the Decemberists. We’re doing an overnighter in the city at a hotel in the Union Square district, which means we can hoof it to the Friday night show. It also means we have a morning to kill on Saturday. Should be a fun weekend.

My calculator totally sold for $90. That makes me happy. I think I’m getting a little addicted to selling stuff on Ebay, I keep trying to think of other things around the house that I can sell. I was thinking I could sell my hacked Pioneer PDR-05 pro cd burner. That thing was ~$5k new. I modified it to be able to accept the PC-type blanks, since it can normally only support the “pro” type (audio only). Maybe that mod would make it more desirable? I don’t know.

What’s that? You’re curious as to why in the world I bought a five-thousand dollar cd burner? Ahhh? now that’s an interesting story. Bottom line is, I didn’t. A guy I’ve never met, who lives in Belgium, bought it for me. I’m gonna tell you the story that I used to refer to as my “benefactor in Belgium” story.

Back in the time before PC shipped standard with PC burners, i.e. my junior year of college, I was an avid music fan and collector. Sometime late in high school I had created a webpage dedicated to the band Question Mark & the Mysterians. I had made the site mostly out of frustration that there wasn’t one out there already. Long story short, that site still exists today – and is now the #1 return on most search engines for Mysterians-related queries (although as webpages go, it’s a terrible, shaming example of what I can do? hey, I wrote it in high school).

I used to, and still do, get lots of questions on the Mysterians site. The major reason I made the site is because the band’s recordings aren’t commercially available, despite being very popular. So most of the questions I get are from people looking to obtain the music. One day I got an e-mail from a guy named Raymond. Raymond was in Belgium and was compiling a digital library of all his favorite American oldies. He needed the Mysterians song “96 Tears” as part of that collection, and he contacted me to get it.

Raymond asked me if I could get him a copy of the cd. At the time, I had no idea how to get another copy. I searched high and low to get the one copy I had, and I wasn’t about to part with it. When I politely told him I didn’t think I could find another copy, he asked me if I had a cd recorder – which I didn’t. Now, here’s where it gets strange. Over the course of maybe two more e-mails, Raymond explained to me that he was looking for some rare American recordings like “96 Tears” which were only available on vinyl or hard-to-find cds. Out of the blue, he offered to buy me a cd burner. Yeah, he offered to buy me a whole cd recorder just to get a copy of one song.

Honestly, I thought the guy was kidding. However, I figured “what the hell,” and one-upped him. I said something like “why not buy me a professional burner and then I can find some of the vinyl your after and transfer that to cd as well?” Unbelievably, he agreed. He said that because he was after mostly older American recordings, he was stuck placing large orders from the US – and that the import tax he paid on those items was an exorbitant 20%. He proposed an agreement whereby I would buy all the cds and vinyl he was after, have them shipped to me, open them all, and re-ship them to him declaring them as “used.” Seems that the import tax on new foreign goods is huge, but used foreign “gifts” are hardly taxed at all. He sent me an e-mail telling me to find the recorder I wanted, and let him know how much it was.

Still half-thinking the whole thing had to be a joke, I purposely searched for the most expensive and high-end burner I could find. At the time, professional burners weren’t that common, and were still very expensive. I found what I wanted in the Pioneer PDR-05, which retailed for ~$5k. As a complete joke, and without the slightest idea that he might actually follow through, I sent Raymond an e-mail saying the Pioneer PDR-05 would be the perfect burner. He didn’t even blink. The next afternoon I was picking up $7000 from a Western Union inside the Winn Dixie across from my apartment. Raymond had sent an extra $2k as “starter” money for the upcoming import-tax-evasion scheme we’d be working.

Now, here I am, a college kid who just got $7000 from a stranger he’s never met who lives in Europe. I bought my new Pioneer burner, and sent my first package to Belgium – two copied Question Mark & the Mysterians cds. After that Raymond would send me lists of cds, hundreds at a time, and I would order them. When they got to my house, I’d open each and every one, throw away the piles of cellophane, rebox the discs, and ship them to him declared as “gift: used music cds.” I also ordered vinyl, which I transferred to cd using the new burner and sent. He paid for all the shipping, the cost of materials, and frequently told me to use the money to pay for my gas and other expenses. Each week I would send him an accounting of his funds, a balance sheet showing all my expenses and what was left. I did this mainly because I wanted to assure him I was honest.

By this time I had developed quite a friendly relationship with this man. I learned that he was single, was in his fifties, and had been stationed at a US Army base in Germany during the 50’s and 60’s – which is where he developed his love of American music. I learned that he was retired, but was working as a “promoter” or something for a French modeling agency. I also learned that he was loaded, and very liberal with his money. He would often send packages for Sharaun. Perfume from Paris, chocolate from Germany, etc. Each week when I would send my homemade accounting sheet, he would tell me to take $200 or so and take my girlfriend out for dinner – which I gladly did. After a time, we began talking on the phone. He had a very thick accent, but I had no problem understanding him.

You’d think it couldn’t get any stranger, but it did. A few months into our buyer/seller relationship, Raymond e-mailed me asking for what he called “a favor.” Hang on, it’s gonna get strange here for a lil’ bit. In whatever year this was, I can’t remember, Pfizer had just come with Viagra – and the FDA’s approval of the drug was making big news around the world. Europe’s drug agency had yet to approve the drug, and it probably wouldn’t be available there for another year. What’s this have to do with Raymond, you ask? Well, as I mentioned before – Raymond was a man in his fifties, who worked with models. All the international news about Viagra must’ve gotten to him. He e-mailed me and asked me if I knew any US doctors who could get him some Viagra. He asked this completely out of the blue. Of course, I wasn’t really tied into any crooked prescription-writing doctors – so I wrote back apologetically saying I couldn’t help.

A day or so later, Raymond e-mailed me saying he’d found a way to get the Viagra in the US, but he needed my help to get it to him. He said he’d given my address to a doctor who would be sending me the pills, he ended up paying $80 per pill. A week later, I got a package in the mail with the Viagra. It came from New York City and was prescribed by, and to, a doctor there. Raymond had instructed me to get a large bottle of vitamins from a nutritional store, and make sure the bottle wasn’t clear. I found some Shark Fin pills, and after wrapping the Viagra in a small bag I hid them in the vitamins. I then re-sealed the foil on the pills and mailed them off to Brussels. At the time I really didn’t think much of it, but I think that might be in violation of at least some kind of federal laws. Strange indeed.

Over the next few months, business with Raymond continued as usual. Until one day when I took a phone call from him, and he told me he wanted to start a corporation in the US. In order to avoid some heavy taxation, and to get the corporation to be legally “based” in the States, he needed a US citizen as a founder. He asked if I would be willing to be a partner in this S-Corp that he was starting in New Jersey, so they could legally claim US status (for whatever reason). It was when he approached me with this that I started getting a little leery. I did a couple conference calls with Raymond, his sister in Milan, and some dudes from New Jersey, but I eventually ended up stalling and they were tied up with paperwork.

After that, Raymond just disappeared. As quickly as we started working together, we stopped. I got no more e-mails, no more phone calls, nothing. The whole thing went on for the better part of a year. After it was all over, Raymond had wired a twenty year old kid more than ten grand. My parents and friends suggested that I was being used to launder money, was being groomed for a young gay lover, was messing with the international mob, and would sure surely end up being taken away in handcuffs. After it all, I made out with an awesome cd burner, some pretty rare vinyl records, and a pretty good story.

To this day I haven’t heard from Raymond. I don’t know if he died, got arrested, was murdered, I know nothing. I do know that I have him to thank for enabling me to start trading cds as a hobby, and teaching me about Joey Dee and the Starliters‘ “Peppermint Twist” (his favorite song). Thanks Ray!

Wow, that turned out to be longer than I thought. But owell, at least it’s a good story. Last night I had asparagus with dinner. I don’t know what chemical it is in asparagus that makes your pee stink, but it sure acts fast. I peed within what must have been ten minutes after eating it, and it was already nice and stinky. I love asparagus, but I hate asparagus-pee.

Dude, my fingers are burning. Dave out.