It's Daytime in the Kitchen

It's Beer too long

2009-10-12T20:44:00.001-07:00

[written: unknown date]
Preface and Pretext: The fear and The Loathing.

    Again we, the royal we, find ourselves in something entirely different than ever before expected. It seems that something unexpected a year ago when I started this has come about. The cracks in the persona that started this blog widened, and that which was asked for reared it's head. The fear and the loathing.

    A close friend and mortal enemy once told me that I tired, and tried to say something in a voice not my own... so DITK is changing it's pace, not that it ever had one, at least not constant. Previously, the Spanish leg that is, was nothing more than a failed experiment in style.   Maybe it was because I only had a loose idea of what I was trying to stylize. Maybe it was because I was looking with the wrong kind of eyes.

    When started, this blog's intention was to pick up a cross that was not mine to bare, fly a standard of wild eyes behind dark glasses, and pick-up a mantle once dropped by a man under the moniker of Raul Duke.

    Folly. For the life of this man was mostly fiction, and the rest was to entertain a depraved and drunken work-a-holic lunatic. Which for all intents and porpoises (purpose) I may be turning into.

[update: 10/12/09 Orlando, Fl]

Truth is a funny thing; There are two camps of truth-seekers. Those two camps are split into two alternate and polar viewpoints (hence the existence of two groups which can ever and only be polar). This argument, one that has rained hell on at least one household that I can conjure into mind's eye, holds the nature of reality itself in question. Tell me, do we live in an ever-damning Objective reality which cast judgment on all that refuse to, or are unable to see, it's intricate lattice skeleton that holds the universe in place (i.e. the entirety of human race)? Or is an infinite entropic hell-storm in which the flap of the butterfly's wings equate to a commie-killing tsunami in south-east Asia which in turn amounts to little more than jack shit and a ant crawl scroll across Channel 1069 HDMSNBC. Either way we're fucked in the long run.

The question I'm asking: can you feel yourself existing?

Back in the US...Back in the US...Back in the US(SR?)

2008-07-10T12:24:00.001-07:00

[edit] new title, Just finish the god damned story... This shit is growing on my patience.
[/edit]
[edit two months later] Finally pushed back into the write; I've had my fill of Gainesville. I just re- opened my blogger page and stumbled upon this bit that was never published, and in true masochistic fashion, we'll just go ahead and publish it all. Though I have marked a few edits, flushed out some facts that are more interesting in hindsight, which we all know is 20/20.
[/edit]

Talk about reverse culture shock.

Okay, I think I will.

First of all, I was supremely positive that selling the dodge before leaving the country was a God sent Idea. If that's true, we are ruled by a cruel, godless deity. It wasn't until that I needed to do...well, anything at all... in the hell of scorched asphalt called Orlando that I realized I might have been a tad hasty with that decision.

It would have been okay if those hellish animals in Barcelona could keep their hands to themselves. You would think that two locks and a saddle protector would be enough fortification to leave your only vehicle parked outside for a few hours in broad daylight.
Though I regretfully didn't realize that there were roving gangs of mechanics ready to strike at any given second...
In the immortal words of Scot from a backwards village that has nothing better to do with it's time that shoot seagulls with sniper rifles, "You never fuck with another man's vehicle."

not even as late as lunch, I stepped out on the balcony for a cigarette, looked down at the street and my handle bars had been wrenched from their proper home, and my brake lines cut. So it goes.

Though the Wheels of {Ka}rma do inevitably reverse direction. After the ravaging of my dearest Bici and our adventures together in the streets of Barcelona, I was given a couple of things.

First: A Interest in Cycling.
Second: Enough near disaster to move me to learn how to control almost every possible situation.

[edit 10/10/2008]
Flash to the present, the two things were indeed enough to spin the wheel of karma. It was fate that took me to an mournful, and for me awkward, gathering of bike nerds at a memorial event for a felled fellow who was lost in a kayaking accident. I was just there for the free food.

Turns out that the Gainesville Community Bicycle Project, or The Kickstand would welcome weary bike-less travelers such as me. The Kickstand is a non-profit bicycle repair shop that focuses on the education of the community about the bikes they are riding and how to repair them. The past couple months I've spent in their shop when I could spare the time to pretend I know what I'm doing and listening to those that do. Though, the time there has shown me the sweet spots, taught me to talk the talk.

Through some major Craig's List wheeling and dealing I got a new beauty. A powder coated Schwinn single speed; her name is Gwen Stacy (Jones-Kearfott of course). As soon as I upload the pictures, There will be a plenty.

That and I just stepped up into responsibility there at the GCBP. Supposedly I am now the Grants co-ordinator. Since I don't have what it takes yet to be a student at the University of Florida, and I didn't get in. It's the best I can get for the time being.

No complaints here though. I've embroiled myself deep into the prediction that the imminent collapse of American society is nigh, and I believe I have forsaken my formal education. It might have been nice to have mulishly raced towards Law school, blindly chugging away only to spill out the other side of life with nothing really but a fancy sheet of paper with my name stenciled in calligraphy, only then to realize that that sheet of paper is absolutely worthless. If Lawlessness inevitably prevails, then what's the use?

There is nothing more that the University of Florida could give me I couldn't get from a library card, the great and all encompassing Internet, and a calligraphy set.

I think I like cooking more anyway.

[/edit]

In the long run, I think It'll be alright. Gainesville is only a breath away. Furthermore, I have set off on some short term money making ventures in the commodities market of Orlando. That though is something entirely different. I never though I would stoop the the level of those animals. Though, I guess it's the law of the jungle. After spending so much more money than I expected in Barcelona, I have to do what I must to get where I am going. It's eat or be eaten.

[edit]
It's true. Is only a breath away from Orlando, the same way that Naboo is only a breath away from Tatooine.

The truth is, in making that step, I've lost my breath. The going here has truly gotten Weird.

So far the past two months have been hellaciously face paced, fast based. Break neck phase flux is utterly rampant.

Seemingly, I walked into a booby-trapped house. I knew from the get go that it was all too good to be true, and there is definitely no such thing as a free lunch. Though through all of the turmoil that has taken place below this roof in dire need of repair, and above the fun house floor I've learned an important lesson about people. Trust no one, the truth is out there.

Wait, that's the X-files.

People that publicly display their prejudices, secrets and sex lives can't be trusted, and with them everything is a political play. Living by and for the opinions of the people around you is bad business, and those that do it are aberrations. It turns out that the floor of this house was not the only thing that was slanted.
I can still see the ghosts.

Between Slander and security deposit scandals on the home front, a denial letter letter from the "Berkley of the South", The Events of the Tropical Storm Fay, The inevitable breakdown of Die Übermensch, and being driven insane by the incredible charm of a spice-mining ex-stripper in love with a dead man, the past two months for this American's life has been stranger than fiction.

I've always had a penchant for exaggeration, veil and nuance though, so who knows.

[/edit]

The trip across the Atlantic was harrowing, to say the least. In the depths of trans-Atlantic travel fear: battle-fatigue and hopelessness start to set in. After spending two days with no sleep in preparation a layover in a foreign country, even an English speaking one at that, things gets freakishly ugly. Never before have I experience so much confusion trying to speak to someone who is using my mother tongue. One would think that it would be a relief to come back and read and speak in a language that I am comfortable with. Though the Queen's English is glaring and overly polite.
Unfortunately, when I got to the gatwick airport (which is in a no-man's-land of Sheep and quiet desperation- 30 miles from the center of London) all public transport was closed, along with every shop in the airport. An Airport is a lonely place after all the foodsellers and duty free shops have shut their gates. between the hours of 11pm and 6am, the place is a hellish pit of cold tile misery. All I really wanted was a few airplane sized bottles of Wild Turkey. Though all I found were bodies strewn along the benches and floor making the place look like a war zone to my sleep deprived brain.

Making my way through the back woods labyrinth I was afraid for my life; all I wanted to do was hunker down, and get a few hours of sleep. Instead I sat up for several hours talking to a Canadian girl with the same brutal layover. The company was nice, but that plus the nicotine led to skull hammering insomnia.

After sunrise, I had a breakfast of a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea. 6 pounds. two more for orange juice, and another two for a cup of coffee. the conversion from Dollars Euros to Pounds is a cruel process. 70$ = 50 Euro = 36 pounds.

The Flight wasn't bad. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stand the horrible swill that was playing on the in-flight screens: Drillbit Taylor, 21, or The Other Bolyn Girl. Couldn't read; I just kept scanning the same lines over and over without actually comprehending what they said. So what else was left to do other than jabber incoherently until the flight attendant (all of whom are brutally polite) gave up three Johnny Walker Rations (nice considering I had already gotten two bottles of red wine and a few beers from the other)
I was set and ready for sleep that came only in short machine gun bursts speckled with horrible dreams of falling out of the sky to jolt me awake just before deep sleep .

When we rolled up on the Grand Ol' US of A, I was bleary eyed, over-caffeinated mess. My stomach, also, was upset also from the sugar I had to use in the black trash they called coffee on the plane. I was shaking, I look like I was either powerfully ripped on crank or suffering from Delirium Tremits. Walking off the plane in oversize aviator sunglasses ready to go to battle with the oppressive Florida sun (after not seeing it in any form for almost 30 hours) I must have been the perfect candidate for a 'random' drug search. The entire time those wolves were knoking/shaking/opening everything I owned, i could practically hear the slap of latex the gloves would make against their flesh as they were fitted on their ogrish hands. They didn't even have the respect for my passport to speak English to me, which i thought was Bizzare, but I played along even though I looked like a fool... I can barely speak any Spanish at all.

After our bonding session, them looking at all of the pictures in my camera, several small private conferences between the officers just out of my ear shot about my cigarette papers and tobacco and analyzing the meaning of all of the tiny knick-nacks that I can't help but to travel with I felt like I had made brand new friends. Eventually, it became evident that I wasn't a native Spanish speaker, which made them very upset...and my new friends became very serious indeed. Questions about my dignity, my sanity, and the veracity of my story resurfaced. Not enough people understand what it is to be absurd. Though after two hours of trying to get to know me on a personal level, and me trying to dissuade them from getting to know me "inside and out" they finally gave up the ghost.

After meeting my brother who had been waiting for me for two hours next the Starbucks in The Orlando International Airport (I.E pouding coffee like a true caffeine addict) only tragedy lay ahead. Alright fine, that may be a little bit melodramatic. Not tragedy, but there was no respite in my future. as soon as we got back to my parents house, I immediately had to unpack, and repack for a 12 hour road trip with my entire family in a Toyota Corrola. These 3 days of travel through three countries, an ocean and five states were among my most blurred and horrifically smelling days in my entire life. Telling, also were these days. I reached a limit of sanity I never knew I had; A level of delerium no drug could provide.

Days in the mountains of Tennessee though are always weird and wonderful. Madness brews in those hills. These stories though are classified, that's the way they have to be when your family is ensconced in American Secrecy; though Veil and Cryptic language usually slips right past these drunken swine, so I'll say this: Over these five days that we spent in Appalachia, three of them were in Virgina in a house surely wiretapped, the paranoia was rampant. I had to constantly remind myself that Virginia is for lovers, and the FBI or the State Department has no concern for small drug violations. The other two days were in the aptly named Haven, the house on the mountain. These two days were spent locked in a desperate board room meeting with no one taking the minutes. The cigarettes smoked themselves while a Gentleman demanding he was from the land of Tajikistan, in workout pants a vest that was several sizes too small and a fake mustache debated intensely with a grizzly bear the origins of the infernal foam machine.

2008-06-26T08:32:00.001-07:00

Big Ideas (don't get any) from James Houston on Vimeo.

I leave in 4 days

Champions of the Chess world.

2008-06-18T02:28:00.001-07:00

"Wednesday, June 18, 2008

It gives me joy, it improves my brains

Playing chess is mu lust and my life! It gives me joy, it improves my
brains and intelligense, it improves the contact with other people and
it fullfills my sportsmentality!
Regards,
Jan van den Bos
Comments: 0"

From:http://www.chesshere.com/blogs/bujin/article/181/

How am I so smart and others so stupid? I just don't understand sometimes.

I do understand though that people are BAD DRIVERS in Barcelona. Two days ago I was riding my Bycicle up Via Laietana from my flat to work at 9:45 in the morning and was NAILED by a dickass trying to sneak into traffic. Most importantly my bike is okay. Nothing much happened, and I'm just a little shook up, I did though fly across his hood and skid across the pavement. I had only gotten out of bed 20 minutes beforehand, and I was not ready for the chaos that ensued: Being slung like a rag doll onto the sidewalk, being shouted at in Catalan, struggling to break out of the morning fog and the accident haze to bring spanish into the forefront to tell this asshat bad driver that I don't understand his catalan and we have to speak spanish. Which is a struggle as well, just speaking. The worst part though is being stood over and pointed at by an old woman shouting "Sangre! Sangre!" and pointing at the bleeding scrape on my hand.

And for now a forray into the world of webcomics:

Score for using the internet in place of my lack of a sense of humor and creativity.

Parker 1 Internet 0

Battle Toads 4 lyfe, NUKKA

2008-06-15T11:36:00.001-07:00

WeGame.com - Gaming Videos

BATTLE TOOOAAADDS

Further:
Grooveshark

Grooveshark in a word: Awesome.

Grooveshark is a new database-driven music sharing portal that will surely rip the fucking face off of the steadily declining music industry (or help atleast). I promise: I have the ability to see into the future. And as a legitimate soothsayer I can tell you this. Start-up companies such as these are a razor-tooth filled gaping maw into which the "Big-Music" industry will be ground into wet paper mache. It's time for us, the all powerful gen-internet to usurp control of the things we love from the big money machines. Not that making money is a bad thing...certainly not. It's just that the money needs to go to the right places, and it is up to us to divert the flow back to their proper place. It's been too long the robber barrons of the big music distribution companies and record lables have been stealing what is rightfully the artists.

Also in future news: I will marry the internet because we are in love.

Here is how it works:

First and foremost, membership to grooveshark is free, and worth every cent of the nothing you pay to become a member. The users of grooveshark take the music that they have downloaded, ripped, or generally "purchased" and use the grooveshark cliet to upload the files into their catalog. From here, as a user you can stream for free whole albums, individual songs, or playlists that other users have created. This in itself is something wholly revolutionary, and I havent even gotten to the good part yet!

Just last thursday I found grooveshark and was playing office DJ on a sunny wish-we-were-on-the-beach-instead-of-the-office afternoon. We turned this humble DVD-laden office into a riteous dance hall. Playing everythign from Bon Jovi, The zombies, The Beach Boys, Vampire Weekend and even tracks from the newly released Fleet Foxes album (which is amazing I must say). from then I was hooked.

Now the twist: not only can you stream anything you can find on their extensive catalog for free, EVERYONE GETS PAID! USERS included! Here is a company that is within legal bounds by respecting copyright law, provides DRM free music, provides a smart, clean and simple web-based music player AND PAYS it's users to participate in the community! HOLY SHIT THE WOLD IS ENDING! 25 cents a song is what users get for sharing; which is exactly the amount that they themselves take. Beautiful.

"Additionally, members will be compensated with store credits for community participation such as fixing bad song tags, flagging unwanted files, and reviewing concerts."

This makes me, an eternally nit-picky ID3 tag fixer (both music dork and geek), weak in the knees. Finally. Finally. Finally.

These guys are still Beta, but still watch out Last.fm, Grooveshark has you in it's sites and has the tools to seriously fuck you up.

Now... all that being said, don't quit your day job if you think you're gonna become a millionare because you've had a broadband connection since you were 12, and 500Gb of worhtless music ranging from N'sync to Enya. Grooveshark pays in store credit, good for purchasing music from other users. This though is ingeous. Incentive for sharing, incentive community involvement and with enough of both all the legally free music you can get your hands on.

Now. The best part (IMHO) : THE COMPANY IS RUN BY GRADUATES OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA; BASED IN GAINESVILLE.

never before have I been so proud.

Thank you grooveshark for potentially rocking the face of the music distribution world, and making me proud of my home.

I oficially Love you, am addicted to you, and henceforth cannot live without you.

My Suggestion: apply for a restraining order.

Spain FTW

2008-06-14T11:54:00.001-07:00

Spain controlled Sweden in game Game 3 of Group D 2008 Eurocup. It was spectacular. winning goal almost two minutes into overtime.

Watch out Greece. You stand no chance.

LOLS IN TEH FACE O Te INTERWEB

2008-06-10T06:06:00.001-07:00

Edit Edit Edit.

God damn video players need to sort out their shit
I am not going to dig through stupid code to fix these things:
though I highly suggest you watch these videos

For the Love of God an Science someone please Buy me a Macbook Air

2008-06-09T14:27:00.001-07:00

Whoo hoo! Finally I make the time to sit down and update this thing about the other thing in which the foundry of this thing is based! (What a mess of nonsense that is!)

But seriously...I started this blog with the aspirations of going to Primavera Sound and spending time in Barcelona and blogging the whole thing... Though as per usual, things never go as planned. It's hard to blog without the appropriate tools... For now, all I have is afterhours at the office in which I work to spend hours alone wasting company electrictiy and company bandwidth.

Not entirely different from how I would be blogging normally here... just a few key differences:
- Instead of wasting electricity that I get for free because I work here, I would be stealing someone else's wireless and/or electricity, 440 watts of unadulterated theft.
-here: no porn, no torrents

:( :(

Though I have another grand dilusion of writing a Gonzo blog one day... IE spending great amounts of time with a microphone duck-taped to my head while wearing yellow tinted glasses, a dealer's cap, golf shoes and smoking a cigarette through a plastic filter and somehow using everything recorded to self publish into a steaming pile of blog.

Though unfortunately I'm not a part of the Acid generation, am in fact NOT a Doctor of Journalism nor do I have a desire to end up with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Thoes are the obsticles

Tally ho, on to primavera sound:

day 1 - Thurday
Who I saw:

The Microphones
To be honest was a little boring live... though absolutely excellent otherwise. Fantastic lyrics, calm strange sounds. For fans of Neutral Milk Hotel, The Mountain Goats or Devendra Banhart

Edan with guest: Dagha
Fucking Superstars man. Listen to this. Pure lyrical god; beautiful beautiful dorky rhymes about computers, star trek, great music and tits. boy do I love tits. Sampled from King Crimson to The Beatles.
LISTEN

Explosions in the Sky
my oh my oh my... There is nothing that can be said that describes an explosions in the sky show. In the state I was in combined with the tender tendrils of sound coming from this four piece.
EPIC journey would be one phrase, though cannot capture it. I was reduced to nothing, on the ground praying to ever see something as beautiful as what I was hearing. I couldn't even open my eyes, much less stand.
Seeing this band is an essential must for anyone who calls themselves a human being. nuff said

Eric's Trip
was cool. nothing to write home about though. nice guys, nice music.

Midnight Juggernauts
almost as good as explosions...though not nearly as celestial or epic. Much more electronic, which takes alot away from the exclusivly human generated beautiful sound that explosions generates. Dancy. astral sounding. More vocal as well, but more of a voice as an instrument vocals rather than saying anything of any real value. Worth the time though.

Vampire Weekend
You need to pull your head out of your ass if you don't know this band. phenomenal. Rather poppy, and will be wildly successful if none of them die of drug overdose. Walking down the stairs into the deathtrap of a stage they played in, fighting tooth and nail the sea of people at 3 o'clock in the morning, still riding the waves of Explosions on my delicious pleasureboat, listening 'mansard roof' is one of the clearest and most beautiful memories (clearest mainly) I have of the entire festival (outside of the swirling pool of the festival in its entirity I have only a few).

Day 2 - Friday
Who I saw:

The Felice Brothers
phenomenal, especially you concider yourself kin to the southern way and/or love great americana folk music.

Subterranean Kids
Hardcore spanish-language punk. From their energy and stagepresence I thought they were crack incarnate. A+

Polvo
Another rock enstrumental ensemble. Another close religious call. goes to prove God Speaks through Rock Music.

Man Man
How to describe Man Man... Gyspy circus Viking-opra surf rock doo wop. that's the closest I'll come. Man Man is close to one of my favorite bands on the planet. I saw them twice at PS. FUCK YEAH. On top of that, I took a shot with Honus Honus. and I can't stop Listening to their new album Rabit Habits. FIND FIND FIND. If you don't believe me: listen to Top Drawer and The Ballad of Butterbean on their myspace (linked).

Dr. Octogon
okay, I'm black on the inside... but these guys are white on theirs. so it works out in the end, us being converses.

Why?
also great: just listen.

El Guincho
El Guinch is a new discovery of mine. Spanish DJ that also plays a drum (yes single drum) and sounds very much like Panda Bear from Animal Collective. Fantasitic, and makes me dance like snoopy.

Holy Fuck
Europe has turned me onto electronic, what can I say... Though I'm still a folk-hearted country boy.. I've been told that ladies love a man that can dance. And Holy Fuck is just one of thoes bands that can make me do just that.

Ellen Allen
Pure unadulterated German Eurotrash. don't tell anyone you did, but take a listen... I was there, so I had to go see what All the fuss was about... that's the only reason I swear.

Friday after the festival came to a close (7am) I was reduced to a rambling,drunken, bleary eyed loon that wanted nothing but water... and in order to find this water I made my way to the sea. Upon arrival I found a whole group of people in search of the same, though we were between a rock and a hard place. For a warm Morning, the water of the Mediterranean was excruciatingly cold, and was salt water and therefor anathema to thirst. So, as people in the condition we all were in usually do...we intermingled. I ended up walking a distance of about three miles down the beach with an english DJ that runs Rebel Radio and his girlfriend. We had stopped at a bar clearly inhabited by raging drunks. (who else is at the bar at 8 o'clock in the morning drinking wine by the jug?) breakfast for us included a bottle of red wine and 1/3 each of a red candy heart. and then, madness ensues. We all wound up in the Parc de Cuitidella, which houses the spanish version of the Arc de Triomf. These trying times are a vauge blur of pedantic electronica, wrestling with a dog, chasing cars, chasing DJs, and sleeping for hours in the park.

Day 3 - Saturday

Who I saw:

Times New Viking
see EITS and Polvo

Silver Jews
Originally a side project started by Steven Malkmus, great band.

Deerhunter

Shellac

Les Savy Fav

Animal Collective
The only band here that could rival the sheer power of Explosions in the sky. The Lights, The music... holy shit were these guys good. The second 'Fireworks' started, I was in my happy place... well to be honest I was already in a happy place. But THAT was the entire moment I had been waiting for. That very instant justified all of the money, the killing, the drug trafficking (jokes, jokes, Jokes all around...save the money).

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks

Stephen malkmus is a genius. a fucking genius.

Other Parc Forum Pics:

Three days in the shit

2008-06-09T12:41:00.001-07:00

El Guincho – Antillas

EL GUINCHO

Holy Lord Primavera Sound

Well the highlights of primavera sound would be:

day 1:
- Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks
-Seeing stephen up close at the Sala De Myspace booth
-Polvo

-Man Man
-Taking shots with Honus Honus from Man Man

-Meeting Wayne Cohen from the Flaming lips in the crowd for Stephen Malkmus

-Explosions in the Sky <3 <3 <3

-Fuck Buttons

I'll update more on this with pictures and a day-by-day acount of the festival, which I assure will not dissapoint. This blog thing is not as easy as you would think to update on a regular basis, seeing as how I handicapped. as soon as I can find a monet to do it in, for now I've been busy putting it off.

EDIT:
So apparently I can't. For any and all who try and embed videos into anything, especially Blogger blogs: FEAR AND HATE THE IFRAME TAGE. So far I have come across a few embeddable video players that use this horrific code... But, it eats whatever it can get its hands on... which include the rest of my blog. The NBC media player uses it, and some random streaming video site I found ("TVclips.com") which I used to post the entirity of fear and loathing in Los Vegas on my blog here under the heading "because I can".... sadness.

Keith Olbermann FTW, as usual.

2008-05-29T09:30:00.001-07:00

.Primavera Sound. » horarios
Bonaroo can kiss my ass.

more to come in the next few days on primavera.

Tonight I have planned:

The Microphones
Explosions in the sky
Dr. Octogon
Public Enemy
De La Soul
Portishead
Caribou
voxtrot
British Sea Power
Vapire weekend

ooooh di lally.

Watch Keith Olbermann on MSNBC he is the Edward Murrow of the 21st century

Yikes. This is incredibly terrifying. It's occured to me as well that this primary race rings a striking bell to the 1968 Democratic primary race between Sen. Robert F Kennedy (D-NY) and Hubert Humphrey, though things then were quite a bit more tense. Though there have been comarisons, the war in Vietnam and the war in Iraq are quite a bit different. Domestically, mainly because of the draft. Thankfully I am sitting comfortably behind this computer screen writing a blog instead of checking the US army website waiting for my lottery number to be called to fight. <br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Though an unpoular war is an unpopular war. also there have been no race riots, or Assasinations of any Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s to speak of either. If you want a pretty good acount of just how horrific RFKs assassination was, watch Bobby.

Though littered with stars begging for oscar nominations, it acually does a pretty good job illustrating how terrible the assassination was. Further on this: I like Shia LeBouf. I also like the idea of Sean William Scott selling acid to Luis Stephens. Dude, where's my five bucks?

Maybe that's because of my affection for Even Stevens, but I think the amount of shit that gets spewn his way is a little uncalled for. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was pretty badass as well, and I can say without a drop of remorse that I have no problem with Henry Jones III.

Though I did have some complaints with the film. Actually no so much the film, rather just the Creator. If you ask me, Stephen Spielberg needs to pull his head out of his ass: the movie was a man paying tribute to himself for two hours straight, in a melodramatic overthetop spectacle...but...nevertheless all the magic is still there, regardless of Aliens, Gophers, Monkeys and Shia LeBouf playing tarzan.

I feel like I've been stuck locked in spanish class for three months straight. Jesus.

The Chrysalis Breaks

2008-05-22T05:29:00.001-07:00

[Listening to: Vampire Weekend]

Who loves updates: I love updates

it's been entierely too long since I've uttered a digital word, and that's no good. I've made a decision that I might want to make a career out of this sort of thing (blogging), which increasingly is becoming more and more of an option for our generation (Even though I am terrible at it: undescriptive, vulgar and lazy). Though thoes things I'm sure will change with time, frequency of post, and age. This for me, I guess is nothing more than a glorified live journal (which some utilize better than I could hope with this). at any rate, this is neat:

Google Analytics FTW

Just goes to show how I'm talking to myself. No matter.

What else I love:

Scribefire

Never before has it been this easy to do so many things at once. The dauting task of updating after extended period of digital quietude only snowballs as time passes, which can lead to a whimpering, enevitable end to what before seemed like a blossoming carrobby (carrer/hobby: see above). scribefire though allows one to blog on the drop of a dime so to speak; Blog as you go; blog as the blog blogs you (oh for the love of smurf). Not that I really update enough for it to matter... When I use it though I feel like the one kid in highschool who had a laptop in class. Flashy, overly complicated. At least it makes me feel good though.

Chuck Hagel

Chuck Hagel is a Republican senator from Nebraska who Sticks it to GW every time he get's the chance. He's quite well spoken and intelligent and in my honest opinion should have run for president instead of retiring like a bastard. Watch. This man also is very likely to ed up in the cabinent of *crosses fingers* President Obama. I am a staunch libertarian who believes that the government that governs best governs least, but we all knew voting for Ron Paul was like trying to make your car fly by sticking your arms out the window. But atleast Obama knows that the internet is not a series of tubes.

The All Songs Concidered Blog

These guys not only draw intelligent discussion about music like moths to a flame, they are constantly consistant with fucking spectacular taste. NPR never ceases to suprise me with the music that they make available on the interweb from the radio show. Today I've listened to concerts from The Black Keys, Vampire Weekend, and Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. Holy shit I can't wait for Primavera.

Also Iron Man

Moving on.

My brain has experienced a violent, sea change in the past weeks. It's amazing how much you learn about yourself traveling alone in place foreign to your own. As self evident as that sounds, until it actually happens it's nothing more than a shimmering, illusory romantic notion. If I were the type of man to consider a glass half empty, I might call the course of the last few weeks as marginally disasterous. With my savings being pissed away (quite literally), my computer pushing daisys , a Catalan man that lives below me that is not above sabotage and has the tools it would be possible to loose sight of the larger picture. Nay though..nay I'm still having the time of my life.

From within the US, unlike every other nation on this planet, it's nearly impossible to really concider what it is to be American. National identity for us is some nebulous vauge nonsense that resembles something close to wearing an american flag pin, waving a flag, pitching a flag on a pole from your house, flag, flag flag, ect., ect,ect. It's all about the flag. FALSE.

What Europeans, oddly enough, lack the ability to grasp (at least the ones I've come across), are that American connotes nothing really but a particular mindset, and for real american culture you have to drop to the state level. Also I am getting tired of the following dialog:

Eurotrash: "Were are you from in the US?"

Euro-Parker: "Originally I am from Tennessee, but I live and go to school in Florida"

Eurotrash: "OH! Florida! You live in Miami, don't you!"

This is growing extremly frustrating, especially concidering my feeling ON Miami. It's either that or "OH! do you live in DISNEYWORLD!"

I don't know which question is harder answering without the extreme use of violence.

I've come to realize though that the american mind is quite different from the rest. We should concider ourselves very lucky. There is quite a stark difference between the way I think (don't know if it's because I just am entirely strange and different from everyone, which is quite possible or because I am American) and the European mind. Apart from the trash that is pushed into the forefront of the minds of the american sheeple, we should concider ourselves lucky because ingrained into our society are blueprints for an individualistic, self reliant people. Not only that, there is also a healthy disregard for authority and really the opinion of anyone else at all. The American Mind is focused on how to build and construct things and situations better, faster, and less expenisve than before, regardless of how long it's been used in one way. In that light, I think the lack of hundreds and hundreds of years of history do us good. We are better off without the weight of the past holding us down to worn out routine. In stead, we are developing a routine of constant change.

We strive to find our own individual new, better functioning identity in a sea of faceless diversity. Perhaps this doesn't seem realistic to everyone considering how the majoriy of the people in our country are quite the opposite of that... by I am a firm believer that the real back bone of a society lies in it's intellectual counter-culture. The culture that rejects 9/10 of what they are taught for their own ideas, and own beliefs. These are the real architects of what's popular, what's real and what goes on underneath the headlines. Thoes who think for themselves and are then immitated by the rest of thoes who can't. From here what was once new, becomes scrutinized analized, reproduced and finally the norm. The next generations seeing these norms, then begins to think and reject for themselves. This new lifeblood and new rejection leads to illumination of the flaws of the older ways of thinking and perhaps new innovation . Not that I have any evidence or study (or anything concrete at all) to back up this ridiculous musings, but that's all they are... and according to my google analytics data, they are private musings. but thoughts, comments, insults, concerns, suggestions, perscriptions, referrals, donations (monetary or otherwise), contributions, or resumés... I'm glad to have them.

Not that these things aren't present here, I think they are just less present. I believe that here the intense weight of history puts pressure on a society to relieve the greatness of the past, and creates a fear of the new different and unknown. As ridiculous and unaplicable (to anything, even less real life) as all of this is sounds, these ideas can be seen in even the smallest things. Which way you take when walking the familar paths of your everyday routines? do you take shortcuts? do you look for shortcuts? Picking a different brand of cookies instead of your favorite because it looks interesting. reading a review for a new internet browser, and trying it out even though the one you use works perfectly fine? Are people who walk on the grass instead of the sidewalks tomorrows rebels? I hope so.

work work work

2008-05-07T03:31:00.000-07:00

This is what I've done at work today. For work mind you..for work

Poco a Poco

2008-04-28T03:04:00.000-07:00

little by little; Bit by bit.
This seems to be my mantra for developing life in Spain.

It's really time to update about life here... which is slowly but surely coming into focus.

wednesday I move into a real flat. Thank god for that, what I've been living in for the past month is a shade under hellish nightmare. from the serface it looks like quite a decent place, but after all of the scandal, murder and intrigue... it has to end.

What I'm staying in now is what's known as "self accomodating short-term apartment" which, basically, is a cross between an apartment and a hostel.

Everday there are maids and handymen that come in to fix the place up, so on the positive: it's always clean.
And the negatives...well the negatives are abundant. I have no privacy, all my shit is constantly moved around. anything I leave outside of my tent are thrown back onto my bed, half the time, so is my bicycle.

There are also people constantly in and out. two days ago after a night of heavy drinking on the onset of a cold, I woke up and ~~was dying~~ was death. I poked my head outside my curtain because I swore I heard a jabberwocky gyring and gimbling in the wabe, though nay, it was a family of Japanese! Mimsy were not the borogoves! it was breakfast time.

I felt like a zoo animal, as all of them stared at me like I was a dread wizard from planet Zebes. False, I say FALSE! I'm sure I did look a touch frightening... A half drunk american who pops his head head into your breakfast isn't an everyday occurance in the life of the Japónesa, I would guess anyway. That though is no reason to stare, it was them that were intruding into my campsite with their breakfast. I don't come and eat sushi on their sleeping mats do I? NO!

The Japanese are not the only interlopers into my sacred hunting grounds, also there be transvestites! One morning around 4:30 or 5:00 I was startled awake by ~~someone~~ something shaking my foot. As I managed to open my eyes, I noticed A MAN IN A DRESS AND MAKEUP STANDING OVER TOP OF ME! This devil uttered it's incatations in the ancient language of magic (or spanish--couldn't tell I was asleep) and I was dumbstruck by the evil curse. All I was able to reply was "no se, no entido, lo siento...yo duermo" [I don't know, I don't understand. I'm sorry I'm sleep] I don't know much spanish, but I've been in barcelona long enough to know how to cast away a transvestite. There are a few of thoes, mostly west african. Quite a bit of the..."vibrant street fixtures" are african emigrants.
The west Africans usual settle as two different breeds. The men, as sellers of knock off purses and sunglasses. These men travel in packs and lay there wares on blankets with reigns attached. when the fuzz drives by, it quite a spectacle to see the stampede of black santas take off like olympic runners. The west African women come in the form of prostitutes. also, in packs. What I've learned: never make eye contact with a west African hooker. Just trust me on this one.
The North Africans are mostly venders of "cervezaBEER Cocoa-Cola HASHISH". Now don't paint me a racist, they can't all be that way. But it's the case of a square is always a rectangle, but a rectangle not always a square.

further more about the flat, because of the constant influx of people within the flat the ownership--more on that further down-- has stated that we are no longer allowed to keep the dishes in the kitchen because someone, at sometime may not wash them. In their infinite wisdom have all bestowed upon us boxes of the finest plastic in which we are also gifted one of each of the following: plate,bowl, cutlery set, coffe cup, glas, wine glass, champange glass.
After seeing this, I summarily put all of it back into the kitchen, and day after day it is placed back by my bed; more wizardry! This game of give and take continued until they just stop giving me my dishes back. After a week or so of this, the other "lifers" in the flat and I had a pow-wow: this could not continue. We drafted a letter and things reverted back to normal. By normal, I really mean that nothing changed. That was two weeks ago.
Also, the management turns out is either loons or a con artists, who uses three different names. And won't let any of the hired help use their real names either. As tenants we aren't allowed to use the washer either, we have to have the cleaning ladies do our laundry.

On to something better: I hate bitch-fests.

Spanish class is excellent, and my teacher is a brilliant beautiful lady. I will marry her one day of that I'm sure. It makes it much easier to play spaniard when you have that kind of motivation.

Work is excellent as well. In addition to the internly duties such as organizing and running errands I've been working with the website writing CSS code for some of our social networking sites, and playing on facebook making pages for all of our channels that run from here as well as working with XML, making a podcast for the same website and channels. EXCELLENT. I am an internet wizard.

--Edit: Just finished the XML script and added to Itunes. that's right, I have a published podcast, almost.

For charles, my heart -- in Three Acts

2008-04-19T10:46:00.000-07:00

[Listening to:Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago]

Act 1: Innocence
For thoes of you unfamiliar, this is a the transcript of a story that happened almost three years ago to the day... It's quite amazing how I am still alive after some of the things I've put myself through...

<--begin transmission from livejournal-->
In a time of innocence there were two:

well now...this is all INSANITY [01 Mar 2005|08:34pm]
[ mood | pensive ]
[ music | Nick Drake - Pink Moon ]

Holy crap what a story to tell...and its still not finished...i'm sure ill have quite another long update when i get back..and after i tell my parents *dies at the tough*

I'll give it to you in summary if you dont wanna read the whole f it...though you should..its pretty entertaining
In whole, i went to Sewannee, Tn to visit my best friend corwin without tellin my parents. I left friday, with plans on coming back sunday night. It's Tuesday night...annnddd im still here...only now im 86 all my money, a car, some dignity, and probably an entire semesters worth of school...FUCK!
1)My car broke down
a)correction: my car raped itself
b) $2500 dollars worth of damage later...
c)i'm $185.17 richer
d)Geico is my bitch
2)Was stuck in BFG (butt fucking georgia) for 2 days before i was rescued
a)Jasper, GA (yikes)
b)The Flying J home of: Truckers, Drifters, Digital horse Derby Addicts, and Ethyl the strange cashier with a spot of a beard
3)Nick Bastani is my hero
a)WTF who else decides to take a completly spontaneous trip to Tennessee on the same weekend as i do, and decides to stop in Georgia for basically no reason about an hour from my breakdown spot.
b)*double take* looks at 'a'
4) And so...my parents still dont know about anything
a)...what a converation that's gonna be...
b)Good thing i dont have a car to drive home to have the conversation
5) currently at Sewanee, University of the South: Sewannee, Tn
a)missing a mid term
b)missing a whole week of school
c)not missing UCF
ok..1...2...3...and we're off on a whirlwind adventure of a story:

It's 3:45 on friday, december 25th. I had just gotten out of my speech class a few minutes early; the day had started off well enough...hadnt made it to my first two classes, a late start. It's more than acceptable that i missed my classes because i shook the magic stick and canceled them, and ontop of that, there is the fact that later that night i would be in the company of some of my best childhood friends. I walk out of the communications building jump on the shuttle and make my way back to CVI.
At CVI, i head straight into my room and immediately dump out the contents of my badass ebay backpack. Oh yes, necissary tangent...i bought a BADASS Ebay sling backpack... At any rate, I stuff a couple shirts, a pair of boxer-briefs (the best way to go support-wise), some deoderant, and a couple books in my notebook's place. Take note: i didn't pack any pants...I was wearing (FRESHLY WASHED mind you) jeans, which can go for days. after the junk rodeo in my room was over i immediately headed downstairs to my friend, and travel companion, Chuck's room. "Chuck! what the hell...aren't you ready to go yet! what the shit!"
"Shut up asshole! it will take me two minutes to pack my bullshit!"
"WHAT Bullshit!"
so on and so on...just more of the same ol' same ol' vulgar banter that usually goes on between the two of us, and his room mate scot.
After 15 minutes and 4 trips back up to my room (keys, wallet, CDs, driving hat (most important item)) we finally head out onto the road. The tool roads in florida are bullshit, plain and simple. ESPECIALLY the florida turnpike....2.50 at one toll; i would rather drop the soap than go through that...it amounts to the same thing...after about 8.00 in tolls, we finally make it to I-75, the interstate that runs damn near all the way up the US and way past our destiation...so thats all that matters. Things are in pristine order: the music is good (Modest Mouse at the time), we're making GREAT time...seeing as how im averaging about 98 miles an hour..., and i still have over a quarter tank of gas. Right about the time the trip counter roll into the 295 mile, and about 2/3 of a mile from the Fl/Ga border, we hear my engine make the strangest change in pitch; for some odd reason it seems that my motor is under a GREAt amount of stress. taking note i ease my foot off of the gas, and the re-accelerate to see if i can force my automatic trans. to change gears. When i do this, the last thing i expected happened. i hear "CLUG CLUG CLUG GRIND GRIND SNAP BANG" or omething to that effect...you know...it's very similar to she sound of the shit hitting the fan. I pull to the side of the road, and turn off my car. My knuckles are almost as white as my blood drained face; i am in complete shock. in a flash of an instant, all of te details of my trip flash before my eyes: I'm halfway to Tn, I have no money to spend because car insurance is due four days from our present time in the story, and we are stranded in the middle of ass nowhere on the side of a ginormous interstate. and to top it all off: MY PARENTS HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE ABOUT ANY OF IT! when all of this runs its course through the "OH SHIT!!!" web of neurons in my brain, and im brought back to reality by Chuck's "SHIT!!" I begin to scream "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" each FUCK punctuated by a pound on the--at this point--useless steering wheel. in almost comical desperation i try turning my key; a cacaphony of grinding sounds, a symphony of broken engine pieces--the death rattle of a felled war beast. She was a valiant steed in her day; the old girl will be missed.
I slowly reach for my door handle, and push my door open with extreme caution, halfway expecting my car to fall into complete dissassembly loony toons style. I swing my legs over the door frame, and drop my head into my hand. this simply CAN'T be happening, I mean..I got my tire changed...that means my car is still invincible for a while. ...right? not exaclty. I begin to pray in vain "God, Please Please Please, let my car not be fucked. I promise i was just kidding when i said i wanted to have an adventure to find myself on, a wilderness (proverbial or not) to explore, and to feel the ecitement of not knowing what the next day brings. Really, if our plans were executed flawlessly, that would actually be great. ...just let me get through this alive..." I stand up and survey our surroundings. It's dark, it being about 10:30 i would hope so..where do you think we are, alaska? the only other lights apart from my interior around are MY headlights and the headlighst zooming past me at basically super-sonic speeds. FUCK! flashlight...flashlight...YES! the flashlight out of the POS "Breakdown kit" i got for christmas the year i got my car. god forbid we have to use the rest of it --first aid kit, ponchos, emergency blankets (you know the drill). i sift around the junk heap thats in my trunk: a 5-foot sign reading "PARKER FOR SHERIFF", a flat spare tire, books i never read from AP English 12, my photo portfolio with my entire *cough* umm...catalouge melted together from the blazing hell that is the florida sun, empty Bawls bottles, travel coffe mugs, an umbrella hat, scratched to hell unlabled mix CDs with no cases, a jack, a lug wrentch, and this really strange tubular thing with metal bristles inside of it **mental note** do NOT masturbate with unknown metal object, WILL result in mid-shaft gash (lesson learned from Jackass). anyway..i find the flashlight, which is about as bright as i feel at this particular moment in time, and make my way to the front of corpse. First things first, i check underneath. What i see drops my heart from the bottom of my chest, straight out my rectum. All my car's precious life-blood is leaking out onto the interstate shoulder. My car is lying in a pool of her own blood. i spring up, pretending i didnt see what i just indeed saw. I pop open her hood, and suddenly its as if i had lit her funeral pyre; an utterly ridiculous amount of smoke--yes smoke, not steam-- billows out. I go into Bullshit mode-- i know everything, including the complete mechanical schematics of a 1996 nissan sentra like the back of my hand. After a few minutes of inane poking, prodding, and pulling that any man worth his salt would do, i pronounce my car dead at 10:45 on friday, February 25th in the year of our lord two thousand and five at a mileage of 123,061.
I call AAA, they "prioritize" me, and tell me at 10:50 that help should be on its way, at 12:30 the tow-truck rambles up; that hour and some change was spent in some intense phone time on both mine, and chuck's part trying to find a way back to orlando...no real luck there. Doug the tow truck guy, straight outta Jasper, stumbles out of his truck, trying desperatly to light the Marlboro Red "cowboy killer" he's fumbling in his mouth. sleepily (or drunkenly, not sure which) he swaggers over to where Chuck and I are standing infront of my car. "We'boys, whats'r damage?" he says from behind his smoldering cigarette.
"she's fucked" i blankly reply.
"oh, well..closes' garge is abut a fi min' trip up't road, but'chee'on bea-ble t'gt'hr looked at til mornin'" i'm not even kiddign you thats what came out of his mouth.
Great...so much for Tennessee "kay, do we ride in the cab?"
"yep, hop up 'ere whi' Hoo'er'up" i think he said.

I wish to gd i was joking...their acents were so thick in Jasper it was like we were in Eastern Europe.
He drops us off at the Lake Park Inn across the interstate from the garage hwere we determine best plan is to wait till morning to make any rash decisions. Stressed out, and wracking my brain for ideas that DON'T include telling my parents or wasting 56 dollars on a cheap motel, i begon to pace in the bitter cold outside the motel. OUTSIDE because the old hag at the window won't let us in out of the cold unless we check-in. Being about 45 minutes outside of Tallahassee i decide to call my Good buddy Nick.
"EL PARKINO!!! Dawg what are you doing?"
"NICKY! guess where i am!"
"where?"
"Georgia! right outside tally! what are you up to tonight?"
"No way, im not in tally, I'm in georgia too, Rhianna and I are on our way up to Tennessee to visit some family of hers"
"...no fucking way...us too..We're going to tennessee too!"

I explain to him the situation, and about the Golf ball-sized hole Doug spotted under my car in my motor. and he says to me that they will be there bright and early in the afternoon. incredible. inconcivable. a miracle...can you believe that God was working through the self-proclaimed "king of the potheads"? can I get an Amen.

"Nicky, i'm gona give you the biggest hug you've ever seen tomorrow"
"Parker! i'm never gonna let go"
"You know that if you let go first you care less, Nicky"
"PARKER, i love you man"

That tore it, we would stay at the Lake park inn that night. we check in and make our way over to our room, number 124 first floor backside. we decide to trek over to the Flying J travel center to stock up on supplies to get us through the night and the remaining leg of the trip to Tennessee. wow...the Convient store/arcade/all you can eat buffet/trucker shower lounge/weigh station/ souivener store defies words. all i can say is eye <3 teh Flying J. not much happened here...i met Ethyl, and some dirty truckers waiting for showers. Chuck and i decided we were gonna drop out of school and become truckers, our handles being "The Great Volcano" and "The Flying JK" respectivly. That night i couldnt sleep at all, the excitement was murdering me, all of my "getting easy" friends two states wide were gonna be in the same place at the same time...exciting, but terrifying at the same time...my past nipping at my heels.

Bright and early at 8:00am my cell phone alarm clock goes off just in time for me to pick it up and throw it across the room. So, i get up at 9:30 instead, and head over to the Lake park garae and storgae. this last bit of the name scared me a little...if they have the capacity to store my vehichle, they have a means to charge me for it...F that. Throwing on my best good ol' boy demeanor i walk up to the head mechanic Bob. when bob identifies me as the owner of the 96' nissan POS he laughs and tells me that i need a new motor, and its going to be--labor not included-- $2500 to fix. my jaw drops, but thats mostly for show, i knew it would be upwards of that...but i had to atleast act suprised to not dissapoint him. So, i'm left with 2 options a)kick bobs dumb ass and steal his car and run as fast and as far as i possibly can or b)Junk my car. yes, that is as awful as it sounds. $35 later, the Lake park Garage is the proud owner of my car with the hole on the motor. yes THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS! 35, XXXV, 30 AND 5 right that econd i call Geico and cancel my policy, this goes well...they refund me 150.14 buckaroos, yes, they are my bitch. all of this money plus some magic math equals 185.14 yesssssss! its basically like i found a huge bag of money *fecsious cowl* Well, Nick arrived after getting lost and driving the entire bredth of Georgia, adding an extra hour onto his trip to get me, but its all gravy because by 12:00 we were all packed up and on our way. All of my personal belonging out of my car, and in the back seat of rhianna's SUV, we're headed to tennessee.
the four of us rape Georgia in a matter of hours, and we are finally in Tennessee. I call Corwin and Lanny, the friends who i am coming up to visit, and they tell us that theyare at a party in Chatanooga, and to meet the downtown. So we do, and we follow them up Lookout mountain to this crazy mountain party...

hmmm..so yeah, this crazy mountain party turns out to be a wake oddly enough..dont know why we are here, where we spend several hours...Lanny seems to be the only one to know anyone else at the party, and they are dumping this guys ashes in the lake....overall a very very very strange and awkward night...that was saturday

from that point until now, we have just een hanging out at Sewannee...which is an amazing school. not only does it look like a castle, but its in my home state..which beeing in makes me almost want to cry. It akes me truly realize that i am in the WRONG environment at UCF. They really and truly take their studying seriousy here, where as at UCF no one ever studies, and there is something to get into 24/7. As my favorite Molly i am sure can identify with, when there is something other than what you need to be doing going on, you're sure as hell doing that instead.

but yeah...uts 3 am i started this at 11 *yikes*

Nick should be here at noon tomorrow, taking us back to FSU atleast we'll be back in FL *sigh* ill update again prolly from there

...wish me luck!

EDIT:Later that evening i had intercourse with four (4) gentlemen in a barn. Afterwards, i had intercouse with a mule. That was a learning experience, as one should note a mule will kick when anally raped -- From Corwin

<--end transmission-->

Act II:

Further Charles:
innoncence and ignorance. These two children don't necissarily walk hand in hand. To me, IMHO, innoncence implies a lack of (or a lack of application of) experience. and Ignorance is a lack of Knowledge (that might come from experience). The two are related, and for them to be connotative of one another would be incest, and as we all know incest is illegal. To me the two are like twin brothers, one good and one evil. One purveying hope and beauty, and the other death and destruction. If I had to name their parents, I believe they would be the father(teacher, law-bringer, example) Experience(or a lack thereof) and the mother(passion, empathizer, and theory) Intention. The determining factor/ fine line between innocence and ignorance would definantly have to be intention. Thoes labled innocent usually have nothing but the best intention, and are seen as wholly good and childlike while at the other end of the spectrum comments seen as ignorant usual are sent from pointed tounge.
At any rate... Some (Lao Tzu for instance) would argue that retaining innocence and staying childlike in face of experience, is the path to enlightenment. I prefer to think of enlightenmet not as a final destination but as a path carved to happiness by innovation and flexibility. And these are the traits I believe that technology is really having on this and subsequent generations. The Ability and the resource to learn faster through self motivated means. Not only do we have the information readily available, because of it, we are taught by experience that if there is something we do not know, but would like to, all we have to do is find it (and usually do easily). The younger and Younger are Faster yes, but powerful no. Potentially so..and potential though, the potential is the key.

With an increased rate of gaining knowledge, future generations have greater potentials for thought, innovation and invention. Information and interconnectedness (the real key in this argument) are readily more and more accessible. and as these increse intellegence increase. Though I think your argument that the locus of power will somehow shift to the younger and younger, approaching infinity, where thoes yet concieved will rule the world is flawed. Power is weilded not by thoes with the most intelligence (sadly) rather than thoes with the most influence. Influence is gained either through demogogy, is purchased, or through being well connected to the world at large through other mysterious means.
Which brings me to the core of my agrument:
The power held by this (and future) generation(s) doesn't come from how much money we have, or because we'll be infiltrating Executive boards of big business or coming into loads of money to weild at our most whimsical desire, it comes from being so closely interconnected, and having the ability to communicate so quickly, and share information to keep each other educated and informed. Even thoes other things may happen (such as infiltration and instantaneous wealth), They are not our true sorce of power. These yonger generations using laptops, iphones and phaser beams in school open a wholly different set of circumstances and up the ante educationally.

Charles: one day when you are a mega research doctor you should hop on board with our revolution and study the long term developmental implications imposed by the introduction and exponential evolution of technology in the classroom.

food for thought though:

As Well as a Reading List
* Lawrence Lessig, Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace and Code: Version 2.0
* William Fisher, Promises to Keep: Technology, Law, and the Future of
Entertainment
* Lawrence Lessig, The Future of Ideas: The Fate of the Commons in a Connected
World
* Lawrence Lessig, Free Culture: The Nature and Future of Creativity
* Yochai Benkler, The Wealth of Networks: How Social Production Transforms
Markets and Freedom
* Ron Deibert, John Palfrey, Rafal Rohozinski, Jonathan Zittrain, eds., Access
Denied: The Practice and Policy of Global Internet Filtering
* Jonathan Zittrain, The Future of the Internet - And How to Stop It

I've not read all (or any of this, but I found it here) and it's next on the list.

Now if anyone is still with me, I must apologize. I have absolutely no idea what i'm talking about. It can be quite embarassing most of the time. In fact, I'm relatively emptyheaded. It's a shame for me to go on waxing philosophically like I'm the foremost proust scholar in the world... That being said respond: continue a thought if it strikes you or tell me I'm wrong and show me I'm bat shit crazy. That's the point of all of this... well not entirely actually...The whole point of this thing is to talk about my expericences here in Spain... but it's turning into a nice conversation between friends. I don't have anything to prove about my intellect or my dignity. Thoes things I could do without. I really just want to have a conversation. At any rate: concerning spain, I'll have an update soon: some interesting stories and pictures to come, this stuff was just at the forefront of my brain. Thoes of you that I see regularly know my habits and I'm sure you could use your imagination to peice together what exactly I've been doing in a city such as Barcelona... Which is not only one of the most polluted cities in Europe, it's a thriving international bohemian (another word for drunkards and drug addicts that play music and do art) city. So patience: I have to pull myself together enough to remember the stories.

Here's an interesting story to hold you over though (Act III):
I've disgusted Europeans left and right with my wine taste, which is apparently distinctly American. It's not so much that I have bad taste, rather just a tight fist. Though I think Dionysus may have punished me for trying to buy three bottles of the Cheapest wine I could find (€0.55, yes 55 cents). Even witht he terrible exchange rate being what it is, That is still dirt cheap, and less than an American dollar. So what could I do, I had to... I could feel the pressure of the great market forces working against my wallet, my brain and my liver simultaneously. It might not of been Dionysus punishing me, because I was bying in excess it might be God punishing me for my stupidity. That particular Market, El Conceptio, is three blocks away from my Flat. On two stories, the first is a giant open market where one can by whole rabbits, A slew of fish that I can't identify (dead, also whole) fresh fruit, vegtables bread and Flat Screen TVs, The bottom is like a regular grocery store. Pretty damn convenient. As I was walking up the stairs to pay for my armfulls of wine (totaling less than 2€) I pulled a classic Parker move, tripping up the stairs.
Before I knew it I was lying in a pool of my own blood (okay okay a little over dramatic, but It was red, I do drink too much (so you couldsay that It was my blood on the ground % wise) and I was bleeding just a little), and broken glass. Subsequently I went back down stairs, got three more and this time with a basket safely made the journey. The spaniards though were on a Siesta, and I believe the mess is still there.

so for now: Courage.

Penn Jillete is my Grandmother

2008-04-14T02:12:00.001-07:00

ALright, you may say that it is a biological impossibility for Penn to physically be my grandmother. Though Nay, I say to you, Nay. If you look right into the eyes of the dragon, you will see her.

They may not be one in the same, but they look damn close.

Man Man - Rabbit Habits

2008-04-11T03:05:00.001-07:00

EVERY ONE EVERYONE DOWNLOAD (OR PURCHASE QUITE LEGALLY FROM DIGITAL SOURCES) MAN MAN RABIT HABITS.

brilliant album. fucking incredible.

I've listened to the damn album 7 times in 2 days. shit.

For Ball and Angela: Sons of Digital Liberty

2008-04-10T09:46:00.000-07:00

Thoes of us born with mouse and keyboard in hand aren't so unfamiliar with organic growth. I know you meant nature-based organic nonsense (you vegan hippie commie pinko stoner :P) but the revolution and renaissance is wholly digitally organic. Ideas are planted and grow into the community electronically. Ideas on the great interweb are digital organisms that live and die by the blogosphere and popular opinion. 'viral' is a new media buzzword that has come into existance recently with people getting wildly famous from personally publish content on Youtube or the 'blogosphere' or what have you, but it is absolutely organic. It's hard to visualize though because it is entirely metaphysical.

I'm world famously interested in this phenomenon of the wired-generation...and I don't think I'm alone in the way I think. You should read Al Gore's book The Assault On Reason. It is there he talks about Digital democracy and the coming changes ahead when our supremely interconnected generation get's into business politics and media. There will be a world of difference then. The internet allows us a truly democratic forum to debate and carry on what he calls the 'conversation of democracy' with the government.

This is what I am most interested, the intersection of law, democracy, politics and technology.

Concerning Web 2.0 Dr. Ball, recently following the sex scandel of Elliot Spitzer workers in the sex industry (i.e. dirty hookers--all read this article) through the use of twitter, flickr, myspace and mobile internet effectivly controlled the information that was reported into the media. coordinated interviews, and tailored the information to further their own agendas and open a legitamate debate about the abuse of sex workers. Because of the lack of control on the industry because of it's illegal nature. The content is intresting (and super sexy) but the overall impact of how it was done... is one of the most resounding things I've ever heard. I read this article slack-jawed to be honest. This tell's me that not only is there interconectedness in our generation, but there be power. The power to control the world around you, most literally. The control of information in our society is the most powerful wepon that anyone can posess. and to have it so readily available?? and for so little cost? what the fuck. We will rule the world one day. mark my words.

There is so much power you hold in your hand with an Iphone, a flickr account, a facebook account,a few RSS feeds and a decent wifi connection that it practically is a modern-day samurai sowrd. except 100 feet long The American Government should be shaking in their boots. Because not only are we an educated ,open-minded, and an extremly interconnected Generation. But we are filled with piss and vinegar. (or at least I am, not to mention whisky)

If a bunch of hookers can control Fox News, then imagine what some Nerd-core Internet Pirates could do to the music industry..or better yet Sons of Digital Liberty (A new name for propriators of freedom of information and Digital democracy) tot he american Government.

We are able to mobilze, intellectually speaking anyway, on a dime and we are constantly aware of their almost every move. The combination of The American Housing Crisis, The Credit Crisis, The 'blogosphere' the dissent of internet pirates, The War in Iraq, and the growing seperation between the American government with logic,freedom, and popular american opinion spells out to me:
Revolution.

Obama may represent change but we, my friends, all thoes with a decent internet connection, an opinion, and the very neccissary knowledge to be able to utilize the two, we are the change.

wow...talk a bout a rant.

This started off as a response to Ballister and Angela but I'm a little passionate about the subject...and I had to get that all out into the world. food for thought I guess. So the next time You are bullshitting on Facebook or checking Google reader, reading CNN on your Iphone, downloading anything from a torrent file.. just stop and think about the vast potential that is connected to your fingertips. Think about it all, and don't take it for granted.

The internet is what took me to Spain, and what allows me to interact with everyone I know like I would sitting on my lazy ass at home.

Ballzer:Web 2.0 is no digression it is amazing. And the Future it holds is more than just tech change. shiiit.

Other than all that: the absithe I used a fork instead of a slotted spoon. That is some strong shit, sir. Though tasty. It'll put you on your ass though for sure... though it'S the good kind of on your ass: such as what the hell, where am I! who are these naked girls!

sadly I can't say that with experience, but I have a hell of an imagination.

2008-04-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

THe first few are where I'm living plus the view from my balcony. the rest is how I've been living

Street Art

Tengo tres semanas

2008-04-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

Well three weeks today.

As is stands I´ve been in this ´flat´for two weeks now. Ridiculous. the entirity of my stay here. Luckily though it´s a pay as you go flat for travelers in a nice part of town. I walk out my front door and I see a beautiful building built by Antonio Gaúdi who is the architect credited for making barcelona the city it is today. as well as in sucessesion a gucci sotre, a lacoste store, and the landmark I use to find my street (I call Booberry) but it´s called something completely different... not sure of the actual name. If that gives you any idea if the area, and it should... it should come to no suprise that I pay 400€ a month(about 600$) to live in a fort in the living room.

By fort, I mean a double bed surrounded by a ´privacy curtain´which is a giant drapery around my living quarters. For the most part privacy has not been too big of an issue. the only other teneant in the flat is a woman from the bosque region of Spain who is, to put it lightly, a raging nut bag. She rarely ventures out of her room, so no real problem there either. The few times I have communicated with her it has been about intruders in her bathroom. The day I arrived here I was...exploring...the flat and happened to go into her private bathroom, and upon exit was accosted and verbally assaulted for my intrustion. The second run in I had with her, she told me that she had noticed ´certain traits´there within her bath, and that another woman had been using it. she is very protective of her bathing area, to say the least.

That though is the least of the problems here. On Thursday of last week, I decided to be adventurous. I went to try the spanish national dish: Paella. The previous evenign I met an American Girl travelling alone in an Irish pub, which are, odly enough, all over Barcelona. 27, gorgeous Graduate of NYU and a Masters from Columbia. You meet the most interesting people here, She told me her first hand account of the events of 9/11 (her apartment at the time was 2 blocks from ground zero). In order to get the most native experience, we went to the smallest shittiest run seafood place I could find to get...¨the best¨..seafood in BCN. Hardly. Moving on.. Afterwards we went to an Absinthe bar (establish in 1789) and I had my fair share of that magical substance....from that point on I can´t continue the narritive of the rest of that evening seeing as how I can´t recall the specific events.

THOUGH: the morning. I awoke the following morning in the bathroom of my flat in a panic. I had absolutely no idea where I was, who I was or what had happened to put me in the shower of a bathroom I had ´never seen before´. What had jarred me awake though was the smell of cigarette smoke and the clanging of dishes in the kitchen.

I´ll take this time to explain the amenities that come complimentary with the rental of this flat: laundry service: my gym shorts have been hanign on the closeline outside for two days with birdshit all over them.

cleaning service: dofferent maid everyday, and they wont stop moving my things around, I´ve lost a few accessories to my computer, a pair of blue jeans, a cloth belt that was lent to me by a Sea Captain, a power outlet converter for fucking stupid spanish outlets, as well as my spanish-english dictionary.

Kitchen ware: to be explained below

wireless internet: I´ve fucked my laptop. American voltage standard is 110v, Europe is 220v Ther einlies the problem. useless to me now

Cable TV: All american programing with TERRIBLE TERRIBLE TERRIBLE spanish dubbing..though I rather like Me Llamo Earl.

Dish explination: the morning I awoke from what I vaugly remember to be a night of absinth haze/food poisoning by the smell of cigarrtetes and the clanging of dishes, my landlords decided it was in the best interest of thisflat for them to remove all of the cooking ware and dishware from our kitchen. leaving us with 1 plate and one glass in a plastic container they decided to place on my bed. No matter how many times I return this container to the kitchen, each morning it returns to the foot of my bed. Unfortunately, I can get no clear explination for why this keeps happening. None of the maids, or my landlords speak a word of English.

Enough bitching about the flat. It´s an adventure to be sure. none of these things actually concern me too terribly. I´me fine here, and and more than thankful I don´t have to sleep in the streets. Apart fromt he general weirdness of the operation of this establishment. Things have been spectacualr.

On a more positice note: my job is fucking phemonenal. I do two things predominantly: screen ¨new content¨ that my company can potentially buy the rights to sell and distribute and give my two cents about the website we just launched:
http://loko.tv

basically what I do is watch Short films all day long, and play on facebook. I do have some other tasks assigned to me such as redesigning the content catalog for the content my company owns the rights to distribute, and play Techno Wizard from planet Zebes (there is my new title charles).

I¨ve noticed quite an interesting phenomenon about the Generation I belong to... for posterity we´ll call in the intrinsi-tech generation. For me, using a computer is like using my fucking eyeballs. In the modern working wnvironment, alot of older peopel struggle. Using Word, Excel, The interweb...all of these simple tasks I´ve come to realize are not so simple for anyone older than lets say...27. In general that is, not to say that all old fogies don´t know how to operate a computer... they just weren´t bred to do it. For me, I was born with a mouse and keyboard in hand, and in the professional setting I´m a commodity because I can reset the wireless router when it oges down, or restart the computer when there is a tiny error...things that are I believe to be completely simple, completly mistify some older generations. realize what you have, and take advantage. for shizz my nizzes. We, thoguh, as a gneration are more connected to the outside world, less sheltered, more intelligent, and readily able to solve any propblem that comes our way via google, wikipedia, flicker, facebook, RSS, ect. ect.

we are the revolution. we are renaissance. And we will change the world.

okay, I´ll get off the soap box now.

at any rate... Ballister: I´ll upload some more pictures tomorrow or later this week at work. depending on what this spanihs bullshit internet allows me to do.

Adios,

Parker

Mas y Minus

2008-04-01T05:59:00.000-07:00

So. two weeks today.

Things have calmed here for the time being. Though... Calm and boring are never to be confused.

Several events have unfolded since my last digital purge.

For one, I have me the spanish love of my life, her name is Byci.
She just like myself loves stealing, and scaring pidgeons.
She also loves to be ridden at both a fast and a medium pace.

I knew she was the one meant for me when I rode out of the Decathalon store where I bought her and all of her accessories were on the recipt, but she had managed to slip beneath the radar of the cashier/front gaurdsman.

270€ error in my favor.

Though, a trifle scary it was when I returned home to find that although I had gotten away with my beautiful steed... I had paid with dignity instead of credit.

I had left my wallet at the cash register. What a fucking Idiot.

Though when I rode my prison sentance back into the store to retrieve my wallet, she craftily again slipped under the radar like a thif in the night.

I might have stolen her, but she stole my heart.
There is no one I'd rather tour Barcelona from on top of.

Biking in Europe is the only way to see a big city.

The average mode of transportation for a European city dweller is a Vespa scooter, which apparently, don't really have to follow any traffic laws.

not though that the traffic laws in Spain are that strict in the first place.
Let's take a normal intersection for instance:
Not only are there the main lanes of traffic, but two adjacent lanes on either side of that as well meant for Bikes, Taxis, and busses. These lanes are seperated by pedestrian walk ways with parking for the "motos".

At any given time, a moto or a car or whatever sort of vehichle for that matter will switch into one of these adjacent lanes at any available opening, and if large enough, will make it's own.
The traffic lights at the interstections stand for the following:
Green - Universal Go
Yellow - Also, Go just faster than you normally would when the light is green
Red - Again, also go unless you feel like stopping, it would be pretty nice of you if you did.

This Should Give you some Idea:

The police, can't be bothered with traffic violations. They are too busy doing nothing, and driving around in their strange tiny cars, stopping tourist to ask meaningless questions and then send them on their way..

Also:

Another issue that has arisen for me:
Mayonnaise.

I'm not completely sure if its just Spain or the entirety of Europe that has an out and open love affair with Mayonnaise.

Though when my sandwhich comes with a side order of nachos... I neither expect or desire the spanish perversion of this Mex-american classic:
Tortilla chips with mayo squirted on top.
Also Patatas Bravas, be warned: mayo all over thoes sons of a bitches.

Someone needs toinform the Spanish Juntamente that mayonnaise infact does not belong on everything edible. I believe it's fact that they also use it for sun screen.

It´s about Fucking Time Now isn´t it.

2008-03-25T07:01:00.000-07:00

[Listening to: The Avett Brothers - Mignonette]

I agree... though in my opinion, It´s always time for the internet. Spain, unfortunately doesn´t feel the same way (at least not towards me). The Spanish feel they have to stand out in the world of electricity. They, unfortunately for me have power outlets different from the rest of Europe, in which I was fully prepared to handle. My laptop is dead, and looks like it might stay that way.

Though my time here is still it´s infancy my brain has been shit out my mouth, my face has been melted onto my keyboard and my eye-pussies have been fucked into oblivion. All of that out of the way... So I guess it´s story time in the kitchen as it were.

For those of you that have been to Europe and experienced these things before me... I apologize. This is my first trip out of the US and and most things are foreign to me (bad pun intended).

I rolled up on this Piece a week ago today and since then I haven´t had any substantial time to sit down and say anything worth while. Though It is the opinion of some that I have nothing worthwhile to say at any time of the day. At any rate though I think once a week is about the best those of you who are going to read this are going to get. For the most part though I feel like I´m only talking to one person who has my RSS (you know who you are, my little Honey bunch. It´s about time for another Hops Slam if you ask me) Granted, I guess. but here goes nothing
:

Upon leaving Orlando International, and getting on my British Airways Flight I discovered that the Brits love socks. Either that or they know they are eternal fuck-ups. I discovered this small fact when I went rooting through the pouch located in front of my airline seat (like I always do when fly. Or do anything else for that matter, I´m a curious individual I can´t help it) and to my surprise I found a blanket, eye covers, a pair of shitty head phones, a British TV guide some had left behind called Hello Telly someone had left, and a nice warm pair of complimentary socks. I should have fucking known that that was going to be foreshadowing for the trouble to come...

Excuse the interruption, but it´s time for a short aside about my life and personality:

Apparently, I have given an open invitation for all trouble and folly to ravage and rape my person and my effects. I am no stranger to trouble, and in fact, it seems my personality invites it at every turn.
Any time I spend a substantial time away from home I hemorrhage money. It flies from me like I was it´s mortal enemy. I believe that we, money and I, are opposite (magnetically speaking). I spent some time in Washington D.C. Last summer interning for a U.S. Congressman from Tennessee (for his reputation, I won´t say which though he doesn´t need my help in tarnishing his name) and the whole time was issue after issue but not any that his Legislative Assistants could bullshit their way through.

I drove there to D.C. (bad Idea) and on the first day busted a hole in my back passenger side tire, and after switching it for the doughnut hit a pot hole and warped that rim. to fix that I had to spend three hours in a 24-hour tire repair place in south-east DC (the Ghetto) at 3 am. It was obvious that most of the tires were stolen. I felt like a basketball coach.

I was robbed of my glasses on the subway, while drunk on the metro. Those fucking heathens tried to get me off the train, the glasses were only a lure. I refused though, screaming drunken slurs from the doorway of the train at the train stop while I watched them smash my glasses on the ground.

After throwing my money at thieves (20$ for a Rouge beer at a Bar) and con-men, I had to get a second job waiting tables, at a restaurant that I had no idea you had to have a permit to park in front of... I don´t want to talk about that one.

At home in Florida there are plenty of examples: the way I earned the name ´´Droppapotamus´´ at Gina´s Lakeside Grill (see shitty restaurant Job), Got demoted from Langasto Rojo for a similar reason, Why I was hissed at by a retarded woman hissed at me at Sonny´s Bar-b-que... all that may be my fault though. As I´ve been told by more than one restaurant manager... serving may not be the industry for me. And Gladly, I agree. But also there are apartment fires (yes plural, but only one so scarring that I was left with little to my name).

This is starting to sound like a pity party... but quite the opposite... I do like to invite trouble, folly, hardship, suffering, ect., ect. into my life. The more one suffers through the more there is to be thankful for, and all the more, life lived. After all...Suffering is the Route to enlightenment.......................................................
I´ll live my life or die trying.

Back to the situation at hand:

...Those fucking Brits. After taking us through the most nauseating path possible across the Atlantic (in which I put to good use the eye covers), we arrived two hours late in London Gatwick Airport. From then I had 25 minutes to make my connecting flight to Barcelona. From the plane the only things I was able to steal were the blanket and the safety guide, I assumed the socks were mine to keep. Along with all the bottles of complimentary Johnny Walker Red Label (of which I lost at the gate to the connecting flight when the contents of my bag spilled after being jostled from the marathon I had to run to make the flight.) Though I was gasping for blessed life-breath when I got there, I made the flight.

In Barcelona: The Brits had lost my baggage... but at least I had their socks. Good thing too, because It´s very cold here...comparatively anyway... and I rarely wear any. For four days I was left with nothing but a trusty pair of jeans, which basically never have to be washed, a t-shirt, a sweater and the contents of my Backpack. And Thank the good lord I am a thrifty packer... In my backpack I had my laptop, a chess board, several guides to Barcelona, Ipod, cell phone, electronic dictionary, several brain-teaser puzzles Maps of not only Barcelona but Spain, Portugal, Amsterdam, London, and Madrid. and my trusty Magic Money Card and four airplane size bottles of Johnny Walker as well as two of some crappy English Shiraz. Thank the lord for that as well. Of all of my shortcomings, thankfulness is not one.

The rest is all sight-seeing in Barcelona: there are pictures on Facebook, Flicker is being a bitch and will only allow me 100 Mb of upload space a month, and seeing as how I refuse to take anything under 5megapixle shots that´s not so much. so look there if curiosity strikes. There are pictures of most of Antonió Gaudí´s buildings who is renowned for almost single handedly designing Barcelona. Wikipedia folks. Also The Graffitti here is astounding. You can really here the artistic heartbeat of this city, just by walking it´s streets. Pictures of that to come.

oh. Also, I was forcibly removed from a hostel after violating their stupid ¨rules¨. Which apparently if you don´t ¨follow¨ you´re not ¨welcome¨. All I did was use the computer after 23:00 to prevent people from doing such things they had a remote control device on the power outlet for the monitor. Such things are easily surmountable and of no use to me. Though the Guard..err... front desk man had a few things to say about it, in which I had a few replies. After that evening they refused me quarter. All was well though, Because I had found a flat that day.

The Flat though is another story entirely, for another day. It´s inhabited by crazies.

Courage,

Parker

Things are growing peculiar.

2008-03-17T16:05:00.000-07:00

[Listening to: The Doobie Brothers - Black Water]
T minus 5 minutes to board.

Here I come. Oh shit.

the intense weight of unbareable lightness

2008-02-21T10:11:00.000-08:00

[Listening to: The Felice Brothers]

25 days

Alright,

so, I feel like I am slowly descending into madness. I can't say that it's pleasant, though truthfully, I can't say it's wholly unpleasant either. Life, as it were, for me seems to be teetering on the edge of some drastic changes. The only clear comparison I can make to speak of, is that of waiting on my Uncle Cid.

Directly after ingestion, anticipation takes a hold of you by the gut and hangs there like a five year-old suspended over a 10,000 foot chasm from monkey bars. That anticipation drags you by the balls through the worst leg of the journey, through the muck of uncertainty to the very brink of insanity, then: it drops; Tangerine Trees and Marmalade Skies. When it hits, it hits like a sledgehammer. That "hit" is unmistakable; things take a definite and heart-wrenching turn towards what can range from utter face-melting chaos to complete inter-connectedness and omniscient understanding. But: before one descends into narrating a novel which is their life, talking to tigers through a cafeteria tray, or turning into a glass of orange juice there is that transitioning period filled with remorse (best described by Buyer's Remorse), regret, eager anticipation, fear, loathing, and excitement. It's during this period The only thing that can be heard are the war drums of a periodically-human heart beating and rolling through a clouded drug-influenced mind like thunder, as the anger and anticipation that live in the coils in one's jaw start to wind with the pressure and concerns of a slightly browning strip of paper. Terror sweeps through and threatens to end the life of the mind; It's hard to step past the idea that one may or may not have sub-lingually absorbed the one only certain fact that can be recalled at the time. The only original thought that a racing mind can grasp onto in a situation such as this, is this: "Nothing's happening. Bad luck." and then it drops. This transition is the difference between night and day; it's this phenomenon that makes that teeth-grinding march of 30 - 45 minutes seem like an eternity. Effectively though, that span of time becomes a semi-colon of human existance. Separating two independent and decidedly different phrases of life.

This is what you do...

Take out a pen and paper right now and draw a line down the center of the paper. Calmly and logically, think of all possible advantages to buying a home and write them down on one side of the page. Afterwards, you should list all the disadvantages on the other side of the paper.

This process is supposedly how Ben Franklin used to weigh tough decisions.

It's this giant and terrible metaphor that best describes my situation at hand. To use two smaller shoe metaphors at the same time: I've got one foot out the door and waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kiss the city beautiful and everyone in it goodbye in 25 days. From there it's onward and upward. The allure of the opportunities and mystery Barcelona holds is back-breaking, ball-busting.

As I watch the time left I have here spiral down the sink-drain I can't help but to reflect on the things I've done, experiences I've had, the people I've met and the connections that may or may not have been built and I wonder.... What does it all mean?

What does this city that I can't wait to flee and say, time and time again, that I never want to come back to mean in the grand scheme of things (as I'm concerned anyway). I hate leaving places feeling like I've accomplished nothing. But by the looks of it the only thing I've left here as far, as roots go, is shaving cream residue on the sink-bowl of Orlando. What my life really needs is a good clean towel to wipe away the scum; good as new.

Leaving Behind:

Shitty, but comfortable Restaurant Job
Mickey Mouse
Selfish and difficult friends
Selfish and difficult family
half of a college degree (yay!)

Spain:

Primavera
Job
Life
Bacon
unending possibility

That's every reason to go. Thank you Ben Franklin.
, ~~My life feels like it's going to shit.~~ I'm in the shit.

'Cause an obsession with the past is like a dead fly
And just a few things are related to the "old times"

The Crushing Inevitablity That Comes from a Self Imposed Exile

2008-02-13T11:55:00.001-08:00

"The Doorman asks, 'Then, sir, I must respectfully ask you: why don't you go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut? Why don't you take a flying fuck at the moooooooon?'"

But seriously, folks: Why the FLYING FUCK does one feel the need to blog about anything in particular? Someone anyone please answer and tell me why? Whatever the case may be, I feel it. I feel the inescapable, all-encompassing, ever-pressing weight of The Future descending down upon us like so many vultures circling above over head, waiting. Waiting. It's all anyone can do when face with inevitably. Wait and prepare.

A note on preparation:

There are some things in life that no amount of preparation can surmount. This for instance. Cancer, an addiction to crack cocaine, interventions, peak oil, apartment fires,encountering a never-nude, The sledgehammer of commercialism on the delicate glass of the future of the American intellect...the list goes ever on. There is though, a stark difference though between that which cannot be prepared for and the things that remain vague abstractions because a person chooses to turn a blind eye to that which is crashing towards them at break-neck speeds. I can tell you though from first hand, though more exciting (or at least a lot more comfortable), this is inadvisable.

That being said, the future of one's digital role in the coming decades is something that a person should at very least stop to consider, and for the over-cautions make an adequate attempt at preparing for. That is the purpose for this blog, in a sense anyway.

For official use only:

Purpose: To create a digital Identity, Join the conversation of 21st century digital democracy, and totally ruin any hopes of having an air of legitimacy or professionalism when any future employers look back and label me, my blog, my future, and my lifestyle "reckless, fiendish, vulgar, drug-addled, perverse, self-involved, senseless, direction-less and ultimately worthless on the most visceral level"

What's worse than the draw of this god forsaken idea that I need to record a deprecated life filled with little more than menial tasks meant to pass what little time I have left in Orlando is this: For weeks I have had this blog set-set up with the good intentions of writing at least something. Slowly, and on many more than a handful of occasions, I have sat staring at a blank blog interface I though about how I have no credentials, experience, or previous knowledge on any subject what-so-ever. I'd rather not step up on a soap-box and rail against Hilary Clinton and her diabolical connections with the Wal-mart and big business. Or profess my clearly superior cut and-paste indie-hipster musical tastes. I've sat and thought about these things that I don't want to turn myself and this small corner of the internet into and it very quickly turned into a rushing deluge of healthy indifference. It's this indifference that has kept DITK empty. Though recently as the vestiges of my tenure here in The City Beautiful have begun to fade away, and the volume knob on the white-noise-chaos machine that has become my life is slowly but surely reaching closer to 0,
I can finally smell it. As the last pages of this chapter of my life are written it's come clear to me the things I do have:

A plane ticket, and a quickly approaching departure date for a job in a foreign country.
A penchant for the Non Sequitur
A digital Camera
A voracious appetite for all things "experience enhancing"

Also, I want a place to publish my terrible short stories. They do no good slowly corrupting on my hard drive that is never cleaned or de-fragmented. Also, they are not terrible, but they aren't very numerous. In order to motivate myself to write more and for my creations to grow: I need an audience. Feedback is the key to growth, I guess.

That, to me at least sounds like a good recipe for a blog that is at the very least, readable. If you don't agree with me: Go Fuck yourself.

test

2007-12-10T13:52:00.001-08:00

test