e-evolution.

--copied from a myspace blog-- Go read it there and then add me add me add me.


So I've just had an epfiany. It occured during my typing of a reply to a myspace message from someone that, under all other circumstances, I shouldn't have ever heard from again. (All other circumstances = No myspace.com). The idea that popped into my head was exactly that...
There was a time when certain people that you may have been aquaintences with (or known as the guy with the weird beard or the chick with the huge forehead) were supposed to slide slowly off your radar after you move away or stop going to the same coffee shop. If you saw them in a bar or at a bookstore, because of your no-first-name-but-recognizable-aquaintenceship, you might have the inclination to walk up and say hello and ask them what book they are reading. ( This approach, has in the past backfired, as everyone has experienced I think in the dreaded, "They don't recognize you,", or if either party is holding pornography.) However, if you did not see them after a period of time, these people were just gone. Not usually missed, either!! Not that they were bad aqaintinces or smelled or you owed them money... no! It's just that you didn't know them well enough in the first place to warrant setting up a meeting to see them again and in fact would have never even said goodbye, had they not brought it up awkwardly at the bar when you told them you were graduating/moving/finallygettingajob! Its the natural order of things! Certain people that are your friends - stay - your friends because you make a concerted effort to keep them as your friends! It's survival of the fittest! The spots that were once filled by casual aquaintences are now filled by newer, more casual aquaintences!! It's natural selection, honey! Weirdbeard Guy didn't make the cut! Clan of the Cave Bear is out!! You'll never see them again and probably won't ever remember they existed except for their exceptional names. (Which, technically, you gave to them in a fit of drunken hilarity. So really, you are only remembering them because of your off-handed association with their easily recognizable faults - a defense mechanism perpetrated by your ego to inferiortize them. Others, more close to you are spared this because you get to see the good side of each of their faults and your id justifies and forgives imperfections. Its called friendship.) Close friends stay close and casual friends stay casual and all those other people slowly slip into the background like white noise, only periodically to slip into the conscience through a conversation about the place you bumped into them a lot or a smell that reminds you of beard cream. Perhaps a sex dream containing every person in your graduating class. This has previously continued until each college socialite is just like their parents, with two best friends that live forever away who are only seen once every five years and every other spots being filled by allthepeopletheyworkwith. It's happened this way for generations. It's the way G-d intended. It happened to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It happened to Moses. It happened to Jesus. It happened to Arisotole. It happened to Charles Darwin. It happened to Bill Clinton. And it was supposed to happen to YOU.

But no. myspace had to fuck it all up. Now, once we have known someone long enough for a casual conversation, it undeniably means that we've known someone long enough to look them up on myspace (Which, by itself, is a hilarious social enigma, if you ask me.) And once someone is your friend on myspace...it though to get rid of them. Our egos are so fragile that the justification necessary to "Remove from Friends" is ridiculous compared to the will-power needed to 'fudge' and Add someone you never really liked in the first place. But now, you get to hear everything they have to say about their favorite drink, where they last were kissed, if they are a cat or a dog or a monkey or want a monkey or HAVE a monkey or just got finished eating monkey or if their last 24 hours had NOTHING AT ALL TO DO WITH MONKEYS. You will still hear about it. And this is all from the guy, that naturally, under any other circumstances, you would've never heard from again.
conclusion: Myspace is ruining the world. In fact, we are all headed for total social meltdown. I'm talking orgies in the street, here people. for real.

I gatta get back to work.

Bullets don't kill people. I kill people.

So it's been awhile since I've posted anything and I thought I'd just bring everybody back up to speed with a bullet presentation.

• While watching the Food Network, Karen's jealousy of Rachael Ray overcame her and she personally renamed "$40 a Day" to "How to Cheat Poor Service People Out of Their Tips". Karen's just angry because I call RR a goddess, although we have both decided that Rachael Ray would be the world's single most annoying person to be around in person. ( I swear to Gd, if Sumit ever said "Yum-O!" I would slap the shit out of him. ) Plus, she has a Ba-donk-a-donk.
  
• I've gotten a cell phone, and in addition to the copious amounts of drunk dialing - expected, of course, I have started to take a ridiculous number of ridiculous photos. It's quickdraw properties have definite advantages. Observe:

Exhibit one. Holla Back Boy giving Will a "Wet Willie". It just seems natural sometimes.



This is Sumit making sure there is no Tequila on the poker money. Thanks Sumit.




The ever-elusive Karen, in her natural environment. ( Natural environment being a towel, a silly hat, smoking a cigarette, and reading Calvin and Hobbes.


Unsuspecting bystanders picking your nose, beware!! I have the ability... I have the technology.. to snap pictures in like five-point-two milliseconds. If I can figure out to get 'LifeBlog' going, I could even instantly upload them. The possibilities are endless.

• The bullets are pointless.

• 
  
• New Music to check out: Ratatat ( Try "Seventeen Years" )
  
• Gatta go. Heading to the zoo, hopefully to see the new elephant baby. Have you ever noticed that optimism exists without actual practicality? For instance, I was just thinking, "Man I love my apartment. Now that they've opened up Forest Park Ave, I could ride my bike to the zoo! If I had a bike."

Numa numa

Apparently there is an internet sensation that I've been missing. Numa numa is this craze where you dance in front of your webcam to a ridiculously catchy song... ok actually, I'm just going to quote wikipedia. Because it's way more official-sounding and that makes it even funnier.

Numa Numa (or "the Numa Numa Dance") is an Internet phenomenon based on amateur videos made for the song Dragostea din Tei by Romanian pop band O-Zone.

Anh, just go read the whole article.
Plus, it's time for me to post videos that I've found while looking for more Numa numa. (Kinda sounds like some sort of exotic South American fruit.... or an obscure reference to sex or drugs. "Have you ever sucked dick for Numa numa?"

















First, there is the David Hasselhoff music video. If you haven't already seen this, it's worth it. It brings to mind the days of Yatta! and Dalher Mendhi. (Who, by the way, I had playing in the car the other day. I've turned into a Dalher Mendhi fan.)





Then, the spoof of the David Hasselhoff music video. Equally as hilarious.




Everything on this page made me laugh out loud. At work. And shoot hazelnut coffee out of my nose. Especially the Scare Tactics one. I had to cover my mouth and pretend that I was reading a horrible e-mail.

Meet Max: Internet Time Waster.

I'm not a poet

Poems from The Brew


walking slowly to
the beat of happy cops casually
discussing radio hardware hierarchies
while eyeing a slinking perp, deluded and
paranoid, tripping exhaustedly on the curb
recovering quickly gasping
studderstep softly and walk into the night

the air is clean
it's too early, or too late for jimi.
if thats how you spell it anyway

abercrombie babies, beautifully sweetly smelling
fantasia of bookbags slung so carefully at
a casual angle, softly ripped and worn jeans and
shoes, beating happily to their own imaginative
Dave Matthews versions, beating quiet rhythms
of knee kicking guitar and bass and drums, flutes
for voices and bottled beaches for hair and sheep.
Smiling about, glancing for someone to
sit with, piercing souls and egos coolly, with sweet sweet
melodic steps past, until shes finally rested,
at the table of wool and wolf hair, narrowly
skipping my latte with a kiss Oh! how they
love Bob Dylan, especially the ones he doesn't play.
But neither do I. I must be shallow. Sipping caramel and
chocolate and expresso and thinking naked sweatiness
The girl behind the counter with the large smile and
cute sandals and honest eyes stares, my eyes must
be red. And she must be mysterious. the brunette in
the center of the room intrigues me, not because of her
breasts but because of the variety of her facial
expressions, but breasts help.




_____________________________________
I TOOK THE PIECES YOU
THREW AWAY AND PUT THEM
TO GATHER BY NIGHT AND DAY
WASHED BY RAIN, DRIED BY SUN,
A MILLION PIECES ALL IN ONE
_____________________________________


slick and standing
A testament to frame and physics
pert and unmovable
loving smiling waiting
(g)leaning oh so slightly
untouched by music or coffee

Milwaukee-love. Love, Milwaukee.

Random Thought:

When I hear 'that sound' in the shower I have to roll out of the way or be burned to death. Oh God, the heat. I just wish I didn't have to treat my morning routine like it was the dangers of the fire swamp.

Highlights of Milwaukee

Caf-love (not smiling. caf-love never smiles. In fact, it's more fun not to smile. )

The new fountains at the MAM.

Chihuly rocks!

That's called "The Museum Air-Hump."

If you look closely, you'll see Lakefront's "Rodent Log". Awesome.

Divine Inspiration

Five minutes. You're worth it. We all are.

Go to Sumit's blog. I'm gonna do what he asks and I think everyone else should too. Let's spend five minutes and think hard, for once in our lives.

Sit and Spin

Seis de Mayo

Here's a good story.

So this drunk guy wanted to fight me last night, so I talked him out of it. He ended up asking to buy me a beer. I was like, "Cool. How about a Corona, seeing that it's Cinco de Mayo." And then he's like, "What? you must really LOVE Mexico." And then I was like, "Nah. I just really hate France." (Because Cinco de Mayo is the victory over the French at Pueblo. Keep up.)


Kiwi-hip hop lyrics of the day:


Che Fu - Chains

Come test me like a bomb straight from murdera
How comes i got cyclops fish in my water, A
Nation of Pacific lambs to the slaughter three
Eyes for my son and an extra foot for my daughter,
Gifts from a land that i don't even know i was
To slow to see that s-car-go you say i'm all
blow no cash exchange i didn't lie there's a
Picture of me in the dictionary under "French
Fry", no racism i'm out for who's in charge, I'd
like to lay a fat cable, in their bckyard to
Far they've gone now i'm radioactive strong I
Just walk past the switch and all the lights
Turn on,no "last dragon" just left my bones
Exposed didn't reach no final level yet my body
Still glows, why do you wanna annoy, nuclear
Boy with your toy

Wa Pihia neke mase a koe

Feel the light of one who stays over come some
Day set your sights and chip away
Come break my chains come help me out living in
The sity ain't so bad

Ch-ch Chale may i pull you 'side for a second
Asking you a question checkin what you reckon
why you letting your guard down with a frown
freaking bout what you wear how you walk
Around town did your heads ever think further
than threads, instead your dress code of the
Soul wardrobe is dead, mislead maybe why's my mirror hazy, morphin into something else my own imae is fading, making, moulding, holding, folding, is it more or a moive, Channel z or 3? Stolen stupid as such why is it televsion be now ruled by a crutch, hairless and fearless
Devoid of all shape like a snake, stick, your mouth around the bit that says inflate, breath deep if a sucker that you be, time is running out for me, to old for cold rubber making whoopee, i prefer a woman who is real to the touch, she feels much, she be the "starsky" to my hutch
You crunched up my sisters to the point of no
return, anoint the tan with the ointment, now
Ken & barbie burn, crispy pink, with a plastic
Sheen turn it over, baste it with a bit of margerine
"mmm mmm smells good" the swine taste fine whe're my christmas pud

Come break, my chains come help me out living in the city ain't so bad

I opened up my mind, i severed it straight down
The middle, conciousness like the ocean started
Out from the trickle, inspiration now the damn is
Broken my brain is open game is over time to
Insert your token, hopin i didn't see my deepest
Upleasentries my creepy crawlies goupe title
"insecurities" what-chu-mean? i mean the kind
that make you worry, buggers like bove and
Money ain't it funny regardless of emotions
That i've found the things that pick you up can
Be the same that put you down, underground in
The pits of dispair way down there, once again
I've got to make my way from here, bleeding
Needing a piece of self discovery so i can
patch myself up and make a quick recovery


Cause it just soon helium baloon bursting

Come break, my chains come help me out living in the city ain't so bad
Come break, my chains come help me (Tights is the gag in my mouth)
Come break my chains come help me out (picking up the reigns in the south),
Tell who's gonna buy who's gonna sell?

Bring it back down.

So I'm getting the hang of html editing and embedding and other various functionalities necessary to blogging and otherwise communicating with random, silent voyeurs on the web. So I've decided to test my luck. Plus, I've got never-before-seen video that has the potential to crack up at least three people that might happen upon it. And finally, because Compy 386 is soon to be replaced and upgraded to MainframeMegaUltiPlex 2k6, I'm taking my camera everywhere I go and using the post-it method more often. Just in case this whole "biotechnology/pharmaceutical" craze ever falls through, I'll have a back-up career on the internet.

Good luck to me.

S.U.M.I.T.



ps The caption on this video should read: Oakland Gyros. Late. Yes, that's me with long hair and a boob-like purse. Yes, Mike, it's recording. Yes Sumit, we do know the rest.

Ingenious, Creative, Practical and Simply Preposterous

So Janette has raised the bar. Great gift. I'll recount one of my favorite stories...

A traveler found himself pulling an all-nighter in an airport. He wrote his flight information on a Post-it(c) Note, along with a plea to wake him up in time, and stuck it on his shirt. It worked - twice! He dozed off after one traveler woke him. The second person made sure he was up.

By the way, I'd just like to give a creepy shout-out to the reason I started blogging... Plus you should just keep up with this guy. Anyone who snorts 151 is automatically good in my book. (ps If my boss asks anyone, I had food poisoning today. It was the salmon salad.)

Ok fine.

If I can't hold the ice cream box, I probably shouldn't have driven. It's =a new rule. Also new rule i f the keys dpuble somnehow. Don[t post. I will erase this as ssoonn as it's remembered.

Drivel

Begin great story.

So we're sitting around the barbeque pit on Wednesday evening, enjoying new company, new roommates, new friends and family getting older by the second. My step-mother, who is as gracious and sweet as one could please, has decided to jump in on the telling of raunchy jokes. This produced the following dialogue.

Lee: "Who's the most popular guy at the nudist colony?"

ALL: "Dunno."

Lee: "The guy that can carry two coffees and six dougnuts!"

(Uproarious laughter, except for Sumit.)

Sumit: (walking out of the house at the last second, to his credit, he didn't hear the first part of the joke)
"What? I don't get it."

Dad: "My delicate flower told a dirty joke. Don't worry about it"

Sumit: "No no! I want to hear it! Explain it to me!"

Lee: (without skipping a beat) "Sorry, Sumit. I can't explain a six doughnut joke to a two doughnut guy..."

(more uproarious laughter followed by an embarrased Lee having to explain the joke to Sumit. Followed then by an even more embarrased Sumit apologizing to Lee for making her explain it. Followed then by my brother, my dad, Ed, Rohit, Ragu, me, and Sumit's buddies from work having to dust each other off and try to stop crying.)

Dad:( in between the wheezing) "Eh he... hee... Sumit... My delicate flower just ripped a hole in your ass."


End story


Today's list of songs that might be cool to cover as 90's alternative rock songs.















Yes that's Michael Jackson and Fleetwood Mac. It's called creativity, people. Keep up.




And that brings me to my closing point for Friday,

Just because you CAN, doesn't mean that you SHOULD. ( Originally thought while driving and wondering if my roommates had kept the air conditioning on all day, but can be applied to any consumptive situation, like driving across a parking lot to get to HQ, taking a Jager Bomb, or attacking Third World countries ( George! Naughty!).

Have a kick ass night.

Two Things

ONE
It has come to my attention that I can no longer choose between an active social life and good personal hygiene. It will have to become, and remain, a delicate, constant balance. If it does not, I feel, nature tends to rectify the inequality.


This revelation came to my attention while admiring my shaggy hair at work. And because it was such an epiphany, I wanted to record it for my blog, because sharing is caring and all that jazz right? So I pulled out my trusty palm pilot/blackberry. (AKA Post-it notes.)

TWO

While I was frantically trying to record my sporadic genius onto blue tacky paper, it also came to my attention that my (and I'm not alone here, people) wish to share and be shared with over the internet ( read : OkCupid, Blogger, MySpace, Friendster, and a million other things that I'm not cool enough to know about) comes form some innate desire to be where I am not. I write to random people that I may or may not know are reading so I can show that I am NOT CONTENT with my place in life and that I strive for greater, farther reaching things. I want to change my environment. I want to change my surroundings.

... And then I ran out of room on my Post-it.

But the whole experience gave me a really great idea. I'm going to invent a machine that records my voice and then plays it back to me so that I don't have have to write everything on post-its.

Except, post-its are kinda cool. I like the color. If I were to use the post-its,

Joshie Rotten

I have a new t-shirt.

Actually its not new, it's from Christmas. BUt I wore it last night and I'm proud. It is a picture of Jewish Egg Bread and it says, "Holla". Awesome. Gatta love Urban Outfitters. Even if it is The Man.

So I roll into work this morning looking like an Asprin commercial. This is after an incredible night of drinking, fighting, and saving the world. There was a bit of motherhen-ing involved...

"Rohit, don't cry. Sumit didn't mean to call your mother that."
"No, Sumit. Pouring beer on the booth is bad. Clean it up and apoligize to that nice bouncer. "
"Yes, Jaci you look gorgeous. "
"I'm sorry, Jaci. This isn't Vegas. You are no longer VIP. Drink your Pabst."
"No, Jaci. Alcohol is never free. Don't take drinks from strangers."


I think 'saving the world should be the new catch phrase for 'going out'.

Watcha doin' tonight?

Drinking.


OR


Watcha doin' tonight?


Saving the world.





What I did at work today: ( aka "Proof that mindless, menial tasks are not just for computers anymore.")

• wrote 878 zeros.
• drew a perfect line through 8 zeros.
• initialed, dated and rewrote 8 zeros.
• counted the zeros I'd written.
• counted to a hundred 14 times.
• organized 2 packets ( which involves agar gels, huge incubators, and ridiculous amounts of time and patience. Remember those two-sided 4500 piece puzzles that had a giant picture of a monochrome purple circle? It's kinda like doing one of those, except instead of a picture, there is a horrible bacteria smell. )
• found a plate stuck in the back of the incubator marked 4/3. Someone is time traveling, or its been there for 363 days. It looks like God sneezed on it. Before he met Moses.

Gatta go save the world.

I'm in love with that one girl in the indie rock band.

So it's no secret to anyone that knows me that I'm a sucker for bands that have hot girls in them. In fact, I'm also a sucker for clubs, offices, or grocery stores that have moderately not-ugly girls in them. And everyone should also know that my penchant for chick bands has led me to many wonderful different sounds, including Metric, The Yeahs Yeahs Yeahs, and Joanne Newsom. Not to mention my adoration and absolute devotion to M.I.A. ( If you have no or only passing knowledge of any of these groups, seek help immediately. IM me, or if only curious, go here and search for samples. Truly amazing. Email if you need suggestions. "You want opinions? We've got plenty of opinions here." )

And all my lesbian crushing, soft hearted, cigarette smoking, indie rock suckerness has blown me toward maybe one of the coolest groups I've ever seen - Tegan and Sara. ( Anti-climax! I know they've been around forever and I'm an idiot, but how's a straight guy from Missouri supposed to hear these things without help from cool Riverwest kids in Milwaukee or friend of a twin of an exgirlfriend to point them out to me? It just takes longer!) Seriously, these two identical Canadian twins form the most amazing folk and rock melodies that I have ever heard. And yes, I'd have to place some of their songs under my "Don't-Listen-To-Unless-No-One- Else-Is-Around-Because-This-Sounds-Like- Your-Girlfriends-Music file." (fyi That's inbetween my "DanceDanceRevolution eXtreme" and "DMX" music files. ) But for the most part, their songs are really intricate, complex, folky, indie rock songs that I'm really glad to have found.

And to bring this crush into full blown stalking, I just read perhaps the funniest revue of a Tegan and Sara show from Australia. It's on a fan blog, here.

I left in a vacuum where all I could picture was my life being completed in holy matrimony with one of these girls, the only dilemma being that the chances of this happening are non existent and I can't decide who was the coolest out of the two.

This drunk guy is me! Only Australian!

Love,
Junk


ps Other cool bands equals them, these guys, him, her, and that one girl I'm in love with.

A thought about the media.

Okay so I was listening to NPR and as per usual I was getting upset at something the government was doing. And I had planned to come home and rant and rave about personal freedoms and the unique role of the legislature and the judiciary to circumvent the will of tyranny but, also as per usual, as soon as I turned my screen back on I went to tunasherpa instead and then got myself caught up in a rant about literature and the difference between fiction and non-fiction and Dan Brown and for some reason that makes me want to talk about the misconceptions of Darwinism. So instead, I think I'm going to start really slow, and work my way back up to ranting and raving.

First of all, NPR is a crock of shit. ( Way to start off slow, Josh. Smooth. You idiot. ) Let me explain.

I'm not going to claim for even a second that I'm the poster child for any one political, social, or cultural movement. And we can all thank G-d for that. But I would like to address the idea that there are only a few bless-ed sources of media that I still trust. And with that trust I like to include the idea that I'm getting REAL information. Hell, that's the whole reason I stopped listening to all the OTHER news stations. I thought I was being lied to. I was being fed information. They were telling me what they wanted me to hear.

And in my extreme idealism, I was sure that National Public Radio would have the foresight, no - the common decency-, to withhold their own standards of publication; I was solid in my foundation that NPR would stick to its guns and give its listeners only the most relevant, the most up-to-date, the highest of quality news and reports. Now, before anyone rails me for being so gullible as to trust the liberal media, first understand that I realize that everything has its perspective. I'm not trying to get un-biased news. They're is no such thing, right? Every event, every report, every person has their own set of circumstances and perspective. I get that. I have mine, for sure. I know that NPR is going to support those programs and reporters that will be listened to more often. Everything is always about money. Nothing new there.

But recently, as I turn to 90.3fm ( the St. Louis/UMSL affiliate of NPR and PRI) I'm deeply grieved by the almost revolutionary tone that is set by a number of their staff. I have listened to stories and reports of which I have extensive knowledge and have been offended by the sway this information receives before being passed down to listeners. For example, a couple weeks ago I was listening to someones account of US governmental policy in South and Central America, and how those same practices were being implemented to affect the Haitian elections. Over a large course of time, I have become increasingly interested in Third World politics and History, and especially the colonial role that Western Nations (especially now the United States) play during those nations rise into international power. So I've watched the last 20 years of Haitian news an history with fervor. I know a little bit about it, anyway. And this guy that was on the radio, this political and historical analyst for NPR, was saying a lot of the same things that I had come up with.

"Yes," I said, when he said that the US was fully accountable for ousting Haitian ex-president Jean Bertrande Aristide.

"Absolutely!" I said, when he said that Rene Preval was a student of Aristide's and would be the peoples choice for the elections. "He promises to bring Aristide back. That's what the people want!"

And when this idiot starts ranting about the failure of diplomacy and tyranny and how the US has never done anything right and we shouldn't be involved in any other country's business, I'm still nodding but he's screeching a little. Like he's not being heard.

"But you're preaching to the choir here, buddy! You don't have to be so dramatic, " I says to myself. But he just keeps climbing and yelling and talking about how the US deserves to be attacked and that we're setting ourselves up for South and Central America to terrorize us in twenty years and I still sort of agree but I wouldn't have put it like that and I really don't want to agree with anything this guy says anymore no no no because it sounds like revolutionary action and hes the reason independent media isn't taken seriously. So shut the hell up!

And then I realize that we all are seriously fucked. Because NPR is just as bad as FOX. Google is censoring the Chinese Internet. The freedom of information made possible by blogs is being used to pass around pornography of some Singaporean college student doing her boyfriend on her mobile phone. It's all bullshit. Hyped, stapled, packaged for individual servings, advertised using e-mail free lists, purchased on eBay for a retail plus $1 and consumed by a eager mass of hungry mouths. I feel like that video of ducks in France, with the tubes in their throats, getting force fed to death only so that their liver can become 75% fat and be harvested for foie gras and eaten by some piece of shit Michelin critic who doesn't deserve oxygen compared to most of the world but instead is catered to and eventually comp'ed because his write up is important for the third star.

But whats the solution? If I knew, I wouldn't be ranting on some backwater internet page. That's for sure. But somebody's got to know right? But I guess that's the problem. And not just of our generation. With humanity. Everybody thinks about culpability and action but waits for someone else to do the work for them. Or scarily enough, some are willing to put everything they believe in to the test and sacrifice the only thing that is sure in this world, LIFE. They blow up themselves and a building and hundred of innocent people because their religion isn't getting the respect they think it deserves. But they're stuck in the middle ages.

And I'm geting more positive political theory from a science fiction book than I could ever suck out of the headlines. Because they're all a sham. So supposing that anyone wanted to know any of this, and if so then maybe they ask, "Why Josh? Why would you write at all then? What's the point?" And I'd be speechless. Which, maybe, wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

"The Whales do not sing because they have an answer. They sing because they have a song."

Ashes and Snow

I'm late.

I'm hungover.

I just thought I'd leave a positive message for the world, today. And that message is:

"Yes!"

That's about as positive as you can get folks.

Here's my daily click list, that I go through in sequence so that I may know whats going on with my friends, my family, the world, my sore diaphragm, etc.

GMail - if you don't already have it, give me your email address. I'll refer you. It's truely amazing.

Last.fm - becuase who've thunk that something called audioscrobbling could be so cool? No one did. No one thought that audioscrobbling would be cool. And they were right. But I'm nerdy, so thats okay, too.

Blogger - and more specifically tunpasherpa.blogger.com because thats my fix.

OkCupid, ESPN, everything that Natalie Dee is involved in, Jaci's home page, and finally, if I have time I goto flyguy or do a crossword.

Peace out

Junk

oh ps I realized yesterday, after three hours of resetting, that my computer no longer allows me to post images on blogger. That's cool. Everything has it's reasons. This probably has something to do with some gods being angry at my poetry. I'm not upset.

Treasure Trooper?

Sounds like a really bad 80s movie with Goldie Hawn. But I've tried this thing out and it actually works. I'm such a sucker for marketing schemes, I know. But I just got $22.25 put into my paypal account. Like, for real. And I didn't put any money into it. All I did was start a bogus email account (junkthemainman@yahoo.com - just in case anyone is interested...) that I will drop like bad habit if I have to, turned off all the spam blocking and then registered. I sign up for all these ridiculously horrible offers, but get paid like $1 everytime I do. Sometimes it's surveys and such, but you can skip most of it. I've made $20 bucks in about a week. I know that's not a lot of money, but it's a lot more than the zero dollars I had before the week started. The real question is where is all this money coming from? I started the whole thing because I thought it would be fake, but I'm actually holding money in my hot little hand. WTF? It's not stealing ( as far as I know ). It's just like taking advantage of those "free brunches" that condo companies will take you on to promote their sales. Except that it's in little itty bitty installments. Try it here. And yes, that is my reference number because I get like $20 if you sign up. The whole thing is crazy!

What has the world come to? Mass marketing, Internet advertisement, Approved Lists etc are all just different names for duping the little guy into giving the big guy more money. I don't want to be the little guy or the big guy. I want to live someplace where there IS no big guy or little guy, just a lot of cool guys like me. So I think I'm going to dupe the nameless big guy out of like 200,000,000 installments of $0.01 and then buy a company that protects little guys. It'd be like the internet version of Robin Hood. I'll probably call it RobinHood.com or some silliness. (It's totally open!)

junk

A Beach Sits

A beach sits, as an island, on

the precipice of fog and dreams.

Ideas glisten and sweat in a cloudy sun.

The air is cool and moist. It smells

like the lake and like the city and like

the damp earth. It blows my hair

into a swirl and I smile.

A beach is the crossing point,

connection, convolution of grass and

sand and air and lake. The sounds

are all wrong for that sort of place.

Green grows between grains and boats

like trains wait endlessly passing,

with motors and sails and children

laugh and play and tease and confused

seagulls dive and sit, perched hungry.

While in that cold sucking air

the sand hits my face like the planes

overhead hit a runway, touch and go

glancing like dragonflies or birds on

the water.

The pier's closed! But the sailboats and

adolescents and sunworshippers still glisten

like sheet metal in a hurricane whipping

with wind. The grass tickles my back.

White foam rolls thunderously with four inches

of fury.

My sunglasses fall and the paper won't blow

and I arch like a tree filled with blackbirds.

The beach aches with the knowledge of

feet and silt and sun, shadows like rain lie, fall

with amber sweetness on the sand.

A beach wants it's mother to know that

it's happy and peaceful and changing and stormy and

sunny and foggy.

There are boys playing football and a couple

rolling in the sand and there are children

on the jungle gym. There is a sunbather with a black bikini that smiles

at the sun with squinty eyes.

Ghosts of university pass complacently

through the halls of my mind. I will not

wander forever. There must be a time in

every man's life where he either seeks the home and comfort

of his mothers breast or needs to conquer a

new mountain.

The water is cool against hot feet and the

sand is cold and the water boils.

The grains stick to my back.

Sophie the dog runs with her tongue out

across the water's edge and her troop of

humans follow laughing and chasing and calling.

Everyone smiles and lovers kiss and

young explorers pull clam shells with

dirty fingers and secret giggles and their jeans

rolled up to their knees, muddy.

There is a boat that sits offshore

that I will never be. The lake is

too vast for me to swim and the earth

calls to me. I am a mix of sand and

water and air and fog and trees. I am ground

and dreams, sails and roots. I am

indecision. I am rocking in the waves.

I am blowing in the wind. As a tree.

As a sail. As a grain of sand. As

the wind itself, carrying conversation and

the laughter of children across a Sunday

afternoon.

5 September 2004

I've decided I need to be cooler.

After doing a lot of thinking, refer to title. I was reminded earlier today (by a highschooler from Baltimore) that I'm actually not that cool. See, this doesn't match well with my self-image, seeing as how I put myself right inbetween Allen Ginsberg and Gandhi on the coolness scale. ( My glasses are cooler, so I'm a little cooler than Al, but not as "almost holy" as Ghandi.)

In response, I'm going to be putting a lot more pictures on my blog.

And sometimes, the pictures will be displayed with poetry.

This is all in an effort to make me cool. 

Josh Woodburn LLC

Everyone sit down. Good.

So I am now the owner, founder, and sole proprieter of Globe Creative LLC, a small (ha TINY) creative design brokerage company based in St. Louis. I 've just finished signing paperwork.

There is a bank account.

We are scheduled to place our first contract bid tomorrow. If everything goes well, it means that I'll have contributed to probably the first POSITIVE business transaction in my life. I'm excited.

I know everyone, of course, wants to immediately throw their business my way because I'm so loved and sought after in the community. But unfortunately, I think we're gonna have to take things really slow for the time being. So for right now, if you want some really nice business cards or fliers printed for a lot less than anyone else will do it for you (including internet companies), call me. I've got the goods.

And I'm wearing a suit and shakin hands. Fuck yeah.

JENNY, YOU"VE FOUND IT!

Prosterity

I've decided that today (along with making up words), I will update my okcupid profile. This goes along with updating life-plans and world-outlooks, I think. It changes, permanently, who I want other people to think that I am. Fucked up. But, like any good pack rat, I cannot just throw this information away. ( I got into a huge fight with someone once who ripped up a photograph. Those things should be preserved!!) So in response to the question What I'm doing with my Life... the answer used to be:

I've just finished undergrad. May was graduation and the start of permanent part-time jobs until I can save up about 10 grand to travel the world. Seriously. Yeah whatever, keep laughing, go to next guy. But then August 06 is the predicted start of med school. I'm from St. Louis, have lived in Milwaukee for five years now, and plan on living downtown in cities for a good chunk of the rest of my life. There's just something about an urban environment that I love. i passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war...

Dam. That's a sweet earf! Hokay. Pretence aside, I've gotten rid of it now. It's replaced with:

I finished undergrad in 05. The PLAN was to - - -
become a top chef,
save money and then travel the world,
rocket into medical school,
and save Africa from AIDS.

What HAS happened is that I - - -
became a decent cook with a penchant for alcohol,
put myself farther into debt and moved back to St. Louis,
decided that fainting at the sight of blood was not good fro med school,
and that the only way to save anyone from AIDS was to fucking cure it.

So I'm applying for Graduate Studies in Immunobiology, working at temp agencies that treat me like crap, cooking for a small - but formidable - eating team, and still fucking loving life.

Nice.

look how introspective i am 

Who's short and sweet? Gimme a J!

I'm blown away by last.fm. Seriously. It's like Big brother, only, like, a good one. With more music and less Ministry of Love, etc. Check out my homepage, which will soon be featuring way more cool stuff than right now. I'm going National.

So I've decided that I want to be famous, like Willy. Not willy famous, like Elmer Fudd. But at least sort of recognized by the general public as, "Hey isn't that that guy...?" But I think it's not gonna happen off of this blog.

So I'm going to have to start publishing poetry.

And unfortunately, I'm going to have to start practicing, because the last time I published poetry, it looked like this.

There's no market for dirty haikus.

In Missouri.

I'm going International.

The problem with posting after a long time is

I have so much to say and no FORMAT to say it in. I can't tell a funny story or write about anything specific that anyone would want to know about, but that's really more of a general-purpose statement about my blog, not about this particular post. So... I'll just go with that run-on and turn it into something that's longer than a run-on. Run-off, I guess, like rainwater on the side of the creek that etches its way along the expressway. I read memoirs of a Geisha, by the way, and it was A Maize Ing. Seriously. But the really strange part is that the people I've talked to about it (women, mostly) all say how extraordinary the writer is at expressing female emotion and feelings and pathways of expression, etc and I felt that way, too, like I was actually inside the head of this conservative Japanese woman. Which strangely, enough, is a really moving experience.

So they ( i.e. the Man, to whom I will soon be auctioning my services ) did this Cultural/Physiologicial Anthropolgy experiment on Japanese living in Hawaii. Turns out traditionally raised Americans interpret nature sounds (read: birds chirping, dogs barking, wind hissing through the leaves, thunder) in the same part of their brains as they interpret background noise (read cars passing, neighbors barking, garbage cans clanging, static) while traditionally raised Japanese register nature sounds in a similar area to that which interprets art (read: sculpture parks, crayons, naked people, Amelie). I guess they're testing Japanese Americans living in Hawaii( like a cultural mix) which part of their brains they get all this stuff in. It' be cool to know.

At this point I've gone back and, from now on will try to make a point of, broken up thought processes into paragraphs. I figure it'll help, having no map, to at least have a compass.

So I quit my job so that my little egg roll and I could go to Michigan to visit her family, and I could make a stop in ol' Milwaukee. Michigan's cool, except for the left turns, which are actually right turns + U-turns. Holding. Holding. Holding. And release. (Please tell me someone else has seen that SNL with Ray Ramano). So anyway, we're trying to get to Milwaukee and not Chicago, and Mapquest is giving us 94 through downtown. And we're like , "Enh?!" So we hit the "avoid highways" button and you know what? Mapquest told us to take the fuckin ferry! Ha! Seriously, the map was a big red line straight across Lake Michigan. Hilarious.

Truthfully, I quit my job so that I could focus on getting a better one and so that I could focus on getting into school and so that I could focus on my apartment and not Wentzville. And so that I could get Christmas Eve off. I told them I was losing focus. And I was ON TIME the day I said, "Peace Out," so that's good.

"Enh." is a frustration noise.

On to brewcity and my boy Pablo is the new Executive Chef of the new Mike Idol eatery across the street from the Hi-Hat and the Garage called Balzac. Walked in the first night I'm in town, with the k squad - my own imaginary title for a Kateface and Karen crimefighting duo, if ever one were to exist - and run into a old friend before we sit down. Awesome. So then we get a Highlife, a Guiness, and a glass of Shiraz, light cigarettes, ask the bartender if the Chef could come out for just a moment, sit back in our clouds of "This has got to be the coolest feeling in the world. Happy Fuckin' New Year". The place is beautiful. It's dark and warm and wooden and metal and it's like sitting on the inside of a giant oak cask. Paul is in whites, with a blonde shaved head and a crooked grin. He reminds me of the Keebler elves, passing deliciousness through his window.

It's good to see him and its good to see Dane and Church and Oval Omar Ried even Dusty and Colin and Mitch, who is ALSO an Executive Chef of a place called the Riverside Cafe, on south Water, right across from Centanis, owned by the same people, doing better. We don't goto Water but we do hit BBC and some new place off Farwell called Yield, which made me think of Jason. I called him as soon as I got home. Oh Dane is the Sous Chef of Carnivore, which is next to Three, or 3, or III, or whatever the fuck it is on Milwaukee. Dane hates Milwaukee Ave. But everyone is bank all of the sudden and we have a great time. And Qu'ran is a storm trooper.

So I'm running low on steam all of the sudden, so it might get jumpy. HA!

-I'm an offical canidate for the Saint Louis University Medical School's Ph.D. research program in Biomedical Science. If I get the assitantship I'm trying for, they're paying my tuition.
-Sumit's car broke down and he had to ride back with us. But his nephew -Arnev?-is the cutest baby I've ever seen. Very compelling evidence for reproduction.
-Rachel Ray is still a goddess. There's just way more goddess than there used to be. I think she got married because she wanted to let herself go.
-Michael is doing well in Minneapolis. He hates having a 9-5, but he survived the drunk driving black ice 2-wheel drive pickup with no sandbags 360 skid over the Mississippi river and called me on my roommates phone to tell me about it -- while he was still in the truck!! So that's good, too.
-I'm addicted to Strong Bad.
-Tiantian Zeng is living in Denver, going to Pharmacy College, and working at the busiest Target in the mile-high metro. She's doing well, and is very happy.

As an aside, I went to Denver a coupla months back, visiting with more Scooros family, and we were supposed to see her cousins in 'a choir.' Well I'm thinking American Baptist #177 Holy Chorale as we pull up to the Symphany Center. They sang Carl Orf's Carmina Burana. It was breathtaking. It's the only opera? that I would even recognize if I heard it, and I've seen the Denver Symphany/Choir sing it(with the full-on robes and mouths real open and everything!). Didn't see Candy, though. My cell is off, I have a new number. Send me an e-mail. I love Big Brother.

-Andy and Joe are engaged to be married in June. She recently was accepted into the University of Auckland Psychology Graduate program, and they plan on moving there -- sometime.

Some music and books that you, as an upstanding social indiviual should check out - Marlena Shaw - for some of that St. Louis Blues/Soul, because black is beautiful. Sterophonics. The Books. Jackson and his Computer Band. Del the Funky Homosapien - Mr. Dobalina - if you've never heard it before. And this song, in whatever form you can get your hands on "The Centuar" (it's been done by everyone, but they are ALL good).

Text only browsers? try The God of Small Things - because it's already back in style. Mario Livio's take on Greek Philosophy and math in The Golden Ratio. In the Beginning is an interesting example of two fields of science that probably shouldn't have been brought together - evolutionary natural selection and hypothetical metaphysics. Kurt V. got me with an in-season retro-teaser with God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. Last but probably going to make him a saint is His Holiness the Dalai Lama, with The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality. Really really really cool.

So I guess I caught a second wind there. If you've made it this far, you probably don't like me anymore. I'll try to write more often. . . kinda sounds self defeating, doesn't it?