And It Was All Yellow

The Life of Brian

I hope no one ever makes a documentary of my life. Not because I feel incapable of great deeds or am unsure of their coming. Rather, it seems that every biography papers over the indecision, angst, and apprehension that I sincerely hope has plagued the luminaries before me. I understand that Ernest Hemingway's bad poetry and Jeff Tweedy's shitty mix tapes make for poor prose, yet it makes relating difficult. The biography kick I have been on recently has made this obvious. A paragraph about lost years capping off a lengthy list of dates and places intended to sum up a childhood and family history, the dryness of which may only be topped by your neighborhood police blotter. Perhaps I'm not the target demographic, but if the telling of a lionized figure's life is not inspiring future genereations of partially-molded minds then what, praytell, is the point? We either need better authors or better youth. I suppose this entry forgoes the latter conclusion by its ver...

The F-Word

No clever introduction. My mom called me a foodie the other day, and I've been mulling over whether or not she may be on to something. Why I'll never be a foodie A. I refuse to take pictures at restaurants/bars/etc. I'm the kind of person who hates cameras. Now, I like being able to look back at pictures (especially of myself) as much as the next (arrogant) guy, but there's something very intrusive and unwelcome about pulling out a camera. Nothing sucks the air out of a room like flash photography. It forces an immediate self-awareness and reflection on a moment that previously had been unburdened by thoughts of future consequences. Coincidentally, this is also how I feel about cell phones omnipresence. Which is an odd opinion for a young tech-savvy guy to have, I understand. I remember when Ann and I first started dating, it took me many frustrating months to break her* of constantly texting during dinner. Maybe my notoriously bad phone skills are a pendul...

I'm Fine Mom, Thanks for Asking

I've been thinking a lot about nuclear war lately, but that seems far too dark for the moment. In some ways I want this blog to reflect how I'm feeling at 28 as a time capsule for myself to look back on years later. The issue is that I'm only really drawn to scribble something down when I'm feeling particularly morose. When I'm out having fun and living life I'm just too busy to come tell the internet all about it. Then whenever the other shoe drops and I start think about how long we've had nuclear weapons and isn't it crazy that they've only been used twice? How much longer can we keep that streak going, huh? Nuclear arms are over 70 years old and our policy is to tell other people, "please don't build them. pls." Then all of a sudden I have to come and hammer out a depressing 1,000 words about nuclear winter. Well I ain't doing that today, chumps! Lately I'm just really content. Not happy daily or satisfied with where I am, ...

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