American Soccer is Competitive Now?

I'm aware that many people find the topic of American soccer to be dull at best, but that's not going to stop my pouring over it for hours on a computer, or for days inside the comfort of my own head. It's the one sport that shows both respect for its fans and the players exhibit (for the most part) more respect for each other than in any other sport. This tradition compounded with the fact that when FIFA says "World Champion", the teams competing are actually from places outside of the U.S.--an idea that many of America's favorite sports has yet to catch onto.

What's nice about soccer is that when club teams compete, they often compete outside of their own leagues, allowing teams to travel and play teams and styles of play that they might not find elsewhere. This has happened for years without much of anything to scream about, or even discuss in passing when teams from Europe come stateside. They come, they conquer, they steal our women and burn our villages. This is how it has always been, but the MLS is starting to show some backbone. Or possibly they're just so bad they've confounded recent traveling teams from abroad. In late July, the Premiership's reigning kings, Chelsea came to play the best the MLS had to offer for the All Star game. Chelsea, world renowned as having one of the greatest lineups in world soccer right now, must have seen the game has a walk. Nah, not so much. MLS shut down Didier Drogba, Shevchenko, Joe Cole, and John Terry--some of the best names in soccer, for the entire 90 minutes. MLS 1 and Chelsea 0.

Good times. Seeing this country's best take down some of the best in the world was amazing. They out-paced and out-played them for the entire match. It gets no better. It's like being a fan of the Redskins and watching them win a Super Bowl or watching...I don't know; whatever baseball that's really bad winning the World Series. Anyway, I know this isn't much, but it's late and I'm going to go to bed now.

I Come in Various Shades of Gray

Say it. It's like "closet door", but, you know, not.

Marc Bolan and the Best "Yeah" Ever.

I have two great musical icons. Lou Barlow is one. He was the first one, actually. I heard "Natural One" in a Buzz Clip commercial on MTV when I was in the 9th grade. Iwas at my friend's house after sneaking out (a weekend ritual at that age) and around 3 a.m. I heard maybe two seconds of that song and I was sold. I went and got the soundtrack very soon after that and probably listened to that song...I don't know, everyday for 3 years. The thing is, yeah, that soundtrack made me love Folk Implosion, but the song "Spoiled", that is right after "Natural One" blew my fucking mind. So, soon after THAT I went and bought what I still hold as one of the greatest albums of all time, "III". That record was everything I had ever wanted out of music even though I hadn't know I had wanted it. Does that make sense? Well, ever since then I've been into indie rock almost excluively as my musical genre of choice.

Ray Davies is the other musical man of my dreams. "Deadend Street" is the song that did it. It's a B-Side and all I had heard up until that point had been the early hits like "You Really Got Me". Those songs are good and some of them are great. Let that be said, BUT motherfucking "Arthur", "Village Green Preservation Society" and "Something Else by The Kinks"? Those are three of the best pop albums ever made. I can't remember which record "Deadend Street" is a B-Side of, but I'm sad it didn't make it onto the record. That song is mind-blowing. I remember hearing it for the first time and listening to it all the time after that. Although I had known the Kinks, that song is what made me realize the genius of Ray Davies. Ever since then, I steal ideas from the Kinks and consistently site them as the potential title holder of the greatest pop song ever written; "Waterloo Sunset".

As of last night I've added one more to that list. If you read the title of this, you know where I'm going with this. I may be jumping the gun here, it was only last night that this revelation hit me: Marc Bolan is a fucking genius of boogie and has the best "yeah" in rock and roll history (Roger Daltry is a dully noted second place). Now, I define "Boogie" here as plainly having a great time while playing bad ass, yet fun as hell riffs that show through on the recording. Rephrase; the riffs don't have to show though, the good times should show through...and they do...in this band. I guess that's why T-Rex is so appealing to me; they're as much fun to listen to as my favorite pop bands while rocking hard enough to make me do lots of air guitar leg kicks. Thank you Marc Bolan. Thank you.

And thus I now have 3.

I'm back!

so in case you didn't see me, i was in Virginia for the summer which was hot and awesome but now I'm back in New Hampshire working again as a wilderness education instructor. This means I have a lot more free time than I did before.

I brought my computer with me this time so I'm going to write more. It's going to be aweird pretty season. I'm going to start training for a marathon and find a grad school to apply to/take the GREs. pretty busy and i won't accomplish it all but it'll be fun to try.

i did a new zine. it was called "I'll be home for halloween" because I'm returning to va late october. if you didn't read a hard copy because you weren't one of the 20 people to receive a copy, you can read it in my myspace blog at www.myspace.com/flyonthewindsofpern.
i suggest you cut and paste it into a word document and print it out. it's about 25 pages and I'm really excited about it and hope people read it.

a split zine with chris terry of gullible fame is in the works.

peace
jeff

The Runaways.

This is the best comic book I've read in a long fucking time, dude. I don't know if you're into comics or whatever, but man, this shit is intense. It's all about these six kids who found out their fucking parents ARE FUCKING SUPER VILLAINS. Yeah, if that isn't enough they all have powers too. One dude is all "master of logic and stratagems", one girl is an alien, one girl pulls a fucking staff out of her chest whenever she bleeds, one dude has mad scientist parents and uses their kick ass inventions for good, which is awesome. One girl though, man, SHE CONTROLS A FUCKING VELOCIRAPTOR...WITH HER FUCKING MIND!!! Holy shit, it's crazy. Oh, and there's this little girl that's in their group, she's like 11 or something, and she's a mutant.

There's this one part where you just see her standing their, all 11 and shit, and some dude cracks her over the head with a shovel. The girl just stares at him, her eyes and glowing, and she punches across a fucking city block. Dude, that girl is intense. Oh man, there are so many good parts, but I don't wanna ruin it for you.

Man, all I'm gonna say is that one of them is a fucking traitor. They left a letter for their parents (oh yeah, their own parents are trying to kill them. What the fuck!?!) saying they would never betray them. Don't worry though, you find out who it is. It's not like fucking Alias or some bullshit where nothing ever happens and nothing ever gets resolved. I hate that fucking show.

Anyway, these kids are all on the run, basically because no one believes that their parents are really evil; not to mention the fact that their parents pretty much have disciples or whatever in every major part of the city structure. That shit sucks. Can you imagine being a kid, finding out your parents are evil incarnate and then having to figure out how to fucking mentally control a goddamn dinosaur. Shit's crazy.

Indie Rock.

I've already mentioned the fact that I'm musically stuck in the mid-nineties...so I guess this is redundant. Whatever. I've come to terms recently with the fact that I'll never appreciate any new music unless it sounds like something I listened to on the way to my tenth grade drama class, first thing in the morning. This would include, but not be limited to, Sebadoh or Pavement. Yeah, that's about it. Oh! Mazzy Star. That too.

Anyway, I don't think I've really advanced musically speaking. I still count Sebadoh, Pavement and Superchunk as three of my favoprite bands of all time and any new music I listen to is pretty much in the same vein if not a direct descendent of these bands. Broken Social Scene, Band of Horses and other bands emerging from the Great Indie Rock Lull of 1997-2003 or so, I allow these bands to pass my stringent requirements based on their obvioous ties to the previous generation and in the former's case, because they're Canadian and you often here the word "collective" used instead of "band" in regard to them. That's a nice change. "Oooohhh, it's a collective? Wow." I don't know. I guess that sounds about right for the anonymous person I just created.

I'm realizing now that there isn't a real point to any of this. Yeah, I like indie rock a lot. I like the Sebadoh song "Gimme Indie Rock" a WHOLE lot. I like the Pavement DVD and the Superchunk DVD even though the video's are shit. By the way, if you watch that DVD, check out the one's directed by Peyton Reed. He later did "Bring It On". Oh, and Sabrina Lloyd, who was later on the bomb ass show "Sports Night", is in the video for "Untied", which is the worst video I've ever seen.

The 5 Best Myths (In Order of Bad Assitude)

5. The story of Cadmus. Cadmus was sent to find his sister, Europa, after she had taken by the god, Jupiter. In his quest to find his sister he consulted the oracle of Apollo in the hope that the oracle could privide her location. Instead, the oracle told Cadmus to follow a cow wo whatever ends and where it stops he will build a city and call it Thebes. Fine, whatever. Kind of sci-fi, but nothing great. As he left the oracle though, Cadmus saw a young calf. He hastened after it to a vast plain where it finally stopped and turned its head towards the sky.

No big, but here's where it gets all trippy and violent. Cadmus kissed the ground where he would build his great city and sent his men off to find water, which they did. Only they didn't expect the fountain that they dipped their buckets in to be protected by a giant fucking snake. UH-OH!!! Needless to say, the snake towered over the men and slew all of them. Cadmus, who had been sitting in the middle of his plain or whatever, soon went looking for them. He came upon their remains and the snake that had killed them all. He threw his spear at the beast and pierced it's guts (whoa!) and then used his sword to pierce THROUGH ITS FUCKING HEAD! Cadmus then pissed on his defeated foe while it still yet breathed, screaming "Adios, dick."

As he did this he heard a voice on the wind tell him to pick the teeth from the snake and bury them where his city should be. He did this and by the time the last tooth had been buried men in full armor and holding swords rose from the ground. Cadmus, alarmed, readied himself for battle, but instead the Earth Dudes all killed each other until there were only 5 left. These 5 declared peace and helped Cadmus build Thebes.

I don't know why this guy had to go through all this, but he killed a giant snake and then witnessed people grow from the ground and declare war on each other. He then made the few survivors help build him a city without batting an eye lash. Bad ass.

4. Actaeon. Coincidentallly, Actaeon was the son of Cadmus, the first King of Thebes. Anyway, he surpasses him in righteousness. Actaeon had spent a day hunting with his best friends and his favorite dogs. They had killed a lot, which makes them pretty cool already in a Last of the Mohicans kind of way. They decided that they had killed enough and Actaeon jumped down from his horse and searched for water. He soon found a cave and entered it. In the cave he found the virgin goddess Diana being bathed by nymphs. She yelled at him as he left, saying that he should tell his friends...if he's able. As he ran he grew the horns of a stag and soon noticed he was running on hooves instead of feet. He turned a corner and his dogs saw him and took chase. He ran as fast as he could, but was soon caught by the dogs and killed by his friends who couldn't understand that the sounds he made were cries for help. Before he died, the last thing he heard his friend say was "I wish the Prince could be here for this."

3. Minos and Scylla. Magara was under siege by Minos, the King of Crete. For six months the Magarans were able to keep the Cretians from entering their city. Scylla, the daughter of Nisus, King of Magara, had been spending the six months in Magara's highest tower looking down on the battlefield and had fallen in love with the sight of Minos. One night she went to her father's room and took the key to the city. She then cloaked herself and opened the gates and went to Minos. She gave him the city in the hopes that he might love her. In the fewest words possible, Minos, told her that she was despicable and he would have nothing to do with her. He then made a truce with the Magarans out of disgrace and left. As his fleet set sail though, Scylla grabbed the ropes to one of the boats and attempted to climb aboard so that she could still look at Minos. Not very cool, except for the really, really creepy Fatal Attraction bit. Here's the thing though, when Scylla's father Nisus awoke to find his daughter had betrayed him, his fury was so great that the God's turned him into a BIRD OF PREY!!! He then flew from his room and found his daughter trying to climb the ropes aboard the Cretian vessel and swooped down upon her, using his claws and beak to pull at her flesh. She fell, but apparently some total wuss of a deity took pity and changed her also into a bird. Apparently though, whener you see a bird dive towards the water with its claws open and beak wide, the bird is attacking her for her ancient crime.

2. Niobe. This lady rules. She was the Queen of Thebes and one day attended a festival honoring Latona. Instead of being cool about it though, Latona said she had more reason to be worshipped because she was just as beautiful as Latona, but also had seven beautiful daughters and seven heroic sons, while Latona only had one son and one daughter. I'm pretty sure if you could have sen the crowd that day, you would have seen a thousand people all backing away from her slowly, looking for the nearest exit. Anyway, Latona, totally not okay with this shenanigan, called on her daughter Diana and her son Apollo. They acted out her vengeance by going to Thebes and murdering all of Niobe's sons. Amphion, her husband, murdered himself once he heard his sons had been killed. Niobe cried along with her seven daughters as they found the brothers. Latona, however, cool as ever, insisted that she still was better than Latona. As the last words left her lips, her eldest daughter fell dead upon the brother she mourned. 5 others fell with arrows through their hearts until only the youngest was left. Latona grabbed her and pleaeded for mercy, but as she said it, her daughter fell dead from her arms.

1. Medea. This woman helped Jason get the Fleece. Isn't that cool? Yeah, it is. You know what's cool, but not cool, but bad ass? When that same woman leaves with Jason. This causes her father to board a ship and lead a fleet after her and Jason to try and catch them. But like the sharpest tac, Medea had brought with her her young brother. When her father's ships approached them, she used sorcery to break her brother apart and threw his body parts into the water to delay her father.

That's not even close to all of it though. She also used her sorcery to give false hope to Jason's uncle. His uncle had kept Jason from his rightful throne. Anyway, Jason's nieces begged Medea to use her sorcery to save their ailing and aged father. She agreed, but led them along falsely. She told them that they had to drain the blood of their father...and they did, by stabbing him repeatedly. They then dipped him in her cauldron and before they realized they had been deceived and they killed their own father, Medea had hastened away on her serpent-drawn chariot. Repeat that last sentence again. Now you know why this is the most bad ass story ever.

One of Them.

Everyone has a day where everything seems...different. We all have our small grudges, loves, responsibilities we choose to avoid, and so on. For myself, it's almost exclusively the latter; although some of the former two are also present most of the time. Happily though my grudges and loves usually have an off switch, or, if nothing else, a numbing switch. But lately, and especially today, they've been piling on. It started a few days ago by simply over-hearing a conversation. It didn't involve me in any way, but it involved someone I care about and that can often times be worse. When it's you it's controllable. You can allow it to get to you or you can let it go as easily as trash in a dumpster. When it's someone you care about though, there's the urge to protect. That's when it's bad because for all your trying there's very little that you can do. It's out of your hands as much as you may want to help or even take on their problems for them.

This is the day I'm having. My own issues have combined with the lives of people around me, building up into a kind of crescendo. I guess it's the switch malfunctioning; which tends to happen every once in a while. Despite all this, the reaction that occurs when this happens is what is interesting to me right now. For myself, whenever this happens it is a singular experience. Nothing else effects me the same way. I usually run away. That's just how it work. For better or worse. When the problems around me; both for myself and for people I love, become too much I run away. It's not something I'm proud of and I'm actually finding it hard to write, but it's true. Ask my friends or my friends that aren't anymore.

I'm not sure when it started exactly, but I imagine it happened either when I was 13 or 16 years old.

When I was 13, my best friend was Mark Metzler. He was a straight arrow and thus not very cool at William Byrd Middle School, but I still liked him. Granted I wanted to be cool and I held this against him to a point, I guess, but he was nice and I thought his mom was great. I thought so much of her that I even called her "mom". No joke. He and I played tennis like we were possessed and played video games all the time; just like we were supposed to at that age. That year though, Mark had gone to a doctor and they found a brain tumor. I hadn't been aware of any testing that he had been going through and neither had my parents based on their reaction when I told them. I remember being called into the guidance office to be told what my friend was going through and I remember not thing much of it. They seemed concerned, but for some reason--I guess ignorance--it didn't affect me. I remember going home and looking in our Encyclopedia Britannica for "brain tumor" and calling my dad when I couldn't find that term, specifically. He came home as soon as I told him (probing more for a definition than sympathy) and we went out to eat and I guess that's when I began to understand it a little bit. Soon after, Mark had surgery to remove the tumor. I visited a couple of times and then I never went back. I didn't talk to him, I never called his mother "mom" again. The next time I was around him was at his funeral two years later. I felt so guilty when I saw his mom and even more guilty when she talked to me without any blame in her voice.

It wouldn't be fair to say anything about Mark without including the fact that he was steadfast in his belief in God. Personally, theology has never been a big part of my life, but it was everything to Mark. He went though multiple surgeries and years of chemo-therapy before his body became so frail that it died and I'd be willing to bet all the money in the world that he never stopped believing that he was going to go to heaven when he died. I don't know about heaven, but I know that I've never met anyone with as much faith in ANYTHING as he had in God. That takes more power of character then I think I'll ever have. And for the record, I do regret not being brave enough to keep going back to see him.

My story of being 16 is much more simple, I guess. It's the same story that everyone has at that age. You meet a girl, fall for girl and then everything goes bad, blah, blah, blah. Relatively speaking, this is nothing compared to abandoning a close friend, but being selfish as a teenager is about as simple as breathing and I was no different. My problems were great in my own mind and you couldn't tell me different. I fell HARD for that girl. She was blonde with really red lips and pale skin and I couldn't have been happier that she liked me. We had been friends for about a year up until that point, but I liked her and I'm sure as was obvious as hell about it (the word "sly" has never been in my vocabulary). One night we kissed and we ended up doing that for about a year, off and on. Her parents didn't like me and my parents didn't like her which at any other age would give pause, but we were dumbass kids.

To be honest, I do believe that I did love her and she's always been able to make me a little bit jumpy whenever she's around. That being said, the bitch broke my heart. Just conjure up the image of the Death Star blowing up Alderaan and you'll have a vague notion of what it felt like at the time. I know it's not pretty and it doesn't look good on paper, but after that shit, I just kind of shut-off for awhile. I stopped being nice or trying to accomodate others; even my friends (God only knows why they stuck around). I became the very definition of a jerk for three years. I easily abandoned others and would let them know why without pause.

That's where I think it happened. Granted, I've become much more approachable since then, but I've kept dragging that same emotional vacancy around with me for the last ten years. When things get bad, I go away. The reason I mention all this is because I'm starting to feel that itch again. It's been three years since I last ran away from my problems and friends and started over, but I'm aware it won't be the last. What's worse is that I've kind of resigned myself to it. Now, I just hope that I never do it to certain people, while knowing that I'll definitely do it to others.

Not to be too short, but this is where my day has left me. Not with all of this hindsight; that came with the writing, but with that vacancy beginning to show itself. It's just part of my personality now. Another trait along with having an unwavering love for film and music, a deep loathing of belly buttons and being tickled, self-loathing (thanks mom!), and all the others. I hope this particular idiosyncracy stays under wraps, but my optomism isn't so strong when I think about all the friends I don't want to leave.

Sonic Matador.

Currently, I'm working on a mixtape. I know this isn't so cool to do anymore. People seem to have moved onto creating CD's for one another and now I've even heard of people making iPod Playlists and mp3 discs for their bitches. This is wrong. The mixtape is slowly becoming a lost art form. No one seems too happy to receive them anymore since they don't, you know, play on a fucking iPod. Once again, this goes back to the mid-nineties mentality I seem enable to shake (*see: Leave Ethics to the Kids, ya'll!). The mixtape was THE way a boy could tell a girl that he liked her without ever having to actually say the words. It was the perfect subterfuge towards what would hopefully end up being a romantic relationship...if any of us ever manned up instead of hiding behind rare 7"s and the constant stories of what bands you had seen ("oh man, you should have have been in Raleigh for that Sebadoh show, man. Fucking Elliott Smith opened! Fucking ELLIOTT SMITH! Oh man, it was great. He totally rocked that show into another level, dude."). This never impressed women, unless they were as shallow as we were, which they were decidedly not. The mixtape could do things though. It was an entire conversation (one we would probably fuck up) about music without us having to deal with anxiety, nausea or the possibility that the girl might like us back. It was amazing and p.s.--I'm really fucking good at it.

Seriously, talk to my friends. I got that shit down. You wanna hear Justin Timberlake b/w New Pornographers? Done. You want GZA and Nine Inch Nails? Bitch, I got you covered like one of those really nice condoms that are never too snug and never fucking tear. Some pop punk and jazz; weed metal and paul mccartney? Fuck yeah, I can put the records on with one hand while jerking off to some filthy ass porn with the other hand and you'll think that shit was golden. No concentration needed, motherfucker.

I know it and that's why I can say it. I'm not saying that I have an awesome palate when it comes to music though. Let's get that straight. There's a lot of good music out there and I bet I only know 0.08% of it. I got indie rock locked down though and I'm starting to get pretty good with hip hop and dance music (girls who like dance music usually have fucking amazing asses and put out easily, thus my interest).

What it comes down to is that I might not make the most wide-ranging tape, but I make the best within my means. That's where the moniker "Sonic Matador" comes from, ya'll. I think of artists like John Lennon, Jon Brion, Kanye West, John Vanderslice, Arcade Fire are the kind of people who define what a Sonic Matador truly is; a person, or group of people, who jump into music head first. They invite all instruments and techniques and always come in swinging. When they get payed form a label, you know the first thing they're doing is blowing a shit ton of that money on new instruments, just trying to make everything expand more and more.

Fuck yeah. I'm definitely not one of those in that sense. But perhaps in my own small way, with a dead language I kind of am like that. Anyway, I'm in the middle of making a bomb ass edition for my girl, so I gotta run. Peace out to the big dogs up top! Sew it up! Mend it!

I Am America Incarnate.

Throughout the history of America there have been images or words that have defined their time. Patrick Henry riding his horse, furiously yelling "The British are coming!" is one of them. A black man is shackles is another. A Norman Rockwell cover of the Saturday Evening Post or an Ansel Adams photograph. A child burning after being hit with napalm. Nixon resigning from office. Seriously, the list goes on and on. There are hundreds that can be conjured up and I'm sure that there are many more to come.

That's what this is about. I am now among them. I am America Incarnate. No joke. I guess I must first say that all of these events must be put into context; much like my own. How is a black man in shackles as important if you don't know the history of slavery? Nixon without Watergate; not as iconic. Context is everything. Context is the most important thing.

These days we live in the fattest country in the world. When we want something we want it big. When we want a car? SUV. When we want a television? 42" Plasma Screen. When we want a hamburger? 1 lb., please. Explosions in a movie? HUGE! When we want to drink? Yeah, the whole 12 pack. This is context of which I'm speaking. This is the world of which I am now king.

I'll keep this short and sweet. I was watching television with my girlfriend not too long ago. We were drinking together and we had been smoking pot as well. This is nothing out of the ordinary both for myself or for anyone else as far as I know. We flipped the channel to "Armageddon", a modern day wet dream for anyone who ever wanted to see Ben Affleck and Bruce Willis teamed up with high octane action, explosions and an Aerosmith soundtrack. We were watching this for maybe a half hour when we smoked another bowl, I opened another beer, and then...a curious thing happened. I was getting a blowjob. Right there on my couch in the middle of my living room. The television was blasting. I had a beer in my hand. I was stoned as fuck. And for a second, just a second, I stepped outside of myself and saw the entire scene from the other side of the room. In that second I thought, "My God, I can almost see the American flag waving behind me." I was the modern American man. I was there and all the men and women from the past could see me. Patrick Henry, Nixon, JFK, the black man, the napalm kid, Bojangles, that Naval Officer and his girlfriend who he's kissing in New York, you know, in that picture. They and so many more like them saw me and I saw them. All in that second...we were one.

This is my tale. It isn't long, I know. But it symbolizes so much.
You're welcome.

Leave Ethics For the Kids.

I am at a bit of a disposition since I was a kid who grew up in the mid-nineties. Being a punk rock or an indie rock kid, as I was (am), has a lot of stigma's that come along with it. Many of them are a lot harder to shake than you'd think. I guess the bug gun is the punk ethic that has come with every generation that has lived by the punk rock musical code: you travel, play, eat sparsly, ask for very little money for both records and other merch, obide by the strict ethical standards. These are the die hard rules. I guess for most bands drinking and drugs would come into play as well. That can be left up to the individual. I don't think punk rock has an official position on that subject.

The problem with this punk ethic is the "not making money" part. This was already hard in the nineties, but now it's carried over to now. I understand the desire for many people to want to keep records cheap so kids can buy them; that's great, but it comes at a sacrifice. Maybe now, because of my age, I find myself unwilling to make those sacrifices so easily. For instance, I'm not well versed in travel, but gas is obnoxiously expensive. I feel like everyone who gets gas at the local station should be sitting there waiting for Bugs Bunny to shoot up beisde them with an "Idiot" sign pointed at them. Of course, I could do it instead, but the average American is way too tense and I'm not sure I want to test that kind of potential rage.

My point is that being punk rock is hard. It never wavers. Its morals are always the same. Times be damned! Age and health be damned! There comes a time, at least for myself and several others that I've spoken to about this, when you want to keep having the same global outlook. We all want that optomism, but we also want to be able to survive and make more than a living wage. If that means jacking up the price of a shirt or a CD that the money from goes straight to food for me and my friends, yeah, I'm doing that. I need to eat and I want to be able to get to the next town. These things have become so dead to punk rock ears though, that people don't understand that sometimes it's not an exaggeration. You NEED to eat. You NEED sustinence. I'm sorry if I'm not punk rock because the 7" isn't 3 dollars anymore, but fuck man, gas isn't even 3 dollars anymore. Give me a break and give the moral high ground a break while you're at it.

Of course, I'm sure the view is nice up there with all the really PC kids. Fuck those kids. Chill out.

*Wow, that took an amazing turn there at the end. Sorry. That's for another time.

Why 2 Weeks and the American Peter Pan Intro.

This is broken into two parts. That can be made plain if you notice "and" in the title. The first part is how long it's been since I last wrote on here. To go into why it has been that long would take some time. Just kidding. My junk ain't that interesting. I've been watching soccer. That, and I'm not that clever. I mainly try to use this blog as a testament to my own cleverness, so when I'm dry I don't write. That's that.

Not entirely though. Cleverness is a hard thing to pin down. It can come in great sweeps, as it does for Dan; a resident of this page who has yet to do anything on it. It can come in small, mainly sexual, racial or crude remarks as it does for myself. It can also come in the form of obscure knowledge and acknowledgements, such as it is with Cole...who also hasn't written anything on here. Mine, I would argue, is the least interesting. It gets old if you're stuck in a van with me for severeal days. The other two forms force the brain to work overtime. They act as an invitation and a challenge all at once. You are, of course, invited to laugh at whatever is being said, but cleverness tends to work in volley's. Thus, you are expected to lob something back to the other person, much as one would in a tennis match, but without all the grunting, sweating, physical prowess, or physique. In that regard it's much easier.

You can't just make your mind work in a certain way though. You have to adapt. This is something that is more difficult than it is for some others. I can usually adapt somewhat easily; shaping my jokes around the intended fuck I want to laugh at the gems I'm laying at their feet. Sometimes it's harder though and that's when it gets tricky. Usually, if you're only somewhat able to adapt, this means you become the really weird guy. You say things that possibly go too far or are too creepy. Depending on the crowd you're with, this may still work out. They may mistake it for some kind of warped genius. If they do, run with it. No one else is gonna laugh at that stupid shit. Most people will just think you're creepy.

Now the New American Peter Pan is something my friend Dan came up with about a week ago that has kind of put me up against the ropes; chaffing and all. I should start by saying that I've always loved children's literature. The imagination, for me, is the most important thing a person has to offer, with integrity coming a close second. The imagination, and the way it's used in children's literature is so free and able to move about as it wants. It may be one of the few genres in literature where you can come up with anything you want; anything at all, and it's not frowned upon.

I guess I also like it because it's usually a reflection of sorts. See, most of these books are in some way tied into innocence--its preservation and its loss. This is usually attached to some kind of growth or decision that must be made; as it is in most other literature. I guess I find this interesting because it's something I'm constantly trying to make sense of myself. I guess you could say I'm also trying to make sense of it FOR myself. Growth and innocence are such contradictory terms. One is impossible to maintain when you have the other. That's the reason for The New American Peter Pan.

My friend Dan suggested that if you look at early twenty somethings that have gone straight from school into employment (mainly in the business world) you see that they look and act older than us; mid-to-late twenty somethings that have avoided that world, both with regret and joy. I cannot speak to the decisions these people make, enterting into the 9-to-5 world or whatever. That's their decision. My decision has been to make all my real decisions disappear. I don't face them. I don't want them. The thought of putting on a suit repulses me. Being in an office smells of exactly what I want to avoid; the growth of responsibility for the loss of imagination. When you look like everyone else, stuck in a small, grey space, how is it that you can maintain the things that make you singular? Maybe there's an answer that makes sense, but I haven't seen it and I refuse to risk any loss in order to find out. I guess that's where Peter Pan comes into it all. Dan has called me the Peter Pan of our group and refers to himself and several others as "Lost Boys." Honestly, I somewhat resent being called Peter Pan in the context for which he uses it, even though I'm plainly admitting now that it's true. No matter.

But, putting all the subtext and wishing and regretting aside, we have decided to make a book of essays. Essays that will embody our lives as "Lost Boys". This is what has put me up against a wall. How does one figure out the modern day Peter Pan? In the book, Peter Pan is a boy who not only is without responsibility, but who also doesn't have the faintest clue what responsibility means. This poses a problem. I can't imagine anyone in this world that hasn't been through a bootcamp of responsibility. We are all taught the rules of living and what is expected of us. We all have certain paths set before us, all of them leading towards responsibility of one kind of another. Yes, you can ignore these options, but if you do, you had better be extraordinarily talented or you're going to be living paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.

So, is Peter Pan in 2006 a boy, still without a drop of knowledge about the world that surrounds him? Is he purposefully ignorant or them; moving parallel to them, but never crossing into it? Or is Peter Pan, now, a boy who is aware of the world around him; both acknowledging its usefulness while also ignoring its rewards as a price to high to pay? I'd like to think it's the latter, but I'm not sure if Peter Pan, as a concept or a character, could survive that way. Before I can write any stories I have to know about Peter Pan now. I have to define him and give him context. This is proving to be hard.

All inquiries or comments on this would be most helpful.

8 Reasons Germany Can Eat a Dick.

1. They live up to their stereotype. How amazing is it that Germans are all exactly like their machinery? It makes it so much easier to picture little cogs, slightly rusty from lack of use, in place of organs. They're pulling this and pushing that and shooting at this person and shoveling ashes and whatnot, but they have no real human parts, which leads us to...

2. The word "Guilt" isn't in their dictionary. I was told this about 45 minutes ago and I'm not sure if it's acvtually true, but if you apply my theorem described in Point 1, then it makes it a lot easier to see why things such as Point 3 can happen in a country this fucking stupid.

3. The Holocaust. Usually whenever a word becomes capitalized as a proper noun when it wasn't one before you can pretty much bet that someone did something absolutely incredible or they did something way harsh. While I've made plenty of jokes suggesting that the Holocaust may have been a "totally amazing, if not slightly odd bit of xenophobic anxiety", the truth is that it was fucked up. As a test of this, go see Schindler's List or The Pianist and see if you want a cheeseburger afterwards. I know that sounds weird, but try to keep up. When I came out of the theatre after seeing The Pianist I was slouching from the guilt passed on to me: a white, no-German heritage having dude who wouldn't even be a zygote until the late-seventies. The thing is, I really wanted a cheeseburger and was starving as hell, but would I pull over and get one? Fuck no. That would be fucked up. When you can't even eat because of an action that happened half a century ago that you have absolutely no ties to at all, my friend, you've just seen some seriously twisted junk. My only hope is that from 1932-1945 no German EVER enjoyed a burger.

4. East Germany: specifically. Does anyone know of anything good that came from this place? Anything? Anybody? Artists? Writers? Oh, no, nevermind. I forgot they were pretty much at the mercy of Stalin for a good portion of the time, yet another crazy as fuck loon. I guess their lack of creativity was suppressed by shear madness...again.

5. They march like toy soldiers. And just like toy soldiers, they fall over like they're ducks in a shooting gallery...I have no idea of what that means. BUT, that couldn't have helped during the Battle of the Bulge or that time they tried to invade Russia...in winter...without proper gear...or reason...or a clue that they were following orders from a guy who had Point 6.

6. Syphilis!!! Listen Germany. I know things were hard after World War I. You had no money, everyone was struggling to put food on the table. These are hard things to cope with. I'm sorry you had to go through it. I guess that's why you followed a raving madman who A.) hadn't had sex since about 1908, B.)had brain deterioration, C.) had ulcers of the skinand lesions, and D.) pretty much killed all his best friends and most respected generals. Yes, I see now where your logic lay, sweet Germany. They lay with the absolute absence of logic.

7. How long does it take to bring down a stupid wall? All I'm saying, with all due respect, is that if that wall had been up over here, the star and stripes would pulled that thing down in a fucking hour. Of course we then would have immediately regretted letting all the smelly people on the other side come over and stink up OUR side.

8. They get to host the World Cup. Well, this isn't too bad, now that I think about it. I figure if Costa Rica can score on them twice in a game then that doesn't show too much stability on the field and I'd be happy to see Germany humiliated in a stadium filled with their own. Of course, they seem to always bounce back in some terrifying ways (see Point 3).

Um, I think I'm starting to stretch it a little so I'm going to quit now. Originally I was going to make it a nice, even ten points (divisible by 2 and 5!), but I don't know enough about the country to lay into them much more than I have. Honestly, I'm pretty much just mad that they beat Poland in stoppage time today. Sorry, dudes.

Day 1 of the World Cup.

Well, months of time, energy, money, and thought have all come into a physical game at long last. My television I bought is at work and I was able to watch the Germany v. Costa Rica kick off. I worked, I watched, I missed all six goals being scored. That's okay though. The Tico's were able to score twice on Jens Lehmann, the German Keeper. Why is that a big deal when the Germans scored FOUR goals on Costa Rica? Well, mainly because I like to see the Germans get scored on, but also because during the last World Cup in South Korea and Japan, Oliver Kahn didn't let a single goal get through until the final match against Brazil. That's seven games without being scored on. This time around it took 12 minutes.
Needless to say, I'm not a fan of Germany. They may be the team that most easily fits the stereotype of their country at large. They are mechanical, efficient and play without an ounce of passion. It's like staring at a clock or something. You can admire how it will always, ALWAYS stay on time, but that doesn't make it that much fun to just stare at the damn thing.
This is the great thing about the World Cup. Teams that have never met are playing against one another. Anyone who watches soccer knows that with different countries and different continents comes different playing styles. So when Germany meets a team like Costa Rica, you have no idea what's going to happen. The underdog can upset the heavy favorite. It's possible and you can expect it to happen at least once every World Cup. The heavyweights aren't safe. That's what makes this game beautiful.
Later, when Ecuador beat Poland. Just what I'm talking about. A 2-0 win for a team that was supposed to lose. They not only won on the score board though, they owned the game. They had more possession and they beat the Polish defense down time and time again. I watched it with my friends, my co-workers and my boss (who wouldn't stop giving me guff for watching soccer during work; something I imagine will be her "thing" for the next 30 days) and we all had a blast.
It's now the second day of play and I managed to scrape myself off my bed this morning after a phone call at 9:05, letting me know that Beckham had just scored an amazing goal in the third minute. Headache, backache and all got up and watched the rest of the game and was glad to see the English team work the field pretty well. After that, I slept. Woke up, watched Trinidad and Tobago stun the living shit out of Sweden for 90 minutes and keep them without a goal, although Trinidad and Tobago couldn't score either. Onece again a heavy favorite is stunned and a team that had absolutely no expectation to win and whose game plan included just keeping the game from completely getting away from them, maintained composure long enough to surprise themselves, their countrymen and about one and a half billion people watching on television.
As for right now, Argentina and the Ivory Coast are playing and are only 28 minutes in. I do love the South American team, but I feel a deeper part of me wanting the small African nation who has never played in the World Cup before to make another upset. It would be so great, but it's not likely. Crespo has just scored a couple of minutes ago.

Is There a Man More Dignified Than Sidney Poitier?

Is there a woman more refined than Audrey Hepburn? Is there a man funnier than Mel Brooks? Could it be any better that he married Anne Bancroft? Is there a woman more sexy-funny that Gilda Radner? Isn't it perfect that SHE married Gene Wilder? Can anyone really compare to Jordana Brewster in DEBS? Does everyone but me still really like "What About Bob"? Why don't more people like West Wing? Why is it that not enough people appreciate David Gordon Green? What about Keanu Reeves? Everyone has enjoyed at least two of his movies, so why does everyone hate him? Is it okay that I really like him? Is it okay to think that owning a really big television makes me really cool? Is it okay to WANT to be as dignified as Sidney Poitier, but unable to because I'm such a spazz? Am I the only one who finds Tyra Banks to be the darkest hole in the universe, devoid of anything approaching a human soul? Is it okay to think that American Beauty didn't age well and it just seems really hoaky now? Does anyone else think Carnivale is a B-rate David Lynch project? Does anyone else think the sex scene in Mulholland Drive might be one of the most arousing scenes ever? Does anyone else find the kiss between mother and son in The Manchurian Candidate to be amazingly creepy? Do people still respect Robert Redford? Does there seem to be anyone nicer in show business than The Rock? Why is Scrubs 10 times funnier when you're stoned rather than when you're not? Who in the world would ever think that Eddie Murphy was ever near as funny as Richard Pryor?

We'll continue later.

Ready At All Costs.

I've posted about my history and my enthusiasm for the upcoming World Cup in Germany, but I thought it would be best to also delve into my growind obsession and preparedness. You see, this only happens every 4 years, so there's a lot of build-up. There have been friendly matches and qualifying matches going on for about 2 years and I've caught a few, but not too many. The one's that I've caught have been good, but nothing compared to what's going to happen. From this very moment there's only 4 days 14 hours and 25 minutes from now. You see, that's where I am. A man that has become so focused and, I'll admit, obsessed with what is coming that I'm now a mild irritant to friends and a rash to those I come in general contact with. I have no bounds at this point, fluttering off at anybody about what team I want to win (Portugal) and why. Of course, I'm rarely able to stop at that point, continuing on a crusade to inform everyone about which team is in which group and what two teams should be able to move out of their groups and into the top 16. Who should be watched out for? What young players and teams are supposed to be able to possibly make an impression (Christiano Ronaldo and Ivory Coast, respectively)? Don't worry, I was going to tell you all that whether you asked or not.

It's not only in conversation that I'm able to annoy at large and impress in small. I've now invested not only time, but money. I've spent hours contemplating whether or not I feel I really want the official jersey, and if so, do I want to pay extra to have my favorite player's number and name put on it (I finally settled on a t-shirt and hat as I'm somewhat strapped for cash). I downloaded a World Cup ringtone, something I find abhorrent in most everyway, yet found myself nothing but ecstatic about it at the time. I bought a new television for the occasion to replace the puny 20 inch flatscreen television we had. Never, never would I watch the greatest sporting event in the world on a screen not much bigger than a dinner plate. I got a new 27 inch, high-defintition flatscreen television. This way I can not only see all the gorgeous women from Sweden and Holland who have come to supprt their teams, cheering like rabid warriors preparing for battle, but I can also see every detail of the uniforms worn by the best players playing the best sport in the world.

As for the games themselves; that was tricky. You see, the games are broadcast starting at 9 a.m. and the last game of the day ends at around 5 p.m. This isn't so good for us stateside. I work mornings and have no access to a television. I'm not sure what the schedule will be like on on the radio, so, naturally I spent a good amount of time researching cost and benefit for my boss, the owner of a bar/restaurant, to get cable and show the games. It worked. The new TV I bought, I'm taking it to work with me. It is, in all honesty, a good idea. My boss has to spend no money at all and what she gets, hopefully, is a burst in business for a month during our slowest season. Granted, I'm going to have to work through all of this, but at least I'll be in the loop.

So, this is what it has come down to. Only a couple of days left. But then what? Well, I'll have a full month of pure exctasy along with about half of the world. We'll be watching the games all at the same time and we'll celebrate, continents apart. The thing is, while writing this I've realized, I believe for the first time, that it's only going to last a month. Then I'm going to have to go back and wait. I guess that's okay though. It will be a great month no matter who holds the cup over their heads on July 9th (just please, not Germany). Besides, there's always the Premiership, Serie A, Euro Cup, Copa America, MLS, Ligue 1...

What I'm Gonna Do.

I'm going to change this a little bit. I don't post more than once or twice a week because I try to only post the better pieces I have going, which isn't many...or none if you want to be a jerk about it. So, I want to post more. I'm going to start doing this by posting movie reviews, my often shameful taste in music and other small thoughts or opinions. No more religion. Well, probably. Anyway, I'm going to start now and give you the scoop on everything rad that's going on. Some are exclusive to Richmond in the summer and others are universal summer boner-inducers.

1. Don't go home. It's the summer. If you don't live near your parents, good. If you do, travel A LOT. I'm sure not many people have issues with family like I do, but you should. Friends are ten times more kick ass and you know they'll understand that when you call them "fag" or "pussy", you're just joking. Now, try calling your mom a pussy and see what happens. If there's one season you don't want to have a care in the world, it's summer. Why ruin that time by hanging out with a group of people who you don't have that much in common with and with whom you have to knock out a significant portion of your vocabulary.

2. Ride a bike. Easy. It rules. Do you know how much bike riders fucking laugh at all you guys with your fucking rididulous gas prices? I seriously just want to punch drivers in the fucking face for being that dumb. I can understand if you have a shit ton of money. If you didn't stuff into your SUV you'd probably just spend that extra money at some dumb fucking store buying something that can only be labeled as a "knick knack". So go ahead, spend the money on gas then, that form of stupid is far more acceptable to me than Pottery Barn stupid. Just remember that I still want to punch you. Ride a bike.

3. Go see a good movie some night. This is somewhat deceiving. It looks and seems like a simple idea, right? You've seen movies, they can be fun, right? Well it isn't that easy. The word you need to focus on in that first sentence is "good" and by the gross numbers that come in every weekend, about 10% of you actually know what that word means. The rest of you seem to think Lindsey Lohan and sequels to mediocre kids movies are top notch. I'm not supporting art films here though either. Not one bit. It's summer; save that arty shit for winter when you can't go outside and you're forced to sit in front of the TV all day anyway. I'm all for mindless entertainment, but the word "good" has to be involved. Let me explain through examples. Let's start with teen movies. They're GREAT for summer, but are also amazing inconsistent. Here we go! "She's All That"--good. "Drumline"--bad. "Bring It On"--great. "The Prince and Me"--bad. Once more for good measure. "The Princess Diaries"--good. "Princess Diaries 2"--bad. There you go. That's how you measure. Let's look at several other genres. Action: Bad Boys 2 is good, Mission: Impossible 2 is bad and Mr. and Mrs. Smith holds the middle ground. Horror: Saw is bad, Final Destination 2 is good. Comedy: Grandma's Boy is good, Harold and Kumar is good, Meet the Parents is somewhere in the middle, and any comedy Jim Carrey has done in the last 5 years is bad. I think you get it. It doesn't have to be smart, but it has to be done well. You want it to be fun, that's what summer is all about, but don't compromise yourself and watch some hideous shit disguised as "good". I'm looking at you, X3!

4. Listen to pop music. If you're white then that's all there is to it. If you're black then maybe try Madvillain or something like that. Ghostface Killah ain't half bad. If you're asian, well, you're probably already listening to pop. Nevermind, everyone but black people just listen to pop. Some suggestions, you say? You got it! Two words: Kelly Clarkson. Done and done. "Breakaway" is an amazing album. You can laugh, but you know what? This shit is ten times better than fucking Arctic Monkeys or Death Cab for Cutie or whatever band is doing what other bands were doing two years ago when it was actually interesting. Look, we've all heard "Since U Been Gone" enought that it will permanently be etched in our brains, sometimes coming up and out of our mouths before we even know what we're singing. That's okay. The rest of the album is good too and it's one of the best summer records to come out in years. Other summer suggestions: New Pornographers, Sloan, Islands, the Shins, Thermals, Jon Brion.

5. Slurpees and 40's. I think Slurpees are the official sponsor of summer by this point. There's nothing that compares to being out all day, sweating like crazy, passing a 7-11 and feeling your stomach actually try to separate from your body to go there even if you're not planning on it. Beware though, about 20% of the time Slurpees will destroy you; especially if taken without any other food. 40's are self-explanatory. Sitting on a front porch (especially in Oregon Hill) with a 40 of High Life or Iron City is summer incarnate.

The rest are essentials that need no explaining. Swimming, anything creative, and, of course, soccer. Good luck and have fun.

A Subject That May Take a While (Part 4).

The final part. I promise. This involves no questions, only a comment with supplementary follow-up. Christians have it too good. That's the comment. Here's the follow-up--80% of the U.S. population is christian. I don't know what the percentage is around the world, but I'm sure it's astronomical. If you've taken any history course you know about the Crusades and the missions that have gone all around the globe converting people from every corner into Christians. "Jesus Christ saves! You'll certainly be going to hell without us! You're indigneous faith is crude, naive and just plain wrong! Have you never heard of Jesus? Dude died FOR YOUR FUCKING SINS!!! Did Buddha do that? No. That Hindu guy? No! Jesus did it! Get in on it! Fucking redemption! YEAH!!!"
I'm sure they use more words and are far more subversive with their language, but that seems to be about the gist of it. There's no sensitivity towards other beliefs or acknowledgement that other faiths might have something to offer. For instance, I was listening to Fresh Air on NPR the other day and the discussion was about the christian right. One example given as to the persistance of christians to continually push their beliefs was a function that the government had (I'm sorry for the vagueness, but I can't remember the actual event named) and they asked a Hindu priest to come and speak at it. The interviewee, the head of the religious studies dept. at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, said that the responsible parties within the government immediately got letters from "important" christian organizations protesting the decision to allow any religious figure other than a christian one to speak at such a function. Their argument was that, yes, other religions should be able to practice in the United States, but none should be given attention from the government other than christians. Because, you know, you can never have enough christians running around inside the government. You can look to Patrick Henry College for that. It's the first college designed solely for christian home schooled kids. What this college does is try to get these kids into government. No lie. That's their agenda. It's that easy. This school started in 2004. They have 200 students. Guess how many students they've gotten into the White House as interns? Well, 7% of the interns at the White House are from this school. That doesn't sound like a lot though. Well, that's more than any other school. Guess who has the second most amount of interns inside the White House? Fucking Georgetown. Yeah, you know, that really prestigious school.
Do they really need to keep pushing? What kind of an imperialistic mindset does it take to not stop until every single person in the world believes what you believe? Well, there was Hitler. He sought to make everyone believe the same as he. Now there's christians. There. It's out. Christians are the new Hitler. They don't like Jews. They have that in common. They're trying to take over the world. They've used violence in the past. There you go.
That's pretty much my argument. They have enough. Being christian is like rooting for the New York Yankees or Manchester United. They already have enough fans and they always win. It's no fun rooting for the guy you know is gonna win anyway. Root for Shinto, Hinduism, Buddhism, anything; just not christian. They have plenty of fans; I mean believers.
Oh, and Jesus was a Jew. Why isn't everyone just Jewish? Oh, and Jesus was an apocalyptist...I think I just made that word up. Anyway, what I mean is that Jesus believed that the final judgement was going to happen within his lifetime. Um, yeah, way to go christians. Two thousand years of fucking it up. Dude didn't even know when the end of the world was going to happen. I'm sorry, but if you're the son of God and you don't even know when the apocalypse is going to happen, are you really in the loop? Maybe his dad just didn't think he was up to the task. I don't know how else you explain the fact that he was, at the very least, 1,973 years off the mark. Yeah, your messiah is obviously the one to go with. Fucking idiots.

The World Cup is Coming!

For my own mind, and for the mind of people the world over; some things need to be said. Soccer is amazing. This, this is my statement. The crux of my plan, my thesis, my reason for posting...my Juliet. That was too far. Well, was it? To many people, myself included, the World Cup is our romance. Perhaps that sounds a little over the top, but it's true. Is there any other sport where grown men have actually been filmed climbing fences, ready to tear the head off of an official for a spur of the moment decision? No. Have we all wanted to do that when we've been cheated on? Hell yes. Soccer is a love affair; complicated, selfish, filled with trepidation; always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know how this sounds--ridiculous. It's not too far off base though.
I've been watching the World Cup since the summer of 1994. I was fourteen and spending everyday watching the World Cup go down on American soil for the first time ever. It was amazing. I wasn't in school and I had nothing a reasonable person would call a social life. Thus, my days were divided into two parts: watching the World Cup, and then waiting for the next day's games to begin. During halftimes, my brother and I would play soccer in our living room; clearing out the furniture and using a nerf ball to see who could score on who. Both of us imitated our favorite players and tried desperately to recreate our favorie goals and saves of the day. Trust me, you've never seen anything weirder, surreal and downright unapologetic.
My team for the World Cup was Italy--through and through. From the beginning, I was amazed by the Italian striker Roberto Baggio. He was one of the older players on the team and it wasn't a surprise that this was going to be his final World Cup. Man, he could play though. In fact, he led the team into the final match against Brazil. Now, if you know anything about soccer, you know that Brazil is the unofficial "Champion of Forever". They've won more World Cups than any other team and they play with more heart and flair than just about any European team has. In the final, Italy held their own. They kept the Brazilian's back and the game went into overtime. It was at this pointwhen my team needed me more than ever, that I stopped watching. You see, my brother was going to camp for a week. It was his first time ever doing it and I wanted to go with him to add whatever comfort I could. Needless to say, we were both pissed off. He was pissed he had to go and I was equally, if not more angry, at my own misguided sense of what being a big brother is all about (I was too supportive and never gave out too many wedgies). We had spent an entire month preparing for this moment, just to have it cut-off by...church camp. In hindsight, this may well be where my loathing of the world's religions comes from.
When I got home, I saw the highlights. Neither team had scored during overtime and that meant a penalty shootout. The absolute pinnacle of blood pressure boiling points being tested, and I missed it. Well, more to the point, Roberto Baggio missed it, by about 10 feet. He overshot the ball and it went soaring over the goal. It was over. My beloved Italian friends had lost. I felt betrayed, disappointed, heartbroken. All the things one feels when you have your heart broken by a woman. No joke. Same feeling.
Now, the World Cup is back. Once again, I am hooked. I've studied the teams. I've watched as many qualifying matches as I could. I even went to see one in Columbus, Ohio (we beat Mexico, another great team). I've ordered my hat and t-shirt. The treacherous Italians broke my heart once and I'll never go back to them, even though they knock on the door every four years or so. This time I've chosen Portugal. They're good. Not really good, not like Brazil or the Czech Republic, but they play a good game. It's two weeks away and I can't wait to see Luis Figo in his final World Cup. I want to hear the announcer say "Deco" the way I've been hearing it in my head. Christiano Ronaldo--that's a name you're hopefully going to hear a lot. I'm here for them. If they need a friend, hey, just call. I'm on my way. Need someone to yell at the telvision incessently and curse more than any sailor has ever even dreamed? I was going to do that anyway.
Starting June 9th, Portugal will officially be my new mistress and I'll treat her as such. They have my attention, my love, my unflinching faith and they can rest easy that I'll always have their back. But maybe this time I won't put everything I have into this; I've been hurt in the past (Damn you, Baggio), but I'll remain ever hopeful that this time I've found the one. If it doesn't work out though, I know I can always fall back into bed with the U.S., the tramp.*


There's actually no way in hell the U.S. is going anywhere. They'll be lucky to make it out of the first two games.

The World At Large.

I'm holding it in contempt for not opening itself fully to me. That's literally for the women of the world and metaphorically for the actual world. I know it's my own fault; I'm all too aware of that, but a grudge is what I hold none the less. I love the world. I fear it also, but mostly it's love. I want to see it. Even the dirty parts like Ghana and, I don't know, Ecuador*. I know I want to go to Tahiti. I want to go to Japan, even though I know I'll never be accepted there. I want to go to China even though I know I'll be solicited by orphaned children and prostitutes on every corner. I want to go to Englang even though it seems really boring. I want to go to Montana even though it's really flat and cold. I want to go Buenos Aires with my friend Greg even though I'm sure I'll be stabbed by a ten year old kid looking for a fix. I want to see the Andes, the Alps, the Great Wall, Jonathan Taylor Thomas, David Bowie, Natalie Portman, and The Rock. I want to be a man of the world. I want to teach kids to read in Mongolia and get a nasty foot infection that requires amputation. I don't know. I want to see where Hemingway wrote "The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber". I want to go to Cuba. Canada seems like it wouldn't be too bad. I definitely want to sleep with a mysterious woman in Vietnam. I want to romanticize delusions of marrying her even though I can't really understand the harsh and broken english she speaks. Maybe I would marry her. I'm dumb enough for that. Whimsy is what it's called. Sorry, not stupidity. I've got whimsy. I imagine it comes in handy when traveling.
Oh, and I never, ever want to go to Detroit. Nothing about that city seems appealing.
So, who's with me? Someone wanna go somewhere? Call me if you do. I'm hanging out in my room writing this and listening to records. I might get stoned and try to write a song or something.




* I actually know nothing of these places and jumped to conclusions. My bad.