Black Clover

Talk about scary. I knew that the people in the Seattle Puget Sound area were always a little on the lame side, but this really takes the cake. Half a million dollars spent on donuts in only seven days?! Talk about a travesty. They’re just fukin’ donuts folks. Deep fried dough brushed with corn syrup. That’s all they are. That’s all they were. And that’s all they ever will be.
So now that this whole Krispy Kreme fad has run it’s course, I think that the american public can now move on to it’s next abomination.
Here’s another lame humanistic quality that I’ve been pondering - Why does the “idiot factor” only apply to humans? You never see a pig putting two thousand dollar rims on his four hundred dollar tractor do you? You never see a lion intentionally puke up a good antelope because he’s trying watch his waist line. You never hear about a faction of giraffes burning hippos at the stake simply because the hippos wouldn’t convert. And you never hear about crocodiles waiting in line seven hours for fried fish donuts.

The idiot factor only applies to humans. Why? Because humans are idiots, that’s why.

Here’s another major psychotic hatred of mine - Why are the smallest candy bars called fun size? That doesn’t make any sense at all. They aren’t fun. They’re too damn small to be any fun. If we’re going to have truth in advertising I think “fun size” should denote candy bars that are no less than 15 pounds in total weight, and that measure no less than three feet in length. Can you imagine knawing on the end of a fifteen pound candy bar? Talk about fun shit ehh. Now that’s “fun size”!

Today I thought it might be appropriate to pay my respect to the great veteran’s of the United States, as well as the veterans of other countries around the world. Giving your life for your country, or in the very least putting your life on the line for it, is the greatest feat of human sacrifice that one can endure. The utter sacrifices that are made by veterans in the name of principle should be admired regardless of the situation. Whether or not you agree or disagree with the institution of war should not diminish the respect that veteran’s deserve.
I should know about paying my respects on veterans day. After all, I have ancestors that have fought in every single major American war dating back to 1861. From the Civil War to the Spanish-American war, World War I to World War II, and the Korean War to the Vietnam war. My blood has fought in all of them. To all of my ancestors I give you my deepest most profound thank you for giving up the freedoms of your day, in hopes of allowing future generations to prosper in wake of your sacrifice and accomplishments. Although I do not identify with America and Americans, I still respect those who fell before me in order to preserve that which we hold so dear.
So in honor of all the veteran’s from all over the world, and especially to those who fought with conviction to preserve the United States, let me offer you this -

A week before the battle of Bull Run Sullivan Ballou, a Major in the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteers, wrote home to his wife in Smithfield -

July the 14th, 1861 Washington D.C
My very dear Sarah,
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days — perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure — and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing — perfectly willing — to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows — when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children — is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death — and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it shall whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night — amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours — always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again….

Sullivan Ballou died a week later at the First Battle of Bull Run.

I awoke this morning and thought it was Saturday. Quite an unfortunate mistake to make in the middle of the week. When I rolled out of bed the realization hit me that it was indeed not the weekend, but it was instead time to get ready for work. The cruel tricks that the mind can play sometimes. So for the rest of today my body thinks it’s Saturday, while my mind knows it’s only Thursday. Talk about a dilemma. My body wants to go play outside in the fall air, drink wine, converse with friends, and jam on the guitar. My mind, on the other hand, is trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Work. Somehow these two portions of my inner being really should be communicating with each via some type of neuro-transmission. If not, I’m afraid my body just might permanently be two days ahead of my mind. I always thought I was ahead of my time, but this is a little extreme.

As I was sitting at my desk in the office earlier this morning, one of the most frightening things I have ever experienced happened. My heart skipped several beats. And I’m not using this as a sappy metaphor for falling in love or encountering a gorgeous brunette. My heart actually stopped for several seconds, skipping two or so beats. Seriously. It was the most random and scariest thing I have ever experienced. My heart stopped. I took a breath. It still didn’t do anything. I took another breath, this time a deep one. It still didn’t resume it’s beat. And just before I started to panic, it started beating in rapid succession as if to make up for the two or three beats that it had missed.

And I just sat there wrought with fear and amazement. It was hardly a near-death experience, but for a fleeting few seconds I actually saw my life pass before me. Suddenly the pile of work and projects before me meant nothing, and I just sat there wide eyed and stunned in complete silence. What the fuck just happened? My heart had completely stopped?! Why? Was it the coffee? Did I have too much, or maybe not enough? I just don’t understand!? Was this an early warning sign for the emergency broadcast system? Had someone, somewhere, pulled my number out of the revolving drum? Is it time to go already? I haven’t even packed my bags!

I still have yet to figure out why my heart stopped, and in all likelihood I probably won’t be able to figure it out on my own. All I know is that the experience of having your vital blood transporting organ suddenly stop before your very being is the most frightening episode that I have yet to experience. I will be in to see my doctor immediately.

In an attempt to right myself and catch my bearings after the little encounter with my inefficient heart, I decided to leave the office immediately and go sit down at a trendy little cafe downtown to have lunch and to re-read a book. As I paid for my ceaser salad the cute little blond behind the counter caught a glimpse of the book that I was carrying under my arm, and immediately she expressed her undying interest in Stevie. She threw out some fresh SRV verbiage that only a “true” fan would know and I was quite impressed that a girl so young could know so much about a musician from yesterday. Sometimes it’s hard not to stereotype these young teeny boppers as N’Sync and Brittany fans. Ultimately I guess running into her just goes to show that his music and his legacy will live on somehow, in some form, forever.

I have never been all that interested in country music. Actually, let me rephrase that last sentence using more definitive definitions. I have never been all that interested in this “generic pop shit that they play all over the radio and try to pawn off as country music.” Sorry folks I hate to break it to you like this, but if your country band of choice consists of an electric violin, smoke machines, or dancers - then it isn’t country music. Period. End of story. It’s not country music. It’s pop. Which doesn’t necessarily dictate whether pop country music is better or worse than real country music, but lets not kid ourselves with loose definitions.

There is country music, and then there is pop that pretends to be country.

And of course we have to allow music to grow and progress over time. After all that’s life. It’s called evolution. So in a certain sense music is kind of a fluid commodity. It branches off and grows in different directions, bridging gaps and generating new genres. And country music is no different. But there comes a time when I can no longer sit on the sidelines of urban culture and watch a bunch of fake cowboys pawn off pop music as country music. It’s a sacrilege that defies every facet of country music tradition. The closest most of these fake cowboys ever got to a cow was when they stopped to take a piss at their local Arby’s.

If you want Real country, go take a listen to Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Emmylou Harris, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Steve Earle, Doc Watson, Bob Wills, Bill Monroe, Dwight Yoakam, Tammy Wynette, Randy Travis, Dolly Parton or a hundred and one other country artists that still play country music.

And if you still prefer to listen to that pop music with pretend country overtones, that’s fine with me just as long as you know the difference.

The end of another great weekend has drawn to a close. First off last week ended with a Stevie Ray Vaughan victory in the pumpkin carving contest. I was not only awarded with a full day of paid leave, but much to amazement and excitement, SRV’s old band Double Trouble got back in touch with me regarding my art work after I had forward the pictures on to a web focal for their website. From there they sent the pictures over to the band as well as to Martha Vaughan, Stevies mother.

I cannot tell you how wide my smile was when I heard back from the very band that played aside Stevie for so many years. My heart sank, my lips curled upward, and a tear came to the corner of my eye. It just goes to show you that when you put your mind and heart into something you love, and you never ever look back – amazing things will happen. As in pumpkin carving, as in life.

Thank you Tommy and Chris. Thank you from my heart.

Saturday was a day spent listening to the load of music that I acquired last week as I cleaned my room of all that had piled up over the course of the week. Music is my hobby. It’s my passion. It’s my life. Here are just a few highly recommended additions that I picked up the last several days….

*Eric Sardinas - Devil’s Train
*Chris Duarte - Texas Sugar Strat Magik
*Alligator Records - 30th Anniversary Collection
*Johnny Cash - At Folsom Prison
*Harry Connick Jr. - The NY Big Band Concert
*Deep Dish - Moscow GU021

Even with all these recent musical purchases, my wish list at Amazon is disgustingly large. Better to pick up a few new albums than to blow all my cash on pussy and beer I always say.

On Sunday I nailed a two-hour hike in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains all the while braving Seattle’s heaviest day of rain in perhaps years. Rain has never dampened my spirits, pun intended, but it would be quite nice to spend this time of year without it. It leaves behind a wonderfully refreshing smell that not even the most provocative perfume could rival, and it’s obviously essential for the fine foliage and greenery that this area enjoys so much. But every now and then I get to thinking how nice it would be to see the sun. Call me crazy but the occasional sunbeam is a much more attractive element than a raindrop is or ever will be.
Despite the rain, the route was quite cool. It wrapped itself around an old mining community that was turned into a missile silo during the Cold war. There are also caves, old mine shafts, and waterfalls all over the place. I’m not sure if growing grass on top of an old nuclear missile silo is the smartest inclination that man has yet to come up with, then again man is not always the most intellectual being. Just look at Osama bin Laden. And think, for the lack of one fifty-cent condom we have to put up with his shit. What a shame. Where was the Trojan man when Mr. And Mrs. Bin Laden were banging away on the hood of their camel ehh?

And to end on a happy note, it looks like the Arizona Diamondbacks have knocked of the New York Yankees in this years World Series. A tip of the hat is off to them, despite my distaste for the sport of baseball. I guess I just hate the Yankees so much that watching them get beat is fourth only to music, wine, and women. Fuck the Yankees.

Every year the law firm that I work for has a pumpkin carving contest. Last year I wasn’t all that inclined to enter because I had only been on the job for one day, but this year I decided to give it a shot. There’s lucrative incentive to enter - the winner gets a full day of paid leave! After 6 hours and unlimited patience last night, I finally finished my pumpkin at 11. I celebrated a job well done with a glass of much needed merlot.

So in honor of Stevie Ray Vaughan, I present you with my “hopefully” award winning pumpkin. If I win, I will probably need to take tomorrow off to clean the pumpkin mess up.

It’s official. As of today I have now been on with my law firm for one year. I was presented with a single red rose and the praise of many when I came to work this morning. Shessk. Here I was wondering how they’ve put up with me this long. I guess the bottom line is that despite the corporate overtones of the big business monetary smorgasbord, I work for a truly great company. However, these words are not to be taken out of context. The firm as a whole is a great place to work for, but that does not necessarily entail that the people within the firm are great people. To be honest, a vast majority of them are genuine and sincere, and they are a pleasure to work with. Unfortunately there are also the handful of cretins that have to spoil the fun for everyone, and there is nothing more unpleasant than an arrogant lawyer on a soapbox. And I mean nothing.

Today the very first Krispy Kreme opened it’s doors in a suburb of Seattle and I’m thrilled to finally have one in order to experience this phenom that has taken shape in American donut culture. I’m not the biggest fan of donuts but I do enjoy the occasional artery clogging effects of an apple fritter or my personal favorite, a bismarck. (You know, the chocolate covered donuts with the custard inside. Damn good.) But as much as people love their sweets, I have to tell you folks. When we have people lining up 2 days in advanced for donuts, there is something wrong. Seriously wrong. Are people’s lives so bankrupt that they have nothing better to do than to sit outside a fuckin’ donut shop for 48 hours? Isn’t there some other realm of their lives that could benefit from 48 hours of attention? I don’t understand. Maybe I’m not supposed to understand?! Then again I have to remember who we’re dealing with here. The american public. Fickle, narrow, enlightened, self interest. Ok. Now I understand.

I got my orange juice carton full of gin and I figure it’s like this -

Is it just me or is just about everyone sick right now? Even I had a spout with the crud which is quite amazing. I tend to have a better chance of winning the lotto or banging a playmate before I would ever even begin to get sick. Hopefully a mild strain of bacteria is to blame and not some super human virus that turns all of my vital organs into liquid shit. That would not be good. Then there’s always the possibility of an anthrax outbreak. My cold symptoms aren’t flu like. Are yours?

My weekend was an intensely invigorating mix of drinking and sleeping - both of which were welcomed amenities after my week long bout with bacteria. Friday night however would usher in the sleeping part of the equation, and leave the coefficient of drinking for the latter part of the two day break. I decided that it was in my immune systems best interest to turn in early and resist the urge to succumb to the Friday night nightlife. I was asleep by 10.

Saturday was my little sister’s 21st birthday, and I was invited along for the ride as her and twenty of her sorority sisters hit up the town for the obligatory 21 run. We had a nice dinner before hitting up a spiffy bar called the Ballroom. It was a pretty cool place and they made the strongest Raging Bulls that my lips have ever touched. They were more like Ketel One on the rocks with a splash of Red Bull as a floater.

As for my sister, she stuck to more traditional drinks. Cosmopolitans, kamikaze’s, and the ever popular Jägermeister. I was quite impressed with my little sister’s knack for liquor. Not sure if massive liquor consumption is a good trait to have or not, but she was able to put away 11 drinks over the course of about three hours. By my book, that’s pretty damn good. Especially since there was no puking, no sickness, and no passing out. Talk about a champ.

As for the rest of the girls, well let’s just say that I’m still firm in my conviction that the greek system does more damage than good. No disrespect to any of the girls in attendance saturday night, but the more and more I hung out with them, the more and more they were all the same. It was if the social structure of the sorority had conditioned them all the same. They talked the same, laughed the same, sang the same, and a lot of them even danced the same. Talk about vanilla. I don’t know about you but when it comes to women I’m definitely not looking for vanilla. You know, the carbon copy female that is like all the rest. I’m looking for the triple fudge ripple mocha almond fudge with caramel, pralines and a generous portion of sprinkles up top if you know what I’m saying. I want uniqueness. Someone that’s going to give me a little bit of an intellectual challenge, and who’s infinitely secure with all their perfections and imperfections. Someone with a real sense of who they are, and not someone who was given an identity by a social safety net with greek letters as the facade.
Like I said earlier, I’m not picking on sororities here. There are way too many institutions and organizations in this country, and in others, that lump people together and set them up to think the same, walk, talk, and act the same - and ultimately to become the same. The Government, church, and media are just a few I could mention. Millions and millions of blind robots. I’ll leave it at that, but remember one thing. The second you question everything that you’ve been told is not when you no longer believe in anything, it is the time when you begin to believe in everything.

Jumping to a completely unrelated topic, it looks like my friend Merc has spilt the beans with respect to my upcoming travel site. For those of you that don’t know, I’m leaving for a few years to travel the world, or substantial parts of it at least. Merc and I are putting together a site for the travel cause, but before that site gets launched, we thought it would be a good idea to put together another site for the exchange of ideas. Kind of like a place where all the blueprints will be kept. Ideas, notions, quips, specs, and mindless brain droppings will all be posted here. So if you’d like to take a look at all the work and ideas that will go into my future site, gtm, feel free to indulge yourself. Your thoughts are also encourage although not required.

I got home from work yesterday and I wasn’t feeling too hot so I decided to implement the “Rule of Eleven.” It’s a simple formula that, when applied correctly, will alleviate the symptoms of an on coming cold. This of course needs to be implemented immediately once you have accurately diagnosed the symptoms to be cold related and not that of some tainted piece of postal mail. The rule of 11 is quite straight forward. After all when you’re coming down with a cold you don’t have time for complicated mathematics. So if you’re looking for the recipe for wellness, in a pronto manner, look no further.

PRONTO WELLNESS (Serving size - 1)

11 quarts of water
11 grams of vitamin C
11 multivitamins over the course of two days
11 hours of sleep
11 Cups of orange juiced (freshly squeezed)
11% more food
1.1 shots of the green flavored Nyquil
11cc Morphine (optional)

Mix in a very large bowl aptly called a “stomach” and re-apply until desired effects are achieved.

On a lighter less bacterial note, I’d like to send my best wishes to Merc on his birthday. Happy Birthday to you Merc! (Take it easy on the wine alright?)

Speaking of wine and celebrations, my little sister turns 21 on Saturday. It still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she’s of legal age to “begin” drinking. I guess I’m not allowing it to sink in because once it does I’ll realize my own age. In any case, most all of her friends have yet to hit the big 21 so it looks like I will be taking on the responsibility of showing her a good time Saturday - which is preciously what I’m looking to do. 
Unfortunately a “good time” in down town Seattle doesn’t seem to come around as often and as much as it should, at least with respect to the night life. I have been in a bunch of different urban sprawls in this country and Seattle has to have one of the weakest nightlife’s of any big city that I have ever encountered. Then again the city doesn’t necessarily dictate the fun factor in each evening’s outing. That tends to depend on who you go out with. Despite that, Seattle’s nightlife is still quite weak.