Mitch I'm sorry

I got home tonight at like 1:30 after hanging out with Josh and Mitch, eating food, wandering around, and drinking that horrible Icelandic paint thinner. I promised that upon coming home I would complete my epic blog about my trip to see the Mars Volta, but I just couldn't finish it. I'll either have to divide it up into smaller sections, or just post it a lot later, but either way it will take time to complete. I know Mitch will read this be all "NAOMI YOU LYING BITCH, I'LL FUCKING CUT YOU" and you know what, he has every right to feel that way. I would.


****************EDIT********************

Okay mitch, part 1 is up. READ AWAY!

Part I

Whoever said that driving to Vancouver at 11 30 at night during a rainstorm in a car you've never driven before was a bad idea has obviously never done it. There are a few things that can be learned from taking on such a task:

* coffee is excellent
* bringing a lot of CD's is the best idea one will EVER have in their entire life
* buying an apple from a sketchy gas station in a city known for its accessability of methamphetamines is a bad idea
* 5 speed standards are fun to drive
* Sleep depravation is incredibly entertaining

The reason I learned these things is because Josh and I took a little trip this week. The trip commenced for one reason and one reason alone: To see the Mars Volta.

The plan: leave early thursday morning to get to Vancouver. Catch a sky train to see the concert, and then be amazed. But, as a wise man once said, "a plan is just a list of things that don't happen."

I showed up at Josh's house at around 10:30 Wednesday night. After sitting around for a bit and listening to a shoddy recording of our first performance, we, on a whim, decided to start off our trip about 7 hours early. Josh woke up his mom at 11:00 to tell her we were setting off. She seemed less than pleased, but being super cool rebels we went anyway. We packed up enough CD's to last us about 8 trips to Vancouver and back, bought ourselves some coffee, and began our epic journey.

It was great travelling with a friend. I was so worried I'd wind up winging it to Vancouver solo, in my sketchy VW rabbit, and get lost somewhere and be killed. Or fall asleep and careen off the road. Or go the wrong direction. Or all three. Many things could have gone wrong I suppose, but Josh and I took turns with the driving duties and kept eachother awake with our whacky antics.

We stopped for food in Cache Creek at some weird psuedo diner that was adjacent to a gas station convenience store. Josh ordered some man's man breakfast with eggs and whatever it is tough guys eat, and I got pancakes. I was hungry, but not super hungry, so I just ate one. Somehow this infuriated Josh and he spent the rest of the trip treating me like I was some anorexic fiend on the brink of dying if I didn't eat more food. Crazy eastern Europeans. Gotta love 'em.

I handled driving from Cache Creek to Hope, and Josh attempted in vain to sleep through it. He kept insisting that if I was tired to pull over and rest. I wasn't, and he was confused. My ability to function on a high level with minimal sleep and food made no sense to him, but he seemed to tired to really worry about it.

We arrived in Hope and Josh decided we had to get food. I wasn't hungry, he was, so this meant I had to eat. We bought two apples and a muffin from this gas station food store place. Bad idea. I took one bite into the apple and fought really hard to not cringe. I can take a shot of tequila better than I took that bite of apple. We then stood outside and Josh started ranting nuerotically while smoking a ciggerette, and it was quite possibly the most entertaining thing I'd ever seen. I'd never seen anyone look so adorably sketchy in my entire life.

We continued on and I slowly nursed as much of that apple as I could, and then got frustrated and tossed it out the window. I don't think Josh understood how hard it was for me to eat that apple til he finally tasted his. It pretty quickly found it's way out the window too.

So on top of being sleep deprived and full of rancid apple, we also were clever enough to hit morning rush hour traffic in Vancouver, so it took us sooo long to get to Mike's appartment. When we did make it, Josh couldn't remember his apartment number, which didn't matter anyway considering Mike wasn't at home, but at a job interview. We found this out by calling him, and then wound up having to kill several hours by aimlessly wandering around the Lougheed Mall, sitting on park benches behind a Wal Mart, and just generally fighting waves of tiredness. We also spent a long time just wandering around Mike's neighbourhood getting passed by sketchy looking thugs. It seemed likely they were going to try and jump us, but then they saw how tough me and Josh look, and figured we'd fuck them up if they tried to start anything, so we managed to avoid any confrontations.

See, there's something about sleep depravation you should all know. It's a lot like running for a long distance. You go through weird waves of extreme fatigue and hyper alertness ranging from wanting to just lay down wherever you happen to be at any given time and sleep, to being REALLY awake and full of pep. This generally happened in 1-2 hours cycles, and the tiredness and awakeness would hit at random, sometimes suddenly, sometimes gradually. But, both being troopers Josh and I both just worked through it.

We finally found Mike, played Fifa (a soccor game for xbox...yeah we're cool. So very cool.) listened to some At the Drive-In, and got food at a resteraunt with a server who resembled Dane Cook a bit too much. Josh also documented a lot of this with his camera. He wound up taking a picture of this huge neon sign in the resteraunt, that was right over the kitchen. It said "I eat, therefore I am" or something ridiculous like that, and I guess in his tired enduced drunkedness, he figured he had to take a picture of it so everyone else could be aware of this stupid slogan's existance.

So he snapped a picture, and then we hear a yell from the kitchen. One of the cooks spotted him, and called him over. All I could think was "oh shit, Josh is going to get in trouble." It's hard enough to understand Josh talking normally, but when he hasn't slept in like 30 hours, he gets ever so slightly more incoherent. Turns out the cook just wanted to talk to him, and offored to let him take pictures of the kitchen. He continued to explain the great benifets of the food industry, which in reality are none, but in this guys mind were seemingly boundless.

I'm guessing most of the people who read this blog probably know Josh, but it should still be stated that when Josh hasn't slept in over a day he becomes a genius.

After dinner Josh was insistant that we purchase some sort of alcoholic beverages and get drunk as fast as we can before going to the show. I was a bit hesitant but then realised I'd never seen Josh drunk so this may be a rare and endlessly entertaining occurance, so I decided to encourage it. Somehow it was decided that rum and coke would be the drink of choice, and we purchased the goods and retreated to Mike's house.

Mike mixed the drinks, we all toasted and commenced with drinking. But poor Josh, poor poor Josh. He took one sip and made the most disguted unhappy angry face I've ever seen on him. He had a weird pattern to his drinking. He would take a few deep breaths, down a small amount, cringe, regain his composure, and then glare at his glass for about three minutes, and then repeat that process. The problem with it was we were on a time restraint. We wanted to get to the venue by 6:00, so we had to leave at 5:30. The clock was ticking, my drink was downed, Mike was comfortably getting into his second serving, and Josh was still not even halfway done. When it came down to the last 20 seconds before 5:30 he bit the bullet and downed the last third of his glass in one fell swoop. It was epic, and Josh looked not too good afterward.

In all fairness, I'd eaten a WAY bigger meal than Josh had (though I'd only eaten all of it so he wouldn't spend the rest of the night getting worried) and it should also be noted that a great deal of my experience as a drinker is spent in the company of Tess ('nuff said) but it still doesn't detract from the comical value of the given situation.

So to ease his trouble stomach, we bought a box of ritz crackers that would later be abandoned at the doors of the show, because of the douchebaggery of the security there (more on that later). We somehow managed to drunkedly navigate the skytrain system and arrive at the show slightly early.

Now, I'd really wanted to meet the band before the show, but I didn't want to seem like a weird fanboy so I didn't really explain that to Josh before hand. So we got to the venue and I ran into my friend Derek whom I'd never actually met in person, but knew from myspace, and has also met the Mars Volta before (refer to link). We greeted eachother gleefully and I asked him if he'd met the band yet. He said he had, and showed me his autographed copy of "Amputechture" signed by all members of the band, except for their new drummer Blake Flemming. I was slightly dissapointed to have missed my chance to meet them in person, but then decided it was probably for the better because I would undoubtably have made an epic ass of myself. Josh then felt bad because he somehow seemed to think he'd robbed me of some once in a lifetime oppourtunity. I was sad, but it didn't matter that much. Until Derek mentioned he knew which bus was their's and we decided to craftily sneak over and see if anyone was there.

By craftily sneak, I mean we walked with leisure across a street and stood beside the bus. I had last minute inklings that it was a bad idea and refused to move. I chose to just stand awkwardly clutching my purse and a postcard I wanted to give to the band. So Derek took the initiative and knocked on the door. There was a long pause. Painfully long. I was about ready to just give up and walk away. But then I saw the bus shimmy slightly, and the handle creaked.

The door slowly began to swing open, and from behind it peered a face. It was a face I knew all too well. It was ISIAH "IKEY" FUCKING OWENS. I'd never been so happy to see a sketchy cracked out black man in my entire life!! He seemed a little bit confused, and seeing an awkward pale sleep deprived kid clutching a post card with a Salvador Dali painting probably didn't help much.

I began talking to him, and was, in retrospect, probably made an ass of myself. I addressed him constantly as "sir" and "excused" myself for bothering him. It was all very sad haha. I gave him a handshake though, and introduced myself. I also complimented his work on the new album, as the keyboard is a lot more apparenty in many sections. He thanked me and said it was a nice change. I then asked him if he'd mind giving something to the rest of the band, and agreed. I quickly jotted a nerdy message to the band on my post card telling them I was grateful for all of their music, and if they ever needed a cellist I was up for the task, and put my number and e mail address at the bottom. I'm expecting a call any day now.

So having met one of the band, we stood in line for a while, took some nerdy pictures, and conversed with our fellow liners. We got frisked, and unfortunetly Josh's box of ritz crackers were confiscated. At that we were finally unleashed into GM place, about to meet our destiny....

TESS!!1!

You drunken fiend, you'd better read this. Tonight, when I was driving home, I caught you a TOAD.

I was driving home at like 11:00 PM, and they were all over the road again. After probably killing at least 3 or 4 of them by accidentally running them over, I stopped my car, and caught one by the glow of my car's headlights. It was about 4 inches long, when sitting normally, and cold and slimy as fuck. It kept squirming to get away, and began excreting some strange green ooze into my hand, that I can only assume was fesces. I decided it would be a bad idea to let it loose inside my car, so I set him down in the dark wilderness beside the road. That in itself was treacherous and in the process I nearly fell into a ditch that most likely lead to certain death, but I managed to survive.

But there were SO many of toads. If I'd had with me a bucket, I would have filled it with them and left it on your doorstep. I can only assume this would please everyone else in your home. But this night has opened my eyes. I mean, I need to stop carrying guitars with me all the time, and start packing empty buckets. They're endlessly useful. Unlike stupid guitars that are just useful in context.

FUN!

So in 9 days I get to do something fun! Now this isn't just some run of the mill, "oh this should be remotely intereseting" type adventure that involves drinking, and wandering around Heritage til 6 in the morning. I digress, in 9 days, I get to see the Mars Volta live....in concert....again.

Now, last years excursion to see them was pretty fun. Tess was there, and a lot of drunken singing, and a few sketchy hobo ridden bus rides ensued, but this time around may give it a run for it's money.

The only real complaint I had about seeing TMV last time, was the band they were touring with. Now, I don't have anything particularly against System of a Down, I mean, their music isn't really my thing, (I never listened to them a great deal before seeing the concert) and I enjoyed their performance I suppose, but that night, I left the arena with an important realisation: their fans scared me.

You see, I love when two ecclectic musical acts come together for a tour, but in doing so, they should take care to make sure their fan bases will get along. With the mixing of these two crops, you had a few general types that would be attracted:

On the one hand, you have your average Mars Volta fan. Skinny, nerdy, probably plays an instrument and listens to King Crimson. Many are vegetarian, and will generally avoid socialising. Often attempt to dress in a manner mimicking that of Omar A. Rodriguez Lopez

Ex: Myself, Connor Oberst

On the other side of the spectrum, there is your average System of a Down fan. I don't want to sound like I'm generalising, but this is what I observed. Most of them were males aged 17-45, tall, heavy set, bald, drunk, and very sweaty. Some of them were paired with very dazed looking girlfriends who sported various metal t-shirts. They also partook in a lot of yelling.

Ex: Pretty much picture this guy with a System of a Down shirt, and black paint all over his face. Or even perhaps this one. They were all mostly bald, with varying degrees of facial hair and drunkeness.

You can see where there's a bit of a culture shock. I remember riding a bus after the concert, with Tess and the rest of the troupe that went to concert, and this guy, maybe about 18, was talking to me about the show, because he saw I was holding some merch. I told him I was glad to see the Mars Volta, to which he replied:

"man that band sucked."

Okay. That's fine, I mean, everyone has their own taste in music, so I don't mind when people don't like things I like. I'm cool with that. He went on:

"I mean...you should listen to system of a down...their music means something...their lyrics are so deep, I can't even explain it, and they're way better musicians than the mars...guys..."

Okay. So here I start to question my friend's creditibility, so I ask him

"so what instrument do you play"

I assumed if he was judging quality of musicianship, he must play something.

"Oh, I'm not a musician, but I know a good one when I see it." So, knowing when I'm completely under qualified to continue this discussion about music, and making the wise choice to not sound like a pretentious asshole by explaining how many instruments I play, I ask him what band's he's into other than system.

"well, basically, I like metal. So like...metallica, and system of a down, and...yeah those bands basically. What do you listen to?"

"Music? No, I don't like music" Conversation died, they got off the bus, and I was happy. Then an old hobo-looking man got on with 13 bags of groceries got on the bus. One of Colin's friends was nice enough to offor the man his seat, and the man graciously offored him a candy bar for his compassion. Now apparently, hobo chocolate isn't a very coveted prize. So the young man that recieved it, passed it to his friend, who passed it to another friend, who dropped it on my lap.

"I don't want this" I told him. But he was insistant and wouldn't take it back. "seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do with hobo chocolate!?!"

"you're a girl...put it in your purse or something" then, noticing I didn't carry a purse, he gave it to Tess, who without knowing or thinking about it, placed it in her purse. The next morning, as we were heading back to PG, I noticed Tess nibbling chocolate. At first, I wasn't sure what to do, but I ultimately decided that I didn't want to Tess to die alone from whatever poison or diseases there must be in the candy, so we split it. Niether of us are dead yet, so I think it was okay.

Anyway, so this trip should be just as fun, if not shorter. I had a spare ticket that no one seemed willing to take, until a couple of days ago I mentioned it to Josh, so we'll be driving down Thursday morning. Early, I'm guessing, and then heading home Friday morning. It'll be whirlwind, but definetly awesome. Plus I'm meeting two school chums, Marcy and Diondra, so this should be an all around exciting trip. I'll try and post a quaint breif update after seeing them. I'll keep it short, hopefully, to compensate for my recent trend of writing epic multi-paragraphed essays.

CARCARCAR

For all that don't already I know, I am now a full fledged motorist. I bought a 1988 Volkswagon Fox on Friday. It's small, economical, and a standard so I feel like a fucking race car driver. FUN!!! I'll post pictures later.

Where the hell is Dunster?

On Sunday my entire day was devoted to driving to and from Dunster for the purpose of attending and performing at the Robson Valley Music Festival. This was both lame and awesome at the same time. I was playing cello for Halijo Webster, a local activist and musician. Her music isn't really my thing, and I'm pretty sure her message was lost on most of the veiwers, but thats fine I guess. Everyone there was stoned anyway.

So my day started at seven, and I drove to town to meet up with Hali and drive to Dunster. I took one look at her car, a buick la sabre, and realised that thing will cost about $700 to fuel, and offored the use of my Volkswagon for the sake of economy. Hali jumped at the idea of not driving. I was excited, my first roadtrip with my new car, but I didn't plan on driving for 10 hours.

I had no idea where the fuck Dunster was. It turns out its a little ways east of McBride, which itself is like 3 hours away. The drive was pleasant enough I guess, saw a deer, looked at pretty mountains and listened to OK Computer on repeat. We made it to Dunster in one piece, and started scoping out the festival grounds.

It was happening on a commune owned by members of the band Mamagaroove (I think I fucked up on the spelling) and it was a total hippy fest. I was the only person wearing a shirt (everyone else, man or woman, was either in a dress of some sort, or topless) and nothing I was wearing was made of hemp or tie dyed, so I already stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone there was pretty cool, very friendly, and fun to talk to. the food there was amazing too, the great thing about hippies is most of them are vegetarian, so I had lots to eat, and bands got free food, so I was pretty happy.

So after getting introduced to countless numbers of random dreadlocked henna tattooed bohemians, I sat down and watched a few acts. I didnt pay attention to the first four of five solo acoustic guitar playing women who all managed to sound and look like Joni Mitchell, but I made the mistake of perching myself infront of the stage right when a slew of hip hop acts took the stage. Now, I've got nothing against hip hop, per say. There are some great hip hop acts, but it's not my favourite genre of music. But these guys were pretty bad....

...now I hate bashing performers, and I avoid it when I can, but this guy was comic gold. The second, and mercifully last, rapper was a kid, probably about 17, from Valemount (a small city Southeast of McBride). He "produced" some of his own beats, and "samples" a few from some rapper who's name is escaping me at the moment. It was funny though, he was using a remote control to a CD player to decide what beats he was using for which songs, and kept fucking up with the remote and then trying to freestyle about his remote not working. But this is hardly what made him endlessly entertaining to watch.

It wasn't his oversized jersey, or his "bling" or his hat that made me chuckle. Or how painfull pail he was. I mean, I went to public school, I've seen my share of wangsters, but this guy...was a christian rapper. SO Christian. Not that I have anything about faith based rappers...well actually... I just find the jewish rapper Matisyahu pretty fun to listen to. But this kid from Valemount....man oh man. His first song was supposed to be about life in Valemount. It started out like it was going to be about that...sort of...? He started yelling something along the lines of "GO DUNSTER, GO V-TOWN, GO DUNSTER...GO!GO!" and then began saying how the streets are empty blah blah blah. Seemed like an average lame rap song, until he started saying:

"You gotta be smooth to spread the good word, Lord Jesus is my saviour, he died for you, foo'!"

I dropped my sketchbook and almost almost coudn't contain my laughter. I mean, rap alone is pretty comical, especially when done by some lame white kid from Buttfuck, British Columbia, but when he throws jesus into the mix, it turns into the things dreams are made of. It was truely comic gold. I guess growing up on the mean streets of Valemount really hardedned him. His next song started out with:

"The bass goes POW! Your face goes WOW!"

So....okay.....he repeated this like 15 times, and then went back into the whole Christ thing again.

"Christ is the savior, something something something, If you don't accept him, then death is the end"

I couldn't take this kid seriously to begin with, and then he throws in Christ Chex for good measure? I mean, hip hop is probably a really hard genre to break into, especially in a place like Valemount, but seriously...what the fuck.

There were some good acts though. This fantastic gypsy-punk band called the Plaid Tongued Devils played. They had a violinist, and kicked majour ass. I bought their CD, and talked to them after the show. They were pretty cool guys. Good fun dance music, and they had a very blatant anti-corperate stance in their music. I guess they were sort of like add busters with shred violin solos.

Also, the performance with Hali went well I guess. The audience seemed to enjoy it, and I got complimented on my guitar playing by the bass player of the Plaid Tongued Devils, who were up right after us. Hali's nerves were bad, but she did well.

The drive home was long though. I wound up giving my friend Torie a ride home, as well as a friend of Hali's. So my little VW was packed to capacity. We also had a great supply of brownies, cake, and cinnamen buns from the festival (donated by the nice hippy cook lady who was sad to hear we couldn't stay for supper). The drive went pretty smoothly, but I wasn't in control of music for the ride, which drove me nuts. It was too dark to see in the car, and driving a standard and handling CDs is a bad idea in the dark, so Torie took over. It would have been okay, but I was pretty annoyed for some reason at that point, and just wanted to listen to fast loud punk to keep me awake. Everyone else in the car was more into Pavement, and Elliot Smith though. So it was dark, the music was strange, the conversation in the backseat was about TV shows I never watch, and it was too noisy to talk to Hali, so I wound up just fixating on the road for three hours. It was great once I dropped everyone off though. I popped in De-loused in the Comatorium, and sang all the way home from town. I got home at 12 30, fell into bed, and didn't open my eyes til 2 30 pm. Lame, but sleep = awesome so it was okay.

Wine and Cheese

So I was invited to a wine and cheese formal by Chrissy Bowman last night. I was instructed to bring wine, cheese, and a friend. Being too underaged to bring wine and too lactose intolerant to bring cheese, I brought a friend who brought both. Maybe it wasn't both, maybe just chesese, I don't remember. I know she brought cheese, because it was bree, and me and some dumb broad bunched it into a small ball and flung it at Cal, and our hands reaked of bree for the rest of the night. But I'll get to that later.

I didn't know who was putting on this shindig, and me and Diondra (the friend I brought) were stupid enough to arrive early. We arrived dressed pretty (I wore my grad dress again, and a pair of mismatched argyle socks. Classy) Everything got off to a slow start; Cal arrived shortly after we did, and two strangers, and we wound up drinking wine, eating carrot cake, and being pretentious for a good two hours. Then I had to drive Diondra home. Just as we were leaving everyone else decided to show up. Some dumb broad, Chrissy, Chrissy's boyfriend, some guy named Ed, and various other people. After watching Josh (the host, who's last name is escaping me) fondle a hedge hog, i drove Di home. But, at some dumb broad's insistance I drove back to the party, because as she put it "I DON'T KNOW ANYONE HERE YOU BETTER COME BACK!"

So I drive Di home, and expect the rest of the party to continue in its slow fashion, until I drive up to the house again to find Josh and this random guy talking about good places to blaze, and I then realized the formal aspect of this party probably flew right out the window. I walked inside to be greeted by Some dumb broad and a bottle of Strawberry wine she proudly declared only cost her $5.99. Some dumb broad also had brought a small asian girl with her, who proceeded to get royally drunk and talk about how her ultimate dream in life is to become a witch. According to her, her dream became a reality when she found out her host family, Some dumb broad's, owned a black cat. She was extactic.

On the topic of foreigners, there was a girl from Germany who spent the entire night taking shots, and drinking strait vodka and ice from a brandy glass. She was generally pretty angry in a sort of cheerful way, and though her drinking habits should have made me worry slightly for her sake, she assured me she spent time in Russia and can drink like a pro. I took her word for it.

As the night went on, the party gradually became louder and louder. What started off a quiet poppy indie music playing the background, turned into horrible dance remixes of Pixies' songs. This was the fault of Ed. Ed decided that this party needed to become a dance party. He rigged his Ipod to the stereo and subjected all of us to his terrible taste in music, and ecclectic dance stylings. Some dumb broad and I watched with glee as "busted moves" and complained at the overall lack of dancing on the part of every girl a the party.

It was this point, and i found a slightly melting chunk of bree, and proceeded to roll it into a ball. I stuck it on the end of a knife, and aimed it in Cal's direction. Some dumb broad began beckoning me to fling it, and not wanting to dissappoint, I proceeded to fling it at Cal. It stuck to his shirt, and the host proceeded to eat the bree and continue drinking. At this point Moonshine had been added to the drink roster.

Shortly after, some dumb broad and I had a long discussion about how terrible this guy's (Ed's) music was, and i conceded that "this one dance remix has destroyed almost every song I love by sampling it" (there were at least 5 or 6 different samples of great songs, put to shit by this failed house music). That same dumb broad then had a revelation:

"Go tell him his music sucks"
"No, you tell him, I"m not telling him."
"Just tell him already!!"
"But...I flung the cheese..."
"You did fling the cheese..."

So some dumb broad stood up, meandered to Ed, who was still boogying by himself in the living room, and the dumb broad said, ver batim:

"Can we change this music, Naomi said it ruined every song she's ever loved"

Great...! Not that it mattered, this guy introduced himself to me four times, and still didn't remember my name. He even devised some method of throwing something at me and, so I'll catch it, and that way he'd ALWAYS remember it. His system failed...for him at least.

So, that music got replaced by Weezer, and the noise of the party went up another notch. So dumb broad and I stepped outside for her to smoke, and I began a lengthy conversation with a guy named Eric, about the wastefulness of the North American life style, politics, environmentalism, religion, soil depletion, and various other topics of that sort. It was very interesting, especially for drunk conversation, but Eric had to leave to use the washroom, and I was left alone on the...with Ed. Ed had caught the last bit of our conversation regarding soil depletion in the prairies, and decided he could but in and continue the conversation. He started severely back pedalling and reiterated an over simplified version of topics we'd already covered twenty minutes before. But he didn't seem to notice or care. So I ran and hid in a bathroom with a weed dealer, Eric, some girl I was in a choir with, and two random pot heads that were all smoking hash. I chose to abstain, but refused to relinquish my hiding spot for fear of being cornered into conversation by Ed again.

One of the girls smoking hash left momentarily to use the washroom downstairs, and came back confused and afraid because she was convinced two people were having sex there. I was completely sober and decided I should probably help her, and we meandered to the basement. I opened the door a crack and then heard a THUMP. It had hit someone's head. I squeezed in the door, and found the German girl laying on the floor unconscious. Her friend Darcy then was excited to have had found her, and they took a cab home.

I eventually got sick of smelling hash and returned to the kitchen to talk to Cal. Cal immediately asked me if Ed had been hitting on me, to which I replied "fuck I hope not" Cal then chuckled and told me they'd sent him on me when they noticed I was alone on the porch. At this point Ed came up to me and said:

"I have something I have to say to you......

.......
.....
...
..
.

Nice socks.
Wanna fuck?!"

Everyone around burst out laughing, probably because they'd been planning it for a while. Then dumb broad started a gang, and we decided to have a rumble, though it never actually happened, much to my dissappointment. I spent the rest of the night talking to the asian girl dumb broad brought along, but then they all left.

Then the bottle of moonshine resurfaced, and three people kept daring each other to take the last shot of it. That stopped being amusing after about 7 minutes, so Cal told me to come to the basement and jam. We we "jammed"....we had a slow jam in the basement with Ed and Josh and Cal. It was very slow. It wasn't so much a jam, Ed and Josh playing flaming lips and shins covers they both knew, but no one else did, and me and Cal were expected to feebly follow along. I didn't feel like following chords so I decided to play annoying masturbatory leads until someone took my guitar away, but it never happened. So me and Cal looked at each other and somehow at the time said "wow, it's late we should really be going..." and managed to dodge having to play anymore Shins covers. Then I drove home and it took me 45 minutes. OH! but it was in my own car, which was cool. I've never owned a car before. Pretty sweet I guess. anyway, that's the long boring tale of the wine formal.

Naomi feebly dabbles in photography:

Most of these were done witha 35 mm pentax, or disposable cameras. Enjoy.

Marcy:

BRICK TREES?



SCARY TREE


Enlightened


snowtreebuildings?!!?!

Trent:

















Josh: (his shirt should be green...like bright green...stupid camera.)






















I have many more to post, as soon as I get the hang of the stupid method for inserting pictures.

Big clocks and viking helmets?

Topic of Discussion: Flavor Flav.

Up until two mornings ago, I had never heard of him before. I like to think I had a very fufilling life up until that moment, but as I learned, that was not so.

Tess and I watched an episode of his show "Flavor of Love" and honestly I was baffled. Now it was more than just the absurd misuse of viking helmets, and grillzzzzzzzz. It was the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I could not find a man as cultured, sophisticated, and succesful as Flavor Flav at all attractive. Call me crazy. The only thing scarier than his mug, were the crazy women pawing at him on that show. One of the more heated moments of the episode involved the seasoned television dating veteren Pumpkin, (who after finishing on the show, married an apparent lesbian lover). She got so emotionally distraut when she was not chosen as one of the top two candidates, that she spat in the face of her opponent New York. (Oh, it should be noted that all of the women took on psuedonyms.) The entire episode consisted entirely of New York rambling, eating, screaming, and putting on make up, Hoopz, the other contestant, pretending to not be a crazy weirdo, and Pumpkin looking confused. Honestly, if I were ever put in a position where I was expected to make out with Flavor Flav, I would be confused too.

What makes this show fantastic is the fact that people really are this stupid. I'm pretty fucking dumb for watching it. I'm even stupider for eventually getting accustomed to the fact that he generally walks around wearing a giant viking helmet and sporting HUGE clocks. This may sound strange to some of you, but to me this is a completely alien concept. Entertaining none the less. One of the parents of the contestant, and possibly the only sane person on the show, thought the exact same thing I did. what. the. fuck. WTF> ?! How these women allow themselves to be subjected to being fondeled, caressed, kissed, and even seen in public with him amazes me. And I love it.

I love it, because this show just proves to me that American's will pay for anything. They'll pay for a skinny black man with a top hat and a huge clock to ramble like Charlie Murphey on valium, or for some poor guy to get dropped in the middle of the woods and survive for a week with nothing (oh Survivorman, you're amazing....!) they'll pay for a transvestite, a porn star, the singer from Smashmouth, and Mr. Jefferson to live in a hotel together.....and I'm glad, if not a little afraid. Because, when you think about it, Flavor Flav, and all of his counter parts, serve a great purpose in society. He's a huge distraction. For example, while I was watching that show, I could also have been reading about Castro's hospitilization, the current status of the war between Isreal and Lebanon, hell, while I'm writing this useless shitty blog I could be educating myself on the status of that huge apparent terrorist plot uncovered in Britain that threatened to potentially kill several thousand people. But, C'mon! He's in a fucking viking helmet! Who can say no that.

When I was in Law 12, I was asked on a test if I thought serial killers, mass murderers, and spree killers (such as Dahmer, Bundy, and the like) were a great threat to society. I said no, they were important. They kept the gears turning, and the front doors locked. Sure, they're dangerous, but how many of us are going to be raped, eaten, dissolved in acid, with our skulls kept in the closet of some lonely kid's tiny apartment? A few. Very few. And, in the eyes of the media, and the government, those few are a worhty sacrifice to keep us from taking note of how many schools are closing, how many casualities there are over seas, and how fat everyone is getting. Big news is always better than bad news. But we already know that...

EVERYONE LOOK!!! NAOMY JUST TURNED INTO ANOTHER PRETENTIOUS BLOGGER!!!

Sorry.

Today I bought polo shirts and a sweater vest, and posted 3743 times on a forum. I think I'm turning into a strait up nerd. I'm 1337.

FUCK

I wrote an epic long blog about economics, religion, and me being emo as fuck because I suck at relationship things, and then this compuer repair man came into my mom's office to check the server, and then RESTARTED THE COMPUTER before I'd finished my blog, and now it's lost forever. Somewhere in the ether of the internet. I'm way too pissed to rewrite it. Maybe later. As if anyone reads this anyway. It was a good rant. Long, but with flow. It was amazing. And it's gone. Fuckity.

Communism + Porn = teh AWESOME

http://www.jonhs.net/freemovies/perversion_for_profit.htm

Everyone should watch this. It's almost as good as that religious movie Daniel made me and Leni watch.

Oh Mel...

I hate to blog in my blog by redirecting you to another blog, BUT this is pretty great. I always so greatly enjoy when celebrities humiliate themselves in such a dramatic and perfect manner. Plus I love when Christians feebly hark on Jews (or anyone else for that matter). It's awesome.

http://lippard.blogspot.com/

Enjoy.

Whatsup doc..?

My cat has a habit of grabbing things. It started from a very young age. We got him when he was 4 weeks old, and he would attack feet, toes, key chains, loose articles of clothing, fingers, hair, and any small objects I would throw in his direction. At about the age of four months he started bringing mice home. The mice weren't dead, but alive and kicking and screaming and the cat couldn't possibly be happier. He eventually figured out how to kill them, and began leaving them at my door as some sort of offering to my family. I can only assume he sees us as vegeful Gods and feel a need to keep us content with small rodent offerings. They always wind up being burned or flushed down a toilet.

About a week ago, I got the shock of my life. I come home and walk into the kitchen and I see a big cardboard box on the counter. I peek inside and see a bunch of grass and clovers, and a small round furry brown object cowering in a corner. Its small, big enough to hold in the palm of your hand, and it is afraid. I gently pick it up with both my hands and bring close to my face, only to realise with completle confusion what it is. Someone has caught, and trapped a small bunny in my house.

I'd never seen a rabbit this small before. I've seen full sized ones, but never a tiny infant rabbit. And never in my house in a box in the kitchen. It's then that I feel something clawing its way up my leg with glee and excitement. I freak out, kick the thing off my leg and place the bunny back in the box. My cat is going apeshit, trying to climb over me and onto the counter to play with his new rabbit friend. Afraid for my safety and the bunny's, I throw the cat outside. I find my dad and ask him what the deal with the rabbit is. He says simply "the cat brought it home"

I always knew the cat was a bit agressive, but he caught a friggen rabbit...! This is probably the greatest acheivement of his life, ever. Nothing will top this I figured. We tried to let the rabbit go a few times but the cat kept catching it and bringing it home again. I wound up carrying this thing across the property and letting it free, probably to be killed by a fox or something.

About a week after that, I started finding decapitated mouse remains near and around the house. A few days after that, he killed and ate half of a squirrel. Two days ago, he brought home a toad. A big toad. Holding it by it's hind leg and dragging it to the house. Another offering.

This slightly concerns me. I wanted a cute house pet, and he's somehow been transformed into a ravenous hunter/gatherer with ritualistic tendancy. I would be suprised if I started finding heads of mice and voles perched on top of stakes, near small bonfires in the yard. I'm actually really afraid of this. He was really cute. Now he's scary....

Dur.

I really don't want this blog thing to turn into a place for me to bitch about things. But that's how it's probably going to wind up. Like right now, the room I'm in smells like citronella and it's irritating. I also dislike Broadway. I'm bad at this. So here's a weird picture.

Enjoy.