crashmebabyonemoretime

ascension part I

2005-12-07T08:19:00.000-08:00

peeking over the edge you could see a street below. and trees. there's always trees on mt. tabor. their shapes are rough at night. and yellow---caught at the end of the glow pushing from electric lights. lights like dulls spark on high sticks- the street lamps were at eye level.

a car was coming. two bright circles. then the sound of twenty five miles per hour. then brakes directly below us. then: "thump! thump! thump!". the sound of eggs bursting on a hollow smooth metal surface. followed by a few giggles from three boys. that was us.

we ducked for cover. well hidden behind a cement cross on the roof at the apex of a catholic church. so too were we trying to conceil our growing need to burst into the laughter: the guy in the car was looking for us. he was poking in the bushes at street level. then across the street looking down the alley. "hey!", yelled he. I was content to wait it out. so was Jim. but not chris. he was standing again, an egg clutched delicately in his elevated right hand. he was peering over the cross. measuring the angles. thinking geometrically. and then, just as the man was entering his car again, chris let fly the egg. and it nearly hit the man in the head.

but the man must have had his share of geometry as well. he quickly judged the angle of the egg's flight and it's general origin, and snapping his head upward, he caught the shadow of a boy against a dark grey portland sky. we were found. and two minutes later, a police cruiser, and the man's car, circled the area looking for a way to the roof, or boys fleeing from it.
(to be continued)

breakoff!

2005-11-15T16:56:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been in an actual breakoff. Generally people start laughing when I break-dance. You know you’re not in a fierce competition when people are laughing; fierce competition is like war, and warriors never laugh during battle- with the following exception: the medieval Irish. Insane laughter. Coming from somewhere magical. My friend used to tell me all about it. Then laugh. Insanely. So naturally I chose to believe him.

Back to the break-off. “I don’t know if you wanna challenge me, jonny---I’m kinda fierce.” The only thing is- how will we know which of us has won with everyone laughing? And we’re not talking about the medieval laughter. Because of this alone I don’t feel as though I could ever be beaten in a real breakoff.

bedm

2005-11-02T15:37:00.000-08:00

bedm
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

clickmebabyonemoretime

kittyporn

2005-10-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

kittyporn
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

we should have known. the signs have been there for months: incriminating paw prints on the screen, cat hair all over the computer chair, the smell of a freshly lit cigarrette in the basement followed by hours of detachment...does anyone know where we can get loverboy help for this fuzzy addiction?

(thanks)

naturally...

2005-10-26T10:33:00.000-07:00

gutters
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

the nicest days in october are perfect for yard work. it's crisp air and sweatshirts. hacking rose bushes. drinking alot of coffee. and that's the way I like it. we lost a friend. the squirrels were confused, climbing to the top of the stump and looking around, as though the world had been turned upside down.

but the world is upside down. the air is sweet and heavy. we're hacking at the undergrowth. making changes. and that's the way I like it. I prefer introspection over yard work. "I'm an artist. not a gardener." as I've said a hundred times.

but we ended up with a house with a large yard. lot's of things to watch after. basically, my strategy is to clear weeds away before they take over the neighborhood while hosting the dandelion reserve for our block. but that's changing. with the large tree gone we can now go for a usable back yard with a lawn and patio. then we can sit under an umbrella where the tree used to be and the sun strikes the ground for the first time in over a hundred years.

ye$

2005-10-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

barcode
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

pleasure for sale

cds and cassette singles

2005-10-15T08:33:00.000-07:00

cds
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

the basement is good for homemade recordings. but there are no windows. so I've been doing most of the packaging of the cd at the kitchen table. in this pic you see a round of hand drawn covers (#s 11-20). the cd fits into a stark array of folding paper. it's sort of like a wedding invitation with a complementary full length cd. and without the wedding.

I also made a promotional display for the 'pleasure' cassette single. do you remember the magic of the cassette single? I still own the nirvana 'smells like teen spirit' single. and you?

lunch

2005-10-11T07:15:00.000-07:00

lunch
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

somewhere between listening to 'final' mixes on the new cd and snooping around the fancy paper store for the packaging needs I decided to make myself lunch. you can't beat a good lunch. that's because when you have an excellent lunch you have the rest of the day to think about it. you may later even find a tiny morsal of it left over alongside one of the furthest teeth in your mouth. mmmmm. a shadowy reminder of what was scrumptious. a flickering tease of flavor.

there are several variations to this lunch, depending on the bean-types on hand (black, refried, pinto) and whether or not I want to insert chicken. speaking of chicken- do you have a friend who gets chicken every time you go out? no matter where you go? they're like: "yes. I'll have the chicken burrito." or- "yea. chicken penne, please." or- "hmmm. looks like chicken pad thai today, thanks." or- "yes. gotta' go with chicken masala.", or "HI! general tso's chicken is IN the house."

so I'm sure you get the point. and I'm like- chicken? can't you make chicken at home? but seriously...

boy eats drum machine

2005-10-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

boy eats drum machine
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

I've been in the basement alot lately. didn't I just say that a few months ago? well this time I was working on my solo project, boy eats drum machine. click away and get ready for an audio makeout with yours truly.

no cavities

2005-09-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

self titled
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

that's the official word from my new dentist. it had been quite some time since my last visit with anyone professional. I had taken a knife to my front teeth to remove some staining a few times though. what can I say? I didn't have benefits for a year and a half.

sitting with my feet dangling off the sides of the reclining chair, I could make out a pleasant skyline and crisp white clouds. there are actually trees visible through the window in the cubicle. then, I was taking in a nice view of that overhead lamp when it hit me all at once: this whole teeth cleaning thing must be terrifying for some people. metallic sharp probing. hands pushing your jaw open and squishing your tongue. your shoulder occasionally catching a slight glancing lean from a body part of unknown origin (ok- I'm pretty sure it was her left breast).

the thought of someone going crazy in that very chair crossed my mind a couple times. I even made a picture in my head of a girl shaking out of fear of getting a steely stab in the gums. of course, the shaking would make it worse- which should account for the creation of a dental self-fullfilling prophecy: you think you'll be stabbed, therefore you shake, and therefore you cause the assistant or hygenist to lose control of the tool just enough to send your lip a cutting reminder of just why you are so terrified.

then I cracked myself up and decided to stop thinking about people going crazy in chairs in the dental office. I'm trying to cut back on the whole unprovoked giggling thing, you see. soon, I had my hand full of free dental accessories and one foot out the door. and let me just say- my teeth feel sensational. is there anything better then a good hygenist?

the nerds always win

2005-09-21T17:22:00.000-07:00

I swear my dream monday night was refreshingly weird. let's just say there was a lynch mob marching toward me and I decided to run at them head on. I was tired of walking away and having people sneer. I just wanted a piece of whatever fate was to become me whilst clawing at a few arteries of the throat on the way down. yes- sometimes I'm a bastard that way in my dreams.

but right as I made it halfway to the angry crowd with the swaying torches in hand and fire in their eyeballs, something peculiar happened: a transformation. that is, they all turned into geeks in a marching band. there were horns and drums and flutes and a few wands. hell, I even had a wand in my hand and instead of being strung up and beated I was assimilated into the group as some sort of band leader. a marching band leader.

so we marched onward. onward to the party I had been chased from. the party I had gained infamous status while attending. forming quickly on my excited lips was the cheer I would lead for a hundred paces: "the nerds always win! the nerds always win! the nerds always win! the nerds always win!". we were almost to the party when I awoke. I had been exhonerated by the people I respect most. the nerds always win, indeed.

bed wetter post #1

2005-09-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

so I was hanging out with bandmates tim and p tonight. ben couldn't rehearse because he's at outdoor school. he's a teacher of 6th graders, you know. which served as a pleasant reminder: outdoor school is the site of my worst bed wettery ever. I didn't check 'bed wetter' on the form before going to outdoor school because I didn't want one of those embarrassing plastic crinkly mattress covers on my bunk. everyone would sort of know I was a bed wetter when they saw the plastic crinkly mattress cover. so instead, I left it up to them to determine whether or not I was a bed wetter through the objective deductions regarding floating stenches of finely aged urine in my bedding----yes urine, making it's way to the heart of the mattress where it evaporates in shades of tan. of course, they may have suspected my bunk partner was the bed wetter...

thusly, I avoided the crinkly shifting of plastic mattress covers. curiously, I quit wetting the bed for good a couple months later. and my bladder has been quite healthy ever since. but someday, when I have become old enough to remember life before the internet, I may begin wetting the bed again. but not for sport. nor to stay warm in a drifty old house. I'll wet the bed just because---that's what some old people do. so I have to ask...do they make adult diapers in pink?

wow

2005-09-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

she writes stories. I didn't know that. don't get me wrong: her family oral tradition is well known. these are people generously gifted in the art of making a ten minute tale take over an hour. but this writing thing is a little new to me. and I like it. so keep surprising me, darling. but don't change a thing.

lost lollypops

2005-09-01T09:13:00.000-07:00

lost lollypops. ha. that's really cracking me up. I used to eat lost gum: my friend's mother's neck straightened up. she turned her head ever slightly to the right, bringing an ear our direction. we were sitting side by side in the back of the car, our mouths vibrating briskly on lost gum. we had excavated it from the ashtray. you see, we were baptists. baptists use car ash trays for storing used gum. and that's when it becomes lost.

"what are you boys chewing on?! where did you get that gum?"

"ummm. the ash tray."

"that is disgusting. hand it over. NOW!"

so I learned how discusting lost gum is. it had little flavor anyways. but the thrill of chewing it was never a matter of taste buds.

how does a lollypop become lost? I suppose someone drops it and leaves it. but people rarely discard unfished pops. that's what biting and swallowing is for.

I guess this means a lost blow pop is a double feature in disgusting behaviour. God, I can't wait to find a lost blow pop.

"why do you have PMS, johnny"?

2005-08-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

vanessa was typing at our computer. nonchalantly strolling through her myspace world. I was doing the dishes.

I should mention: yesterday I was across the street. I had walked into her house to show her the bruise she had given me on my arm, to which she gleefully socked me on the exact spot, just one more time. after the laughter had subsided, I would call her a 'snaggletooth', which is one of the greatest things I can think of saying. to call someone a 'snaggletooth' is happiness.

soon, I was lazily looking up at the fan, each blade running a circular course around the same span on the ceiling. vanessa noticed I was not quite as festive as usual. not quite as-rad-as-I-should-be. "what's wrong?", she said, as I turned to leave. leaning toward her I sent a simple whisper toward her right ear: "I'm on my period". her laughter was deep. it was complete. I'm guessing I would have seen her entire body shaking were I not shutting the door behind me- making my way toward the sidewalk. I could still hear her through the house as I entered the street. her joyful voice was easily moving across the yard. and her laughter followed me home. it's likely one of the greatest thrills a young comedian can have. only- I'm no comedian. but I was thrilled, nonetheless.

back to the dishes: I was preparing to answer as to why I have PMS. "it's hard to explain", said I. I walked into the next room, sat down, and addressed her to her slumping back and shoulders with total sincerity: "I appreciate you asking. thanks for caring about me. it's just---it would be easier to explain everything to you if you were a boy." and with that, I walked back into the kitchen and put my soppy hands back into the sink.

"oh." I imagined her lips were pouty when she said this. "so....are you having boy problems or just emotional problems?"

"What was the first thing you said?", I uttered between plates clanging in the wet sink.

"boy problems...are you having issues with your junk?"

"ahahah. no. I'm pretty sure the junk is ok."

"oh."

vanessa was fumbling around the computer desk. frisking through papers. "I think I left my cell phone at home. I'll be right back." getting up swiftly, she started to walk behind me and toward the door. wiping down a fork coated with cheese from an enchilada, I muttered, "can you enter your 'turn into a boy closet' and come back as a boy?" "sure", she gleefully replied. making her way through the opening to our basement behind me, vanessa was soon out of site- neatly concealed beyond a closed door. springing out, she arrived back in the kitchen- and she appeared to have a new found masculinity.

"I'm a guy. I have a deep voice." she clowned, one full octave lower then usual.

"did you grow some testicles in there?"

"YEA. I've got some huge balls." and with that, she made quite a keen exit.

so many thousands of words

2005-08-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

santorini
Originally uploaded by 4H champ.

"what's the first thing you're going to do when we get back?" beth was sitting next to me in the back of my brother's honda accord. leaning slightly toward me as she spoke. without thought I uttered "get mexican food."

fast forward:
so now we're sitting in our favorite mexican joint on 82nd avenue. our feet have only recently touched portland ground after 14 hours of flying and several hours of hustling through airports, getting rubbed down nicely by lazer wands and professional pats. oh portland. you're as small as I want you to be, and as big as I need you to be.

so click the picture and browse through photographs. sift through a few of our memories if you like. we have boxes of them stacked shoulder height. I prefer the unorganized ones though. the kind of memories no film or digital device will ever touch. and I store them in my mind, conveniently located several close inches from my heart.

so things are (sort of) back to normal now. whatever that means. here's a summation: we had a blast.

---

southern bavaria

2005-08-15T07:13:00.000-07:00

munich

2005-08-12T22:53:00.000-07:00

the trains always run on time. and theres so many buildings to look up at. you may also want to look down and pay attention to where you are going. the bicycles outnumber the cars. and they mean business. of course, everyone means business.

in short- this is an amazing place. and its not the umlauts talking. nor is it the beer, of which ive sampled dozens of wonderful litres. after greece and its 'latin craziness', I find myself mesmerized and staring down straight spaces. inspired to create. color outside the lines. walk diagonally down its geometric streets. it reminds me of growing up. many hugs. and much perfectionism.

but I'll settle on two paragraphs. for now that will do. then, when we get back next week I'll have rehearsals again. singing 'sunday bloody sunday' with Irish drinking buddies was a nice substitute. but I'm used to singing for hours. and the flavor in my mouth is getting bitter for it. today we make for the alps. and I still havn't seen the sound of music. I can fake it. mountains have a way of buckling the knees.

---

have you ever skinny dipped in the meditteranean?

2005-08-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

I highly recommend it.

Landstuhl

2005-07-29T22:03:00.000-07:00

Nanstein Castle- Landstuhl
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

God I love you, Europe. you have the pink money. it's curious: Germany looks so much like home. it's all the trees. and the calm weather. we're staying nearby with my brother at the NATO airbase.

one thing is certain. I'm not going to starve. and the people in these parts are obviously quite fond of fermented things. there's cabbage (slaw), wine, and lots (and lots) of pilsner.

currently I'm straddling the line of exhaustion and the nervous twitch of a stomach settling in after a barrage of changing time zones, massive servings of meat, and several bubbling litres of delicious liquids. but we're here. and we're safe. I'll try to get some rest. after all, we have several more castles to storm.

10 years

2005-07-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

rocky butte, portland
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

seriously. it's our 10 year anniversary. please enjoy something bubbly in our honor. ginger ale counts. whatever makes you happy.

hope you like the picture. we're in love. and happy. it's just, sometimes the sun gets in our eyes.

---

I'm depending on you, chuck norris

2005-07-27T21:33:00.000-07:00

chuck norris
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

you're in charge of the house now. therefore, we would like for you to be in top form over the next few weeks. go light on the ouzo. not to dredge up the unpleasant or anything, but I thought it might be good to remind you of what happened the last time you were watching over the house during a party. all is forgiven. but certainly not forgottin. no. some things are just too catchy to forget.

as the caretaker you are also charged with protecting the family treasures. use your mickey mouse bow staff wisely. and for god's sakes don't nibble the ears off. you know that takes away from the weapon's potency.

thanks, chuck. we're counting on you. I will be tipping my glass to you from across the sea. we may even bring you back a german barbie doll. if such a thing exhists.

---

the columbia gorge swallows you whole.

2005-07-19T22:33:00.000-07:00

columbia gorge
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

it has to cross your mind. coming from the horizon along a stretch of highway- the gorge unfolds gradually. then you're surrounded- pinned down by jagged cliffs cut by unfathomable amounts of water. and the pressure of time itself.

something so large should not whisper. and yet it manages to find time to do just that. walking up it's hills, staring out into it's bluest spaces, we finally realize: we merely walk the most superficial layers of the earth. the ground runs deep. and it's roots are only broken by unspeakable forces. terrible tremors beneath.

there's a place I like to go. about a mile past the leaf. I walk up a trail with steep hills on the left. the view is amazing. soon, you disappear underneath horsetail falls. if you get to the refreshing mossy wall, you've gone too far. but you knew that. it's so nice to stand underneath it's dropping rays of pristine liquid. who can resist? now, as you walk back make your way over the rocks and up the ladder of roots. and there it is.

trees move in waves as the wind cuts through the valley. and time stands still.

---

debut

2005-07-18T10:28:00.000-07:00

J & T
Originally uploaded by Sloop.

it was a 45 minute moment. very pure. very sweet in this sense: I didn't think. or judge. my senses were all filled with one experience. one moment. and a compound of many feelings.

I toasted our first audience with a shot of southern comfort. they were in good spirits. very sweet. just a little dirty. and full of optimism. or so it seemed. and I thanked them for the moment. and drank it deeply.

there are alot of things for any independent artist to do in order to share their work: preparation, promotion, networking, long drives and long waits, etc. there's so many textures to run your hands accross. those textures are often quite rough on the fingers. some even draw blood. but for 45 minutes like this- three quarters of an hour of purity- it's all worth it. no questions. no debate. that's why we do this.

so here's to all of us artists- just trying to make the world a little more pretty- or set to spark pieces of our lives in need of flame. keep going. keep creating. doubt is natural. but moments of clarity will come. here's a continual reminder: 45 minutes can yield a lifetime of memories.

what I'm saying is: let's do that again...

---

(muchlove to kimster for the pics---c '05 kim stiles)

pink lemonade diva

2005-07-16T11:24:00.000-07:00

pink lemonade diva

perhaps you were wondering what she looks like? oh sweet mystery revealed...

---

amongst the top five top fives:

2005-07-13T00:03:00.000-07:00

Rules:
Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs.

1. Babbling Brooke
2. Cannot Be Trusted
3. Every Passing Moment
4. ~Apple-Pathways~
5. crashmebabyonemoretime

The top five things I miss about my childhood are:

1. the lack of guilt: life was better before I bit my cat's tail. watching cookie screech gave me the realization that I had the power to destroy beautiful things. I still feel bad about that sometimes. also guilt related: as a kid you can say "look, mom: that is a big lady", and get away with it. the longer you live, the more you learn how much you can screw up.

2. robotech: that was an awesome cartoon. drama. action. some slightly psychedelic content. I tried renting it a while back. it's not the same though.

3. crush lists: I used to keep tally on which girls I liked in my class and give them 1-5 points. generally their scores were directly related to whether or not they said 'hi' back to me in the hall that day. yea- it was pretty stupid. but it kept me entertained for at least 10 minutes a day.

4. breakdancing: my back spin was alot better in the fourth grade. I weighed half as much.

5. shooting bottle rockets at cars: we used to do some pretty stupid things. like throwing old lightbulbs on the roof of stopped busses and pelting the driver with eggs when he/she walked around the vehicle to check for broken glass. heh heh. kids can be such gerks.

---

tag! you're it:

moz
pink lemonade diva
na
.:a:.
platinumgirl

blinking at the sun

2005-07-12T23:27:00.001-07:00

ok. it's not really that dramatic. I had a nice day. much of it was in the basement. but I made myself eggs and hashbrowns for my second breakfast. I love breakfast. you can never have too many of them in one day. ben came over and played some bass synth for ghosts and whores. it was the final touch on the track and I was happy with the way it came out. I found myself feeling fairly energized. it's nice to finish things before you get to that point of absolute exhaustion, because the ensuing adrenaline rush upon completion has a much smoother effect that way.

later, beth and I went to dot's cafe and talked about her new job. my burger was smothered in jalapenos and jack cheese. fat tire amber on the side. "does she look like kirsten dunst to you?---I guess she doesn't. I thought for a second she did." beth paused to look over at our waitress pouring water into thirsty glasses a few tables away. "I don't see it." "me neither", said I- "not like that checker at fred meyer's, she's a dead wringer for kirsten dunst." beth's expression changed ever slightly. her eyebrows raised two millimeters: new information was about to come to light. "I think that girl is going out with this guy that lives on harold. I saw her over there when I was hanging out with mandy one time." "huh," I said, engulfing information I didn't really need whilst planning my next bite from the most beautiful 1/3 pound cheesburger I had seen in a very long time. the jalapenos were finely chopped. that really makes a difference. then I noticed someone sitting at the table next to us.

"who are you looking at, johnny?"

"janet weiss is sitting right behind you. that is one cool chick."

---

"I've noticed you've been parking here alot"

2005-07-06T10:57:00.000-07:00

v1
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

"I was just wondering. why do you park here all the time?"

I work right there.

"oh. you work here? ohhhhh....(look of wide-eyed discovery) I own this building. I have tenants living here. yesterday I had my children here. I've had a myriad of experiences here...."

(I'm smiling through my rolled down passenger window. her blond bob is nervously shifting in a light breeze)

"umm. I'm glad to hear you work here. this has nothing personal to do with you or your van....sorry if this feels really weird to you."

(still smiling)
"no worries."

---

I should mention- I do have a parking sticker for the lot I use. must be all the hookers and pimps on the block that make this landlord nervous. but seriously- I gotta ask: what pimp would be caught rolling in a rig like this?

---

I'm not very good at multitasking

2005-07-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

photo by ben
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

save the gender stereotypes- chef boy r dee is a guy and he's got plenty of things to do at once. although alot people think he's the exception- or maybe a husky female with a bad mustache.

I've been in the basement lately- neglecting my blog and my favorite darlings on the internet. sorry I havn't been by your blog lately. you know who you are. (here's a hint- your name is right over there).

recording really isn't very glamorous. not when you're a DIY musicican, at least. there's lot's of time looking at a screen and clicking. it's like having an office job with good coffee and lonely cats. ok. it's not really like working in an office at all. but I do spend moments savoring the anicipation of going somewhere and getting something to eat. or doing something. anything.

we've also spent alot of time getting the promo material and such together for our debut. and we've been doing some internet hustling: myspace is a black hole. a lovely piece of star-sucking space.

so here's to doing something. I'll be writing more soon.

muchlove to you. you know who you are...

---

dear mr. doesgood,

2005-07-02T09:21:00.000-07:00

first of all, congratulations on being recognized as a philanthropist. one must do several good acts within the public sphere to be referenced as such. it's a very nice title; being ascribed as one may even rank up there with being knighted by the queen, a prestigious honor given to only a few well deserving souls.

I hear you are throwing a banquet for some high schoolers. I would assume that your intent is to encourage these fine young people to consider acts of service to humanity as fruitful and viable activities. some of them may even try to make a career out of doing good: many teachers have been forged within the context of such a healthy intent. so have many vandalists, eco-terrorists, and south american dictators.

therefore, I have enclosed five books to hand out to some of these hopeful do-gooders. they are arranged by theme. I am hopeful you can pair each book with it's rightful match- each student has specific strengths and weaknesses that must be balanced out with proper learning.

funny> Stalin, by Edvard Radzinsky. while the lion needed courage, the scarecrow had no brain, and the tin man wished for a heart, many aspiring leftists seem to have been born without a funny bone. to lighted the mood- what could be more hilarious then the divinely dark comedy that is stalin's rise to power? here, detailed in astute poetical care, is an excellent account of a dictator born, a party empowered and consumed, and millions of lives destroyed. it's not funny in a 'ha ha' way, but nervous laughter can be very productive. it means we're asking questions. can communist ideals thrive in a state led society? the question must be asked. bob marly can't teach us everything we need to know.

a good western> The Prosperous Few And The Restless Many, Noam Chomsky. as far as westerns go, any chomsky is perfect. he is the greatest cowboy of our time. he doesn't take crap from anybody, speaks his mind freely, has a soft spot for us regular folk, and desires justice. his six shooters are loaded with intelligent questions and his logic is as strong as a good horse. whiskey not included.

local ties> Wobbly War, John McClelland, Jr. the great northwest is rich in labor history. any youngster would do well to learn more about it and the many rights activists fought for. perhaps then they will be less willing to give those rights back, and be less trusting of a government with a history of attacking it's own citizens to protect the interests of the few. this is a good story for any young person with a heart for peace and a mind capable of grasping the economic realities of justice.

inspiring> I Cannot Be Silent, Leo Tolstoy. who is cooler then this guy? seriously. reality TV has nothing on tolstoy. he's even more insightful then paris hilton. required reading. one voice can make a difference.

just plain good> The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien. for the over-achiever of the group. there must be a time for dreaming of mountains.

I hope you will find these books to be appropriate for the task at hand.

best wishes,

x_________________________

---

the pacific swallows you whole

2005-06-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

it doesn't care who you are. or where you've been. nor is it impressed with your possessions. you only really have what you can bring to the full length of it's bleakest depth. nothing at all. when you realize that. you discover everything.

it's smell is engulfing. salty. misty. it sticks to your face. the wind blows through your bones. and turns your hair to straw. I learned much about the sea while occupying a small fishing vessel. where the sea smells like diesel. and cheap cigarettes.

then there's the motion of the sea. it resonates to your truest core. pushes your guts against the walls of your body. squishes you from the inside. a breakfast consisting of m&m's, coffee, licorice, and half a can of bud light is a bad idea. so is thinking you are invincible. or thinking we have conquered the earth. we have not. we're simply borrowing space.

---

the red planet approaches

2005-06-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

what is it with mars? of all the planets to loom largely in our sky, it seems the most likely to cause crazy people to act---well---more crazy. not that I'll be cowering in my basement protecting my two mannequins when the red planet fills the heavens. I love looking at beautiful things in the sky- as long as they don't burn out my retinas. so here's a weekend toast to our fellow spinning satellite. we salute you. now give us all your precious water before we kick over your pyramids.

a new development in the mars phenomenon has been an admission by nasa. apparently the rovers are currently on a secret mission for a private company. they have been fitted with special rakes capable of making deep patterns in the planet's still red sand. and by next month's end, they will have covered enough ground to have made a giant symbol. a symbol so wondrous you can see it from space. if you're close enough. something to remember us by. a giant swoosh. the biggest yet. and they're hoping 34,649,589 miles isn't too far away to see it.

---

"What does the 'L' and the 'R' stand for?"

2005-06-22T16:08:00.000-07:00

tim2
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

Tim was leaning against my van. Exhaling deeply. Like usual. Benjamin and myself lurched nearby, both of us looking forward to Peter's reply to the question. He was standing above, on the wooden stairs of his porch, from where he matter-of-factly answered: "Left. Right."

"Loud Rockers"? quipped, Tim. "No"

"Lions and Rhinos"? followed Tim, his mouth taking on a sweetly mischievous smirk. A dull chord of chuckles briefly filled the air. Then fell to the ground.

"Leftist Radicals"? Tim offered finally. Peter's feet shifted a bit on the stairs. His facial expression didn't really change. Not exactly. There seemed to be activity brewing somewhere in the annoyance center of his brain. An electrical pulse, if you will. Ever slight. He was smiling.

Thinking of a name is the hardest part of starting a new group. Just ask these guys. I know what our name means. Peter came up with it at work, where his audio mixer has a slider labeled, 'L mix R'. Which works just fine for me; I'm a leftist radical 'till the day I die.

---

we love them when they're gone.

2005-06-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

that's how hindsight works. memories get linked to the fabric. even the steel. they were dysfunctional. at times maddening. but they took us somewhere. maybe not closer. but somewhere. so many times. and we never thanked them. we were too busy cursing.

my father was turning the ignition. the sound was half whining animal- half twisting metallic embrace. over and over. he had no key. this car needed no key. the locks on the doors didn't work either. the ignition turned freely. it was a car easy to steal---if you could get it to start---and wouldn't mind being seen in it. but my father knew it's secrets. he knew just the right tempo and duration. he knew how to push it's buttons. it was a faded blue late sixties chevy four-door. and it was a piece of crap.

peeking up and over the dash I noted all the dust on the windshield. their were many splotches of organic material shooting across it's surface- the temporary documentation of a perfectly decent bug's expiration. and I sniffled. there was a thick cold in my head. an upper respiratory infection. my father's negotiations with the chevy were coming along nicely. the engine was waking up. it even turned over a couple times.

I sniffled thickly. solidly. and continued looking up at the window. then sniffled again. without turning his head, my father took his hand off of the ignition and reached over to my face. placing his thumb and index finger on my nose he squeezed and pulled. twisting it gently, he snatched up every bit of snot within my front sinus. it was like he was a tax collector. smearing my snot on his right pant-leg, he quickly lifted his hand back up to the ignition. 'so that's what being a father is like', I thought to myself. turning the ignition, he coaxed the chevy into life. it was awake. the engine was purring sickly. and it's drunken wheels would soon be moving over the ground. taking us somewhere. maybe not closer. but somewhere.

---

rabbit hole

2005-06-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

"when I was growing up in germany we learned alot about the native americans---the way they would track things---put their ear to the ground to listen to the earth---then when I came here I asked- 'where are all the natives?' someone told me 'they're on reservations.' so I asked, 'what the hell is a reservation?'"

sometimes my job is to listen. verbalizing is how some people work through things. many kinds of things. you see, the body and mind are of the same essence. closely intertwined. you may believe that. you may not. either way- it's true. I see it firsthand. and I hear it as well. and the more I hear, the younger I feel, because I realize how simple my life is compared to many others'.

looking up at the ceiling, her old rugged face pushed itself into a pensive frown. the many lines on it folded inward deeply, making way for an expression that seemed to have taken up all of her waking lifetime. "this place will never be right---never..."

she talked more: about racism in the US in a post world war II society (she married a 'negro'), and being a german citizen at the end of the war. "I walked up onto a hill and looked at the sky and said- 'never. ever. will I be patriotic. or believe a government.' they'll tell you- 'oh, we have to go to war.' and they'll make it sound like a good idea."

she afforded herself a laugh. "oh, why am I telling you this?" I imagined it was linked to bitterness. or that's what my gut told me. I could feel it. triggering memories stored in tissues, twinges of blocked emotional responses making anchor throughout the body. unresolved regret has many deep roots. but I'm really not very good at explaining these things. I talk too much as it is. besides, we all know it's true inside. so I kept it simple.

"it's interesting", I said, a sincere smile making it's way across my face. and I continued listening. she smiled back. and for a moment, as I stared into the dark clouds billowing throughout her pupils, I imagined a light in her eyes- a flash of happiness. just a flicker. very briefly.

---

from the cyclades to ramstein

2005-06-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

"save it, my friend- for special occasions." nico is an expert in ouzo. he's from an island where he swears by it, and his trusty mp3 player, to keep him company on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. and I'm invited to join him. "playing pool with you is a special occasion, nico", I reply, taking another plug from the bottle of mataxa in my right hand. "that's right, my friend. build a tolerance. you will need it."

inside the house, moshoula and beth are talking about our travel plans and frisking through beth's swimsuits. both women move with graceful determination. and both talk with a confidently sweet potency, moshoula being just a little more combustible. she's an artist- and a total socialist. naturally, we get along great.

"you can make alot of money selling vinyl in greece, my friend." nico eyes over my records, noting he 'payed alot' for several of them- while I bought them at bargain prices at garage sales, goodwill, and record stores. "have you heard this one?", I ask, motioning toward joni mitchel 'blue'. he shakes his head. soon I follow with another question: "you can hear the influence on tori amos- huh?" "yes", he replies with a smile.

and I'm thinking about my brother, who lives in germany. he has a car we can borrow if we want to drive places- like paris, for example. we've never been to europe- and both of us wish to go everywhere. I just don't know how much time we'll have. we want to take the train from munich to frankfurt. and I prefer quality over quantity. I like to smell the roses. or whatever flower it is adorning the side of the road. and, of course, there's always next year. and the year after.

"once you guys get on the island you're not going to want to leave." moshoula warns. and with that, our friends are out the door and into another mild portland evening. they will walk three blocks home and pack. it's doubtful we'll see them again until august. and the anticipation is starting to become a flavor in my mouth. or maybe that's just the ouzo.

---

did I mention pink is my favorite color?

2005-06-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

pink
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

perhaps word has gotten around. someone at lloyd center mall seems to know- one of the toilet accessories in the bathroom matched my outfit. (it's the pee donut, or urinal lozenge- what do you call that thingy again?) how sweet of them! so who told them I was stopping in?

2600

2005-06-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

that's funny. we weren't expecting anything. not much of anything, at least. but this was obviously a special night. here in portland it rarely snows on christmas. something magical seemed to fall from the sky, nonetheless.

it had landed in our living room- an impressive package, which took up half of the space under the tree. we knew little about it- other then that it was from my uncle- which was saying alot. you see, rumor had it that he was a millionaire from arizona. the package had likely been frisked by probing hands no less then a dozen times. shaken. weighed. it was known intimately by us- and not at all. wrapping paper can hide things like that sometimes. all we really knew about it was what we wished it was.

"all right. it's christmas eve. you kids can all open one present- or you can all open the big one together." within ten seconds, eight hands were shredded the paper- making short work of whatever bows or yuletide accessories were to be scorned by impatience. as we held the naked box up to the light, it was as though a pure beam of God's grace was unfolding thickly into our living room. and our eyes were glowing in it.

"ATARI 2600!"

I had heard of the atari 2600. in whispers. perhaps through the trees. I didn't know anyone with one. not yet. it was brand new. and would be for at least two months. for the first time (and perhaps only time), my family was on the cutting edge. we all sat and stared as though basking in the heat of a camp fire on a cold lonely night. we were like the survivors of some wreck thousands of miles from home. "careful." my brother took charge, making sure nobody bent the box or molested the instructions.

my parents stood nearby. they were smiling earnestly, like a pair of celestial beings witnessing the creation of life. and yet, they looked a little uncertain as to whether that life was to be friend or foe---lamb or snake. soon, all four of us kids were staring them down. our floating chatter had crashed into the rocks of reality. our floundering fears were searching for a compassionate rescue. we had a question to ask. a question that would change the course of our lives. forever. my sister represented our humble request thusly:

"can we get a TV now?"

and jolly laughter ensued...

---

hair cut

2005-06-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

haircut4
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

amie wears black rubber gloves when she does color. in one hand she wields a brush. in the other a little pointed object used for pushing and folding the tin foil. no- we weren't at a fancy barbecue- I was watching beth getting her hair done at dirty little secret salon. suddenly, I felt a bad joke coming on: "are you getting good reception on any radio stations over there?" beth managed a courteously cute smile, her posture slightly slumped and head neatly lined in folded pieces of aluminum. several pretty trails of her hair squished out between the straight rows of metallic folds.

I had already circled the room a couple times, spending a minute at each painting. so I got another glass of water and walked over to the coffee table. it's always covered in magazines. sifting through I noted an overwhelming presence of the glossy fashion types. but no national geographic. damn. I was hoping for a glimpse into the lives of the aquatic sea otters of madagascar. or pictures of a royal tomb of central america. or something. looking under one of the stacks I saw a nice book about frieda kahlo. it boasts pictures of a lion's share of her work. but I've already read it. finally, I set my sights on the spinning little rack of zines. the results: row 1- fashion. row 2- fashion. etc. *sigh*. finally, just when I was ready to give up all hope, I hit the jackpot---behind a row of womens' mags in row 3 was a collection of the far side! I sat down and within one minute had laughed out loud twice.

amie: "heh. wouldn't that be funny if you went out to lunch alone and just sat there and read a far side book? and laughed?
beth/me: "yes."
a: "that would be so funny. or if you were out to lunch and someone was sitting there just reading a far side book and laughing. that would be funny."

we agreed together. then the girls began respinning a web of conversation tightly wound with code words and perplexing nods. entire sentences seemed summed up in short-hand phrases and subtle gestures. I was so out of my league. I sat down at the other chair in amie's area of the salon. pushing off of the floor with my left foot I began spinning around. with a good push I could make several revolutions. by bringing my knees to my chest I could even create more speed. "speed tuck!'" "speed tuck!". getting up, I sauntered toward the wall, drunk on the swishing sensation along the sides of my head. the girls both giggled. then continued on. I wasn't trying to be disruptive. I honesty don't understand why more people don't spin in those chairs.

looking down, I noticed our hair on the floor. there was quite a bit of it. and it was difficult to tell ours apart. "our hair is mingling," I noted. I saw a broom and began sweeping it all together in one little nest. then I got a pretty sweet idea: the broom could be used in the chair to push off of the floor. I sat down and immediately began an endless parade of spins. the broom worked fairly well. now if only the bristles were a little stiffer---

b: "jon is a fidgeter."
a: "he's a fidgeter?"
j: "I'm not a---"
b: "he's just really kinesthetic."
a: "it's a good thing you've always had jobs were you're in constant motion."
j: "I can sit still for hours when I'm doing music."

I reached for my glass and took another healthy gulp of water. I really wasn't that thirsty. I just figured I had a little time to burn and potty breaks can yield adventures---as long as you're not afraid to use your imagination, that is.

---

dearest,

2005-06-04T09:35:00.000-07:00

beth2
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

as your stalker I couldn't help but notice the long hours you've been putting in at the university. I hear you're getting your master's degree next week. well, I just wanted you to know something. I'm undaunted. my stategy will never change. I'm going to continue following you around. down the street. up the stairs (especially when you have those jeans on). through the kitchen. through the living room. and the next time you're at the computer I'm going to breathe softly along the silky lines of your shoulders. you've been warned.

also, as your biggest fan I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you. in a few days you'll be done with school (for-ev-a? for-ev-a? for-ev-a-ev-a-ev-a?) and you've already got a sweet city job lined up. congratulations. we members of the fan club are not surprised. we've been admiring your work for a dozen years. so here's hoping you have a nicely aged bottle of wine to celebrate with. and good company to pour it nimbly into your glass.

finally, as your boyfriend (and husband), I want to tell you something: I have a huge crush on you. please let me know what I can do to show you how much I appreciate all the hard work you've put in. dishes, laundry, yard work, corporate back-rubs, etc (and more etc). just ask. meanwhile, I have a few ideas myself. I would like to share them with you. are you free for dinner?

tape machine

2005-06-02T08:23:00.000-07:00

when I was very small my mother told me something. I believe I was on her lap. looking up into her face. her eyes were fixed on the ends of the universe. or perhaps she was scanning the wall for dust. blue eyes that look for moments to glaze over in thought run in the family, you see. so does tidiness.

"I was a mother of three. extremely poor. if anyone had the right to have an abortion it was me. but I'm so glad you're here. you are the joy of my life."

I wondered what feeling was developing deep inside of me. it swam through the space between my heart and stomach. I was parenting a sense of belonging. and something else. something mysterious. something without a father. a sense of uncertainty without a beginning. a new daydream. I had something to prove to the world. I was walking into a hall. I was the prince. and I wasn't invited.

it's like that in every room I walk into. these are the little stories that replay in our minds. with interchangeable characters. you have yours. I have mine. in mine I cheat death. and strut in counterfeit invitation in hand. which is absurd. the whole thing is absurd. so I'm wiping it from my memory. I'm pretending I don't hear it. I'm waking up from the daydream. I'm pulling the plug on the tape machine.

bzzzzzt...

---

ok ok. arcade fire is the greatest band in the world

2005-05-30T11:04:00.000-07:00

or at least they were on saturday. overlooking an opening in the central washington gorge, it's as though God punched a hole into the earth---which then became full of moving waters and brown grass hovering above the dry sloping ground. the stage is very large. it has to be. it's at the apex of an enormous natural amphitheater.

standing twenty meters from the stage you can hear the sounds of scurrying equipment. things being plugged in. then unplugged. then plugged back in again. drums sounding out alone. this goes on for thirty minutes. then, with their backs to a grand hole in the earth, my new favorite band sent me to tears. viva canada! I also took in the dears, who invaded washington semi-directly from montreal. I was little match for their perplexing pop attacks and the singer's if-morrissey-was-black swooning.

the frames covered more distance. they're from dublin. so someone told me. who cares. they were tasty enough for every continent. my pals, menomena, methodically put the audience of stage 2 in an ass-shaking place of suspense. I also saw wilco, who jammed for five minutes at the end of every song. easy, fellas! you'll never get to all your good cuts that way. oh well. at least we know who neil young is passing the torch to. that thing has been burning since the 60's. and it smells like weed. which is convenient- that just happens to be one of oregon's most world renowned agricultural products. and it seemed to be in good supply. oh- you hippies and your funny cigarettes!

"and george bush get's paid off-a all a that!" the man is so right. the war on drugs is a joke. thank God for kanye west. he filled the entire stage by himself. it took arcade fire nine people to do that. and, yes, unlike wilco, he played all of his cuts. "can I play some joints off the old one?" heh. by my count he only has one album. he's clearly counting the one that doesn't even come out until july, which he generously offered a couple tracks from. diamonds are forever and gold-digger. good time had by me.

have you ever seen the pixies? I can now say I have. they were amazing, faithfully reproducing many of their great songs while standing perfectly still, lest they move out of the temporary drops of water from the fountain of youth in the sky. frank black's spitting fits of insanity repeatedly frisked me on the inside. and while joey was a little off on some of his guitar fills, the group was still incredibly powerful overall. I only noticed the blemishes on account of the thousands of hours I've spent hunched over works of sound looking for mistakes. it's a gift. and it's a curse- thankfully cured by an hour of unchecked dancing to the greatest band from boston not named boston (hhahahahahah).

I just wish kim deal was tucking me in that night. her whispy voice was made for singing children into the clouds and sunshine of their rich imaginations. but I saw no sun. not until I pulled into my driveway. I think must have kept my friend's honda on the road from one thirty AM to five in the morning, hoping my quiet singing was a part of the sweet dreams of my slumbering friends. soon, I was in my own bed calling on an old friend. 'come in, sleep. are you there? take me hostage, please. just don't wipe away any of my memories. there's some really good stuff about the arcade fire in there...'

----

prom

2005-05-27T23:12:00.000-07:00

prom
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

"remember when you promised to take me to prom?"

"yes."

"well- are you still going to?"

I like to think of myself as a person of his word. always have. I made a promise while we were together. and us no longer being together didn't negate that. did it? not in my eighteen year old mind. of course, I didn't know she had a new boyfriend either. not yet. so how did that work?- you ask. good question. indeed. it still puzzles me a bit. how can you take your ex to the prom while she's in love with someone else?

solution--- we went on a double date. her idea. me and my ex were one 'couple'. her new boyfriend and her best girlfriend were the other. she even set it up so we took formal pictures together. she posed with me. then she posed with him. wow. I was in shock. I felt a little awkward for myself and for her new boyfriend, who I knew little to nothing about. he seemed like a decent enough chap.

so I didn't really have a date to prom. per se. basically her best friend was my date. no chance of romance there. not my ex's best friend, mind you (that would be next week- I was a good kid). and my ex was pretty wrapped up in her new boy. and everyone was so dressed up I hardly knew them. and I hate punch. except the kind with fresh strawberries and 7up. which wasn't present. how the hell was I supposed to have a sweet time?

so I did what I always do. I found the best dancer in the room and shook my fool booty on the floor with them the entire night. it worked out great, because my ex's new boyfriend was that person. he knew all the same geeky moves I know. he did the same 'prince' slide I like to do. and he even knew a little break dancing. what a dreamy cat. so my date to prom, if we want to get technical here, was my ex girlfriend's boyfriend! my ex girlfriend's boyfriend. isn't that an 80's tongue twister?
___

music memematic

2005-05-26T23:16:00.000-07:00

(from both erik and nettie)(and also from sloop- ed.)
Total volume of music files on my computer:

laptop: broken (so NA I guess). recording CPU: mp3s- 2 G. SD2/AIFF files: 40 G or so.

The last CD I bought was:

stars of track and field- you came here for sunset last year

Songs playing right now:

in van: elliott smith (basement on a hill), wilco (yankee hotel foxtrot), kanye west (college dropout), bright eyes (digital ashes), bright eyes (the other new one)

at work: bjork (all of it), sigur ros (mix), radiohead (mix), postal service (great heights), flaming lips (mix), beth gibbons (w/ rustin man), portishead (mix)

at home: stars of track and field (new EP), rock and roll worship circus (new one), roots (come alive), weezer (weezer)

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:

elliott smith- king's crossing

bright eyes- I believe in symmetry

bjork- that 'how am I going to make it right' one off new disc. forget name. makes me cry. luv it.

beth gibbons- whatever the lead off track is. makes me cry. wonderful.

kanye west- jesus walks. kick ass.

Five people to whom I’m passing the baton:

pink lemonade diva
grrrrr.baby.
small squirrel
gulnaz
.:a:.

risk

2005-05-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

remember peppermint ice cream? with the little chunks of peppermint candy in it? I was staring into a bowl of it. and what a lucky bowl it was. the last ice cream in the house. looking down into it's moistly curved edges and sweet contours I longed to take a bite. the view was delicious. but it could wait. for at least a moment. I was busy, you see. I commanded several armies and they were about to be wiped out. and I didn't care.

my oldest brother was the strategic one. he waged war from a sturdy seat carved from pure intellect. he read the instructions. even the several pages of mundane strategic recommendations. so it was no surprise when his several armies came strutting into afghanistan. confidant. and bubbling with sweet anticipation. it was not unlike the anticipation I had---for the taste of defeat. as he handed me a die I snuck a quick bite. "mmmmmm"

then I rolled a 6, sending one of my brother's armies to the afterlife. his sneer faded not. he was in tune with reality. he knew the odds. then I rolled another 6. "aaaaaah!" he cried. it was a humiliating defeat. and what's worse is he knew I no longer cared. I was beaten several turns ago. my armies were now spread thinly over africa and the middle east. too thinly to wage any sort of attack on anyone. surely I had returned from the kitchen with a bowl of frozen mojo.

"it won't happen again", said he, pushing a fresh supply of bloodthirsty armies into afghanistan. he took up his dice and rolled two fives. and I rolled another 6. "aaaaaaaaah! luck!" I could see the blood forming behind his eyes. and I rolled a 6 again. "damnit!" and again. "naaaaaaah!"

desperation was taking him. his power melting away. I snuck another bite of ice cream. I was skating on lake placid defeating the soviets. I was coming back from 0-3 on the yankees. I was----"roll the die!" I glanced into his entire face. it was grim- hardened by the high stakes of battle. in fact, I was starting to wish the die would come up 1 or 2 , restoring certain peace. "roll it!" and so I took up the die and cast it to the earth. the new earth. the one comprised of nation states. where generals and politicians form borders that cut cultures in half. it's not a lucky world. unless you win. the tumbling die came to rest. and revealed 2 rows of dots---3 dots thick. "faaaaaaaaaaa!"- as his shriek poorly constructed an F-word I saw an object coming at me. it was flying over the earth. and it appeared to be his fist.

"BOOOM!"...

the new stars I saw weren't addorning a flag of victory. nor the republic, for which it stands. they were swaying alone in my head. swimming in a dull hum. "sorry, dude!----didn't mean to connect, dude!". senses returning, I looked down. a steady stream of blood was gushing from my upper lip. and it was landing in my ice cream. such a perfect stream. pouring like hot caramel. it nearly covered the entire bowl.

then I started crying. just sobbing. not for my lip, I had been hit in the face before. and it certainly would not be the last time. nor was I crying for victory. mine were not tears of joy. I really never wanted to rule the world. I desired the sweet flavor of leisure. in mild excess. as to set my stomach into a gentle protest. I only wanted the damned peppermint ice cream. now permanently scarred by war. ruined.

"sorry."

"it's cool. but it was the last bowl of ice cream in the house."

---

I'm trying to be a serious artist

2005-05-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

maybe you didn't know that. I recently finished my greatest work. it's an interactive piece. very interactive. there is some shocking involved. and maybe even some role playing as a doctor. but most importantly, it accomodates three people at the same time. it requires a pair of D's.

hope you enjoy.

service industry dub plate

2005-05-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

I left the industry for good about a year ago. my career had officially taken off. "do you miss working at starbucks?". people ask me that about once a month. no. no I don't. but I do miss my coworkers. I miss giving them nicknames. I also miss giving people 10 cents off for wearing pink. I miss hassling the yuppies. and giving kids free stuff. I even miss the crazy people and the bums.

so here's to the industry. with no benefits. no pension. no future. and yet many toil on. marching forth sustained by the sweet anticipation of a grammy, winning lottery ticket, degree, american idol special, prince charming, or maybe just the next drink at the karaoke joint. whatever gets you there, darlings. here's to you.

*coffee mug salute*

some fav quotes from my career:

"I need a latte. it's for my boss."
"would you like arsenic syrup in that?"

"are you a suffering artist?"
"poor? yes. bitter. maybe. suffering? that was jesus' gig."

context: packed room. plush country club. serving wine. people order drinks. then move to other side of room. I track them down. "wow. how did you ever find us in this crowded room?"
"I dropped bread crumbs."

"I need some tea. it's for my boss."
"would you like the hemlock tea?"

"why do you give people ten cents off for wearing pink?"
"it makes me feel like a big shot. and I like pink. alot."

"what's the best coffee?"
"we really only have three coffees. we just mix them together different ways and give them fancy names. you're drinking X blend."

"okay. that's it. every time that guy comes in from now on he gets decaf. deal?"

"hey. you guys want a cup of whipped cream?"

okay, ladies. here's the question

2005-05-17T08:57:00.000-07:00

"people who count squares are freaks." beth was commenting on my idea for my latest blog entry. it's a little dirty. there will be no apology for that. you see, I've had squares on my mind lately. I can't help it. I get interested in something and I just have to do a little research.

it all started with some recent conversations I had with a couple friends. they made telling statements:

willis: "when I was a bachelor I bought one of those four packs and it lasted me a month. now we get a bonus pack and it lasts a week."

sloop: "we have to go to costco and buy those huge packs because...well...we have a couple girls in the house."

curiosity peaked, I went home to make an interesting find in the bathroom---the bowl we keep rolls of toilet paper in was empty. whereas two days before it had contained four rolls, it now boasted a handful of little white paper sheddings and the mattel handheld football game.

tip-toeing into the kitchen, I continued my stealthy collection of testimony. "beth. is it just me---or have we gone through four rolls of toilet paper in two days?"

*cute mischievous look*
"I've been drinking alot of green tea lately."

what? I don't claim to be a scientist. not in this blog at least. call me clueless. or call me male. it's just- I don't use a wad of toilet paper every time I urinate. well- and if I do it's one square. and I don't remove makeup. not often, at least.

my grandfather has told me about the rationing of paper during world war II, and the resourceful use of discarded dried out corn cobs in the service latrines of england. my army ranger brother has even boasted of a post bowel movement 'one square' technique. details not necessary. you don't want to know.

don't get me wrong. I'm not proposing another conservational state of war. we all know if we stop buying things we don't need the terrorists might win. it's just---I think we should reflect upon our square usage. for posterity. for fun. and for our friends- the trees. they're cutting down trees in brasil, I've heard.

plus, I'd just like to know where all that damn toilet paper goes. so here's the question, ladies and gentlemen, how many squares does it take?

karaoke

2005-05-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

why don’t I do this more often? I’m sitting in a packed room, with my friends to the right, and two complete strangers across from me. it’s a musical place. really. the gothic chick is singing something broadway sounding. chicago? could be. I’ve never seen it though. I’m merely guessing on account of it being so popular.

looking at the two guys seated in front of me I notice they have tall cans of PBR. and long hair. one of them has glasses, the other looks very portland metal. nose ring. goatee. I make a little eye contact with him and nod. it’s a boba fett nod. I got it from return of the jedi. it means- ‘we are fellow scum. you bartered with jabba and live to tell. and now it’s miller time.’ then my eyes look down a bit. it’s a sign of respect. to let someone know you’re not hitting on them or selling them insurance.

soon we’re both smiling. shaking hands. clinking our beers together. exchanging names. and singing along with journey, tone loc, and brittany spears. looking over, I see the gothic girl gently draped in front of the bar. her face is painted white. she’s as stoic as a woman can be while watching a boy in black leather pants sing stone temple pilots. he surveys the microphone like an estranged lover, so beautifully cruel. of course microphones don’t’ lie. but all the reverb in the speakers might.

“what song are you doing?” back at the table, my new friend smiles confidently. “you’ll just have to wait and see.”. surveying his natural long hair, and facial accessories I conclude it’s definitely dirty rock. “ok. you’re doing black crowes or hank Williams jr.” his smile tells me I’m off. but not by much.

soon the wait is over and his long hair is filling the front of the room. quickly, the riff to dirty deeds is upon us, taking it’s rightful claim to a large portion of my pumping heart. AC/DC. of course. his vocal work is nice. gritty. good range. but thankfully never fully in the screaming metal zone. the room offers him a nice round of applause. fifty cigarettes waving simultaneously.

handing the cocktail waitress my debit card I make my final purchase of the night. “whatever he wants.” sifting through a fumbling wad of bills he places his order, “shot of jack over rocks”. “I got that”, I say, motioning to the table with my outstretched hand. “thanks, man.” I just smile. “a singer is worth his keep.” and with the laughter of scum as my guide, I determine this to be an evening worth reliving.

---

diarrhea

2005-05-10T12:18:00.000-07:00

family izod
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

I swear. pews must have been designed by a chiropractor. nothing makes your back feel more out of sorts and in need of a manipulation then a couple hours spent sitting in one. the hardwood back gouged into my shoulders, straightening my esophagus like an accidental straight shot of Viagra liquor. my boney ass dug into the curved laminated slab beneath. so I spent most of the time leaning forward. looking at the floor. reading the little cards and envelopes for the hundredth time. wishing those stubby yellow pencils came equipped with erasers. and wishing those little cup holders contained a potion capable of curing the mesmerizing effects of absolute boredom.

Looking up and to my right, I noticed dad was waking up. The shuffling sound of sport coats mingling and loafers squishing the carpet had broken another excellent example of monotone vocal performance. that and the several octaves of organ trickery, droning as it made it’s way through every chord man has conceived and yet somehow managing to sound perfectly unmusical. to a six year old at least. the old people sure seemed to like it.

Then a beautiful voice arose from the sanctuary. a voice I had not counted on hearing amongst the stained glass. it was the low child-like voice of an angel. of the devil.

“di-ar-rhe-aaaaaa”.

looking over the several rows of pews and red-carpeted stage in front of me I saw the top of a familiar blond haired bowl cut. his mouth was reaching earnestly for the front microphone. he must have been on the tips of his toes to reach such a great height. perhaps even levitating. I saw his lips forming again, perfectly in sync with creation.

“di-ar-rhe-aaaaa”.

father was already halfway up the isle. his right hand was stiffly reaching out, readying itself to escort my brother to an appropriate area of justice. his strides took him from our lowly pew to the holy of holies in three seconds. there were a few murmurs. and I heard a delighted chuckle. perhaps from an old man. although it may have been an angel.

walking through southeast portland

2005-05-09T08:58:00.000-07:00

beth
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

"what's that guy doing."

a truck pulls up to a light. an older man at the wheel. his wife sitting shotgun. we've just walked out of the parkway. we're waiting at the crosswalk as his light turns green. and cars are forming behind him.

"I think he's letting us walk across," I say.

"why?"

beth waves him on. as to say- we'll wait for the light to change, thanks. this sort of thing happens often when we walk together. spontaneous moments of unnecessary chivalry. some guys are so nice. they like to offer gestures of encouragement such as "whoooooo!", "damn! yea!", etc. some just stare. I believe that means 'my eyes need to recharge and I've found a natural visibility energy resource.'

so a truck waits at a green light. the driver's eyes recharging. and cars are forming behind. giving in, he finally takes off as we watch nearby. soon the walk light changes. standing red stick-boy morphs into walking white stick-boy. and we begin to cross SE holgate.

"If I was a dirty old man I would totally stop to let you cross just so I could watch you float over the pavement in front of me."

"you are a dirty old man."

"I'm not old."

the other woman

2005-05-06T15:38:00.000-07:00

v1
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

dear mistress. how long have we been together? I can barely count the years on my hands anymore. every time we run into your ex he sais the same thing: "my baby. what have you done to her? I can't believe she's still with you." yes. and you're better then ever.

I don't get attached to things. but I can't help but feel strongly for you. your loyalty has held us together. sometimes I feel guilty. I can't help but think our relationship is a little one sided. you're always giving. and I neglect you. so I wanted to tell you--- thank you.

after all:

you get me from point A to point B. and you rarely complain about it. the only time you stopped to rest ended up being a nice little layover. we were near butte, montana. you simply needed a moment to reflect and get what you needed. and while we were stranded there in that dead town of aging Irish miners we made the best of it. they bought us drinks. "sit down. have a drink. what else ya gonna do?" they let us talk for hours in the casino. and when matt and I went to kill the evening we found a barrel of fried chicken and a 6-back of budweiser tall-boys for five dollars. even the hotel room had a decent bed and a TV playing 'the outsiders'. and that's perfection. you see? everything you touch turns to goodness, darling.

you're a steady calm friend. how many hours have you listened while I interviewed myself? or blasted music over long distances? you've never mentioned any displeasure with my choice of words or music. I do think we share the same tastes. I love to talk. you love to listen.

you give me space for everything I need. you don't mind all my heavy things. you don't mind at all. and when it's raining at the back of some dank smokey hole, and I'm dumping my things on you once again, you act right at home. that's fitting. I feel right at home wherever you are.

when I'm tired you offer me a comfortable loft to sleep on. there's been so many times when I've been laying there at 3 am staring out the back window---just watching the pavement and the dark outlines of geography slip away at 70 miles an hour. and I've prayed to God to keep your path straight so I can rest peacefully---all the time nursing a comforting thought in the back of my mind that if you go astray and lose control, and hurl me from your womb, at least I might be able to be burried with a piece of you.

finally, you know I don't a need another woman in my life. I'm finely stocked in that department. you're a jealous one. you seem to have some power of invisibility. girls don't even seem to look our way when we're together. except the hookers. but they have the ability to see everyone.

I just wanted you to know. you've done so much for me. and while I've run my hand over you so many times, and asked God to keep you healthy, I want you to know something: I would understand if you felt like giving in. I've heard the strange sound you've been making recently. It's not a pretty sound. Sorry to be blunt---I'm just not one for pretending. so what I'm trying to say is- you've done so much for me, darling. please stay forever. but if you can't. I'll understand. and let you go.

love,
me.

attack of the clowns

2005-05-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how cars on the freeway are blurry from the side. But not from the front. Pushing my nose against the back window I could almost imagine I wasn’t in a car at all. I was flying backwards and laughing at the slow people behind.

We were on I-5, headed to southern Oregon. It’s one of the most boring drives I know of. Our station wagon barely held all six of us. I was the youngest, and therefore most likely to end up in the way-back. hunkering over a pillow, I was staying on the lookout for snipers. I could survey my three siblings with AM/FM headsets on in the seat in front of me. I also had a good view of any passing cars out the side window. Dad drove. I forget what mom did. I think she read a magazine. I’ll have to get back to you on that.

“We’re driving to deadford? It’s so boring,” we would all take turns saying. Perhaps it’s rude to insult cities in the southern parts of states. What can I say? We were kids. What’s much worse is when parents weren’t around we repeated terrible jokes about Polish, homosexuals, Ethiopians, Michael Jackson, and people with AIDS or hepatitis B. come to think of it- our mouths were like little monsters. Like I said, we were kids.

“When you pass people, they always turn their head real slow, then stare at you.” Dad was making an observation from the front seat. I can’t remember how far we were. There wasn’t much geography to the drive until later. There was a town with ice cream, a steep mountain pass, then some awesome rock formations. And at that point I knew our suffering would soon be over. Don’t get me wrong. Medford, Oregon offered it’s own brand of suffering to a young child with no money. But it had much better foot room.

“Watch. They all turn their heads slow. Do you know what’s funny? When you know they’re looking over---turn your head real fast like this:”. My father quickly shot us a gaping grin that looked as though it had been peeled from a giant clown. It was a little startling. In fact, all four of us kids gasped. Especially my brother, who still had his headphones on and didn’t know it was coming.

“OK. All at once. Wait. Wait.” Dad was keeping his keen senses fixed on the car coming up to our left. “NOW!” we all shot gaping faces at the entire car. The people inside quickly looked straight ahead. They looked a little startled. Or at the very least uncomfortable. “hahahahahahahahahahahah”, a legitimate chorus of glee filled our station wagon. It was the sound of mischief, and it didn’t dissipate from the car for at least two mile markers.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. NOW!”. This time we pelted the passing car with joint looks of insanity. They were no match for our surprise attacks. None of them. The middle-aged man who had been slyly scoping us out now looked as though he were taking a dump. There was a prune-faced old lady who seemed so startled she looked as though she were slurping spaghetti. And there were children who’s faces filled with twisting terror. They were all staring in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“hahahahahahaha”

“ahahahahahahaha”

“did you see that guy with the mustache?”

---

star seed

2005-05-02T12:06:00.000-07:00

“do you like star trek?” I was standing next to his wheel chair. Looking toward his face I caught a sliver of light from deep within his eye. It was like a place untouched by dust or age. A place unlike his clothes, which were soiled with smoke and smelled like empty bottles of beer in the sun. or his beard, which was full of wild twisting threads of grey and black. His face was not old, but looked aged by neglect of use and the cool ashy haze that filled the room.

“yes”.

“have you seen the first star trek movie?”

“yes. I watched it here. That was good.”

“have you seen the wrath of kahn?”

“yes. That’s a good one. It’s awesome.”

“well have you seen star seed then?”

“no.”

“you havn’t seen star seed?”

“no.”

“mark! Come put in star seed!”

footsteps rumbled closer and soon mark was at my side, ready to tend to his father again. When he heard the news that I had seen the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed mark let out a gasp. “you havn’t seen star seed?” he immediately went to a stack of VHS tapes in the corner of the darkened room. The television sat nearby, filling half of the wall. It was a large television in a small room. A flickering flame in a rabbit hole.

Looking down I pondered petting bandit a bit. He was an old toughened dog. A mutt of unknown descent. There was a bandana proudly adorning his neck. he looked like a thin german shepherd. chewing at his paw, he lazily indulged in the moment while laying on his side. The fur at his hindquarters was all but gone, revealing leathery patches of skin and scab. A few lone hairs pushed out of the area like weeds feeding on brown and red earth. Even in the darkened room little black dots could be seen scurrying about bandit’s back, looking for new places to bite and hide.

“you can’t really understand the wrath of kahn without seeing star seed.” He was pulling another smokey breath through the cigarette holder. He proceeded to draw a gulp of liquid through the tube connected to a bottle of beer, which I was now convinced sat half empty.

The VHS player was loaded. And the television was filling with a bright image of the star trek logo basking in stars. There was no talking during star trek. No noise at all. Except the beer fridge buzzing calmly in the room next to us. And the sound of a dog scratching and chewing, waging battle on greedy parasites in a war long in it’s history. a war chock-full of casualties.

---

johnny machiato

2005-04-28T09:03:00.000-07:00

“look honey, that’s what I want my hair to look like.”

So two yuppies walk into a starbucks. Order a couple drinks. Walk over by the espresso bar. They’re watching. I’m working. Blowing steam into bubbly vats of milk. Pumping sugary syrups into fumbling paper cups. I was thinking about a song. Or something.

She stepped forward, as I started to drizzle some caramel over the top of her soy machiato. “What’s your secret? What do you use in your hair?”

(sly smile)
“I don’t wash my hair. I just wake up and put some water in it. The oils your scalp produces are the best styling product there is.”

Her look of admiration had changed to one of creeping disgust in the short time it took me to perform the sentence. I put the finishing touches on the caramel. Two perfect rows of it. Crossing at 90 degree angles. Another triumph. One of my greatest hits. I handed the drinks over and sent them on their way. “take care”.

So two yuppies are walking out of a starbucks. Holding a couple drinks. They’re looking down. Each has a lid in their right hand. And they appear to be checking for cooties.

the second stanza

2005-04-25T12:45:00.000-07:00

familyJPG
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

"Come here, Tim!"
My father's left hand shot out suddenly in the direction of my brother. He was well out of reach, on all fours crawling under the pews. He was making his escape, you see. He had just let off a bomb in the middle of the sanctuary.

The conservative Baptists of the 1980s seemed very fond of sport coats. Well, at least they did at our church. With slacks, ties, and loafers. These coats had large round felt material where the elbows were. Dark brown felt. Some yellow. I think perhaps they must have raided the stash of felt in the kids ministry room. It was the same material they used to make the bible characters for the felt board. Browns and yellows seemed in good supply in the kids' room. All the bible characters were white or tan.

It was at the point in the service where those felt elbow covers were in full display when my brother set out on his latest deed. After the final prayer, with the organ in full effect, the men would stand up and start shaking hands. They spoke too. But they especially shook hands. Dad was generally seated in a pew. Often he would be waking up. On this occasion he opened his slumbering eyes to find Tim, seated next to him, handling a fully inflated whoopie cushion.

don't---

"THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTt!"

Not wasting any of his sensibilities for the moment, my brother dove under the pew. And as the assembled people of Montavilla Baptist Church moved as one, and shot swiveling glances in the direction of the bronx cheer, their stares fixed upon my father, who sat by himself, mustering a sheepish grin, left hand groping blindly under the pew for his third child.

We walked home. Our house was two blocks away. Someone was to be punished. That was certain. I could see it in the determined strides my father took while walking across the street. I was curious how he would be brought to justice. Soon the wait was over and our front door swung open. We walked inside one at a time, my father last. My brother backed up a bit as to gain some courage. Dad closed the door. He looked at Tim and let out a stern breath. Then he laughed. Incredibly loud. For quite some time. I joined in the chorus at the second stanza. There were no actual words to this song. And I couldn't agree more.

the new rash

2005-04-22T18:33:00.000-07:00

the new rash
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

this week I got some bad news. I don't suppose the details are necessary. let's just say it was a major disappointment for me. but I didn't yell. I didn't kick anything over. I went outside and ran for awhile. down the streets nearby. through the middle of the parkway. when I arrived back home I picked up my guitar and started working on songs.

I'll never be the same. I'll never be more broken then I am right now in some ways. that's because I finally believe in my heart a saying I've paid lip service to in the past: some things just aren't meant to be. and with that realization comes the responsibility to let go of the urge to manipulate the universe into putting you where your feet wish they were planted. somewhere on the other side of your destiny. if you will.

so I'll never be the same. I'll never be stronger then I am right now in some ways. I didn't weep. it's not really that kind of thing. no one died. not exactly. but in that moment of despair I realized I was actually at peace. and that is very powerful. then I went to work on my new rash. a crop of songs oddly comforting. like a counselor with twelve faces each speaking something to me I had forgottin.

the next day I told a friend- 'when I'm focused on one thing I'm a very dangerous person'. what I meant is that right now all I have to work on is these songs. some other things didn't materialize. or perhaps they disappeared. it's like I saw an ice block. it was beautiful. I was mesmerized by it's contours and glistening silence. time passed. and when it had melted I looked around and noticed I had fallen asleep. I was in a large banquet hall. but the party had moved to another location and I had been left behind.

but I didn't really belong. I was better off elsewhere. somewhere at a different party. that's really what I believed. and I was right. and I'm better off for it.

breakfast: 11am

2005-04-20T15:21:00.000-07:00

eggs
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

so many of my favorite things come with toast on the side.

I think breakfast is the best meal. that's likely because my family excelled at cooking breakfast. or maybe it was because my family was so bad at cooking lunch and dinner. the best dinners we had were pancakes and eggs. one of my staple meals was a bowl of grape nuts with wheat germ scooped over the top. wheat toast on the side, of course.

I'll take pancakes or french toast over tuna casserole anyday. it was later on in life when I found meat could be soft. it doesn't always have to be incredibly chewey. it can even be moist. curious. and fish doesn't only come in a can or as a breaded frozen stick. I'm telling you, I've learned so much about food since moving away from home. but breakfast is still best.

so- over easy with toast, please.

little league

2005-04-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

“do you guys know what a keg is?”

coach was late today. We were standing in the park by the school looking down at our cleats and the grass beneath when he arrived. He was scruffy and bleary-eyed. He looked exhausted- he said he hadn’t slept much the night before. Did he have the flu? That’s the first thing that came to my mind. So when he asked if we knew what a keg was my brain sat silent for one small moment- I hadn’t heard that one before-------

“It’s this big barrel full of beer. Me and a few buddies drained one together last night. oooooooooooh”

as coach let out his groan he stretched toward the sky- elongating his crumpled wind breaker and faded jeans. Of course my mind raced back to the keg. And what it must look like. I quickly determined by his appearance that it had to be pretty damn big. But how big? Certainly not so huge that several people couldn’t empty it’s contents.

Of course I knew what beer was. The paraplegic man across the street drank 12 a day. He’d sit in his electric wheel chair in the dankest furthest place in the house watching star trek tapes. occasionally he would yell for another one- “mark! Get me a beer!” one of his three boys would run to the fridge in the back of the house. It was stocked full of ‘beer’. Brown bottle. White paper label. ‘beer’ printed on it in big black capital letters. I would know. I fetched a few beers for him myself.

“jon!”

running down the ramp connecting the kitchen to the back of the house I almost slipped on the wet dust. It was everywhere in the house. Covered almost everything in the house. Seemed to be some sort of a paint for the house. On my way into his room I passed the fridge on my right.

“get me a beer.”

“yessir”

I turned around and left the little black room. The big screen TV now behind me, I noticed the flickers of light it sent out into the fridge room. Soon I arrived at his side, beer in hand. He drank it through a one foot rubbery tube. As soon as the new ‘beer’ was positioned in the arm rest with the tube near his lips he sucked a long gulp. it was not unlike what I imagined drawing breath from an oxygen tank would be like.

“thank you. Now---reach into my shirt pocket and pull out a cigarette. OK. Now put it in that holder. Put it in my mouth. OK. Now reach into my other shirt pocket and get my lighter. Light it---Roll your thumb over that thing---Your thumb---don’t you know how to use a lighter?”

“Mark! Come light my cigarette!”

when I gave him his cigarette I would notice things. Things like his long brown fingernails. And his yellow ashy skin. and his long dark hair that resembled the threads of an old broom. The beer tube looked pretty old too. I think it was once clear. Presently it’s flowing contents moved like a shadow through a brown splotchy mist. Yes- I knew what beer was. And I knew where beer went too- looking down at his thin leg you could see the tube. The other tube. This one was an exit. He didn’t pee. He drained. And the bag was located down underneath his chair. I believe I changed that a few times. But we’re talking about beer so I’ll spare you the------

“ooooooooooooooh”.

Coach let out another groan. His blurry smirk looked tough to wipe away. Actually it looked permanent. He seemed pretty proud of his journey with this keg and these buddies of his. I must admit, it did sound sort of impressive. Eyeing us for a moment he stretched lazily one more time. Then his body bent as he reached down toward his right foot. As he pulled up his pant leg I began to wonder what he was reaching for. A knife? I couldn’t think of any reason why coach would stab any of us. A G.I. Joe figure? I doubted coach was a shoplifter. Not for toys anyways. He pulled down his sock a bit and revealed the brown edge of a candy bar. A snickers. Pulling a chunky plug off the end of it, coach called us to order:

“well. Let’s get started.”

friday I'm in love

2005-04-15T16:44:00.000-07:00

what a pathetic gap in time I have going here. seeing as my neighbor has been turning off there wireless connection, I've had to use dial up to check in on things here at home. why can't they just leave it on all the time? it makes posting dreadfully slow. at work I've been writing in others' blogs alot but not mine so much. there's a contagious rash of interviews going around. lots of questions and quirky answers. how can I not be amused? am I immune to such a scratchy breakout?

so why the flip don't you just get your own DSL?

good question. I don't know. I think the hook up fee is alot. again. I don't know. it is 30 dollars more a month but.....

and what makes you think stealing the internet from your neighbor is OK?

wow. I didn't know this self-interview was going to turn into the spanish inquisition----well- it's not stealing because my computer automatically picks up the wireless connection signal upon startup- I barely even have a choice. it's like I'm walking through fred meyer and I'm grabbing extra samples of those little cocktail sausages with the delicious delli mustard while knowing full well I'll never buy them. now it all makes sense! I've been sampling little toothpicks full of wireless from my neighbor for the last several months- and I simply havn't fully decided whether or not I'll buy my own high speed connection. so back to the sausages- well---you don't need to buy them now- I mean, you're full after the seventh sample! so maybe next time........

so before judging me for 'stealing' wireless from my neighbor- which of you has taken extra samples at the grocery store? uh huh. just as I thought. so don't be so quick to throw the first weenie.

well- now I'm cut off. no high speed. free or otherwise. perhaps I'll take a little trip to the grocery store...........

interview post- the nellie exclusive

2005-04-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

n: What is your favorite Weird Al Yankovic song?

j: 'I'm fat'. the video is genious. especially when weird al fogs up the camera with his heavy breathing. oh boy. what an artist.

n: Do you think the time difference between the East and West Coasts is a good thing, or should Congress outlaw it?

j: I'm afraid of getting congress involved in pretty much anything these days. I think we need to get better education- text books with our failures and all. then people should learn how to read at a young age and be encouraged to think critically. when voters start becoming more critical they will be less inclined to jump onto one of the extreme 'sides' of a given issue. at that point, instead of issues being black and white and conveyed with schlocky graphics and shifty statistics politicians will have no choice but to use logic and reason. we could then engage in productive dialogue and come to a decision as to whether or not we should dismantle the new york yankees. or nuke the US city with the most VDs per capita. or any other important issue currently facing us. and that would be democracy. I think.

n: If you could make any one Hollywood figure disappear from the limelight, who would it be and why?

J: ALF. it's not that eating cats is wrong per se. but eating mine is. I ask simply for discretion.

n: What's your favorite scent?

J: my wife beth. everything about her smells really good.

n: Do you like coffee?

J: yes. I drink it every morning. I used to be a barista. of course, every portlander used to be a barista or be in a band- and often both (like me). I've never gottin' out of control with it though- even when I got it for free no holds barred. 2-3 servings a day tops. any more then that seems a little hard on the kidneys and gives you that dragon breath. I actually have a routine for this- 1 cup coffee first thing. 1-2 cups green tea rest of day.

the last of the mojitos

2005-03-28T22:26:00.000-08:00

you find yourself running barefoot across one of the busiest streets in the city. blurry headlights pass. nimble footsteps float you over soaked pavement. across 82nd avenue. now onto the sidewalk and along the cyclone fence that surrounds the park. now you're looking for the gate. your friend sees it. of course she does. she lives across the street. there's laughing. giggling actually. now- rumbling footsteps in the park. grass relaxes and lays down at your feet, revealing the texture of spongy earth beneath. muddy even- if not for the thick blades of green blustering from it's surface. not that you can see green. there's little light in the park. and it's past midnight.

you can make out the gloomy outline of a metal structure in the distance. it's the backstop for a baseball field. the same material as the cyclone fence. it rises from a large diamond shaped island of mud. it defies rust and evokes smells of tobacco and hot dogs. if evokes visions of empty sunflower shells carelessly tumbling to the ground under the bleachers. it evokes memories of the sounds of being young. squishing. you feel the mud between your toes. how many steps does it take to get from the outfield to home plate? you forgot to count.

standing on home plate, you turn back toward the street. surveying the sky you note it's purple mist. as it streaks downward it dissipates in the glow of the street lamps. the entire park is cast in yellow shadow that flickers with passing cars. just then you realise you've been hearing loud voices. people are yelling for you to run back. you feel the squish of the mud in your toes again. back onto the grass. it licks at your heals, devouring every trace of mud like thousands of little tongues. you'll soon notice the splotches of mud all over your jeans. and you won't care. but until then it's out onto the sidewalk, leaving behind the park you grew up in. the park you went swimming in as a kid. the one right across the street from the place with the ice cream cones. remember the life guard fishing that turd out of the shallow end with his little net? remember the lessons learned in female development complements of that sun bather desperately in need of a bikini wax? you'll never forget. and now, as you cross the street- you join a chorus of giggling friends. giggling that continues even as the swooshing sounds of cars fades over your shoulder and into the distance.

and after much dancing. and after much more laughter. you draw upon the evening a grand conclusion:

"best party ever"

---------

prologue:

beth: "I was worried you were going to get hit by a car."

moz: "good thing you didn't step on a hypodermic needle."

sloop: "think of all the used condoms you stepped on."

kindergarden

2005-03-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

kindergarten
Originally uploaded by johnny crash.

mom,
walked to school by myself today. I held my paper bat I cut out and folded from that book the tooth fairy left under my pillow. it's wings moved with each step and the wind almost flattened it. it was a little lonely. the streets were empty.

I got to school and walked down the front hall then turned left. at the end of the hall is my class so I walked straight, bouncing ever to the left to run my finger over the bricks in the wall. it's slightly bumpy as your finger runs between the bricks. each brick is a little skritchy, like a cat's tongue flattened in the sun.

I opened the door and anticipated the possible looks on the faces of the other kids. perhaps they would like my bat I folded. but as the large door swung aside all I saw were wooden seats staring back. I was at the head of the class and discovered it was emptier then the streets. something brewed and started swelling in my stomach and guts. I was alone. satisfied enough I turned to leave.

halfway down the hall I began to cry. I tried not to but I was scared. turning right into the main hall I heard the first voice of the trip: "what's wrong little boy?". it came out of the office at the front doors. I looked up and saw the clock: "9:12". simultaneously the sound of marching and bustling down long brick hallways caught my attention. looking down the other hallway I saw mrs. keckler with 2 lines of humans less then half her size behind. they all held little cartons of milk in there hands.

turning her head to the left, mrs. keckler caught me with her eyes as she walked near. "come on, jon". I followed behind my classmates. soon the two rows of children disentegrated into the classroom, turning into 25 to 30 kindergardeners. I took off my coat and sat down. soon, my cheeks dried up and I started to rub off the left over crust around my eyes.

just wanted you to know, mom. I was very sad. but I wasn't alone. I was just a little late.

what does 'metrosexual' mean again?

2005-03-23T09:50:00.000-08:00

1. has 'bag' for holding keys, wallet, nail clippers, ear plugs, makeup, business cards, breath mints, tooth brush, palm pilot, dental floss, pen and paper, small book, and cell phone.

2. has gottin at least one facial.

3. wears at least one pair of girl's jeans on a regular basis.

4. once caught hell at temp job for playfully whistling at a red neck.

5. works out while watching 'the starlett'.

6. once put on lipstick in the bathroom of a gay bar in seattle.

7. doesn't like kissing guys with mustaches.

8. thinks rufus wainwright kicks ass.

9. thinks freddy mercury kicks ass.

10. thinks george michael kicks ass.

11. has sticker of thriller era michael jackson on back of cell phone.

12. doesn't really like singing in the shower because the highs are a bit harsh.

13. talks in high voice to cats.

14. thinks new erasure album might be a bit harsh, even though he hasn't even heard it yet.

15. does yoga on a semi-occasional basis.

16. practices dance moves in mirror while mouthing the words to 'rock the casbah'.

17. only likes thai food when it's 'authentic'.

18. once ranked the top five air guitar albums of all time, the top two being radiohead 'pablo honey' and pixies 'doolittle'.

19. thinks the soundtrack to dune is 'tuff'.

20. has covered george michael 'careless whisper' to several packed bars.

21. was teased in corvallis, oregon for wearing boots with zippers.

22. wishes designers would make more pink clothing that worked for masculine males (like himself).

23. has found using the vegatable steamer to heat up frozen shrimp works pretty darn good.

24. cooks himself meals 7-12 times a week and he's not even a bachelor.

25. has described several beers as 'yummy'.

26. uses the word 'cute'.

27. searching for a place with peanut-butter tofuti cuties.

28. once asked by mother if he thought the way he walks might be 'a little bit faggy'.

29. hugs pretty much every guy he knows pretty much every time he sees them.

30. went out for wrestling in high school.

31. has been taped breakdancing on cable access while wearing a white tank top, headband, aviator shades, and wrist bands.

I talked to an angel

2005-02-10T13:45:00.000-08:00

I talked to an angel
he landed in my back yard
I said, "where do you come from?"
"look above you, young son"

he said, "there's a sky above you
and far beyond it
another one so deeply blue
a million years are seen through it"

then he said, "now I have several questions
I'd like to ask you
but most importantly
regarding the least of these:
it seems to me that God
provided food for all to eat
so why do you walk by
people starving in the street?"

I said, "dear young angel
I see your mind is simple
and you lack understanding
in the ways of our economy
you cannot use a lump a coal
to heat the heart that's cold
a man must learn to work
for his own before he's old"

I said, "now I have a question
to pose through the stretching skies
God, if you feel like answering:
do you hear peoples' cries?
why would you want to make
a place set up to break?
I'm asking you
do you make mistakes?
do you make mistakes?
do you make mistakes?

those heavy metal gloves.

2005-02-05T08:18:00.000-08:00

they're leather. and black- with little holes for the knuckles to breathe and for his fingertips to be unhindered. and they look real mean on someone's fists too. like right now. his fists. with knuckles staring from space like 8 boney stars. you're looking down at them and up a little bit to his deadly face and then back down at his fists again.

"come on, f****r!"

he's shorter then you are. alot shorter. and one year younger. but his face really is deadly- his eyes set in far too deeply for someone only 10 years old. he has the look of one with nothing to lose. like you could hold him down for 20 minutes and he'd still come up biting for your neck and gouging for your eyes. his teeth are----

"say it again, f****r!"

yes. his teeth. that's what started all of this. in passing him by you had made a comment about his decaying teeth. the ones in his mouth are rotting away. the other half seem to have disappeared. and as you look down at those gloves and back up at those teeth the rest of the picture starts to come back into focus. your head is still rocking a bit from that first punch. it's been at least 20 seconds since that first punch- it arrived from behind with a sudden dull 'bang!' on your right ear. then your head is fumbling- looking for footing as the world becomes blurry and adrenaline pushes it way throughout your blood. what did you say again?

("grow some teeth, you stupid kid".)

yes. that's what you had said. you've heard other people say it about him before. and it's been a long day. you should get to say what you feel. seemed like a brave idea at the time. and looking down- as the sidewalk and the grass you are standing on comes into focus- you realize you won't be saying it ever again.

"come on, f****r!"

"kick his ass, man!"

advice from one of your friends walking by. if only it were that simple. you look at the gloves. and back at his face. with those blackened shards of teeth shooting out of his red gums. his dark hair a greasy finely combed mop. you see justice staring you clearly from cold black circles. why would you say something like that?

"sorry, man."

you're right hand is on your ear as you mutter these words. your pulsing ear- where your hand has been for the last 25 seconds. whenever you're punched in the face you have two options: put your hands up and fight or put your hand over the throbbing area on your face and grope blindly for a way out of the situation.

"don't ever say it again, f****r!"

and with two rocker girls gleefully mobbing him he's on his way. marching triumphantly down the middle of the sidewalk.

"you should have kicked his ass. I would have kicked his ass."

damnit. humiliation lives in a corner of the world. and having walked straight into that corner I realize there's walls on either side. each wall occupies half of my mind. the wall of regret is at my left: 'you shouldn't have said it', 'you should have kicked his ass'. the wall of wicked justice is on my right: 'you deserve it'.

and looking up, head still swimming, I can't decide which wall is higher.

when I realized his butt stank:

2005-01-23T21:51:00.000-08:00

I actually felt sorry for him. never mind that he was sitting on my face pummeling me in the stomach with left and right hooks. never mind that his reasoning for doing so was based on me playfully taunting his bench a week before after an emotional game between our teams ended in a tie. but that's how little league goes. people take things seriously. especially in my neighborhood. and despite tottering backward and getting tossed to the ground I actually found some time to reflect upon how sad it was that another kid didn't know how to wipe his butt properly.

"I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"make him eat dirt!"

that would be the voice of chris macarly. at the moment his friend. chris was the kid who lived one house away from me growing up. we had apple fights. our yards were separated by fence. steel fence. it swallowed up apples whole- spitting them out in chunks on the other side. slimy chunks. the harder you threw the more they would spray out- like carelessly sweetened shrapnel. sugary. but dangerous only in an active imagination. of course a lobbed apple was a different matter. arcing over the fence, gravity became thirsty for it---sucking it toward the earth. woe to you if your head was between an arcing apple and the ground.

"I know you can beat me up"

that's my voice. the cowardly one. the one escaping from one who doesn't punch people in the mouth for mild social slip-ups. and one who actually feels sort of guilty for not doing so. the cowardly one. the loud one. unafraid to wind up and let go of laughter from the body of one running by the opposing team's dugout after a game. foolish. cowardly. so brave untill...

"just remember. I can kick your ass."

yes. I'll remember. on the way home we stopped by the store. I don't remember what I did. or bought.

I was 9 years old.

scratchy

2005-01-19T13:55:00.000-08:00

not that my cat's need any more attention. but I havn't had a cat thread on my blog yet so here goes.....

our girl cat is named 'sativa', which is the name she had when we adopted her from the humane society. of course, we re-named her 'little diva', which is because she is exactly that. when lounging on a chair she generally takes on a regal pose with her paws delicately lined up. she also manages to take a crap into her litter box whilst only getting paw inside. she has her other back paw on the edge of the box with her front paws alongside. such a lady.

by contrast, our boy cat manages to somehow get kitty litter on his face when he goes to the bathroom. his name is 'loverboy', because he is big and mellow and seeks attention. we also call him 'boy cat' (I never claimed to be the world's most creative force in coming up with nick-names, you know). as for the rest about loverboy, he does bully diva around and he's sometimes a stubborn ass.

they're good kids.

sideshow bob will have his revenge on springfield

2005-01-10T16:51:00.000-08:00

throw it on the pile. simpsons year 5 on dvd. of course I also recently aquired the aforementioned napoleon D. and yes- return of the king x-tended. yes---I've been accused of being a geek. anyone coin the phrase 'geek chic' yet? whatever. so who's in the mood for some x-box?

havn't worked through all the episodes of year 5 simpsons yet. but so far I have been slain by 'rosebud', where burns searches for his long lost teddy bear (bo bo). *what most people don't realise about* 'bo bo' is that my mom's big teddy bear shares the same name.

good ol' bo bo. he sits in a little chair in the living room surrounded by many various accessories you might see in 'country living' (a magazine of which I think my mom has every issue). so the story goes, one day some new neighbors stopped by to say 'hullo' whilst walking there dog. it was a little pooch. I don't remember what kind. I believe it looked like toto. (no not the band from the 'dune' soundtrack, you fools- 'toto', the wizard of oz dog). anyhow...... so as the neighbors and my folks were getting about with the chit-chat, the little pooch wanders over to bo bo's chair and proceeds to nonchalantly hump the befuddled little fuzzy guy untill he nearly tumbles out of his chair. it happened so fast. then it got tense. really tense. and very soon, without the usual pleasant 'good day', the neighbors and the little molester found themselves out on the sidewalk.

my mom was pretty put off by the whole thing (and still is many years later). our dialogue went somthing like:

"it's a dog, mom".

"those people should be ashamed of themselves."

"and bo bo is just a stuffed bear".

"he's a nice bear."

dad put it best:
"I mean, the dog comes over once and----he never calls-----he never writes------"

"what's a bear to think?"

special features

2005-01-03T13:39:00.000-08:00

if you have the napoloean dynamite DVD don't forget to flip the disc over- there's special features on both sides. one exciting development as a fan of the movie and footnote in our oregonian journey: so I find out yesterday my wife's cousin grew up with mr. heder (napolean) and graduated with him. also, a friend of a friend claims to have dueled with mr. heder online in a halo2 deathmatch. *whew* with brushes with fame like this- I'm starting to think I might actually meet more local famous people and add to my top five local celebrity meeting list- which so far looks something like this:

------------

my top 5 local celebrity meetings:

1. peter- guitarist of dandy warhols. met him in bathroom at show at EJ's. challenged him to sword fight. he sweetly declined, with a smile.

2. tanya harding. several times while working at starbucks in lloyd center. made her grande with room americanos. she also smiled- albeit sometimes a little nervously.

3. janet weiss- drummer of sleater kinney and quasi. several times while working at starbucks (hawthorne and burnside locations). made her double tall vanilla non-fat lattes. she also smiled (most sincerely). me like janet.

4. tommmy tu-tone- creater of '8675309'. once while waiting tables downtown. it was lunch time. he seemed cool.

5. art- mr. everclear. once while waiting tables downtown. it was lunch time. he was being interviewed by the oregonian. he ordered a small salad with dressing on the side, proceeding to pick off all the croutons and eat 1/2 the salad. seemed pretty cool- very busy guy I think.

-----------

so as you can see there's room for meeting other stellar locals and I may have to expand my list to top 10 some day!

*greasy little fingers crossed*

on watching High Fidelity for the second time

2004-12-28T09:59:00.000-08:00

I got it this time. I enjoyed it very much. and I actually finished it too. you may be shocked to know I turned off high fidelity the first time I watched. sometimes I'm a schizophrenic movie snob that way; and the difference between brilliant and barely tolerable is one minor mood swing away. well I was in a better mood this time. I also resisted pasting the plot of 'say anything' into HiFi, which helped tremendously. so let's not play the blame game. let's just enjoy another genious entry of my blog.

*cough*

( ahem----here goes).

the plot of high fidelity the first time I saw it:
Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) gets screwed over by women enrout becoming every geek's personal Joan of Arc. A champion of originality----a statue of sanity in the middle of a teenage wasteland. Jack Black and that other guy co-star. And his girlfriend runs off with a pan-cuisine wielding jedi poneytail from southeast hawthorne. gerk

the plot of high fidelity the second time I saw it:
Rob (John Cusack), prince of the slackers, stands tall amidst the geeks of the GenX snob sect enrout getting rightfully dumped by his girlfriend. He then, in a moment of clarity, decides to become less of an asshole just enough to win her back. in the end he gets her fair hand in marriage, deciding his next mix tape should be for her enjoyment instead of her education, as saving the lost from musical ignorance was his previous self-righteous charge. Jack Black and that other guy make delightfull appearances. and Timothy Robins guest stars as that gross poneytail wearing curry-sniffing jedi from southeast hawthorne. gerk.

let's discuss disposable toilet seat covers

2004-12-05T22:54:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sick of toilet seat covers. it's just not very convenient to peel one of those things out of it's dispenser- only to have to tear out the center for proper use. I use to practically tear the thing in half trying to get it ready for use- then I discovered a little patience pays off while navigating the little perferations in the sheet. it's just- patience is generally lacking when I'm forced to use a public restroom.

one of life's rules- you never want your ass-cheeks to touch a public toilet seat. and if you get caught strapped for time and can't get that stupid paper toilet seat condom in position quick enough, it's almost worse to go into 'hover mode'. the possible splash effect is pretty nasty and not worth risking.

bonnie claims you can simply put the seat cover down and sit on it. supposedly your pee will sort it all out for you, soaking the perferated middle and clearing it out of the way- with no ripping or futzing whatsoever. sounded pretty sweet. so I tried it. then I pee-d on myself. seems girls have a distinct advantage in this instance. the direction and velocity of there urine seems very well suited to dealing with public pee pee duties.

wouldn't mind having pre-ripped toilet seat covers. or maybe I should just cut down on my public coffee intake......

the battle of prison zalshazz

2004-11-12T08:43:00.000-08:00

link- http://www.nowhereradio.com/artists/album.php?aid=4147&alid=-1

I'm in a prison on the mountain
overlooking the great circus
a zoo with every creature
I represent the human race
on a planet in a system
gravited by a distant star
I'm the luckiest of people
the furthest lonely one

my situation
no reason to live
I'm the furthest lonely one
and I seem to be
trapped for eternity
with no way to sink the sun

it all started on the mountain
overlooking southeast portland
one second there was only lights
then I woke up in the present situation (THIS IS PLANET ZALSHAZZ)
machines make good rulers (WELCOME)
when we focus on the architecture
they're the mechanical pharaohs
and I'm only the entertainment

my situation
no reason to live
I'm the furthest lonely one
and I seem to be
trapped for eternity
with no way to sink the sun

I'll tell you something peculiar
something to take your mind for a ride
humans are the only creatures
who consider suicide
and regarless of the situation
I remain
only human
and if I'm just a novelty
I won't be caught on a bended knee
I won't be caught on a bended knee

(WAKE UP)
I havn't been asleep for days
(STAND UP)
yes I think I'll make a stand
(COME OUT)
what music should I have to face?
(WALK STRAIGHT)
straight as the arrow flies!
(WALK STRAIGHT)
NO NO
(WALK STRAIGHT)
NO NO
(WALK STRAIGHT)
NO NO
give me your gun ((STOP!))
I'm gonna' sink the sun
(STOP! BEFORE I SHOOT YOU)
I'm gonna' sink the sun
(STOP! BEFORE I SHOOT YOU)
I'm gonna' sink the sun
(STOP! BEFORE I SHOOT YOU)
I'm gonna' sink the sun
(STOP! BEFORE I SHOOT YOU)

(LIFEFORM 21474 IS DEAD)
((CORRECTION: LIFEFORM 21474 WAS NEVER REALLY ALIVE))
.

down-sifting with itunes.......

2004-11-01T16:18:00.000-08:00

lots of new music to hear. working on mix cd's for work- the current crop of cd's is either getting a little old or it's got a few songs that don't work for my clients. an example of the latter would be air 'moon safari', which is perfect after 'sexxy boy' is removed. obviously 'sexxy boy' rocks real good----it's just sometimes an odd song for me to be working on clients to.

so far things are going very well with this project. the only criteria for work music is pretty much that it be relaxing--or better put- be relaxing to whomever my current client is. that's subjective---an example: to some people, sigur ros is not relaxing. nor is bjork or portishead. well those just happen to be my fav acts. but I've noticed almost everybody likes belle and sebastian. and I assume likewise, wilco 'summer teeth'. so after sifting through belle and sebastian I made a mix of some of the 'mellow' stuff, which just happens to be 90% of the crop.

regarding 'summer teeth'- I recently got it on the cheap from peter while he was purging his cd's to make room for his lil' ipod (we assume he was making socioeconomic room and not georaphical). I wasn't familiar with 'summer teeth' yet (or so I thought) but am a huge fan of 'yankee hotel'. well- after listening to 'summer teeth', I now realise I have heard this cd at least a dozen times. where? uncertain. pizzacato? good guess. I've heard 'spoon' at pizzacato. regardless- I don't listen to the radio (you where thinking radio perhaps?)- so it would have to be at an establishment or someone's house. ahhhhhhh.

so I've got several awesome new mix cd's for work. two bjorks- one mellow one upbeat. a pedro the lion cd too for any hip cats that wander into my treatment room. belle and sebastian, portishead (a mix of all three full lengths with great results), wilco, and much more to come. I've got another hour to kill almost......

I'm a massage therapist.

teach a child to punch

2004-10-25T13:52:00.000-07:00

when should a child learn to punch?
well, we like to start them young
yesterday I saw the smallest ones
throwing fists, the feeling stung
I didn't want to see the world as doomed
but now I feel the heating sun

it's the same old burning sun
that the flowers worship
one by one by one
same old burning sun

people always bitch about the past
well, it's too gone to feel it now
if we want to make the future last
only the past can show us how
I'm trying hard to be a hopeful man
but I feel the heating sun

it's the same old burning sun
that the flowers worship
one by one by one
same old burning sun

to the tune of 'america the beautiful'

2004-10-01T14:54:00.000-07:00

[I]
oh beautiful
bi-partisin
our system cannot quit
no matter what
we know we'll have
four more years of bullshit

america
america
the voters are all slaves
and jefferson
and washington
are rolling in there graves
[/I]

young boy makes a vow

2004-09-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

young boy makes a vow
to fly high
before he falls down
what good is desire?
there's always someone higher

I'm not cold enough
to fortify
these thick walls
that keep us all apart

so I make no formal vow
poets stand alone
fumbling with the megaphone
the introverted final spark
sounding in the dark

I'm your purest vocal chord
strike me baby
strike me baby
would I rather be someone else's fall
then nothing at all?

am I cold enough
to fortify
these thick walls
that keep us all apart?

I'm your purest vocal chord
if you say you want to be
mutually dependent
that's all right with me
I'm your purest vocal chord
strike me
strike me

ghosts and whores

2004-09-15T15:35:00.000-07:00

the last time we talked
I found I was walking alone
and you were a ghost
an echo inside the phone
and I preconcieved
the most usual lie
I'd hold onto you
untill the day I die

well I gave some thought
maybe I gave pause
and realised the effect
was nowhere worth the cause
so I'm hanging up
your voice will echo no more

it's all over, now for sure

you've got some nerve
to think I would come walk though your door
when you treated me equally
like a prince and a whore
no excuses please
I'm off of my knees once more

it's all over, now for sure

monday morning

2004-09-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

driving across portland's ross island bridge is very nice in the morning. light plays in the trees on the west hills. so many bridges. the ross island never stalls for boats- it's really high. good morning.

no diary

2004-09-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

I don't keep a diary. possible reasons:

A>my only diary was peeked at by family members- who then felt the need to comment and question: "do you really feel this way?"- very very embarrassing.

B>my memory is pretty sharp and without permanent record I have the luxury of filtering events as needed. I'm my own doctor phil.

C>I could never decide what kind of book or journal to use. and what pen color? should I write in cursive or capps? it's hard enough to decide what to order for dinner.

D>I'm making this all up- I have 30 books of memoirs I'm going to release to the public after death.

E>ok-that's not true. I really havn't ever kept a diary. but I've written hundreds of songs......

hello, my name is jon and I'm a recovering diary-aphobic. (and don't confuse me with diarhea-aphobic---no substance to that loser's blog).

/jon D