Blue Windmill

Time is on My Side

2006-08-16T12:18:00.000-07:00

Oy.

So on Sunday after mom and dad left to go home and after I changed out of my hot hot (in more ways than one) wool plaid pants, I ran out to CompUSA and dropped off my laptop.

For those who are not aware, the ole portable was getting quite worn down. Droppings by unknown persons have broken the latch rendering it unclosable, as well as causing the screen to be "shifted" upward leaving a 2-3mm black gap at the bottom. Perhaps most heinous of all is the loss of the "x" and "y" keys from the keyboard. This was most definitely caused by Roman's pouncing from her perch on the open laptop (remember, unclosable). Her claws dug underneath the buttons and popped them right off. Silly kitty.

Well, the final straw was the battery's stubborness in refusing to take a charge. So long as it was plugged in, the computer ran fine, but the battery would not exceed the level of charge it was at at the time.

To make a long story short. My computer is in ICU at CompUSA for an indeterminate amount of time. In the meanwhile, I'm reacquainting myself with the world of Microsoft on my roommate's PC. Really, it's not that bad. The interface still lacks a certain charm, but it's just as useful. I believe the only real hindrance is the addition of adware somewhere on his computer which means every 30 seconds to 2 minutes, I have to pause whatever I'm doing to delete the 15 or so windows that pop up.

At first I thought phallic enhancement wasn't for me, but after the last 300 or so pop-ups...

The two of us need look no more

2005-12-24T09:28:00.000-08:00

Unless you play guitar or know how to "fake play a piano" (neither, I think, are the case with any people I know who would read this blog), then you are missing out on another aspect of the tyrancy of the RIAA.

Well, the Record Industry Association of America and the Music Publishers' Association, anyway.

It used to be that you could log on to any number of databases online and pick up a bit of tablature. Tablature, if you don't know, is a form of musical notation written out for the guitar with the chords to play or the specific pickings. Many aspiring musicians pick up their first skills through tablature- hearing a song they want to play, scouring the internet for the tablature, and then plunking their way to adequacy. I myself picked up most of my skills (*ahem*) this way, learning The Who's Tommy or any number of Weezer songs.

One day last week I searched for one of my favorite databases: http://www.guitartabs.cc/ only to be let down, discovering that the page was no longer up. Later that week, it returned, with a savaged library. I couldn't find any of the bands I'd normally seek out- Barenaked Ladies, David Bowie, Talking Heads, even my beloved Weezer.

What's going on here? More searching on the web proves again that these sites are more and more being stripped down dramatically. What I am confused about, however, is how exactly the RIAA and MPA can justify the tablature of a song as being a copyright infringement. Sure, one could say "Well, it is the artist's music and they have a right to keeping it theirs." Hmm. That isn't quite inclusive of what the government's copyright website says about it.

"The owner of copyright [to a musical piece] retains the exclusive right to do and to authorize others to do the following:

To reproduce the work in copies or phonorecords; to prepare the derivative works based upon the work; to distribute copies or phonorecords publicly by sale; to perform the work publicly; to display the copyrighted work publicly; or to perform the work publicly by means of digital audio transmission."

I may be off base here, but I don't see anything regarding the private tinkering of a beloved song by a fan on his/her guitar. Tablature is not authored by the artist, but is a manuscriptual representation of the song, easing the apprehending of its nuances. I myself have sat and plunked out the parts for a couple songs. Never, however, have I made a dime for someone else's song in this way.

Perhaps I'm walking thin ice here, my band Almost Positive learned many a song through tablature, but we never recorded or performed for profit any of those songs. According to the web page, though, we were in violation, but most certainly not in any respect due to tablature. We would have learned them anyway. Oh yes. We're that good.

So I've ranted my peace. In the end, I am simply frustrated that I can no longer look up how to play "Five Years", but have to dink it out on my own again, just as I will have to for most every other popular song I want to learn. One thing is for certain, I have definitely changed policies and am no longer inclined to pay a dime to any band signed onto a distributor for a song again. Even through iTunes. They've tread on me and I won't stand for it!

Left without the alternative of learning songs through tab, I must, therefore, learn it through repeated listening. If you have any interest in learning a song, please, go here:

http://www.bittorrent.com/
http://www.kazaa.com/us/index.htm (warning, spyware)
http://www.gnucleus.com/Gnucleus/
http://azureus.sourceforge.net/

Download whatever you want. Sure, it's illegal. But what isn't these days? You aren't hurting the artist, not if they can truly play their music live, anyway. And don't worry, if you do download something "illegally", the server will take the brunt of the blow, thanks to the Supreme Court's ruling in May with Grockster. You're cool, baby.

You're cool.

Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi=Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gin

2005-12-15T18:52:00.000-08:00

Count me among the ranks of the spat upon. I yelled at a handicapped elderly woman. Seriously. Perhaps not so seriously, it was more an intense hissed-whisper than it was true yelling. Nevertheless, how many people can say that? That they've yelled at a handicapped person? Especially when it was their disabled nature that sparked part of the conversation?

No doubt, and rightfully so, you're wondering what on earth could have possessed me to do such a demonic and wretched act. It goes thusly: I was in the library attending on Jenn who was working at the time and had to tinkle in the worst way. So I made my way to the only bathroom on that floor, which happened to also be handicapped. One of those one toilet duel gendered doo-wahs. So I go in, lift the seat, do my dirty business, lower the seat, and wash my hands. Here's what's key: that I simply put my gloves on my wet hands and forewent using any paper towels.

Sitting down and reading Aristotle (oh the scholar am I), I later hear this cane clunking towards me from behind. A voice hisses catching my attention.

"You."

You? Someone is calling me "You"? That is somehow very unnerving, and already tickling whatever imp inside makes me boil.

"I was waiting to use the bathroom, and just want you to know that I am deeply offended by how you left the bathroom," hissed the old women, towering over me in the armchair.

"You don't like the way I exited the bathroom?" I asked. What, that I used it at all is offending her? I wondered silently to myself.

"Go look and fix it." She demands.

Upon inspection, I conclude (as you no doubt have already picked up by now) that there were paper towels scattered across the floor next to the trash can behind the door. So that's the hag's problem, she's upset that someone left their trash littered about and, since I was the last person she saw using the bathroom, she naturally assumes it wasn't me. Not someone who went in any of the preceding 13 hours that the library was open. How precise a pinning of blame, I marvel at her Sherlockish abilities.

Well, I left the bathroom, and I most certainly didn't clean up the dross- not out of spite, hear you me, but rather deterred by the bloody nature of the paper. Ew. I found the feeble woman sitting at a computer and walked up behind her, seething.

"You. I just left the bathroom and wanted you to know that I am deeply offended by how you approached me, ordered me, and blamed me. How dare you! That is not my mess and I am not touching it!"

Shaking with anger, I left the library that night, and now retroflect on the events. Why on earth was she so "offended", anyway? And it hits me, that she feels as if that bathroom is somehow especially her bathroom because she uses a cane. As if it is set aside for her privilege versus the rest of the able-bodied human race, and that I am merely a guest to her special water-closet. Conversely, I view it more as this facility is equipped and spatious enough to accomodate those who need it, but it does not exclude the rest of us. It's simply a... a "bathroom plus" of sorts. When one considers that there is no other bathroom on that floor of the library, I think it becomes especially clear. This is everyone's. Not just the handicap's. I would hope she doesn't get this upset at every restroom she visits in some state of messiness. If so, I can't imagine her ever leaving a bathroom at a mall (if she even goes to any), she could spend days waiting out the culprits for whoever that bastard was who turned the blow dryer upside down.

Done.

Trading Snakeoil for Wolftickets

2005-10-13T03:32:00.000-07:00

My sleep schedule is very very askew. There's a lot of dirt in my right shoe from hiking earlier today. There's a jaunt-angled poster on my wall because someone has been stealing pushpins. I may or may not have a test in the morning in a class I haven't attended for over a week.

It's been some time since I've written a good song. Actually, I'm beginning to question whether I've ever in fact written a good song. The most oft quoted and preferred songs on our album are all Derrick's. But that's okay. He's a cool kid, that Derrick.

This blog, I realize, is terribly frustrating. One must come up with suitable material to write about which one, everyone would find agreeably interesting to read, and two, one must take care that that material is suitable for all eyes that may wander to it.

Such is my conundrum. I have something to say, but no one to say it to. Too bad, that.

So...yet another pathetic entry into the blog of my life. Hello family and friends. How are you?

I'm in such a strange mood. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.

The Hills are Alive

2005-09-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Things are going just swell lately, which is a twist from the beginning of the college years. Most of my apprehensions about returning to college and foregoing a mission have proven weak and more and more everyday I embrace this decision as the right one. After all, I still like myself and where I stand in the cosmological, metaphysical, and yes, theological sense of things.

It's early afternoon and I have just returned from one of the best rides on my bicycle I've had all year, second only to my first lap across the monument in Grand Junction.

This is what the monument looks like. Biking along the edge of that is a thrill to say the least (my dad can attest to that, go Re-Bike!)

But today...ah... Well, I huffed and puffed my way up to this lookout over the Wasatch Front that is... literally breathtaking. Sometime I'll need to find my digital camera to share with you folks just how... wonderful... it is up there. I'd like to take someone up there, but there's no real parking, so the only logistical way is via the veloped. Besides, there aren't too many around here who even brought theirs, let alone could keep up with me! Ha! That's right. I went there.

Today's grade: A for alberquerque.

The People All Call Her "Alaska"

2005-08-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this time in the blogspace, I'm wanting conversation and comments from anyone who reads this on this grave and terribly important discussion Mr. J. Ro and I were just having.

What do you think of long-distance relationships?

What experiences have you had or heard of regarding this?

Is it more important for each party to continue dating other people while apart, or to remain "socially celibate"?

And finally, what do YOU think it was I saw in the night sky a week and a half ago?

My own opinion is that long distance dating works more often than people would expect for couples who TRUST one another. This seems to be essential. If this element is present than the issue of dating others is sort of null, wouldn't you say? Granted, I've never had a long-distance relationship (let alone dated anyone longer than a month). I suppose I'm more optimistic in regards to it than others. As for the light in the sky, I've decided it was some sort of flying machine. Yep, that's my stance. Whether it was terrestrial or extra, I couldn't say. But it was most definitely mechanical. Hmm.

These are just a few of the topics jeremy and I were talking about on our endeavor to Target just now. Please feel free to voice your...voice on the issue. Also, has anyone tried the Ginger Altoids yet? They're a trip. I think they're more for cleansing the palate versus making one's breath taste fresh-y, though. It seems this entry is an excuse to see if I can get an idea who reads this blog amongst mes familles and mes amis. Still.

Space is No Place to Raise a Kid

2005-08-08T21:18:00.000-07:00

The night was peaceful... cool... and I was wearily unsuspecting.

Brandon's company had been very hospitable (a quick round of "dance" pong [a gentleman's game] and Jurassic Park), but I was weary and needed to retire, unusually early for a parentless week-end. Bidding one another adieu, Brandon retired behind his screen door with Smoky, his large black cat. I started my car and cruised out of his neighborhood, listening to Gary Jules' "Broke Window" and humming lightly.

Honestly, I was bouncy and happy- a good friend back in town whom I greeted earlier that day, I had had a great time at Brandon's, and was looking forward to not being reprimanded for my late homecoming that night. This lightheartedness was promptly squashed by the lights behind me.

I thought they were the searchlight from a cop car perhaps. Certainly bright enough to be. I slowed down to a stop (I was going to anyways, it was the turn lane to get into my neighborhood) and watched the approaching lights in the rearview mirror when it dawned on me: those are NO squad car's lights.

Silently they glided down the road (a motorcycle? No, too tall). Then they were out of the height of my rear view mirror- over my car. The bushes to my left and the suburbs to my right were momentarily lit up well out of range of my headlights. What is going on? I wondered. There it came- overhead and beyond my vantage point, clearly gliding above and along the road. I sat in silence, completely awestruck at this magnificent yellow-white light. Just as quick as it appeared, it was gone over the hill ahead.

What did I see? I don't know what it was. It lookes like a Coleman's lantern at night from a distance of maybe 10 feet. At least, the pattern of lights did, for whatever it was, it was most certainly far larger than any lantern. I only wish I had had my camera in hand to show you, my friends and relatives, exactly what it looked like.

Don't think I'm a nut, though. I don't think I am. Just, unable to explain it. But if you ever see anything like it, give me a ring. I would appreciate it.

*Based on a 2,000 calorie diet

2005-07-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

A is for Andrew, that's my name and it means "masculine".
B is for Born in San Francisco, CA.
C is for Cats, Scruffy died a while ago when I saw "Freaky Friday" at the mall.
D is for Derrick, he comes home from Utica December 23.
E is for Elephants, to someone I know, a special animal indeed.
F is for Fellopian, my least favorite named organ in the body (ew).
G is for Gudoph, that's my name and it means "Andrew"
H is for Horace, the Egyptian god of wisdom.
I is for Indellible ink on mom's rug. Sorry about that.
J is for Jeremy, he's in Jackson this July.
K is for Katie, Katy, Khelsy, and Amies. Hooray for five at once and none working out!
L is for the way you look at me.
M is for Mood swings, sorry everyone, but technically I am still a teenager.
N is for Northern lights... someday... someday.
O is for the loneliest number that there ever was.
P is for Pretty women, sillhouetted, fascinating, sipping coffee, dancing, gliding, stay forever, breathing lightly.
Q is for the Q'oran.
R is for Rent, a staple of friendship not unliked by any personal acquaintence of mine (and the last time I ever saw Danielle alive)
S is for Sleep. Who needs it?
T is for Tommy. See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
U is for Uganda, does anyone even know what sort of government they have down there?
V is for Victoria Van Vleet, I wonder whatever happened to her?
W is for Weston. Or him for that matter?
X is for X-men. Period.
Y ? Because I like you.
M-O-U-S-E

We Shouldn't Be Like Bookends

2005-05-13T15:59:00.000-07:00

Here's a man to respect.

At a coffeehouse last night, Spencer, Platt, Tiana, and I were sitting and conversing intellectually (or as intellectual as freshmen can be) when the Man came over and asked:

"Do you have a pen?"

to Tiana. She rummaged around her purse and produced the item, which he took, and HE WROTE HIS PHONE NUMBER DOWN ON A PIECE OF PAPER AND GAVE IT TO HER. I don't use caps lightly, I want to convey this point. "HE" wrote "HIS" phone number and gave it to her.

This is brilliant. What guts! Please, understand the brilliance of this Man's actions. By walking up and asking for a pen from her, he's left with the open opportunity for her to not have the pen, no loss, he tried at least. She did though, so he writes HIS number, he doesn't ask for hers, he simply gives his. This puts the ball in Tiana's court now. If she's interested by this brief encounter, then she can call him, if not, well, no harm's done.

I'm sorry, this is brilliant. This is demonstrative of the revolution of women's rights. This empowers her, concedes himself to her all in one swift move. After he left, Tiana was, well, confused. Mike, Spence, and I were flabbergasted and awed at this Man's wisdom and decided we would have to try it out for ourselves sometime.

What a Man, what a Man.

When the rain comes tumbling down

2005-05-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

My heartbeat is a jackhammer in my ears.

My eyes focus on the black bar between the wheels, and the chipped asphalt melting past underneath.

My mantra: don't turn it around, save it for later, don't look back, save it for later...

Through the sweat dripping down my lenses I chance a glance ahead- five more intersections. On my right, a lady is raking leaves (in May?) on her grass lawn. Behind me, I hear a car's engine, but I don't look back, I remember my mantra.

Steadily they cruise up my left, two teenagers in a red sedan. The boy in the passenger seat rolls down his window and says something with a smirk on his face, but I can't hear him over the Tiger Lillies and ma coeur pounding beat. Again I avert my gaze to the hill ahead.

Four more streets.

The stupid part of this all is that I don't even know what's at the top. On second thought, is that really all that stupid? After all, there are many things we do without knowing exactly why. At least, we don't care enough to ask. A more orthodox person than I would come up with some sort of metaphor in this, something they can share on a fast sunday someday. Apparently I'm not one of those people, at least, not if I would think of those kinds of people on the outside, right? And I have no intention of turning this into some sort of spiritual message. What is it? It's exercise! That's all! What's so spiritual about heaving lungs, aching muscles, banging heart, and soaked forehead? More like sex than anything sacred. My mind goes back to the ascent. I look once more-

Two more streets!

Not bad. This is when the music on my ipod turns to some unbearably adagio tune. "Where'd the rhythm go?" I wonder. Aw, heck. My dilemma: do I stop and change the song and risk losing my momentum and not be able to start up the hill again?

No... one more street, I can do this.

*Huff* *Huff*

I did it! I-

What?!!

One more street...

five minutes later, I'm sitting in the middle of the street at a dead-end on the top of the hill (at least, as high as any road goes). My bicycle tips over in the intense breeze coming up from the Wasatch front. A cat, named Mousie on his tags, comes and sits on my lap. Must be the pheromones, I guess. From here, I can see a rain cloud gliding up the mountain range. I can see the temple, Westminster, the lake, Amanda's house. Who knew it would be so clear?

Beautiful. I'm glad I didn't look back.

The center hill is the one I biked:
http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=40.7907772064209,-111.86253547668457&spn=0.05604743957519531,0.051326751708984375&t=k&hl=en

I Don't Want the World, I Just Want Your Half

2005-04-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

Best experience so far today: Concluding the essay portion of my history final with the sentence: "Your parents and Serbs like them started the Great War from their inability to ignore this bulls**t and wean themselves from the tit of the Russian whore."

THAT's how you end a good essay. No, that's how you end an AWESOME essay. By making a racial slur and swearing in your final. Yeah. That's right.

This past week-end was phenomenal. I love the girls from Grand Junction. There was no part of Saturday that I did not like. The play was VERY well done (Scotty did pretty good), I got to hold someone's foot for something like 45 minutes, Khelsy and I went to the monument (no, not for that), party, singing, happy-fun-fun.

Interestingly, Jane Goodall is coming to Westminster. I get her mixed up, I think she's dead a lot of the time. Evidently, I'm desparately wrong.

So I'm bleeding too. Calvin and Pierce and Wilson and I went to the basketball court and swordfought with styrofoam swords. It was pretty spiffy. I hit Calvin in the face twice, so I felt kind of bad about that part of it.

Tomorrow I have my last final. THen Wednesday I'm hanging out with Jeremy, I think. It should be pretty fun. Maybe we'll go to Crossroads or see Kung Fu Hustle or something.

How!

Reconstruction Site

2005-04-17T18:04:00.000-07:00

In my browsing of various "community sites" on the web and my perusal of friends' profiles, I've noticed at least one use for the internet which I think is rarely brought to light: that it's an ego booster.

No joke. Not in the sense either of finding those uglier than yourself (type in "ugly people" in google and see for yourself), but that there are those out there who use these community sites as a form of substance. This is in a purely classical conditioning sense, too. For instance, I know of an acquaintence of mine who would refer to themselves as "fat" and "ugly" and all around not very good looking. Although this was completely false in every respect of these adjectives, they would refuse to believe it.

With the help of the internet, though, they're able to find a continual fountain of reinforcing complements. With it, they can post entry after entry of self-deprecating appraisals and check on a daily basis to hear contrary remarks from friends and the like who are more than eager, through the grace of the internet and the unrestraint of their respective libidos, to complement this person and give them the same complement over and over.

How many times does someone need to hear "You're beautiful" before it ceases to be a complement and begins to be a drug?

It reminds me also of kids in Korea who will go through symptoms similar to withdrawal from heroin in their inaccess to the internet. Hmm. I used to fish for complements on the internet, myself. But how meek and pathetic!

Et vraiment, (et je ecrite ce pour mes amis qui parlent francais, parce qu'il rétrécit les nombres), je suis malade avec the gens qu'ont pathetique and triste dans l'esprit. Je fais des excuses, Amanda a parlé plus tôt de ce blog, c'est trop enfoncement. Mais je m'écarte

Anyways... Well, I'm still in worry over my calling. I need to call Oliver. I suppose I'll do it right now. Tommorrow might be a better day, it depends on how my meeting with the Dean of Student Life goes. We'll see, I suppose?

Hund ihts bihn uh whyle...

2005-04-11T18:55:00.001-07:00

Sorry about the title, if you say it out loud, it pretty much conveys the singing style that killed rock that I referred to a while back in the form of the song title "And It's Been a While". Go ahead, say it out loud. See? Doesn't get much more Redneck than that.

I feel shame for the amount of time between blog posts lately. Shame on me something terrible. But let's see, what to say? Well, I just went running and feel sort of tingly all over, which is probably why I'm so enthusiastic about posting on here. Umm... anyhow-

Lately there's been this feeling of apathy seeping into my mind as the college semester dwindles to a close. We have something like two weeks left in the semester and I feel saddened to bid goodbye to my professors and friends (those of whom are leaving before May Term, that is). Honestly, this semester wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Sure, I got a "C" probably in my psych class. Sure, I got sick a lot. Sure, I never quite got the full recognition I think I deserve for the stunts I pulled with Calvin on the floor (but I can concede he has a more outgoing and in-your-face attitude that makes him stand out more, not unlike Balki is over Larry, everyone remembers he's from Greece, what with his anecdotes of the bucket and such, sure, but who remembers Michael Linn Baker's character was a photographer? Few people, I can tell you that).

But I digress...

Really, I suppose I don't have any sort of bottom line or conclusion to this post, nothing beyond me saying hello, I'm still posting, don't give up hope, and things are going great.

Hund ihts bihn uh whyle...

2005-04-11T18:55:00.000-07:00

Petra Over Blackpools

2005-03-28T23:26:00.000-08:00

Tonight I saw the Decemberists and Okkervill River. 6 things I learned at this concert:

1. I should have listened to myself when Almost Positive was younger and should have used the Mandolin/ Banjo/ and whatever the heck other instruments I wanted to too. It's that much better.

2. Songs must have more than the Verse and the Chorus. Ideally: Instrumental intro/ Verse/ Chorus/ Verse/ Instrumental/ Middle/ Chorus/ Verse/ Chorus/ Instrumental outro.

3. You can never be too old to rock out with fresh stuff.

4. Always leave enough money after buying CDs so that you have enough to pay for parking and you don't have to scrounge the car for five minutes collecting pennies.

5. The best lyrics come to you in concert- but you can never write it down.

6. The hottest girls have short dark hair, play violin rock, and can sing.

Vocabulary word of the day: "Blackpools" - a group of three or more short, fat, goth girls with bad haircuts who can't dance and bump into tall boys trying to flirt with them (or at least bump their butts into them).
-pro: you can see over them just fine
-con: you're standing next to them and you're a tall boy.

Thanks, Rachel, for the tip.

ROCK AND ROLL DEAD AT 54

2005-03-22T14:05:00.000-08:00

On February 24th, at about 11:59 pm, EST, an era was brought to an end. The Philadelphia station Y100.3 fm changed its programming to “The Beat”, “Philly’s newest hip-hop station”. This extinction of Rock and Roll from the nation’s 6th largest radio station marked the end of a career spanning 54 years.

Rock and roll was born in rural America, it is believed, by the rhythm and blues styles of the south, a style of music that, a century later, would strangle this most profound and beloved types of music.

Perhaps the most well-known characteristic (thought not necessarily a necessity) of rock was the electric guitar, another American invention born of foreigners. Adolph Rickenbacker, forerunner of the Rickenbacker guitar company of Erics Harrison and Clapton fame, collaborated on the first electric guitar dubbed “the frying pan” in 1931, instrumental (no pun intended) in the birth of the revolution of rock and roll. Many recognize the name Les Paul, who used telephone parts to create the first solid body electric guitar in the 1930’s, and was followed by Leo Fender in 1943 with his product bearing his name. Recently, 55% of guitar retailers reported sales that were flat-to-behind those of 2003. This represents a trend that has steadily been on the increase since 1997, with a marked worsening in 2000.

Some would attribute this to a new style of better music on the rise. I refute this and supply only two options to explain these tragic figures.

On the one hand, could you dare to claim that perhaps it is for the best that Rock and Roll dies? One surely could make sufficient argument, but that would imply another musical trend on the rise which is better fit to replace rock. Where is it, then?

Billboard reports of it’s top 40 albums, only 5 are rock and roll (including the perennial favorite of preteen swooned hearts, John Mayer, who I only include for his extensive utilization of the guitar and his feat of generally staying the heck away from country). Who are these survivors?

#3 Green Day- formed in 1989, they have somehow managed to release a chart-topping “rock opera” American Idiot that has been eaten up by the scavengers of rock, those searching desperately for one last morsel of rock and roll. Still, is a band that is over 15 years on the market really count as a part of the evolution of rock and roll?

#9 3 Doors Down- formed in 1999, more on them later.

#12 The Killers- formed in 2002 out of Las Vegas. Self-described “pop-synth-rock”, they released their album “Hot Fuss” with the prophecy that it would be “to sum up, a triumph. A triumph that will see the light of day concurrently in the UK [and the US]”. Out of all major rock bands to come out in the past two years, the Killers are, somehow, the only ones to have had such lengthy success in the charts (37 weeks).

#18 Maroon 5- admittedly, Maroon 5 is not my cup of tea, they are, however, the last remaining pillar of rock and roll today. These boys formed in junior high and still play today. That sort of attitude, reminiscent of Eve6 and Aerosmith, is typical of the rock and roll style. They are signed to Octone records, one of the last major labels to openly accept unsolicited demos from struggling artists, but if this is the kind of music they're after, I think I’ll keep Almost Positive on the computer.

#33 John Mayer- well, he’s a white boy playing guitar, that’s something.

These are the last of the best. These are they who are left to be overtaken by the likes of Omarion, formerly of B2K fame, and Tori Amos. And I suppose that’s what one may argue the fate of rock must be, in the end.

On the other hand, one could argue that rock and roll has been murdered by an inside confederate. Consider:

Creed releases its first album, My Own Prison, in 1997. The very same year, EryKah wins 3 grammys, Missy “Misdemeanor” Elliot wins 2 Billboards, and Death Row severs ties with Interscope records, becoming one of the top major labels with such artists as Dr. Dre and “Fiddy” Cent.

Creed’s second album, Human Clay, is released in 1999. This same year, a flood of white rappers came on to the music scene, most of whom are unheard of now, so don’t feel bad: Cex, cLOUDDEAD, Ten, Bottle of Humans, Sole, and Cannibal Ox. Consider that just one year later the decline in markets shares of guitar manufacturers and retailers would begin. Weezer dies the first time:
“By this point, for whatever reason(s), not much was happening in rehersals, and they werent happening with much frequency. Management, concerned at spiralling costs of production without a known product (very little music was leaked out of the rehersals, leading people in various offices to worry that there was no music to justify the expenses) suggested that the band simply take a break until things started to move again”

This attitude would be a common one, with slowed production in rock resources.

In 2000, 3 Doors Down came out with their single “Kryptonite” and album of the same moniker. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Rather, I claim they were cohorts with Creed to commit “Rock and Roll Suicide” to the genre, working from within. Although their intentions may have been good, they no doubt played a crucial role in its demise.

At any rate, Rock and Roll is dead. Creed and other rockabilly stemming from mid-western America were the cancer that killed it slowly and surely. An influx in Mexican immigrants and the popularity of R&B on Mtv (or, some would claim, their refusal to actually air rock and roll) would create an inflation in the tap market to the point where today’s top artists are in terms of gangsta rap magnates “Fiddy” cent and the Game.

I do not, however, expect those who loved rock to cease their patronage. Quite the opposite, embrace it. Go to Virgin Records and buy yourself Abbey Road, or Rocket 88, or even, if you want to, Seventeen Days, the newest trash from 3 Doors Down. Anything you do in memorium of rock would no doubt make it very happy as it joins its departed disciples in the sky- Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Jerry Garcia, Keith Moon, and Buddy Holly. Play those vinyls. Play those indie labels. Doe your part and smile as you remember the good ol’ days.

Just don’t turn on the radio.

Somewhere, off in the distance over the river Styx, the soul of Rock and Roll sings quietly a dirge: “Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away…”

Harvey Kumpp

2005-03-21T23:51:00.000-08:00

Blog! I suppose it's about time I did some of this. Tomorrow, I have a psychology test. I'm bent on doing better than I did last time. I feel like I have a much better grasp of the material this time, at least. Still, I have this uneasy feeling about it.

Dostoevsky taught me something today, that I can be pretty spiteful to others out of enjoyment. Perhaps I am an underground man of sorts.

Also, I noticed that if you bang the "Return" button, the "Delete" button and the Space Bar, that it can come out being like a drum kit. Each has a different enough tone, more like Takai than jazz, sure, but entertaining nonetheless.

The play's been all right. I'm anxious for the schoolyear to end, though. I'm anxious for the semester to end so I can get on with my life without being so worried about this. Speaking of which, I need to take my blood pressure sometime tonight. Fun.

R= return
S= space
D= delete

RR RR RR RR RRRR RR RR RRRRRRR
D D D D D D D D
S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S

Bang that funky music, reader.

"The Sea Between"

2005-03-16T22:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm feeling poetic lately, especially during play practice when I'm not onstage (for 40 minute intervals). Anyways, here's a little diddy I wrote and am trying to adapt to a song. It's interesting. I don't know, do you guys often get to see the creative side of me? Aside from songs, I guess I mean. I digress:

"The Sea Between"

When you feel that breeze blowing over the sea,
Whose cold breath stings the eyes to tears
. and hoarsely whispers: Storm! Storm!
The gulls glide on eternity, simply floating
. somewhere between heaven and earth.
Hell flashes in bolts beyond the waves.
Clouds of an indiscernable hue blur the boundary
. somewhere between heaven and earth.
Their message carries on the wind
. over the waves, through the soaring angels
. and hoarsely whispers: Storm! Storm!

But there is safety on the shore,
. security in the sand.
Your feet lie in the toiling tide,
Wrapped in seaweed long dead
Nostrils flaring, tears running, but you stand on
. security in the sand.
Breath deep and yell into the void.
Savor every vowel, every detail
. of their name.
Cast into oblivion every memory
. of their name
Listen to the words coming back on the wind
. over the waves, through the soaring angels
. and hoarsely whispers: Storm! Storm!

What the Dormouse Said

2005-03-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

"0"

"This paper is NOT about the Dec. of Independence"

"What?"

"Thesis Poorly Stated"

"Blah blah! Get to the point!"

"No Outside Sources!"

"This w/o was discussed in class i textbook"

"All Outside Work is unacceptable"

"I can't make any sense of this. You didn't follow directions. Come + see me"

These are the comments one can find an a "Zero" paper. Yes! This man is a complete failure!

I never meant for this blog to become so darned negative. Things just swing that way sometimes, I guess. Now I'm off to play practice for the next three hours (so that I can read my TWO lines OFFSTAGE). Bitter? No! Whoever said I was bitter?

I mean, really I should be grateful. I'm leaving on a mission in a few months anyway (Ben, Rachel, did you know this?) so I'll at least have two years to get my act together or whatever. Maybe I'll figure out how I suddenly became a "D" and "F" student when I started putting actual effort into my classes.

"When upon life's burdens you are tempest tossed..."

And I'm so glad we made it

2005-03-03T18:22:00.000-08:00

Looking at the women in the opposite booth, I was overwhelmed with a sense of pity. I pitied not that she was dining alone, not that she was drinking more orange soda than I think I could possibly manage myself (and that's saying something, coming from a self-proclaimed carbonation junkie). I felt bad for this lady because she had a bowl cut.

I had a bowl cut once upon a time. Thinking back on it, I'm pretty sure I only requested it then because it was the only haircut I could put a name on. Well, I suppose I could have gotten a buzzcut, or a flat top (hey, it was the 90's), but I didn't want to be a jock, did I? Of course not, so why not get one of the worst haircuts possible?

But there was a women with that haircut in an extreme further then I ever had. her head was not unlike a large piece of red broccolli, if you can imagine it. That poor poor woman dining alone.

Why should I pity her her haircut? After all, that morning I had been sitting on a cold table on a sheet of butcher paper in my underwear while a man sat there and filled out paper work. Did I have a girlfriend he asked? No. No I don't, so you can eliminate that line of questioning. Fondle me while I cough, tell me to get dressed, then tell me no, you won't sign my mission papers because I have high blood pressure (a 19-year-old with high blood pressure? I'm not THAT fat, am I?).

Things aren't all bad, I suppose. I do have my "dens in dente". You don't know what that is, do you? I didn't either. Looking at my dental X-ray, I thought it was some sort of decay.

This isn't my mouth, obviously, mine's much larger. But that's what dens in dente is. It's a tooth-within-a-tooth. That's right. In my lower left cuspid. No joking, I have a spare growing underneath it. Mom tells me that her grandmother had thirds of some of her teeth too. Well, I'm tired of talking about it.

So I feel better. I'm sad I'm not seeing the play with my friends from high school, but really it's in my best interest to stay home and "heal" - you can't be "healthy" unless you "heal" "thy"self.

I came up with that on my own.

My Constitution

2005-03-01T22:42:00.000-08:00

This medicine for my canker sore makes my tongue numb. As for tomorrow, I have a full day of doctors and elderly inquisitors. But I'm not complaining.

I read a metaphor that I liked today. A character in this novel insisted that love is literally a virus. It spreads like a wildfire at very high speeds and, once infected, causes a person to lose coherency and act feverishly for the first few weeks, until the body gradually adjusts to the new bug and returns to homeostasis. It's when the virus is suddenly wiped out that the body reacts against its absense like a drug, becoming sick and withdrawn.

But I'm really not as pessimistic right now as these words would indicate. On the contrary, I'm very very pleased with things. I've written a few songs. Almost finished with them. I have a girl to think about when I'm down (yes, mom and dad, that's right). Hmm. Well, at least I'll have something to distract me while my orifices are probed on the morrow.

What a waste of bandwidth this turned out to be.

It's in the photograph

2005-02-25T23:29:00.000-08:00

We drew on the sidewalk with washable chalk. By sidewalk, I mean the pavement of the local elementary school. We laughed, talked, drew, waved to the security cameras. I taught her how to drive stick-shift too.

And so I found myself tonight on the highway. Where last time I felt a strange urge to get into an accident, felt an eternity was passing between cities, this time I just listened peacefully to my music and looked at my new photo. It's sepia.

Therefore I feel some pangs of regret. Regret for delayed action. Regret for melodramatics I instill into my own life. Mostly just for not acting sooner though. Two months. Two months left. And an iminent week of anticipation. Then again, I suppose I should be grateful.

Now I start to wonder, just who am I writing this blog for? My father has it bookmarked, so evidently he reads it. My sisters, possibly read it. I'm updating it now for Calvin, my #1 fan. Thanks, fan. I'll write later on when I'm not in such a weird mood (I'm getting kind of sick).

Cough.

Life is like... Depressing

2005-02-22T12:52:00.000-08:00

When I feel like I want to give up trying anything, I get this weird feeling like my cheeks are stuffed with cotton balls. That there are so many cotton balls beneath the skin on my face that I feel like slicing my cheeks like the fur on a teddy bear to let out the fluff.

In psychology today, getting an exam back (an exam that, until today, was ranked in my top five in confidence which I have taken) and seeing scrawled in green ink (the worst grades come in green) "64 1/2 - D." There's that stuffy feeling.

Coming to my dorm room for ease, slipping down the stairwell twice, losing my backpack on the second time. Again I feel sweltering fluff flanking my nose.

Trying to work with the new $99 piece of software to read: "Error, EXS24 not found".

When it happens, things become fuzzy visually. The world isn't real and neither are the people I'm talking to. They're all antagonists in a spider-webbed story with too many chapters. It's shrouded in cobwebs, the world is. So I resign myself to little comforts here and there. I look at the calender and see there are only three months left of this. In doing so, I have to ignore the fact that it also means I have only three months to finish the work I have before me, otherwise I'm just adding stuffing.

So as Pierce turns on his dreadful music next door, as the man outside my window insists on weeding the curb as well as the lawn, as Gray sleeps like a baby, and I stare at the photos on my wall of friends from home, I wonder if this isn't some little game I play with myself. A game of setting up seemingly simple problems, blowing them out of proportion and digging myself deeper into a well. I contemplate that perhaps on a subconscious level I really just hate myself and don't want to succeed.

I ponder these things and stuff my cheeks with cotton balls.

what would you do without wishful thinking?

2005-02-17T22:15:00.000-08:00

Well. Shame on me. I bought two more movies today. I have a problem. I just... well, I needed my Audrey fix. You see, now I have five of her movies. Yet do I regret it? Nay! I say nay!

It was warmer today. A few of us just finished watching "Six-String Samuri". Certain to become a classic in many of my neighbors' repertoire. I feel... blah.

Hedwig died. Of course, no one who would read this blog (not, it would seem, that anyone actually DOES read this) would know who Hedwig is. Or rather, was. He was a good fish. A black-tipped red fish of sorts. His life here in the Carleson dormitory was short lived.

He appeared on a cold evening in Calvin's clutches. We helped him to move into his new home, a washed out caramel syrup bottle Calvin stole from the Shaw center at dinner. He seemed happy enough.

It was the second day when Calvin came to me with the startling news: "Hedwig's broken." "What do you mean, broken?" "He doesn't swim up from the bottom and stays on his side."

Yes, Hedwig was a broken fish. Today, Calvin informed me that he passed away. And so, in the dark of the night, a small group of mourners: Hayley, Spencer, Mike, Calvin, and possibly someone else but I don't recall exactly (I was choked up on the moment) stood in the shadow of Foster Hall. Using my emergency shovel in the trunk of my car, I dug a shallow grave. Calvin gave a beautiful eulogy and layed Hedwig in his bottle to rest in the earth. We sang "Amazing Grace" and Calvin and I poured some water out of our waterbottles "for our little homey who didn't make it."

Everyone, please remember Hedwig's family in your prayers these next few weeks.

Buffalo Springfield

2005-02-16T23:58:00.000-08:00

Well. I continue the unfortunate saga of things which make mom and dad nervous. At least I wore goggles.

War. Cutthroat. Who trusts who. I found myself in the heat of battle as man in striped white and black, a metaphor almost for this world with no gray (except of course for my roommate). My brothers stand next to me, panting. We sweat and eye the enemy at the opposite end of the warehouse.

"Flank right!"our squad leader Mike Wilson yells. I slide on the slick green floors behind an inflatable pyramid and check my hopper, a good fourteen shots left. Ahead, I see the man in white taking aim at my comrade-in-arms and compagnon de chambre, Gray. I take aim: the first shot lazily barrels to the left of the man in white, the second sails over his head, my mask fogs up as the pressure builds and take aim once more, a hit! A glorious hit to the man's elbow, sending shards of plastic and spraying green on the wall in slow-motion.

"Clear!" I scream to my friend. Suddenly, like raindrops on a tent in a storm, my pillar of air-blown vinyl is showered. "Thwap! Thwap!" I cower in fear. No man should have to bear the tragedies of war uninvited. As such, a lean out to survey the situation. From the zipper on the floor there's a nameless soldier in camouflage, maybe 20 years old. A soldier who should be worrying about who he's going to take out Saturday night, not about who he's going to take out on the battlefield. Unfortunately, what I don't see is the ballistic with my name on it, fired by one of his mates.

A resounding "Pow!" as my knee is showered in green paint, certain to leave a welt. I'm hit once, twice. I slip on the floor, covered in the paint from those who had fallen before me and in anguish raise my gun, "Winchester", high above my head.

I stagger to my feet, an angel rising above the battle, ignored as I make my way through the crossfire. There's Spencer, my good friend Calvin. Are they destined to be fodder as well? I cap Winchester and exit through the netting to the waiting area, remove my mask and join the others struck down in battle at a table to await the next round.

Tonight, I became a man. Perhaps I'll undergo the same transformation next Wednesday as well.

Concrete and Clay

2005-02-15T13:17:00.000-08:00

Well, last night Calvin and I got restless- as usual. This time, however, we actually did something about it. We got in my car and drove West! Towards Nevada! We didn't actually go all the way this time. Instead, our ultimate destination was the world-reknowned monument by Swedish artist Karl Momen-

THE TREE OF UTAH!

Yeah. Well, the thing is I really didn't know what it was. Calvin just told me I had to see it. And last night seemed as good a time as any. So with only one CD in the car to listen to because we both forgot our ipods, we drove! We drove with a song in our hearts and in a sort of somber silence expecting to die any second from black ice. Our fears became manifest when we got to the airport and it started to snow.

Now this is the part of the story where mom and dad get worried and begin to realize just how stupid their son is. I say, "Yes, Yes I may be stupid. But I was a stupid man with a stupid dream and I was not going to let the forces of nature keep me from it." Well, you would be glad to hear I was thinking of turning around. Right before Dugway, in fact. But the thought soon settled in, "I drove for fourty-five minutes for my ultimate destination to be Dugway?" That is certainly not the dream man is made to dream. Would the pioneers have stopped at Dugway? Probably. But was the Tree of Utah erect in the 19th century? No. But it was there in the Bonneville Salt Flats and we needed to see it.

Just past Dugway I noticed something very strange. There was a reflection in the median between East-bound and West-bound traffic. There was water in it. Water. Now it doesn't seem so scary, but at the time, I was scared to death. I suppose I'd always had this thought that if I had to crash, there was always the median to crash off into. But not when it was filled with water. No. It reminded me of Spirited Away, the train in it. Picture that and add a blizzard and night time and you'll understand what I mean.

The road was surprisingly safe. The most dangerous part I think was to get distracted by the snow falling. It blew onto my car from the south-west. So it made it seem as if there were a hole in the front left of my field of vision. I wondered, is this what it is like to have a detached retina? We were getting very philosophical.

At mile-marker 30, Calvino told me to slow down. I dropped from 45 to 25 while he squinted into the darkness. "It's between 27 and 26, I think. I hope I can see it.

Suddenly there loomed a white monolith in the darkness. I almost slammed on my brakes. I had no idea the Tree was so gigantic! I pulled off the road, pointing my headlights at the concrete sculpture. We sat and stared in aw when we realized, the ground was rippling! Yes, i had no idea this happend, but the island the tree was on was surrounded by water! Of course, I am a novice to Utah, so this was a startling find.

We got out in the freezing weather and walked around the statue. Peed. Shiverred in silence. It was magnificant.

I got behind the wheel and we pulled a U-turn and drove home. The snow of course, had increased by this time. We pulled over near Knalis and pulled out the snow chains. For ten minutes we attempted poorly to hook them on. We gave up after a snow plow drove past, blasting us with a wave of snow and cleared a path somewhat. Quietly, the expedition returned home at a steady 30mph in the snow, now lighter in the air, but heavier on the ground. We returned to our dorm at 3:45, edified, pleased, and exhausted.

I will never forget that beautiful monolith. And I kick myself for not having my camera.

Hello Family and such

2005-02-14T16:58:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my own blog. I decided I couldn't resist any longer. Actually, I've had this one for a while, just haven't had the inspiration (or enough care) to actually post anything on here of worth.

Well, I'm not certain if you're aware of this, but Disney has been at Westminster campus these past two weekends filming some Disney film. It's been... well, interesting. Waking up on a saturday morning to the sound of pipes clanging on the pavement as people put up a tent to house all the kids soon to star in the movie. It was a beautiful sunny day the first week-end. Particularly, I enjoyed temporarily attending "Buckston Academy" and saluting its banners of blue and gold outside our quad instead of the old purple and gold Westminster flags. Go Buckston Eagles! I had a school song I sang for a group over dinner, but I don't remember it any more. Sorry. I did get a chance to meet the director, Joe Cropper. He was nice. Didn't say much about the film itself, but had a lot to say about where he went to school and had advice on how to get a job at Disney. Whoo. Like I said, he was nice. I took photos of some move-related items, but I don't know where my chord is to hook my camera to my computer. If I find it in the next few minutes, I'll post pictures too.

I'm relatively pleased by my new glasses, mom. Thanks. It's unfortunate, however, that after I started wearing them, Mike Platt and Calvin started calling me "emo." *Sigh*. I hate emo. I just happen to have similar fashion sense as those who listen to that kind of music. For more information, mes parents, please check out the following site. It may be vulgar at times if memory serves, but it IS informative.

http://www.fourfa.com/

Right now, Gray is listening to some hip-hop. Which has, surprisingly grown on me somewhat. At least this kind, there's actual singing involved. I just showered and am awaiting AJ to pick me up to go out shopping and for dinner at Noodles and Company. I look forward with great enthusiasm to San Diego this week-end. Fry's especially. I suppose this is a sort of erratic post without a topic, but at least you know what's going down here at westminsty. Well, happy Hallmark day and such. I'll talk to you later, especially now that I know where my phone is.

It's been a while

2005-01-18T03:41:00.000-08:00

Well, I suppose I should post on this blog which no one will read. I enjoy doing this. Why am I not in bed? I have class at noon. I'm going to be so tired tomorrow. This sucks. This suckks. Anyway, here's a blip from a post I already put up on another site, it's beautiful:

"In my head I keep seeing an image. There's a house on a beach. I'm standing in the breeze with my hands in my pockets, rubbing the smooth shells I've collected. My feet are buried in the cream sand. There is a storm in the distance, blurring the line between the turbulent sea with the angry skies, trapping the sun and erasing the horizon. I close my eyes and breath in the seaweed, the sand, the salt, the smell of a barbecue in the distance. For one instance I won't deal with the chore of thinking. In this moment I won't be awake, I will be asleep in this vision, listening to the lullaby of the waves.

That part is true. If I close my eyes, really close them and hide this reality I subject myself to every day, then the vision becomes a truth for an instant. As you can tell from the helpful myspace indicator at the bottom, I'm listless. Without list. Anxious for something I don't think anyone is willing or even capable of providing. Anyone.

There's a party two doors down from where I'm sitting on the floor. Our Residential Advisor is participating, so any hopes of it being put to a halt by some authoritarian figure is null. null. nullll.

And... still maybe I'll lie in bed and float in that space between here and the shore in my dreams. And listen for someone calling out to me something beautiful, but not audible. It could be a cry from the party down the hall. Or maybe it's someone I'm wrestling with in the depths of my thoughts making me soul-search where I'm afraid to go. But it draws me out, over the waves and into the storm in the everything in front of my vision. Somewhere from my safe spot where I can see, but stand without slipping. Its tension is unbearable."

Auf Wiedersehen

2005-01-02T13:49:00.000-08:00

I'm sad to be leaving, I say again. I went to church today, which was at 9:00. I'm sorry to say I feel asleep once or twice (whoops). I just had some soup which was surprisingly good, as it had ham and my feelings for ham are along the same lines as my feelings for celebrities who endorse political parties.

Last night, Khelsy and Katie came over to hang out. It's interesting to be socializing with Khelsy, who is an ex of one of my best friends, because when they were dating, I really didn't get along with her. Now that they aren't romantically involved (they say), I really enjoy being her friend. But I digress...

We watched Gus Van Saint's "Elephant" for some time. I wasn't too enthusiastic about doing so, as that movie just makes me 1) afraid to go to any high school; and 2) very very sad. Yet we tried to watch it all the same. Tyson Bowen soon joined us, and therefore the movie (bearing an "R" rating) was put to a stop. We got maybe 30 minutes into "The Princess Bride" when Katie began to get restless. So we stood around for a little bit trying to figure out what to do and never actually doing anything. Eventually, they left around 10:50 or so and I played piano until I went to bed.

Isn't my life just fascinating? Makes me so glad I started this blog! Wow!

Blog beginnings

2005-01-01T22:45:00.000-08:00

January 1, 2005. Here's a post. real quick. More to come, I swear, I just wanted to get on a post on the first day of the year.