Month: July 2003

I was eating cereal this morning and took a moment to read the back of the box. My current cereal of choice is “Kellogg’s Special K Red Berries”. It’s just like Special K (corn flakes genetically engineered to kill you from the inside out in the name of health) but they include these dehydrated strawberries in it.

I love strawberries. I love them like I love chinese food. If they were to make strawberry flavored rice or noodles or Orange Chicken, then I would never have any reason to eat any other food genre. As it is, my letters to China go unanswered as I plea for red berries from the red devil.

The back of this box had a woman crouching on a scale, staring at the reading, and smiling like she just found out she’s Miss America. Surrounding her is a series of numbered tiny paragraphs. The title for this list is “12 little things that can help you manage your weight!” If I were naming this, it would have been “12 disorder free tips to not be fat anymore!!” I would add that extra “!” just for kick. A kick in the fat. Kickin’ impossible.

1. Quick snack.
Try some cereal with yogurt for a quick, low-fat snack that’s good anytime. Remember to use Yoplay because other yogurts will chemically react with this cereal and cause complete blindness.

2. Thirst vs. hunger.
Many of us misinterpret thirst as hunger. Drinking plenty of water (an 8 oz. glass every 2 hours) wil help you keep from overeating. 8 ounces every 2 hours?! Holy crap! The person who drinks that much water is senile. No one drinks that much water. Of course you wouldn’t overeat – you can’t eat. You’re all bloated on water. When you go to eat, you realize you have to drink more water, and then you pass out from all the bloody water you’ve had to drink or your bladder explodes.

3. Avoid eating from the bag.
Don’t eat directly out of a bag or carton. Place a normal amount on a plate or in a bowl. This one is going to get them in trouble. Those poor construction workers. Their food comes in bags. There goes lunch, boys. And how do they define a normal amount? “Less than the entire bag or carton, please.”

4. Graze throughout the day.
Eating several small meals a day helps keep you blood sugar levels stable so you suffer fewer highs and lows. Carry healthy, low-fat snacks such as fruit and veggies to nibble on throughout the day. So, now they take it back. In between drinking water, make sure you snack on something. But whatever it is, put it in a bowl or on a plate first. Eating constantly, but only a little, and drinking after every thought will keep you from being manic-depressive. Your bloodsugar will flatline.

5. Mix it up.
Make your own low-fat trail mix with this cereal, pretzel sticks and lower-fat soy nuts or seeds. measure out single 1/2 cup servings and place into plastic bags. AhHA! “Place into plastic bags” violates rule number 3!! What’s going on here? I can see how they thought, “We say snack, but what can they snack on? Hell, our cereal and some fodder or pretzels.” No one was paying attention there. The plan is to confuse you into just eating their cereal for all your meals, in between the potty breaks of course.

6. Stay alert.
We are more likely to munch when we are bored or tired. So if you stay alert, at least then you will realize that you are snacking and bored and tired. Perfect plan, Kellogg’s.

7. Move it.
Walk whenever possible. Take the stairs instead of an elevator or escalator. Walk instead of driving short distances. Not only do they seek to improve your body, but they want to help the environment. Before, if the top of the escalator was too far a distance for you, you would just drive. Now they’re saying ‘no’ to both those options.

8. Clean it up.
Do at least three physical chores a day and reap the double rewards. At least three. Shovel the coal, clean the vomitorium, and rebuild the pyramid. Tomorrow you can maim the dog, kill the neighbors, and torture the rest. The rewards being only “reaped” if you’re not caught doing any of this.

9. Stretch it.
Get up, stretch and move often while sitting at a desk for a long time. It must be a desk. Sitting in a chair with nothing in front of it doesn’t count. Lying on the couch curled up in the fetal position does not require this stretch break. All those who are actually working must get up (in between water, snacking, and doing chores, etc) and stretch. Touch your toes if you can.

10. Avoid temptation.
Stock up on healthy and low-fat foods for your home. Limit or ban high-fat snack foods. This rule does not include drinking, smoking, sex, or high-fat non-snack foods. Romp free, my vicers.

11. Include this cereal.
A daily serving of this cereal can help you manage your weight without sacrificing taste. Oh, of course. THEIR cereal makes the list. It might have been better (at least from a comedy stand point) if they had said “Include Alphabits. Really, it’s actually extremely healthy. It will help you manage your weight without crucifying taste.”

and finally

12. Plan ahead.
Visit our website for great recipe ideas. What? I can go to Betty Crocker and get recipes. How is this a tip? “Visit our site” does not equal “Plan ahead.” That’s not planning ahead – that’s reaping popup rewards.

It’s amazing what they print on the back of cereal boxes. If I ever have my own cereal (Miles and Miles and Miles of Goodie Strawberries And Nothing Else) the back of the box is going to be my own list. “12 little things to read that have nothing to do with each other but I think they are positively the best ideas ever.”

Beat that, Mr. Kellogg.

After fixing my sandwhiches, pouring my root beer, and stealing some pretzels, I sat down to color and eat in front of the TV. I put in a Radiohead CD that Jeff had and thought it would be interesting to watch TV with the CD playing.

In much the same way bad over-dubbed movies do it, I completely replaced the existing sound track with the music on the disc. I tried movies, but there wasn’t anything fitting. I tried some TV shows, but there was nothing interesting.

Dr Bleil says ‘Hi’.

My last stand was music television. I flip to one of them and some bling-worthy rap star and a half is pronouncing his love for buxom bottoms. He shakes jewelery around and pulls at his shirt and he spits curses from between his gold teeth.

Then I saw it. The next video. It featured a girl. She looks like your classic blond-haired, brown-eyed cookie cutter teen singer. Then I realize that I recognize this girl. Her name is Hilary Duffy. She’s the star of the Disney show ‘Lizzy McGuire’ where she plays Lizzy (go figure).

This angered me to no end. “No way!” I shouted (much louder than Radiohead was playing) and forcibly turned off the television. Luckily, my gorilla-like grip didn’t break the remote. My eyes closed, my face turned red. I ranted.

What is it? Is it the actors or the studio? Here is Hilary Duff. She’s a child actor. She’s 16 years old. Her stint as a Disney lead is going quite well for her. Acting came make a person good money. You basically do nothing. You do what we all do everyday of our lives – you lie.

So, this teenage liar makes her fame gracing the screens in between rodentia. She lures thousands of kids every show into believing that her life is typical and teenaged and frustrating. Then wakes up one day and says, “I wanna sing”?

People say, “Why not? It’s all art.” I agree. Acting is art. Singing is art. ‘Lizzy McGuire’ is crap, and ‘So Yesterday’ is crap. There’s a fine line where what you do in front of a camera/microphone isn’t worthless. There is a shaded gray dash that marks off respectible from retarded.

I fail to believe that Hilary Duff has crossed that line. My little sisters may love her but there is a rare chance that she will show up on “Inside the Actor’s Studio” next to the Olsen Twins. God help us, it could happen.

Assuming that she knows where she stands on the timeline of Art and Pfft, how does she think that a singing career is a good idea. It’s a lot of work to sing. You have to act (lie) like you believe what you’re singing about. In her case, topics like ‘boys’ and ‘staying out past ten’ are going to be a staple for the refrains.

You have to make sure that the people put in charge of actually writing the music (read: self-hating art school dropouts) make a good song. If your image is “popular teen girl” then a song like “Down With The Sickness” might belie the facade you were going for.

I suppose a close look at the lyrics (because I never heard the song, per se) is in order.

Here they are :
(So yesterday) (So yesterday) (So yesterday)

You can change your life (if you wanna)
You can change your clothes (if you wanna)
If can change your mind
Well that’s the way it goes

But I’m gonna keep your jeans
And your old black hat (‘Cuz I wanna)
They look good on me
You’re never gonna get them back

At least not today Not today Not today, ‘cuz

If it’s over let it go and
Come tomorrow it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
I’m just a bird
Thats already flown away
Laugh it off Let it go and
When you wake up it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
Haven’t you heard that I’m gonna be ok

Ha! Okay

You can say you’re bored (If you wanna)
You could act real tough (If you wanna)
You could say you’re torn
But I’ve heard enough

Thank you
You’ve made my mind up for me
When you started to ignore me
You won’t see a single tear
It isn’t gonna happen here

At least not today Not today Not today, ‘cuz

If it’s over let it go and
Come tomorrow it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
I’m just a bird
Thats already flown away
Laugh it off Let it go and
When you wake up it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
Haven’t you heard that I’m gonna be ok

If you’re over me I’m already over you
If it’s all been done What is left to do
How can you hang up If the line is dead
If you wanna walk out I’m a step ahead
If you’re moving on I’m already gone
If the light is off Then it isn’t on

At least not today Not today Not today, ‘cuz

If it’s over let it go and
Come tomorrow it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
I’m just a bird
Thats already flown away
Laugh it off Let it go and
When you wake up it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
Haven’t you heard you’re so (yesterday)

If it’s over let it go and
Come tomorrow it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
I’m just a bird
Thats already flown away
Laugh it off Let it go and
When you wake up it will seem
So yesterday So yesterday
Haven’t you heard that I’m gonna be ok

I haven’t read lyrics this good since I read “Whip It” by Devo. Which I will use to prove my point. Do not act and sing if you are 16 and only doing it for money. You will end up like Devo. Gone forever.

Whip It:
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your momma�s back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When something�s going wrong
You must whip it

Now whip it Into shape
Shape it up Get straight
Go forward Move ahead
Try to detect it
It�s not too late
To whip it Whip it good

When a good time turns around
You must whip it
You will never live it down
Unless you whip it
No one gets away
Until they whip it

I say whip it Whip it good
I say whip it Whip it good

Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your momma�s back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When something�s going wrong
You must whip it

Now whip it Into shape
Shape it up Get straight
Go forward Move ahead
Try to detect it
It�s not too late
To whip it Into shape
Shape it up Get straight
Go forward Move ahead
Try to detect it
It�s not too late
To whip it Whip it good

You know that old saying, “a turtle is like a tank”? You might not because I just made it up in the Greenhouse when I was smoking some of the desert plants. The agreed upon meaning of this ancient metaphor is “just because one object looks like another, doesn’t mean you have the right to stay out at all hours of morning, you fool.” The meaning that most people have accepted is “you need a lot of explosives to kill a turtle.”

The creamy center of the turtle (called the “TurtleMan”) is the brain control. It looks like an ugly, angry old man who can’t get up because you pushed his fridge on top of him. So he lays there, sprawled out on his stomach, streching his neck and limbs out as far as they can go, reaching, pleading with his beady eyes.

I would imagine.

Turtles, despite their looks, are actually quite intelligent creatures. A given turtle may appear slow and dullard, but it may in fact be planning your death. The truth is that scientists have no idea what makes up a turtle. It could be a “shell” and “muscles” or it could be “satan” and “magic”; we really have no idea. What we do know is that they have an organized religous society.

This I came across accidentally with my brothers. Bryce, Ishmael, and I were having ourselves an enjoyable Fourth of July. At the time our ages were 11, 10, and 12, respectively. Behind our house in Big Stone is a large wooded area. We had shot some of those parachute fireworks (the lame ones that we didn’t buy from that day onward) and the parachute man had ejected into our wood.

The three of us raced into the woods to find it. Ishmael was in the lead. He had decided to bring his bag of fireworks with him (and a punk) as we might spy something that we wished to destroy. We happened upon a turtle.

This was no ordinary turtle. He wore a flowing purple robe with a white pointed hat. He stood upright and stared at us with his wizened, wize eyes. We stopped, the three of us, at his feet. He began to speak.

“My friends, I am the Master Turtle. I am a true Hero in a Half-Shell. I want you all to know a very important event is about to -”

“Let’s blow him up!” Shouted Ishmael. That kid. He grabbed the turtle before we could grab him. He took off running, shoving a bottle rocket down into the Master Turtle’s shell.

“My son, please do not -”

“Shut’tup! It’s lit!” He tossed the turtle as far as it would go and covered his ears. The rocket let out a whistle and the turtle hit the ground. Then there was a loud *pop* and a spray of green shot out of both ends of the shell.

“You idiot!” I screamed. Bryce has started to run back to the house. “He could talk! That didn’t seem weird to you?”

“It was just a turtle, Miles,” Ishmael said. I could tell that he felt less sure about his “ultra-cool” stunt now. The sky was getting dark. Suddenly, all around us, sprang up turtles in different colored robes.

“Who destroyed our Master?” Both Bryce and I pointed at Ishmael. “Take him away.” From the dark of the forest came two very very large turtles both of which stood about 10 feet tall. They each grabbed one of Ishmael’s arms and began to drag him off.

“I’ll tell Mom you love her and all that,” Bryce said.

“We won’t set you a place at dinner. I have a feeling you’ll be eating out,” I called after him.

“Guys! Help!! Save me!! PLEASE!!!” His cries echoed into nonexistance. He was gone. One turtle remained. “We can spare your brother if you wish. We are not without compassion.”

Bryce and I looked at each other. “No, that’s really okay. I didn’t like him.”

“Yeah, he’s yours. Do whatever. Just leave his sack of fireworks here. We can go torture frogs.”

“As long as they don’t talk, that’s fine with me.”

The most glorious thing about the western part of South Dakota is the bug population. Well, it may not be the population as it is the lack of population. I know this because Tyler knows this. And Tyler went to a wedding for his cousin in Rapid City. Well, not his cousin, but his second cousin once removed.

The trip began on Thursday. Jeff and I met Bryce and Dan (my cousin) in Brookings. We went to eat at a friend’s house/apartment/shanty where she made up hamburgers and chips and etc. It was a good meal. The conversation was a bit jilted at times. I don’t think that I really fit in with her new friends. This is good or bad. I guess it means that I/we wasn’t/weren’t replaced. It also means that when she invites me up there for supper, I have to expect a series of awkward silences.

We saw Pirates of the Caribbean, which was better than expected. I really enjoyed J. Depp’s performance as a slightly efeminate, thick-accented pirate. Who knew?

Stayed the night in Madison. Took in Chinese the next morn. Started our journey to Rapid. The trip was mostly uneventful. I created and began drawing an online comic strip (which may or may not ever see the light of cyber space) called Stellar. Dan and I had a row which ended with the help of Brian Regan. Then we finally ended up in town.

Dan split off from Bryce and I and went to visit friends. Bryce and I made our way to where my Great-Uncle Herman and Great-Aunt Jane live. They have named their home, like Thomas Jefferson and Lizzy Borden before them, and chosen to call it “The Rainbow’s End” because of how impossible it is to find and climb up to. Well, maybe that’s not true, but this thing is a sniper’s dream location. BF1942ers, you know what I mean.

Nothing much happened that night. Many plans were constructed but none were to come to light. The night became “Go and Decorate” or “Stay and Storm Watch” and I opted for the second. So, it was I and my cousins Chad, Janelle, Bethany, and Emma. Emma is 3 years old and not shy. She loves to talk and to ask the same questions over and over. Someone (I think it was Janelle or Beth) described her condition as senility for children.

The storm was fairly spectacular. There was not much rain. There was not much lightning, but the lightning we did see was quite the show. It would be dark as my heart one moment, then you would see a line trace down the sky in front of you. The next second you are blind, and as the spots disappear from your eyes, you realize that it was that bolt that blinded you. Wait for four or five seconds and a clap of thunder loud enough and deep enough to shake the house apart stomps over the hills. Repeat until too tired and cold to sit out on the porch anymore.

I played a small concert for those same persons (minus the uber-gabber, Emma) up where we were to sleep that night. As I retired the rest of the cousins came in and soon we were all sleeping.

Saturday’s agenda was the wedding. Thankfully it was in an air-conditioned church. The service went as I expected. The theme of the wedding was “Happiness is…” and the only answer Bryce and I could come up with was “a warm gun” but the priest said “being blest.” At least there is a song about the Happiness I know. Bryce and I got caught with gum, but it’s okay because we taught a little kid how do the “No, you the man” hand guesture. God speed, Joe.

There was a reception and eventually a dance. The dance was nice. I actually did. It gave me a large headache, though. Those things usually do. By the end of dances I usually feel like dying. It’s an odd thing to have happen. One second you’re making up the most contrived, inane dances ever with your Brother and the next second you just want to disappear into the dark and never walk back out. Dancing is dangerous for me.

Bethany, however, did pretty well. She got a phone number and an email address from a drunk kid there. Now that’s what you call a score. I didn’t like him that much. I have this strong aversion to drunk people and, it gets stronger with each person of said state of being that I encounter. I might never drink in my life if this keeps up.

Retired again. The next morn was church. Church at 8? I don’t think so. The little known secret of the morning was that there was another service at 11. Bryce and I (and my cousin Jenny and Janelle and several others) made it to that service and took up an entire row. We dominated. After rocking God hardcore, we made for a country club close by and had ourselves some food. I got to sit next to Nathan who is about a year old and has just enough short term memory where a game that involves passing a spoon back and forth between us is interesting.

We ate and went to the church where we were. This was where Herman’s birthday party was. After set-up, there was food (cake and punch) and Herman’s children told stories of their father versus another topic. The whole thing was probably more interesting to someone who had been born as a grandchild into that family. Then there was playground time. Chad and I climbed some rocks, admired the view, then walked off in our own directions.

The clean up went well, and eventually we were off. Dan, Bryce, and I were charged with bringing rented movies back to the house. We decided (while we’re in the area) to visit Dan’s house where he is going to be dwelling this year (and anon). We met his friend Climber Tim the day previous and we met Ben that trip. Ben is cool and shares our sense of humour (mostly), so it was easy conversation. Did you know that you can use a dragon to heat your water? And that using Girl Scouts to shovel coal is an effective way to keep your house heated.

We hit the house. We watched Zoolander and Shanghai Knights. Then we went to bed again. The next morning we spent cleaning up and saying goodbye. Another trip back that was just as good. We listened to the rest of the comedy MP3 cd that Bryce made. It was interesting listening to Mitch Hedberg for the full hour for the second time ever. He’s a different sort of drink.

We made it to Madison all fine and dandy. That night (last night) Holly came over and made dinner for herself, Bob, Jeff, Heather, and myself. It was honey-barbeque chicken with pork and beans. Note to self, buy more vegetables for future use.

With the trip fully over, I sit here and contemplate it. It was great to see those cousins I usually don’t get to hang out with. Katie, Jenny, Molly, Chad, Beth, Janelle, Mark, Holly, Andy, Zack, Nathan, Abby, Emma, Isabelle, Joe, Grace, Claire, Kent, Mike, and Dan. I miss all of you. What I don’t miss are these mosquitos. East river sucks.

Dear Nancy:

What I told you this morning was a lie. I did not oversleep before my meeting. In fact, I was very much up in time for work. I’ve found that I cannot live with the lie I told you this morning.

And, so, the truth comes out.

It was 6:15 or so when I woke up. This was unusual considering it wasn’t “Scare the crap out of Brandon by playing really loud music in his ear early in the morning” day. I sat up and looked around the room. Something seemed different.

Jeff was downstairs cooking bacon and eggs and toast. We ate, read the paper, discussed the economy and Edgar Allen Poe. Then Jeff departed for work and I remained to shower and dress. As I was drawing the bath, I heard a peculiar noise out side of the house. I threw on some clothes, stopped the water, and walked to the door to investigate.

Sitting on the sidewalk was a golden box. The box was decorated very peculiarly, with each side depicting a wildly different scene in a wildly different setting. One side appeared to have been done by a caveman and displayed a barbaric act of hunting. I turned the box over in my hands.

The next site was done in an Egyptian style drawing. Delicately carved into this golden box was a depiction of animal against man. It appeared that a town was being eaten by a pack of wild jungle cats. I turned the box over in my hands.

Side three’s picture seemed reminicent of Renaissance-era work. It showed the apparent torturing of a man. The man was lying on a rack, with arms and legs bound. A masked attendant turned a wheel designed to increase the distance between the wrists and ankles. I turned the box over in my hands.

The final side was blank. All that I could see in the golden surface was my reflection. Then I saw something behind me. It was a dark shape over my shoulder. I quickly turned around, but no one was there. I looked back at my reflection and there was only my face.

I took the box inside. Checking my watch, I had much less time to get ready now. In fact, it was 8:25. I decided to just go to work as is, and shower at lunch time. This would all work out fine.

I left the house, made it down the steps, onto the sidewalk, and began my short journey over. I had gotten about halfway when the box shot out of my hands and landed, lid-up, on the ground. I knelt down and examined the lid with a curiousity and an unease. The top of the lip had words written in English. They had been carved in a careful, flowing hand and read, “Contained beneath this lid of gold are strife and dischord ages old.”

‘Note to self,’ I thought. ‘Do not lift lid.’ The lid lifted slightly. Was it the wind? Or was it the spectre? I forced myself and weight upon the top of the box. It took all of my effort to hold it down, but I felt myself being lifted up. The lip rose higher and higher and suddenly I felt myself being sucked in.

“I’m going to be late for work again,” I said. With a great sucking sound, I was pulled into the black guarded by those golden sides. It was quiet inside and dark. Then I heard a voice. “Welcome to Eris’s Box.”

“Eh, what?”

“Eris. This is her box. Please wait to be seated.”

The lights came on with a *klunk* and I saw that I was in a restaurant. The restaurant was decorated quite lavishly. There was much lace and gold frill. There were chandeliers in chrystal excellence and many elegant tables set for two or four. I was the only person in attendance.

The waiter led me to a table near the center of the room. “Here is your special table, sir. We will bring out your meal shortly.” I felt a bit strange not having been given a choice of food, but I decided that perhaps the help here knew best.

I sat and waited. The space was large. The lighting for the room was done mostly by the chandeliers and some halogen lamps placed around the dining area. There were no windows that I could see, but there was a regular spattering of paintings (some I knew, others I had never seen before) along the walls. The walls were papered in an eggshell-colored paper that had flowing lines of gold leaf. The carpet that my chair sat on was deep red and very plush. The eating utensils, also, were gold.

The waiter came back, pushing a cart upon which sat a golden serving tray covered in a dome shaped lid. He rolled the cart up to the table and moved the serving tray onto my table. With a flourish he lifted the lid to expose my meal. Writhing on the golden plate was a horrible looking creature. It was reminiscent of a human infant, but had a fan of cartilage at the top of the head. It was black from cooking, but the arms (I assume) and legs (still assume) waved in the air. The mouth opened and closed speaking the name “Eris” over and over.

I cried out and stood quite quickly from the table, forcing my chair over. I covered my mouth and looked away. “What is it?” I screamed.

“That, sir, is evil. I see that you don’t realize where you are.”

“No. I don’t. Where am I?”

“You are in Eris’s box.” He paused, as if waiting for a sign of recognition. I just stared at him. “Are you familiar with Pandora’s box?”

“Yes. Opening the box let loose the evil upon the world.”

“Precisely. This is quite the same and quite the opposite. Here, you don’t release evil – you swallow it down. Then it grows and mutates. It’s a much more explosive means of getting evil into the world.” He smiled.

“I have to go to work now. Please let me out.”

The waiter frowned at this. His eyebrows came low on his face, and he stared at me for the longest time. “Fine.” Things went black.

When I woke, I was on the lawn in front of Beadle Hall. I sat up and looked around. There was no box anywhere. I got up and looked at my watch. It was 8:55am. I sprinted into the Science Center and ran into the bathroom. Did that really just happen? I splashed water on my face. I looked the same. It was time to get to the meeting.

I took off from the Science Center back over to Beadle Hall. I couldn’t remember what had happend now. Why was I looking for a golden box? Who was Destiny? I shook it out of my head. It was probably nothing. Other than the questions, nothing was out of the ordinary.

I did fell strangely full, though.

Sorry for lying. I hope the truth clears some things up.

Sincerely,

Miles

He had mentioned it before, Miles knew, but would he follow through? He sat in the silence. They waited.

“Let’s go to Sioux Falls,” Jeff said. They got up, the three of them, and walked downstairs. “What vehicle should we take?” This decision would normally be an easy one for Jeff, but his car was in for repairs. He had hit a deer on the way back from his last Sioux Falls journey.

“We can take Carl’s car,” Miles suggested. This was the first choice since Carl was not even here. Carl drove an old Celebrity. It was supposed to be black, but age and rust had made black the minority color. The vehicle had this odd habit of sounding like a jet plane when you depressed the gas and being completely silent when you let off. Sometimes it would start and sometimes it wouldn’t.

“Let’s take Collin’s car.”

The ride down was uneventful. They listened to Tom Waits on the radio, discussed the humour inherent in suicide, and thought about how much fun this air conditioner would be when they took it home. Previous trips had been known to include killing birds accidentally, navigating road construction, missing exits, and crying uncontrollably. Thankfully, God was having an off night for misery.

Their first stop was a place called the “Coffee Clay”, in downtown Sioux Falls. A friend of Jeff’s, called Ziggy, worked there. After locating the building, parking the car, and donning sunglasses, they went inside the establishment.

This would be a typical coffee shop. There was the requisite art on the walls. There was a “bar stool” section, a “kitchen table” section, and a “furniture for writing artsy angst poetry” section. There was also coffee.

They walked to the bar stool section where Ziggy was working with one other employee who was talking to one of the three patrons. Ziggy seemed surprised to see them and walked over to where they stood.

“Heeeeeey, guys. What’s up?” His expression said, “Do I owe you money?”

Jeff spoke for the group, “Hey, man. We’re just in town buying an air conditioner. We thought we’d stop by.”

“Coo, coo. Uh, can I get you anything?” On the counter was a clear plastic display that held one or two muffins. Also on the counter was a pile of advertisements. Miles grabbed one, to examine later, and turned his attention to the large menu on the wall.

The items read as you would expect. “Coffee, latte, steamer, cappuccino…” Miles summed up the menu in one word: sucks. He said, “What do you have that’s good? I really don’t like coffee.” There were snickers.

“Well, we have soda -” Ziggy started.

“No ice,” piped up the other employee.

“- but it’s warm.” He smiled. “I’ve been without ice since one or so.”

“Me and her are going to get ice, since there’s no one here,” said the other employee. He walked around the bar and led the girl out the door. One of the patrons got up and walked to the bar. Ziggy, now pressed with doing his job, had to cut the conversation short.

The three guys sat down. They by passed both the “bar stool” and “kitchen table” sections and made for the real seats. Too bad none of them had brought any notebook paper.

Collin and Jeff, like an awkward gay couple, sat on the couch-for-writing-artsy-angst-poetry while Miles sat in the large-arm-chair-for-writing-artsy-angst-poetry. Miles smirked. “You two can sit next to each other like an awkward gay couple. I’ll sit in the chair like a straight man.” And so he did.

Miles pulled a book off the stack. It said, “Pictures of Writers” on the front with an introduction by Norman Mailer. The book featured portraits taken of writers. Simple premise, simple book, somewhat boring. A lot of the writers were unknown to Miles.

Suddenly an unearthly, soul-wrenching scream broke out. It hit the boys hard, and the siren stayed long. It was one of the machines at the front of the room, Ziggy being the culprit.

“Do you hear something?” Collin shouted.

“It’s a nice neighborhood, but it’s a bit loud,” Miles shouted.

“What? What?? WHAT??” Jeff shouted.

Miles began to shout, “Honey, could you turn it down? I’m trying to read.” As he got to “I’m trying to read” the sound died and his voice echoed over the Coffee Clay. The other two people turned and looked at him. “I’ll have one of those.”

The bells of the door rang and a new customer came in. His name was Mike. He stopped where the boys sat and stared at them. Mike looked to be Latino in decent. He wore a hat that made his stooping stature slightly taller. He walked over to Miles and gestured at the book. Miles was unclear of the strange man’s motives.

Mike made a gesture that translated into “flip the pages back.” Miles did so, and Mike began flipping through and pointing at various pictures. Then he lost interest and hobbled toward the bar. Seriously creeped out and confused, Miles put the book back.

They looked around decor of the place. The walls were a purplish-mauve color. The ceiling had been decorated to look old and decorative, but the paint had been put on in such a thick manner as to de-emphasized the look. In a bold artsy move, the designers had put a pitchfork and a container of wheat.
“What is this, the cover of Led Zeppelin IV?” Collin snidely commented.

Miles laughed. He understood what Collin meant. Also on that wall was a strange shape. It looked like it was perhaps a cover for a vent end.

“It looks like they started doing geometric shapes on the walls, but stopped,” Jeff commented. He got up and started walking towards the bar again. He knew what he wanted now. It had only taken 30 minutes of thought. He stood at the bar talking to Ziggy about what he wanted.

Miles laughed, “‘Look, fellows. I know you hired me to do geometric shapes on the walls, but the only one I can do is parallelograms. I hope that’s okay. Look I did one for you already. Maybe I can paint instead?'”

The other wall had these grotesque shapes on it. It turns out that some dyslexic retard had decided to be “artistic” and the results were horribly deformed children. There were cute saying written next to the figures that said things like, “Your voice is like the sweetest golden sunshine” and “When he laughed I knew the world would never be the same.” The part the artist left off of that sentence was “- because he only laughed while ripping off other people’s appendages and eating them.”

Jeff came back and sat down. Miles said, “What? No screamer?” The people who had gone for ice returned. They did, indeed, have ice. Miles contemplated buying a $10 soda with ice in it, but decided against it. He looked back at the pile of books, but was afraid to pick up the photography book again because Mike was making his way out again.

None of the other books seemed interesting, so Miles turned to the advert he had picked up. It read “Live at Nutty’s Burly and Qui July 27th.” There was the location of the event and the cost as well as the age restriction (21+). In small print at the bottom it read, “Qui is from L.A. and this is the last stop on their tour. They are heart of the champion recording artists.”

“Guys, listen to this. ‘Qui is from L.A. and this is the last stop on their tour. They are heart of the champion recording artists.’ So, these guys, this band, are from Los Angeles and they come to South Dakota? And the last stop, the showstopper, takes place in Sioux Falls? How sad must the rest of the tour been that Nutty’s Pub is the best for last? Where else did they go? Winner, Huron, Webster, Mitchell, Pierre, Garretson, and, the arc d’triumphe, Sioux Falls!”

Jeff came back with his coffee. They listened to the sweet sounds of Smashing Pumpkins over the speakers. Collin commented on how he had never really gotten into the Smashing Pumpkins. “I guess my life never sucked enough.”

Jeff meekly reported that Mellon Collie, one of their albums, had been his favorite for a long time. There was no reply to this and the silence got awkward. Just then a girl walked in, a customer perhaps. She was relatively tall and thin. She smiled at the three boys, then walked to the exact opposite of the Caf� and sat down next to the ice bearers.

After sitting and talking with Ziggy for a short bit, the boys decided to get up and go. Jeff checked for the five dollars he was going to give Collin for gas. He couldn’t find it. He asked Ziggy if Ziggy had seen it.

“Mike. There was a five up here. I said, ‘Is that yours?’ and he said, ‘Yes it’s mine.’ I knew it wasn’t his and now I have proof. Here’s five dollars. I’ll beat it out of him.” Good ol’ Ziggy, thought Jeff. He’d kill anyone for money.

As they started their way out, they met Ziggy’s parents. Jeff was shocked. He stood there, unfeeling. How had they found me, he thought. It turns out, though, that they were there to talk to Ziggy. Feeling returned and the three of them walked back to the car.

Their next step was to retrieve the air conditioner. Oh, this story was far from done, they thought.

Read Chapter two at Converse.
Read Chapter three at Pulse.

You’re not a true, hardcore fan of ‘Fight Club’ until you’ve watched the movie in French with no subtitles to aide you. I am not a true, hardcore fan (as of yet) but last night I did watch the movie in French. It made me feel bad for the French people because you really don’t get the full effect of the movie. The dialogue is interpreted slightly different. There’s something about Ed Norton with blood streaming down his face saying “How about next month?” that cannot be properly mimicked by a Parisian in front of a microphone.

Call me a purist, but that’s just the way I feel. I’ve been “French” a lot lately, and I’ll explain why. First we must go back hundreds of years to when my mother was in High School. My mom took French as a second language back then. She thought it’d be a good idea to be an exchange student for a semester. Well, it wasn’t. She hated it, was homesick the entire time, and has currently no knowledge of French save some dirty phrases and useless salutations. The good thing to come out of it was that the family she stayed with had a son that was a bit younger than her. From what I hear, Benoit would fit perfectly into our family (meaning he’s sarcastic, amicable, and insane) and actually came to visit the states a bit after my mom got back.

His 15 year old daughter, Camille, has been learning English, and her father thought it might be a good idea for her to take the “sink or swim” approach to English. This involved sending her on a train to Paris, then on a plane to Cincinnatti, finally on a plane to Minneapolis where a strange family of Americans would take her to their house for a month in the middle of nowhere. I told you this guy would fit in our family.

I didn’t get to spend much time with Camille. It was mostly weekends that we would get to talk. Most of my Camille intelligence came from Bryce who, of course, saw her every day. I felt like I was getting debriefed every time I came home. “She likes walks, she said. And in France she usually goes shopping for fun. Oh, and America is crazy.” I was a little jealous of Bryce. My overall plan for Camille was to have her fall madly in love with me (read guitar playing American virtuoso) and trap her in my charismatic noose of wit and charm. It’s hard to do that on just the weekends.

This weekend was devoted to bringing Camille back to the airport for her journey home (a five hour train ride after her plane ride, thanks to her father). On Sunday there was a going away party from the softball team she played with. For fun they watched “A Hard Day’s Night” until Bryce came down and put in “Goldmember” instead. That’s the last time we let Molly pick the movie.

On Monday, early, we drove. On the ride down, Bryce, Camille and I made a list of curses in French and English. I will admit that I made some up that I thought would be funny if she were to say them, but we didn’t practice our pronunciation.

We spent the day at Valley Fair. Bryce spent most of the early moments of the fair by saying “oh god oh god oh god” under his breath. “Bryce are you scared??” So, I sat by him to give him brotherly comfort. As “Wild Thing” began it’s climb upward, he suddenly burst into a quavering version of “Here Comes The Sun”, and, as the coaster finally rounded the peak, he began his falsetto rendition of “Across the Universe” with myself on back up vocals. Aside from the random boughts of screaming, we did pretty good. We got off the ride and our group (which consisted of a large number of relatives) tried to decide what to go on next. “How about Wild Thing?” So, we went on it again.

The next ride was the Power Tower. This ride is one where you sit in a chair and get strapped in. They hoist you an unGodly distance into the air and drop you. It’s the theme park equivalent of falling off a deck in an arm chair, minus the reclining possibilities. This was the only other ride that Bryce was afraid of. It was a good second choice. This time Camille showed up. She was at the airport with my parents straightening out a ticket problem (she had the opposite ticket for the ride because they took the wrong one) and showed up just in time to just to the front of the line with us. The song this time was “Yesterday”.

The rest of the rides were like this. It became “What song next” instead of “Are you still scared??” and I started to get into it. We finally left the park soaked (thanks to a great idea by my sister to go on ALL the wet rides at the end of the day) and cold. We had pizza at my cousin’s house, slept there, and rose the next morn for some shopping.

Ironically, in our shopping, we saw a man and a lady that had been on our last ride at the park the day earlier. I don’t think either recognized us, but we saw the man on two occasions, and he almost looked right at me. We had Japanese for lunch (which was excellent) and I bought nothing. Camille bought some gifts for friends and family. Bryce and I contemplated getting Camille something, but we figured it’d be best to wait until she was gone. After more than enough walking to make Chris Reeve jealous (oh, so jealous), we made for the airport.

We checked her bag, and then we waited. The line was terribly long. I took some photos which may become wallpapers. We sat and had soda. Camille had seen Zoolander while she was here, and she has a great Blue Steel. It’s not great because it’s a good impersonation. It’s great because, well, she looks more disturbed and concerned than she does sexy. She also tends to throw this pout into it. So, to bide the time, Bryce would do Blue Steel, and Camille would do Blue Steel, and we would film it. Then she would realize we were filming it, and she’d get red and try to destroy us. We said our goodbyes and watched her go through the line. They found some scissors in her bag, so we had to keep those.

The ride back was demure and a bit contrite. A month is not a long time. There is so much more we could have done and shown. A foreigner became a girl became a friend became dear. She may have duped us about the swear list, though. We can’t find it. Oh, well. I think I can pick everything up from Fight Club. They say pretty much everything I need to know. A couple more weeks with subtitles on and I’ll be ready for Paris.

Look at this.

I got these images from : Something Awful : and if you visit the link, some of the books are mature. I took the funny ones that were appropriate for this site.

Life has been amazingly exciting for me lately.

On Monday, while sitting in the office, Mark Spitzer came in to visit. He was looking for Sue Conover, and it seemed rather urgent. We chatted, the three of us (Mark, Myself, and Nancy), and we discussed the new lights he had gotten in for the playhouse. After a rousing Tech Theatre chat, he departed to find Sue.

I had lunch, and I returned. While Nancy was at lunch, Mark came by again. He dropped quite a bomb on us : Mark Spitzer is Leaving DSU. He will be the Technical Director at Augustana instead. We here at Awayken.com (being involved in theatre and having worked closely with Mark) wish him the best on his new job. He told me that I could not put this on the website until Tuesday.

So when Tuesday came, I was ready to tell the world. The site went down. Apparantly, someone in the long line of people that Lazydesert.net depends on had a problem and hadn’t fixed it yet. No post. Let me just say, “Good luck, Mark, and thank you for what you’ve done.”

On Tuesday night, Heather came home. She asked that Jeff and I pick her up from the Sioux Falls airport. He plane was set to land at 9:35pm so we decided to leave a bit before 8:30 while Brandon and Mel watched The Terminator. We cruised at high velocity (but within the bounds of the speed limit) to the fresh tunes of Radiohead, Hail to the Theif.

Road construction soon limited us to a two lane interstate instead of the four lane. In our driving, we came to an onramp where one of the two vehicles is supposed to make way for the other. This always makes me nervous. It made me especially nervous as there was a car trying to get into our lane at our exact spot. suddenly an object comes flying out at us; it’s a bird. With a loud thump, the bird smashed his chest into the top of the windshield and went tumbling behind us. This bird, out of nowhere, came flying towards the vehicle. I don’t believe that that has ever happened to me before. Then I noticed something else – that car. From freak out to freak out, with no one dying except the bird, we made it through into Sioux Falls where Jeff got turned around a couple times. We eventually made it to Ziggy’s (a friend of Jeff’s from Iowa who now lives in Sioux Falls about 2 1/2 blocks from where Jolene was standing) to give him his phone card.

We chatted with his roommate and his roommate’s girlfriend (perhaps) and generally took in Downtown Sioux Falls. I don’t believe I’ve ever really walked downtown in Sioux Falls, and I think that I should do that. It seems to be that it would be a good photo session.

We finally got to the Airport (after more wrong turns) picked up Heather (after some ferocious hugs) and began our listening adventure of all the music she brought back. It seems that in the UK you are not allowed to have a bass guitar in your band for fear of making the music less boring. That was my biggest complaint of most of the music. There was a build up, but you never felt it.

You know that song “Hallelujah” that Rufus Wainwright plays on the Shrek album? I guess it was done by a guy who’s dead now. The original was much slower and featured guitar instead of piano. This song we were playing, and Heather was trying to impress the beauty of the song by saying “He’s dead, Miles. Dead.” I still like the Rufus Wainwright version better. I started singing along with the song in an Emo type of way (the song sounded pretty emo) and looked out into the night through the back driver’s side window. Then I hear Heather say, “Oh my God, Jeff, look out!”

This isn’t ordinary for Heather to scream during a good song. I look forward just in time to see and feel a deer smash into the front of the vehicle. Jeff slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a stop. He hit his ambers, and we sat there with the music still going. “Well,” I said, “let’s finish the song and then go check it out.” Jeff made some calls and the Highway Patrol showed up. Their vehicles have strobe lights affixed to the front so that no matter how sober you are, you can’t walk a straight line. They also do this so that if you have epilepsy, they can put you in a seizure and beat you without getting caught. If you want to see the damage (quoted by money hungry GED-flunk�d mechanics as $2500) click here.

We drove home and finally got to bed at around 3am. Wednesday was a glorious day. I have discovered what is known around the world as J-Pop. What is this? Japanese pop music. I hate American Pop Music (and British Pop music, too) but I love weird pop musics. This would include Indian Pop Music (Dahler Mendhi) and, more recently, J-Pop. J-Pop has several shades. They all seem to have an underlying Techno backbone; some of them go more in the 80’s Techno direction and others take the American Top 40 route.

Jeff got an album by a band called “Initial D” which is more the 80s route. Every one of their songs sounds like the exact same Anime hyper-dance music. So, if you love one of their songs, you’ll love all of their songs. I still have to go through it all. I must leave no eclectic rock unturned.

Jeff also got a collection of music videos. He got a large collection of them (and we haven’t watched all of them yet) by an artist known as Ayumi Hamasaki. She seems to be a rather demure type of girl. Her videos are more thoughtful than they are energetic and exciting. Some of the effects are cheesy, but a lot of the angles are artistic, and so they cancel in a weird way.

The other artist he got only had one video, but I’m in love, folks. Maybe it’s just that I want to love J-Pop so much or that it was the first video we saw, but I may start learning Japanese. Her name is Hitomi Shimatani (or as I like to call her, Hottie Hitomi). She wowed me with her song “Ichiba ni Ikou” which appears to be a love song. There are lyrics here. Her official site doesn’t give me a whole lot to go on considering I have no concept of Japanese. Here’s what I’m hoping – she’s single, 20, and coming to South Dakota to find a boyfriend she can spend lots of money (USD, thank you) on.

So, until she answers my emails or comes to her senses, I’ll wait here patiently. I can wow her with my guitar skills. Actually playing music is something none of her Japanese beaus have on me. It’s like Jeff said, “He can’t be Japanese; he’s playing an instrument.” Nice one, Jeff. You just insulted an entire island nation, and you did a damn good job at it.

I love music. And I really like my music. I suppose that’s a good thing. If you don’t like the music you make, then it becomes this twisted masochistic relationship. That’s when you see people smashing guitars and screaming foul language and spitting on the crowd.

If that isn’t cool, I don’t know what is. Maybe Justin Timberlake.

Last night the four previously mentioned folk and myself gave my song another round. This time I had definate melodies, concrete lyrics, sheet music (sorta), and a time signature. Who knew the song was in 6/8?? That came as a shock to me that this song was actually in 6/8 time instead of 4/4 time like I had always assumed.

How did that get past me? I noticed it when I was trying to start the song and it hurt. I was trying to count so that Brandon would know when to come in, but doing the “One, two, three, four” felt horribly wrong. So I did “One, two” and that felt better then I said “One, two, three” and that felt closer to correct, but you need two of them. “One, two, three, four, five, six” was right on the money. Then we do 3/4 time later in the song and that turns out to be half time instead of the impossible time change we thought it was.

What kind of monster have I created? I got most of the lyrics right most of the time, but some of the timing is weird. I’m going to memorize these, though, so I don’t have a bloody sheet in front of me the whole time. I need to be able to walk around.

Poor Jeff. He has nothing the whole time. Really, what good is the music going to do him? I didn’t write timings on it. I guess the lyrics could help him know where we are, though, and where we’re going. Last night he looked bored stiff. I felt sorry for forcing him into this. Brandon’s part does well, but I don’t like his intro. I don’t think it sounds enough like the rest of the song. I may write something for him, or just talk to him about it. Chris tried his mandolin on this one and I liked the sound. The high mandolin voice compliments Bob’s high fret strumming very well. Bob did a great job. He’s always surprising me musically. For a guy who’s last band was called “Wall of Dildos”, he does well at ‘serious’ music.

Our next session is Thursday. Heather gets home today so she might be a part of this one. My original goal was to have female vocals, maybe female back vocals (or ‘vox’ as they say in the industry), but we’ll see how well she can follow me. The key to this band (I hesitate to use this word) is how well you follow me, in a manner of speaking.

I’m going to end this post by posting my lyrics to “I Lay Down” because I’m actually proud of these. You might not understand them. That’s okay, but I don’t wanna hear about you winny, idiotic fool. Now shut’tup and read.

“I Lay Down”

[V1]
It took me forever to walk up those steps
I already witnessed the specter that crept
The house that I share with the woman I loved
She lay down in the attic above.

[V2]
I passed by the door step, the dog was ‘asleep’
The family room glowed from the living TV
And there on the sofa my children I miss
They lay down with another’s fatal kiss.

[ refrain ]
such angels save sweet beauty eyes closed see God
my love made physical and taken away from me

[V3]
The rude player off there’s a quiet calm rush
I move up a level by praying too much
Up in the fear I discover my love
She lay down in the attic above.

[bridge]
1,2,3,1,2,3…
do i stay or do i run; is this over or now begun?

[V4]
‘Now lay down’ I heard him say
It was not the words, but thoughts that he made.
I didn’t know what he tried to convey.
I guess I’ll miss her.

[refrain]
such silence presses on me eyes closed see God
the fabric of being be taken away for now

[V5]
I lay down all by myself
I lay down when you stood up so straight
I lay down all by myself
I lay down when you stood up so straight
I lay down
I lay down
I lay down.

Right now there is so much to say, but I don’t feel like writing. I’ve been spending a lot of time writing at work, but the environment is dragging me down like shark food. Nancy is gone this week and that means I really have nothing to do. Hardly anyone’s been in the office (see July 4th) and Nancy usually gives me 2/3s of the jobs I have to do anyway.

So it’s been a lot of writing, at first. I’ve been trying to do many things at once and all I end up doing is getting nothing done and wearing myself out. There are good things that have happened, though.

I’ve been acting – Bob Davidson has written a movie and asked me to star in it. It’s about a Librarian. That’s all I can tell you right now (non disclosure, you know) and we started filming on Monday. Once again I had my pants down for Bob Davidson. I don’t understand why everything I act in for him takes place in a bathroom…

I’ve been composing – Bob, Jeff, Brandon, Chris, and I had a jam session last night. It was an awesome experience. I don’t know if those guys feel the same way, but I was buzzing. We took a song I had written recently, called ‘I Lay Down’, and we got everyone on an instrument (some people more than one) and made music. It went like this :
Miles – Rhythm guitar, Lead vocals.
Bob – Lead guitar, Backup vocals (sorta).
Jeff – Drums.
Brandon – Organ (yes, we had an organ).
Chris – Rhythm guitar, Bongo, Shaker.
We made quite a thing out of it. The song took a much nicer shape and there were some good ideas produced. We’re doing it again on Monday night. There is a possibility of recording these songs in the future, but we’ll see.

I’ve been writing – the most recent thing I’ve written is quite the long story of a mute kid who kills some bullies. Of course there is more than that (I had to fill 1600 pixels by 1200 pixels up!), but you get the idea. I found the story intriguing and it is an offshoot of another idea I had. I may make the story larger and less macabre in the future, but I wrote this version for a wallpaper I made.

I’ve made a new wallpaper – the new wallpaper is, of course, on the wallpaper page, here, or at deviantART, here. The text I used is in the comment section of the wallpaper on deviantART, but I’ve also posted it on diPrest if you care to read it. It’s long, like I said.

I wrote a lot more than I thought. It is so hot up here. My title is a play on the title of a Moby song, When It’s Cold I’d Like To Die, but it’s true. So, I’m done with this heat. I’ll put the wallpaper up on a couple more sites, then I am outta here.