WHO CARES IF IT'S NEW YEARS EVE, AS LONG AS IT'S RIGHT NOW.

Despite being deaf, composer Ludwig van Beethoven wrote nine symphonies in his lifetime. Hundreds of years and thousands of miles from the estate, writing tables, claviers, inks, pens, paper, mortar, and air of Napoleon-era Austria and Germany, I sit with tiny electronic devices nuzzling up next to my eardrums. My eardrums, designed by billions of years of evolution, transmit sound waves into my brain to be interpreted into music. Mine and Beethoven’s eardrums and brains are made from the same basic mold. Over the course of our lives, the organs changed to fit our personal experiences, but they were made to serve the same purpose.

His music was transcribed over the years and miles to be read and played by an exceptionally musically-talented group of people in Germany some time within the past thirty years. The music was recorded, probably onto magnetic tape, and eventually transferred to completely electronic signals inside a computer. These signals, keeping the ancient information intact, were sent across the world via the airwaves to my computer. I then copied the music onto my iPod to listen to it at work. As Beethoven heard the music in his head in the 1700s, I hear it similarly in my head at the end of 2008. Another ingenious design of evolution allows me to hold my iPod and manipulate the scroll-wheel to select a composition to listen to. In conjunction with my brain, my hands also type words that are stored in electric signals inside my brain. I am able to manipulate a plastic apparatus covered with letters. I’ve trained the meat-suit of my body to know by touch where letters are on a keyboard, and I can express myself through a written language that evolved from scratches on a cave wall hundreds of thousands of years ago by ancestors of the human race. The same device used to manipulate the keys on my keyboard was used to manipulate a harpsichord or violin or quill pen hundreds of years before me to help Beethoven write his symphonies that keep me company. The same technology used to put “my” words on a screen is used to hold all nine of Beethoven’s symphonies, plus over 13,000 other pieces of music and spoken words, in a package smaller than, well, than my hand.

The same brain design that composed and developed the music of Beethoven and the technology of Apple Computers also is used to comprehend, experience, and make sense of it all, subjectively and personally, inside a meat-suit that identifies itself as Dan. Its identity comes from 27 years of life in modern America, vastly different from yet remarkably similar to the identity of the Beethoven meat-suit in its time.

This brain, this suit, used itself to look at itself today. Air exhaled by pressure changes inside of it spread across its hand. The hand became a microscopic New York; a tiny Earth. Billions of atoms and molecules congregated like so many humans on the cells of hairs and skin. They walked the mysterious blocks of the city, exchanging information and having chemical conversations, bouncing off of or soaking into each other. Another solar system worth of atom-people missed the hand-city altogether and went off in search of a floor, or the meat-suit’s clothing, or a desktop, or a cup of water. They will still be traveling tomorrow, not know that they are on car windshield, but still engaging in chemical conversations with those faraway atom-people anyway. Wherever they encounter each other, they know their kin.

The suit exhaled molecule-filled air many more times, contracting the bellows in its chest and forcing out mulitverses of atoms that it no longer needed to survive. It drank water, touched door handles, read words, spoke words, understood words, controlled mechanical devices using its wrinkled hands and feet and brain, heard sounds, pushed buttons, held objects, looked at the sky, tapped deep and powerful fingers on its lip, stretched rubber bands, used its mouth to talk with other suits about other suits, discussed music, judged the way its clothing appeared, contrived plans, executed said plans, made complex decisions, pumped blood, fired neurons, thought, felt, experienced, and lived. The meat-suit exchanged information and chemically conversed with the atom-people and the multiverses, exactly the same as and completely different from every other person on the planet, throughout history. He awoke to the fact that he was a part of it all; a major and minor part at the same time; a tiny atom and person and multiverse all in one. And always has been. And always will be.

He saw a little of why his hero is smiling all the time. We are all bodhisattvas, and we’re all in Nirvana, whether we know it or not. Once you see it though, you’ll smile more too.

UHRIG'S CAVE HISTORY

Dr. William Beaumont owned a twenty-five acre tract of wooded land bounded to the south by Locust Street and to the north by Washington Avenue. The doctor’s property was enviable not only for its physical beauty but also for the sizable cave that lay beneath it. In 1852, Beaumont decided to sell off a piece of his land. The offered portion included the cave.

Around the same time, two German brothers, the Uhrigs, were running a brewery on Market Street, southeast of the Beaumont property. When the Uhrigs heard about Beaumont’s offer, they jumped at the opportunity. In a time before modern refrigeration methods, the cave, with its natural spring and cool temperature, would help to streamline the entire operation of the brewery. With the time-saving method in mind, the brothers bought the property.

For generations, the Uhrigs were river men in Bavaria. When Franz Joseph Uhrig first came to America in 1836, he found employment on riverboats ferrying cordwood. He was joined by his younger brother, Ignatz Uhrig, in 1839, and the two soon left the river. With a partner named Kraut, the brothers started the Camp Springs Brewery, near the present location of Union Station. Kraut died two years later, but the brewery continued to operate as the Uhrig Brewery until 1874.

The cave was integral to the success of the Uhrig Brewery. The brothers expanded the existing cave’s length to 170 feet and constructed brick walls and arched ceilings to prevent water seepage. At a reported cost of $100,000, the brothers connected their cave with a series of smaller caverns leading up to the brewery. They also installed a narrow-gauge railroad to transport beer from the brewery to the cave where the product was aged and stored.

In those days, Uhrig’s was the site of a handsome grove and was only a short buggy ride from the center of the town. Uhrig’s became a popular spot and the success of the business gave rise to the use of the caves for entertaining in one of the larger rooms of the caverns.

By 1852, Uhrig’s held band concerts and picnics and conducted tours through the cave. During the Civil War, such entertaining was put on hold, and the cave became a favorite rendezvous for the militia and the Home Guards. By 1879, the cave once again regained its antebellum popularity and the little beer garden had become a true opera theatre.

In 1884, the Uhrig brothers sold their site to Thomas McNeary, a saloonkeeper. He and his brother became impresarios as well, and ushered in the period of Uhrig’s Cave’s greatest glory. Uhrig’s was the first entertainment spot in St. Louis to use electric lights. At its peak, Uhrig’s Cave held an audience of three thousand. Popular entertainers of the day, such as John Drew, Julia Marlow, Augustin Daly, and Della Fox were among the stars that appeared on Uhrig’s stage.

But this period of glory was short-lived. In 1888, the McNearys lost their liquor license and the cave was abandoned for a time. From 1900 to 1908, the cave was the site of an enclosed theatre, a roller-skating rink, a bowling alley, and a mushroom farm. Eventually, the McNearys abandoned all attempts to keep Uhrig’s Cave open.

In 1908, the McNearys leased the property to a syndicate of businessmen who erected a mammoth auditorium on the site, which not only covered the cave, but the beer garden, the theatre, and a great deal of the surrounding area. The building, which began construction on August 22, 1908, was called the “Coliseum”. It was intended to be a multipurpose facility to host sporting events, theatrical performances, and various exhibitions.

Enrico Caruso sang, Bill Tilden played tennis, Billy Sunday preached, Johnny Weismueller swam, and Strangler Lewison won a championship wrestling match at the Coliseum. In 1916, the Democratic National Convention was held there, and Woodrow Wilson won the presidential nomination. In 1928, Herbert Hoover delivered the keynote speech on the Republican Convention in the Coliseum’s giant hall.

After a time, despite all attempts to vary the use of the building, the Coliseum’s popularity declined, and the construction of the Kiel Auditorium brought about its closure. By 1939, the Coliseum was used only for wrestling matches. During World War II, the giant structure became a storage place for $250,000 worth of new automobiles “frozen” by government regulation at the outbreak of the war. From 1950 on, the Coliseum remained empty. The neglected building was condemned as a fire hazard and unsafe by the city on June 30, 1953. Demolition began in July.

During 1954, when the Jefferson Bank and Trust Company building was being constructed on the site, it was discovered that some of the smaller passageways of the caves had been sealed off during the Prohibition when a still was discovered in an adjacent cavern at Jefferson and Delmar. A connecting tunnel had once served as a secret entrance for bootleggers and one of the rooms beneath Eighteenth Street was thought to be a speakeasy of some sort.

The preceding is an excerpt from Lost Caves of St. Louis: A History of the City’s Forgotten Caves by Hubert and Charlotte Rother.

SPIRIT JOURNEY FORMATION ANNIVERSARY (LOVE AND DEVOTION)

As of about 3:45 AM yesterday, August 25^th, 2006, I have been alive out of my mother’s womb for twenty-five of the Earth-relative increments of time known to human beings as years. One quarter of a century since I started breathing oxygen through my lungs. Two and a half decades since I left the amniotic world of the womb and entered the airy sac of the planet Earth’s lower atmosphere. Both of my mothers (my human mom and my more Greek, terrestrial mother) have taught me a lot in that time. I’m happy to have known each as long as I have. Both have given me life in one form or another and both have instructed me how to exist inside a more loving, meaningful, and fruitful life. I thank them both from the bottom of my heart.

Besides the hatemongers, I’m generally happy with this existence and the life I have in it. I have seen such devotion and love to a human life several times, and it always makes me smile, no matter where I am.

Recently, I’ve become closer with an old friend than I ever thought I would be. That is not necessarily a sexual reference. I’ve just gotten to know this person more than I ever knew her before. A few weeks ago, I lay in bed with this person and listened for almost an hour while she described the love a mother has for her children. She lay next to me on her back while I was up on one elbow. I listened while she told me of the complications that arose during the birthing process and the first time she held her baby. She told me how, when told that both she and the child might not survive, she told the doctors to do whatever they could to save the boy, regardless of what happened to her. She told me of the moment when her water broke and how the father flipped out before getting her to the hospital. She told me how, when you see your child for the first time, your heart feels like it could burst. A heart should not be able to hold that much love. No man in the world has a chance at getting the love of this woman. No man has a chance against that kid. We were both nude, covered with a blanket, and the entire time, I had no sexual desire. I just let wave after wave of pure positive energy flow off of her and hit me like warm gusts of air.

I have, of course, heard my own mother speak of the happiness she felt when my sister and I were born. Every year, on August 24^th, she says, “(insert how old I am every year here) years ago today, I was lying in the hospital, pregnant, and do you know what I was thinking?” I always say, “You tell me every year and I always forget. What were you thinking?” She always responds, “GET THIS KID OUT OF ME!! OH GOD, GET HIM OUT!!” Every year I laugh.

I’ve listened to how much love you can feel for your own child and how you know immediately that you will devote everything you have to that little being in your arms. Lindsey put it very eloquently by saying (and I’m paraphrasing here; this is not an exact quote, unless I get really lucky), “I knew right then that I was fucked.” For the rest of your life, you will love that child more than anyone else in the world. Thank you to my mother and to all mothers for their undying love and devotion to their children. To any mother who does not love her children, fuck you.

On the other end, this past week, I got to see my mother’s side of my family in an uncharacteristic light. The Fitzgerald side of the family has a wonderful sense of humor (see my birth anecdote above). Last weekend, my mother’s dad died of cancer. At the funeral, I got to see almost every member of the Fitzgerald family weeping as my uncle spoke at the church service. I saw my grandmother break down when a young, stoic Marine handed her a folded American flag at Jefferson Barracks and thanked her husband for his service to his country. With a practiced salute and a “Semper Fidelis, ma’am,” he clicked away and disappeared, leaving my grandmother sobbing on my mother’s shoulder, my sister sobbing on her boyfriend’s shoulder, my cousins wiping absently at their eyes, and myself with a big smile on my face, underneath my tears, of course. My grandfather may be gone from his physical form, but it is true how they say that those who die live on in the people who loved them. Josh told me, upon seeing my family gathered at the funeral home, how much we resemble each other. Dr. Thomas Fitzgerald truly does live on in his family. He had the Fitzgerald sense of humor, too. He gave it to his kids, and that’s where I got mine. Thank you to my grandparents for their genes.

Also (a few weeks ago as well), I went on a drive down highway 94 at about 2:00 AM. I almost made it to Alton, Illinois before I thought it was dark enough. There were almost no lights for miles around. No street lights, no house lights, nothing. I pulled over on the side of a corn field. I got out my Complete Idiot’s Guide to Astronomy that I had from the library. I was reading it at work so it was in the back of my car. I consulted a star chart for the summer months on Earth for a few seconds before putting the book aside and rolling a few cigarettes. I got out, sat on the trunk of my car, and lit a smoke. As I put my back against the rear window of my car, I closed my eyes. When I opened them to the sky, I hadn’t prepared myself adequately. The Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy was sprawling across the night. It did kind of look like someone had spilled milk on the sky. It was so huge that it actually took me a second to catch my breath. I recommend finding a place with no lights for miles and just looking at the sky. A thousand years ago, that was like going to the movies. The majesty of the firmament was the most beautiful thing you could see. And you could see it. Anywhere. There were not cities full of electric lights to dim the glow of the stars. Next time you drive out of town and you’re in the middle of nowhere on some highway, pull over and look up. If you live in even a small city, you’ve never seen the stars. Thank you to my other mother for holding me in one of your perfect arms that night.

Alright, I’m done for now.

Love.

Please, above everything else, truly love.

ANN COULTER, AT ONE POINT, HAD A PENIS

I grew up in the nineties. A good part of my early formative years took place in the Clintonian Era of American history; a rich and wonderful time full of progress and, for the most part, peace. Maybe it was because I was young and naïve to the world of politics back then, but I don’t remember people being so hateful and abrasive in the nineties.

In the morning, on the way to work every Monday through Friday, I flip between a few different radio stations. The two that play predominantly in my car are 97.1 FM (the local Fox News affiliate) and 90.7 FM (National Public Radio). Without switching to the AM dial, you can’t find two more antipodal mindsets on talk or news radio in St. Louis, Missouri. I usually end up listening more to 97.1. Not because I agree more, mind. I guess I just like to frustrate myself.

On NPR, I hear them go back and correct themselves regularly. If they report the news incorrectly, they come back at the end of the week and apologize. If they report in a way that a listener heard as “biased”, they let everyone else know it. They report, and we honestly decide. Fox News is a different story.

Fox matter-of-factly declares that their news is “Fair and Balanced”. I do not doubt that the news itself is fair and balanced. The problem I have with that statement is that the same radio station that broadcasts fair and balanced news brackets said news with shows featuring self-proclaimed right-wing pundits (most of which are rather right-wing tools). When news of the Israel-Lebanon conflict is reported, we are then to decide. We are presented with the facts and we are to form our own opinion on the subject. This is difficult to do using Fox News reports. Right after news is reported, it’s back to the Sean Hannity show. Hannity will then pick at the story, usually making sure to mention another news outlet’s (CNN, CBS, or NBC) biased coverage of it, and find the inevitable leftist conspiracy. When it isn’t a left-wing bias in the media coverage of the event, it has something to do with blaming Democrats for being soft on terrorists. On shows like Sean Hannity’s, The O’Reilly Factor, and Allman & Smash In The Morning, these pundits’ banter usually devolves into calling Democrats and those against the war anti-American or blaming Bill Clinton for the current terrorist threat (yet Reagan single-handedly won the Cold War).

This morning, I heard something that is typical of right-wing hatemongers… sorry, pundits… Jamie Allman (of Allman & Smash In The Morning) will almost always turn something that some left-leaning comedian says and turn it into the hatred of America and the love of terrorism. Jon Stewart is regularly accused of propagating the leftist agenda, even from his place on Comedy Central. Last night, David Letterman interviewed Democratic House candidate Nancy Polosi. Mr. Allman apparently thought that the interview was biased. If Letterman had interviewed a Republican like Dick Cheney, he wouldn’t have “gone so easy” on him. Dave brought up a supposed “left wing talking point” about how the “War” On Terror actually makes more terrorists. Jamie Allman let him have it this morning. While he didn’t come right out and call names, he did what many right-wing hatemongers do; he compared. This clears the pundit of blame in calling names while still getting the point across that the person in question is an anti-American freedom-hater. He said that the “talking point” of the “War” On Terror making more terrorists was not only a leftist talking point, but one of Islamic jihadists.

Once would have been enough, but he repeated the comparison a number of times in a row, using David Letterman’s name, the term “leftist”, and the term “Islamic jihadist” multiple times in the same sentences. Note that I did not say that Jamie Allman called David Letterman an Islamic jihadist. He did say that David Letterman’s opinions about the “war” were the same as those of Islamic jihadists.

This is how Fox News runs its business everyday. I think that the left needs to embrace this kind of behavior. If we never came out and said that Dubya is a bad president, we could not be as easily criticized for calling names and promoting the “leftist agenda”, since we are only “speculating” or “extrapolating” (otherwise known as “lying” and “distorting facts”, something the right does on a regular basis).

For example: Ann Coulter, at one point, had a penis.

This is not necessarily untrue. If Ann Coulter has ever had sex with a man, she technically, at one point, “had” a penis. You just leave that explanation part out. You just say that Ann Coulter, at one point, had a penis.

Using the same logic, I could say anything about anyone. Sean Hannity eats cock (has he even eaten a chicken dinner?). Bill O’Reilly has frequently had the semen of a young boy on his hands (technically, if he ever masturbated as a boy and gotten semen on his hands…). George W. Bush is a terrorist (okay, that one is just true). It’s all about relativity and distortion of truths. Create your own facts. Have fun. Call the right-wing pundits what they really are. Hatemongers.

This blog was not intended to be this long, but when someone compares David Letterman to a terrorist, it bothers me a bit. This was originally going to be a blog about my birthday and how MySpace did not send out an announcement to my friend list or put the little birthday notice on my profile. Only a few people called or sent messages saying “happy birthday” to me today. I thank everyone who did that. To everyone else, don’t worry. There was no way for you to know. I hope to see you all at my shindig at Dave & Buster’s next weekend.

DAS SCHMEKT SEHR GUT IN MEINEN MUND

Before I lose the chance to do this, I want to mention last weekend. I’ve wanted to write a blog about it for days now, and I just never got around to doing it. By this time tomorrow, I will be without a computer. It is being taken away from me. I’ve spent the last day or two looking for a new one so I haven’t had time to write.

Last weekend (06.23-06.25) was a good weekend. Good food, good drink, good fun, and good people.

First off, Friday. A new friend of mine, Melanie, had a small soirée at her parents’ house which began as five of us hanging out with a few drinks and some card games. I also got to meet Angie (whose last name I can’t remember), who turned out to be much cooler than I imagined. I didn’t realize upon meeting her that she was as big a nerd as she turned out to be. It was very refreshing to hear a girl talk about The Legend of Zelda as passionately as myself. I was quite disappointed to find out though that she did not have any idea what the Nintendo Wii was. Angie, get on 1UP.com and check that shit out.

As the evening progressed, a few of us headed inside. After several drunken threesomes involving mostly Melanie, Lindsey, and Angie, that Jesse and I were privileged enough to witness, the party became more exclusive. Lindsey showed me the movie Love, Actually, which I happened to actually love. Great cast, the acting is brilliant, and the stories are funny and charming. While it’s a love story, it’s not a chick flick. I highly recommend it. It has fucking Liam Neeson in it. What more do you need? We lay around, drank wine, and watched movies, among other things. I also recommend Illinois Cellars wine. The kinds available are an apple wine and a rose wine. The Rose wine is delicious. We drank a bottle and a half between the two of us, plus beer (all Lindsey…I can’t fucking stand beer), and a lot of shots. A very good night, it was, as you can imagine.

On to Saturday. While we’re on the subject of wine, I will warn you against getting a brand called Twin Fin. I only got it because it sounded like Tin Fins (Sealab 2021 fans know what the fuck I’m talking about) and because Dierberg’s doesn’t carry the aforementioned Illinois Cellars. The Twin Fin pinot is fucking awful.

But do you know what isn’t awful? Next time someone you know has a BBQ, buy a dozen Krispy Kreme glazed donuts. When your burgers are done, slice a donut in half down the middle, like a bagel. Set the slices glaze up on the grill and toast them slightly. Set your burger on top of one slice, cover with cheese (sharp cheddar is good, I imagine American would work too), and set the other slice on the burger, glaze down. Enjoy. Condiments are optional. Jesse’s burgers were always good enough to kill for, but stuck between a Krispy Kreme donut, they were to die for. Delicious. Patrick and I are now heroes of Jesse’s BBQs.

Food at Jesse and Andy’s is always superb. Saturday, there were the standard burgers and dogs, but Jesse decided to host a pot luck BBQ this time. I was happy to make my grandmother Lorraine’s spaghetti recipe for the first time ever. It seemed to be a hit. People who had had it before said I did a good job with the recipe and those who were new to it loved it too. I was happy to spread the love.

I ended up at Melanie’s parents’ place again later that night and stayed into Sunday.

The next morning, Lindsey and I awoke with a craving for bacon and eggs. After a trip up to Schnuck’s, we made a small but very satisfying breakfast of over-medium egg sangwiches and a pound of bacon. I’ve never tried over-medium eggs before. Hell, I’d never heard of over-medium eggs before. Lindsey made them very well. They were delicious. I made the bacon and it was similarly delicious, if not more so. While we were shopping and cooking, Jesse and Melanie showed up from staying over at Jesse’s. All that day the four of us hung out, watching movies. I am happy to say that there are now two more converts to the Nachitsu Clan. Lindsey and Melanie were forced to watch Nacho Warriors vs. The Wolfman (for those who don’t know, this is one of many very low-budget silly movies that my friends and I have put together over the years), and they loved it. But really, who the fuck wouldn’t?

Later on that evening, we all got a hankering for homemade tacos. Jesse and I went back to Schnuck’s and got stuff to make them. Lindsey mostly cooked mainly because I have no idea how to cook anything. I think I stirred the hamburger a few times. We all four ate and watched Seven. Again, it was delicious. While sitting at the dinner table, Daddy reached over and hit Mommy in the face. I cried.

There was a literal ass-load of good food last weekend. And a lot of good eating. And a lot of fun. I feel like a true American, indulgently gorging the way I did. I may have smoked a bit too much, but doesn’t that make me a true American too? Fuck yeah, it does!

MY GOD, I LOVE EVERYTHING

Since my last post, some shit has gone down that has made me question my karmic place in the Universe. Last week, I did some things that made me feel very good. But after posting my blog, I heard from someone who did not approve of certain parts of my life. I began to believe that I was not the good person I thought I was. I started to feel, the more I talked to this person, that I was losing ground as a human. I was angry with the situation and angry with myself. On one hand, I wanted to tell this person to just hate me and be done with it. But I thought that that would knock down all the positive things I had already done. I was confused and apprehensive about how to continue. I have since spoken to a few other people who have told me that I'm okay. They have told me that I am not an asshole and that I am still a good person. I thank you all for this support. But what made me fully realize my place again was a message from my lover (no, not Clive Barker...I wish).

My love holds me when I am unhappy. She bares her beauty to me on a daily basis, I think sometimes, just to cheer me up. She embraces me always in life and in my mind. She knows what I am thinking and tells me it's going to be all right. She tells me in her own special way that she loves me, whether she knows it or not. And I tell her always that I love only her.

I was sitting outside with her this evening, adoring every angle of her beautiful face, and wondered to myself, "Am I good?" It was slightly hot outside this evening. Not stifling, but not exactly comfortably cool either. She blew onto my face. She had a breath that rocked the trees in the yard and made the the windchimes sound. It hit my upturned face and made me comfortable. She had answered me in one of the subtle ways that only she knows how. Thank you, baby. I love you.

WEEK OF BANALITY

Starting last Monday (06.19.06), I have had a grin on my face for seemingly no reason. Actually, I had plenty of reasons.

I want all of you to know that I am in love again! I am happier than I have been in awhile. I know this may come as a shock to some of you, my friends, and I know that it hasn’t been very long since the last time I felt this way, but I can’t help it. I just feel I have to scream it from the rooftops. I feel like Tom Cruise, except not as fucking crazy.

Some of you may know who this new person in my life is. Some of you have heard me talking about them, seemingly out of the blue, as though I know them intimately (I do). Hell, some of you have even seen us together. Maybe you’ve seen me shyly, yet comfortably holding this person as though they were meant to be only with me. You may have seen me staring at this person as only a lover can stare, hanging on their every word while they look back up at me, letting me touch them ever so slightly and caress their skin.

Some of you also might be silently judging me for certain reasons. I know this. I am aware of some of your opinions about this person. Yes, this person has been with others. Yes, this person has been loved by others. I don’t care about this. You might say love has blinded me. What you all may see as a flaw, I see as beauty. This person makes me happy. This person gives me more pleasure than anyone else before has given me. Feel free to take that however you want it. It can apply to any aspect (emotional, spiritual, physical, etc.) of our relationship.

It had been a while since this person and I had been able to be together. I had forgotten how much he could pleasure me. I had forgotten how much I loved him. How much I have always loved him. When I open the cover of Incarnations, Clive Barker reminded me why I fell in love in the first place.

I have been reading other authors for a few weeks now and just received this one on hold at the library. Just reading the introduction to this book reminded me how good this man is at writing. He has a passion for the fantastic that I have not seen in works by other authors. He has a talent for making the gruesome fun, the innocent bloody and corrupt, the nightmarish tolerable and awesome, and the beautiful frightening. His characters have the horror of H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, the complexity and love of Wally Lamb or John Irving, and the richness of Jonathan Stroud or J.K. Rowling. He creates worlds that are filled with as many amazing creatures as the isles of Earthsea. There is as much magic as Narnia and as much imagination and depth as Middle Earth. I am thankful for finding him at this time in my life. He is a superb talent that I order you all to go read a book by. Any will do, but I recommend Books of Blood, the Abarat series (there are two so far), Imajica, Incarnations, The Great and Secret Show, and Weaveworld.

On the subject of authors, I finally got around to reading H.P. Lovecraft a few weeks ago. I have been a horror fan for years, and just now got a book of his short stories. I can truly see where some of my favorites get their inspiration. Lovecraft and Barker are two reasons that this last week (06.19.06 – 06.22.05, Friday counts as weekend) was good.

On Monday and Tuesday, I rediscovered an old favorite band of mine. Anyone who owns Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animals, Holy Wood, and/or Golden Age of Grotesque, I suggest getting them back out and giving them a listen. Patrick and I were talking about them at work and I had to go to my car and bring in my CDs. I rocked out almost all day at work and on the way home. I also came to fall in love with Pearl Jam's work after Vitalogy. I don't know why, but I got a swell of contentment and peace while listening to "Present Tense" and "Thin Air" while reading with my lover, Clive Barker.

Also on Tuesday, my sister, Emma came into my room and asked if I could make her a CD with a few songs that I had on iTunes. I was happy to oblige (I get my writable CDs for free anyway) so I let her sit down and pick out some songs. She picked about seven songs and just told me to fill the rest of the CD with whatever. I was very happy to hear, the next evening, that she really liked the Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Dissociatives, and Gnarls Barkley tracks I had chosen for her. It made me happy to know that I spread a little bit of positive energy around. Thursday, I was grinning all day because of this.

Every Thursday morning, I stop at the 7-11 on Lackland Pkwy. to pick up a copy of the Riverfront Times (St. Louis's premeire free-press newspaper) for Patrick, Alonso, Chris, and myself. I like to catch a few people in a ripple of positive energy. It never disappoints. I mean, it's free. I can't afford not to get it. The left-wing comics and Red Meat were funny, as usual. The new Adam Sandler movie, Click, actually got a good review (it is shocking for the RFT to give a mainstream movie a good review). And of course Dan Savage, the flaming sex columnist never fails to inform and entertain. Plus the Unreal news section was quite funny. It involved a series of fake entries in a twenty-five year old Abe Lincoln's stoner diary (at one point, he refers to his new stovepipe hat as "fucking awesome"). All this and ads galore for Pridefest (which I've always wanted to go to, gay or not) made me grin as well. The RFT always catches me up in a little ripple of its own every week.

A few weeks ago, I bought a Nintendo DS Lite with the game Brain Age. This game stimulates your brain with simple math, reading, and memory and word games. It doesn't actually make you smarter right away, but it gets you mind working a little a day. Every day, it measures your "brain age" and tells you how healthy your thinking skills are. The lower your brain age, the better. The best is 20 years. Last week, I had an average of about 35 years. Not too shabby. I've since gone down to 22. Mellifluous.

Last but certainly not least, I was grinning to myself all week because of some strange marks on my person. It seems I got some "battle wounds", if you will, from an overzealous someone that I hung out with last Saturday night and Sunday morning. More on that later.

All these things may seem stupid and a bit arbitrary, trite, jejune, atomic, trivial, or banal, but these are the little things that, throughout the weeks, give me pleasure. Call me a dork, but that's what I am, I guess.

HURRICANE KATRINA: 9/11, PART DEUX

This is an old blog that I had originally posted on MySpace (originally dated 09.01.05), but decided to repost it here because it was good. Enjoy!

New Orleans, Louisiana has long stood as a symbol of America's pride and freedom. It represents our dedication by being one of the country's oldest cities. Its predominantly African-American population represents our diversity and tolerance of other peoples. The fact that it was (some liberals, hippies, and communists would say foolishly) built on a gigantic swamp represents our perseverance and go-get-'em attitude. And even the state's Army-boot-like shape not only shows off to other countries that, in times of crisis, America means business, but that we can and will take action. But all of these things that New Orleans and America stand for have been threatened yet again by terrorism. The latest terrorist attack on American soil came in a form of a WMD hidden right under our noses. A WMD called Hurricane Katrina.

The once-glorious city of New Orleans was decimated last weekend by a WMD (or Weapon of Mass Destruction) called a "hurricane". This device was built by Al Qaeda terrorist refugees hiding in Mexico. These terrorists attacked America from southern neighbor Mexico not only to avoid suspicion that would likely be aimed at the Middle East but also as a political statement. Hateful Iraq has not forgotten America's reign of peace during the Persian Gulf War over ten years ago and hence attacked us from our gulf, the Gulf of Mexico (which will from now on be known as the Gulf of Freedom). Al Qaeda militants posing as American students trained in schools right here in our country to become meteorologists created the “hurricane”. A suicide pilot then flew the hurricane over the Gulf of Freedom directly into New Orleans. After nearly destroying the entire city and the surrounding areas, the hurricane lost its momentum and petered out.

The target was chosen not only for its tremendous Americanliness that is coveted by terrorists the world over, but also for the fact that several American oil refineries were in it path. The terrorists hoped to make gas prices soar and therefore crush our economy.

During the attack, clues were given as to which country the terrorists were from. If one were to look at satellite photos of Hurricane Katrina, one would see that in several images the swirling clouds take the shape of not only the American State of Iraq, but also the countries of Afghanistan, Turkey, France, Kuwait, Yemen, China, and the continent of Antarctica. The terrorists may have been trying to confuse us with the multiple maps implanted in the hurricane's cloud patterns, but one other image gave them away. At one point for more than twenty seconds, Hurricane Katrina took the distinct shape of Saddam Hussein's head. The other countries seen in the attack clouds are being questioned as to their involvement. Officials are still trying to determine which country has the most oil and therefore which one we should retaliate against first. Antarctica could not be reached for questioning.

Experts also believe that the name Katrina is another attempted knock against freedom. Benjamin Franklin, one of the fathers of America, had fathered a little girl that none but the most thorough historians know of. This daughter, Katrina, reportedly was so horrid in appearance that Franklin disowned her. Years later, out of hatred for her country and her freedom, she attempted to assassinate George Washington, the country's first president. The two apparently had a brutal fistfight during which all of Washington's teeth were destroyed. Washington eventually impaled Katrina on the pole that the very first American flag was mounted, killing her. The terrorists found out this fact and with help from meteorological spies implanted in our own weather network, had the disguised WMD named Katrina, after this little-known rebel and forever-hated enemy of America.

The terrorists have almost completely destroyed one of America's most precious cities. They have cause the price of oil to rise dramatically. They even made President Bush end one of his rare and well-earned vacations two whole days early so he could deal with this attack. Will they take our freedom from us? Will they bring the greatest country in the world to its knees? Will the terrorists win? Only you can decide that, America. Is four dollars a gallon too high a price to pay for freedom?

WHEN ANIMALS AND DRIVERS ATTACK

This is an old blog that I had originally posted on MySpace (originally dated 07.13.05), but decided to repost it here because it was good. Enjoy!

Around my neighborhood in shitty old Florissant, MO on residential streets are signs posted near speed limit signs that say 'Keep Kids Alive-Drive 25'. I agree with this to a certain extent. Yes, drivers should be careful in residential areas and should keep the speed down. It's also not cool to run over a small child in a car. But we could similarly post signs in the yards of houses with kids that say 'Keep Kids Alive-Don't Let Them Run Around In The Fucking Street'. Doesn't rhyme as well, but what can you do?

Really though, think about it this way. Would you let your children play around at a construction site? No, of course not. They'd be playing on concrete or asphalt, first off. Concrete or asphalt that is most likely strewn with bits of glass or at least small, sharp, pointy rocks. Not to mention there are giant machines made of metal and glass moving around all over the place on this concrete or asphalt and these machines are filled with gasoline! How dangerous is that?! Well guess what. That's an exact description of any road in the world. At least at a construction site, trained professionals, people who know what the fuck they’re doing, operate the giant machines. You play in a residential street and you've got machines piloted by amateurs. These amateurs are talking on cell phones, changing CDs, drinking coffee, and smoking cigarettes (often all at the same time) while piloting these ton-and-a-half hunks of gasoline-filled metal and glass around the very place where you let your kids play...on hard asphalt covered with sharp rocks. The hard asphalt's sole purpose, by the way, is to direct and accommodate these dangerous, shoddily piloted machines. Cars are supposed to be in the road. Children are not.

Yeah I went off on a tangent there, but those signs just reminded me of another reason why humans are so stupid. You have to go through a thorough training program and ace a test to get a license to operate a crane or a bulldozer. Plus, at most jobs, you have to be at least eighteen to operate a piece of heavy equipment like a forklift. But they'll just hand out a license to anyone who can wing it behind the wheel of a car and who's over sixteen. Let me tell you, sixteen is the age when most teenagers start to realize that they are right and their parents are wrong about everything and so learn the American pastime of drinking alcohol. I'm sure you all know where this leads. Humans are stupid.

Oh that reminds me of another crazy thing we've come up with. I should save this for another day, but I have to do it now. Has everyone heard about the epidemic of shark attacks recently? Apparently, a few people at beaches have been injured or killed by sharks. So, what do we wacky humans do? We came up with shark repellant! No, that's not a joke. I know it sounds like one, but it's for real. Sharks will stay away from an area where they can smell a dead shark. Scientists have isolated the component of the scent of dead sharks that will deter live sharks. It is hoped that a commercial shark repellant will hit the market by summer next year.

IT'S NOT OURS!! THE OCEAN IS NOT OURS!! The last time I checked, humans live on land! Okay, we like to play in the water every now and then, but we have to realize THERE ARE SHARKS IN THE WATER!! Making a commercially available shark repellant is like blaming a driver for the death of a kid who ran out in the middle of the street. If you don't want to get hit by a car, stay out of the road. If you don't want to get attacked by a shark, stay out of the ocean! THAT'S WHERE THE SHARKS ARE!!

I just heard this story a while ago...I don't know if anyone heard about this, it wasn't in the news or anything...but there was this little amphibian-like species (can't think of the name) that usually lived in the ocean and it breathed oxygen through the water. Then, all of a sudden, one of them jumped up onto the land and started breathing oxygen through the air. This was about 3 billion years ago or so. Since then, we have developed things like boats, bridges, cities on land masses, lungs...all so we can stay out of the water. Do you know why those little amphibian creatures came out of the water in the first place all those billions of years ago? BECAUSE THERE WERE SHARKS IN THE WATER!! Too many sharks were eating them, so they came onto the land to get away from them. No other animal in the world goes into the ocean for fun, not with the frequency and pompous attitude of humans. It took nature 3 billion years to come up with an animal dumb enough to go back into the ocean. Humans are stupid. I rest my case.

THE JERK

Two bodies, slick with sweat, are sliding together. She's on top. She's going at you like crazy, slamming against you, and obviously loving every minute of it. She starts to speed her movements. Her breathing gets heavier. She grabs and paws, maybe even scratches at your arms, your shoulders, the top of your chest. Her eyes shut and her mouth opens. As her head goes back and fingers tighten around your wrists, you hear a half-scream/half-grunt tinged with her voice that sounds vaguely like your name. Then she starts to slow down. Her legs are quivering and she's panting like crazy. Little beads of sweat are falling from her hair, her chin, and the tip of her nose. You're completely in the moment. Witnessing this person experience their orgasm as a direct result of you has gotten you to the point where you're about ready to finish yourself. Just a minute more...maybe...

Then she stops, gets up off you, and goes for her cigarettes. You're too stunned to say anything. Her back is to you, and you hear the flick of her Bic. She turns and you see one lit smoke between her smiling lips and another, also lit, between the first two fingers on an offering hand held out to you. Join me in a smoke to celebrate, baby. Apparently, she thinks everything is over for now. Why she would think so is beyond your reasoning. When you see that face, as beautiful as it is, smiling at you as if everything is settled, as if everything is okay, that's the moment.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you ask, probably a little too close to yelling. But hey, fuck that, you were on the edge of chasm back there, ready to fall into intense, expanding bliss. Her smile and both cigarettes droop all at once. A few seconds go by where neither of you say anything. You continue, "I wasn't fuckin' finished!" Another few seconds go by, but a lot more happens in these few.

Her face contracts and her offering hand comes up to put your would-be cigarette out in a bedside ashtray. Her other hand grabs her smoke from her pissed-off mouth. "Hey, don't get pissed at me. I was finished. What the hell do want from me?"