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?"

COMPLETE AND TOTAL BARF-O-RAMA

This is an old blog that I had originally posted on MySpace (originally dated 07.25.05), but decided to repost it here because it was good. Enjoy!

Listen to me, my fellow apes. Alcohol is EVIL! I have had some bad experiences with alcohol, but this weekend took the proverbial cake. Usually, if I get sick to the point of vomiting due to a massive ingestion of alcohol, the time before the evacuation is memorable, funny, and generally silly. Those are times when everyone is in a drunken stupor that can be enjoyed by all. Nothing life-changing is said or done, but while intelligence is lowered, passion, charisma, and confidence are raised. This makes for fun times that a few sober folks can moderate. A party this past Saturday at a friend's house could have been great. It could have involved my rants coming off the page in a sane order and being spewed in English at everyone present. Instead, four whisky and Coke's (heavy on the whisky, mind you) in about two hours sent hot political, religious, and spiritual debate over my friend's backyard deck in warm orange spurts.

It's bad enough to get sick when you drink, but I was violently sick. Everyone was outside on the deck drinking, smoking, and talking. Welfare, the Bush administration, military funding, God, paganism, and federal taxes were among the subjects that kept coming up throughout the evening and into the night. My personal views were being expressed quite well a few times, but as my intoxication increased, my sense decreased. I may have been converted to a new religion at some point that night. I can't be sure. After a while, people started leaving and a core group of about five of us was left. We eventually decided to go in because it was fucking hot outside. I'm sure that had something to do with my heightened drunken state. I brought my last drink in with me and finished off the last few swigs. About five minutes later, I stood from my chair and announced my exit.

"I'm gonna go puke." And I was out the back door back onto the deck. I hung over the balcony opposite the back door trying my damnedest to puke up all of the poison in me that was making me feel so terrible. The next few hours were a blur. I remember my glasses and my cigarettes falling off of my person and into the backyard. I remember several voices asking me if I was all right. I remember telling them all that I wasn't. I remember a bottle of ice-cold water. I remember falling to the deck at least twice because my legs wouldn't hold me up. I remember stumbling into the bathroom and ending up on the living room couch an unknown time later. I woke up at 10:30 the next morning with a bottle of Dasani and a large bowl (thankfully sans vomit) on the floor near me. I went to the backyard and found my glasses and my cigarettes and left in a hurry. I wanted to be away from the scene of the crime, I guess you could say. I wondered why my forehead, elbows, and throat all hurt. I had scratches from the deck on my forehead and dirt on my face. My elbows were also scratched from the deck and my shirt was splattered with dirt and a few orange discolored spots. When I realized why my throat hurt, I almost lost it. I remembered the feeling of four of my own fingers prodding the inside of my esophagus. I was so desperate to relieve myself of the sickness that I had been gagging myself. Apparently, I had been doing it so much and so hard that my gag reflex gave up. I had been jamming my fingers literally down my throat only to make myself heave stomach acid up over and over. Have you ever felt the inside of your own throat while you're puking your insides onto you own hand? I do not recommend it. On the drive home I nearly hit two mailboxes. I was no longer drunk, but I was hung over, sick, and trying not to cry in shame. I had done it all to myself.

When I thought back on the conversations of the night before, I became even angrier with myself. Had I not been drunk, I could have actually conveyed my ideas. I stand behind what I believe and would have been able to remain passionate during conversation without the booze. Also, I didn't do anything funny or memorable or crazy as I normally do when I'm drunk. As I said before, I have had some bad times with alcohol, but any other time that I've gotten sick, I could think back and realize that the night before had been fun. As awful as it may have ended, it was fun up until then enough to deal with being hung over. This weekend, that was not the case. The parts when I was getting drunk were not worth the violent vomiting, the hangover that lasted the entire next day, and the tone of pity in my friends' voices when they asked me if I was okay as I laid in my own puke on the ground.

I may be done with drinking for good this time.

CAN'T GET A BREAK

The worst part of sitting in traffic is not ever seeing the cause of it. You sit in your car for an extra hour, surrounded by noxious fumes, ugly people, and cars for miles just to get to the end and find one police car and a roadside assistance truck on the side of the highway.

I watched two tow trucks, a cop car, and a fire truck pass me while sitting in a mile-and-a-half of dead-stop, bumper-to-bumper traffic this morning. I got to a spot where the traffic began to clear and there was nothing. I deserved to see at least a twisted mess of metal on the side of the road. I deserved a severed head or a splatter of gore or something. No. Nothing!

I had just suffered through an extra forty minutes of the second worst part of my day so that I could be late for the first worst part of my day. I get to my shitty job at nine instead of eight so now I have to stay until five instead of four. Everything fucking closes at five on a weekday! So there’s another day wasted and I didn’t even get to see someone hurt even though I rightly earned it by having to sit in traffic. Life can be so unfair sometimes.

DISCOVERING THE VALLEY OF THE FLOWERS

The 850,000 square mile reach of land between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains (known during the 1700s as the Louisiana Territory) was occupied for many centuries before the arrival of white American colonists and Europeans by tribes of Native Americans. Evidence of fire pits and artifacts in Missouri's Florissant Valley area date back to the late Archaic Period, the late Hopewell Period, the late Woodland Period and early Mississippian cultures, so identified by archaeologists, and reaching back in time as far as 4,000 B.C. White settlers of the region encountered Kickapoo, Sac, Fox, Tuscarawa, and Winnebago tribes.

The first white men of record to pass through the Florissant Valley (current Florissant and Hazelwood, MO) area were the French explorers Pere Marquette and Louis Joliet who, in 1673, traversed the length of the Mississippi in canoes and discovered the mouth of the Missouri River.

In 1682, the entire trans-Mississippi wilderness was claimed by Sieur de LaSalle in the name of his sovereign, Louis of France, and was known as Louisiana. France retained possession of the region for 81 years, but, aside from establishing a series of forts facing the British colonies of the American East Coast, concentrated efforts at colonization only in the Mississippi delta region.
In 1763, France ceded the Louisiana Territory to Spain during negotiations that followed the French and Indian War. It was not until 1786 that the Spanish established the first civil government in the Florissant Valley region known as Upper Louisiana.

In 1764, Pierre Laclede, Auguste Chouteau and other French trappers came up the Mississippi from New Orleans to establish a fur trading post that they named St. Louis. The post grew to be a town that early on became the commercial and cultural center of Upper Louisiana. Growth of population was accelerated when the Spanish Colonial government encouraged settlement by offering generous grants of land, free of charge, to those who would migrate to the area and establish roots. French families from Canada and New Orleans, and American families willing to become Spanish subjects, thus were enticed to the new, raw land.

In 1800, Spain was induced by Napoleon to retrocede the Louisiana Territory to France. The United States became apprehensive that the port city of New Orleans might be closed to American commercial interests. Envoys were duly dispatched to Paris to negotiate the purchase of New Orleans and its port, but accepted instead Napoleons offer to sell the entire territory for $15 million. The U.S. took formal possession of New Orleans in 1803 and the upper region, centered on St. Louis, in 1804.
The nation then wrote its signature all the way across the Louisiana Territory by sending an expedition under Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on a two year journey up the Missouri River to its headwaters, across the Continental Divide, and down the Columbia River to the Pacific Ocean. The expedition began its journey at the mouth of the Wood River, just up river from Hazelwood, MO.

By 1809, in addition to St. Louis, the official territorial newspaper mentioned towns called Herculaneum, St. Ferdinand, St. Charles, St. Genevieve, New Madrid, and Cape Girardeau.
The Florissant Valley in its early years was shared by French and Spanish early settlers and the American newcomers from Virginia, Kentucky, and the deep south. The Musick wagon train in 1797 marked the beginning of the American era in the Hazelwood area settlements. The Spanish would depart in 1802, leaving but scant traces of their occupation. The French would remain, leaving family names that are still known in the area, such as Aubuchon, St. Cin, Teson, Beaugenot, Desloge, Riverie, Dunegant, Papin, Girard, and Moreau. The American pioneer families are similarly remembered in the Florissant Valley and Hazelwood areas. Musick, Stuart, Ellish, Utz, Mullanphy, Brown, Graham, Cross, and Caldwell are a few names that settlements in the Florissant Valley have enshrined as Founding Fathers of the region.

DAN IS HOT LIKE CURLY FRIES

I'm relatively new to blogging outside of the Galactic Empire, I mean MySpace. A cool dude I met on there decided to host his blogs exclusively off of that site due to the changes in their Terms of Service. I had read them myself and decided to do the same. Apparently, anything you post on MySpace become their property as long as it's posted. Bullshit. So this will be my first blog outside of the Empire and I hope to become even an infinitesimal part of the blogosphere by a bit more honest and free means. Thank you and enjoy. Or not. you don't have to read this shit.

So, I've decided recently that I need a girl who wants to use me. All of my past relationships have been based around me being the greatest guy in the world. The women and girls that I've been with previously dig me because, compared to the last guy they had been with, I was the best thing since sliced bread. All simply because I didn't beat them, berate them, or try to rape them. Don't get me wrong, you shouldn't do any of those things if you want to be considered a nice guy. But you also can't let a gal get all into you, fall in love, and get comfortable, and then decide that you want out of the relationship. I've done that way too many damn times.

I want a girl who could care less that I don't hit her. That should come standard anyway, right ladies? I want a girl who could care less that I don't sleep around. Again, should be standard in a guy. Can't be an asshole. But no, I get these girls who love the hell out of me and put all kinds of effort into a "long-term relationship" only to realize too late that, in some respects, I'm just like every guy in the fucking world. I want change, not commitment. I want multiple vaginas, not just the same old thing.

I've come to acknowledge that Dan (myself) is a lot like Wendy's. You know, the hamburger joint? I'll tell you why. Ladies, this is for you.

When someone mentions Wendy's, you think, "Oh man, I haven't had Wendy's in a long time. I would really like Wendy's." But you forget the last time you had Wendy's. You don't just order the chicken nuggets, no. You see the Triple Cheeseburger combo on the menu and think, "That's the one for me. I even want the Frosty! I can't wait to make it mine!"

You get your dream Wendy's meal and it is delicious. So delicious in fact that you suspend all else to enjoy the sensation of being with Wendy's. You take all the meat in your mouth and let it inside you. The grease runs over your skin. The cool cream of the Frosty enters your being. Nothing can have as a part of it the ecstasy that Wendy's carries. Everything is wonderful.

Wendy's even tries to let you know that pain could come in the future. "I can't promise I won't hurt you. And I don't want you to hurt because I really enjoy being with you now. I just don't know what the future holds," Wendy's tell you.

"I don't care about what you've done to other people," you reply, "You're different this time. I know that a good, healthy meal is in there somewhere."

And you take Wendy's into you, body and soul. Soon you get comfortable with Wendy's, and Wendy's with you. You know that nothing bad can happen as long as Wendy's is with you, near you, part of your life. Everything is bliss. You are in love with Wendy's.

Then, slowly, a disturbance begins to arise. A rumbling, if you will. You begin to suspect that Wendy's wants something besides the bliss that you initially experienced together. It wants out. But you can't let go of this feeling. You and Wendy's have had so many good times together. All the memories that you've had and the things you've done cannot end, can they? You've shared so many things with Wendy's that you would never have even considered doing with another meal in order to keep Wendy's as happy with you as you are with Wendy's. You ordered a baked potato instead of fries, for God's sake! And you don't even like baked potatoes! You figured Wendy's would like you more if you just ate a baked potato! You feel so used. And dirty. But you never think it can get worse.

Out of the blue, Wendy's lets you know that it's over. "It was never meant to be. I'm fast food. I can't commit to something so permanent. I'm sorry." Wendy's wants out. Wendy's needs to be alone. Wendy's wants to be evacuated from this relationship. At that moment, just before the end, you remember Wendy's telling you that he couldn't promise to be with you forever like you'd hoped. You saw this coming but you never thought it would happen again.

Then Wendy's sits you down, and before you know it, Wendy's is leaving you. It is a violent, painful separation. Everything Wendy's has to say to you seems like shit. The whole time you think, "Surely this much crap can't come out of one person!" Crap is just spewing all over the place. It is awful. If only you had remembered the last time you had gotten Wendy's! There was a burning, shitty ending that time too! Why did you think it'd be different?

Then and there, with your proverbial asshole on fire, you vow never to get Wendy's again! "I never want this kind of pain and discomfort ever again! I'm swearing off of Wendy's forever!"

But Wendy's fucking told you from the beginning that this might happen. YOU KNOW WENDY'S WAS GOING TO BE SHIT AT THE END!

So, I'm looking for a girl who just wants chicken nuggets or an order of fries, or possibly just a baked potato. I want a girl who will strip off the wrapper, take three or four bites, and then throw me in the fucking garbage. I want to be used like so much fast food for a while. I'm sick of being the greatest guy ever. I want a girl who just sawed off her last boyfriend's legs because he hit her. That way I'm not immediately in. If I want to be with her, I know I've got to try hard. I don't know. I guess these blogs are for what I just did. I don't have anything poignant to say. I'm just coughing up mental hairballs. I hope you had fun picking through these ones.