It's like happiness, only it's sad.

Do you guys want to know something really sad? On Pirates! Gold, if you marry the hottest girl in the Caribbean, you still get the same cutscene when you visit her as you do when you marry the ugliest girl. I was like, hey, I didn't pillage twelve cities along the Spanish Main just to impress a girl who ends up looking the same as that monkey-face in Barbados! Goddammit! I stopped playing after that. My life's mission in that game was to marry the brunette at Nevis. Now I can check off another Thing I Must Do Before I Die. Ooh, that means I'm one step closer to death. Maybe I should add "Turn 103 Years Old" to the list, just to assure myself some more time.

Fight the Liar Within!

Man, I had the strangest dream last night. I was in a helicopter, looking down at Ben Folds Five perform their lounge version of "She Don't Use Jelly" by the Flaming Lips, then suddenly, I was the bass player. We had a big finish, and as a joke, Darren Jesse came out and kicked me in the head. Then that show ended and the next came on: People's Court, only I was there in the courtroom. Judge Milian had her fingernails painted black, and she went of on some huge pro-Jesus rant and was taking questions from the audience. It turned out to be some big ploy to publicly shame me, masterminded by none other than Sloth. And so all these guys went up to the lectern to bear false witness against me. But then I was allowed a rebuttal, and I asked them all why they were lying, but they just got up and left. So, dejected, I went out into the vestibule, and got a big old bottle of Scotch that was there (for celebratory purposes, I presumed). Only the liquid was purple, and had green olives floating in it, and it tasted like white wine. Anyways, I walked back to Bogustlevania, getting wasted out of my mind. I passed some huge party at my old fraternity, and all the guys there wanted me to repair these bleachers they'd drug into the back yard. But I just started jumping away, and jumped all the way to the cemetary, then down T street to my house. So I went in my room, only now I was in a Nazi training camp. So I tunneled out and got to Hawaii. That wasn't where I wanted to be, so I tunneled again and got to Fiji. And then that plane from "Tail Spin" flew by and dropped a ladder so I grabbed it and we flew into this cave, and there was a big blue dragon lying there with playing cards laid out in front of it. I had to decipher what kind of patterns the dragon had made with the cards, and when I finally did, she stood up to eat me, but I ran beneath her legs and made it out of the cave into "Hang 'Em High" from Halo, and the Dragon had sent Sentinels after me. There were a bunch of Ghosts outside on the snow (Ghosts in the Halo sense; flying vehicles). So I flew one around, trying not be noticed by the people milling about. Then suddenly I discovered that I could capture a plane that was about to take off. But I was only able to grab a wing as it took to the sky, and eventually my grip gave, and I fell and fell and fell, until I realized that I was sitting in the gutter in front of my house, my head in my hands, crying, and a bottle of purple scotch shattered on the ground before me, olives rolling away.

Free your mind and Tibet will follow.

Tonight, on a special Grammy edition of save yerself, investigative reporter Chris Bogus answers the often asked question: Why don't the Beatles ever talk about their Grammys? And that answer is: No one knows.

No one on the internet at least. I thought that maybe the day after the Grammys would be a good time to find some kind of enlightenment as to this question that's plagued me for quite a while. But no. I even asked that question at ask.com, and it had no answers for me. Just a bunch of Swedish websites about Herb Alpert. Maybe it's 'cos the Beatles (while they were a group) were nominated 43 times, but only won 11. "Yesterday" had 6 nominations (7 if you include Ray Charles's cover version.) and won none. Whatthefuckever.

But lets get out of the past and into the now. Yes, last night I watched the Grammys while playing a 1950's triple-aught Martin that I'm borrowing. Anyways, I missed the start (with Simon and Garfunkel playing "Sound of Silence" together. Damn!), but I got to see some good performances. The great performances were Eminem (WITH THE ROOTS!!!) and a tribute to the Clash with Dave Grohl and Elvis Costello (and four other guys I don't like. Actually, Tony Kanal had some pretty cool basslines on "Tragic Kingdom"). And one of my musical Gods, Raphael Saadiq won a Grammy for helping to write "Love Of My Life (An Ode To Hip-Hop)" performed by Erykah Badu and Common. Yay! And what was up with that guy adding at the end of the Foo Fighters' acceptance speech "Rock would be nothing without B.B. King" ?!?! Who was that? (That guy, not B.B. King) Let me close by paraphrasing the boring speech by the new NARAS president: "Music is really good. Don't stop liking music, 'cos it's really good. Don't stop buying, either. Please!"

You can throw the baby Moses as the spiders, but he just bounces and smiles.

Speaking of warm weather, I think that March is going to come in like a lamb and go out like a lambchop. With all this global warming, I don't think we'll see too much snow. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, it will rain like a mad fucker, so that we don't get our asses spanked by a drought this summer. I mean, well, we're going to get spanked regardless, but if it doesn't even rain, well, then the proper term would actually be flogged. We will get our asses flogged by a drought. But you know what? If global warming continues, then eventually we'll heat up enough that Canada will feel like Southern California. Anyways, I'll live inland, because with that much global warming, all of the coastal areas will be wiped out. Is it me, or doesn't this scare the shit out of any of you? Like I told Joe, only the human race is arrogant enough to take on a freaking PLANET. Do you know how insignificantly small a human is next to the earth? That's like, an X-Wing taking on the Death Star. (wait a minute...) Oh, speaking of Death Stars, I watched Return of the Jedi yesterday, and I realized something. In the beginning where the yellow words float by on their way into outer space, in the second paragraph, they type GALACTIC EMPIRE in all caps, but write Death Star just like that. Now, in Episode IV, they write DEATH STAR in all caps, and Galactic Empire like that. Ok, just what in the hell is going on here? I mean, they obviously use caps for emphasis, like I do because getting my blog so use bold or italics is just a bitch, so they capitalized DEATH STAR in Ep.4 because that was the first time we were supposed to have heard of it (I suppose). But by Ep.6, the Galactic Empire is nothing new, especially not worth capitalizing. Now, my theory is that whoever wrote that preamble was trying to tie it in with Ep.4 (this is supported by the fact that many shots in ROTJ are directly stolen from ANH. e.g. the opening shot after the words fade. Watch them both, and you'll notice that if you turn Tattooine into Endor, and it's moon into a half-constructed Death Star (or DEATH STAR), you have the exact same shot. (of course, the Star Destroyer is a different model, as evidenced by visible differences between the forward docking bays.)) ANYWAYS, for that and many other reasons, I think they were trying to tie the two episodes together, hence an all caps title in the yellow words. But why make that mistake? Did no one notice? Did no one have a copy of Ep.4 lying around just to double check themselves? My god man, this minor gaffe was only a miniscule foreshadowing of the chasm of inconsistencies Lucasfilm Ltd. was about to tear open with Episodes I, II, and god-help-us-all-when-it-arrives III.

So there was not much to blog about. And there still isn't, so I'm just making this up as I go. Did you know that the U's basketball team is top of it's conference? Yeah... um... wow, so I really don't have anything to write about. The merciful thing to do would be to end this blog and let you get on with your lives, but perhaps no. Perhaps I will keep you here for all eternity and let you out every now and then and give you pomegranate seeds and blah blah blah. Whoa, I had this dream last night where I rescued Wynona Rider from prison (for shoplifting) and then she wanted to be my loveslave. It was so fucking awesome. But then somehow I got into this jacked up Semi-tractor trailor race. (The semis were jacked up, not the race.) (Actually, the race was pretty jacked up too; Buddy Holly beat me by a fraction of a second.)

Suicide Mission in Reverse!

Now this page is full of rants and ramblings. That's pretty fun. Anyways, let's hear from Bogus for an update on his So Called Life. Bogus? Thanks, Chris, well, here's the skinny: Why do they call it the skinny? What is the fat? Is the skinny, like, just the facts ma'am? Speaking of just the facts ma'am, there's a new Dragnet, with the guy from Married With Children. And speaking of Married With Children, there's a Married With Children reunion show sometime on Fox - your softcore porn channel. And speaking of Fox and porn, who thinks Evan Millionaire is going to marry that bondage girl? Ok, that's enough, Bogus.

Here at save yerself, we make sure that our blogs are made of only the finest ingredients... witty humor, train of thought ramblings, sentimental moments, and pop culture references. All so that you can enjoy the highest quality weblog entertainment the internet can bring you. (Only available in 3.2% in Utah. Don't drink and screw; you could break something.) (Like the sound barrier.) Well, folks, right now I'm feeling like the well of funny thoughts has run dry, so I will sign of with this last, unfunny comment assembled from unused parts of other jokes: "Knees get all of the attention, but what about Colin Powell's aggravated face, I mean, nail and screw are both euphemisms for sex, but staple isn't?"

Sunday Morning.

I want to go to Sears and look at all the Craftsman tools. Do any of you just think that's fun? I do. All those shiny different sized crescent wrenches, and those big red steel chests on caster wheels. It's like, a glimpse into a life I don't have. A life that involves actually having a need for all those tools. Sadly, all I really need is my little Leatherman multi-tool that came free with a Mach 3 razor. It's not even a Leatherman, it's a Mountain Quest. Whatever. It's a little rusted from being used to carve pumpkins... maybe I do need a new tool set. Actually, what I need is a knife set. Too bad Felix never became a knife salesman. My generic steak knives just don't do the trick sometimes. I guess I'm NOT satisfied with my kitchen experience. And I doubt that they would ever cut right through an aluminum can. But I do have my miracle Sobakawa Pillow. You know what though? It didn't change my life. Dr. Kazo Watanabe and that blond bitch lied to me. I'm still me. Maybe I'm not using it correctly,

I read obituaries. The obituaries page is full of written monuments to normal, every day people. And now their stories get told to someone like me, who never knew them. I've only read three obituaries that concern me or anyone I know - Tony, Bill's mom, and Courtney's dad. Other than that, the rest are perfect strangers. There is obit that I will probably always remember - the old but lively man who died peacefully surrounded by his family after an illness came on. The line that I'll never forget: "He became ill 'while bowling the perfect game!'"

Middle East Emo Racy, Shaky

Reed, Felix, Alysa, and I broke open their vending machine. Stealing all of 50 cents and about four pounds of stale candy from the Federation of the Blind. Sorry old chaps. But few things rank as high in overall fun as breaking stuff. If you have the means, I would highly recommend it. It's so choice. As a matter of fact, I would just like something else to break right now. I would like tons of stuff to chisel, file, hit with a hammer, unscrew every screw, pry open, and squish in a vice clamp. That's just pure fun, man. I think I may have forgotten how fun it is to break stuff, especially when you are trying to do it in a way so that it can be (somewhat) put back together. I used to do that so much when I was a kid. Braxton and I used to put everything we could find into his dad's vice clamp. One time we squished a battery in there, and all the acid came out. Another time we squished a golf ball, and sawed it open with a hacksaw as we went. When we finally penetrated the outer shell, the rubber core came flying out with a fucking VENGEANCE, man. It must have bounced around a good thirty times before dissipating into nothing more than small strings of rubber strewn about the entire garage. And after he slammed R2-D2 (yes, the one he was supposed to sell me) with a hammer, we threw that in the vice clamp too. Everything, man. Food, plants, bugs (oh yeah!), whatever we could get our hands on, really. Once we took apart an old tv, and after having thorough fun with all the circuit boards, we squished those too. Fuck, we should have been wearing goggles.

They're going to look at that smiley face and say "We're doomed!"

Sometimes I miss Tony so much it overwhelms me. For some reason, late last night, wide awake, I was suddenly walking out of Tony's garage after a practice. We had just played two Beatles covers "Long Tall Sally" and "A Taste Of Honey." (We never played those in real life.) It was about 7:00 in the summer. Maybe there are a lot of things I regret about losing Tony. Maybe there are a lot of things I wish I had done differently. Like covering "Voodoo Chile." Man, I don't know how long it will take for me to lose that image that came to me last night. Mostly because I don't want to let it go. It was like life held so much more promise then. Now I don't even want to be awake half the time. I know that people often become addicted to things just as an escape from reality. I think that lying in bed, half dreaming half thinking is my addiction. I don't fall asleep for hours and hours because I am thinking about the past and the future. (Never his mind on where he was, hm? What he was doing, hm.) Sometimes it feels like all these crazy sentiments are going to take over someday. I can't throw away the box that my sister's toaster oven came in, 'cos I would feel sorry for it.

Last night I turned on the fluorescent light in the kitchen and shut off the main one. I stared at it for what felt like hours. I was reminded of a time and place I'm not sure I've ever been.

Dweezilfish Lives!

Hey, why is Pennsylvania called that? I mean, it's named after Penn, right? Why is there the Sylvania? The only other Sylvania I can think of (besides the light bulb co.) is Transylvania, where Dracula and his legion of the undead feast upon corpses and blah blah blah. Well, if I ever get a place named after me, I don't want Bogusville or Boguston or Bogusland or Bogusshire, I want BOGUSYLVANIA!!! Wahahaha! Actually, as of right now, my apartment is now offically BOGUSYLVANIA!!! Waahaahaaa! Awesome. Actually, wasn't there an NES game called Castlevania? Was that it? I think so. Anyways, that's another Sylvania, only they spell it Stlevania. WHOA!!! Ok, as of right NOW, my apartment is now called BOGUSTLEVANIA!!! WAAHAAHAAHAA!!! Wow, I am so happy I could jump up and start pissing on the wall. Speaking of pissing of walls, I haven't played NBA Jam, or any other video games at Bogustlevania (wahaha) in like, a long time. I wish I was a hacker. Then I would hack into hotsaints.com and mess up all their info. Now their screen names would be WardSlut92 or MissionaryPosition459. All right! So, the weather isn't kidding about this snow, is it? I would like warm sunny days better, but wishing that the weather were different isn't very Zen, is it? I need to accept the snow. Just like I need to accept the mess in my room. I must become my enemy in order to conquer it. I must recognize the mess's right to exist, respect it's time here in our universe, and then, at the appropriate moment... obliterate it! Haha! That is the way of things. The way of the Force.

Freaky Freaky Thang!

So, Crossing Jordan is a television show about a really really hot woman who works in a morgue? Well, ok, I guess. That's edgy enough to be a hit! says the network executive. And I went to see someone "make the drop." So to speak. Sloth had to pick up his Xbox games in exchange for $100 from a bunch of assholes who locked him a storage room.

I really do like my job. And my jorb. And my orb, actually. Well, to be honest, I don't have an orb. Joe does, and we haven't danced in front of it for a while. Too bad.

Speaking of bad, this one guy once told me that he played a great mix of pop, with some country, and a little bit of R&B and maybe some New Age, and some World. I think he was Sting. Anyways, I told I played acoustic swamp rock with hip-hop beats and a twist of Stax-Volt with Ghandi-on-Viagra lyrics. He malfunctioned. It was a fatal error. I laughed at him.

Like the guy who asked me if "In The Mood" by the Glenn Miller Orchestra was John Coltrane. John Coltrane?! Are you fucking kidding me? NO!!! It's Glenn Miller. "Who's that?" Oh, fuck you. "Do you have Kylie's CD?" Who? "Kylie! You know, Minogue!" Oh, silly me, I should have known. No, that's not out yet. "Well, it's released in Britain. I'll pick it up there next weekend. Cheers! ('Cos I'm SO British!)" Oh, fuck you more. Pick up some fucking Coltrane while you're there, and some Miller, and realize how fucking stupid you made yourself look.

Like this kid in my Classic Mythology class. He has a laptop and he played Contra on it through the whole period. Well, not the whole time, actually, he also played some hearts and solitaire and some roleplaying game. But he was also participating in class. "Sometimes having someone in a berserker rage on your side is good, 'cos they don't notice when they've been wounded." Ok man, I realize that those are the rules to your roleplaying game, you aren't fooling the nerd in me. But the teacher was making the point of having a berserker on your side is BAD and that was five minutes ago!!! Turn off your game and shut up.

Grr! (Growlsome)

Scott and I sat at home and ate bean dip, breaking chips in it that were promised not to break. We plotted out the first three episodes to Star Wars the way they should have been. You see, "Uncle" Owen Lars should actually have been the pilot of the spice freighter that Anakin was the navigator on. Seeing his best friend turn to the dark side deeply disturbed Owen to the point where he gave up the busy life of a spicer and settled down as a moisture farmer on a simple, quiet planet. Years later, Ben Kenobi sought out Owen, knowing that he would accept the responsibility and raise young Luke well. That makes a hell of a better backstory, I think, and ties in all the things that Owen and Ben say about Luke's Father.

"What do you want?!"

LaJean! You ruined our moment of silence for science! Now we are going to have to slap you twice across the mouth and put the muzzle on you.

The Christopher Bogus Chronicles, Vol. 23 #20

File under: Depositions - I missed class, but made it to school to eat lunch with Felix, Alysa, Anne, Holly, Jenna, and Reed. Then I worked at ACLU for a few hours, but my present pharmeceutical condition prevented me from working at SEV. I played Vice City with Jenna, Reed, and Scott this evening.

File under: Correspondence - Called Emily, no answer. 7.15p

File under: Research - "Followers of voodoo, called voodooists, believe the world is filled with demons, gods, and spirits of the dead. One of the most dreaded is Baron Samedi, also called Gede Nimbo, the ruler of graveyard spirits. He wears a black suit and bowler hat." -World Book Encyclopedia

File under: Pleadings - BOGUS: If there is a God, do you think he's upset with us putting whole chickens in tin cans?

File under: Miscellaneous - Reed found a secret microtape recorder, gave it to me. Scott and I smoked cigars.

Fuck you, I don't know you!

When I was talking to Scott the other night, we talked about how inefficient solar and wind power is, and how an unwindy or unsunny day can knock out power. But then we realized, Wait A Minute! These people know what they're doing! They've come up with contigency plans!!! It's not like they're all sitting around saying "Wind Power! Wind Power! Wind Power!" and then somebody comes along and goes "What about an unwindy day?" And they go "Oh, yeah, you got us there. Hadn't thought of that." Fuck no! Of course they've thought about that! Of course they've planned for that! Jesus fuck! What the hell do you think?! I haven't the slightest clue about solarvoltaics, and I can at least see that you've got to store it somehow. Fuck!


"Are you awakened by strange noises in the middle of the night? Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic? Have you or any of your family members ever seen a spook, spectre, or ghost? If the answer's yes then don't wait another minute and call the professionals. GHOSTBUSTERS! Our trained staff is on call twenty-four hours a day to handle all your paranormal elimination needs. WE'RE READY TO BELIEVE YOU!"

I don't get it.

My new Smith's is coming in October. Pardon, my NEW Smith's.

I can smoke by the mormo temple now. Thank you god. I can sunbathe there too. Having won the battle, it seems boring now. Let them have it. It was the fighting that was fun. Restrict us again and let us complain.

I can contact my School Board Representative. Karen Derrick. I wonder if she can give the teachers a raise. I wonder. Stevie Wonder was blind...

$14.99 Daily Seafood Dinner Specials! Only at [omitted] I wonder how much their Crack-smoker special is? Fuck them

Oh, I can build a better school board. Doug Nelson for Board of Education. ...but what does Karen Derrick think of this? I should contact her.

Why do the words "mausoleum" and "holocaust" seem so similar to me? Maybe the two brain cells holding those words are touching each other. At any rate, it gives a whole new meaning to Salt Lake Mausoleum. Let's put it on Main Street.

Squashworks.

There still isn't a scottsucks.com When are those webpeople going to get their shit together

There is something ticking in my computer! Maybe it's a bomb! Maybe that terrorist put it there! No, what is this ticking?! Maybe the FBI is spying on me! Hey what's all this plastic explosive and a gold watch about? Maybe I should cut the red wire. Which one's red? Oh no!!! Not that one!!! AAAHHH!!!

...but he could see things other people couldn't see.

Remember not to drink and blog, you could break something.

Semac! Conachre! Get in my office!!! The tangents. Or maybe, the tangence? Is that a word? Am I hungry? Yes, but the canopener is missing, so I can't get my chili. Perhaps early man would have devised some crude, rudimentary lathe to get into the sealed can of Nalley's Original Chili Con Carne With Beans. And why do they say "with meat" in spanish but "with beans" in english?

"post to save yerself." if only it were that easy. but no friends, i'm here to tell you that it isn't. indeed, i posted. i wasn't saved. it doesn't work. don't do it. and that, as they say, the penetrant man shall pass. i miss you Tony.

Rememeber to drink and screw, you could break something. (like the sound barrier)

What are you talking about?

Hello folks.
And let me tell you something else.
Bogus and Felix are hard at work on this page daily.
Yes.
But we were distracted by a snail smoking a cigarette before his timely death.
His fucking feelers were going all sorts of crazy, man.
It was so fucked up!
Holy god.
We sent him to Nirvana. Not the band. Not the afterlife.
But something else entirely.
If you would like to experience it, you will have to get thrown at the cinderblock wall on the side of some kind of freaky store/residence thing behind my house that always has its light on at night and some lady with big black hair lives there.
Would you like to?
I could look into it.
Delete delete delete.
Oh fuck, Felix, that is the dumbest thing you've ever said.
But not really. You are cool.

Doves and pidgeons are the same bird.
Pidgeons and crows are not.
Rabbits get chased by cats and curious young Alices.
Fun.
So.
Don't even try to understand.
No, do try.
I dare you.
I pose a real riddle to you. A conundrum, if you will?
Donde estan mis pantelones? En mi coche, con mi tequila.
La chat est sur la table.
Regamus. Pimpissimi omnium pimporum sumus.
This is the point where we say 'O
No! We run the risk of being
found out!"
(I meant to do that (that as in the quote or that as in the whole story. (We'll tell you about the story later. (I know you are the only one reading this. (Big Spider. (took 'im out! BLOGGER!)

That ends all of them.
No.
FREAKY FREAKY THANG! ( )
feck spelling. O Jese! (vocative)

What have we done, Felix?
You be quiet.
Ok.

Am I hungry?
I'm.
Am I drunk?
I'mn't.
Uber-contraction.

Fastest way to half a baby.
I mean halve you sick bastard.
10% of all people halve there oregons switched round.
hart on rite.
appendicks on left.
One in every TEN!
Ok. I think its time to go. Menthols. Bye bye now.

Not to be racist. I'm just addicted.

What are you talking about?

Yo. So, yesterday night I went to go show Staci Ebo's Grave, and - no shit - we ran into those same kids from West that we saw there last year. I don't fucking believe it. What are the odds?! They were bringing in a bunch of their friends from West to see it, and then they were going to jump out at them and scare them away, much like the goths did that one fateful Friday the 13th. So I told them they should jump out and pretend to start beating the shit out of me. Holy fuck, that would have been so fucking scary. Could you imagine? 'Cos if you're up there and its scary enough all ready, and then these people in masks jump out and start wailing on some dude you've never met who was just there to scare himself? I don't know man, but I would have been terrified. Anyways, they didn't follow the plan, and jumped out way too early. I should have expected - they're not too bright. Nothing personal, I think they're cool and all... but recall last time we were there and one of the goths was wearing a shirt for the band Deicide. And one of the West kids started screaming: "DECIDE WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT US TO DECIDE?!" Heh heh heh. Please, legislators, give that funding back to our schools. Speaking of schools... actually, I won't speak of schools. Fuck that. Ugh, I have to go to Costco today. Conformity at its finest. Seriously, Costco is what the whole hip world would be doing on a saturday night if Hitler had won the war. This is the sixth reich. What we have here is a failure to communicate. ("Communication is not just words, it is... architecture.") Lump nearly every known commodity into a warehouse, cut prices drastically by selling it only in bulk, and prepare to screw over any remaining scraps of the independent business. And the great thing is that you don't have to interact with any other human being except to breath the same air and eventually hand one your credit card. I seen it! People milling about, doing their best not to act as though there's anyone else on the planet that matters. Why do I have to go to Costco? Because, according to Sloth, you can buy 40 Corona Lights for around $20. YEAH!!! Which reminds me, there is a Miller commercial out now that makes fun of Coronas, in a roundabout kindof way. Have you seen this? "Citrus fruit is a cure for scurvy, which must be the only reason a MAN would put a lime in his beer." Holy flipping crud. Oh my heck. MAN? What is a MAN? From the very fine beer commercial examples we have, a MAN is in his mid thirties, wears flannel, is mildly unattractive, somewhat portly, balding, and by all accounts, an otherwise complete waste of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He drinks beer, watches sports, and inexplicably has a gorgeous and horny girlfriend, who vies for his attention, which is always devoted to beer and sports. What is this shit?

Oh, and don't forget our lawn and garden sale, because April is outdoors month. All items 15% off! You see, it's the Playoffs, baby, and I've been catching NBA action from around the league. And that means a lot of television watching. And that means a lot of commercials. As soon as my toe heals and I will be more willing to actually leave my house instead of sit here and party, then I will have more interesting things on my mind. Hmmm... "toe heals" that's like "heel-toe" which is kinda slang for run, I think. As soon as my toe heals I will heel-toe it to the nearest liquor store. So I can buy red wine, which is the topic I've been trying to get to for the past couple sentences. Yes, my wine-drinking experience took a new turn today tried RED wine. RED, you see? Do you understand the metaphysical complicity here? There is no such thing as coincidence. "...like the crystal lattice of a diamond..."

Many grains have slipped through the neck of the hourglass. My favorite color is red now. I decided that the other day when I started thinking about labels and packaging, and how stuff looks cooler when it's red. Then that got me thinking that everything looks cooler when it's red. Besides, red was Tony's favorite color too. That's why both his drumsets and his Durango were red. And while I was thinking about this, for some reason, I was reminded of his alternate lyrics to Riders On The Storm: "Riders on the gun (guitar riff: da d'da da da) Riders on the gun (da d'da da da) fire hollowtips, (keyboard riff: la la la la la la) use extended clips..." Anyways, I was thinking about this as I was driving to the liquor store to stock up for a party with Felix and Haley and Anne, and then when I got there, I was looking at the vodkas, and I noticed this new kind with a big red 3 on it. And just then "Riders On The Storm" began playing on the radio in the store. Trippy, huh? So, now red is my favorite color.

cd: Slumber Party's self titled
I got this cd as a free promo for subscribing to Magnet. It sux. Well, I shouldn't say that yet, 'cos I haven't heard the whole thing yet, and its only my first time. But this is a terrible first impression. Very boring. The singer sounds very uninterested in her own work, or maybe any energy was lost in the deluge of reverb applied to the album. This sounds like a group of beginners trying their hand at writing their own songs. Plenty of guitar mistakes have been allowed to come through, which causes me to wonder how they sounded on one of the outtakes. Maybe if the music were more difficult to play, I could understand a few mistakes here and there. But the guitar work sounds very similar to my early forays into recording - not exactly inspiring stuff. No chances taken, as a matter of fact, there hardly any notes played that aren't found in the current triad. Very tonal. No dissonanace has befallen my ears yet, and I'm on track seven. Its just very simple-minded and rules-following. I think their guitarist should spend less time finding new sounds on her digital multi effects pedal, and more time learning a few scales, licks, and for godsakes, some syncopation. The whole band can work on that one. Straight eights are not doing it for me. Yes, this sounds a lot like some of my first recordings, when I was just barely learning to play guitar. (I made got my first guitar and made my first recording on the same day, just to give you an idea of how new I was to guitar at the time. Sept 11, 1997, as a matter of fact.) Wow. I hope I wake up tomorrow, give this another listen and find out that I was wrong, 'cos I'm not digging it right now. Slumber Party. What a suitable name. And apparently this is the only band ever signed to Kill Rock Stars based off a demo tape. Yeah right. Either something's going on behind the scenes here, or KRS gets nothing but horrid crap sent to them in mass quantities. In a sick and twisted way, this gives me a good deal of hope, 'cos if these amateurs can make it, then I'm guaranteed a long and successful career.

Tonight some joker was trying to defend the major record labels and attack napster. Yeah right buddy. Here's our conversation (what he said is in quotes): "Well, if they copywrite the songs," he said "then people have no place stealing them." And you don't think its wrong that the label stole the copywrite from the artist? "Well, the artist should know what they're getting into." And as long as you feed the corporate machine, the artist has no alternative that compares with major-label backing. Napster could have been that alternative. "Well, its all about making money. That's what the corporations are good at. That's why the artist signs to them." Corporations are the devil. "No they're not! Corporations are what make america great." Oh yeah, america sure is great. "Would you rather live under a dictatorship?" We all ready live under a fucking dictatorship! The corporations are the dictators!
What the hell does this fucker know? He sells software at the dickyard mediaplay and kisses his district managers ass. Allegedly, this boy who is roughly the same size as me is the best wrestler there is, but he just refs for a travelling wrestling show (that travels from orem to flagstaff, az). He is also a musician. Yeah right. I'd kick yer ass right off the stage and you know it.

Okay, its late. I'm out.