These are a few of my favorite things...

So I've been pissing and moaning a lot lately about a vast array of topics. Many of you, myself included, think I have some deep-seeded anger management issues. Maybe I do. But I'm feeling super positive today and I'm going to write about some of (my) life's little pleasures. Here goes nothing:

-New shoe smell. Pop open a new pair of shoes and smell that untouched factory glue, suede, and sole. Some people love the bouquet of a fine wine, I'm a sneaker guy.

-Cats. I watched my cat Ozzy. He's so aloof, but when he wants your attention, he might as well be made of play-doh. If he was a (human) dude, I'd definitely chill with him.

-Music. Having a first listen to an album through a really good pair of headphones. If the album's good, you can't help but nod your head to the beat and just smile. The world is good.

-Good food. Eating a good meal prepared by a chef that knows what he/she is really doing. If the presentation is on point and your dish is better than the menu explained, fuggetaboutit. (Even if you're eating a breakfast burrito)

-Skiing really light, deep snow. Again this is one of those things that people get overly sappy about. Thing is, these people are not lying to you when the relate (always in superlatives) the almost spiritual connection of a good pow day. I don't think words can adequately describe what it's like to ski/ride a tree run in three feet of powder that rivals the quality of Colombian Yayo.

- A Good laugh. Whether it's a witty remark one from one of your friends, (Holla to John Fierro) or your go-to fave comedy, I love laughter. I love making people laugh, and I love to laugh. I'm talking about those laughs when you teeter the line of hysteria, crying, and passing out.

-Novelty Gumballs. I love trying those gumballs from the giant boutique dispensers most often found in malls. I had a blue raspberry today, and it took me back to the days of Tongue Splashers. Those little joints were probably the most underrated gumball of all time, despite the fact they only lasted about 2 minutes. Short and sweet.

- Autumn. There's definitely not another season like it. It's like nature's grand finale before winter creeps in. Head up the canyons when the colors peak, and it's hard to not see a divine quality (regardless if you're a believer or not) in the neon palette of all those colors.

Life is good. Be happy. Stop and look at some small things that make life rad. Be excellent to each other.

It's time for me to sell out

I'm going to sell out. Well hold up, let me give you a little bit of my back story to put my statement into context.

For the past, well, seven or eight years I've been working on developing a personality. I try to read books so I can classify as being somewhat cultured. I've had some really sick opportunities to travel. In my travels I've learned a thing or two about how I want to be as a person- more or less what I want to get out of my sojourn on this blue orb. See, I've developed some culture that adds a little substance to my bizarre trivia knowledge that's only useful as a play-at-home Jeopardy contestant. I consider myself to be an overall pretty rad guy. But that is neither here nor there. Cause I'm going to sell out.

Every time I find myself in a social situation, I see what appears on the surface as totally rad girls hanging with total douches. By douche I mean the type of dudes that drive Escalades (with spinners)- basically very successful dudes. Oh, they tan far too much, and probably spend more time getting ready in the morning than most of the high-maintenance girls I know. As of tomorrow, I'm gonna be one of those douches. So here's my list of changes you can expect to see from the H-bone (me) in the next little while.


*Start referring to myself in the third person.

* I'm hitting up GNC tomorrow to get some creatine and protein (H-bone is gonnna get swole.)

* I'm replacing my whole wardrobe with apparel from AE, Abercrombie, and Aeropostale.
*H-bone's shoes will be of the overly-pointy loafer style.

*I'll probaly sell my car and buy at least a limo-tinted Chevy Yukon on 22s.

*I will wear head-to-toe Tap Out Gear when I'm not gussied up.

* I will have a hairdo.

*Most likely I'll get a job that involves quotas, sales perks, and lots of goals and meeting the bottom line. H-bone will always meet the bottom line.

*I'll probably start a lot of fights and say "what's up BRO?!!!" quite a bit before I fight.

H-Bone hopes you're all happy with yourselves. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm not gonna lie, H-bone wouldn't mind having a trophy girlfriend** for awhile. But since H-Bone tends to be a rather impulsive Bro, I'll sleep on it.

H-bone signing off (and selling out.)

** If you're a douche, chances are you might not even recognize the symptoms. A good way to tell is to run through the checklist above. Although not all symptoms of douchebaggery are mentioned, you can get an idea of where to begin the healing process. Please seek help. In severe cases, a douchebag intervention may be necessary.

Age-old Questions

Here's some questions I've been thinking about lately. Maybe you've thought the same thing too.

How could Joe Pesci go from being such a putz in Home Alone to such a monstrous badass in Casino?

Why does my milk always seem to go bad the day before the actual expiration date?

How are preseason football rankings really made? Do these guys have an in with Ms Cleo?

Why does Ms Cleo speak with a horrible patois accent?

Who stemmed the horrible stereotype that women from the Caribbean have an unseen portal to the universe- more particularly, if you're doomed for relationship troubles?

Who keeps Cap'n Crunch on the market even though it rips the snot out of the roof of your mouth?

Has anyone filed a class-action lawsuit against Quaker Oats (maker of Cap'n Crunch) for soft palette damage?

Does Lil' Jon charge a per "YEAH" fee, or does he bill hourly?

Why do people enjoy NASCAR so much? (It's so predictable. Left hand turns for 500 miles.)

Perhaps you'll sleep better after finding the answers to these questions. I know I will.

T-Storms

There's a pretty good convective Thunderstorm smashing right now. I think I'll take a swipe at waxing philosophical or something about thunder and lightning.
Caution: Watch for low flying feelings.

Ever since I was a little kid, I've always watched the barrage of summer thunderstorms.
Dad and I always go to the porch to scan the brooding sky.
This one's rolling in from the South.
Porches always seem like the perfect venue for such a showcase.
As the storm rolls in, we trace the flashes.
As the light show looms closer, I close my eyes and take it in,
Now I see the storm in red and pinkish hues.
We count between the flashes and the heavy percussions.
Flash,
One...
Two...
Three...
Four-
BOOM.
The cacophany riles up the Beagle almost three blocks away,
yet we still manage to hear that unmistakable howl.
Dad always heads shows his bravado by heading out right when the storm's perched right above our house.
Mom yells at him to get back on the porch.
He doesn't.
The light show ends in furious grand finale,
Shaking the window panes.
Rain will follow.

Playlisting again: It's metal day.

I woke up today and I felt like listening to Metal. I mean the hardest stuff I have in my music library. I realize I should compile a list to get stoked for the sheer epicness of Rock the Bells tomorrow, but I wanted metal. I wanted rock unabashedly. I wanted to rock so hard that people sitting next to me would consider calling an ambulance to shake me from some sort of fit, or consider calling a priest to exorcise my demons.

In pursuit of metal Xanadu, I found some old gems in the ol' iTunes library. I don't want to play favorites or anything, but one of my favorite metal anthems of all time is Pantera's Walk. I get really aggressive, when this cut comes on. Pantera and Dimebag (rest his Bag-gy soul) really lay down some of the raddest shredding ever on this track. Pure energy.

I'd be doing myself and my Metal Nerd playlist a total disservice if I didn't mention probably my favorite metal band of all time. I'm talkin Maiden people. It's epic. It's fast as hell. And the shirts are almost too badass for words. Eddie is the raddest band mascot ever. He could totally kick the crap out of Kanye's bear guy, or even the Misfits Crimson Ghost-ripoff-skull-thing. (Look for metal shirts to make a huge comeback, by-the-by). If you want to get onto some pre-fashion, get a metal tee.

So don't just put on some metal. Crank it. Punish your speakers. Throw up the horns, and disturb someone.

1.21 Gigawatt? 1.21 Gigawho?

I love YouTube. It seems like I can always find a clip to make me laugh or just get me thinking. I recenly ran across this... well If it was music I'd call it a remix or something. Regardless of how you want to label it. It's pretty kickass. I hold a special place in my heart for the epic Back to the Future trilogy. Also I'd rate Emmit "Doc" Brown up there with the likes of Dr. Dre (of The Chronic), and Dr. Bruce Jarvik (pioneer of artificial heart). How can you not argue that the importance of the Flux Capacitor does not rival the artificial heart?

Emmit Brown is that dope. Seriously. Enjoy the Clip.

Finding love on MySpace?

Right before I go to bed on most nights, I do a full systems check of my MySpace Page. What can I say, I like to run a tight ship (you won't find a 'song deleted by artist' on my page). But I do have to give a huge shout out to the good folks at Match.com for providing me that looping flash video feed of the fine blonde chick that's always putting lotion on and laughing like she just finished reading a Gary Larson calendar. She actually seems like my type.

But seriously, Let's get over the sending links to my friend requests box from Ginger and Robyn and Tara. They all seem to be Libras, they don't want any children, and they all seem really good at taking steamy pictures that MySpace won't post. I know the whole viral marketing thing, but do you have to dress up your Faux page with all the GIF animations of sparkling roses and Playboy logos? C'mon lets get original here.

MySpace used to be so pure and innocent. Now it's a huge marketing vehicle for Chester the Child molester and quizzes to find out how well you can distinguish between Usher, Chris Brown, or Nick Cannon's first grade pictures. Answer right and you win 10 free ringtones.

Emelda Marcos was a CHUMP

I think I may have a serious problem. I really love shoes. No I really, really love shoes. The fact that I actually held a mini photoshoot of my beloved sneaks... and I'm writing this at exactly 2:40 AM makes my hypothetical problem seem, well, even more problematic. Maybe the fact that I know that I have this problem takes me one step closer to self-actualization, or maybe a giant leap to becoming a materialistic prick. You be the judge. I suppose I could be doing worse.

Thing is, sneakers are simply rad. See the picture above me? Particularly the third column from the left, second pair from the bottom? Those are "Money Cats." They're a limited edition Nike SB Dunk. I bought those about three weeks ago. They've already doubled in value since I bought them. Mine aren't worth that, because I actually wear mine, and I was too myopic to buy a second pair of the same pair to keep on "ice" for later resale (a cardinal sin to a true sneakerhead). I like em because they fit like a slipper and they're aesthetically the cat's PJs. You can't beat red and 'Niner gold.

This entry doesn't really have a point except the fact that I'm somewhat of a nerd, and I have shoes all over my area rug in my room. Oh well. They're all set up for me to choose what to wear tomorrow. I'm thinkin' I'll rock the Money Cats.

...When it Hits you feel no pain.

What is it about music? Good beats drive my life. I really don't think I could live a sane, productive life without 'em. Last night I went with a couple of my homies to this dive bar that spins Reggae every Monday night (Monk's House of Jazz for all 801 peeps). There's a little dance floor that inevitably gets covered in booze, but it's always rad to get out and two-step to some good beats. Before I get all misty-eyed about chilling in a smoke-filled dive bar, I'll sum it up. Music rules.

I've become quite an eclectic music listener as I get older. Dependning on my mood, I could be playing Slayer, The Beatles, Thelonius Monk, Eazy E, or a bit of Morcheeba. It pretty much runs the gamut of genres and sub-genres. I used to hate music from the 80s. But I've grown to embrace it. I downloaded Debarge's Rhythm of the Night today, just to have it on my iPod.

I used to shy away from mainstream pop music because most of the dudes were sell-outs. I came to realize if you can make mad money off your art, you win. I'd like to think I'll listen to it regardless if it's top 40 or a heavily guarded indie secret. At the same time, I look at most of the stuff on MTV and wonder how it ever got on TV. It's hard to argue that most of it isn't pure sonic dog crap.

Please enjoy my SOD (Song of the Day). Keep it loud. Thanks.

Test the mettle of your favorite eatery: get the pasta

I consider myself to know the difference between a good meal and one that could have been cooked by a stray cat. And in my culinary adventures, I think I've devised a litmus test to see if a restaurant is worthy of your patronage. Answer: Pasta. If you've ever wondered why you keep heading to your go-to eatery, whether it's habit, convenience, economics or whatever. Put my theory to the test. Go to TGIFs, or Chilis, or ,Lord forbid you venture to the OLIVE GARDEN*, test the pasta. If it tastes a little like pasta helper, there is a high likelihood the restaurant-in-question blows.

I suppose I had this epiphany today as I ate one of the bestest Crab Ravioli dishes ever. It was at Market Street Broiler in Salt Lake City (if you care). The sauce was perfect (I jokingly said it was sublime, but it almost was), the pasta was light, and the presentation was great. I already knew Market Street was solid, but the crab rav iced the cake.

If you're not eating at a restaurant that serves pasta, get a burrito. That's pretty good gastrono-test.

*I swore a solemn oath that I'd never go back to the OG ever again in May of 1998. I never have, and my life is so rad because of it. Olive Garden blows.

Terror in Room 1408... I'm afraid not.

So I went and saw 1408 a while back. I had really high hopes for this film. The premise seemed rad- finding terror in a well-lit hotel room piqued my interest in the initial trailers. John Cusack is solid in most everything he does, and Sam Jackson throws down watchable films now and again. On paper, this film should be pants-pissingly scary. So what ruined it? Computers. There's too much damn computer animation. And this is why movies aren't scary anymore. "But what about Eli Roth's super slasher films?" you retort. Slasher films are not scary. They're nothing more than shock value gimmicks to spray a bunch of red corn syrup all over the set.

1408 could have been epic if director Mikael Hafstrom would have stuck to more of a psychological scares. Less computers. If Hafstrom used the psyche of John Cusack to set the tone, his descent into madness would have been great. But I'm not a director, so what do I know. I know that most scary movies these days are laughable.

You want to see a scariest movie of 07, Watch 28 Weeks Later. Do yourself a favor and skip1408. .

I literally yearn for someone to make a movie as epic as the original Shining. If anyone's up to the tall task (Rob Zombie doesn't count), good luck. I'll be first in line on opening night.