Album of the week: Week 2

I've been working on a project for one of my classes. One of the final "deliverables" for the class is a CD boxed set (featuring two CD jacket designs, CD labels, and a container). Our teacher assigned us the bands. By luck, I drew Nirvana. I've been listening to Nirvana since I was in about sixth grade, so this was a great chance to put together a strong concept. I chose to design the Nirvana "Heart-Shaped box set." During the entire design process, I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana for inspirado. Without a doubt, Nirvana's Nevermind is the album of the week. There's been enough said about this one, so I'm not even going to kick that dead horse. Just listen to it. If you grew up with the album, you know. Here's a gander at some of the pics of my album design. Enjoy.

Sweaters and Good times.

Tso What?

I'm thinking about getting a kitten. Not just any kitten. I want a Siamese. an Applehead Siamese (the ones with the round head, not one those wedge-headed ones). I did some research on Siamese and they really intelligent. Apparently they're a lot like dogs. Some even fetch. Supposing I go through with this plan, I'll have a little fuzzball running around the pad. What would be the name of such a terror, you aks? General Tso. I did some reading on this guy too. Apparently he was a real sunofabitch. But, he was a brilliant military strategist, to say the least. I think this would be quite fitting for a wee little ball of mischief (plus General Tso's Chicken is one of my Chinese takeout staples).

SOD is Five to One by the Doors.


This is the intro song the marching band plays on David Chappelle's Block Party.

Taking a break

So I took one of those semi-retarded quizzes. I'm not gonna lie, it was kinda fun. Maybe I should take a test to see my similarities with Hannah Montana. Jeez, what have I become?

Your Movie Buff Quotient: 88%

You are a movie buff of the most obsessive variety. If a movie exists, chances are that you've seen it. You're an expert on movie facts and trivia. It's hard to stump you with a question about film.

Are You a Movie Buff?

SOD is Nancy Boy by Placebo.

Album of the Week

If you're easily offended by salty language, or your girlfriend, or your wife, or even your cat is... This album is not for you.

If you like Miami Bass, 808s, tickin' hi-hats, and good party beats. This album is for you.

The Album of the week is Bangers and Cash. Brought to you by Spank Rock and Benny Blaco. Bangers is a straight-up homage to 2 Live Crew. While it does combine the Baltimore Club style and Miami Bass, it's more of the latter than the former. And it's funny. It's all about decadence and, well, bootay. Is Bangers misogynistic? Probably. But it's all in good fun.

Just put it on, and do the cabbage patch.

Cats Rule

Most people take a serious stance when you ask them if they're a cat person. Let it be known that I love cats. The little creatures have so much style and panache. A cat can make a jump from the floor to the table look graceful and elegant. Dogs lope around and bump into stuff. Small dogs quiver and nip and growl furiously.

I was back home this weekend and had a chance to spend some quality time with my cat Ozzie. Dad wants to rename him Newton cause he's taken a liking to nosing things (and by that I mean birthday cakes) off of anywhere that's not the floor.

Cats may seem aloof, but they're sophisticated. They'll come to you when the time's right. They're always looking good. Ozzie keeps his gloves and socks on in case a random need for formal attire arises.

Here's a super rad site that'll make your day. If you hate cats, you have some soul searching to do.



SOD is Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division. Check out Jose Gonzales's cover too.




via Cute Overload

Customer Disservice: a rant

THIS IS A RANT, if you're looking for positivity, go somewhere else.

What the hell happened to customer service? Let me paint you a picture.
Back in football season of 2006, my homeboys and I decided to splurge and get fancy expanded basic cable at our residence. We called up the local cable tyrant, Comcast, and asked the fascist phone service people to schedule a technician to install the whirligig that gives you all the good sports channels.

Being somewhat cheap and indifferent to the crap that's on cable after football season, we downgraded our package to the basic local stations, Discovery Channel, and about 38 Spanish channels. As a normal customer, I thought I was good to go. Little did I know, the battle was just beginning.

We continued to receive dreary Comcast service. It wasn't until about 5 months later that I really got a taste for what I was dealing with. I received a bill for 100 bucks for our basic cable and internet for the (1) month. To say I was concerned would be a tad of an understatement. I got on the horn with the fascists to verbalize my displeasure.

As I explained my query to the troll on the other end of the line, it informed me that they would send a Comcast van stooge out to verify our current cable package. No benefit of the doubt. The customer is not right when you're dealing with a monopoly. I was the one that was suddenly on trial. And I was also moving out of state. This would be very interesting.

About three weeks later, I received a call from Comcast. I had to completely retell the whole story to the customer service troll because the previous three failed to take notes on my unique situation. to make a Long story long, I ended up with a 120 dollar credit coming my way. Or so I thought.

Fast forward to this morning. I get a call from a phone number in New Mexico. It's a collection agency asking me what my preferred method of payment would be on an incorrect prorated charge on a cable package I didn't order. Comcast had some splainin' to do.

Another long distance phone call, retelling of the tale to a new customer troll, 17 minutes of shitty hold music, and Comcast seems to have it right. They claimed they'd call off the credit agency, and mail me my check for 120 bucks. In four to six weeks.

Wasn't that easy? No, that was Comcastic.
Comcast can choke on a 12-inch ________ (insert your favorite derogatory, four-letter noun).

Space Junk

“I told you. Tom knows what the going rate is. No—tell him there’s other buyers too. Yeah I know. Bono is very interested. Yeah. I don’t care. You can tell it to his face. Look we gotta move on this, or I’ll sell to someone else. Fine.”

I placed the receiver back in its cradle. Tom Cruise’s handler seemed pretty confident that Tom would “show me the money.” In just a few short days, I’d gone from doodling in my Biochemistry Textbook at the back of a cavernous lecture hall, to selling space garbage to Tom Cruise. Not just any space garbage, though. This was bonafide organic matter found on the 2003 Mars Rover Expedition. It could possibly contain the keys to interplanetary life. This is all what Tom Cruise (and possibly Bono) thought.

Truth is, I was sick of school, and I just wanted to make a buck. I didn’t have the aptitude or attention span to actually get a degree from any accredited University, so I came up with the next best thing. I’d sell shit on eBay. So I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and invested in the biggest lufa sponge available to civilians. I had to stop at Home Depot for crazy glue, pea gravel, and brick-red spray paint to complete the project.

Not too long after I arrived home, I had the pea gravel glued into the little alcoves in the lufa. Couple coats of paint and I’d be on my way to the good life. My little con weighed a little more than a volleyball when the paint dried. That was precisely how it should have been. I wanted the mass of the spheroid to surprise the buyer.

“This is lighter than I thought,” they’d say. “I’ll take it.”

The whole shopping experience would exhilarate the buyer into sealing the deal. It was time to fire up the computer and post the ad. I took some grainy snapshots of the meteor on my cell phone. Now it was time to write the ad. This would be fun.

YOUR’RE BIDDING ON 100% REAL ORGANIC SPACE MATTER RECOVERED FROM 2003 MARS ROVER EXPEDITION. CONTAINS MARTIAN MATERIAL. NO ZERO FEEDBACK BUYERS. CONTACT REX FOR MORE PICS.

I started the bidding at 15 million U.S. dollars to separate the men from the boys. To provide a hassle-free shopping experience for my customers, I set my Buy It Now price at 50 million USD— If people didn’t want to deal with the stress and finagling of bidding, they could own a piece of space garbage in one click. I threw in free overnight shipping as a nod of appreciation.

Not much happened the first day. Day two, the bidding began at 20 mil by someone by the handle of Zorlog3030. No more teachers, no more books… I got on the horn and custom ordered my Porsche GT3, and had lunch with a real estate broker in Santa Monica. We talked shop over seared ginger Ahi tuna salads.

By day six, the bidding was up to 250 million bones. Word had spread like a Malibu wildfire that Cruise was bidding on my item, and Hollywood A-listers couldn’t phone their publicists fast enough to get a piece of the pie. Turns out that Tommy Boy was Zorlog3030.

The eBay CFO personally called me to say that eBay would not host auctions of such stature. Turns out PayPal could not afford to take the burden of anything over 45 million dollars. He personally connected me with the good people at Sotheby’s.

The auction officially ended a week after it began. As the price of the Mars rock shot up I noticed Tom and Katie at the rear of the auction hall. Both tried to look incognito in the back corner. It didn’t work on many levels. Primarily because Katie had Tom on her shoulders so he could see over the crowd. And because Mr. Cruise was in full MI:2 garb. The couple was actually quite fetching.

All in all, I made out quite nicely. Tom borrowed against the mortgage on his house and signed the profits of his next five movies to me to finance the deal. At the close of the auction, Katie brought Tom up to inspect the goods. Tom used a jeweler’s loupe to inspect his space junk. Would the subterfuge last? I felt like Nixon at the 1960 presidential debate as Tom viewed my 265 million dollar craft project.

“It’s the real deal,” Tom concluded. “Hey. Guy.”

“My name’s Rex.”

“Dex. Riight. Have your people box this up. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Same.”

“Oh… and Dex. If I find out that one thing about this is not Kosher, I’ll melt your face off with my death ray.” The look on his face was a shade of unwavering seriousness that only an actor could muster. I almost snickered at the delivery from the vertically challenged, yet critically acclaimed actor. Who threatens someone by death ray?

“Let’s go, Kat.” Katie hoisted all four-feet 11 inches of Tom on her shoulders and slinked out of the auction hall.

Did Tom Cruise really have a death ray to melt my face off? I didn’t care. At this point, Tom would never find me. I was on my way to John Wayne airport to board my newly- acquired Gulfstream 550. Besides, I had to pick up my Porsche in Stuttgart.




SOD is Hustlers, ft The Game by NAS.

Come Correct with your shoes

I've made it quite clear about my infatuation with shoes. Part of that infatuation is knowing that I'm not looking like a goldbricker when I leave the house. Even if I'm running to get a Slush Puppy (mmmmm), I like to look good. Part of that look is in the shoes.

Shoes have a lifetime. But if you take care of your shoes, they'll take care of you. I recently heard of a dude named Jason Markk. Mr. Markk needed a way to keep his kicks looking fresh out' the box new, so he developed a product safe enough to use on even his most prized kicks. Scope out his site.
If you're serious about keeping a pair of your nice sneakers, or Wallies, or whatever looking good, try the stuff. Apparently it's as safe as water. Time will tell.

SOD comes off Project Pat's Can't Tell me Nothin' mixtape. Beg, buy, or steal it.

Japanese Design and my song of the day/morning

So I'm going to this fancy art school in Atlanta. I'm doing my best to grow out my hair so I can pretentiously wag it away from my eyes. Lately I've spent a lot of time looking at design, art and architecture. I have taken quite a liking to ultra-modern Japanese design. To a certain extent, I've always liked clean aesthetics, but there's something about modern Japanese design that I find simply amazing. There's a book called Wonderwall about Masamichi Katayama. He's the dude that designed some of the BAPE stores. His use of minimalism in his work fascinates me. He solves the problem of creating just a regular-ass store into a real destination. A place where you can go and be in awe of the rad design of the space.

My SOD (Song Of the Day) is Groove Armada's The Girls Say. Seriously. Check this one out.

I Like SCARY Movies

They really don't make 'em like they used to. Every contemporary movie that's supposed to be scary is either overdone, or just really stupid. Hostel II- I crap scarier stuff than that. Don't get me wrong, that movie is about as gnarcore as it gets, but it's just too overdone. I expect more from Eli Roth. I want him to go ahead and make a full-length version of Thanksgiving (the trailer in Planet Terror). Sure, it'd be campy, but at least it would be a good romp and a surefire cult classic. 28 Weeks Later and 28 Days Later are an exception to the rule. I love em.

I bitch and moan about this quite a bit, but it's true. Director's nowadays opt for the easy way out and just CG the piss out of horror movies. Take it back to the old school. Take some cues from William Friedkin circa Exorcist (not Bug. It should've been called Queef). Or Kubrick's The Shining.

Here's one of my favorite scenes from The Shining.. It still scares the Bejesus out of me.


Because of that scene, I look at twins with a wary eye... Not even kidding.

New Fire from 10Deep

Normally I'm not a fan of overly graphic tees, but 10 Deep brings the heat on this one. Great image of Lee Harvey Oswald getting capped by Jack Ruby. If you haven't checked out NikeLab, I encourage you to do so in an expedient manner. This is one of the hottest lines out this fall.



My song of the day is Done With You by The Whitest Boy Alive. Great indie rock.

Nothin' on TV? Honey, pack up the Astrovan, let's go watch the suicide jumper.

About seven thirty, I was getting acquainted with my new cable setup in my roach-ridden apartment, when the unmistakable drone of a helicopter rotor interrupted me. At first, I shrugged off the ruckus due to the proximity of my apartment to the a nearby hospital, but the sound went on for way too long for a normal medivac flyby. There had to be something going on. The whirlibird was hovering way too low for way too long. I let it ride, and continued bathing in the bluish glow of cable TV. Later on, I went out for a bite to eat. I knew something was really up when the fire engine blocked the path to my fast food dinner. A motorcycle cop inside Wendy's noted that there was a "Guy that was gonna jump off a crane up on Peachtree." I got my frosty to go. I had to see this.

By the crowd gathered around the area, you'd thought that Peter Jackson, or at least Burt Reynolds, was eating filet mignon and scallops at Benihana across the street. Nope. Everyone was peering upward at the guy contemplating ending his life. From my vantage point, the guy looked like a sugar ant perched on the end of the construction crane's boom. The talking teeth on the news later said the crane was at least 300 feet tall. I knew that a fall from that height to pavement would not be pretty. Have we made any progress from the days of the Roman Colosseum?

The entire scene was one of contrasts. On one hand, you have a dedicated crew of people who shut down a major Thouroughfare in Atlanta to save this person's life. Then you have the crowd of people in their crazy creek lounge chairs waiting with baited breath to see the termination of a life.

I scanned the ever-growing crowd, I noticed families show up to watch the man do a 300-foot swan dive onto Peachtree Road. A mom posted up a patch of grass with her son- the kid couldn't have been more than 8 years old. Dad showed up later with a Diet Coke purchased from the adjacent Blockbuster Video. Folks even setup camp chairs to make an evening of it. Big burly dudes showed up arm-in-arm with their girlfriends. Yuppie White collar guys in Bruno Magli loafers showed with expensive Japanese cameras. The police set up an entire section for the media. And Everyone occasionally took cellphone “pics” of the guy on the crane. I suppose, deep down, everyone wanted to see the pretty pink mist. Whether it was all the transfats in my fast food dinner or this spectacle, I don’t know. The whole thing made me sick.

The entire scene was one of contrasts. On one hand, you have a dedicated crew of people who shut down a major Thouroughfare in Atlanta to save this person's life. Then you have the crowd of people in their crazy creek lounge chairs waiting with baited breath to see the termination of a life.

I couldn’t leave, though. I was transfixed. Some folks set up lawn chairs. Some cracked jokes about work in the morning, “So get on with it and jump already.” I chuffed at a few of the jokes. But WHAT IF? What if I saw a guy fall like an unwanted rag-doll right into the street from that height? What would that sound like? Would I be able to feel the impact? I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

So I left. Sad thing is, I went back to bathe in the bluish glow of cable TV. I took great care monitor the ticker updates of the man on the crane. Somehow, the four blocks and the scene on TV was enough buffer zone for me to watch the events unfold. I'm no better than the rest of 'em.

Straight (Road) Trippin'

I've gone and done it. I'm making the move to ATL. So I crammed all my stuff into a U-Haul, and headed out for the Souf. I've made a few observations along the way. America has a vast array of amazing landscapes. Well, let me rephrase that. Most of everything east of the Rockies, and west of the Mississippi River is remarkably unremarkable. I'm gonna start a petition to get Oklahoma's motto renamed to "We're America's literal taint (taint quite the West Coast, and it taint the East either)." I did, however, eat at the Roadside BBQ tonight, just outside of Memphis, Tennessee. That one plate of pulled pork redeemed America's Taint. I mean, everyone needs a little taint now and again. Earlier today, I was told by a gas clerk in Butthole, Arkansas (who was working towards earning a degree as a pharmacist*) that I would get shot if I moved to Atlanta. This man with the nude woman tattooed on his left arm said this with an uncomfortable level of positivity.

All crap-talkery aside, I've learned a lot about America in just a few short days. Despite how toothless, and assumingly uneducated people are in their various walks of life, everyone has a point of view. And I learned that even amazingly good things can come from the that place where the sun don't shine.

Tomorrow, I'll dine at a Waffle House, and make my final approach to ATL. I plan on throwing my fair share of 'bows while I'm in the 404.

*stifling laughter

What gives music UNIVERSAL appeal?

Think about your favorite album. Can you remember the first time you heard it? How did you feel? I remember the first time I heard one of my favorite albums. It was ATLiens by Outkast. I bought the record from Tom Tom Music (Now a Curves Fitness) in Sandy, Utah. That was in 1996. This was also the first CD I purchased with a parental advisory label smacked on it (back in the day they were stickers you could peel off, so Mom wouldn't get pissed at you for owning a record that "cussed"). I promptly took the CD over to my homie, Kristjan Morgan's. At the time, Kristjan had the best AIWA 3 disk system for listening to rap. We put the CD in and listened to history. To me, it sounded like an album from the future. I'd never heard beats or lyrics like that. Almost 12 years and three copies of the CD later, I still have ATLiens playing- I listened to it today in my car. I still have the same reaction to that CD as I did on first listen. That, my blogospheric comrades, is a record with Universal appeal.

I suppose I'm getting into this due to a recent dust-up with a few good buddies on a road trip back from Colorado. We nearly got into a shoving match over what makes a band great. I couldn't quite articulate what makes a band universally appealing in the heat of the argument, but I think I'm nailing it down.

Without venturing into a variation of You might be a redneck if..., I'll name some characteristics of timeless album.

If you can't tell when an album was made (80s was fraught with overuse of synth, seventies had that overuse of the octave disco bass riff, early 90s grunge, and so on and so on)it's on the route to Universal appeal. Of course, some of the best albums (SGT. Peppers) are great due to the particular en vogue style.

If as many people in New York or L.A. know about the album as they do in Adelaide Australia, the record has global appeal. (case in point, 50 cent's music can be heard bumpin' by any number of Aboriginal folks in AUS)

If you can name a tune from simply listening to a two-second snippet, the song has potential for Universal Appeal (Arcade Fire's Neon Bible).

Music Means different things to different people. For me, I like music that arouses an emotional impact. Depending on the mood I'm in, I'll bust out some music that reflects my moods. I'd dare say that's about par for the course for most people too.

I love checking out albums of potentially epic proportions. For now, marinade on one of the greatest of all time.

Breaking out of the comfort zone

What happens when you reach a pivotal moment when you have to choose between staying cozy in your little rut, or really setting out to pave a course for a new phase of your life?

Well turns out, that's what I'm facing right now. Tomorrow I'm boarding a plane for Atlanta Georgia to check out a tremendous graduate level art school called the Portfolio Center. More than likely, I'll come out of this program with some really rad credentials and a portfolio that'll help land me a job in advertising anywhere in the country- maybe even the world. This sounds really dope, right? Truth is, I'm scared to death to go to this school. Long term, this path would provide me with a really lucrative career in advertising as a writer, or an art director. So what's holding me back? I love living where I'm at. I'm digging my hometown and I don't like drastic change. Moving from Salt Lake City to Hotlanta is a huge step for me. A step that will provide me with tremendous opportunities to enter a vocation that I love. But that means another two years of living on a college student's budget.

I'll throw in another variable to make things a little tougher. I could possibly have a great job at an good company. If I were to land said job, I could probably buy a nice condo and furnish it with all the latest IKEA furniture. I'd work away, BBQ on the weekends and amass some great toys...but would this be the long term best route for me? Perhaps not. Maybe I'll just end up hating life in my cubicle- eventually my life will become the personification of a Dilbert cartoon or an episode of the Office. I found a quote by Mark Twain (and I normally can't stand quotes like this) that says

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

It all comes down to whether I can man up and make the move to Atlanta. I know that this is probably the right thing to do, and I know I'll experience some fantastic growth as I venture out on my own. I once told a good friend not to settle in life. Get a job you love. Success will follow. Do I have the balls to take my own advice?

Time will tell what happens. Meanwhile I'm hedging my bets by continuing to interview for jobs in my safe harbor. I'm kind of a wuss.

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.

Look Ma, I'm bloggin'/ Right Coast playlist.

Yo. I'm not exactly new to the whole blogging game. I manage a blog for a web site. some of my stuff might actually make you guffaw, laugh, or pissed-off. Good. I hope my insight and moods make you think about what I'm pondering. It makes for a cute little e-community type of thing (that's what the powers-that-be want us to think anyway).

Today I made one of the most epic playlists I think I have ever created. I dubbed this one "Right Coast." As you might guess this playlist comes from East Coast hip hop. Now all you hip-hop aficionados might crap on the playlist 'cause I included stuff from FLA. I know this stuff qualifies as Dirty South or whatever, But I wanted to include it. So What? This thing's poppin' regardless of what sub-genres the music actually belongs in.

Here's the list:

Size 'Em Up: Big L
Shorty Wop: Mobb Deep
Next Levels feat. Lil' Sci, Id 4 Winds, Stahhr: King Geedorah
Alive: Beastie Boys
Disciple: Nas
Got It Twisted: Mobb Deep & Thomas Dolby
Careful (Click, Click): Wu-Tang Clan
Scarred: Uncle Luke
I'm Hustling: Rick Ross
Beat The Clock: Ghostface Killah
Shut Up: Trick Daddy f. Trina
Santana's Town (dipset anthem): Juelz Santana
Whoa: Black Rob
Ya Playin' Yaself: Jeru the Damaja
Cherzchez LaGhost: Ghostface Killah
As High As Wu-Tang Get: Wu-Tang Clan
Nutmeg: Ghostface Killah
Simon Says: Pharoahe Monch
N.O.T.O.R.I.O.U.S: Notorious B.I.G.
Milk Em (MHE Dusty Mix): Ghostface Killah
One Love: Nas
Three MCs And One DJ: Beastie Boys
An Open Letter to NYC: Beastie Boys
Wu Banga 101: Ghostface Killah
Thug Muzik (Featuring Infamous Mobb & Chinky): Mobb Deep
Outta Control (Remix Feat Mobb Deep): 50 Cent
Put 'Em In Their Place: Mobb Deep
I'll Whip Your Head Boy: 50 Cent
Hustler's Ambition: 50 Cent
How We Do (Feat. 50 Cent): The Game
9 Milli Bros. (Featuring Wu-Tang Clan): Ghostface Killah
Shame On A Nigga: Wu-Tang Clan
Intergalactic: Beastie Boys
Concrete Jungle: Wu-Tang Clan
Deja Vu: Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz
Da Rockwilder: Method Man And Redman
Bump: Spank Rock
Rock Co.Kane Flow ft. MF Doom: De La Soul
Fazers: King Geedorah
Root Down: Beastie Boys
All Caps: Madvillain