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Detroit '67

2013-03-26T20:10:00.002-04:00

Detroit ‘67

By: Aaron Zaremski

It was like a cemetery. Here lied this building, this is where the Pistons used to play, just rubble now. Here is where the Tigers played, a space fenced in by a rusty gate. Some buildings were still up though. I did not know why, I do not think buildings have pride. But, if these buildings could tell stories, I would definitely like to hear them.

If it was not for my father, I would have felt like I was the only person there, the Omega Man with an entire boulevard to myself. All I saw was the broken down ruins of what was. I could not help but stare though. It felt like a piece of art that was ugly to others but somehow I understood, captivated by the arches, the acres and the afterthought.

My father noticed my interest as I gazed in wonderment from the passenger side window, “You’ve heard about the Midas touch, right son?”

“Uh, yeah… yeah. I know who he is.”

“Well, then you know how everything he touched turned to gold.”

I nodded my head in acknowledgment even though my eyes had already wandered back to the passing brick facades.

“What you are looking at is the Detroit touch. Everything they touched turned to rust.”

***

My alarm clocked sounded. It was 6:15 in the morning on July 23^rd. I always set my alarm to the AM news station and I set for 6:15 and 6:45 a.m. because those are the times when they up date sports. But this time was different; they were broadcasting a historical archived broadcast from the riots of 1967.

It was amazing to hear the broadcast. “Breaking news into WWJ 950. There appears to be a riot spreading rapidly from 12^th Street.” I sat there like a grandchild listening to their grandfather tell story. Then they aired the audio from the Tigers game the afternoon of the riots. I heard Ernie Harwell’s voice, always so delicate and calm, somewhat tremble when he made note of smoke rising beyond the stadium walls.

I went downstairs for breakfast and told my parents about what was on the radio. They grew up in and near Detroit. They were kids when the riots happened. My father took me in the backyard one time and pointed at a tree in the neighbor’s backyard. He told me that for a week the National Guard would fly over Jefferson in helicopters en route to downtown and they flew so close to the tree that the leaves would fall off because of the force of the wind.

My mother’s story was always a little more serious. She actually grew up in the heart of Detroit. Her neighborhood looks like a war zone now, empty houses, burnt down houses, fences keeping nothing in. The riots started on a Sunday and she always said that tanks freely roamed down their neighborhood streets to get to the mayhem.

I figured they would have been listening too, but they were not. I told my dad to go downstairs and turn on the radio.

He shouted from the basement, “What station?”

I replied, “WWJ 950.”

He turned it on. It was the sports updates and then traffic and weather together. I was excited for them to listen. It went to commercial and when they came back, it was the normal news.

“Well, we must have missed it.” I said.

“We didn’t, we were there.” My parents retorted as they sipped their coffee and read the morning news.

I went back upstairs to my room to get ready for work. My radio was still on from when my alarm went off.

“This is breaking news: the second game of a double header with the Yankees this afternoon has been cancelled.”

“That’s odd,” I thought to myself. The Tigers play the Cardinals today.

I ran downstairs and asked my dad who the Tigers played on July 23^rd, 1967. He held the cup to his mouth as he dug into his baseball almanac off a mind.

“The Yankees,” He answered and then sipped his coffee.

Standing there I felt like I should have said something. But, whatever it was, my parents were definitely not going to believe me.

***

As I was driving down Jefferson and through Grosse Pointe, I realized a slew of old cars parked on the street. Some with license plates from ’61, ’64, ’65, but none of them were later than ’67.

Then all of the sudden this raucous noise overpowered the stereo in my car. A low flying National Guard chopped flew past me like a child running home before dark so it would not get trouble. It was flying with a purpose. Like it had a place to be.

I have never claimed to be an investigator, like Sherlock Holmes. But, I have watched far too many episodes of The Twilight Zone than a normal twenty-year-old should. And it was with that expertise that I surmised that this was officially weird.

Passing the Grosse Pointe City limits into Detroit is a lot like getting out of warm pool on a cold day. The minute you get out of that pool, you notice the stark differences in temperature real quick.

I mean, how unfair is that though? Being right smack dab next to mansions far too big for a family of three… or even forty-three.

But, that culture shock was nowhere to be seen. These buildings were pristine and beautiful, in immaculate condition. And they were on the Detroit side no less.

Places like “Al’s Drug Store and Soda Bar” and bus benches with ads for Coca-Cola seemed very uncharacteristic of the Detroit I was accustomed to being greeted by when entering its city limits.

When I passed Belle Isle, I noticed it had a new sign. It looked better than the one they have now. And I could see from a distance that the fountain was on. It had been shut off for months due to budget cuts.

Driving further and further into the city, I could see smoke bellowing. I turned onto 12^th Street only to be greeted by a blockade of police cars.

I got out of my car and asked one of the officers what was going on.

“Are you dumb, son?” One of the officers retorted.

He continued, “Can’t ya see? There is a riot going on?”

I asked why they were not intervening then.

The chief stood tall and said, “We are only guys with a badge and gun. The National Guard couldn’t even stop this.”

There I was. In the middle of what I heard about as a kid. The “turning point” of the city. The riots.

I walked through the mass mêlée of people. Blacks and whites were working together. And they were tearing the city apart. They were throwing rocks, cinder blocks, shoes, anything that could be turned into a projectile.

The shattering of glass and the crackle of fire was juxtaposed to the songs of Motown blaring out of the speakers of a transistor radio on the stoop of an apartment complex. As men and women were tearing out the heart of the city, Marvin Gaye was singing with Tammi Terrell saying that they were all each other needed to get by. From the distance I could hear Dancing in the Street.

There was no dancing here. There was chaos and despair. African Americans screaming of injustice were being reprimanded by white cops who did not care.

The ones who were arrested were lucky. I was shielding myself behind a Cadillac door as bullets were wizzing by me and finding themselves in the flesh of black protesters. Children, mothers, fathers murdered in gun fire with bullets buzzing around them like bees. With so many bullets someone was bound to get stung.

I stood there in the middle of the street taking in what was around me. People kept on bumping into me. Some fleeing and retreating some trying to grab more stones and bricks to combat the National Guard.

One even shouted at me to join the revolution or get of the way.

I got out of the way.

The only place that made sense to go to was Tiger Stadium. I walked to the corner of Michigan and Trumball. The further away from 12^th Street the more calm it got, but I could tell the riots were spreading. It was like a sonic boom of destruction.

I approached the ticket teller and purchased a ticket for a bleacher seat for two dollars. The game was already underway. Word of what was happening had spread through the confines of the stadium. But, none of that mattered to me anymore.

Here I was safe. Inside the confines of Tiger Stadium there were no riots and the only race that mattered was the one from first base to home plate.

My eyes were fixated to the outfield. I got to see Kaline in right field and Willie Horton in left. They just stood there roaming the outfield like palm readers. Predicting where the ball would go on a whim. Except they actually knew where the ball would land. Fans would yell at Kaline to hustle and would call him lazy.

I stood up in defense retorting, “What are talking about? He is a Hall of Famer!”

I kept having to remind myself it was 1967 and a year from now on the same streets where people were rioting would be rejoicing for their Tigers would win the 1968 World Series.

I felt like Marty McFly with the sports almanac in Back to Future. Would any of these people believe me if I told them what was going to happen? McClain winning 30 games. Beating the Cardinals in seven games?

Baseball has always been a beautiful game to me. It just seemed more beautiful today. The grass seemed greener. The sound of the ball hitting the bat echoed through the stadium walls.

Looking on as Lolich shook off Freehan and dug into the pitcher’s mound before he delivered a curve ball that could make the Statue of Liberty’s knees break. Seeing Kaline hit a ball further than any tape measure could put into context. Watching Willie Horton command left field and shimmy in the batter’s box and hit a frozen rope in the gap in left-center field was just mesmerizing.

I could tell why my father was so fond of this team.

The game concluded and I just sat in my seat for awhile. I looked around and surveyed every last detail of the stadium. The green seats. The smell of peanuts and stale beer on a summer day.

I had only been there a few times as a child before they tore it down. It was just a field now, diamond still in tact, up kept by citizens and fans.

I stole dirt from it once. My brother and I had gone downtown and decided to run the bases there. I laughed to myself as I realized that I had something in common with the looters during the riots.

I had stolen something from the city.

I walked down the concourse as I exited. Taking in one last breath of what is was like back then. To be there in its glory. I bought a pennant as a keep sake, to remember the moment by. I gave the man a five dollar bill for it and told him to keep the change.

I saw him look at me weird as he looked at the bill.

“Sir, you trying to trick me,” he said.

“No,” I replied.

I didn’t understand why he was not accepting my gesture. The pennant was only a dollar.

“This ain’t a five dollar bill,” he retorted.

I went pale. I remembered that the currency now compared to then looks different. Instead of engaging further with this man, I decided to leave without my memento. As I began to walk with a more feverous pace, I could hear him call for security.

I ran past the first exit, rounded past the second one and then the third and finally out onto Michigan and Trumball.

“Safe!” I exclaimed while waving my arms like that of an umpire after making a call at the plate.

I turned around to see if the security guards had followed me out. I turned around only to find the rusty gate that surrounded what was Tiger Stadium.

Frantically running down the streets of Detroit, I realized that there were no longer any riots. Only ruins.

I ran to the nearest newspaper stand, the date read: July 23^rd 2012.

Confused and weary I drove home. This drive was familiar. There were no cars with metal fins on them with paint jobs that resembled colors of ice cream.. No, these were just normal cars. Normal buildings. The same old ruins of the past.

I arrived home torn as to whether I should tell my parents about what had just happened to me. All of that was washed away when my father greeted me with tickets to the Tigers game.

“The 1968 Tigers will be there signing autographs,” he said.

Taking my ticket I smiled while thinking to myself, “Will they believe me when I tell him that I thought they played a good game against the Yankees in ‘67?”

After all, I was there to see it.

I Have My Parents To Thank For This

2012-05-17T01:07:00.001-04:00

You do not have to be 55 to know the impact of Kennedy's assassination.

You do not have to be 105 to know that Ty Cobb was the greatest hitter ever to play the game of baseball.

And you do not have to be 45 to know of the great Johnny Carson.

I recently watched a documentary the other day with my father about the late and great Tonight Show host, Johnny Carson. I knew of him and had seen clips of him throughout my life and through stories from my father, mother, grandmother, grandfather and really any family member of mine.

Every time one of them talked about the Tonight Show, you could see the child in their eye. Just that happiness, that unexplainable happiness that you try to put into words but just cannot, no matter how hard you try.

Needless to say, I rarely get goosebumps. And when I do, they usually come from songs. When John Lennon says, "I read the news today, oh boy..." at the beginning of "A Day In The Life" or when the intro to the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" comes on and every time Paul Simon opens his mouth.

But even more rarer than that, do I get goosebumps from just being in the presence of greatness.

I got them last night by the presence of Johnny Carson on my television.

Now I know how what my father, mother, grandmother, grandfather and really any family member of mine really felt when Carson was on every night.

I do have to say that I love watching things like this when they come on television. But what I love even more is the fact that I can watch things like this with my parents. The act of watching something from Don Rickles or Bill Cosby or Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin back in the day, and having an as mutual admiration for it as my parents, is truly something very special.

While watching the documentary I was reminded of watching something with my mother a month before on Victor Borge. Now, many people of my age probably do not not know who this man is, but you should. And because of my mom I do.

Thanks mom.

When the documentary concluded with a montage about Carson's death, I could see my dad getting emotional. Or in the words of Mike Myer's character in the "Coffee Talk" sketches on SNL, "A little verklempt."

I have only seen my father cry about five times in my lifetime. Two of which occurred because of something on the television.

First, it was the episode of Wonder Years, where the dad, Jack Arnold sell's the old family family Stationwagon for a brand new car. Every one in the Arnold family wanted to see the old Stationwagon go, But, when it finally did they realized how much they loved it. And Neil Young's "Long May You Run" played during a montage of memories with the family's car.

Yesterday was that second time.

After it concluded and I noticed a shift and crack in my father's voice, we started talking about Carson. I told him of my favorite Carson clips that I watched on YouTube and he told me some of his.

We both got to talking about his famous sketches and guests. We talked about Carnac the Magnificent and how my dad said that Carson always jabbed at Ed McMahon and would call him things like, "Budweiser Breath". We talked about Carson and Sinatra. But in the end, we both agreed that Carson's bits with Don Rickles were the best.

I told him about the episode where Don Rickles broke Johnny Carson's cigarette box while Bob Newhart was filling in for Carson. Then next night Carson found out about it and tracked down Rickles, who was filming an episode of CPO Sharky, live across the hall.

My father smirked and said, "I remember watching that when it happened."

And that is the consensus with stories of that time. Of my parents' time. Of my grandparents' time.

They remembered with great reverence when those things happened.

I am just lucky and I am privileged that I was shown and told stories about people like Johnny Carson and stories about things that happened "back in the day" by my father, mother, grandmother, grandfather and really any family member of mine.

So I too can experience that unexplainable happiness.

My Second Ever Short Story... (Welcome to) The Machine

2012-04-19T20:57:00.001-04:00

Prologue

This story takes place in Eurtopia in the year 2374.

Eurtopia was formed after years of constant invasion and fighting amongst the countries of that made up Europe as we know today. Germany initially took claim to the country, or so they thought. Germany came very close. That was until the outside forces of the United States and its allies suppressed Germany’s attempt at establishing an absolute power once again.

Soon after that, France tried to take over. And soon after France’s attempt, Britain tried to state claim. None were successful in law term rule.

In a last ditch effort by the United European Countries, the U.N. decided to combine all of the countries of Europe under one democratic ruler and banner. They decided the country would henceforth be called Eurtopia.

For many years Eurtopia thrived under its democratic regime. But as population continued to grow at an alarming rate the leniency of democracy was no longer authoritative enough to control the population.

Slowing but surely Eurtopia became corrupt. The populous began electing militant officials and undeserving leaders. And soon after that, there were no elections at all.

With non-elected officials in office, the population of Eurtopia became anarchists.

The non-elected officials did not care about discipline the citizens. They cut funding for police, firemen and doctors, so the government leaders could have a higher salary. And whatever policemen and firemen there were, they were in the pocket of Eurtopia’s corrupt and negligent leader.

With over crowded streets and a leader with no direction, the people of Eurtopia started to become their own police force.

But once again, over time that too became corrupt.

An honorable police force morphed into gangs that rule the streets. And the gangs morphed into terror groups that desired absolute power by any means necessary.

That used propaganda and brute force to take what they wanted when they wanted. Eventually all the terror groups merged into one.

And that is where this story begins.

It was a rainy day as blood flowed through the cobble stone cracks on the streets of Eurtopia. The immoveable force of the citizens met the unstoppable object of their oppressive adversary once again.

The overcrowded and malnourished masses of Eurtopia were once again unsuccessful in their overtaking of the current regime. But much like before, a mission became an excuse. An excuse to loot, to steal, to kill, to rape, to pillage.

The people of Eurtopia indulged in all the excesses that were made accessible to them, and the only time these were readily available were in times of revolt. And once they got their hands on the alcohol or drugs they coveted, they revolt quickly became a moment of liberation to a saga of intoxication.

Nobody exemplified this more than McAvoy.

McAvoy was a brash and outspoken musician who had gained popularity through his out spoken nature against the government. He would educate the audience and on lookers at his shows about tyranny that they were under. He was one of many who spoke out against the government and their henchmen and mercenaries.

But, McAvoy had one thing that the others did not.

He had a microphone.

And because of this people could hear his message. Not only that, but they could listen. McAvoy knew that the most dangerous thing that a militant regime could face is an educated populous.

But Eurtopia needed something much stronger to bring down their opposition.

A terror organization that was faceless.

A terror organization that donned black masks as they made their way through the riotous crowds. Who infiltrated secret meetings of rebellion. Who blended into society like chameleons. Who served as the police force, the judicial system, and the executioners.

No one could stand up to their guns and brute force.

They incited riots just to get people out in the streets, so they could kill the ones that they deemed were in the way of their ‘cause”.

They were the Machine.

***

The Machine had been formed five years prior. As many terror groups were vying for the chance to control Eurtopia.

The Machine either took out the ones that were in their way, or the ones that were still left consolidated into the Machine to spare their lives.

All the other terror organizations were open with their identity. People knew who was apart of which terror group. So citizens would seek out these people and kill them.

This was not the case with the Machine.

Due to their infamous black masks that they only wore in times of action, they were able to assimilate into society. They were able to live normal lives. They held positions such as lawyers, officers and judges. The Machine had access to documents that no other terror group had access to.

The Machine could find the occupations and addresses of people who spoke out against them. They could seek out anybody anywhere and take them out.

They were extraordinary at keeping their allegiance under wraps. Members of the Machine could have very well been your next store neighbor and you would have never known.

The Machine were on every corner, on every street, on every block. They lived with you, they laughed with you. They lied to you.

There was no stopping them.

This fact did not detour McAvoy, he still made it his mission to take down the Machine.

McAvoy’s concerts, once a place of entertainment and release, became more and more like rallies.

His signature guitar that precariously hung down from his left shoulder was soon replaced by automatic machine gun that adorned his shoulder instead.

The crowd once full of teenagers wanting to party and have a good time began to contain to contain more and more people who did not want to hear rock and roll music.

They wanted to hear how they could take down the Machine.

Due the ever ominous presence of the Machine, McAvoy had every person in the audience swear allegiance to his cause and detract the Machine’s oppressive nature. McAvoy did this, because he knew how prideful the members of the Machine were. He knew that if the Machine was being spat upon, the Machine would reveal itself.

No one got past McAvoy without doing this. He checked and questioned everyone to make sure they were clean and on his side.

He checked everyone except the bartender.

***

One night as McAvoy and his band, the Churchill’s were performing at another club, the Machine in possession of his home address, decided to raid his house and capture the outspoken rebel.

McAvoy was obviously not there.

But his mother, brother, and fiancé were. To send a message to McAvoy, the leader of the Machine ordered for all three to be executed on the spot. The leader then also called for the execution of the Machine who had falsely led them.

Four slain bodies laid in the bedroom of McAvoy’s house. But much to the Machine’s chagrin, none of them were McAvoy.

Word spread quickly to the club where McAvoy was playing.

When word finally reached him, they were in the middle of their set, when a roadie whispered into his ear the news.

McAvoy immediately collapsed to his knees and stayed there motionless for what felt like hours on end, until he let loose a raucous yell.

The concert was over.

And the meeting to formulate a he plan for rebellion had begun. McAvoy was as passionate as ever in his speech. The distraught on lookers and supporters could see that he was visibly upset and shaking. His fellow band mates had to grab him and pull him off stage before he did something that he would regret.

When he got backstage, he again collapsed, and continuously mumbled the phrase, “The bloody Machine... they… they took everything.”

As his band mates consoled him, they reminded McAvoy that he could not go home. For the Machine new where he lived and they would be waiting for him.

***

In the months after the execution of his family, McAvoy became a squatter.

He lived in abandoned building and on the streets, trying to evade the attention of the Machine. This was no easy task, as the Machine had grown stronger during the time that McAvoy was on the streets.

More people were being captured and executed everyday by the Machine. It was a miracle that none of those people were McAvoy, himself.

The Machine had grown by hundreds or even thousands. No one person could tell. But there power had grown immensely.

During the Machine’s rise, Eurtopia’s militant leader had been assianated, and many expected it was the Machine who pulled the trigger. Without a head of government in place for Eurtopia, the Machine was one piece and step away from absolute power, the only problem was they did not have a man for the job.

***

McAvoy spent his time on the streets observing the oppression before him. He saw mother’s with new born babies walking down the streets scared, he saw former friends, teachers and students get captured. He saw old shops that he loved and remembered as a child boarded up and closed.

Everything in his life was just a distant memory.

McAvoy knew now more than ever that something had to be done. The Machine had to come down.

So, McAvoy diligently and secretively began to form a coalition of people.

People who shared similar stories to McAvoy’s. The too had families torn and friends murdered by the Machine, and they too wanted nothing more to see the Machine meet the same fate as their loved one’s did at the hands of the terrorist organization.

McAvoy knew of the danger and sheer impossibility of taking out each member of the Machine one by one. He decided that the best way to destroy the Machine was to blow up their headquarters.

It was revealed to McAvoy through one of his supporters that the Machine’s headquarters had been compromised and revealed in a newscast the week prior. This was the opportunity that McAvoy had been preaching about and preparing for years.

He was finally about to do what so many had tried to do before.

McAvoy was about the kill the Machine.

McAvoy and his group of rebels spent the next few weeks collecting the parts needed to assemble a bomb capable of blowing up the headquarters. And this proved to be no easy task, as the Machine’s headquarters was a twelve story skyscraper that towered into the sky and was constructed with sleek and shiny metal, so when the sun’s light would reflect on it, it produced a blinding reflection to the passerby’s on the street.

But after weeks of meticulous and deliberate planning, they had finally constructed a bomb powerful enough to complete their task.

McAvoy had one of his followers put on a black mask, so he could infiltrate the headquarters and place the bomb in the lobby. Everything was moving smoothly and as McAvoy had envisioned.

McAvoy and his followers went to a safe location, and McAvoy with the detonator in hand, he was one button push away from ending the tyranny of the Machine.

Before he pushed the button, he addressed the coalition. He looked at all of them as he paced back and forth and said, “This is the moment, this is our independence!” He then smirked and continued, “Do you feel that?” The people looked at each other confused. McAvoy then clarified, “That is the feeling of years of oppression finally of our backs. For we no longer have a machine… to weigh us down!”

As McAvoy uttered that final phrase, he pushed down the button on the detonator and simultaneously, smoke and flames bellowed in the distance as the Machine had finally met its demise.

***

McAvoy was a hero. The citizens of Eurtopia made him their knight in shining armor. With no terrorist groups to speak of, Eurtopia went back to its old ways, the ways that the U.N. had once promised and envisioned.

The country of Eurtopia held its first democratic election in more than 50 years, and McAvoy won in a landslide.

He pledged to restore the Eurtopia that he once knew and they all loved. And he did just that. Eurtopia grew quickly in every single facet that a country could grow in. Jobs were available everywhere, food production was at a surplus, Eurtopia became a major player in global trade.

McAvoy was the perfect leader, the leader that Eurtopia had wanted and needed for so many years prior.

But that soon all came to a screeching halt, as one night when McAvoy was going over some paper work to develop a new government building, an inanimate object crashed through his window. When McAvoy picked it up it exploded and gave of a thick fog that quickly enveloped the entire room. Then he could hear a commotion outside his door. He felt and heard the noise become louder and louder as it approached. McAvoy’s door was then kicked and twenty masked men filled the room.

It was the Machine.

As the fog settled, one of the members approached McAvoy. He struck him in the back of the leg with an assault rifle causing McAvoy to fall to his knees.

He then moved to the front of McAvoy, where he stood arms crossed and laughing. He slowly moved his hands toward his head and removed his mask to reveal his identity. Still laughing, the leader of the Machine bent over with his hands behind his back, and leaned in towards McAvoy’s ear and whispered, “Boo.”

He then put his mask back on signaled towards one of the Machine members. He put a black bag over McAvoy and struck him in the face with the back of his gun.

***

When McAvoy awoke, the same man that had revealed his face to McAvoy was standing in the room.

“For such a valiant hero, you sure put up quite the tussle.”

He continued to mock and demean McAvoy. He only referred to and addressed McAvoy as, “Oh, hero” and when he did, he clasped both of his hands and acted as if he was a teenager girl talking of her celebrity crush.

His sarcastic face quickly turned stern, as he slapped McAvoy across the face and yelled at him, “We will recreate you in our image!”

McAvoy then spat upon the leader of the Machine’s face. That only led to McAvoy getting slapped again. The leader then called for some assistance and they began to torture McAvoy.

The torturing went on for weeks.

Until one day the leader of the Machine approached McAvoy and asked him if he would like to see the Machine’s true headquarters.

A broken and shell of person that he once was McAvoy obliged.

The leader of the Machine then took McAvoy to a dark empty room with just a desk and a chair. McAvoy was confused until the leader of the Machine spoke to him, “There is no headquarters, McAvoy. We are the Machine. You are the Machine. We are all the Machine. Everyone just needs to realize their part… Realize your part McAvoy… Join us.”

Confused and in dismay, McAvoy did not know what to say. The leader of the Machine then revealed his name, “Rommel, my name is Rommel, McAvoy.” He then continued, “I was once like you, McAvoy, fatherless and with no direction. Then I realized my part in the Machine.”

Rommel then took McAvoy back into the torture room where he began to brainwash McAvoy with propaganda. He pleaded for McAvoy to realize his part in the Machine. Rommel started to tell McAvoy that his whole entire life was a lie, and that the Machine always knew where he was and where he had been. Rommel told him hat his band mates were the Machine, his mother was the Machine, his brother, his fiancé, they were all the Machine.

After days of this, McAvoy finally caved.

He became apart of the Machine.

Rommel was pleased with this and for the first time since McAvoy had been in his presence, he cracked a smile and said, “Welcome to the Machine, McAvoy. Welcome to the Machine.”

The Machine had finally acquired the missing piece to their takeover of Eurtopia. It was their biggest adversary all along. It was Eurtopia’s white knight, who they turned black. Better yet, who they turned into the Machine.

With McAvoy now in the pocket of the Machine, he did their bidding for them. Rommel had McAvoy cover up and convince the citizens of Eurtopia that the Machine was actually doing good for Eurtopia. But the people of Eurtopia were not buying it. And after awhile, neither was McAvoy.

Fearing that the Machine was going to loose its key piece to power, Rommel, who knew of McAvoy’s past with drugs and alcohol, decided to suppress McAvoy’s second thoughts with all the alcohol and drugs available.

McAvoy became a heroin addict and was too strung out to ever doubt the Machine again.

After a couple of years of this McAvoy became a non-factor in government. He just became a figure head, as the Machine was back in power and in dominance of Eurtopia. He just became the Machine’s pawn.

As Eurtopia began to decline back into its dystopian ways, McAvoy began to slip further and further into the Machine, to the point where he no longer served as the day to day President of Eurtopia. But he instead donned a black mask and ran the day to day terror operations of the Machine.

***

Ten years later, another outspoken musician was garnering attention from the Machine. This time it was not because of his outspokenness toward the operations of the Machine, but for something that the Machine thought was far worse.

He was preaching a message of peace.

The man was thought of as a second coming of Eurtopia’s now cult of personality, McAvoy. Except this time they knew there was no way he could become apart of the Machine.

And much like McAvoy he was only referred to by his last name, Thatcher.

Thatcher was much more open with the people than McAvoy, he accepted and was more receptive to other’s ideas, unlike McAvoy who forced his ideas onto people and forced others to do his bidding.

The people of Eurtopia found Thatcher’s sincerity refreshing and much needed.

But Thatcher’s chance for changing Eurtopia was short-lived as the Machine quickly broke into Thatcher’s apartment as he was sleeping one night and captured him.

They took him straight to McAvoy.

McAvoy revealed himself, they same way as Rommel did a decade before. Except this time, no life was going to be spared. McAvoy cocked his gun, and was about to execute Thatcher. But he realized something.

Thatcher was a spitting image of himself.

Bewildered, McAvoy dropped his gun and ran out of the room. He ordered for Thatcher to be taken to the torture, as that was what happened when McAvoy was captured.

But instead of torturing Thatcher, McAvoy ran tests to see if what he feared was true.

That he could Thatcher’s father.

After a few days of testing, McAvoy’s fear became true. As the test results showed that he was indeed the father of Eurtopia’s newest threat to the Machine. Instead of executing Thatcher and have that be message to Eurtopia. McAvoy decided to be what he never had and always wanted in life.

A father.

He decided it would be his mission to initiate Thatcher into the Machine so he could develop a relationship with him and mold Thatcher into their heir to power. McAvoy found this task to be quite easy, as Thatcher was eager to belong to the Machine. For McAvoy had brainwashed him the same way Rommel did.

After just merely days of brainwashing, Thatcher accepted his role in the Machine. And McAvoy, displaying a happiness he had never exuded before reached in his pocket and offered a celebratory cigar to his son. As they both lit their cigars, McAvoy put his arm around Thatcher and brought him near. He exclaimed, “Welcome my son, welcome to the Machine.”

***

After just a month as apart of the Machine, Thatcher quickly rose through the ranks of the terror group. He embraced everything that the Machine stood for, much quicker than McAvoy ever did.

He was able to control fleets and carry out executions and captures with relative ease and no effort at all. He understood how the Machine worked. He was able to use propaganda and lies much better than McAvoy; he had the people of Eurtopia and the terrorists of the Machine eating out of the palms of his hand.

McAvoy became increasingly weary of this. He felt that Thatcher could either form a rebellion with the people of Eurtopia, or even with the terrorists of the Machine usurp all of his power.

Thatcher always insisted McAvoy was being paranoid, and reassured him that the last thing he wanted to do was damage the relationship between them. For Thatcher finally had the father he always wanted. And McAvoy got to be the father he never had.

That was until McAvoy and other top officials of the Machine went out to suppress a rally that was going on in the capital of Eurtopia, a rally that was called in by an anonymous source within the Machine.

As the jeep which contained McAvoy and the officials left the hide out of the Machine, it exploded high into the air.

McAvoy was dead.

***

In the days after McAvoy’s assaination, Eurtopia celebrated once again. The streets were free.

They were free from the Machine once more.

At a celebratory rally, a man in a black mask similar to that of the Machine rushed the stage and grabbed the microphone. In front of the masses he asked, “Do you remember me?” The people of Eurtopia were puzzled and confused. Then the masked man removed his mask, to reveal himself as Thatcher.

He then reiterated, “Do you remember me, now?” The crowd roared, as their second savior had returned and brought down the Machine.

Thatcher revealed that he was never captured by the Machine and that he actually infiltrated the Machine’s headquarters and brought them down by assassinating McAvoy. He promised the people of Eurtopia something that McAvoy never did after seemingly bringing down the Machine.

Thatcher promised and assured the citizens of Eurtopia that the Machine was dead, that it seized to be and was no more. That is was never coming back.

***

A couple years later a rebuilding Eurtopia elected Thatcher as their new leader, their first democratically elected leader since McAvoy.

Well aware of what McAvoy did, the citizens of Eurtopia demanded that Thatcher implement a police force.

And Thatcher obliged.

Thatcher created the ETF, the Eurtopian Task Force. He put them in charge in disciplining the people of Eurtopia. And Thatcher did not stop there. He personally appointed judges and lawyers and other government officials.

He created specific job duties for each Eurtopian citizen and he had everyone contributing to the re-birth of Eurtopia. This went on for years until the citizens became disenchanted and dismayed. They no longer believed in the message and promises that Thatcher once made to them.

Eurtopia began to slip back into its dystopian past once more, but this time it was far worse.

Buildings were decaying, families were going hungry, education was non-existent and jobs were now only for specially trained people.

And one of Eurtopia’s biggest fears was becoming more apparent.

Not the resurgence of the Machine. That was one promise Thatcher had kept. The Machine never came back under his watch they could not especially with his creation, the ETF.

Instead of being fearful of the Machine the people of Eurtopia were fearful of the communist nation they were becoming.

And one day this fear became real, as Thatcher had cranes drape the buildings of Eurtopia with red flags that had a blue circle on it. And within that blue circle was a white lighting bolt.

This was the new flag for the United Communist State of Eurtopia.

Thatcher had a rally to introduce the citizens of Eurtopia to their new country and way of life. He made the people remember that he had kept his promise about the Machine. And he tried telling him that he created something better for them, the UCSE.

As Thatcher stepped down from the stage, he lit a cigar and reveled in the new regime he had created. As he exhaled the smoke from his lungs he mocked the words that his father had uttered upon him years before.

“Welcome my son… Welcome to the Machine.”

A Note I Got From My Grandma Today

2012-02-14T18:49:00.001-05:00

I had to use Rosetta Stone: Grandma to try and read this:

Dear Aaron,

Grandma had some luck at bingo. I am sending you a check for $45.00 to share the wealth. I won $331.00 dollars. How are you? We had 4 inches of snow Saturday. Did you get any? Is everything going okay for you, Aaron? I miss you. Aaron send in all your resumes now so they get them early on, so you have some good luck. Take care of yourself. May God bless you.

Love You,
Grandma

Let me know when you get the check.

God, I love that woman.

My grandma is better is better than your grandma.

I Am (Still) Lucky

2012-02-13T00:46:00.002-05:00

You know, I am lucky.

I am not the luckiest, but I am lucky.

I am 19 in college, going for a degree in something I love to do, have my family support in that. Hell, I have a family to support me.

I am lucky.

It is not everyday that your son says that they want to pursue a degree in Creative Writing and as a parent you say, "Go for it!" as opposed to saying, "What kind of doctor did you say?" But, nevertheless I have parents who actually support me in that. I have parents who are curious about what I write, who actually say with a degree of confidence to other people that I am a writer, and I have a grandma who always asks me where I come up with all that stuff.

I have a brother who is my role model and best friend. A guy who has a kidney surgery and one of the first things he tells me is that the only thing he was worried about before the surgery was me. I have that type of person in my life. Someone who I can talk to on a daily basis on the phone while I am at school, hang up afterwords and realize that I just spent 45 minutes with him talking about Ghostbusters, Batman, and Nelson Cruz.

I have a mom and dad who would do anything for me. I know that because I am at SVSU. I do not have to be, and I really shouldn't be. But, because of them I am.

I have a dad who I can spend simple father and son time with watching a George Harrison documentary or by talking about how we would have handled Custer's Last Stand if we were George Custer. A dad who has a subtle humor and can teach a person the importance of bow-sawing techniques... even if they come after a half inch gash has occured. Someone who I tricked into saying, "I love you" first today before I hung up. Gotcha, dad.

I have a mom who works her ass off. Never for herself though. Always for someone else. Who is there with something to make me laugh even if I do not want to. "Here do not forget my handicap sticker... I guess those do come in handy, get it?" Someone who always just happens to have planned all my favorite meals when I am home. Someone who posts Facebook statti bragging about me. Making me actually feel like I am doing something right.

I have a family on my dad's side and on my mom's side that I love dearly. Who believe in me too. Who I can go garage saleing... excuse me, junking with. Who post songs on my Facebook wall just because they think I might like them or try to convince that the Lions are good. Who offer me rides to go see my brother. Who help keep me inspired.

I have a girlfriend.

Yeah, me. I have a girlfriend. And god, is she beautiful. She has a smile that makes me fall into an endless loop of love with her. And I do not even care. She likes Louis Armstrong. She sends me individual bags of candy with little notes that would be the cutest thing ever, if not for her. Who looks over at me while I am driving and smiles and thinks I do not see it, but I do. Who texts me exactly as I am writing this about her and says she does not want to ruin my creative flow. Yeah, that girl is mine.

How did I get this lucky?

I have no clue.

I Guess I Am Going To Start Doing This Again

2012-02-12T01:24:00.002-05:00

Look, it just snowed.

I am in college. It is mid-winter. I am bored. So I might as well start this up again. I got a fancy new layout and Tweets and everything.

Still do not know why I am doing this, but I am.

Eh, I give it till tomorrow until I forget about this again.

You Look Like You Need Some (More) Music

2012-02-10T20:02:00.001-05:00

Spotify, man.

Tom Waits- Closing Time: Listen to this when it is a cold day. Once you do that, I only have one thing to say to you. You are welcome.
AM Gold Comp CD's- Various Artists: I got a bunch of these at the library here at SVSU today. I got every one from 1965-1969. So much good pop music.
Steve Martin- A Wild And Crazy Guy: Possibly, no. It is my favorite comedy album of all time. Quite a bit of it still holds up today. It is just very smart-stupid humor. This is when Steve Martin was like the most popular comedian in the world.
Neutral Milk Hotel- In An Aeroplane Over The Sea: This album should be more important than Nevermind. Boom. I just said that. I love this album. My friend John showed this two me last year and it is one of those albums that changes your life.
The Shins- Chutes Too Narrow: I have listened to the Shins catalog since I listened to them perform a cover of Breathe on Late Night. It left me speechless. I listened to this album first, because sometimes when I listen to the Shins I do not want to hear New Slang or Caring Is Creepy. If that makes sense.
The New Pornographers- Twin Cinema: I vividly remember one morning when I was in 8th grade. I was on the way to school, I was listening 89x, and the song Use It was on. There was a pen in the car. So, I wrote New Pornographers- Use It on my hand. Therefore, I had the words "New Pornographers" on my hand all day. Gotta love going to SIJ.
The Kinks- The Kinks: Every time I listen to the Kinks I get a new favorite Kinks song. This time it is Beautiful Delilah. Why does this band not get its rightful due? It is baffling.
fun- Aim & Ignite: I l-o-v-e this band. Brendon Urie (lead singer of Panic! At The Disco) said that fun. was the most appropriately named band ever. And that is the truth. I saw them last summer by shear happenstance and they absolutely blew me away. They have a new single called "We Are Young" that is now being used for Chevy commercials now too.
Bill Burr- Let It Go: Probably one of my favorite comedians right now. He was used sparingly in the today show. He was one of the announcers for the "World Series of Dice Throwing" sketch and his stand-up is amazingly hilarious. Very Louis CK-ish. Just a normal fella talking about his crazy day to day thoughts.
A Tribe Called Quest- The Low End Theory: This album is absolute perfection. One of the greatest hip-hop albums ever created. The. End.

This Is What They Did Wrong...

2011-10-12T23:04:00.003-04:00

Alright, before everyone jumps off the wagon (oph, there was the last one). Let me say one thing: This technically is not over. Unless game five ends with Texas having more runs, this is not over.

Having said that, this series could and should be tied at two games a piece. I can not say that any more concise, black and white, cut and dry, etc.

The game game down to the last four innings, that is when you know it is a good, ney, great game. Because, that is when you not only have the players trying to place themselves in baseball record books. But, that is when the managers really have to micro-manager games. The last four or three innings of a game is when you really see what a manager is made of.

Now, I really have to put aside my opinion of Jim Leyland here. And even with my already less than savory or positive view on his managerial skills, I can say he was one of two people to cost the Tigers this game.

Not Gene Lamont sending Cabrera.

Not Valverde giving up that Home Run.

I can say that this game and lose boiled down to two people:

Leyland and Cabrera.

Now, Cabrera did give the Tigers the lead and two RBIs early on. But, he cost the Tigers their most important run. He weighs at least 240 pounds. I would not be surprised if it is more like 255. He at least has a 20-30 pound difference with Napoli.

It is game five of the ALCS, you are tied in the 8th, you are at home, you are down in the series 2-1, you are supposed to be a leader on this team.

You run that catcher over.

I do not care if he gets fined, I do not care if Napoli holds on.

You still run the catcher over.

Cabrera should be smart enough to know that he was going to be beat. He should have known half-way down the line that he was going to go into him.

In my mind that cost the Tigers the game.

All the momentum, all the energy, all the more runs than the Rangers. Gone.

And do not pin that play on Gene Lamont. He had to send him. It was bottom of the 8th and it was the best chance for the Tigers to score. You can argue otherwise, but how many people have they left on base? And you had Martinez on first. Who you could also argue is maybe the second slowest runner on the team.

That was Cabrera.

Now, this is what Leyland did wrong:

First, he chose to send Jackson for one of the first times this off-season right in the bottom of the 10th. Jackson should have been on second, not for the reason that he may or not of actually been out. But, because of the fact that he should be more of a runner. Leyland should have him steal more. Jackson should know what to do in that situation, and not have to think, "Oh, god. I have to steal now". He just have ice in his veins in that situation. He just of had that base. Yes, you can blame Jackson or the Ump. Because, we all know the Umps cost the Tigers every game (sarcasm). But, that is on Leyland. For the sole reason of not having Jackson personally comfortable in that situation.

Second, he intentionally walked someone who was 0-4 with two strike-outs, and was injured. Why? I do not know.

Third, he put in Valverde in a non-save situation. All people who know Valverde, know non-save situation Valverde is akin to a lose. And tonight was no different.

Leyland made many moves and decisions that I thought were detrimental to the Tigers. In sort, I think we found out what kind of manager he really is.

Let me leave with these two numbers that drive that point home.

26 and 6.95

26- How many games Valverde pitched in non-save situations in the regular season.

6.95- His ERA from those 26 apperances.

6.95....

"...Rock Me Mama Like A Wagon Wheel..."

2011-10-07T00:31:00.001-04:00

Look, if you are going to be a Tiger's fan now, you should at least get a crash course in how to be a Tigers fan.

Do not try to hide now.

You are very easy to spot.

You were the person wearing the Ben Wallace afro in 2004. Who had a signed spelt: "FEAR THE FROWW!!". True story, I saw a guy with that sign. You were also the person in 2006 who bought a Joel Zumaya jersey. You were the person who made the Tigers finish last in 2008. You were the person in 2011 who defended Jimmy Howard and called him "The greatest goalie ever".

Again, you are very easy to spot.

So, let me help you not get challenged to a duel by an actual fan, by cracking a small egg of knowledge for you the Tiger fan who was a Tiger fan in 2008 because of Miguel Cabrera, left half-way in 2008 because they were in last place, and then came back two days ago because, hey-ho-whatta-ya-know the Tigers are back in the playoffs again.

Guess what.

They did this five years... to the Yankees. Well, at least five years ago they were about to close it out at home.

Yes, that was a subtle jab at the Tigers for that 10-1 display in game four.

But, after tonight, that point is moot.

If you want to be a fan DO NOT:

- Post exaggeratory statii on Facebook. Example: "Oh my god. Don Kelly is like the greatest player ever! :)". Even with his home-run tonight, Tiger fans will still look at you dead in the eye and say, "No. Dear god, no".

- Buy apparel of players on a hot-streak. Everytime I see people with Boesch, Dirks (Yes, I saw a guy with an Andy Dirks jersey T-shirt today. Could not tell if I was more surprised in the person for buying one, or for Majestic for even making them.), and or Avila jersey I want to troll them. BUT AARON, AVILA IS AN ALL-STAR CATCHER!! Yeah, just to make sure we are on the same page, Avila existed last year too. And last year he could not even beat out Gerald Laird for the starting catcher position. So, shut up.

- Post statii negating all accomplishments the Tigers made if they get knocked out. Example: "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The Tigers suck. Valverde sucks. Way to go!!!!!!!!!!!" I really do not want to waste energy describing my view on this.

- Tell me that their pitching totally sucks. Only Brad Penny. Do the names Matt Perisho, Mark Redmond, Jeff Weaver and or Dave Milicki ring a bell? Well, for the bandwagon fan probably not. But, for a person who knew the Tigers of the '90s or early '00s just had 'Nam flashbacks, because they thought they never had to see those names again.

- Do not tell me that Jose Valverde is the most entertaing pitcher in Tigers history. Jose Lima. Rest in peace, you crazy m'fer.

- Do not say that Magglio is worthless. Would you rather have Robert Fick in right field. Sorry for another 'Nam flashback.

I know there are more things. But, I am getting too angry thinking about them.

But, let me say this:

Please do not ruin this for us. For the love of Allah, please do not ruin this for us.

Ten years ago are deadline deals involved trading away Jose Macias to Montreal for Chris Truby and three used baseballs.

Now we can actually be proud of the Tigers. Just give us this moment. You had 2008 and you ruined it. All of it.

So, let us real Tiger fans rejoice in our second trip to the ALCS in six seasons. For us Tiger fans this is a big-deal. If you told me in 2002 that the Tigers would be in the ALCS twice over the next ten years, I would have thought you were stupid.

Or high.

Or stupid high.

And for some of your parents who may be saying that the Tigers of this year were nothing compared to those of 1984 or 1968. Well, they are right.

But, that is a whole different lesson for a different day.

Possible Titles For The Sequel To Finding Nemo

2011-09-26T16:04:00.001-04:00

Will and I talk about random stuff.

Today was no different. We started talking about Pixar movies, specifically Monsters Inc. and Finding Nemo and how they were making sequels of them apparently.

I did not get how they could make a sequel to Finding Nemo on account of... them finding him.

But, nevertheless here are some potential movie titles for the sequel to Finding Nemo...

Oh, none of these are really that funny. But, you will read it anyway. Cause you are awesome...

Finding Nemo 2: FOUND HIM!

Finding Nemo 2: Shit, We Lost Him Again.

Finding Nemo 2: I Swear To God He Was Just Here A Second Ago.

Finding Nemo 2: Polo.. You see Marco Polo Is An Aquatic.. Nevermind.

Finding Nemo 2: Pixar Will Make A Sequel For All Of Their Franchises. Cars?

Tyler Perry's I Can Find Nemo All By Myself

Finding Nemo 2+1= 3D!!!!!!!!

Finding Nemo 2: ...Maybe He Swam Away This Time.

Finding Nemo 2: Two Many Fish In The Sea (Get it? It is a play on words)

Finding Nemo 2: Ha-Ha-Nanny-Boo-Boo, We Got A Sequel Shark Tale

Finding Nemo 2: Bigger Jaws (Yeah, Family Guy Joke)

Finding Nemo 2: Adventerous Little Fish, Isn't He?

Finding Nemo 2: Because Ellen Degeneress and Brad Garrett Need Something To Do

Tyler Perry's I Can Get Lost Again All By Myself

Tyler Perry's Why Did I Lose Nemo

(Seriously just choose a word or two and apply it to a Tyler Perry movie. Works everytime. It is like the Seven Degrees Of Kevin Bacon, except it is the One Degree Of Really Shitty Movies).

Finding Nemo 2: How To Lose A Fish (Again) In Ten Days

Finding Nemo 2: The Dark Fish Rises (BATMAN!!!)

Finding Nemo 2: No, This Is Actually A Theatrical Release. What? You Thought This Was Straight To DVD? Me Too... Me Too.

Finding Nemo 2: Wait, You Mean I Have To Sit In A Theatre With A Bunch Of Loud Kids Again? Pass. Super Pass. Uber Pass.

Finding Nemo 2: Why Did They Never Make A Sequel To A Bug's Life? I Enjoyed That Movie.

Finding Nemo 2: Nemo! Nemo? Damn, I Have To Find Him Again.

You Look Like You Need Some Music

2011-09-24T23:19:00.000-04:00

I have not posted a blog post in awhile. I have not posted a music blog post in a longer while. Well, come join me as I kill two birds with one stone.

I just a Spotify account yonder day, so quite a bit of music has happened. Like all the music.

Here are some casual suggestions for you the reader/potential music listener of my suggestions.

Lou Reed- Transformer: Now, this is just a fantastic album. By happenstance Andy's Chest was the first song I listened to on Spotify. I saw Lou Reed's face and then it happened.
Various Artists- The Motion Picture Soundtrack to Pirate Radio: This is leaps and bounds my favorite soundtrack album to any movie. It is honestly a comp.- (compilation album) that I would give to a person that said they wanted to get into '60s pop. Amazing movie and amazing soundtrack.
Warren Zevon- The Wind: I would say for all intensive purposes this is the saddest album I have ever listened to. It is Warren Zevon's last album and he recorded it while he was dying with terminal lung cancer. I encourage you to youtube "Warren Zevon's Last Letterman Apperance" it is like 8 parts. Worth every minute.
Ludacris- The Red Light District: I listened to Luda for the first time in probably three years last week when I impulsively listened to Welcome to Atlanta with Ludacris and Jermaine Dupri. Then I was reminded of one particular record shopping voyage I was on with my friend Craig. It was at my favorite record store Car City Records. They had Chicken-N-Beer on vinyl and I thought about it, but I did not buy it. Kind of regret it.
N.W.A.- Straight Outta Compton: Everytime, EVERYTIME I listen to gansta rap or rap with many-a-no-no-word, I always have to come back to N.W.A. They started it all. And to be honest, I just enjoy rapping along to Fuck Tha Police.
Laurie Anderson- Big Science: I discovered Laurie Anderson yesterday thannks to Amoeba records. If you ever want to find music, do not go to SPIN, do not go to Pitchfork. Please, go to amoeba.com and watch the "What's In My Bag" clips. I found out about Laurie Anderson through EMA. It sounded like it was missing in my life and this album blew my mind. This is where Imogen Heap comes from.
Simon & Garfunkel- Bookends: No exaggeration here, I have listened to this album at least 20 times over the course of the last month. This album is pure musical perfection. Paul Simon's song writing makes me want to melt due to its simplicity, yet beauty. And it makes me want to cry because I could never write like that in a million and one years.
Foo Fighters- Foo Fighters: This technically the bands first EP. But, it was entirely recorded by Dave Grohl. It really holds up today. And much like with Wasting Light, it sounds different and better after watching their documentary Back and Forth.
Alkaline Trio- Godamnit!: Oh, my rebelious years. This has been with me since like the 8th grade when 89x supplied the soundtrack to my life and I was on a quest to find the loudest of the loud rock music.
Bedouin Soundclash- Sounding A Mosaic: Rediscovered this band recently and fell in love with them. This is just a really refreshing album. It is reggae and just awesome.
Nat King Cole- The Greatest Of Nat King Cole: Sometimes when you go to thrift stores you find chairs with holes in them. And sometimes you find a 2 LP of Nat King Cole greatest hits compilation vinyl for 50 cents.
Panic! At The Disco- Vices & Virtures: I still can not rap my head around the fact that has been going on five months since I saw them live in June. Amazing concert and I have been re-visiting this album off and on ever since.
The Small Faces- Odgen Nut Gone Flake: More people need to listen to this album. On the the absolute greatest albums ever. Please, please buy this, download this, steal this. Do whatever you have to in order to listen to this album.
The Films- Oh, Scorpio: Perks of being a Music Director for a radio station right here at its finest. Really good alternative album. Probably good be pretty big amongst the hipster faithful it has that quality to it. Plus, nobody has never heard of them for the most part. If you are a hipster reading this, well, Merry Christmas.
Syd Barret- The Madcap Laughs: Funny story about a personal experience with this album... Last year I feel asleep with this album playing and I had a dream that I was a lollipop on a shelf in a Walgreens living amongst other lollipops. Yup.
Elvis Costello- Armed Forces: I am pretty sure this was with the Attractions as well. But, regardless I actually listened to this album all the way through for the first time two days ago and I was really blown away by it. I never thought too much about Mr. Costello. But, now I do.
Dire Straits- Making Movies: Now that I have a girlfriend I have an excuse to listen to lovey-dovey music. I mean, I did before. But, at least now I have an excuse. Mark Knopfler is an extraordinary song writer. This album in itself could pass as a mix-tape. It has in my opinion one of the greatest love songs ever on it. (Romeo and Juliet)
Tony Bennett- Duets II: Tony Bennett is bar none a freak of nature. His voice at his age is still the same it was in the '70s. Absolutely insane. I really enjoyed his first duets comp. and this one was no different. Plus, it had another song with Michael Buble. Bonus.
Joy Division- Unknown Pleasures: Why in the hell I did not purchase this at Best Buy when I had the chance, I have no clue. It was a vinyl re-print for only 13 smack-a-roos and it came with a poster. I am an idiot.
Blood Sugar Sex Magik- You do not know how close I was to starting this off with "...It was twenty years ago today..." But, I came to my better senses and did not do that. But, regardless it has been twenty years to the day that this fancy little album dropped. Since then, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have cemented themselves as one the best rock acts around. This was the record that really shot them into the ears of many people. And the videos for both Under The Bridge and Give It Away got them alot of airplay on MTV and they have not looked back since. I would love to see this band live.

Witty Things I Thought Of At Brad Penny's Expense

2011-09-09T20:54:00.000-04:00

I hate Brad Penny. This is fact. I like to make fun of Brad Penny. This is also fact. Come, read things I just thought of while being mad at Brad Penny. And if you would like, you can make fun of him too. Just leave your best Brad Penny quips as a comment. This could be one giant Brad Penny hating thread/meme. I just started crying tears of joy.

Well, here they are:

Everytime a hitter against Brad Penny swings, an angel gets his wings... and that hitter probably got an RBI.

Everytime Verlander pitches, he could throw a no-hitter. Everytime Brad Penny pitches, that could never happen.

They call a Gordie Howe hat-trick a goal, an assit, and a fight. A Brad Penny complete game is the third inning.

Brad Penny avoids the strike-zone like he avoids the fifth inning.

Jeremy Bonderman called, and even he said giving up six runs in an inning is too much.

Before people used to say "A penny for your thoughts", but Detroiters now know the saying is " A Penny for a start... yeah, we lost"

We found Osama before he found the strike zone.

Stevie Wonder once listened to a Brad Penny game on the radio and said, "Thank God I am blind, so I don't have to see this."

A MetroPCS contract is lower than his ERA.

Brad Penny gives away runs like Oprah gives away cars.

Brad Penny makes 3,000,000 dollars this year. I just threw up.

Segue... When Brad Penny throws, his ERA goes up. See what I did there?

In Soviet Russia they don't even pitch Brad Penny.

Things I would do for 3,000,000 dollars: Quite a bit.
Things Brad Penny does for 3,000,000 dollars: Not pitch well.

Brad Penny looks like that one guy from Color Me Badd:
http://images.usatoday.com/life/_photos/2005/08/26/abrams.jpg

That just made you laugh, didn't it?

Dave Dombrowski, every other team in Major League Baseball just called and they just thanked you... What with signing Brad Penny... Sooo they did not have to. Get it?

And the first Brad Penny thing I ever wrote:

If Brad Penny were a magician, he'd be a shitty magician too.

That's all I got so far.

Ahhh. I just thought of another one: The Tiger's bail out Penny more than Obama bails out Wall Street.

Zinger.

Realizations Watching The 2011 Video Music Awards On MUSIC TELEVISION.

2011-09-03T15:12:00.000-04:00

Oh, hey. Why did you have Music Television is all capital letters? I did it on purpose to add emphasis.

Oh, hey. What is Music Television? Exactly.

The fact that the station formerly known as Music Televison and now just named MTV (an empty acronym)
http://articles.nydailynews.com/2010-02-09/entertainment/27055750_1_mtv-logo-tina-exarhos-iconic-logo. (See, I did not just say that for the sake of sounding like a scorned person.) Still has the Video Music Awards (VMA's) is the biggest double-edged sword of irony on television.

The obvious elephant in the room is that MTV is no longer "music television". It rarely emphasizes music videos any more. The only music that viewers get is that thing at the bottom that tells you what artist's song is playing while LC drives off in the finale of the Hills.

That is about it.

But, as for music videos. Well, we have Youtube now.

Nonetheless, I heard quite a bit of hoopla about the VMA's this year. So, when I was playing blink the channels today, I saw it was on and figured I would see what all the fuss was about.

I was able to watch fifteen minutes or so it.

It was that bad.

I first tuned in when Lady Gaga got best female video. She made another bold fashion move, by dressing up as a man.

People say that Lady Gaga is an artist who pushes the envelope with her fashion "statements" so to speak. Others feel that she does it strictly for the publicity and getting her name out there when no one is talking about her, or so she can over shadow other artists.

I was in the bandwagon of saying she was an artist. But, after this, I definitely have to say that she does it for the attention.

Dressing up as a man in 2009 would have been a "statement". Because that is when the rumors of her being a man where circulating. If she did this at the 2009 VMA's it would have been a huge middle finger to all the tabloids. It would have her saying, "So, you want a picture of me a guy, boom here it is."

But, in 2011 it is saying, "My album sales are not doing too good, Nicki Minaj is starting to grab a hold of the multiple personality/character shtick, and I need people talking about me again."

What to they always say in show business?

Timing is everything

****

The other thing that got my attention was the tribute to Amy Whinehouse.

Russell Brand's speech was touching. Because, he actually knew her and was friends with her. It was incredibly touching.

Bruno Mars' performance however was not.

(Get uspet and angry now)

The performance of the song would have been great. If it was actually an Amy Whinehouse song.

But, Valerie was an Amy Whinehouse song, Aaron!

Yeah, it was.

But, it was a song by the Zutons before. Amy Whinehouse just covered it.

And to play the asshole card here, they really could not of had anyone sing her biggest song "Rehab" for the obvious reason. But, they could have gone with Back To Black, You Know I'm No Good, or my personal favorite of Amy's, Me & Mr. Jone's. Or at least a song that was distinctfully hers. A song that has her stamp on it. A song that people will says for years to come, "Oh, yeah. That is that Amy Whinehouse song."

I am not being an asshole, I am actually trying to get to the point that MTV did not do Amy Whinehouse justice.

There I said it.

I do however have to question people who say she will have a lasting impact on music. Just because she is grouped in the "27 Club".

People said after Amy Whinehouse died, that there would never be another "Amy Whinehouse". But, there kind of already is. And in my mind a better one.

Her name is Adele.

****

That is about all of the VMA's I could take.

I realized that they went without a host this year, which would have worked, if the artists were actually entertaining.

Oh, hey look what I found on Youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cw6xesXLIAA

Man, to think that we have a 24 hour a day, television channel that plays your favorite artist's videos. IN STEREO (if available of course).

What a cracker jack ide.....

Wait.

That was Music Telvevision. Excuse me, that was MTV.

Because, that sad excuse of an award show that I just watched would have never aired on Music Television.

What is so wrong with going 50/50?

12 hours of music videos and 12 hours of the shows that MTV calls reality television.

From 12 a.m.-12 p.m.: Music Television- a twelve hour block of music video's and music programming.
From 12 p.m.-12 a.m.: MTV- a twelve hour block of original MTV programming (ex: Jersey Shore, The Challenge, etc.)

Now, I want that MTV!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SMcd6BZFtE

I Thought Of This In The Shower... This Pretty Much Explains Wall Street... I Think.

2011-08-24T17:38:00.001-04:00

Okay, this is either going to make all the sense in the world, or this is just going to be a stream of conscious idea that contains enough malarky, that if harnessed and used probably could provide enough power for a relatively small country, due to the gaseous spew coming from my mouth. Actually, in this case fingers. Since this gaseous spew is coming out of my fingers, I just probably get that checked out.

Anyways, I think I figured out Wall Street. More importantly, I figured out the "mystique" of Wall Street.

I realized that Wall Street is a lot like this...

Picture a scene at a campfire. There are people sitting around this fire, together. All is well, and nothing is going wrong and in the minds of the people at the campfire, nothing can go wrong. Then one of the people picks up a flash-light and they begin to tell a story. You can say that this person who tells the story at the fire is either a person who works on Wall Street or is one of the financial "experts" on Wall Street, or who make appearances on all the news shows claiming to know all about Wall Street.

This person with the flashlight (people on Wall Street) begin to tell a tale to any one who will listen around the campfire. But, the problem is, they do not know the story themselves. They are more or less making it up as they go along. They can tell that the people around the fire are not scared, so they sensationalize and exaggerate the story. Even though they know everything they are saying is a lie.

But, some people at the fire believe them. The person with the flash light says that there is an evil axe murder in the woods and some of the people believe them. The person with the flash light says that they are not safe and some of the people believe them. The person with the flash light continues to go on and on because they have spotted the gullible people at the fire.

So, they begin to make the story more intricate. They begin to add more plot twists and fear. They warn of what could happen to people who go in the woods. To the point of completely detouring people from going into the woods, even if those people really wanted to.

They tell them what part of the woods is safe, what parts of the woods that no one will hurt them. They tell them of "safe" parts. Parts that one one could ever find them in, and protect them from the evil axe murderer.

But, at the same fire there are the people who can sense that the person telling the story is making things up. They can see and hear that the person with the flash light has no clue as to what they are talking about.

They try to convince the others that the story is a lie.

But, all the others are brainwashed.

They believe that everything in the story is true.

Even though it confuses them.

*********

At the next fire, the people who believed in the story began to share it with a new group of people. The only problem was, was that they forgot exactly how the story went. They too began to make up the story as they went along. To the point that it was a completely different story.

Instead of an axe murderer, it was now a bear that would take their tents and food.

And some people believed them. While others still could sense that the story was a lie.

In fact these people who did not believe the story began to ask questions.

They questioned the story tellers on the exactly what happens when the bear gets to them.

One person at the fire said that he was there before and knew that was not how the story went.

The story tellers became very anxious and concerned. They were afraid that the jig was up and they would be exposed as liars.

That there was no axe murder or stealing bear.

But, before they were almost about to be held accountable for their actions. Just before they were going to tell the truth.

The brainwashed people at the fire wanted them to continue the story.

They wanted to hear more.

They found themselves enthralled with the story to the point that they could not even separate themselves from it.

You can almost say that situation, those brainwashed people bailed the people with the flashlight out.

Warm Tea

2011-08-17T00:30:00.000-04:00

I tell you what, it feels good to randomly get the urge to write stuff based off one thing that pops into your head the night before...

My iced tea is warm again,

I've been told I hold on to things for too long.

I have the rhythm of a symphony,

But, I could never write a song.

I believe I can control an entire army fleet,

Though the troops would think I'm too headstrong.

I go from place to place and home to home,

In hopes of finally being able to belong.

Then I met you, the most beautiful girl I have seen on this Earth,

I have been called many things, but never was called I wrong.

So, I Bought A Few '45s...

2011-08-06T16:27:00.000-04:00

1- Garage sale.
2- Record stores.

And this happened:

The Kingsmen: The Jolly Green Giant/Long Green
The Supremes: Love Child/Will This Be The Day
The Beach Boys: Babara Ann/Girl Don't Tell Me
The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown: Fire/Rest Cure
Simon & Garfunkel: Mrs. Robinson/Old Friends/Bookends
The Grass Roots: Midnight Confessions/Who Will You Be Tomorrow
Queen: You're My Best Friend/'39
The Kinks: A Well Respected Man/Such A Shame
Joe Walsh: Life's Been Good/Theme From Boat Weirdos
Neil Diamond: Sweet Caroline (Good Times Never Seemed So Good)/Dig In
Looking Glass: Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)/One By One
Frank Sinatra: My Kind Of Town/That's Life
Frank Sinatra: Strangers In The Night/Summer Wind
Frank Sinatra: Theme From New York, New York/That's What God Looks Like To Me
Dean Martin: Everybody Loves Somebody/A Million And One
Cheech n Chong: Basketball Jones/Don't Bug Me
Glenn Miller: Moonlight Serendade/Sunrise Serenade
Sammy Davis Jr.: Candy Man/I Want To Be Happy
Gary Wright: Dream Weaver/Let It Out
Lynyrd Skynyrd: What's Your Name/I Know A Little
Starland Vocal Band: Afternoon Delight/Starland
Sonny & Cher: I Got You Babe/All I Ever Need Is You
Sonny & Cher: The Beat Goes On/What Now My Love
New Edition: Count Me Out/Good Boys
Tommy James And The Shondells: I'm Alive/Crystal Blue Peruasion
George Harrison: All Those Years Ago/Writing's On The Wall
John (Ono) Lennon (with the Plastic Ono Band): Instant Karma (We All Shine On)/Who Has Seen The Wind?
Electric Light Orchestra: Strange Magic/New World Rising
Soft Cell: Tainted Love/Memorabilia
Fats Domino: Blueberry Hill/Bo Weevil

30- '45s.
60- Songs all together.
8- Dollars spent for all of this.
Infinity- The amount needed to measure my happiness.

Looks like I get to play basement DJ all day today...

Free Bird.

Dissecting Alanis Morissette's Ironic.

2011-07-21T23:12:00.001-04:00

I listened to a song today. A song that everytime I listen to it, makes me kind of make a weird face and utter the words, "Really?" No song does this more than Ironic by Alanis Morissette.

Okay, I guess the stuff in the song is ironic to an extent. But, the vast majority of the events are really horrible situations or incredible bad luck for those involved.

To me ironic is a man named Lefty who has to sign his checks with his right hand. That is ironic.

So, I am going to dissect this song like a frog in biology. And prove to Alanis that her logic of irony is flawed.

Here we go:

An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery and died the next day...

He probably saw that one coming. Plus, if you were ninety-eight and you won the lottery, you probably would not care. Because what are you going to do with that money? Massive quantities of pistachio pudding? Okay, horrible example. This would only be ironic if something he purchased with the money killed him.

It's a black fly in your Chardonnay

Let me crack a egg of fly knowledge on you, a fly is attracted to fruit odors/scent. Chardonnay is a wine made of green grapes a.k.a.: a fruit. Henceforth, it would contain some degree of fruit scent of which it would give off to attract for the sack of this argument, I don't know lets just say a fly. Secondly, and let's just get this elephant out of the room... Why does the fly have to be black?

It's a death row pardon two minutes too late

I know Alanis is Canadian. But, really? Have you at least seen Law & Order? This is America. Homie don't play that. If someone is getting the boom-boom-pow, they are supposed to get the boom-boo-pow. If you murder 35 penguins, 9 humans and steal a bag of Skittles. You may get the Skittles charge thrown out, but you still killed 35 penguins and 9 humans.

In the words of the Meat Puppets, Alanis:

"Where do bad folks go when they die
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly
Go to a lake of fire and fry
See them again 'till the Fourth of July"

And isn't it ironic... don't you think

Nope.

It's like rain on your wedding day

You try telling this to someone who had there most important day likened to the fifth inning of a baseball game. I can not put myself in the shoes of a bride. But, I can guess if there is rain on their wedding day a handful of things would probably occur:

Somebody is crying.
Somebody is getting a shoe thrown at them.
(Insert drunk family member) is getting a head start at the open bar.
The bride and or groom is not thinking that it is ironic in the slightest bit. Three grand for the lake front villa and white rose floral arrangement, plus another two grand for the party. You are looking at five grand for nothing. And don't even say they could just re-book. In this hypothetical situation the lake front villa's are all booked. They could however dip into their rainy day fund and shoot for a small wedding next year. Now, that is ironic. What with having to pay for a rained out wedding, with their rainy day fund.

It's a free ride when you've already paid

Well, yeah the ride is free after you paid. Just like food is free after you pay for it. The same goes for socks too. Free rides always end badly. Ask Rebecca Black, she still does not know what seat she should take, and that was free. When you pay you usually get assigned a seat and there is no/minimal conflict. Plus, if someone after me gets a freebie I am yelling refund like nobodies business.

It's the good advice that you just didn't take

Chalking this one up to poor judgement.

Scoreboard?

Poor Judgement: 1
Irony: -23

Who would've thought... it figures

Clearly you did Alanis... Or did not.

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
"Well isn't this nice..."
And isn't it ironic... don't you think

I am calling malarky on this one. Why would he wait his whole life to do something he does not want to. That is like me saying, "Man, I just do not want to get eaten by a shark" and then one day I put on a meat suit and jump in the ocean. Like, no. That is just unrealistic.

Plus, if a plane is going down I am not making reflective quips on my bad luck. I am crying like a baby trying to barter with the big guy up stairs for a front row seat in heaven.

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face

Yes? I mean that really is not ironic. That is like saying life is good when you are eating Taco Bell. But, not so much after. Or you do not have enough money for a Hot and Ready, but you have enough for a McDouble and fries.

That makes sense right?

Food always makes sense.

A traffic jam when you're already late

Get an alarm clock. Pull a Bruce Almighty. This one is on you and your poor planning and lack of punctuality. Do you have a radio in your car? Traffic updates, best invention next to the game of nose goes. Plus, do you think your boss will by the irony excuse? Or when you phrase your excuse like:

"I was running late and then I hit traffic... isn't it ironic... don't you think?"

Your boss if smart will fire you for not being late, but for trying to use Alanis Morissette lyrics to explain why those TPS reports were not on his desk.

Either that, or he will ask you to come in on Saturday's. But you just adapted this real care free lifestyle and you just met this waitress played by Jennifer Aniston and...

Man, that could be a movie.

A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break

First off, if you have a mandated obviously pre-planned/determined break, specifically designated for smoking, why in the creature of the blue lagoon would there be a no-smoking sign in anywhere near the vacinaty of which you are smoking?

Secondly, if there is a such a sign. Said smoker probably does not give a hoot or a half. And it is probably living the dream and putting their said cigarette out on the no-smoking sign.

Thirdly, you try telling a smoker they can't smoke. Plus, I already have this situation playing in my head of how this would play out. I envision the smoker sounding a lot like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqPiJ0L7YmY

And saying something like this:

"I've been working here for thirty years... and now you have the hutzpah to tell me I can't smoke... wait till Bobby hears about this..."

It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

Show me a person who owns ten thousand spoons, and I will show you a person living a lie.

It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife

IF he is the man of your dreams you would know he had a wife, as you would have met said wife of his in the same dream in which you were dreaming of him... in your dreams of him. So, when the dream was personified you would have felt a certain deja vu type feeling. Realizing that you must have met the wife before. You did of course met her in your dreams. When of course you were dreaming the dreams that contained the man of your dreams.

Inception.

And isn't it ironic...don't you think
A little too ironic...and, yeah, I really do think...

Clearly it is not anymore ironic than me writing an ironic piece on ironies.

Now isn't that a little too ironic... don't you think?

'45s I Listened To Yesterday

2011-07-12T13:45:00.001-04:00

As mentioned in a previous statii post on my Facebook, I spent the better part of my day yesterday in my basement playing some '45s from my collection, my mom's collection and my dad's collection. Not only that, but I did a mean Wolfman Jack impersonation in the process. And I was acting like I was a radio DJ from the 1970s. That last sentence kind of makes me laugh personally, because I am actually a legit radio DJ for Cardinal Radio at Saginaw Valley State University.

(Plug?)

So, I thought I would share the fun I had yesterday, and reveal what '45s I actually played. And then maybe you can be your own personal DJ.

Wooly Bully- Sam The Sham and The Pharaohs- This is just awesome '45 to own. I got it for 45 cents at the Goodwill in Saginaw. In possibly the greatest, most epic and just borderline sexual record buying excursion I have ever been on.
Dion- Runaround Sue- Look, if you are selling this at a garage sale for 5 cents, I am buying it.
Jr. Walker & The All Stars- Money (That's What I Want)- This '45 was apart of the Wooly Bully excursion, in which I purchased about 20 or so '45s of Motown and Soul records for under 12 dollars.
Earth, Wind, & Fire- Sing A Song- As I told my mother in a Wolfman Jack voice (and in a Ben Wallace afro), "The essentials... Earth, Wind, & Fire".
The Temptations- (I Know) I'm Losing You- This is up there as one of my favorite Temp songs. I always acted like I am Otis and do a Temptations dance when I listen to this song.
Stevie Wonder- Uptight (Everything's Alright)- My mom wanted some young Stevie so I threw this on.
Stevie Wonder- Superstition- My mom wanted some older Stevie so I threw this on.
Marvin Gaye- Too Busy Thinking About My Baby- Everyone who collects records should at least have one Marvin Gaye '45. If not, then you really have a shitty record collection.
Aretha Franklin- Chain Of Fools- The single greatest female vocalist of all-time. Period.
Aretha Franklin- Think- Just to prove that previous point, I listened to another Aretha record.
Martha & The Vandellas- Wild One- This group is kind of lost in the big picture of original Motown groups. The are phenominal. And they provide a great soundtrack for Summer.
Jackie Wilson- (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher And Higher- Mr. Excitement. I ran upstairs shouting at my mom, "What movie! What movie!" She said Ghostbusters. I was baffled that she got it wrong. It was Ghostbusters II, when they put the ooze in the toaster and it starts dancing to this song on the pool table. Classic scene.
The Miracles- Ooo Baby Baby- To be honest, I did not even know I had this '45. But, when I saw it, I had to a double taske, and when I realized it was not a dream, I exclaimed a giant, "Yessssssssssssssssssss!"And then I played it of course.
The Supremes- Stop! In The Name Of Love- I swear, there is just something religious about staring at a Motown '45, and seing the map of Michigan on the upper part of the record and seeing the red star for Detroit right above the red, yellow, and blue Motown.
Wilson Pickett- In The Midnight Hour- This might be my favorite '45 to just sit down and listen to. It is such a perfect sounding song.
The Impressoions- I Love You (Yeah)- Curtis Mayfield is one bad mama-jamma. It is ridiculous how good he was. If Rod Allen was writing this, he would have said that Curtis Mayfield was "filthy".
The Righteous Brothers- You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'- Little did my dad know that I would be listening to the same '45s he purchased 40 some odd years ago. Thats the beauty of timeless music.
Barry McGuire- Eve Of Destruction- Okay, based of this song and the next, please try convincing me that my dad was not an anti-war (potenitally hippie)...
The Bob Seger System- 2+2=?- I mean come on, he had to of been. For Christmas sake, he road-tripped to Cleveland in 1977 with some friends for Pink Floyd's: Animals tour.
Bachman Turner Overdrive- Let It Ride- Just a good old fashioned 1970s, hop in your Grand AM, drive for miles, Americana rock/pop song.
The Doobie Brothers- Black Water- Yeah, my dad was a hippie.
Black Sabbath- Iron Man- Yeah, I am happy was a hippie, because now I have all his good music to listen to.
Bob Seger and The Last Heard- Heavy Music- This '45 is 44 years old, and it is still in its original Cameo Parkway sleeve.
Bobby Pickett- Monster Mash- This is actually pressed on see transparent orange vinyl. Swag.
The Kinks- Lola- If you read the lyrics to this song, you will laugh. It is about a guy hooking up with a guy in drag.
Norman Greenbaum- Spirit In The Sky- You are damn straight I own this '45.
Spiderman Theme- He does everything that a spider can. Yes, I seriously do own the original Spiderman theme on vinyl.
Billy Joel- The Longest Time- I am envious of Billy Joel on so many levels. I want to be said Piano Man.
The Box Tops- The Letter- One of my favorite songs. It is short, simple, and amazing. I always flap my arms like Gavin in Pirate Radio whenever I play this '45.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band- Mr. Bojangles- I remember falling in love with this song as a kid, and always feeling sad at the part of the song when he said, "the dog up and died". I still feel sad when I hear that line.
Dusty Springfield- Stay Awhile- Her voice is like unicorns dancing in your ears.
Iron Butterfly- IN-A-GADDA-DA-VIDA- ... Such a hippie.
Procol Harum- A Whiter Shade of Pale- This song makes me love my dad unconditionally. He obviously did not know in 1960-something that he was going to have a son who was going to like the same music he did. But he still bought this '45 and he held on to it for all those years. Now, everytime I am bored, I can come downstairs, pick up this '45 and listen to my favorite song all of time. Over and over and over again.

Hitsville U.S.A.

2011-07-05T23:02:00.002-04:00

What I am about to say may upset a few people. But, you know what, I do not care.

Ready for it?

Here it is:

Motown is the single greatest musical genre to have ever existed in the history of ever.

EVER.

You can argue for other genres like Brit Pop, Punk, Rap, Big Band, Metal, etc. But, none of those genres have done or can do what Motown did.

Motown united people. It brought together blacks and whites, at a time when civil rights and racial tension was at an all-time high. It gave a white kid in St. Louis something in common with a black kid in Detroit. Sure, they could have many differences socially and economically, but when that new Temptations song came on, they sang the same lyrics, did the same dance and shared the same joy.

That is what the Motown sound was capable of. And that is what the Motown sound did. It broke down social barriers, and it built new ones. For people of all walks of life.

And what other genre has been so good at what it did, that its headquarters was called "Hitsville"?

Wait, that is still Motown.

I just realized, that I have not even gotten to the artists yet.

The Supremes
The Spinners
The Temptations
The Jackson 5
Tammi Terrell
The Velvettes
Jr. Walker and the All-Stars
The Miracles
The Marvelettes
The Elgins
The Contours
Gladys Knight & The Pips
Smokey Robinson
Stevie Wonder
Marvin Gaye

And those are just off of the top of my head.

If there was a musical line-up that you could compare to Murderers Row (The 1927 New York Yankee line-up that had Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig) it is Motown. Because no matter who was batting for Motown, you knew they were going to have a hit.

And if there was ever a greater manager (producer) than Berry Gordy. Please, tell me right now.

The man had an ear sent down from the Greek Gods. And a mind like Einstein for the music business.

I challenge you to find a Motown song that is not good. Find a song that does not evoke some emotion out of you. I dare you to not start singing along to "My Girl" when it comes on the radio.

It is impossible.

Motown is the perfect Summer and Party music.

Motown is the perfect ANYTIME music.

Put on some Stevie Wonder and people will dance. Oh, people will dance.

Play some Spinners and your parents and grandparents will start to tell you stories about Detroit in the 1950s and 1960s, and they will tell you how life and music was better back then. And guess what, IT WAS.

If you are with your lady-friend or significant other, put on some Marvin or Smokey and I can at least guarantee that you might get a kiss. If not, at least you can bask in your awkward "turn down" with some good music.

Let me leave you with this:

I am nineteen years old. Far, far, far too young to have experienced the original boom of Motown in Detroit.

But, I am writing this.

So what I said earlier about Motown united races, was in retrospect a small portion of what Motown did in the long run.

It united generations.

Public Pools Are For Fools (Part I)

2011-07-02T18:16:00.001-04:00

I have to start this off by saying this, if you have troubles with your self-esteem, if you feel inadequate or do not like your body, just go to a public pool. Forget about countless hours of therapy and the thousands of dollars that costs, and just pay sixteen dollars to go to a public pool.

Because after seeing five people with barbed-wire tattoos, the guy who knows his bathing suit is too small (he has to, I mean good lord)/the woman who knows she flashing side-boob like a stop light at one in the morning, the woman with the rose tattoo on her left teet and the man who is redder than Rudolph's nose... and who looks like he just ate Rudolph... all of him... at once.

You kind of feel this inner happiness and say to yourself, "You know, I do not have that six-pack of abs, but at least I do not have a falcon skull tattoo on my left shoulder... at least I think that guy thinks it is a falcon tattoo, but to me it kind of looks like somebody photobombed a picture of Woody the Woodpecker".

Phew. I feel better already.

Then you actually get in the pool. Whole new ballgame folks.

You have to treat a public pool like your are invading a country. You have to establish your parameters and take no prisoners. If you see an inner tube floating about, you take it. You can even George Bush it and just start taking over all the inner tubes and invade others peoples space, so in a way, you could be invading many persons space all at the same time, while forgetting all about the original inner tube that you decided to go in the pool for.

(Gratuitous political metaphor)

What?

Anyway, the pool was like a concert crowd. There were the people in groups, the kids who just screamed the whole time, the people who had no clue why they were there and the people who just took up space.

Also, the music playing was like Doug FM, if Doug just decided to piss everybody off and play late 1990's pop. Not even like the Varsity squad of late 1990's pop ala your N*Sync, Britney Spears, etc. We are talking like the benchwarmers on the Junior Varsity squad of late 1990's pop. Example: that one song from O-Town that nobody liked and likes even less because they have no choice but to listen to it.

Then there was the lazy river.

More like a river full of lies.

Calling this lazy river lazy, was like calling the Cedric the Entertainer entertaining. Maybe at some point it was, but right now it is not living up to it's name. I had to tread in two and a half feet a water. I am calling mad bannana split (B.S. for those keeping score at home) on this one.

I hopped on the tube and started drifting towards the wall. Naturally, I start saying, "Dale Earnhardt", I think the man with Jesus tattoo on his man boob got offended. Then all of the sudden I went from zero to at least one and a half miles an hour.

I was booking it.

The second time around, my brother and I decided to use the double tube do-hicky-ma-bopper. We flipped over right after the cove. And in front of the lifeguard. We were probably the first two idiots to have ever un-lazied the lazy river. But after all, we are trend setters.

I feel like I want to write more about this, but I feel watching re-runs of Teen Mom is more important.

Amber and Gary, hmm.

I feel like I saw them at the pool today.

I Wrote This In The Back Of Rachel's Car, While Everyone Was Talking About Weekend Plans

2011-07-02T00:44:00.003-04:00

This took up over 800 characters on my phone. I wrote this after seeing Beginners, a fantastic movie by the way. I channeled Ewan McGregor's character from the movie sort of. I asked myself, "What would his character write about his character, if his character had to write about his character, then Ewan McGregor had to write that". I ended up with someone with a sorrowful heart, who does not want to be full of grief and sadness, but just wants to be happy. But, in the end knows that all it will ever be is full of sorrow, with the hope that one day it will change.

And I made the end rhyme by accident, I swear.

I am a poet it and did not even not it.

So without out further adieu, I give you memos 22-26 on my phone:
Also known as:
My Sorrowful Heart.
But also known as:
I think my first prose poem.
But mostly just known as:
My Sorrowful Heart.

My Sorrowful Heart.
A sorrowful heart bleeds black and blue, when it just wants to bleed red like the others. It chooses the wrong words and moments, when it just wants to do its best to help. It can make a moment full of life seize to exist, without even the slightest of skill. It can make the highest of highs crash to its lowest point in a fire filled glory. A sorrowful heart knows love. A sorrowful knows not of love. It tries on emotions like hats. Content, then lively, then back to where it feels best. Pumping black and blue, while all it wants is to pump red. A sorrowful heart wears a smile as a mask, and a mask as a smile. Behind it, it pumps all the colors of the spectrum. It pumps the greenest of greens and the maroonest of maroons. It can be strong, it could be weak. It can be it. A sorrowful heart longs for its own. Though it can never find it. For, the mask it wears, has no room for it's eyes. A sorrowful heart mends every heart but it's own, because it never tries. It just continues to pump black and blue till the day it dies.

Light My Fire (My First Fiction Story)

2011-06-28T00:06:00.000-04:00

Light My Fire

The sun was sinking into the ocean in front of him. He gazed out onto the sea, absorbing its beauty and its simplicity. He began to notice things he never had before. He saw how the seagulls scoured the grainy sand, searching for the smallest particles of food left behind by beach-goers, like a bum rummages through trash searching for a remotely edible object to sooth their hungry stomach’s. He noticed how the waves chased after each other, like little school children during recess. He then thought to himself, “What’s the point, they are all just going to crash and die when they hit the beach shore.”

He continued to fall deeper into hypnosis as he stared out onto the cascading white caps. Noticing and judging the most insignificant things that his eyes wandered over to. He subconsciously knew what he was doing though. He knew that he was only doing this so he did not have to look down at the disappointment in front of him on his computer screen.

Then he began forcing it, he began to fixate his mind on anything he could. He stared at the dirty dishes in the sink, the old greasy pizza boxes that littered the living room floor, the papers and magazines that were stacked on top of each other, doing their best imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Then he looked at the barren shelves that those same magazines where leaning against. He began wondering why he never got around to organizing them. It was at that point he realized the reason why he never got around to filing all those things, was the same reason why his clothes had been stockpiling in his bedroom, and it was the same reason why he never threw away that picture of her, that was taped to the cork board next to his desk.

It was his favorite picture of her, because it was silent. In that black and white Polaroid all he was reminded of was her simplistic beauty, and how she resembled an innocent and naive actress from the 1930’s. He noticed every little crevasse of her beauty. But the more he examined it, the more emotion it got. He began to hear her voice speaking to him, ridiculing him. He heard her vindictive voice calling him unintelligent, and un-talented. He was reminded of all her critiques and “constructive criticism” which was just her excuse of belittling his work.

Then as all his negative memories were rushing in, he looked into her eyes. Those radiant eyes that made him fall in love with her the instant he saw her. And then the picture became silent again. And once again she was beautiful.

Before he let the pain of that night re-enter his mind, he finally decided to look at the computer screen in front of him. He hoped that through some act of divine intervention there would a magnificent story in front of him. He hoped it was the magnum opus he had always searched to create.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head toward the screen. He could not bear the suspense. He found himself slowly opening one eye, like a child does when they are getting a surprise. Then finally he opened both of his eyes as wide as he could.

He glared at the computer screen; he did not see a work of art. He did not see a literary masterpiece that his editor could proclaim as genius. All he saw was a small black vertical line blinking on a white blank page. There it was appearing and vanishing, reminding him that he had yet to write a single word. That blinking line just stood there, solitary and alone just like him.

*****

As he sat at the bar, he realized that this was the change of scenery he needed. He no longer felt a slave shackled to his desk chair. He was no longer toppled by stress. He was finally able to breathe, something he felt he had not been able to do for hours.

He was no longer alone; he was surrounded by drunken baboons, and recluses just like him. They were all there to share each others misery. But the men used the ball game and the women used the hope of finding Mr. Right as excuses to cover up their insecurities and reasons why they were truly there.

A handful of women approached him throughout the night. But he dispelled and rejected their attempts of compassion. He judged them and he scanned them up and down with his eyes. None of them looked like her, none them could even hold a candle in comparison. He thought as he looked them over.

So he just sat there on a torn up pleather bar stool, entrenched in a conversation with his closest friend. Someone who took away his pain someone who helped him forget someone who made things better. In his mind his glass of Jack Daniels could do those things better than anyone at that bar. Hell, better than anyone in the world.

As he started filling his body with liquid courage, he glanced over to the far side of the bar. There sat a beautiful brunette, with skin smoother than marble counter tops, and eyes as piercing as the dagger that killed Juliet.

He was fascinated by her and he could not get enough of her. Her perfume seemed to travel through the bar and politely find its destination right under his nose. And in those moments that scent was more intoxicating than whatever concoction he had put in his body that night.

She reminded him of her.

He knew that scent was all too familiar, and that those eyes had inter-locked with his before. At that moment the heartbreak had reappeared in him. He felt the helplessness as she left him. He felt like a million broken pieces of a man he once knew. A man who people once called brilliant, a man a woman once loved.

He was no longer any of these in his mind. He felt as if he was the living personification of the main character in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. He was not suitable for such a woman. The distance between them in bar stools might as well have been eternities. He knew there was no chance that he would approach that woman at the bar, for he already knew how that tragedy would end, in his inadequate heart breaking once again.

So he just sat there now in a nervous sweat. Playing devils advocate with his emotions.

“Do I send her a drink?” He thought.

“Or do I approach her?” He contemplated further.

He had no mirror to look into to practice his faint attempt of a formal introduction. He only had a small notebook and pen, in the breast pocket of his sports coat. He fumbled for it, and pulled it out. He flipped through the already occupied pages. Some of which were poems, others ideas for his work that either he or his editor deemed “rubbish.” Finally, he found a blank page on which to write.

He scribbled down everything that came to mind, all the cliché pick-up lines, all the faint attempts at humor, all of the elaborate back stories he could think of to make her want him. After the brainstorming process subsided, he looked over his notes like a student cramming for a test. He noticed he had not written down anything helpful. All he managed to compose was a short poem that he felt captured him in that exact moment.

The anxiety builds when I see your face,

My heart races at the most uncontrollable pace.

My mind goes blank and my vision goes white,

Why must this happen when you are in my sight?

Is it the fear of rejection, or the inevitable hurt?

Either way, I just stay in the background kicking the dirt.

And when I finally find the most perfect words to say,

I choke and write it down and hope I have the courage for another day.

He looked it over and thought, “What good is this? This will not impress her.” He did not think that those words were good enough for her. He felt he needed something that would make her fall in love with him instantly, something to fill her eyes with passion and her heart with lust. He needed a series of words that would by-pass all of the useless banter between them, and place them intertwined with each other as they made love. To him those words would do no such thing.

But, those were the only words he had come up with, they were the only words he had. It was either send them over to her in hopes she might look them over and shoot him a glance from across the bar. Or even walk over and say that the poem was “cute”. But he did not want cute, he wanted a woman suitable enough to finally make him forget about her.

So after a couple more glasses of Jack, he signaled over the bartender.

He brought him in close, and he exuded the copious amounts of whiskey he consumed throughout the night in every pore of his skin.

“I want you to give this to the lovely brunette at the end of the bar.” He said soberly to the bartender. The bartender seemed confused. He looked around quizzically as he was cleaning a tall beer glass.

“What woman?” the bartender asked.

“That woman over there!” He violently pointed with each word.

He could not understand why the bartender could not comprehend such a simple request or also be struck by her beauty.

The bartender then studied him over.

“What time do you think it is?” The bartender asked.

He was taken back by the bartender’s question. Not because of its profound nature, but because of its sheer stupidity.

“I’d say no later than one in the morning.” He replied.

Then the bartender braced both his arms on the bar and hung his head down. He had dealt with these types of people before. The ones who think a night of debauchery can solve all of life’s problems. And that knocking down hard whiskey was the best method of soothing ones soul.

“Six, it is six in the morning.” The bartender said pointing at the clock after every word.

That made no sense to him. He could not grasp how he had been there for so long. Then after that finally sunk in, he realized there was no such girl at the end of the bar. He became ill at the thought of his mind tricking him into believing there was even the slightest chance of someone actually being able to replace her.

So he pushed himself away from the bar and on to his feet. He staggered for a few steps as he slowly regained his composure.

He swung the bar door open and convinced himself that he could make the mile walk from the bar to his house.

As he was walking sluggishly on the side-walk, he reached back in his sports coat to grab his notebook again. This type he did not want to write a haphazard poem, he wanted to tear out ever single poem that he had written about her.

He soon realized that everything in it was about her. The love songs, poems, and letters, were all about her. All of which he never intended to give her. Though he always told himself he would.

Then he got to the last page where the poem he had written a few hours before was. He read it out loud to any passerby that could hear.

Then he realized that poem was not about just some women who caught his eye at the bar. It was about what he had been feeling for the past few months about her.

He then ripped out that last poem and crumpled it up and tossed it in the street.

And for the first time in three months he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

*****

As he walked up the steps of his front porch, the sun was rising. The same sun that he had seen step-by-step fade into the night hours before. He felt himself sobering up and capable of anything.

This was a far cry from the man he was just a day before.

He finally had the courage to do what had been on his mind for what seemed like months since she had left him.

He went through the house grabbing anything that reminded him of her, making sure that he snatched down that Polaroid on his cork board. But even as he ripped that photo down he got second thoughts. He saw those eyes, those perfect blue eyes that could even give a black and white photo color.

It was at that moment he realized she would never come back.

He ripped the photo down and put it in a garbage can only with all the other empty mementos he now had of her. He then lit a match dropped in the trash can and set fire to it all.

He then walked up to their bedroom. He could still never quite think of it as anything less. Even though there had been no one next to him on that bed for months. There was no one to wake up to, to kiss, or to admire.

He rummaged through his disorganized record collection and grabbed Days of Future Passed. He immediately put the needle right where Nights in White Satin started. Tears then began to stream down his face as he pulled up a chair. He then draped the rope over his neck and as the chorus began, he kicked out the chair and hung himself.

“…'Cos I love you, yes I love you, oh how I love you…”

His body faced the window by his desk that had helped him drift off before.

On that desk sat his computer with the document from the night before open, and the cursor flickering from white to black.

And as the flames overtook his body he had finally burned the last thing that reminded him of her.

Toma Mi Mano

2011-06-27T02:02:00.000-04:00

I did not write this one in a tent, therefore it is not as swag.

The sun is a fiery red

As it descends into the sky

Like a sinking vessel

The field beneath us

Crunches with every step

The brush sways

In perfect unison

You look back and

Your hand pulls away

Offering the past

A second chance

But then you turn back

Your eyes lock with mine

I look at you and say

We will get through this

Just take my hand

I promise

Fact: I Like Writing In Tents... and Vanilla Wafers.

2011-06-27T01:55:00.000-04:00

Feel like this could turn into something...

You are looking for Romeo
In a box full of decoys
And you are searching
For your White Knight
In a pile of wet mud
If I could make it happen
I would make every star
In the sky as bright
As it could ever be
So everyone could see
Your beauty even in
The darkest of nights

I Wrote This In a Tent (This Has Nothing To Do With Tents)

2011-06-27T01:39:00.000-04:00

Well, the title says it all. I just wrote this in a tent. Nothing extraordinary. It is just short, simple and nothing special.

(That is what she said/I love how I just de-railed my own self esteem)

A dream is like a ghost
That only you can see
You can tell people
About it all the time
But they will never
Ever believe you
It is your own
Invisible friend
Only you can
Give it a name
Give it life and
Make it real.