My Writer's Block

Strange Handwriting

2010-10-22T21:31:00.000-04:00

"That's how she writes."

I remember thinking this the first time I saw her handwriting. Which was ironic, because for a prolonged amount of time, the only communication we had was in text.

Fuck the digital-age.

We met on a website that I won't mention here because I like it better when people automatically think "sex" or "fetish" sites. If our friendship can be a coffee table book for people, I'm down with that -- because I don't really give a fuck what they think anyway.

"It's bigger and loopier than I thought it would be. She doesn't seem loopy."

I always associate bigger and loopier text with girls. She's a girl, so I nailed that one. (I've never nailed "that one," freaks.) Sometimes that kind of writing reminds me of girls and unicorns. But the more I looked at it, the more I realized that it was the handwriting of a cool chick.

You know? The kind that does boy things. The kind that isn't afraid to get her hands dirty, talk about masturbation and evaluate the pros and cons of the super powers held by certain X-Men.

"It's got enough roughness to it. Jagged and short curves. I'm down with that."

I don't pick my friends from their handwriting, but if she had the same "killer's slant" that I have in mine -- I would be pretty fucking weary, is all I'm saying.

Even Though She Had A Seizure And Flopped Like A Fish -- The Ship Stayed On Course

2010-01-27T20:59:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a restaurant. I mean, my family had a house, but we also had a restaurant, which doubled as a home. The slew of Hispanic, middle and teen - aged cashiers, and regular guests were easily comparable to one huge extended family. This is how it was set up: It was a small take-out pizza joint. I don't get to say "joint" as much as I would like. We had a bar counter where you could eat if you'd like. There were two benches. There was the counter you ordered at.

Behind the counter was about four feet of width between the counter and the heat lamps that would keep the ordered food warm until the guests picked it up. Close by was the soda fountain machine where I spent the better half of my years gulping down Dr.Pepper.

I remember the first time I saw someone have a seizure. Her name was Agnes. Now that I think about it, the name itself sounds like the result of a seizure. Agnes was an employee that had worked for my parents on and off for as long as I could remember. She had acquired the role as a family friend over the years as well. She had a knack for being loud and goofy for an older woman, but nonetheless, she seemed to have a heart of gold and an apparent chronic neurological disorder that made her have seizures at the drop of a hat.

I remember she hit the floor like a fish out of water. Not a goldfish. Not a domestic pet. We're talking deep sea fishing fish. The kind that take real man power to get out of the water. The kind that could cause harm to an inattentive individual. That's the kind of fish she flopped around like.

As Agnes was flopping around, I stood there and watched her. Not the kind of watching that's associated with sociopaths. I wasn't comparable to Macauly Culkin in The Good Son. It was more of a genuine stare. I was maybe eight years old and the way Agnes was acting wasn't acceptable when throwing tantrums in a store, so it confused me greatly. My father was in the back making pizzas. My mother was at the cash register, ringing up tickets and manning the telephone lines like she was taking calls for a PBS Telethon. I was still standing there.

My mother turned around to see what I was staring at and had the kind of look on her face that comes with the "not again!" attitude that you sometimes can get. She told me to run to the back and get my father. I remember going back there and handing him a ticket for a new order and nonchalantly telling him that "Agnes is in the floor and Mom wants you."

"Shit," my father said, as he quickly finished making the pizza he was working on as if it were an art that couldn't be disturbed while being created. My father threw it in the oven that I'm sure we bought from a WWII relic museum because of its unnatural ability to overheat the entire building (especially in the summers). My father grabbed a spoon on the way to the front of the store. At the time, I remember being confused. We didn't have many spoons in the restaurant. It was a pizza and sandwich joint for the most part, so other than for cooking, there was no real need for spoons in the building. As he grabbed a spoon, I thought to myself that this was a horrible time for soup -- but a great time for ice cream.

My father bent down and shoved the spoon in her mouth and rolled Agnes on her side. My mother was stepping over them and still working. A few guests were looking over the counter to see what was going on and my mother gave them the "mind your own business" glare, as she practiced her preaching, and minded her business...and continued taking orders.

My mother then dialed a number on the phone and informed Agnes' husband that she was having another seizure. This routine felt oddly routine. Everyone just knew how to deal with it. I had a problem with this. I could hear her mumbling. I could see her eyes rolling around like a drunken uncle at a family reunion. It was unnerving for the most part to see such a chaotic scene be completely under control. Literally -- When I say "everything," -- everything was working out like a perfect machine. Even though a cog fell off it's rotation and hit the floor, the machine was still operating according to plan.

Guests coming in. My mother greeted them. Took their orders. Answered the phones and manned the register simultaneously. I continued to run tickets back to my father, stepping over Agnes' body when needed. My father would come check to make sure the spoon was in her mouth. I swear, my mother could have been rocking Agnes with her free foot and gently soothing her while working like an octopus with her remaining appendages, and I wouldn't have been surprised.

This order of operations continued itself until Agnes' husband showed up. I don't remember what happened really after that, but I remember she got better and went home with him. I think that lately, people have forgotten the meaning of wading through shit. I mean, our generation is so easy to throw up their hands and call it quits that it really makes me worry about the upcoming years. I'm not implying that 2012 was John Cusack's best work to date (I'm not even implying I saw the film because -- yeah...no), I just think that even if nothing happens, the onslaught of fear will still be in the air, and that's enough to make people give up.

When people give up, they do horrible things. Things that I honestly don't want to be a part of. I'm not really built for prison, but I think a holding cell would be the safest place to be during that time. Giving up really isn't an option if you want things to come to you. You can't just give up and expect to succeed or make things happen the way you want them. You can't just give up when your cashier hits the floor and starts flopping around, because then you couldn't make profit for the day. Remember that.

You Have To Die First -- At Least That's What We Were Taught.

2009-11-24T00:46:00.005-05:00

I played sports when I was younger. But I was never really good at them. One time, while playing basketball, I remember shooting a basket for the other team by shooting at my team's goal.

I missed.

Just because you're tall for your age doesn't mean you should try out for the basketball team. It also doesn't mean they should pick you. Fairness is way over-rated. It breeds weak children. You should get to be on a team because you earned it. Not because you were tall.

I was good at other things. Like reading. My elementary school's playground had a train cart on it for some odd reason. A rusty blue train cart that sat on a piece of railroad track. It was there to throw rocks at. It was there for shelter. I used to read under the train cart.

They would play tag. I would turn my page. They would play something called tether-ball, a sport to this day I genuinely don't understand. I would turn my page.

It wasn't until about the third grade that I picked up a new habit. I did that from time to time. I would pick up small habits. I still do it. The one I picked up that year that followed me for a long while was the habit of painting. I remember why I had an interest in it too. My teacher at the time was really big into art. Some teachers have their points of interests. His was art. So when it came down to anything art related, he didn't just hand us a piece of paper and some coloring tools, he explained things to us. He informed us on the history. He told us the artist's dark secrets.

That's not something you get with athletic stars. You don't learn about their troubled times in between pee-breaks and peanut butter sandwiches. Mainly because they're still alive. It's hard to be respected as an artist until you're dead, but that, he informed us, was the reason why artists were artists. They weren't in it for the gratification and attention. They were in it simply because it was in them, and if they wanted to do what made them happy, then they made art.

I remember wanting to die. I had just sketched something great in my notebook and I really wanted someone to point it out and say: "This is some good shit," but probably not in those words. I wasn't that talkative so I wouldn't go to someone and be like: "Look at this cool shit I drew!" So I figured if I died, someone would flip through my notebook. It wasn't until he started telling us about Vincent van Gogh and Salvador Dali that I really got interested.

I started taking art lessons. I don't want to toot my own horn, but for a beginner, I was really good. I compare it to the times of learning things like baseball. I picked up a bat for the first time and accidentally knocked my sister out, who was clearly in my line of swing, as the catcher should be directly behind the batter...and the batter should have proper motor skills. So, in comparison, I was a fucking bad ass with a brush. It made complete sense. I knew what to do for some reason. Mixing paints, brush stroke patterns, blending, and shading all made complete sense to me. So, I started painting.

I painted with the idea that one day soon, I would die and someone would think I was genius. But then I figured out you have to cut your ear off to be a genius. I figured out you had to be batshit crazy to be considered an all-star in the world of artists. I was content in that matter. I knew I was already different from a lot of the other kids my age. I was content with being batshit crazy and not only for someone to discover an artist in me, but because it was the right thing to do (as an artist).

I think that everyone has their own particular special talent. I'm not supporting this because I'm some spiritual guru that thinks everyone has a chance. Wait. I take that back-- I think that everyone does have a chance, I just think that some peoples' chances come easier than others. I think that everyone is dealt a hand and how they play that hand determines what chances they take. But then again, not all hands are the same. Some make sense. Some don't.

I loved the underdog for the most part. I was always a fan of the individuals who had no chance at all. The kids who would get pounded into lockers, the teacher who never had enough confidence to stand up to anyone, the guy who wants to ask out the hot girl. I knew all these people because I have a habit of living through their eyes. Sometimes that gets me into trouble because it's nothing I like to show. Showing that trait can be awkward. Showing that trait can be fucking weird. It can come with restraining orders in most major cities.

So I read, and I painted, and I started writing-- because those are the people who end up making a difference in a weird way. I can think of about two or three people who have saved my life. I'm not talking about pushing me out of the way of a moving train, although if I lived in a city that offered underground transportation, I would totally hang around the subway platforms on the off chance that someone would need to be saved. I've seen too many episodes of Law & Order for my reality to make sense. Anyway, those two or three people who I can credit saving my life, and not even in a melodramatic way where I was on the edge of a bridge and thought the traffic needed some scattered appendages to accent the weather--I'm talking about "saved," in a sense where they totally have a hand in making me who I am as a person.

None of these people I keep in contact with. None of these people are even in my contacts list. It's not to say that the people I interact with currently aren't making impressions, I'm just saying that some impressions need to be made by people you only know for a handful of minutes, days, months, or years. Or at least that tends to be the case for me.

So I started writing because it wasn't as messy. It was easier to handle. It could be done pretty much at any moment that I was willing to make it happen. I couldn't do that with painting. So I guess the paper was the next best thing, and the precision in which I put my words together were comparable to the strokes that used to touch the canvas. It's a beautiful site, really. To see a writer in their natural state. Stark-raving mad in their underwear hoping they can get out what they need in order to catch one full R.E.M. cycle-- in hopes that someone figures out about them before they croak. Or send their bloody ear to someone. Writers are too pretentious. They wouldn't Twitter it. They would Fed-Ex it.

The Praying Bag Lady

2009-10-21T23:24:00.005-04:00

I saw her sitting by the street asking for rides. She looked harmless. She didn't look like she would stick a gun to my throat. Show me on this ketchup bottle where the bad lady touched you. None of those scenarios seemed to pertain to her.

"We should pick her up," I said to my friend as we walked out of the Arby's from our pathetic lunch break.

"No, we shouldn't." She said to me, holding her drink in one hand and the sack of unfinished food in the other.

We waved goodbye to some of our friends and started to get in the car to head back to school and work.

"But it's Valentine's Day," I said to her, "It's fucking Valentine's." Not to change the subject or anything, but I hate when people say Valen-times day. It shows their true colors. The technicolor trash that's reminiscent of trailer parks and buck teeth.

"Yeah, but it being a holiday doesn't justify picking up a stranger."
"But, it's Valentine's Day," I said, stressing the holiday with more importance, "Nothing bad happens on Valentine's Day."

Bad things do happen on Valentine's Day. It's actually a day that marks a horrible massacre that took place between two crime gangs in the late 1920's. Capone rings a bell (and pulls a trigger).

"OK, whatever. But hurry up, I need to get back to class."
"I have to be at work in 30 minutes anyway," I said, balancing the situation.

I walked up to the 60-something year old lady that was attempting to hitch a ride with whoever would help her out. I would be putting her in harm's way if I didn't pick her up. I know I'm not going to cut her up and stuff her in my trunk. I don't know that the man with two kids whom she was about to ask for a ride wouldn't do that. Crazies come in all shapes and sorts now a days.

"I'll give you a ride, ma'am," I said to her, saving her from her future doom that would (could) have taken place.

"Thank you, son," she said to me with a grin. Her dark and weathered skin was cracked from the wind and lack of shelter. Her small body was covered in layers of flannel and heavy coats. She smelled odd. Like when you leave clean clothes in the washer for too long. Then you have to re-wash them.

"So, where you headed?" I asked her as she hopped into the backseat of the car.

I'm an avid hitchhiker-picker-upper. I do this more than my friends and family approve of. There have been more than one instance where I would be talking on the phone and someone on the other end would start yelling at me: "Nick, don't pick them up...Nick, now listen!" I usually hang up as I'm telling them I'll call them back.

Something about picking up a stranger is mystifying to me. It's got nothing to do with that Joan Osbourne song. I just think that it makes for a good story. That, and if the shoe was on the other foot, I would want someone to stop and help me out.

"I just need to get to my sister's home," She said to me.
"And where is that?"
"Just head down Veterans," She instructed, "It's only like five minutes from here."

It's never how short they say it is. Five minutes in hitchhiker minutes is no less than ten or fifteen. I mean, it makes sense to fib a little. The general public is so quick to not go out of their way that when someone actually does show compassion, then someone like a hitchhiker doesn't want to lose that. So they soothe the driver. They make them think that they're not a burden.

They're never my burden. They don't know that. They'll never really know that. Society has taught them nothing less than that.

"Thank you so much, son," She said to me as she was fiddling in her purse.
"You're welcome," I told her, "It's really no problem."
"You two married?" She asked, pointing with her chin towards my friend in the passenger seat who was doing a good job at staying semi-silent.
"No," My friend responded.
"We're just friends," We said simultaneously.

Jinx.

"I'll give you some gas money," She said kindly, "I know I have to have something I can give you in here somewhere."
"Don't worry about it," I assured her, "It's really not a problem."

I saw my friend getting nervous as the bag lady was rummaging around in her bag that may as well have been her home. I don't get nervous at times like these.

"What's wrong, son?" She said to me.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"What's wrong? You sick?" She eyed the prescription bottle of pills I had resting in the pocket of the center console where the gear shift was.
"Oh, that," I said, "That's just my stomach medicine."

I always said "stomach medicine" because I felt too young to say "ulcer." Then I got comfortable saying "ulcer" so I later named him Uriah.

"You got problems?"
"Yeah," I said, avoiding the word, "Ulcer."
"You're too young to have an ulcer," She said to me.

I was too young to have an ulcer. She was right. My Mom was right too.

"What's wrong?" She asked again, this time asking more about why I had it. But she asked in a weird way. Kind of like she was asking what was wrong in a deeper meaning.
"I may or may not have caused it due to drinking," I said, embarrassingly.

I was 19. There was no reason to have a vodka-induced medical condition. I liked my poison.

"I'll pray for you," she said.
"Don't sweat it," I told her, knowing that it was a lost cause to pray.

I took some more directions from her and we ended up in a shifty area of town ten minutes after the five minutes she told us that it would have taken us to get to her sister's home. She kind of just pointed to a cluster of buildings and said that we could drop her off right where we were.

She could have easily been lying. In fact, I know that she just wanted to get to that end of town. I'm sure her sister didn't really live in those buildings. If she did, then she probably wouldn't have been living out of her bag. She probably would have been crashing on her sister's couch.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I told her.
"Thanks, son," she said again, "Here you go, I know it's not much--"

I cut her off.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I said again, reassuring her that there was no need to pay me in any form or fashion.
"I'll pray for you," she said as our eyes met in the rear-view mirror.
"Don't sweat it," I said, knowing that it wouldn't matter either way.

Don't Be a Sissy. Walk Into That Stranger's Home.

2009-10-04T20:02:00.005-04:00

"Come on," someone said (it could have easily been me, my sister, or our childhood friend), "it's not like anyone's home."

"I don't know how I feel about this," that one was probably me.

It didn't take much convincing before the three neighborhood sleuths were breaking and entering. It's not really breaking and entering if you don't break anything. That's right around the time where a window broke. We didn't throw anything at it. We didn't take a brick to it. We had no intention on breaking it. In fact, I don't even remember how it broke. I just remember that it broke.

There were houses going up in our neighborhood at a steady pace around the time I was that age (and I don't really know what age "that" age is, but I know it's substantially younger than "this" age), and as bored youngsters, we would, at times, take it upon ourselves to check out the homes in construction. I mean, it was our neighborhood first, right?

On this one particular inspection, we were interrupted by the occupants of the home-in-progress. It would be a way better story if we ran into squatters or some junkie with a needle sticking out of his or her arm, but we were in Georgia (which, now when I think about it, I feel a little let down that we didn't see squatters or a junkie with a needle sticking out of his or her arm) and in a good part of town. One of us went around back and that's where we saw him.

His name doesn't really matter for the story. It doesn't matter that he became a good neighbor or that he was as dangerous as a gnat. What matters is the fear that was embedded into our bodies. No matter how "bad ass" you are, or pretend to be, especially at "that" age, when a grown up catches you doing something you know you shouldn't probably be doing (trespassing), then you automatically clam up.

"Hey, can I help you guys?" He said to us.
Of course, we didn't really know what to say. We kind of looked at one another because we thought that whoever spoke up would get it first. Whoever gave the reasoning on why we were about to enter this man's house would be the one who was at fault. They would be the one to sacrifice their well-being because we knew that he couldn't catch all three of us. As always, I spoke up.
"We're just looking" I stammered. There was nothing to really look at.
"You want to come in? My wife and I are just cleaning some things up" He told us.

This is where real fear sets in. This is where you don't know what to do. To decline would be rude because obviously we were looking for something (we were looking for nothing). To accept would be dumb because this is the exact situation our parents warned us about.

I remember looking up the road and seeing my house. I remember being able to see the sun start to go down. I remember thinking of how this man was going to more than likely slash my throat to make an example out of me. But he was so nice.

"Sure," someone said.

We all walked close to one another as if the three of us were bigger when stuck together. It seemed logical at the time, but then again, we were three minors walking into an empty house with a man whose name we didn't even know who claimed to have a wife who we had never seen. It is the prime example of a stranger patrolling the park and telling a kid to get in the car because their parents were in a wreck and they were sent to pick them up.

We walked in behind the man and heard someone upstairs. We heard thuds. We heard things being dropped. I heard a broom. This made me feel better. The sound of bristles on the ground made me think that yes, there was a wife up there. Wives clean. She's cleaning. But what if they were a fucked up couple? My mom instilled fear into me at a young age. No one is worth trusting unless they're in your family tree, and things like that.

Nonetheless, everything was OK. He had a wife. She was sweeping up saw dust, not bones or bodies. She was cleaning the walls. She wasn't bleaching blood stains. That late afternoon we all saw the worst case scenario but still went along with it because it was easier to comply than to stand on our own two feet.

What happens when you're "this" age and you still run into these conflicts? I'm not implying that I've been invited into a stranger's home and had internal conflicts about it, because if that were to happen today, I would probably bring a bottle of wine with me and call it a night. I love strangers. I always have.

Seeing the worst case scenario is something I think we're all prone to doing. This used to happen to me more than now, but I think it's because as you get older, you realize that you can actually take care of yourself. As things in life unravel, you learn that you can handle pretty much more than God is willing to dish out, and once you overcome things, you'll be able to not see the bad in things as much as you see the good or the unseen.

A lot of people call that being gullible. You're naive. You're a complete moron.

I like to think that bad shit will happen if it's meant to happen. Or I like to think that when it actually happens, is when I'll take care of it. I lived too many of my "that" age years living in constant fear of the unknown. It was pathetic. Sure, it kept me out of harm's way as much as it could, but you're never really safe from everything. You're not safe from things that are inevitably going to happen regardless of how bad you don't want them to happen.

Shit happens.

Especially now. We're in an economical crisis. "A crisis will make a normal man do crazy things." That's what my Dad said. That's not really what my Dad said, but he's said something along those lines. Probably in Greek. But it all translated to something similar (I'm sure).

Living for your future rather than in fear of your future is something that I've been trying to get together. It's just odd to think about. A lot of people fear the unknown but still go head first into unstable situations. That, to me, is a little respectable. It's when you fear the unknown, then label the unknown with the association of everything that could potentially go bad, which in turn, hinders you from actually living life, is when I think that something needs to be evaluated.

Don't walk into a stranger's home. Don't take candy from them. Don't end up on the 9 o'clock news. But you shouldn't potentially "not" make news for yourself by sitting around and fearing what life will throw at you next. Take baseball lessons. Become the catcher. Catch that shit and and send life back to the dugout until it comes back with more shit. It might be on steroids, but you'll manage. I swear.

and a "hallelujah" for the win

2009-05-27T22:55:00.006-04:00

it's been a minute since i took the time to write for me. don't take me wrong. i write.

see: audioholic media

but i wanted to write for me tonight. i'm in that mood that settles with the tapping of the keyboard rather than with the flipping of pages, glasses of wine, or bright shine on the wall behind me from the television while watching a movie, alone and naked, in the dark.

if that's not melodramatic, i really don't know what is.

it's funny that my friend brought up jeff buckley the other day. everyone turns to certain things when they're down and out. my kind of people usually turn to their own type of religion.

my type of people usually turn to music.

i'm not bashing your virgin mary.
i'm not doubting your almighty god.
i'm not knocking on christ.

i'm just saying that, at times, melodies can fill a void that praying won't fill.
it's easier to find comfort in something you can feel.

i feel music.
i'm sure i'll feel god (again) one day.

i'm not saying he isn't there. i'm saying that perspective is put into concrete forms for me when i have something to sway my head to. that concrete perspective is solidified for me when i can feel the lyrics from the internal speakers of my computer. i can feel better when i'm in the shower and the stereo speakers muffle out the scolding water hitting me and covering my body. i can feel better when the steam rises and coats the mirror and the better part of my contact lenses.

that's when i feel.
that's when things make more sense.

maybe music is my god.
maybe god knows this.
maybe god snuck into my itunes.

that would make sense. that would make me feel better about things that i don't have the answers to. shuffle and repeat.

i got off track--my friend brought up jeff buckley the other day.
"hallelujah" was the song that came up in retrospect.

"do you like jeff buckley?"
"yeah."

and that's where it stared. sometimes, when something as strong as a song means something stronger than the average person's faith to someone--it's better to leave some things unexplained.

i get this.

you wouldn't go up to someone and ask them what they just spilled in their confessional. if they willingly tell you--that's a different story. some things are better left un-pried.

i used to listen to this song a lot. i mean "a lot" in the truest form.
i'm kind of glad it made its way into my friend's life. maybe not in the same way that it came into mine--but regardless, it's something to share with someone.

"hallelujah"

i knew the song before the movie the edukators. but it kind of came into perspective when i watched the film one night. it's one of those films that watch better when alone. it's a foreign film, so you'll have to do some reading. but the beauty in the film is in the message. and the message wraps itself up really well. you almost don't need to read the subtitles.

i mean--you do--but you don't.

it all came crashing into me when this song played in its entirety. this was surreal to me for some reason because like i said, the song played in its entirety, which i thought was really cool.

i remember feeling empty and full all at the same time.
i remember feeling like i had a heart and like someone broke it.
i remember feeling like no one could mend a heart.

i remember feeling like if there was one thing throughout the rest of my life that i could count on to mend something that was broken--that it had to be music.

i'm not saying that i don't have family or friends. i'm not implying that someone couldn't fix a broken problem. i'm simply saying that they would simply be a catalyst. they would be the spark. but the music would be the patch.

the music would be the "hallelujah" in my life.

nothing would be fixed until a song put something into perspective.
that would be my sign.

people find god in all sorts of weird places. i found him in the arizona sunrise once. i found him in a few of my favorite novels. i found him in the wind.

maybe that's what really matters at times--is that you can find your god in whatever you hold close to your heart. that means more to me than sunday mass. that means more to me than a title or designated religion.

i don't really know where the direction of this blog was meant to end up. i'm not sure where it started, where it led, or where it ended. but i know that playing this song again, and again, and again--just fixed something.

that crazy crow has my death certificate

2009-03-30T11:17:00.005-04:00

so, for the last two mornings--i've been awakened by a constant thudding on the side of my house.

at first, i disregarded the noise because i thought it was one of the little kids next door.

they love to play, throw balls, and run ramped through my yard as well as through the street.
so, i figured--let them play. they're young, right? it won't be long until they're going to college, controlling their vices, and figuring out what it is they want to do with their life.

plus, 2012 is looming--hello, karma.

i lifted myself off of the couch, because apparently, that is my new bed.
i have totally disregarded my bedroom for the last month or so. i don't know why, but i just can't sleep in my room. the last time i was having these problems it took me forever to get back into the groove of things.

i dream in cotton t-shirt sheets and comfort under my lower back.

that's my ghetto bed. don't judge. i don't like bed frames.
i'm minimal.

so, i walked to the front door because that's where i was hearing all the racket.
what do i see?

not a small child running through the yard and playing racquetball off the side of my house, but instead, i see a black crow trying to get into the house

through the window on your right.

it just kept flying into it...over...and over.

my initial thought was:

this.

but then i started getting creeped out. i'm not a fan of birds to begin with. they are shifty little creatures and my second thought was:

this.

then, i wanted everything to simmer down just a little...so i redirected my attention to something with a lighter mood. everyone loves the beatles, right?

i sat there and watched this crow fly into the window for about a minute and a half. it was trying to get completely over the house...i think.

but, kept getting side tracked and detouring into the glass.

there has always been something creepy about birds flying into windows. i even wrote about it last year in the novel treatment i'm conjuring up. it's a really uncomfortable scene. it makes it even more uncomfortable when it's a crow.

when i was talking to my mother later that afternoon, i mentioned the creepy crow.

that's my mom.
she says, "happy new year."

my mom is extremely superstitious. i try not to be. when i was growing up though, that was a different story. this lady embedded scenarios into my head that i'll never get away from. they were all greek superstitions at that--which--any greek will tell you--always seem to be the worst kinds of superstitions.

the superstitions in greece are alive for the sole purpose of making you feel threatened by something as minimal as the glare that someone gives you...or even a damn compliment from someone.

my mother gasped at the crow story. she made that "tisk" sound that someone makes when they are way into their head, digging around through all the horrible shit that could go wrong.

she kept going on and on in greek about how that isn't good.
ultimately, in translation to her greek, it meant that it was a bad omen.

not that omen...this one.

today--it happened again.
i was awakened by the same bird.

i'm not a superstitious person. i mean, to some degree, i guess i am.

but i did some research above what my mom was telling me. because moms never tell the whole story. after reading through discussion boards and spiritual websites...this is what was constantly repeated, in some form or fashion:

"Many people believe that a bird tapping at the window is also an omen of impending death to one of the house's occupants. This belief, associating the entry or interest of a bird in the home or its occupants, stems from the ancient belief that birds are actually the messengers of departed souls, or the souls themselves, come back to guide those soon to die."

i'm the only occupant of this house.
and i've always told people that i have that feeling that i won't live long, hence the reason i live so much every day.

that bird is going to take me out, i'm sure of it. maybe i'll feel more threatened when he leaves a scroll tied with a red ribbon at the foot of my door. he always comes knocking around the same time of the day--maybe i'll skip my first class to see if swings by again.

after all, it would be rude to leave when you think you're expecting a visitor, right?
if i do skip class, i'll record it...it could be a fun experiment.

until next time
-nick

coincidentally coincidental

2009-03-23T22:09:00.005-04:00

just before we get started:

in case you wanted to see it, there is the new tattoo sans layers of peeling flesh and scabs that do no justice to the color-work.

if i were in a zombie flick--

those fuckers would have found me first, via the trail of miniature scabs that flaked off for almost a week.

i contemplated saving them all up and putting them in a baggie to sell for when i get famous.
then someone could make a mini-voodoo doll or do some crazy science experiment in which they created a clone of me.

see: dolly

back to where i didn't start--

the topic of "coincidence" has been coming up lately.
i don't really know how to approach this matter other than--

fucking coincidental.

i have shirked on many of my responsibilities today.
my parents usually come down on mondays but were busy so they decided to rain-check this week.

which, coincidentally worked out for me because i had a lot of work to do and was going to ask if they stayed put this week because i really needed an extra day to catch up on some stuff.

see:

and

.

and like i said: i've shirked on some major things i need to get done.
but, i think that it all worked out just fine because my crazy started to fizzle out a few hours ago.

i feel really good about a lot of different things in my life right now.
i just hope they stay good.

stability helps every now and again.
but, don't take me wrong-- i know how to work around that shit.
i'm a human architectural mishap.

i can maneuver around shifty foundation more than i would like.
it's in my character.

someone called me an "emotional pack mule" and told me that i "carry everyone's emotional baggage so they don't have to."

i will agree whole heartedly on this statement.

it's always been in my nature to take on other peoples' short comings.
it's not to say that all the shortcomings of others are bad traits that they have--it's just to be assumed that no two people are exactly alike.

what i don't find frustrating in other people
are what other people find frustrating in me

and vice versa.

i get too invested at times into certain people in my life.
it's not a bad thing--because i feel like i'm paying back what was invested into me.

i was a mess last year.

a complete and utter mess.
i was finding emotional comfort in all the wrong places.

more or less, i was utilizing vodka as a means to an end.

so says my swollen liver.

pretty much, i was looking for comfort in all the wrong places.
it's not to be assumed that i didn't know i was being a shit-bag--
it's just that i was in a spot in my life that i didn't really care.

i was over caring. not to be confused with over-caring.
i was let down way too many times and i didn't want to care--so, i was selfish--
i drank--a lot-- i shirked on my responsibilities, certain friends were fed up with me, and i was too caught up with the shit that doesn't matter.

certain people invested in to me rather than throwing in the towel.
thank you.

so--that's why i get invested at times. i like to think i'm selective about the people i currently let into my life.

if they're there--they are there for a reason.
if the relationship becomes too much to bear, then i have to weigh shit out.

i have to throw everything on a scale

and see what it is certain people offer me.

pros and cons.
is it worth my energy?
is it worth my time?

the people who i can dismiss completely--well, those people don't really matter.
i've let people like that out of my life recently. i'm civil when i see them (which isn't often) but i don't confide in them. i don't do anything other than have the half-assed: "hey, what's up" kind of conversation--and at times--i avoid that too.

it's the ones that take time to consider that offer value.

it makes you aware that they were important in your life at one point or other and it makes you wait around to see if they've

a.) lost their way
b.) changed completely
c.) don't value you

and once you've figured it out...it's all upstream from there.

so--even though this day was shirked on--i feel really good about a lot of things.
and i think everything coincidentally worked out for the best because my head is in a place where it needs to be.

it's in a place that i remember.

until next time
-nick

you "might" want to read this--and by "might"--i mean "do"

2009-03-03T22:39:00.009-05:00

[forward: don't mind the minor nudity--i don't like clothes when sitting in front of the computer]

sometimes, when i'm in a mood-- my room turns into a mini-bar.

last night-- it was a coffee bar.

(this was last night)

no barista here, bitches.
just a caffeine-addled -addicted-monster.

see: the bitch who created that monster.

tonight--on the other hand--
the caffeine took a break.

tonight--i'm breaking out the big guns and doing a science experiment.

(this is right now)

call me: bill nye the science guy--if you will--and you do.

there is no true rhyme of reason for my "crazy". i know when it settles. i know when it brews.
and today--around 5:00--it rented a room and i knew that it would be kicking it for the evening.

no need to fight it. the "crazy" can get a little crazy sometimes.

also: no need to take action. no need to set me up for an alcoholics anonymous meeting or anything of that nature. no need to prescribe me to anti-depressants. if you're already thinking in that nature you have it all wrong.

i embrace the "crazy" that comes and goes. at times, (some) friends don't really get it. those are the ones that i think i should worry about. those are the ones who are constantly trying to make everything okay when in reality--life has ups and downs.

the stable ones scare me.
i'm not the stable one.

is that the face of a stable one?

i don't think so.

side bar: [i was just told (via blackberry) that the creative ones are never normal. i'll take that. i'll coddle it. i'll give it a treat.]

i think i'm programmed to have ups and downs (like most people).
i just think that being aware of those ups and downs--does indeed--have ups and downs.

i think it's how you perceive things. if you know something bad is happening and you dwell on it then i don't really have much sympathy for you.

i don't dwell. i try and lighten the mood. i try and alleviate the situation.

i break dance.

don't be fooled. that is my natural skin tone.

what i mean--not about the skin tone--is that i'm able to utilize my moods for the better.
i've mastered that fine art, more or less, over the last year and a half.

i used to be bad at it.
i used to be a ...

via videosift.com

not entirely--but to some degree.
that's never cute. that's never cool. that's not who i was/am.

it's all about perception--which brings me to today.

i had some time to kill and went to the mall.
i needed to order some more contacts and i needed a new lip ring.

i seemed to have lost mine about a month ago and have failed to get another one.
i'm still on a hunt for the right one--i'm picky.

i was approached by one of these today:

not a giant iphone.
a mall cop.

this is how that went:

i was walking at a brisk pace because they are revamping the bathrooms in the food court so i had to find a belks in order to drain my bladder (that i honestly think shrunk to the size of an almond because i do not have the ability to hold it passed one class period anymore--really--i got up twice today because i could feel myself developing prostate cancer).

mall cop: excuse me, sir.

-nick: yes.

mall cop: i'm going to have to ask you to take off your hood.

(really? because this--is my hood)

-nick: really?

mall cop: yes.

-nick: may i ask why?

mall cop: because it's mall policy.

-nick: so--let me get this straight-- i can wear my pants down to my ass, give my lover butterfly kisses on the escalator, and be 30 lbs overweight and fit myself into a tube top--but i can't wear a hood?

mall cop: sorry, sir--it's mall policy.

i should have shit in the floor.
luckily--i had to piss.

see: 2007 threatens to piss on gas station floor in colorado-roadtrip

needless to say--i conformed to their rules. i mean, if i didn't want to follow the rules i didn't have to be in the mall. i just think that it was a stupid rule. i want to go pin-point all the cholos and niggas who scout the mall whith their bandanas and doorags.

it's not like i was walking around--throwing gang signs around and bucking up to geriatrics doing their power walks at 11:00 in the a.m.

(that's what it entails of to be gangsta)

i was scouting for a set of contacts, a lip ring, and a functioning urinal for crying out loud.
which--for today--seemed coincidental for me to be a target.

watch this: click this link and watch the video to the right of the page

if there is an ad before the video--you should still watch it.

so, yeah, "little houdini" was on the loose.
i don't think they caught him--

but when i exited campus i had my hood on...and they searched my car for like an extra second.
maybe a 130lb. white boy with a hood does, in fact, pose a threat.

maybe not--regardless--i utilized my crazy.
see? if you don't--it doesn't matter--because i'm in a better mood now than i would have been an hour ago.

until next time
-nick

coffee showed me the light...literally

2009-02-14T23:10:00.009-05:00

you know how there are some things in life where you know about them but you just don't utilize them enough?

public transportation, the window-squeegee at the gas station while you pump, career services on campus, cheap clinics, coupons...coffee.

yes. i said: coffee.

and "you can sleep when you're dead" has been the motto of my west-cost-connection for the past...too long. in fact, send her care packages. in order to survive, this bitch only needs:

+ an intern
+ one week of non-adult-related-responsibilities
+ a hair straightener
+ one or two strategically placed r.e.m. cycles
+ coffee

it's not that i've never had coffee. i've just never craved coffee. i've never found it a necessity in my daily routine. i've never been that guy who needs his cup of joe in the morning before he can function.

it's never been my oil can and i've never been the tin man.

i've never relied on caffeine.

i haven't touched a soft drink in approximately seven years.
i mean, sometimes a sprite will sneak an ounce or two in vodka or spiced rum if i've ran out of appropriate mixers...but that's about it.

so, needless to say...i was a little skeptical of this whole coffee generation.

that's the face of skepticism.

the other day, i made an effort to buy coffee at the grocery store.

i told myself: there is a coffee maker in your house from previous occupant (sister)...so, make some coffee and see what happens.

then: i forgot to buy coffee filters.

then: i went back to the store the next day to get some as well as a few more items i forgot to pick up and once again...left without the filters.

about an hour ago...my head went to coffee because i have a ridiculous amount of work to finish tonight. i figured methamphetamine is not an option in this day and age so i relied on the best thing that i've heard of since well-cooked-crack.

i thought of coffee.

i've never made my own pot of coffee at home. in fact, it is something that actually made me feel less superior as a human being. i mean, i've made coffee at work but it doesn't count because it's hooked up to the water line and all the ground beans are measured out because you make it in bulk. it's like the costco-version of coffee.

so, i managed to make my coffee after tinkering with the space machine downstairs. apparently my sister was given an extremely high-tech coffee maker. this shit brews by itself on a timer. personally, i find that a little threatening...but, to each his own, right?

i accidentally brewed six cups of this potent concotion known as coffee. seems a little hardcore for a first-timer but i figure: play hard.

right?
right.

in the last hour, i've been motivated to get shit done.

that's the face of getting shit done.

and i'm extremely interested in proposing that they sell my a.d.d. medication in this flavor.

it's like a natural anti-depressent. i'm completely serious about that. usually, when my crazy sets in and i don't want to do things...i just sort of waste away or i don't really want to do things.

even when my crazy isn't around...i still lack motivation at times. just to do simple shit. for example, my room gets kind of dark... and at times, reading in bed can become a problem.

coffee showed me light.

not that light.

this light.

it's a clunky fixture that has been sitting downstairs in an empty room begging to be utilized.
i figured i would schlep it upstairs and position it in my favor.

coffee gave me light.

it also made my "technical writing" project for my online class a little more interesting.
i'm not a fan of technical writing but i understand that it's something i need to work on.

motivate me, juan valdez.

so...tonight is going to be a long night. although i do have to work in the morning, i plan on getting shit done. if other people can do it...i can do it.

and like all good things:

enjoy in moderation.

so, i tip my hat to you, coffee.
you are my new found love.

happy valentine's day. i only need you.

until next time
-nick

hostility meets tranquility

2009-01-30T18:03:00.005-05:00

i'm in class with many pretentious people this semester.
mainly one class.

one class harbors a bunch of lilly-lickers.

that's the face a lilly-licker makes.
ask me on a good day, i'll give you a demonstration.

i'm starting to realize that i'm becoming a cynical asshole.
i don't mean to be. i really try not to be.

but when i pay tuition for a class that is an utter waste of my time, it kind of puts a damper on my day. usually on tuesdays and thursdays, when i decide to come home and get some work done after a long fucking day at school...

i have to hide all the wine and make my car detour the PUBLIX so i don't drop in for a bottle of red. because i've never had that "i really need to drink" feeling until the first tuesday of this semester. it's a genuine attempt to not get drunk alone.

i think i'm in class with him.

this isn't meant to be a rant or a complete disregard for humanity.
i'm not going to say i'm the most mature individual out there. i'm not even going to pretend that i don't have the peter pan complex. but, i at least fucking know how to be somewhat of a god damned adult when i need to be.

at what point do you stick your nose up a teacher's ass so far that you've lost all sense of direction.

teacher who wastes my tuesdays and thursdays from 5-6: which end of the class should i start on today?

kid who makes my blood boil to levels that shouldn't be medically possible every tuesday and thursday from 5-6: i think you should start here. because you started on that end of the room last time and i hate to read last.

it's not necessarily the dialogue that irks me as much as it is the sound of both their voices combined.

i'm anxiously waiting for this day.

my head has hit the desk on numerous occasions just to keep my mouth shut.
i've accidentally said things such as: this class fucking hurts

out loud in class.

it's a matter of time until mr. kennesaw asks me to never come back.

on a brighter note: i'm published (again?).

it's nothing big. it was published in my school's literary magazine.
it's a far leap from people banging on my door and bombarding my e-mail with things other than get rich quick scams, porn, and weight-loss miracles...or is it?

so, yeah. my sister flies in tonight. the red-team is on her way. tonight will be a win.

take care, america.

until next time
-nick

can i have your attention, please?

2009-01-29T13:16:00.004-05:00

i know it's been a minute.

actually, it's been more than a minute but i've been busy.
the word "busy" equates to 6 classes, the website (which i'm more or less slacking on), life, unstable situations, and a few days of work every week.

i guess it's a miracle i'm alive.
or not. i guess i'm fucking human and i'm young and i'll have to deal with it.

so...i deal.

there really isn't much on the topic of conversation other than the fact i'm in the library.
you're supposed to be quiet in the library.

and in church.

but not in confessional.
belt your woes, but in a respectable manner, please.

i'm learning the ways of being speaking up lately.
not just because i'm trying to revolt. but because at times, it's best to speak up.

this:

is the way people keep looking at me.
apparently, you're not supposed to have a sense of humor in the library.

summer heights high
is what is making me laugh right now.

blame this bitch.

she's the party responsible.

watch at your leisure.
it will be a good decision.

in the last month or two, i've become that person that broke out of his shell (in some ways or less). this isn't a tale about figuring out who i am or being comfortable in my own skin.

i've owned that shit for far too long.
what i'm getting at is that i've been the person who would just accept things, at times, for what they were. especially personal situation.

whether they be relationships, friendships, common situations in every day banter...etc.

skip to the two minute mark, anything before that is not all that relevant.

"there's a cello in your house now."

that's how i feel about some situations. i feel like making my mark.
or at least letting someone know that i was there.

don't get me wrong. i'm not going to vandalize the home to any person that pisses me off.
i'm just more vocal about things now.

not really sure what has brought it about, but what i've realized is that sitting around and just letting things happen, at times, isn't the best situation to be in.

i'm not saying that you should turn into that guy who tries to control everything.
i mean, you can't take the job of creator.

someone already died for that job position.

that wasn't meant to be blasphemous, unless you wanted it to be.

i'm not suggesting that you try and control every fucking situation.
because that will only make you lose your marbles.

i guess that i'm just saying that speaking up every now and then isn't really that bad.
you'll help people, hurt people, inform people...etc.

just be sure to speak up every now and then.
because you'd be surprised in how much it helps.

true that.
i know this was vague.
but, i have to pee something horrible and my class starts in 15.

until next time
-nick

line of bark

2008-12-11T20:43:00.008-05:00

the semester is over.

that means that the blog can be directed to: free game.
i could start a new blog and leave this related to music material.
i could redesign this one to be more about what's going on in my day-to-day plus music.

but, i don't really care because if anyone is reading this...
they are are infatuated with me...not music.

stroke my ego. yeah, one more time.

in the recent events the last few days, the end of the semester has left me with free time.
not too much. i actually have a busy schedule until the next semester starts.

but, i still find myself fixated on school.

i'm currently hounding my school account online and this is what i've come up with

that's right, bitches. that's 3 letter a's.

this isn't seasame street.

and i'm hoping that one more will be an "a".

i can't be unrealistic and expect all of them to be the same...just most of them.

i like to celebrate when i do well for myself. usually, that consists of wine. or vodka.
and don't take me wrong, i've done that already... twice (?).

but, i want to really congratulate myself for not falling over the ledge this semester.

this is the ledge i speak of.

except mine is a lot higher and usually deals with my mental stability.

see: mood elevators

it's not that extreme.
but, yeah.

so, i feel like i deserve something.
i want to do something for myself.

i guess you could say i am doing that in one way or another.

on to more interesting topics: i was mangled last night. i placed second in drunken scrabble. and i threw a trash bag at one of my best friends. well, "threw" is an understatement. "hurled" is more like it.

all in all, it was a fucking win.

i'm throwing vanity away for a minute and will tell you that i've been lazy all day.
and that all my sin rests in my dirty hair.

you can pinpoint two distinctive red marks on my face if you look closely.
for some reason, the camera is not doing it justice.

one red mark: on my actual lip
one red mark: above my lip, right under my nostril

it's nothing dramatic.
it's nothing that should be sent in to most shocking: when animals attack.

but, it was close enough.

this is the beast that mangled me:

okay, she's not a beast.
but the flash in her eyes make her look possessed and that's good enough for dramatic effect.

her name is: sadie anne.

she's one of my best friend's dogs.
she likes to "talk" to humans.

in reality, she sounds like a harley davidson at a red light, but when you get close enough, she will growl and rumble until you start to make noises back at her.

then, she barks. but, it's all in good fun.

if you step in her "line of bark", then you end up with marks to prove that you've talked to sadie.

what a conversationalist.

tomorrow i have to go in to work. something i've been avoiding recently in the light of all my scholastic endeavors. it's time to man up and make some money.

but, i'm too lazy right now and don't even want to wash my work clothes.

until next time
-nick

i may or may not have spoken too soon

2008-11-22T23:32:00.008-05:00

it seems like my last few blogs are interconnected.
maybe. it could be true.

i'm okay with that.
it's true.

i think it's his fault.
more than likely.

i never blame myself for things i should not do.
it's usually the fault of others.

there could be ______ (fill in the blank) amount of songs from butch walker that i could substitute for this video that i'm about to post, but that would be melodramatic and stupid and be a means of emotion...i'm not about emotion.

bump that.

emotion is for the strong.
the weak.
the normal.
the...

human.

i'm not human,
i don't try to be.

i don't lie to myself.
i don't sit in confession after i do/don't.

this music makes me think.
this music makes me dwell.
this music makes me live.

i'm thankful for that.

insert picture of turkey ____here____.

okay. the night started off innocent.

i swear.

after a few sessions of something i like to call: life

things changed a bit.
i relied on the only thing i see stable.

i relied on butch walker.

listen to the song. i know it's long. if you're impatient, when he starts to just play instruments and becomes a long solo session...then just fast forward to the 5:00 minute marker to pick up from where you left off...

it's worth it.
he's an amazing musician.

it makes my skin crawl.
really. i start to think about what his music does.
i start to think about what his music stands for.

then, i ultimately get this feeling to break things.
not in a violent way.

mazel tov (so says my best friend).

i want to break things in terms of celebration...

if you have never experienced someone's music that makes you want to change...you should find it. i can't come in handy here. i can't "request" what you should listen to.

it could be mozart...it could be limp bizkit...it could be dr. dre or eminem and a pink floyd or garth brooks.

really...i don't care.

is this the face of someone who cares?

no...

what matters is that you find it. music moves people.
and when i find the person it doesn't move, i want to relocate to another planet.

because not feeling music is unhealthy... (in my eyes)
and being unhealthy sucks.

regardless of how unprofessional that sounds.

what i beg...if you get nothing else from anything i've ever said...ever...
i want you to find what matters.

i want you to listen to a song. and i want it to move you.
because without the music...i would be here tonight...

alone.

i may or may not be out of wine (the big kid's bottle 1.5 liters).

and without the music...i might be depressed. but, i'm not.
i'm here. i'm ready for tomorrow.

my body is clean, but my hair hasn't been washed in six days and 21 hours...and i'm not ashamed to say that (well, maybe a little).

this might make more sense for (me) you in the morning.

me. this might make more sense to me.

long live robert mondavi

(june 18, 1913–may 16, 2008)

until next time
-nick

define "love"

2008-11-21T19:56:00.007-05:00

in the last blog, i dealt with subject matter on what happens when you lose your love for a song. mainly, it dealt with losing your love for a song because of a certain memory associated with it.

it's possible.

yes,it does happen.
that's the best way i could simulate the nodding of a head to support my claim.

anyway, in my last blog, a reader proposed the question:

to answer that question, i think i have to think of a few different ideas before i can really answer it. i rarely answer what i'm asked. it's not out of disrespect. it's not because i like to revolt. it's because my brain usually scatters in more directions when proposed with something interesting and that harbors possibility for more than one response.

i'll take this step-by-step.

(if you don't remember the association with the phrase "step-by-step" that i make with this picture, then you should disregard it completely. and you should be ashamed that you never watched t.g.i.f. on friday nights as a child)

1. you can love songs in different ways.

for instance, i love this song:

and it was used in this commercial:

our reader asks: "what happens when you hear a song you used to love used in an advertisement? what does that do to you? to the song?"

well, reader: what happened to me was that i was reminded of my youth. i remembered the muppets and everything they stand for. what does that do for the song? well, i think it brings it back to life a bit. it's not everyday you turn on the television and see your youth in a commercial. in this instance, i don't associate an advertisement as being a bad thing to my love for the song or for the song itself. maybe because it's a timeless song. maybe because it's a song that's meant to be fun.

but, i think this happened because i don't love the song like i love other songs.

2. what about when you really love a song and it gets played out by an advertisement?

thank god and everything decent and holy that i have not been subjected to this yet.

in a non-pretentious way, i don't think that a lot of the music i listen to would ever be mainstream enough to make it on to an advertisement that would never go away. i mean, i'm not saying that independent musicians have never been played on popular media or culture.

for instance:

the cw's show gossip girl, featured a song by motioncity soundtrack, a band that isn't quite mainstream enough to hear on the radio or see on mtv.

i love this band. do i love the fact that their song is featured on that show?

not really.

but do i think it's a great break? sure. they are really talented and they need to be heard. the only thing that makes my skin cringe is the idea of tweenie girls running around making claims that they "so discovered motioncity soundtrack." that's what bothers me.

but, if a song such as this one... (butch walker's "atlanta")
a song that moves me. a song that has made me tear up a bit (i don't regret admitting that)...

well, if a song such as that one ever made it to an advertisement and i had to watch it be butchered by anything that does not do it justice such as soap, shampoo, triscuits, banks, eye-candy for teens to get off to, sodas, ointments, or anything of that nature...then i might take out the west wing of the corporate building that made that possible.

don't alert the authorities.

i just feel strongly about that man's music.

so, to answer the question, i think that it totally depends on the context. it depends on the song. it depends on the love for the song. it depends on whether or not the advertisement is tasteful and what comes along with it. do i ever want a song i love to be a part of an advertisement?

not for me.

but, if it helped the artist, then totally.

judgment. i think they should use good judgment, though.

in the end, it all comes down to the definition of love.
yeah, you can love a song...but then again, you can really really really love a song.

until next time
-nick

baby, it's cold outside. no, really, it's cold.

2008-11-13T18:07:00.006-05:00

it's that time of the year.

the time where the weather starts to change.
where the moods start to get a little more hectic.
where family starts flying or driving in from weird corners of the country

all so that everyone can have that unified feeling that christmas is right around the corner.

we've all had that song or movie or place that reminds us of someone/something.
what happens when that particular thing is one of your favorites?

i'll tell you what happens.
you're prone to losing it.

but how?

you might ask...

this is how:

when you have a certain memory, movie, song, significant area...etc
associated with something/someone you can easily lose your love for that memorable thing.

it's not intentional by any means.
for example, i used to love broccoli cheddar soup up until one year (in fact, on christmas) i had a temperature of about 103 or so. all i ate was soup...

needless to say, all that came up was soup.

to this day, i can't look at broccoli cheddar soup without cringing a little.

same goes for a favorite (anything). in this case, i'll expose a case of mixed media.
my favorite christmas song is also in my favorite christmas movie.

"baby, it's cold outside"

the ella fitzgerald version.

and, my favorite christmas movie:

so...now, you might get where i'm going with this.

that movie harbors that song.
for roughly two years...i haven't been able to watch that movie or hear that song without thinking of a certain someone. that form of media was tainted for me.

every time my ipod played that song at random i immediately had to switch tracks.
usually to something loud

see: the used

in order to get the thoughts out of my head.
it was never an act of malice. never.

sometimes, you have to forget people and times in order to keep your sanity.
it happens to the best of us...and sometimes, the best of us only know one way to move on.

okay, i'm not going to get melodramatic. i just wanted to say that now, i can actually listen to my favorite song again. i can actually watch my favorite christmas movie again. and i don't care if my memory trails to the past.

without further delay, here is my exposure:

i just wanted to say: thank you for letting me watch my favorite movie and hear my favorite song again... you know who you are.

until next time
-nick

take that to the chip-shop, why don't you?

2008-11-07T16:28:00.005-05:00

so. it's been awhile since my last update.
i know. i'm sorry. but, if it means anything, i've been really busy.

really.

i hide behind my notes.

11/06/08
that's me. and that's my notebook.
and that means that i had research for an interview in that notebook.

yesterday, i had an interview with shawn harris from a band called the matches.
this was the first time that i got all my research done in a quick manner. it usually takes me a few well planned days to get everything i need to feel comfortable with my material.

not trying to sound conceited at all,

but i was not that invested into this interview as i had been in my prior ones.
let me explain:

with my two prior interviews, i was a die-hard fan before i interviewed them.
with this one, i found them in order to have an interview to post. which isn't bad, because i appreciated their music and found myself liking it more after i conducted the interview.

that. is a good thing.

the interview was very chilled. it was very comfortable, and i think that it went fairly well because i was not so critical about the questions i was proposing as i had been with prior interviews.

this is a video that the lead singer directed. it got a lot of praise from rollingstone, alternative press, and spin.

what i found out in my research is that he does a lot of video arts within his graphics company, which is called oxen.

which is pretty admirable, if you ask me.
go ahead...ask me.

this is their latest video.
it's really good. not to mention that their music is really fun.

and, if you're like me, and were not 100% sure what the hell a "chip-shop" is, it's a place to go get french fries when you're drunk. mcdonald's apparently kills that for us here in the states, but in places like london, they have them placed around the town. just a big, steamy, greasy, pile of fries...

until next time
-nick

i don't know why you wouldn't

2008-10-02T23:25:00.010-04:00

i'm starting to realize how much i have to do. i'm also starting to realize the efficiency i could obtain by having a personal assistant.

really. i'll do most anything to sway you in the right decision of working for hugs, kisses, and an occasional movie night. i'll even cook.

i don't cook. i'll have to persuade you with my devilish good looks, flawless use of rhetoric, and perky attitude.

i don't have a perky attitude right now. i can't lie.

i'm good at being blunt and to the point.

i need someone to transcribe this article. i'm not being lazy. i'm being cautious. i know that when i sit down to finish, i won't stop. i'll wrap myself in a few extra hours of work (that needs to be done).

life comes at you fast. i should be doing homework. i should be trying to keep the "hope" scholarship. instead, i'm drowning in fun music.

everybody else seems to do that to me.
i'm avoiding my responsibilities.

those are for grown ups.
who wants to be a grown up anyway?

so, instead, i'm sitting here making odd connections and trying to get some things done for the website.

it's hard trying to juggle 3days of work, full-time school, and material for the site.

trust.

as i was browsing some music looking for bands that i think would make good additions to the site, i found out that two people from this band i'm recently interested in, actually sat in during the kevin devine interview at one point or another.

that band is called, manchester orchestra.

so, when i figured that out, i did some research.
turns out, they're signed to an indie label called favorite gentlemen.

they focus on musicians in this area.
for instance: atlanta, roswell, athens, nashville...etc.

this is comforting because a lot of the bands on the label have a distinct and interesting sound to them. this is also comforting because they literally play shows in this area at least twice a month. it will be good material for the site and i won't have to stress out about traveling arrangements.

breathe. breathe. someone boost the economy. breathe.

so, getting side-tracked isn't always that bad.
i'm off to study some more. i have some work to get done.

remember. i'm still taking applications for personal assistant.

current upgrade in payment: bag of half eaten skittles.

act now.

until next time
-nick

everybody else is doing it

2008-10-02T14:44:00.007-04:00

how about a taste of something new?

fresh is good. so, says the prince.

the west coast bled a little last night, i'm sure. she was up for too many hours doing something she hates, all for the sake of creating something she loves.

it's a bittersweet relationship we have with this child of ours.

but, it's all in good nature. because we're doing something we love. we're doing something that people are starting to appreciate. i might be saying that to boost our egos. i might be saying that to evoke jealousy.

see: that green little monster inside of you

a.k.a. the jealousy monster

i might just be saying it because it's true. it's good to know that we're helping people out that need all the help they can get in today's world of music.

in the words of the infamous lucas:

"damn the man, save the empire."

if you made your way to the site late last night, you would have noticed this:

go ahead, click it.

here, you will be subjected to our latest update. while i was here, holding down the east coast, my partner in crime was hitting up every opportunity she could by having multiple interviews over on the west.

it did her good. it did me good. it did our baby-boy/girl (the sex of the kid is still up in the air) good.

the band of the hour: everybody else

a very fun, entertaining, smart, witty, and politically conscious trio.
but, you didn't hear it from me.

in case you have a few dollars to spare, you can buy their album in two different versions on itunes. this band had a great idea. they realized how much everyone loves acoustic music, so they have an acoustic version available as well as their studio album.

both for very cheap.
$5.99 a pop.

basically, two discs for the price of one.

so, check out the article that's posted and give these guys a listen.
you won't be disappointed.

until next time
-nick

the day music died (a little)

2008-09-25T21:35:00.009-04:00

this blog is not for the faint at heart. what you are about to experience here is not a recreation. this image may be considered graphic in nature.

this is the definition of grief:

that's my first born. his name is ichabod.
ichabod the ipod, if you will, and you do.

he was rounding his fifth year of life until tragically, his spin wheel stopped spinning. he's been around the block. he's definitely a rough-neck, having traveled more than the average american. taking road trips for 40 hours plus, and making sure that i never missed a tune. well, sometimes, he would be temperamental, locking up and playing whatever songs he wished to play, rather than what i told him to play.

but, like any child, they will revolt every now and again.
and, just like most children, they give their parents a good scare every now and again.

ichabod was in a mini-coma for roughly a week and a half.
music died (a little) for that week and a half. luckily, in the midst of starting this blog, i revived him. don't ask me how. but, that picture above was when he was comatose.

i felt the sense of victory.

you could say that i was miracle doctor.

regardless, he's alive and kicking, and just took me on a two-hour trip with no problems whatsoever. so, what i'm getting at with all of this is what would you do if you lost music?

to people (like me), who count on it to get them through the day, to get them through a rough patch, to get them through a substantial amount of homework...what would you do if you were subjected to solely listening to the fm radio in your car?

even worse, what would you do if you had to rely on the mtv generation to give you your daily dose? after all, video killed the radio star.

maybe i'm spoiled. maybe i need to burn 47 cds and have them at my disposal when i'm driving around making soundtracks to traffic on i-75.

but, regardless, being without music when i needed it, drove me a little more crazy than i would have liked.

maybe what i need is for someone to make me the best mixtape that i could ever have.

that's butch walker. he's a musical genius. really.
he's from the cartersville area, and used to live in atlanta, so when he comes back to the city, his shows are always something to catch. he understands the power of music. he understands lyricism and vocals.

nonetheless, he understands.

take the time to share. share something with someone.
give them a mixtape. give them a musical shout-out.

or, better yet... remind someone of that song that completes you.

we have a new section up on audioholic media.
it's geared towards this idea of sharing the songs that mean the most to you.

go ahead, click it. i won't tell.

it's like a confessional booth you don't have to feel guilty about...

unless... anyway. you get my drift.

so, here is my moment of truth. here is my mini-confessional.
forgive me father, for i have sinned:

this clip is from empire records. one of my favorite all-time movies. one that you should be acquainted with if you're not already.

well, this song is by the flying lizards. the song was before my time, but when it was released in that movie (which should have been before my time), i remember it vividly.

it was 1995. i was...young. nine....i was nine.
i watched that movie for the first time at a family friend's house. we all sat in the living room while one of the older kids was watching this movie.

music can be associated with any memory and when i make my bi-annual cross country trip to las vegas, this song always seems appropriate when crossing the nevada border.

so, enjoy...and send your confessions our way.

until next time
-nick

i don't advise a back bend that could sever your spinal column. instead, i recommend this:

2008-09-16T13:48:00.010-04:00

do you have those friends? you know, the ones that you play musical exchange with...

well, i have that friend. and that's what we do. we keep each other sane (at times) and we keep each other well educated with fine tunes (that keep us sane...at times).

there's a fine line between sanity when it comes to artistic people.

i'm not pointing fingers. i'm just saying.

anyway. musically speaking, i can remember certain artists that i've recommended to certain people. i can remember that there are certain artists that people have recommended to me. and i can also tell you that the basis of some friendships can spark from a common interest in something to do with music.

it's what brings the world together.

when those kind of bonds are formed, you can always remember what certain song they introduced you to. if a good friend introduces you to something, they usually take a special "nerd" moment to put something together for you. they'll take their time. they might burn you 10-15 cds of perfect songs.

now, with the internet being at our fingertips, video streaming seems to be a very quick fix if you want to introduce someone to something. and even that, at times, can take a while to find that perfect song that will make your friend sold on that certain artist you want them to be acquainted with.

this. was my moment of being sold on something.
if you don't watch any other video that i post on this blog from beginning to (never)ending,

then at least take the time to watch this one.

that's tony lucca on the left.
on the right, is ernie halter.

both are talented musicians. very. very. very. talented.

i was lucky enough to be a part of this interview.

if you want to check it out, click that picture.

the world works in mysterious ways.
anyway, the point i was trying to make is that certain songs are attached to certain memories, and certain memories are attached to certain songs. everyone has one.

and sometimes, those certain songs can calm you down.

they can ward off that creepy feeling that you get at times. that ominous one. the one that's comparable to someone looking over your shoulder when no one is behind you.

or just any creepy feeling in general.

sometimes, music calms my crazy. it keeps me at an 8 out of 10 on my mental health scale.

so, watch that tony lucca & ernie halter video. remember your certain song.
and take the time to listen to it today...i know i did.

until next time
-nick

a few more important points that your mother never taught you

2008-09-10T17:53:00.025-04:00

go, ahead. click it. i won't tell.

so, it's been about a week since the last update and there is totally a reason for that. i've been really busy with writing, in general, but i'm back.

in case you're just tuning in (you should really catch up) i had an interview with kevin devine about two weeks ago and just finished another interview with person l last week.

the quality isn't great, but it's doable. if anyone wants to play intern, they can come tape the shows i attend and then convert them and post them to the web.

i'll pay you in full.
my current currency is: nickels, dimes...

and resse's peanut butter cups.

it's extremely promising, i swear.

regardless, check out their website and listen to the music. i'm sure you'll enjoy. if not...get over it. that just means there is more to come.

if you've clicked the banner at the top of this posting it should have directed you: here.
"here" is comparable to: kittens, love, unicorns...

and even heaven.

it's pretty much a musical mecca.

so, if you've been visiting regularly, you'll notice that we've added a few changes.

1.

our handy dandy updates section, that you can find in the upper right part of the site.

2.

our new lead story, which features the interview i had two weeks ago with kevin devine.
if you're lazy, just click those two images. i'll guide your travels.

you should check out the site and redirect all your praise: here.
she works really hard to keep our child up and running, playing with other kids, and having a well balanced diet

and makes sure that my articles don't look like a third grader wrote them.

she is the ultimate mom.

plus, she made us these.

we have a limited number.
and by "limited," i mean: 4.

for right now.

the transcribing of the interview, like i said earlier, was tedious and a mildly painful experience.
but, it was an experience, nonetheless.

so, when i start transcribing the next one, i'll at least know what i'm getting myself into.

5 september 2006

was when i had the last interview. this is what you should do to prepare and this is how it went down:

1. you should always know where your rendezvous point is at

for example, know where the venue is. using gps can only get you so far. james bond would know where he was, why should someone expect anything less from you?

side note: if the person you are interviewing texts you the wrong address to a personal meeting, you are not held responsible. the mission on your end is still considered accomplished, they're the one who compromised the mission. the mature thing to do is to call them out on their mistake publicly.

2. carry all your stuff with you at all times

bags are not that expensive and you can put all of your other essentials in there: camera, pens, notebook, a wide variety of endangered species, recorder, cell phone...what have you.

when leaving the venue and deciding it might be a good idea to walk through crack-town u.s.a.

you may be inclined to putting valuables in your pockets. if a thug took my camera and recorder, i would have put up a fight...to the death.

3. know what your target (interviewee) looks like

this is not considered stalking, unless you do it incognito. put it this way, if the other party is not involved and a lens is, then you might be stalking.

had i slacked in this department, i could have easily missed him when i pulled into the venue. he was just chilling outside the building. when i approached him and told him who i was, we got started on the interview. had i not known what he looked like, i could have passed him by and getting a hold of him could have been really hard because of: point #4.

4. have your contact information at your fingertips

sometimes, mistakes happen. i'm not saying that someone was not doing their job. i'm saying that mistakes happen, and sometimes, you are mistakenly not put on the guest list.

so, what you do is: put the numbers of all tour managers and anyone who aided you in getting the interview, into your cellular device.

and make sure it's charged. the door man will never know who you are, and to redeem your dignity, you may or may not have to make a few calls to be slipped through security...i'm just saying, it's better than a cover-charge.

end of review.

i won't go into points from the previous blog. just know that when you ask questions, that they should be relevant. "what's your favorite food?" and "what's your favorite color?" should be left for sessions of girl talk.

so, hope that you check out the interview and enjoy the material. it wasn't easy work.
i'll be back with more soon. i'm driving across the country tomorrow, so i'll be back by sunday. and will post some more material as soon as i can. i know you're waiting, you're already addicted.

until next time
-nick

never panic. never.

2008-09-03T23:08:00.009-04:00

if you were wondering, the interview on friday went exceptionally well.

i'm not one to brag. sure, my social awkwardness chimed in every now and again, but it never really stops, so i didn't let it hold me down.

interviews are usually a little more conventional than the one that was conducted last week.
don't take me wrong, i'm by no means implying that it wasn't professional.

it was.
it was just different.

instead of a one-on-one type of interview, this one was done downstairs at the venue on a huge couch with a number of people sitting in and being a part of it.

this didn't really hurt. it helped. it relaxed.
it broke tension and gave it a very laid back atmosphere that was needed.

as long as i stayed on track with the questions i had formulated, then i couldn't really go wrong.
or could i?

in the time of an emergency during an interview, never panic.

let me preface by saying that the word emergency should be used loosely.
no one bled. limbs were in tact. no immediate need for bayer aspirin.

hearts were pumping just fine.

things that might make an interview go awry:

1. forgetting your handy-dandy notebook

this did not happen, and i don't think it ever will.
it's like my mother always said: "would you go to war without your gun?"

2. getting into the interview process and realizing that some of your questions may be irrelevant because people (the interviewee) tend to ramble and sort of answer questions that you haven't had a chance to ask, leaving you with a little less material that you went into the game with.

which is why i come prepared. notes, upon notes of relevant information. you need backup for your backup at times.

3. vodka tonics

which is why you stay away from the bar during the shows. it can only lead you into a bumbling mess, making you feel like you've known the artist for your whole life. inclining you to be less professional and pour your deepest secrets and possibly shed a few tears.

it's not cute to be a groupie.

this will never happen to me. ever.

4. batteries in your recorder going dead

travel with spare voltage. aaa batteries are less expensive than lifelong regret.

5. not hitting "record" on your recorder

in case you were wondering, that is the look of despair.
yes. for the first question and a half, i hit "play" instead of hitting "record."

i bounced back and no one noticed. it was sly. sometimes, i'm stealthy and fresh.

do i know the answer to the question i missed? yes.
but, do i want to post it? no.

there is something about not having the direct quote that irks me.
so, i e-mailed the artist and am awaiting his response to the question in his own words.

i don't want him to read the interview when it's posted and be like: wow, someone slipped me a roofie. i don't remember saying that.

with all that aside, i think that the outcome is looking up. i started transcribing the interview a few nights ago. but, with five classes and a mediocre work schedule, it's a little more tedious than one would think.

if i could have any super-power, i don't think i would want superhuman strength.

i wouldn't want to scale buildings, or fly, or set things on fire with the glare of my eyes...
i would want something simple.

i would want the power to hit "play" and "rewind" on my recorder without having to use my hands.

it sounds completely lazy, but it's such a time consuming act when having to type down every word that you hear. not to mention the fact that it's gut wrenching to hear yourself on tape.

it makes you reevaluate your close friends.

why would someone let you sound like that?

it is also a very tedious task because of the fact that people are not aware of how they really speak. people tend to ramble at times. they don't answer questions completely. they make things up and random and try to make sense of what you're asking them by simply avoiding the question and making up their own.

it's all in good nature.

it's just that when you're transcribing, you need the text to read somewhat smooth.
it needs to be fluid, in a sense. it needs to be what they said, and it still needs to make sense when reading.

adding [informational brackets] that fill in the gaps of what someone meant to say, opposed to what they really said.

so. in case you missed the show...

it's like you were there all along.

"well, atlas had those shoulders..." -kevin devine

until next time
-nick

a little background on kevin devine

2008-08-26T19:50:00.008-04:00

i mentioned in my last post that i have an interview coming up this friday at the vinyl with singer/songwriter, kevin devine.

friday is nearing. friday is close.

i want to take the time to give you some information about who this artist is, and also on how i got a hold of him for the interview (which was freakishly easy).

this is him. he's not as depressing as he looks, i swear.
if you don't believe me, just listen to him.

brooklyn, new york is where you can find kevin devine, for the most part.
that doesn't mean that he'll curse you out and make your eye black.

that's what we like to call a stereotype.

in fact, he seems harmless.
unless he's killing you softly in a song lyric.

two of his major influences are bob dylan and elliott smith
and in songs like "go haunt someone else," he proves that with the style he is so influenced by, stating that he loves lyricists such as these two because they have a way about "killing you in a lyric [and having] it sound so inviting."

the beauty in this artist resides in his lyrics. his words can touch you more than his voice, which is a rarity now a days. if you enjoy soft folk-like tunes, then i'm sure that you could sit back and enjoy many of his albums.

he's got a few notches under his belt in that field. he's got around six full-length albums as of now and is constantly recording new demos that you can find on his myspace page.

as well as having a pleasant voice with smart lyrics, a lot of his songs could be the theme songs to classes such as: political science and sociology.

i'm not saying that you'll see him gracing news or hanging out with politicians.
i'm just saying that he's aware in a subtle and tactful manner.

so. now that you have a little bit of background on him, i want to fill you in on what i've been doing to prepare for this interview.

1. getting myself in 'the zone.'

2. doing a ridiculous amount of research via the web and rumaging through web-sites with background information on him, in order to make sure the content i have is accurate. because, face it, any idiot can post whatever they want on the web.

see: perez hilton

3. filtering through prior interviews that he's done for other people and making sure i wouldn't be asking him questions that he's been asked 345 times before.

3.5 vodka + redbull

4. getting all of my information into a tangible train of thought that resembles eloquence, rather than having scattered bullets and headpoints that resemble a hot mess.

5. finding questions within my questions. yes. that does happen. and those tend to be the best ones.

how i got the interview:

the internet (sorry, i just could not help it)

makes this process so easy at times.

you don't even have to go that far in order to get a hold of the people that you need in order to get things like this done. here is all the contact information that i needed, and it was posted right on his myspace page for my convenience.

i'm sure that having something tangible for his management team to look at helped, too.

see: audioholic media

since we have our own domain name, we have an editor's email address. it looks more professional than e-mailing a management team from, let's say:

SeXxXyKAT69@desperateANDsingle.com

you just have to know how to talk to the people who you want to listen. going at this management team with an uppity manner might work. but, it might not.

by no means am i implying that you take a stab at an interview proposal after you've just drunk dialed 12 contacts in your phonebook. that's not classy...

or cute, that's not cute.

if "professionally casual" is an understanding term, then that's the kind of manner you want to contact these people in.

they want to know that you could do an interview that is respectable, yet entertaining.
they don't want cardboard. no one wants cardboard.

except for this guy. this guy might want cardboard.

well, keep checking in for updates and stop browsing internet porn.
it's bad for your hard-drive.

"then i'm sad to say we're lost and i'm embarrassed for us all."-kevin devine

until next time
-nick

i'm here to twinge your palate

2008-08-21T20:02:00.003-04:00

i guess a good introduction to this blog would be to introduce myself.

my name is nick chaivarlis.

the purpose of this blog is to help inform the general public about something that they hear all the time, but could possibly dismiss because they have to actually try to get a dose of it on a daily basis. i'm talking about: good music.

i'm not talking about the creature that the rolling stone has evolved into. if you're more interested in your favorite pop star's cocaine addiction and where they tramp down the boulevards at night, then you may or may not be at the wrong place.

don't take me wrong, i'm not knocking talent, whatsoever.

i'm not saying that jessica simpson does not have a set of lungs.

what i'm saying is: that i don't care what football player she's scoring touch-downs with.

i'm saying that the girls that you know so well...the ones from the hills.

well, they should never be on the cover of a magazine that basically made music journalism what it is today.

i'm utilizing this blog as a tool. i'm doing more than throwing a few artists that you should probably give a listen to around. i'm trying to let people know that there is, in fact, more out there than the media covers. there is a lot more. good more.

what i plan to give you here is a mix of information of the processes i'm taking in creating this project, as well as give you information leading into my hobby, which is: music journalism.

i'm here to let you know that anyone can do what they put their mind to.
i actually have an active web-site geared towards non-main-stream artists.
this site was nothing a few months ago, but with the help of my better half, it's become a reality. we took our idea and she turned it into gold.

audioholic media
is where you might find gold.

here in the next few weeks i have two interviews in the atlanta area with two totally different genres of musical talent. mainly, because music is not limited to one person's taste.

i'm here to maybe help you find what gives your palate a twinge.
i'm here to twinge your palate.

kevin devine is one artist that i'll be reviewing and giving you some insight into the interview process i'll be undergoing with him. the show is on friday. august 29th. at the vinyl.

you should try and make it. he's an opening act, so getting there early would be a good idea.

another band that i just booked an interview with is person l.

i'll post about these artists and many more in future blogs to give you a wide variety of different tunes.
i hope that this can help widen someone's musical taste and also fill people in on how beginner's begin.

i. am. a. beginner.

until next time
-nick