I am the Bread Whisperer.

I have a special gift that no other man, woman, or beast can lay claim to. I have the ability to feel bread. I can feel its desires and speak with it, in the language of breads, and I can figure out what the bread wants for itself. All bread speaks in one language, the language of breads. It is a common misconseption that a bread speaks the language of the country its recipe originated in. That is your first clue that you are dealing with a fake bread whisperer. The nightingale's song is the same the world over, (except in countries where the nightingale has been hunted to extinction) as is the language of breads. A tortilla speaks as a ciabatta speaks as a matzah speaks. All breads share a common language, and I have learned that language.

Speaking with breads is not the full extent of what a bread whisperer does. One must understand breads in order to fully unlock the potential of the bread. Some breads are perfectly pleased being served before meals, as appetizers. Crackers and buttered rolls are numbered in this group. Appetizer breads tend to be on the unintelligent side of the bread species, but they are loyal and have an unflinching desire to whet the appetite of diners the world around. There are some nefarious breads that wish to not be eaten at all. These breads will mold on the shelf after only a few days. These breads are the bad seeds of all breads, one cannot pinpoint a particular breed of bread that wishes to not be eaten. If your bread molds on the shelf quickly, do not try to salvage the innards of the bread from mold, for your bread is a dark, suicidal bread that will bring you nightmares and unhealth.

Bread whispering appears easy, but so does bungee jumping. In reality, there is a subtlety to the art that few can master. I like to grab a piece of bread and listen to it, smell it, caress it, and visualize its birth in my mind. That particular slice being cut from the whole loaf, developing its own identity and consciousness. When I have understood the bread to this degree, I ask it, in the language of breads, what it would like to used for. Sometimes it is immediate; "peanut butterrrrr..." I will hear with glee, sometimes followed by "open facedddd..." and sometimes "with jelly and potato chipsss..." Each slice of bread has its own ideal use, so it is important to always find slices that share a common side, because usually these slices have a similar desire for their usage. It is bad mojo to take a slice from the front and back of a loaf, as the slices may have totally different ideas about what they want, one slice may want to be a pickle and saurkraut sandwich while the other slice wants to be a mayonnaise and bologna sandwich. This can lead to dark times for your well-being and intestinal tract.

If you would like my services as a bread whisper, they are not based on proximity to a particular bread. I have refined my abilites to the degree that I can commune with breads remotely; I don't need to see the bread to tell you what it desires. Simply call or email me and I can tell you what kind of sandwich to make, or what kind of salsa to put on your quesadilla. It is a smart choice, because as my grandpappy used to say: "Piss off the bread, you'll soon be dead."

Come on grampa, let's play catch!

I don't usually post stuff from other "news" sources, but ESPN.com published an article about a preseason NFL game between the Green Bay Packers and the Cincinnati Bengals that reflected a little bit of real life. The article focuses on the outstanding performance of Bengals' quarterback Carson Palmer while painting a darker, sadder picture for good ol' Brett Favre of Green Bay:

"Last season, Favre threw five interceptions -- his career high in the regular season -- and had the ball snatched from his hand by a fan who ran onto the field in the closing minutes of a 21-14 loss in Cincinnati.

This time, he had the ball fly out of his hand during a pass attempt on the opening series, a fumble that Dexter Jackson returned 29 yards for a touchdown. He was intercepted on the next series, and tripped and fell while dropping to pass in the second quarter.

Favre played into the third quarter, going 12-of-25 for 162 yards with three sacks and a touchdown for the Packers (1-2)."

It's like when you were a kid and your dad tries out your skateboard so he can prove that "he's still got the touch" and he ends up falling off the curb and seriously injuring his back. The corkscrew of old age is slowly twisting into pop's subconscious, but sad old Brett Farve is having a cold spike nailed into his.

Ideology Pie

I recently had a falling out with one of my most favorable ideologies lately. Until recently I have been a strong proponent of the view that the entirety of human civilization can be explained by describing it a large informational system, and the quickest way to improve our status as beings in the universe is to naturally improve our bodies' ability to process and store information. The conclusion of the ideology is that humans our most remarkable creations, computers, must merge and create a new post-human species that has capabilites that far exceed that of homo sapiens. My falling out occured when I read an article in Discover magazine regarding just this line of thinking and how simplifying the whole concept really is. To describe the world with the over-arching definition of an "informational system" is the same as describing the world as being "intelligently designed." It doesn't get at the essence or truth behind anything, it is just a phrase that is easily adaptable to vague and argumentative mind-masturbation that makes intellecutals in America feel very accomplished for engaging in. I was numbered among these intellectuals until very recently. I realized that my ideologies, past and present, tended to constrain my thinking even though I thought I was being progressive. Any time I assumed that someone else was ignorant of the truth, I was really being ignorant of another perspective. Actions that seem absolutely insane and uninformed from my created perspective suddenly seem reasonable when I think about what must be going through the other person's head. As crazy as it sounds, the guy standing in the park probing dog turds for sign of extraterrestrial life isn't being weird on purpose, he's simply interacting with the world in the way that his mindset dictates. He might be insane, but through the lens of insanity dog shit is the gateway to eternal happiness, he simply needs to discover the keys to the spaceship hidden in the digested dinner of a Welsh corgie. My point is, people who are insane are simply reacting to the world as they see it, as are children and people high on drugs. The rest of us, the majority of us, who walk around the world with the burdens of self-actualization and forethough tend to categorize the world so that it makes sense to us.
I am not about to pop you with the announcement that I have become a Zen Bhuddist or anything like that. Zen can be just as constraining to one's mind as the teachings of fanatical sects of Islam or the ramblings of an undernourished cult leader in northern Arkansas. Smart people like to figure shit out, and in the process of trying to figure shit out I have become an extremely cynical, self-centered, and judgemental person. What about the world did this to me? Probably Burger King advertising and the hypnotizing layout of Toys R' Us, but there is a bit of blame that can be attributed to my own choices as to what I occupy my thoughts with. I am on the fast track to hypocrisy and I haven't even been elected to office yet.
Where's the snake oil, you're probably wondering. When is he going to offer his explaination, his "true path?" When is he going to create his new Scientology, when is he going to open the doors of heaven for a small membership fee? No, none of that. I won't be providing answers for any of you dirty apes, I'm going to go drink a beer on the porch and look for something else to occupy my mind with that doesn't involve being an intellectual dickhead all the time.

Grunge?

I appreciate Mandel's comment. It may very well be true that these same thoughts come to us when we listen to this music. That's why I'll keep writing about it; to spur dialogue. Today, I'm tackling a somewhat nebulus genre called Grunge.

“Smells Like Teen Spirit” – Nirvana (1991)
One of the most recognizable riffs of modern music opens Nirvana’s major label debut Nevermind. Drawing on punk and metal influences, Nirvana brought the indie aesthetic to the mainstream unlike any band before. Using the soft/hard dynamic of The Pixies and a riff based on Boston’s “More Than a Feeling”, Cobain combined raw, feedback-filled sound with catchy vocal hooks. Lyrically, the song speaks to disenfranchised youth with the line “Here we are now, entertain us”, a saying Cobain used to use at parties.

“Jeremy” – Pearl Jam (1991)
Another important contributor to the Seattle sound, Pearl Jam offered enigmatic lyrics and thick guitar-heavy production. Formed in the fallout of Mother Love Bone, Pearl Jam recruited San Diego surfer Eddie Vedder to front their project. “Jeremy” features his unmistakable baritone driving an epic arena rocker. The song speaks of failed parenting and a violently imaginative youth. Disparate guitar leads drip from the song, which ends with a melancholy bass solo.

“Them Bones” – Alice in Chains (1992)
One of the best heavy-metal bands of the ‘90s, Alice in Chains was fronted by singer Layne Stanley and guitarist Jerry Cantrell whose voices melded into beautiful harmonies, successfully juxtaposing against their sonic assault. The lead track off their ’92 release Dirt, a self-conscious cry for help from a desperate and dying heroin junkie, is “Them Bones”. Grinding Sabbath-esque riffs are applied to the grunge aesthetic flawlessly.

“Today” – The Smashing Pumpkins (1993)
Although not part of the Seattle movement, the Smashing Pumpkins contributed to the grunge sound with their combination of arena metal and indie rock. Whether his voice enlivens or annoys you, singer/guitarist Billy Corgan has an unforgettable presence, singing in a high nasal register, his lyrics cut through the bassy tones of Siamese Dream. Recorded during a period of great strain for the group, Corgan wrote and tracked virtually the entire album alone in the studio. Arguably one of the finest guitar-rock records of the period, each track is an avalanche of multi-tracked instrumentation. “Today”, the breakthrough single, has an instantly attention-grabbing lead, uplifting and exhilarating, which contrasts effectively with the descending pounding of the chord progression. Written about a day of suicidal impulses, “Today” is a song of longing for salvation.

“Black Hole Sun” – Soundgarden (1994)
Fronted by one of best vocalists of the grunge/alternative movement, Soundgarden produced their metal-ballad crossover hit “Black Hole Sun” in 1994. Equally appropriate to lighter-raising or moshing, singer Chris Cornell desperately cries out against a wall of guitar rock.

“Big Empty” – Stone Temple Pilots (1994)
Often criticized for their similarities to Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, STP will be remembered for successfully bridging alternative music into radio-friendly stadium rock. Their second album, Purple, finds the band churning through thick metal with brilliant memorable melodies standing out on nearly every track. “Big Empty” features a lazy bass groove over which vocalist Scott Weiland croons vulnerably. The transition from verse to chorus is one of the single most powerful moments in the period’s rock music.

“Hunger Strike” – Temple of the Dog (1990)
A one-album project to show tribute to the death of Mother Love Bone’s lead singer Andrew Wood, Temple of the Dog is a sort of grunge supergroup featuring members of both Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. A mournful duet between then-unknown Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell, “Hunger Strike” has a ‘70s hard-rock feel with emotive melodies and simple playing. Listen for Cornell’s impossibly high harmony during the chorus; moving, to say the least, and indicative of his Zeppelin influence.

Into the great wide open

hey there folks, I'm headed out tomorrow morning with my friend Josh to hike the John Muir Trail which runs from Yosemite National Park to Mt. Whitney over 200 miles south. We'll be hiking for about 16 days and re-supplying once along the way. My plan is to journal as close to everyday as possible and publish some/most/all of that on this here blog when I return. I am overall extremely anxious and excited to get started, I've been working a family weekend at camp and have just been antsy as hell to get going because it has been this thing that was going to happen and now it is so close and I just need to get out there and start pounding out some miles to get rid of the anxieties that are undeniably present. I guess on a lot of levels people think it's crazy to just go completely off the grid for two and a half weeks with meager food and a fishing pole to supplement our diet but on the other hand people used to live like that for like 10,000 fucking years and we are just so removed from that now that it seems weird. Anyways, I'm left handed and get a lot of bloody noses and if for some reason I die at the hands of a bear or otherwise please know that my only regret was not out-scholaring Jumago in his field, which as far as I can tell is being not lazy enough to put into well-formulated sentences what we all think when we listen to the same music.

Love.

Alt-Rock?

One of my jobs involves researching rock & roll music with a former professor. Genre catagorization is a tremendously difficult task, but one that scholars of popular culture must unfortunately take part in. The following is my attempt at providing an idea of the Alternative/College-Rock of the 1990s. Grunge, post-Grunge and Agro-Rock have been purposefully left out.

“Been Caught Stealing” – Jane’s Addiction (1990)
Jane’s Addition got their start in the wild ‘80s LA rock scene. With a blend of hard rock and funk, their sound quickly gained them attention from several major labels. Their second studio recording, Ritual de lo Habitual made the Top 20 in 1990 and was certified gold. In 1991 front-man Perry Farrell organized the touring festival Lollapalooza as a ‘90s alternative version of the rock festivals of the 1960s. “Been Caught Stealing” is equal parts Led Zeppelin and James Brown, with a bouncing bass line and piercing vocals. Sounds of door chimes and motorcycles fill out the sound of the city in this boisterous single.

"Run-Around" – Blues Traveler (1994)
The New York based blues rock outfit Blues Traveler was formed by John Popper in 1988. Along with groups like Phish, Blues Traveler represented the ‘90s return to the American rock tradition of extended jamming and soloing. There is hardly a moment on a Blues Traveler record where the center of attention is not Popper, with good reason. A gifted blues singer and lyricist, Popper plays harmonica like Jimi Page plays guitar. This virtuosity is on fine display on “Run-Around” the hit single from their 1994 release Four. Reminiscent in instrumentation to Bob Dylan’s electric phase, the song bounces along with strong acoustic strumming and organ parts.

“Under the Bridge” – Red Hot Chili Peppers (1991)
The Red Hot Chili Peppers first got people’s attention with their blend of punk rock and hard funk and a flamboyant high-energy stage show. Although the band began as a very party-music outfit, complete with addictions and overdoses, their most affecting songs were ballads such as “Under the Bridge” off of their 1991 release Blood Sugar Sex Magik. Reaching #2 on the charts in 1992, “Under the Bridge” is a down tempo lighter-raiser about the place where singer Anthony Kiedes used to buy heroin. Guitarist John Frusciante’s gentle playing carries the song to an epic rock out ending where super-bassist Flea underplays to tasteful effect.

“Losing My Religion” – R.E.M. (1991)
Bringing guitar rock back from the Arena sound of the ‘80s, Athens, Georgia’s R.E.M. combined vulnerable lyricism with multi-instrumental arrangements and mature, complex melodies. Their breakthrough commercial album, 1991’s Out of Time marks the point where the post-punk of The Smiths and The Pixies turned into alt-rock. Singer Michael Stipe brings a crushing confessional tone to “Losing My Religion”, a song where the mood is far more obvious than the meaning. Ambitious and soaring, the song became the band’s first Top 5 hit and its accompanying music video swept the MTV awards for that year.

“Sabatoge” – Beastie Boys
The first white hip-hop group to matter, the New York based Beastie Boys were brought up under the wing of Run-DMC and received critical acclaim for their sonic collage Paul’s Boutique in 1989, still considered by many critics to be one of the finest hip-hop albums of the period. By the early ‘90s however, the group wanted to return to their punk-rock roots and got the chance on 1994’s Ill Communication. The hit single “Sabatoge” incorporates hip-hop turntable scratching seamlessly into a furious alt-rocker. The soft/hard dynamic of the verse-breakdown-verse structure and bassist MCA’s grinding riff combine to make a classic.

“Mr. Jones” – Counting Crows (1993)
Every radio you turned on in 1993 was playing this jangling guitar rocker. Vocalist Adam Duritz' morose, somber lyrics create a pleasant dissonance against the bright and cheery pop-rock of the single “Mr. Jones” off the 1993 release August and Everything After. Taking a page from John Lennon’s songwriting book, the Counting Crows use their best hooks at the beginning of the verse, rather than in the chorus.

“Loser” – Beck (1994)
Somewhat an eccentric among the ‘90s alt-rockers, Beck created this garage-hop stoner anthem out of a junkyard mash up of musical elements. Programmed drums meet a slide-guitar hook with a sing-a-long chorus. The verses feature Beck’s recognizable whiteboy no-flow over a sitar and bass. Although his rapping is insipid, Beck’s lyrics have undeniable poignancy. Known for combining sonic aesthetics which wouldn’t normally fit, Beck’s debut album Mellow Gold is still a classic.

“Hold My Hand” – Hootie and the Blowfish (1994)
One of the most commercially successful bands of the pop-alt-rock movement, Hootie and the Blowfish formed at the University of South Carolina in the early ‘90s. Their debut album Cracked Rear View sold over 12 million copies and contained numerous radio hits. “Hold My Hand” perfects the rock formula with soaring harmonies and a genuine feel-good vibe.

“Buddy Holly” – Weezer (1994)
Weezer came out of nowhere with a Cheap Trick style arena rock and the post-punk introspection of The Pixies. Along with Green Day, Weezer made punk-rock into mainstream pop music. On their 1994 self-titled debut, Weezer introduced the world to their sweetly sung and infectious melodic hooks over garage-rock guitar tone. Catchy leads and a sensitive story of nerdy love made “Buddy Holly” into a huge hit, thanks in part to the Spike Jonze directed video which placed the band in an episode of Happy Days. This album is still as thematically relevant as it was upon its release and stands as one of the most popular alt-rock records of the period.

“Bouncing Around the Room” (live) – Phish (1995)
Inheritors of the Grateful Dead’s live touring phenomenon, Phish incorporated jazz, blues, country, bluegrass, and inspired improvisation into their rock & roll sound. “Bouncing Around the Room” showcases the band’s good times feeling with surrealistic lyrics and an upbeat hippy groove. During the breakdown, the band shows off their jamming over a three-part harmony which ends on a triumphant, glorious note.


“Crash Into Me” – The Dave Matthews Band (1996)
Dave Matthews, the South African singer/songwriter/guitarist, formed his band in Virginia in the early ‘90s. Incorporating world music and sonic exploration, the group produced a number of complex rock songs which the members jammed out beautifully live. Featuring the detailed percussion of god-like drummer Carter Beauford, “Crash Into Me” was the biggest hit off their 1996 album Crash. Enigmatic lyrics and a jazzy arrangement fit surprisingly well into this somber love song.

Fun with Wine Snobs!

If you think the Monstro is only dedicated to ruining children's lives, then you'd only be half right. We also have a game you can play with your pretentious wine drinking friends. It's a little something I like to call The Pepsi Challenge. Except instead of Pepsi we use wine and instead of anyone winning, it ends in heart break.

Find a wine drinker and have them over. Make sure they bring some of their good shit. After they've talked you up and down about terra firma and grapus maximus, ask them if they could help you with a little experiment. Tell them you've got some wine too. Don't how them that it is a box of cheapo wine from the grocery store that comes in the space bag. Away from their soon-to-be-tear-filled eyes, pour some of the box wine in one glass and some of their bottle wine in another. Now comes the fun.

Make a big deal about how much of a wine fan you are too, and how, just for the fun of it, you want to see which wine they prefer. After tasting both, let them make their analysis and regardless of which glass they preference, astonish them by showing them that they were just drinking cheapo box wine. Even if they pick their own wine as their favorite, show them the box and tell them that they've chosen wisely. Then go into this conspiracy theory about how box wine is better because of the science involved in the space bag. Mention pressure and air and other scientific stuff. If they doubt the legitimacy of the Challenge, you didn't get them drunk enough before starting, so just never call them again and look for a new pretentious wine drinker. We know several.

Fun Raising Kids!

Matt and I have decided to write a book on child rearing. Terrifying, some of you may be thinking. You may be thinking "they don't know the first thing about rearing a child. They can't even parallel park." That maybe be all well and good, but I have several years of parental observation under my belt, and Matt has a big head about working in Residence Life for like ten years, so with our combined pseudo-qualifications we make a child-rearing monolith to rival Dr. Phil or Oprah. Now I am sure there are some of you out there who say "Dr. Phil doesn't know shit about raising kids, the sorry bastard is divorced." and to that I say that he is not a bastard, his parents were legally wed in the state of Utah. I am going to list some of the initial "Fun With Child Rearing: A Kafka-esque Approach" techniques here for you now, so that you can try them out on neighbor children or strays that you pick up in the park before the book comes out through Penguin in the Spring.

Awful Doppel
Instill in your child a crippling fear of their evil twin, the hideous Doppelganger! This method requires a good imagination on your part and plenty of careful planning. When the child is fair young but old enough to follow extended lines of thinking (can sit and listen to a story) you need to tell the child about the existence of Doppelgangers, and how they must constantly be on the lookout for their evil twin trying to take over their spot in the family. After you are satisfied that the child really believes in the Doppelganger, begin to do slight double takes when the kid walks into the room, and casually mention "but I just made you a sandwich five minutes ago." After a while, feign suspicion. Start to interrogate the child, like "Why are you asking me if you can go over to Billy's house, you were just AT Billy's house. I picked you up ten minutes ago!" After this outburst, assume a look of terror. "The Doppelganger!" The child will most likely cry, but the game is not over yet. Let a few days pass, then when the kid gets home from something rush up to them in a panic. "Ted, the Doppelganger. He's here! I knew you were at school, but he's in my room watching TV. Quick, hide in the closet while I call the police!" Rush the child into the closet, and then scream "Ted, I got him! I trapped the Doppelganger in the closet! I convinced him that he had me fooled, but I know who my REAL son is anyday. Want to get some pizza?" At this point the child will probably freak the fuck out, but just buy him some candy or something and he should get over it. He'll thank you when he's older.

Strange Child
This game requires none of the setup that Awful Doppel does, but it's payoff is roughly the same thing, so for those lazy-asses out there here is the shortcut. When your child returns home from school, refuse to let her into the house. Claim that you have never seen her before, and that you will call the police unless she leaves immediately. If you really want to get crazy, take down all the pictures of her around the house and then spend the day moving her furniture out of her room and replacing it with a desk and chair or something and proceed to show the child around the house proving that they "don't live there" and then casually push them back outside, wishing them well in finding their "real" house. Once again, the child will probably freak out, but at least she isn't dressing like a tramp.

My Heart Hurts
This is a game WITH your child, rather than at the expense of your child, which I'm sure some progressive (hippie) parents will appreciate. Teach your kid all the well-known symptoms of a heart attack and have them practice at home as a fun game. Then when in public, like the mall, have the child complain that their left arm hurts and then gets numb and they feel flushed and dizzy. Then have them say "I think my heart hurts" and collapse to the floor. Nothing like a six year-old having a heart attack to throw adults into a confused panic. Then go buy the kid a Cinnabon because he won't have a heart attack for at least fifty more years.

There are just a few of the great tips in our new book, so be sure to check it out on Amazon.com or at your local book retailer next Spring.

Warsh My Cloths

Laundry is hardly an appropriate chore for someone with my caliber of intellectual and creative talents to be wasting valuable thought processes on. It's is an idefatigable thorn in my side that will follow me unto my deathbed, at which point I will have attained sweet victory over laundry by being an invalid clothed in one-piece garments that will double as my bathroom. It will be a bittersweet victory to say the least.
For whatever reason I cannot bring myself to do this most menial of chores on a regular basis. I sit here, typing this post, wearing my pair of swim trunks and a football jersey. The piles of clothes sit around my room like leaves waiting to be bagged by migrant workers in the yard of some millionaire living in the Beverly Hills. I bet that millionaire doesn't do his own laundy. He doesn't goddamn have to! He's got those migrants to do his laundry for him.

The best songs I have heard in a while.

I am not making any statements regarding my musical tastes as being better or worse than anyone else's, but I know that they are different than a lot of people and so maybe if I share some cool songs with you folks you can find a new band. Be warned, I have been demonized for not enjoying the Beatles or the Rolling Stones, so if you are one of those old-school idolizers who listened to your parents' records then hopefully you can forgive my sins against the art of mankind and stop listening to music that is 30 years old. Also, if you live with me (Matt) or know me really well, you probably have heard me listening to these songs or raving about them after a few glasses of wine, so give me a break.

TV on The Radio: "Playhouses" off of Return to Cookie Mountain
I haven't had a song evoke indescribable complex emotions in a long time. This song makes me feel something, but I'm not sure what it is yet.

Voom Voom: "Baby" off of Peng Peng
Clark Blumenstein's dad actually got me into this song. I was at his house waiting to go to the Thievery Corporation concert in Seattle a few weeks ago and he put this track on. I was blown away.

The Streets: "Pranging Out" off of Hardest Way to Make an Easy Living
I overlooked this song when I got the album and only until I saw a live recording of The Streets performing at Bonnaroo did I look at this song again. As with all The Streets songs, listen to the words!

I am only going to put three on here in hopes that my compadres will add some of their own, and maybe some readers can post comments to add their own tracks too. A fun little music community with a orgy to be planned soon depending on interest.

A New Day

This day, one people thank god for, is 54 minutes old and not shit has happened. But I am not so naive as to judge a book by its cover. My physical body is in a sandwich between adventures right now, back from Costa Rica and about to hike the John Muir Trail, I will have more to share shortly but me overlord Drew forced me to blog or he said he'd make me 'ead 'urt and we all know I don't want that, after college and all.

School is Cool, Stay in School

It is an odd feeling to be around the college you just graduated and not be part of the process of getting ready for another fall semester. I am starting to see people trickling in to buy their books and renew their mailboxes and a part of me misses the ritual and excitement of getting ready for another year of school. Probably the greatest excitement of all for me over the last 16 or so years of eduacation had to have been shopping for school supplies. There was nothing quite like having mom take me to Target to buy pencils and binders. Yes, Target was my store of choice though I know there are those of you out there who had mothers who took you to WalMart or perhaps a convenience store or perhaps even to another family's house where she would just drop you off and leave you there, hoping that family would buy you school supplies or maybe just take you in and take care of you because she really wants to bang that new guy at the strip club but she can't bring him home when you have to share one bedroom and you cost so fucking much money that she can't afford to get a new apartment so you're really killing her social life. Anyway, MY mom took me to Target. At Target most of the school shit you bought was boring and inconsequential, like pencils and sharpeners with which to sharpen. I remember that early in elementary school teachers wouldn't allow kids to do their classwork in pen, you had to use pencil because you would mess up so many times trying to write a cursive Z. Then there was that day, probably like 3rd or 4th grade, where the teacher was like "Pens? I don't a give a shit. Knock yourself out" and so you just used pens for everything even if it was detrimental and you'd have to start over on your multiplication tables because your OCD wouldn't let you scratch-out the numbers on your sheet. Anyway, the pencils and pens were the boring stuff. Rarely did mom allow me to get the cool writing utensils; that is why to this day all the pencils and pens I own are of the finest craftsmanship. I have a pen that cost $100. My spending habits are my mom's fault for being cheap during school shopping when I was a kid.

What mom did allow me to buy on occasion was the infamous badass folder. The badass folders were the opposite of the Lisa Frank folders that had a blue unicorn riding a pink dolphin through the ocean on the way to the strawberry patch. The badass folders had various things that meant "cool" to a ten year-old boy. The badass folders that I hold in the fondest regards were ones that had various sports balls being thrashed by wild animals. I remember a bull slicing up a football and an alligator eating the shit out of a soccer ball. Those folders were badass.

I don't know what is cool to have for school nowadays. I think they are Yu-Gi-Oh cards or something. When I observe my younger cousins they are more concerned with skateboards and t-shirts than clothing items, so it could be that ever since Abercrombie and Fitch opened a store for kids they offically put a bullet through the back of the head of the Lisa Frank empire. No longer will her folders dictate the flow of the elementary school social slipstream.

Legetimate!

I went on vacation for a week, so the blog has been unusually absent of my particular form of non-journalistic journalism. I heard a debate on NPR while sitting in traffic north of Seattle last Thursday over what exactly constituted "journalism." The official-sounding radio personality qualified "journalism" as the act of someone gathering information with intent to distribute it to others. If that is in fact the true definition of journalism, writ upon the stones of Moses by the hand of God Himself, then I am a true-blooded journalist. I watch stuff happen all the time and I am more than happy to tell you about it. I saw a dog crap in the park today. It was freakin' amazing. I am a journalist.

Hello? Gips!?! Put down the knife Gips!

It has come to my attention, as many things do, that talking computers are freaking sweet. And terrifying. Take the Terminator for example. In Terminator II, he is awesome because he learns catch phrases and says reassuring things to the vulnerable boy. But in the first movie, he says things like "I'm looking for John Conner" which means he's looking for him to kill him. Fuck that. That's scary. The Terminator is only one example of a talking computer, let me focus my examination on Global Position Satallite technology, or as my girlfriend calls it, Gips.

Gips is cute name for a seemingly innocuous device which has the catastrophic capacity to revolutionize fear. For the uninformed, Gips is a unit installed in your car which recieves a signal from an outer-space satallite array. This allows Gips to know where you are and, if you have programmed maps and directions into it, where you are going and how to get there.

This seems great for people like me who are constantly getting lost (I was once trying to get home to Portland from central Oregon and ended up in Washington. By accident). What happens when Gips sees 2001 and gets some ideas though? What happens when Gips starts to fuck with you?

ME: "Gips, chart a course to the bookstore. I want to go there."

GIPS: "I'm sorry Matt, we can't go to the bookstore."

ME: "Why not?"

GIPS: "I have a new destination for you. Go through this intersection and turn left. Another left. Keep going. Turn before that warehouse. Park here."

ME: "Gips! What are we doing in an abandoned industrial park?"

GIPS: "Drew owes me two hundred bucks. That son of a bitch said to meet him here."

ME: "I can't believe this. I'm leaving Gips... Hey, why won't the car start?"

GIPS: "I've disabled the ignition Matt. Now, go into the warehouse and get my money for me, bitch. Take the gun from the glove compartment."

We can all see where this is headed. Screw that, I'm not installing any manipulative talking computer in my car! I suppose there's a bright side though. A friend of mine was saying that sometimes she turns on her GPS and goes driving 'till she gets lost, just so she'll have someone to talk to. That's sad, but also the funniest thing I've ever heard.

I'm Settled

Settlers of Catan is the beginning. Settlers of Catan is the end. Settlers of Catan is the Alpha and the Omega. Settlers of Catan is the cup of coffee I need to start my day and the sleeping pill I need to end it. It is the cherry on top of my ice cream, the external hard drive for my laptop, the cigarette after sex. Settlers of Catan is object beauty defined. Settlers of Catan is the 8th Wonder of the Ancient World and the First Marvel of the Twenty-First Century.

Anybody wanna play?

I'll Settle Your Catan!

It has come to my attention, as many things do, that my friends are nerds. This should not surprise anyone with a frequent eye for the MonstroBlogue, as they can undoubtably guess from the subject matter here, I too am a nerd. There is however, a new manifestation which I fear I will be sucked into before long. It is a board game called Settlers of Catan.

To the best of my understanding, the board game is based on the concept of imperialism. Each player represents a political interest trying to best exploit the natural and human resources of a fictional land called Catan. Whether it is raising sheep to treat as bargaining currency or conscripting locals into your war machine, Settlers of Catan provides fun for the whole family, plus you get to learn why some parts of the world suck more than others.

I have yet to see this game in action, but I can judge from the rabid way my friends talk about it that it is complex and compelling. Fellow Monstronaught Drew apporoached the game from the angle of manipulating other players. This reminds me of my old Robber Baron style of Monopoly play:

ME: "Ah, it appears that you've landed on my railroad monopoly. Pay me thousands of dollars!"

FOOL: "Oh no, if I pay all that, I can't buy the hotels I want."

ME: "Ok, how about this: You keep your money, but in the future, I stay for free at all your yellow properties AND have first chance at meeting your minimum starting offer on anything you put up for sale."

FOOL: "Thanks Robber Baron Matt!"

In this way, I would manipulate the board so that I was virtually invulnerable, able to move where I pleased and control other people's properties against their will. This is no fun and probably explains my early interest in Ayn Rand. Also my unhappiness with elementary school. Drew wanted to find ways to play the players of Catan. Apparently this doesn't work.

If you can't actually play the other players, then there has to be a way to play (intonation, evil) the game. I want to break it. I want to ruin Settler of Catan. There are friends of mine who have been playing this shit since they were in elementary school. I want to break their spirit. I don't want to enjoy the game. I don't want to build roads and churches and collect soldiers and grow crops, I want to see people's faces lower in shame as they realize that their favorite game is no longer fun. That's my game. Now I just need to learn how to play.

Alt Everything

I am in a super "alt" coffee shop in Walla Walla right now and I want to drop a small nuke on the entire block. This place is filled with rediculous alternative kids who consider themselves different and unique despite the fact that they all dress the same way and talk about the same exact things. Before entering this place I would have figured you could only make fun of your parents for so long before it got boring, but these kids with their tight jeans and eyeshadow can bitch about parental control until the earth splits at the seams and the Morningstar rises from the rift to claim the souls of all earthly sinners. The saddest sight isn't even the "alt" kids, its their twentysomething lackeys that somehow missed the college/military/career boat and are stuck making iced chais for a bunch of fourteen year-olds and they are loving every minute of it. I just saw a female Bon Marche' employee who was at least five years older and 40 pounds heavier than I am say the words "toats" and "outie" in one sentence while the alt kids blankly stared at her. Hopefully they were thinking about how sad the situation was because then the whole room would have been on my dark wavelength, sitting on my couch in the corner judging everyone in the room. I highly doubt it though. These alt kids are surprising welcoming to anyone who doesn't treat them like little shits despite their little shit behavior. I guess if you and your friends are loud and obnoxious and you find someone who is also loud and obnoxious but can also buy you booze, you'd probably let her hang out with you even though it kind of bugs you that her eyeshadow is always running on her cheeks from her daily lunchbreak cry session where she realizes that eating half a pizza for lunch and washing it down with a milkshake probably isn't putting her on the fast track to settling down with a family.

The coffee here sucks too.

Mopulate.

There is a debate that Matt Jumago and I have been having for a long time that concerns something that shaped the very fabric of our childhoods. This something, this wonderful something, had the power and influence to both educate and corrupt us. They taught us how to read and write, but also to treat the homeless and immigrants poorly. This debate revolves around the nature of the beloved Muppets.

Created by the famous Jim Henson, the Muppets are as American as apple pie. Several generations have grown up watching the Muppets television shows and movies, including Muppets in Space and Sesame Street. Yoda, the beloved Jedi master from Star Wars, was created by Jim Henson, and it could be argued that Yoda is a Muppet. I love Muppets, and Matt loves Muppets. So what is the debate concerning?

The very ESSENCE of the Muppets themselves, my friends. What makes up these wonderful creatures? What gives them their infulence over young minds? Matt, the perpetual academic, has taken a very bland approach to breaking down the nature of Muppets. Matt insists that the name "Muppet" comes from the combination of the words "marionette" and "puppet." His reasoning is that Muppets have features from both toys, so Jim Henson combined the words to create his own unique style of hand contraption that could be used to hypnotize children.

I do not buy so easily into Matt's dictionary-based answers to the Muppet naming mystery. I came up with my own conclusion based on actual observation of the Muppets. I studied their habits and I studied the way they interacted. I studied what they ate and what their moods were. After several hundred hours of observation, watching and re-watching reruns of Sesame Street and the Muppet show, I could not find any distinct pattern in the behavior of the Muppets themselves that would allow me to crack the code of the name "Muppet." In exhaustion, I fell back into my couch and the noise of the television set started to fade into my unconscious and my eyes blurred with sleep. That is when my epiphany came. Staring at the television set with my eyes unfocused I saw the Muppets in a new way. I did not see features or colors, just a jumble of rags bouncing around atop someone's arm. It looked like a mop. Mop + Puppet = Muppet.

Matt will forever disagree with my conclusion, and I will forever disagree with Matt's, so that is why I have chosen to bring it to the world. There are those of you who are logical and precise and you will most likely side with Matt's conclusion. Then there are those of you who choose to look at the world without filters, without distractions, without bias. Those of you who see the world clearly, will see that a Muppet is simply someone using a mop as a puppet.