jam

Read

Think Twice Lyrics

here.

beaut

dear dylan,

i unapologetically jacked this picture from flotsam and curfuffle. i miss you.
this picture makes me miss you. i just wanted to make that clear, semi-publically.

i hope to see you someday soon.

love, love, some jokes, and more love.

cococontrol

i had to lock the chocolates out of the house. the problem remains that i know where they are. i jumped for joy like a fat kid getting a case of chocolates when jay ray gave me a case of chocolates. it was the best moment of my life. seven boxes, each filled with individually wrapped pieces of you know what. i gave a box to Gramma, brought one to my parents and sister, brought one to work, gave one to Auntie Barbara. they were all around me. i ate them. one by one, eight at a time, mechanically going back to the ever full box. haselnuss. vollmilch. nugat. knusperkeks. i even ate the ones i didn't like. four pounds and six pimples later i'm driving around at midnight trying to figure out who i else can give these chocolates to. i need the out of my life! they're ruining my life! it all seemed so perfect at the time. what could go wrong with 588 chocolates?

click it.

i dare you

dear habitués

i must acknowledge / confess / apologize for my affinity for the "aged photo" filter in adobe lightroom. i bring photos in with the intention of doing only legal photographic adjustments (lighten/darken, contrast, switch to B&W (brian said that was ok)) but then aLL THE TIME i apply that filter. doubly, this tarnishes my image. i have told myself it is ok. will you tell me too? selling out is a slippery slope. i hope to regain my footing soon.

this is a good song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVURkMTDr3E

you are a good person.

oh crud...and those borders too.

album drops in januober

snarkle

Always after we speak,

No matter how long it’s been

Talking with you is like

Putting my soul through the wash

(with Clorox, and it works.)

Brighter colors! It fits again.

And I love it, like new.

And you.

hi five

modern love

aback

to whom it may concern,

i thought of something the other morning and mourned it as long lost. then as magic does every so often delight it came out of no where. holy mackerel. i felt the virgin river running cold under foot, saw dark canyon walls closing in, my truck's window smashed, long stretches of nothingness only Nevada, of course, could bring, avacados and budweiser for breakfast, and all the laughing i almost went deaf. in the middle of my kitchen, in cambridge, i swear i could smell the sage...which reminded me a wise man once said "one should only ever hide for half of forever." nah jus kiddin, i just made that up.

Love 20¢ The First Quarter Mile by Kenneth Fearing

All right. I may have lied to you and about you, and made a few pronouncements a bit too sweeping, perhaps, and possibly forgotten to tag the bases here or there, And damned your extravagence, and maligned your tastes, and libeled your relatives, and slandered a few of your friends, O.K., Nevertheless, come back. Come home. I will agree to forget the statements that you issued so copiously to the neighbors and the press, And you will forget that figment of your imagination, the blonde from Detroit; I will agree that your lady friend who lives above us is not crazy, bats, nutty as they come, but on the contrary rather bright, And you will concede that poor old Steinberg is neither a drunk, nor a swindler, but simply a guy, on the eccentric side, trying to get along. (Are you listening, you bitch, and have you got this straight?) Because I forgive you, yes, for everything. I forgive you for being beautiful and generous and wise, I forgive you, to put it simply, for being alive, and pardon you, in short, for being you. Because tonight you are in my hair and eyes, And every street light that our taxi passes shows me you again, still you, And because tonight all other nights are black, all other hours are cold and far away, and now, this minute, the stars are very near and bright Come back. We will have a celebration to end all celebrations. We will invite the undertaker who lives beneath us, and a couple of boys from the office, and some other friends. And Steinberg, who is off the wagon, and that insane woman who lives upstairs, and a few reporters, if anything should break.

mostly i avoid quoting my brother, for shear self preservation

"I don't argue with baby-boomers, as a general rule: instead, I blame them for Reagan and choose to ignore anything they say." s. a. breen

o the questions that arise

(stare at the cross)

extremely extraordinary

You must be bored if you're here. I mean, you must be looking for awesome stuff if you're here.

I dedicate this post to the MFA (I'm big into dedications, they are just nice, don't you think?), where I took the picture above and learned about the art below, which is very cool:

http://www.turbulence.org/Works/apartment/#

Check check, check it out (don't be scared, it's interactive!!!!) & be sure to see the other apartments.

I would like to conclude with a formal invitation to embark on my journey to escape the various tethers of technophobia, ergophobia, cleptophobia (wait, no, I just got that one, I need to keep it) and metathesiophobia*. (The informal invitation, FYI, was the creation of this thing). The road is long, not very well lit, shoddily paved, and I have a poor, poor sense of direction. Onward...

*To validate the existence of your own fears visit:

http://phobialist.com/

For Ma

I made this in hopes of creating a card for my mother. The idea being that at some point I would say: and YOU, YOU'RE my most favorite of alll!!!!!!!!!!!!........But then...I ran out of room.

So ma, thanks for making me so, ah, appretiative? Or, good at making lists... Love yoU!

Cathro Publishing, Inc.

Jeanne Hébuterne

"These drawings also present a conundrum for gender-based interpretation. Modigliani's favorite model portrays herself naked in voluptuous poses, inspired by the classic tradition of the female nude seen through male eyes. In doing so, she achieves a curious androgyny, seizing both roles: artist and model, male and female, subject and object. Clearly her intention was to startle, challenge, and provoke."

www.theliteraryreview.org/ secretlife/lappin.htm

Captain Ernest Michelangelo Huckleberry Pineapple-in-the-Ass Breen

So, dogs are pretty cool. At least my family's dog is.

Huckleberry has an uncanny ability to look pervy in pictures. Above the picture of Huck as Buddha, you can see the gleam in his eye. The perv gleam; like the eye of some guy at the gym trying to catch your attention while he does squats with weights too light to warrant drawing attention.

I like him anyways, the dog that is. At least, when he's not breathing in my face or drooling or getting his hair all over my stuff.

Couple things

BIG UPs to my old man, Jason Loring. Jason was the first follower of the original Parmesan Peppercorn (though I don't know where the hell he is now..) before it got all famous and shit...

This month he's opening up Nosh Kitchen Bar on Congress Street in Portland, Maine. Here's the Portland Daily Sun write up. Jay, you get your shameless endorsement as soon as I get my big ass sandwich.

Also, Linda Ronstadt, you're my girl. I quite enjoy this song.

On Demand: Free Movies! What is it good for?

This.

Calendar Girl Murders is a unique film one might never watch unless faced with other equally uninteresting options proffered up by On Demand. You will probably decide to watch this film after scanning through A-L and M-Z twice, and acquiesce by saying, 'Well. Sharon Stone's in it."

In spite of the sluggish plot typical of an 80s flick, there are some real heart-pounding moments in Calendar Girl Murders. Like, when Sharon Stone takes off her glasses, and when you realize that, yes, Tom Skerritt's character is indeed named Detective Stoner.

The true merit of this silver-screen slammer is the dialogue, of course. A few of my favorite lines include when Detective Stoner and his partner are sitting on a stake, and Stoner turns down the offer for a fried snack by describing his healthy diet of, "a little chicken...a little fish...little red meat. Lots of vegetables...steamed." Or, when Stoner is asked about suspects for the case, and he replies in a more than disinterested tone of voice, "Oh, I don't know. There are a lot." And finally, the best comes when Stoner and his partner are tracking a suspect, and they watch him enter his house and proceed to follow. Stoner knocks on the door and pretends to be a photo-lab employee. When the man opens the door and sees Stoner's gun he slams the door closed to Stoner pleading, "I'm sorry. I lied! Please let me in!" Needless to say, the suspect runs out the back door and drives away. Nice work, detective. **

The most brow contorting part of the film, however, comes at the end. This is when the murderer is in the process of trying to burn down Stoner's house and wife, and when she is caught, instead of being cuffed, is embraced by Stoner for an uncomfortably long time before he proceeds to console his almost-murdered wife. Hm.

I'm just sayin', you might want to spend a Tuesday night with a friend or two reveling in this masterpiece. Do not, however, watch this movie alone. You'll just feel weird.


** Quotes not verbatim. I have been repeating these lines for days now...Go forth.