- When I was in 8th grade, we took a class trip to a farm for a hayride I believe. On the way back from said trip, I was sitting in the middle of the bus and I decided to pull the window down and hock a loogie out the window. About 10 seconds later I hear someone in the back scream. The wind pulled the loogie back into the bus and hit someone right in the face.
- In high school I took 2 years of German (sprechen sie deutsch?) and in my first year of it something glorious happened. We all basically cheated off of each other and for some reason everyone thought that I knew this particular assignment, well guess what? Fucking no, I didn't. Not even close. So anyways everyone in all directions of me copied this particular assignment. The next day we got called up to the board to answer the questions and wouldn't you know it, everyone who got called up had copied off of my work. We all looked like tards.
- In this one, I think I was like 7(ish). I lived in Montana and it was the winter. So we had a big neighborhood snowball fight. Well, I really knocked some kid out with a throw. I stood up and celebrated and laughed my ass off, you know like anyone would do. At the same time I had opened my mouth to laugh, a guy threw a snowball and it landed exactly in my mouth; almost as if it had a homing beacon on it. The sports equivelant would be this: nothing but net. I'm sure you can imagine how it felt.
- This one didn't happen to me, but I was there and saw it happen in my mind before it happened. My friend and I met up with some other friends at a frolf course (I hate frolf). We were standing at the basket and one of my friends was about to throw the frisbee and the friend I showed up with was standing at the basket with me. In my mind I saw him getting hit in the face with the frisbee. 3 seconds later I took a few steps to the side and proceeded to watch him get hit in the face. Everyone laughed and I then said I saw it coming, which made everyone laugh harder.
- In one of my undergrad art classes, I think it was called Concepts of Art, we had weekly assignments we had to both print off and email to the instructor. They were discussions based off a book we were reading for class. Well, I typed up my assignment at work and meant to print it off at home. So I had to go back to work to email it to myself which I did, only when I do that for myself I put dumb stuff in the message line. Sounds fine right? Well after I did that I emailed it to my instructor like I was supposed to only I forgot to take out my dumb message line. It went something like this : HERE YOU GO YOU BASTARD! Surprisingly it was totally okay with him and he said the following to me "Ha, don't worry. That's not the worst thing someone has emailed me."
Friday, August 26, 2011
5 More Tales of Heroism
Monday, August 22, 2011
Licey Dreds
 |
| Skinny bad ass Max/ Fat washed up hack Max |
For reals, he's let himself go in virtually every way. Gained about 1,000 lbs, lost a few teeth, and his hair, holy shit. I know that he's got some dreds, but man I wouldn't be surprised if he's got a few colonies of lice living in his hair. The changes in him though go much deeper than that.
Now lets look at his music. How could someone go from writing something like Arise or Chaos A.D. something that has some sophistication and depth to it, to writing terrible drop A riffs that take the skill of someone who has played guitar for about a week. It also goes beyond just writing. Live his playing has taken more than a few turns for the awful. The guy is such a liability it's not even funny. He can barely play his own songs anymore. I mean I watched a clip on Youtube of Cavalera Conspiracy playing some old Sepultura tunes, and he more or less just his arbitrary notes. Then there are his vocals. Granted his style of singing is more in the "I swallowed a bucket of gravel" vein, but he was great at it. Then just as his guitar playing started to go down, so did his vocals. He just stands there looking dazed and bloated, while just mumbling incoherent words. What. The. Funkinwaggles?
I guess what I'm wondering, is how can one person start to suck so hard at their job in all aspects? It's kinda sad to me really, because he used to be so great at what he does and now it seems like he's a bloated, greasy, lice infested version of himself.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
What's That Smell?: Part Five: Pizza and Smelly Grandmothers
And now for the next thrilling installment in What's That Smell?
This past July I took my semiannual trip back home to visit my family, that end was all that and a bag of potato chips, but as usual in these installments the focus is on my trip to the airport along with the flights and these ones were no exception.
I have decided that I like to just take the hassle out of my day and just take a shuttle to the airport, no fuss no muss. The only thing with that is that I am never the only one in the shuttle of course. In this trip it was fine until we picked up some old lady and her grand daughter, no big deal right? Well it wouldn't have been for 3 things: 1. this lady smelled like 4 days old B.O. (tie in to the title!) 2. she sat next to me (fuck my balls) and 3. her grand daughter fell into the stupid kid age (from when they can talk up to 18). Recipe for disaster. It would have been fine except that this lady couldn't handle the silence of the van ride. No, she had to make weird sounds and also when a fairly common pop song from the 70s' came on she hummed the melody...according to her that was. She made one up that had NOTHING to do with that song at all. Then it got quiet again and she tried to wake her grand daughter up who was sleepy and she said this to her "...you know when I was a kid to stay awake we played a game called Spot the Red Car..." Next thing you know "..one...two...three...four..." FUDGE.
So we get there and I pay $9,000 to check my bags and get fondled as I go through security; just like any other flight right? Everything was all good until we get on the plane, as I discover that I had the bitch seat. To go along with that, the two dicks to the left and right of me decide that the leg room they had wasn't enough and decided to annex mine for their own. Also why is it that when flight attendants come through and offer their cart o'crap they can't comprehend when I don't want anything? I mean, it's a 4 hour flight. Why can't some people just not stuff their faces? Anyways, we land and it's all good. Then I go to look for my connecting flight and run into an interesting gentleman, and that man's name was Bono.
His name was Greg Bonomanson and he was a fat ass who lived in Wisconsin and here is the conversation and chain of events that unfolded.
I'm taking my mac out to eject a DVD while sitting on a bench and Bono comes along and says "Hey, could you scoot down so I could sit down?" I said yes while thinking to myself: I'm on the edge. There are 3 other seats you fat bastard. Then he decided to make some small talk with me since I have something about me where people do that, which I normally don't mind. He asks what I do and I tell him I'm an art student/artist (you can be both right?). Then he proceeds to tell me that he sucks at art so bad that when he sees stuff around that he can do, he thinks it isn't art. How the hell do you respond to that inside of like 5 minutes? Well I didn't. I just indulged him so he would stop talking about it. Then when I left he asked for my name for the following reason: "...that way when you make it big, I can say "I met that guy in an airport before he made it big and he was a cool guy"". Thanks Bono.
The connecting flight was uneventful. Moving on to my return.
The first flight wasn't too bad. I had a row to myself and got complemented by the flight attendant for my Joe Mauer jersey. Once I found my terminal, I had some pizza and called my family so they knew I was there okay, since I'm a good person. My flight was supposed to leave at like 2:30 but board at 1:50 I think. Well it was 2:00 and I saw that my plane wasn't even there. I frantically look around to find out that they had moved my gate! Those assholes.
So I barely made it onto the plane and once again, I was in the bitch seat in row 653 of the plane, but again I got complimented by the flight attendant for my Joe Mauer jersey. On this flight I was seated between a guy who made no noise or movements, and a dude who I can only describe as being an odd combination of Michael Cuddyer and David Putty from Seinfeld. He was a trip. First he stared at the back of the chair in front of him for 45 minutes. Then fell asleep for 45 minutes. Then he went to take a shit. How do I know? He brought the smell back with him (another tie in to the title!). Then he bought 2 bottles of tequila along with a Coke and had them both. In 20 minutes. Yet he strangely just sat still and said nothing.
To fast forward and wrap this up, we landed and I lived. Tune in Januaryish for the next thrilling chapter of this epic god damn story!
This past July I took my semiannual trip back home to visit my family, that end was all that and a bag of potato chips, but as usual in these installments the focus is on my trip to the airport along with the flights and these ones were no exception.
I have decided that I like to just take the hassle out of my day and just take a shuttle to the airport, no fuss no muss. The only thing with that is that I am never the only one in the shuttle of course. In this trip it was fine until we picked up some old lady and her grand daughter, no big deal right? Well it wouldn't have been for 3 things: 1. this lady smelled like 4 days old B.O. (tie in to the title!) 2. she sat next to me (fuck my balls) and 3. her grand daughter fell into the stupid kid age (from when they can talk up to 18). Recipe for disaster. It would have been fine except that this lady couldn't handle the silence of the van ride. No, she had to make weird sounds and also when a fairly common pop song from the 70s' came on she hummed the melody...according to her that was. She made one up that had NOTHING to do with that song at all. Then it got quiet again and she tried to wake her grand daughter up who was sleepy and she said this to her "...you know when I was a kid to stay awake we played a game called Spot the Red Car..." Next thing you know "..one...two...three...four..." FUDGE.
So we get there and I pay $9,000 to check my bags and get fondled as I go through security; just like any other flight right? Everything was all good until we get on the plane, as I discover that I had the bitch seat. To go along with that, the two dicks to the left and right of me decide that the leg room they had wasn't enough and decided to annex mine for their own. Also why is it that when flight attendants come through and offer their cart o'crap they can't comprehend when I don't want anything? I mean, it's a 4 hour flight. Why can't some people just not stuff their faces? Anyways, we land and it's all good. Then I go to look for my connecting flight and run into an interesting gentleman, and that man's name was Bono.
His name was Greg Bonomanson and he was a fat ass who lived in Wisconsin and here is the conversation and chain of events that unfolded.
I'm taking my mac out to eject a DVD while sitting on a bench and Bono comes along and says "Hey, could you scoot down so I could sit down?" I said yes while thinking to myself: I'm on the edge. There are 3 other seats you fat bastard. Then he decided to make some small talk with me since I have something about me where people do that, which I normally don't mind. He asks what I do and I tell him I'm an art student/artist (you can be both right?). Then he proceeds to tell me that he sucks at art so bad that when he sees stuff around that he can do, he thinks it isn't art. How the hell do you respond to that inside of like 5 minutes? Well I didn't. I just indulged him so he would stop talking about it. Then when I left he asked for my name for the following reason: "...that way when you make it big, I can say "I met that guy in an airport before he made it big and he was a cool guy"". Thanks Bono.
The connecting flight was uneventful. Moving on to my return.
The first flight wasn't too bad. I had a row to myself and got complemented by the flight attendant for my Joe Mauer jersey. Once I found my terminal, I had some pizza and called my family so they knew I was there okay, since I'm a good person. My flight was supposed to leave at like 2:30 but board at 1:50 I think. Well it was 2:00 and I saw that my plane wasn't even there. I frantically look around to find out that they had moved my gate! Those assholes.
So I barely made it onto the plane and once again, I was in the bitch seat in row 653 of the plane, but again I got complimented by the flight attendant for my Joe Mauer jersey. On this flight I was seated between a guy who made no noise or movements, and a dude who I can only describe as being an odd combination of Michael Cuddyer and David Putty from Seinfeld. He was a trip. First he stared at the back of the chair in front of him for 45 minutes. Then fell asleep for 45 minutes. Then he went to take a shit. How do I know? He brought the smell back with him (another tie in to the title!). Then he bought 2 bottles of tequila along with a Coke and had them both. In 20 minutes. Yet he strangely just sat still and said nothing.
To fast forward and wrap this up, we landed and I lived. Tune in Januaryish for the next thrilling chapter of this epic god damn story!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Satch vs. Mustaine
On YouTube, I subscribe to some Guitar Center channel and on it there are some pretty sweet videos. They have this series called In Session or something of that nature. The short and skinny of them is this: get a famous guitar player and have them tell some stories about their tunes, play their tunes, and interact with the audience. Sounds simple right? Well what I am going to do here is compare and contrast two guitarists they had on there; one is Joe Satriani and the other is Dave Mustaine.
So on one hand, we have Satch. Super smart, creative, and a virtuosic player. He also happens to be a nice, funny, and engaging person. He talks about his songs in a technical but very accessible way and also is self effacing about the whole thing. He also cracks jokes, talks to the fans, describes things relating to gear, music, and inspiration. How cool is that?
On the other hand, we have Dave Mustaine. Again, he is creative and smart; no where near the level of Satch (this is not an opinion, it's a simple truth). Yet during his In Session, he couldn't look more annoyed or bothered to be there. It looked like it was such a chore for him to play his songs, talk about them, and talk about them. Also he is not engaging, not even a little bit. That leads me to ask why? Seriously how bad is his life here? All he is doing is answering questions and telling some stories about his songs. He also can't help but bad mouth ex band mates (surprise, surprise huh?). I mean the whole point of this is that you are celebrated for your playing by Guitar Center and the fans, and also have a good time. But he can't just have a good god damn time.
I mean I like them both for different reasons, but these things also showcase what type of person/personality they have. One guy can't be having a better time, while another guy just seems to be dragging a dark cloud with him because it is impossible to find joy in something (when he does, it seems SUPER awkward). I guess if I were able to hang out with one guy, it would be Satch. I've met him and these videos also give an insight into how much a nice guy he is...and what a turd Mustaine is 96% of his day/life.
So on one hand, we have Satch. Super smart, creative, and a virtuosic player. He also happens to be a nice, funny, and engaging person. He talks about his songs in a technical but very accessible way and also is self effacing about the whole thing. He also cracks jokes, talks to the fans, describes things relating to gear, music, and inspiration. How cool is that?
On the other hand, we have Dave Mustaine. Again, he is creative and smart; no where near the level of Satch (this is not an opinion, it's a simple truth). Yet during his In Session, he couldn't look more annoyed or bothered to be there. It looked like it was such a chore for him to play his songs, talk about them, and talk about them. Also he is not engaging, not even a little bit. That leads me to ask why? Seriously how bad is his life here? All he is doing is answering questions and telling some stories about his songs. He also can't help but bad mouth ex band mates (surprise, surprise huh?). I mean the whole point of this is that you are celebrated for your playing by Guitar Center and the fans, and also have a good time. But he can't just have a good god damn time.
I mean I like them both for different reasons, but these things also showcase what type of person/personality they have. One guy can't be having a better time, while another guy just seems to be dragging a dark cloud with him because it is impossible to find joy in something (when he does, it seems SUPER awkward). I guess if I were able to hang out with one guy, it would be Satch. I've met him and these videos also give an insight into how much a nice guy he is...and what a turd Mustaine is 96% of his day/life.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Snip Snip Snip
I know it's been a while since I updated this thing, but who gives a shit. 3 people read this and I'm willing to risk alienating them (I kid, it's not 3 people, more like whoever stumbles onto this).
This is going to be a short one but a mediocre one at that. This tale is about me cutting my hair. Sounds like a edge of your seat thrill ride right? Good cause it had been 8 years since I had cut my hair as short as it is now. It was kinda nerve wracking and honestly felt really strange, but I'm glad that I did it. I like it as well as does just about everyone I know. The only downside if there is one is that my neck gets cold, and because my hair is really fucking weird I have to either put some sort of product thing in my hair or wear a hat. But other than that it is pretty banging.
Getting it was sort of strange, because I had been talking about doing it for awhile, and asking my fiance's opinion about what kind to get. All of them I saw sucked or looked douchey. So the day before I made a decision that could have made me look god dam stupid; I was going to let the hair stylist do something that she felt looked good on me. It was a gamble, but guess what? It turned out to be winner winner, chicken dinner!
The next task was deciding how to style it with the product in it. After about 3-4 days, I decided on the slicked back look. And I guess it works, because I've gotten lots of compliments...unless they were being facetious; which I doubt...maybe.
Anyways that's my hair cut story.
Next up is the thrilling 4th installment in the legendary and soon to be motion picture tales: What's That Smell?
This is going to be a short one but a mediocre one at that. This tale is about me cutting my hair. Sounds like a edge of your seat thrill ride right? Good cause it had been 8 years since I had cut my hair as short as it is now. It was kinda nerve wracking and honestly felt really strange, but I'm glad that I did it. I like it as well as does just about everyone I know. The only downside if there is one is that my neck gets cold, and because my hair is really fucking weird I have to either put some sort of product thing in my hair or wear a hat. But other than that it is pretty banging.
Getting it was sort of strange, because I had been talking about doing it for awhile, and asking my fiance's opinion about what kind to get. All of them I saw sucked or looked douchey. So the day before I made a decision that could have made me look god dam stupid; I was going to let the hair stylist do something that she felt looked good on me. It was a gamble, but guess what? It turned out to be winner winner, chicken dinner!
The next task was deciding how to style it with the product in it. After about 3-4 days, I decided on the slicked back look. And I guess it works, because I've gotten lots of compliments...unless they were being facetious; which I doubt...maybe.
Anyways that's my hair cut story.
Next up is the thrilling 4th installment in the legendary and soon to be motion picture tales: What's That Smell?
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