I hope you know what you're doing . . .

I saw this article on the Onion site . . . I thought it rang a little bit of my little rant on those yellow and red stickers.

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/29740

I just saw a headline on Yahoo that read, “Bush defiantly defends war in Iraq.” What? “Defiantly”? Does that word sound a bit leading to anyone else? What images does that put in your head? Does it lead you to or continue to support an opinion on the President? I didn’t read the article. I don’t want to. But that is supposed to be news, not an editorial. I wish I could pull out references to all the times I’ve read some article somewhere that was clearly assuming that all of its readers was of a certain point of view. My coworkers just scoffed at me when I expressed my frustration with the bias in American media, be it liberal or conservative. Can you honestly be so clueless when you hear the news reported on dividing issues and think that those reporters are not taking sides? Just read some headlines! I have a friend who was really upset a couple of months ago because of an article about Ron Paul. Apparently some papers surfaced that had a lot of homophobic rhetoric in them, and someone tried to say that Paul was the author. Of course Paul denied this, but there was an article (on CNN.com) that was headlined something like, “Ron Paul Associated with Homophobic Letter.” And apparently they did not even mention his very quick denial of any association with that letter until the last paragraph of the article. Trust me when I tell you that reporters know the statistics that say that most people won’t read a whole article. They’re taught to put the most important stuff first for that very reason.

Ugh. My goat is boiled.

My friend wrote a blog that was a few small letters to various people in her life. And then she did it again. I liked the blogs. I liked the idea. I told her I was going to steal the idea. She said that I’d better give her the credit for the idea. So I just did.

—————–

Dear George Burmeister,

Where the hell have you been, man? The last time I saw you, it was in the middle of the night by that Family Video near your house and you were walking your dog. Sorry I didn’t seem that interested in talking to you. I was probably preoccupied. I regret it now, because you and I had good times in high school and I wish we could reminisce. Remember when that guy beat you up in the 2nd floor bathroom, just upstairs from the cafeteria? That sucked. At least you can hold your head high and know that you’re not a tool like he was.

—————–

Dear Guy who tailed me for 2 miles in light traffic on I-90 on Mercer Island and then sped past me and cut me off in the tunnel and gave me the bird,

Sorry. I’m not sure what I did, but it would have to be pretty bad to get that reaction from someone when there’s hardly any traffic and three lanes. How long were you on my tail? For a second I began to think that maybe you were a friend of mine who was messing with me, and for another second I considered doing a break check. I wouldn’t have cared if you ruined my car. It would have been your fault and I’m not too crazy about my Civic, anyway. Too bad there’s nothing thats that recognizable about my car, either. It’s a black 2001 Civic. How many of those do you see on your morning commute? I usually count 5 or 6. But you . . . I don’t remember what kind of car you had, but I remember that New York Giants sticker on the left side of your trunk. Well, I’m going to move on now, but I’m excited about the possibility that I could end up behind you someday.

—————-

Dear Anomalous Co-worker,

You are fascinating. You used to always complain about having no friends, and no social life, and so I invited you to hang out with me and my friends, but instead of getting to know people, you stood back and assumed they were all judging you (which is ironic considering you were the one judging them). Eventually, you started to say that to have friends was a bad thing all together. Did you catch what you did? You found it too difficult to open yourself up to new people, so you changed your mind on the whole concept. When I made my last effort to include you, you slapped my hand away and insulted me. If you choose to not take me up on my offer, that’s your prerogative. But if that is your choice, please stop complaining to me about how the few friends you do have treat you like dirt, and also stop trying to convince me that all of my friends only wish to someday stab me in the back. Trust me, they’re not. I know them a lot better than you.

—————-

Dear Claudio & Company,

You guys rock. I’m in the middle of a total binge of your albums right now. Did you see me that day back in the early summer of 2002 at the Hi-Pointe in St. Louis? I would have been against the wall to your right. No? That’s okay. It’s been a while.

—————-

Dear Scary Big Guy who thought Visa would send him a credit card bill when I ran his debit card as a credit card when I worked at Kohl’s,

Since you’re not actually in front of me right now, I can let you know that you’re a big idiot. And I knew you were an idiot then. But I doubt myself very easily, and you were very intimidating and your eyes were going bloodshot because you were so angry with me, so can you blame me for keeping my mouth shut? Besides, my manager walked by when you were yelling at me, and I thought she would step in to help. Guess I gambled and lost on that one. She called my register 5 minutes after you left to ask what you were so mad about. Did you ever get that bill from Visa? I’m actually most curious if you’ve figured out by now how debit cards work. It saddens me to think that you probably forgot about our little moment and never stopped to think about how that bill never came.

—————-

Dear older sister,

I like you a lot and I always regret that we couldn’t have been closer than we are. You’re a lot of fun and very cool, but I have one request: if you are going to continue buying me clothes for Christmas, please stop buying them in large. Or at least include the tag or a gift receipt. I’d have to grow a bit to get them to fit me right, and I’m actually working on shrinking.

—————–

Dear friend who gave me this idea,

I figure it only appropriate to address you in this blog since 1) I got the idea from you; and 2) you’ve addressed me in both of yours. I don’t have much to say. Well, one thing I can say is you really need to work on that impulsive thing. I think if you had stuck with your idea for stuff to do on Sunday, you still would have had a good time. Return of the King is a spectacular film, regardless of your incorrect judgment on The Two Towers. That’s right, I’m saying your opinion is incorrect. Again. Also, thanks for laughing at the things I say. Seriously. I like to fee like I’m a funny guy. I’m looking forward to stealing champagne with you, too. I mean pouring it. Pouring champagne with you. Three posts today, too. Or maybe 2.1.

Here’s some thoughts I was having on my way home from work last night.

I’ve noticed that the band Coheed & Cambria polarizes people. Thankfully my friends who do not like them are reasonable and intelligent people, so when they tell me, a huge Co&Ca fan, that they do not like them, they simply state it as a fact. They do not hurl insults about them. I know that there have been many reports of D.J.s insulting their music; I’ve heard some myself, but then I don’t trust the opinions of radio D.J.s, and neither should you.

But last night, as I was having an imaginary but intelligent conversation with a friend in my mind about this band, I noticed there are two distinct ways to approach a band and their music. The right way or the wrong way depends on the band, I think.

The Genre Approach: This is when you pick up a CD or select a song by a particular artist because you know or have heard that they fit into a particular genre (or based on how strongly they are influenced by a more famous band, or to even judge a new album of a band based on how similar it is to their previous works). In my life, this happened the most in my punk and ska days. I picked up albums by bands such as Mustard Plug, Blink 182, I Against I, Pulley, The Eclectics, Ozma, and many many many others based purely on my understanding that the band fit into a genre of music that I liked. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this, but it is definitely very limiting. I began to lose interest in all the new music I bought because I wasn’t interested in what each band was doing, I was looking for a sound that I’d already made my mind up on and was trying to find it. Now, some of the groups looked into for this reason were only worth that approach. Sorry if you’re a Pulley fan, but they’re pretty typical and nothing special, and I think that if you are a huge fan of them, it’s mainly because they best fit the kind of sound that you were looking for before you bought their CD. There are lots of other bands, however, that I started listening to in this manner and I found that they were better listened to with the 2nd approach:

The Digestive Approach: I really wish I could think of a better name for that. This is when you listen and pick apart a musician’s work in an individualistic fashion, measuring its worth not based on how it holds up to a similar sounding band, their previous albums, or the rigid definitions of a genre, but only on how it works as music. It really requires you to “digest” an album, which is why I chose the gross name. As mentioned before, it is certainly possible to look into a band based via “The Genre Approach,” but then begin to look into them deeper over time and learn to appreciate them (or not appreciate them) as simply an individual artist. In the past, this has happened with bands I love (such as Dead Kennedys) and bands I really don’t care for (such as The Dave Matthews Band). But I’ve found that there are lots of bands and artists I’ve listened to in this manner right off the bat. Some of them are worth it and endure, like Sufjan Stevens or Broken Social Scene, and some don’t hold up too well and are best left as novelty items, like (in my opinion) groups like The Killers or The Hives. So many bands can easily move back and forth or even exist simultaneously in both of these approaches, but Coheed and Cambria is one of those bands that I really think exists the best in this second one. Theirs is a sound that requires commitment and is not classified easily. I think the best test for this is to see whether or not a band’s songs fair well on a mix CD.

And I’ve completely lost interest in this blog. It’s hard to think through legitimate thoughts and put them into type when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure your boss isn’t coming.

Aren’t I funny?

I finally was able to watch the movie American Gangster last night, staring Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington. What a great flick. Crowe is cool and all, and I’ve never been disappointed with a performance of his in a movie, but I’ve never been especially blown away, either. I guess that’s fine. Denzel, however, that dude is awesome. I especially love the movies in which he’s some form of a bad-ass. I’ve never had a chance to make it all the way through Training Day, but I know that’s one of his b.a. movies, and he scared the heck out of me with what I have seen of it. Then there’s Man on Fire, in which he plays a mentally troubled body guard, hired to protect an 8-year-old girl who wins his heart, and then she’s kidnapped, and instead of heeding the ransom demands he goes on a killing rampage and brutally takes out everyone who was involved. He puts a bomb in a guy’s butt and lets him blow up! How awesome is that? Denzel’s a bad-ass in American Gangster, too. He puts a bullet through a guy’s head right in the middle of a crowded street, with everyone watching, then he walks away, sits back down in a diner with his brothers and has lunch. The movie opens with him setting a guy on fire and then shooting him like ten times. But Denzel! You have such a charming smile! I do not understand how such violence can come from such clean teeth, but for the sake of my entertainment I’m glad it does. I might go on a Denzel The Bad Ass movie rampage soon.

The earliest I remember it was in high school. Once every few months, sometimes as often as once a month, the soft tissue underneath my jaw would sting. It would hurt to swallow, along with a dull pressure, and the pain would ride up my jaw line and all the way through to underneath my tongue. It would last anywhere from ten seconds to two or three minutes, and then it’d go away. I eventually got so used to it that, when it would happen, I’d just stand back from whatever I was doing, wait a short while for it to end, and go back to the tasks at hand.

I don’t remember what led me to discover the next part of it, but I remember I was already in my twenties, possibly already living in Carbondale (which means I was at least 22). For some reason I turned my tongue down and felt underneath it as the stinging was happening, and I felt some kind of a vein that had swelled up and was very firm. When the stinging went away, as it always did, the swelled vein went away, too. Every time after that, I’d always check under my tongue, and every time this vein was swollen. Sometimes I’d check in the mirror, and as you’d imagine I could see something there. It wasn’t blue like a vein, but was the same pink color as the rest of the tissue under my tongue. I’d estimate that it was three to four millimeters in diameter, and it ran from the back under-side of my tongue, along the inner right side of my mouth, to front and center, right next to that webby thing, and stopped.

It wasn’t until the spring of 2004 that I had any new problems. I had just finished working one night, I think I had something to eat, and the stinging started, complete with all the other normal symptoms: the swollen vein, painful swallowing, a kind of achy pressure through the soft tissue under my jaw. Except this time it did not go away. Ten minutes went by, thirty minutes, an hour. It was getting a little old. By this time I was hanging out with some friends at their house, and I mentioned to them what was going on and how it was pretty painful. I kept checking in a mirror to see what the issue was. It wasn’t until checking several times that I noticed a small, white speck at the end of that vein. I looked as close as I could and decided to to what any other sensible 24-year-old bachelor would; I picked at it. Well, one flick, and whatever that white speck was disappeared and saliva shot out of that “vein” like it was a miniature, biological Super-Soaker. I’m willing to bet I would have gotten a good six to seven inches of distance if the mirror hadn’t been in the way. Well, the pain and pressure stopped, and I was completely fascinated. What I concluded was that somehow I had gotten a small food particle stuck in one of my saliva ducts, which blocked the flow of saliva, causing the swelling of the duct, painful swallowing, a stinging sensation, etc. Every time after that when this happened, I found myself excited rather than distressed, since I knew how to fix it. I found it fun. I would run to a mirror if I could get to one to watch the spit-fountain happen again (and it was happening once every week to three weeks at this point). It usually happened after I’d eat, though not always, so I concluded that I must have a weird opening at that saliva duct that’s just a little too big and allows small food particles to get stuck in it often. It was always, always, always on the right side of my mouth. Sometimes I’d have to pick at it to get it to “open up,” sometimes just stretching my tongue out in my mouth would put enough pressure on the blockage to free it, and other times it’d just quickly go away on its own like it had years before. This continued for nearly three years.

January 2007, I went to eat a late Sunday-night dinner with my didn’t-yet-know-he-would-be-my-roommate, Ben Cole. As we finished eating, the stinging began, and like nearly 3 years prior, it wasn’t going away. I tried to pick at it a little to free whatever food was blocking it, but it wasn’t happening this time. We ended up driving to the CLAM (now D’CLAM) to hang out with some people, and I couldn’t relax because my mouth was hurting me so bad. I kept going to the bathroom to try to get whatever-it-was out, but with no success. I decided to take extreme measures, and took the open end of a sewing needle, sterilized it, and used this tool to try to dig this object out, but it seemed to be slightly bigger than the opening. So how did it get in there? I worked on it on and off for about an hour to an hour and a half, and finally got it to where I was able to pick it out with my fingernail, and my mouth had never felt more relieved. This was the first time that I actually still had the blocking object after freeing it . . . and it wasn’t food. It was a small, white, rock-hard something. I examined it for a long time that night, much to the disgust of my friends, until it fell of my finger and was lost in the endless forest of carpet (you’re welcome, girls).

Well, the next day I had a different pressure: my right lymph node was swelled to the size of a golf ball. Yeah, it hurt. Constant pressure, it hurt to swallow, to laugh, to chew. It stayed that bad for at least a week, maybe longer. I know that it was a while before it started to go away, but it did. And I have not had a problem with it, nor a problem with blocked saliva ducts since, and it’s been well over a year now. I came to the conclusion after my lymph node returned to normal that what was happening wasn’t me getting food particles stuck in my saliva duct. Somehow, way back in high school (the mid-nineties), something must have calcified somewhere in my salivary duct-work and slowly broke apart, small pieces at first, eventually getting bigger to the point that they needed assistance to fully exit the system. I don’t know how it happened, or what it technically really was . . . but I do know that I’m glad I never bothered a doctor with it.