Sorry from NY

Sorry about the lack of posts. I've taken some good pics, and I can't wait to update my horde of readers. There will be updates soon.

The Bomber, The Brett, and The Buzz

Sorry about the lack of posts, I'm just lazy for the internet.

My dear friend Eric Nusbaum cruised into town for the last couple of days. Craziness ensued. We spent our time together touring the city, searching through bookstores, and getting coffee. And of course, responsibly engaging in adult beverages. Very adult stuff.

Eric is a good man. In college, we always discussed some one-on-one time. We would run into each other at social gatherings, promise to hang out, exchange numbers for the 12th time, and make a pledge to call each other the next day. It never happened. Keep in mind, I made this 'hang-out' claim a lot with people I had never intended to hang out with. I would see someone at a party, and the appropriate small talk was to discuss how, 'we should really hang out'.

But this wasn't how I felt about Eric. I actually like his point of view on many things. He is much taller than I am. Yet, the ins and outs of life made sure our paths would never collide into an exclusive/non-party hang out section. And I always regretted that. I wanted to hang out with him.

These last two days we finally got the chance to hang out. We both consider ourselves pseudo-writers, and spent much of our time together discussing the writing world. He taught me about iambic pentameter. So I wrote this poem for him.

ODE TO ERIC
To write is not a plain and simple fight,
You find the path of all the truth and light.
The beat and rhyme is more than space and time,
His heart and mind in meter we can find.

I'm not sure if this works, but I think it might.

He also filled me in on the last two months of his life. He was a campaign man, scurrying around for a congressman in Chicago, trying to see how big a margin he could get his boss elected by. Eric worked hard and speaks positively of the experience.

Eric's Blog

In other news, I want to be the next Youtube sensation. Check out these videos.

I'm leaving for New York tomorrow. Two weeks in the big city-seeing if I can cut it in the big city. I'm stoked.

Old and Behind the Times

There once was a time when I was on the cutting edge. Music, skating, fashion, style. I had it baby. I was it. People looked at me and knew. "That dude is in it," they would undoubtedly say.

This time is no longer. I am an old man. No fashion sense, skateboarding that is soooo last year, and worst of all my music. The only music I listen to is a Doors CD that has been in my car for the last couple months. I blast that stuff like the new hits, ignorant and careless that it's old.

Then I went to a couple of parties and heard some great dance music. But I was oblivious to who the bands were. I mean, I could pick out the played stuff like M.I.A., but other than that I was clueless. Yesterday, I went on a small road trip down to Albuquerque with a couple of my friends. The girl who was driving, Kalie, was in charge of the music. She put on the dance music that I had gotten down to at the parties.

"This is good, who is this?" I asked. The age oozed from my pores.

"MGMT, duhh," she said. My other friend chuckled at her response. My heart broke. After the drive, I ran home and downloaded all of their music. I typed their name into Pandora and found music like it. The newer the music-the better. How dare I become a laughing stock. I was hip baby, hip. Now look at me, a disgusting shell of my cool stuff.

If anyone is trying to reach me today I will be at American Apparel and Urban Outfitters, powering through a pack of Parliament Lights in my Ray Bans.

Ohhhh god, are those things cool anymore? HELP ME!!!! I need to go back to France where I am years ahead of what is cool.

Dog Park Gestapo and the News

Story

This story is an interview with the Secretary of State that ran today.

The wagon is moving for me getting an interview with Val Kilmer- and the wagon is rolling slow. It's the freaking wagon from the Oregon Trail computer game. The old D.O.S version. And I'm just spending my whole time hunting buffalo instead of moving toward the ultimate goal of Val Kilmer. And Molly, my teen bride on the Oregon Trail, is sick with diarrhea. That's how quickly I'm getting Mr. Mojo Rising Val Kilmer on the phone.

I'm sorry I have Molly sick with diarrhea in my Val Kilmer/Oregon Trail D.O.S parody. That's rude. But I can't remember anything else a trailblazer dies of in the game. Sorry Molly.

The dogs I'm watching wake me up every morning at 7:30. It would be endearing, if my clouded mind wasn't so loaded with hate for being woken up at 7:30. They wake me up because they want to go to the dog park.

The dog park is one of those weird scenes that stress me out. People are into the dog park. They love the dog park. Understandably, because they love their dogs. But like every scene, some people that are wayyy too into it. I feel like I'm in a fashion show strolling in with the puppies. Everyone looks, ooohhhs and ahhhhsss and compliments the dogs.

Today there was a lady orchestrating the whole shabang. She was pointing at dogs, yelling at dogs, and talking at their owners. When I cruised in, she immediately told me how beautiful my dogs are.

"Your dogs are soooo beautiful," she said.

I stood in place, contemplating my response.

"Uhhh, thanks. So are yours."

I looked at her mangy animals. They were some strange cross between feral cats and a shoehorn. She nodded in appreciation. She then went into this long monologue about how last week she saw a beautiful corkie -terrier mix. It was breathtaking. Since I have no knowledge of dogs, and wouldn't know if her shoehorn puppies were a 'corkie-terrier', I nodded in agreement and moved on with my dogs. She was a nice lady, and in my opinion, much to into dogs. And she is in to dogs like I am into skateboarding. I can't fault her for that.

And I forgot. I did a story about an ill-planned power plant that ran earlier this week. It was picked up the next day by the New Mexico Independent. I don't know if this is just coincidence or if the author heard the report. Either way, he went into much more detail, and it is a very good report.

Jack is Crazy

I have this buddy Jack from the skatepark. He is clinically insane. But, insane in the normal kind of way. He is a perfectly acceptable member of society, yet utterly whacko. You can tell only when you are in a deep discussion with him. That's when I look into his eyes and realize the craziness. We will be having a normal conversation about.....oh.....skating. I will mention some off handed remark and he will just loose it.

Like today. We were chilling on top of the quarterpipe talking about skinny legs. Some people have skinny legs. Some have fat legs. A Regular conversation all around. Then I said,

"Yeah, I guess it's just D.N.A you know, you get what your parents got."

He lost it. I immediatly knew. His eyes straightened and focused, but not on anything in particular. He was gathering steam for what he was about to say.

"D.N.A. is a bitch man." "It is unfair". He was serious. No joking.

He went on this rant about D.N.A. How it is screwed that people don't even ask for it, they just get it. He has deep hate for D.N.A. He detests D.N.A like I hate those crumbums at the airport. Serious, horrible hate. I would better describe his hate if I could, but I was focusing on how to get away from his ranting.

When he gets into these rants, I don't know what to do. Usually, I try to keep my voice serious, and nod intently. I try to get away by skating off orcutting the conversation short and then skating away.

"Yeah man, D.N.A is kinda crazy". That's how I ended it. Smooth Brett.

Her Name is Raven

Story 1

Story 2

These are two stories that were on the air last week. I also went live for election coverage. It was frightening. I did fairly well, except my voice started out in a high-pitched nasal twang. I got it under control after the first sentence. If you want to listen to the live piece, you will have to go to www.ksfrnews.com and listen through the podcast. My piece is 11 minutes in. I'm a regular Chris Todd. Or maybe that black reporter who took heat for crying after Obama was nominated.

I'm more like the crying black guy.

The puppies that I'm sitting for are doing well.

I watched a little of The View this morning. And the show after The View. The guest was the girl from The Cosby Show. She was all grown up. Her interview depressed the hell out of me. She went on and on about all the things she was doing: I'm producing this, my website is that, I acted in this. She keeps herself busy. She put me to shame. All I do is try to write one story a day for the news, and house-sit. Yet, my bones are exhausted.

I bet she has an entourage that helps her out. I need an entourage. I'm taking applications for the position of my cook; also known as Kevin Dillon in the show Entourage. The position won't pay of course, but the life experience that comes with being my cook is worth more than its weight in gold.

Prop 8

I can't tell if this is completely sincere, but it is a good message.

Maximizing your Crappiness

Sorry about the lack of posts lately. I was heavily occupied in Chicago, detailing and cleaning my grandparent's estate. Chicago was busy. Not much time to rest. I'm resting now at a house in Santa Fe. I'm taking care of two puppies while the owners of the home are out of town. The puppies are nice, but I don't think they really understand why I'm in their home. I think they just view me as a giant treat factory because every time they get antsy I give them a treat. They are quickly learning to work me.

I rode in a plane this morning. I mostly like airport. The feeling that hangs in the air of the airport; the excitement of traveling I guess.

I hate one aspect of airports. Not an aspect I guess, more one set of people that frequent airports.

I hate the people that think the plane ride they are about to embark on is going to be so treacherous, so comfortless, that they need to dress in order to maximize their comfort. They wear their disgusting, smelly, 10 year old sweatpants. They wear their over sized college sweatshirts that are more like a filthy sleeping bag then a sweatshirt. They have the neck pillows. They have the snacks. They have the beat-to-hell Uggs. I hate them. O.K.- I know your hour and a half flight from Baltimore to New York is going to be a grueling tour-de-force of pain, in which you needed to outfit yourself from head to toe in plane fighting fatigues; but come on. This is a society. You can't just role out of bed and come to the airport. These crumbums are roaming the airport think that because they are about to take a plane certain rules in society cease to exist. What happened to flying being a luxury? You're about to take a trip-dress respectably. I think you are hideous anyway, at least dull my pain by pulling your self together.

Under no circumstances should someone dress like I have described. I don't care if you are about to take a 19 hour flight. Are jeans really that uncomfortable? Just deal with it.

40 Years Ago

The picture from the '68 Chicago Democratic Convention captures the nation over 40 years ago. The 'candidate of change' Bobby Kennedy, had been shot. Nixon won handily. Years of Vietnam and deceit followed.

Tonight there are 200,000 people near Grant Park; waiting to hear from the anti-war, progressive, President-elect. Ohhh, how much a difference 40 years can make.

Hallo-weekend

I hope everyone enjoyed their Halloween weekend as much as I did.

I was Hunter Thompson from the '72 campaign years. I went to St. John's, partying down with all of those philosophy majors. The costume really took over. I made an effort never to break out of character, and I took a notebook with me in order to interview students. It started off normal enough, but then-in homage to Hunter-it got weird. Here is an example:

Headline- Interview with Lucas "The butcher" Sl***er
Hunter (Me): Where you from young fella?
The Butcher: Kansas
We then talk about Sebelius. Booze fiend never heard of her. Ohhh, the horror. Kids never learn.
He is a UFC fighter. I smile and nod politely, trying to avoid a beating. He is small for that sport, most likely insane. Ask him something I could quote him on.
The Butcher: "Happiness is only real when shared" I ask him where he got the quote. Responds, 'Into the Wild'. I like the book, he says he never read the book, only saw the movie. I again nod politely, trying to avoid eye contact.

Yeah, so I actually wrote that stuff in my notebook. I hope I did Hunter proud. The notebook only gets weirder from there, with me just quoting things from random people. More examples: "My driving skills are excellent"
"Change we can't define"
"He can dig"

The notebook from that night ends with me writing, "I'm in pure madness, I'll be lucky to get out alive." I actually thought I was Hunter Thompson for the night. Very Cool.

I also witnessed a best-dressed awards ceremony. A person who dressed as a street sign won the contest. A freshman who dressed as a clown got booed off stage, and he ran out of the room crying. College kids are harsh. Good weekend all around.

To end on a sad note, I have to go back to Chicago for a funeral. It will be nice to see my family.