So Much Better In My Head

Remnants of Lives Past

2009-04-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

I believe in reincarnation. Except, not in the traditional sense, not reincarnation that is multiple bodies across multiple lifespans, but one that is multiple lives across one lifespan. Maybe that doesn't make sense to you, but there are certain things that are solely attached to my life at one period of time, and while these things still exist, those lives do not. And these things, although tangible, are no longer part of the present.

In the back right hand corner of the top drawer of an old wooden desk sits a small maple box. Its insides are lined with a royal blue velvet, but its contents were much less than noble. And while the velvet has not been touched by anything but my fingers in years, its former content is unforgettable.

It does not stand out among the other scars on my body, or even the other scars that cover my left leg. In fact, you wouldn't even know it was there if I hadn't just told you. The raised line is faded. It looks as if someone had rolled a dime one full rotation on my shin before it tails off. The exact length of a sad story that never finished.

This is my same body, with the fingers that have touched the velvet and scar covered shin, yet I am reincarnated. These things are part of my history, remnants, of my lives past.

Portrait of a Falling Dancer

2009-03-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

She even falls with grace. By far; her most admirable quality is that: she falls with grace.

And maybe she falls more frequently than most, but the fault is not hers.

Perhaps it is the fault of the stair for being imperfect. Uneven stone steps covered with dirt weren't made for feet like hers, feet that brush so lightly on the surface.

Perhaps it is the fault of the jealous wind. Furious breezes attempt to sway her and take grace away; but grace doesn't fall from her.

Or perhaps it is my fault, for willing it to happen,

Because I am imperfect.

And I am jealous.

And she...

She even falls with grace.

Shame on Me

2009-02-15T16:41:00.000-08:00

I was feeling a bit emotional today(what else is new, right?). Anyway, I picked up my guitar and started playing this song I wrote back in 2005. It's been probably been almost 4 years since I've played it. It's called "shame on me." I'll avoid the obvious George W. Bush jokes that could follow.

If I told you twice, I told you once.

Sometimes people we mess up.

If you heard me right, you heard me wrong.

I could never be that strong.

So take yourself away from me.

I think you need some time to breathe.

I'm not everything you ask of me.

But I don't pretend to be.

Shame on me, the blames on me.

Pain on me, the blames on me.

You cursed me out and I lost my luck.

I let it ride like an idiot.

Now I'm haunted by your angelic face.

I've got my tongue but I've lost my taste.

I'll take myself away from you.

I think I need some time to breathe.

I couldn't be what you asked of me.

And I know I'll never be.

Shame on me, the blames on me.

Pain on me, the blames on me.

why wait? well...

2009-02-08T14:15:00.001-08:00

I was surfing the web and came across this poll with comments. I especially enjoyed reading the comments because I wasn't expecting so many women to have that point of view and also the scientific evidence that was presented was quite interesting as well. Check it out.

http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/blogs/smitten/2009/01/poll-are-you-waiting-to-have-s.html?mbid=yshine_smit

You'll have to copy and paste the url, sorry.

P.S. I don't normally read articles in Glamour, I linked there from yahoo.

Thoughts of the day (so far)

2009-01-24T14:44:00.000-08:00

Even when I think I'm being proactive nothing ends up happening (frustrating)

When the cashier asks how old I am when I am trying to buy my lotto ticket that he should have to tell me how old he is too. Then I can play the numbers for both of our birthdays on the ticket.

The State of Things

2009-01-11T13:32:00.000-08:00

Well, I just got back from Nicaragua on Wednesday evening. It was a life altering experience in more ways than one (emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, and to some extent physically). I must say though, I have returned from this trip with more questions than answers and I have had a lot to process in the last few days. Unfortunately, California didn't stop moving while I was gone and I have massive amounts of catching up to do with school and everything else. I got a little bit of therapy on the flight home by writing a song. By the way, the stranger next to me on the flight seemed to find the process quite interesting. She was looking over my shoulder the whole time. I finished on Friday morning and immediately posted it to youtube. Unfortunately, I think the person/people that need to see it haven't seen it. And... maybe that's for the best. I probably said too much anyway.

That's a brief update on the state of things, and I really don't have a lot of time to do creative writing right now even though it might be detrimental to my health to not do so. I'll let the stories marinate for a while and hopefully a few things will work themselves out while I'm busy busy.

P.S. There have been numerous "so much better in my head moments the past few weeks." I really did title this page aptly.

Hall of No Shame

2008-12-13T19:36:00.000-08:00

Wow! First post of December, This was originally a song idea but I like it as a poem. hopefully you will too.

Look what I have built

With my voice and my hands

This throne was a chair

Before I gave it a purpose

Look what I have done

In this borrowed hour

These walls were unfulfilled

Until they had something to protect

Look! Look! Look!

This hall was empty

Empty before me

Now full without shame

Potpourri

2008-11-24T22:19:00.000-08:00

This blog is titled after one of my favorite Jeopardy categories because, well, it's a mixture of things. I always type these little notes into my phone when I have ideas for songs or blogs or whatever. Lately I have been seriously slacking so they have been piling up. Here are the abbreviated versions of some of the ideas I've collected over the past month: good, bad, naive or otherwise.

Falling on deft ears- I think I've already talked about my general distaste for puns and my ironic use of them. Anyway, I was pretty high on this idea although I had to double check what deft meant. It works and could have been a decent jumping off point.

I wouldn't take her best advice but I'd sure as hell be her worst mistake

- This was definitely intended for song but it sounds more like a one-liner. It's like swiss, good but has holes in it... and definitely cheesy.

I don't want a woman that will make me jump through hoops to be with her, but a woman who will make me heart jump through hoops when I am with her.

- I'm almost embarrassed to post this, I mean it sounds like a reject from a romantic comedy. But there are definitely times when I just want to scream "say what you mean!" or better yet "say what you feel!"

You should treat everyone well... but if you treat everyone the same then no one will ever know how you really feel.

- I was thinking of someone in particular when I wrote this who is a very nice person and a pleasure to be around. However, it's just impossible to know if she is actually being sincere because you know she treats everyone the same way. Maybe I'm just a bad person but I think it's okay to show that you care about some people more than others. And if it's done in private then your public persona can remain intact.

Well, these were some of the thoughts that crossed my mind the past month. I forgot to mention before that some "ideas" last only a few days before I delete them. A little distance helps me realize that some of the stuff I come up with is best left kept to myself.

Character Confessions

2008-11-14T22:07:00.000-08:00

As you may or may not know, I have been working on a screenplay on and off for over a year and I thought I'd give you a taste. The film is entitled "Short Hops and Sacrifice" and it is the fictional account of Jake Reeser, a young high school baseball star with loads of potential and a big league pedigree. Jake struggles with the responsibility he has to his family and with growing up without a mother and having a father who is an alcoholic. Among other things, Jake must weigh the costs and benefits of chasing his big league dream directly out of high school or going to college. Unfortunately, each decision has a sizeable impact on the other members of his family which are his older brother Brad and his younger brother's Jeremy and A.J. The following is an exercise I did to get at the heart of Jake's struggles. It is in the form of a letter to his mother.

Dear Mom,

Decision day is rapidly approaching and I find myself no closer to making a choice than ever. Many times I have heard of people who are able to look back at a decision they once made in their life and say "That decision changed the course of my life." I wish I was at that stage; once it has all been figured out. But that is not the case, I must face the decision that will shape my future now, in the present. I know how important it is, that is what makes it difficult. But what if it doesn't matter? What if I get hit by a bus and paralyzed tomorrow? Or a year from now? Would it matter whether I decided to to college to play baseball or not?

I have never thought I would have any other profession than baseball player, but then again, neither did Dad. Since the final game of his career he has been known as a guy "who used to." "He used to be a ballplayer." "He used to be a real comedian." "He used to be a father." More than anything, I am afraid of ending up like him. More than the fear of failure itself, I am afraid of becoming a man who has turned bitter because of his failure. I can't help but think though mom, if you were here, maybe he wouldn't be this way, maybe he'd be able to look A.J. in the eye, and maybe he would've been there for Brad when he was angry at the world.

Back to the question at hand, will it really matter where I play baseball next year? No. What will matter is how I handle my life outside those white chalk lines. And I have learned that the kind of man you are inside and outside those lines are determined by the way you handle the same two things, short hops and sacrifice.

Perseverance

2008-11-06T15:16:00.000-08:00

This is poem I had to write for a class. It's called a "quality" poem and the quality I chose was perseverance.

Perseverance is covered in scars. He has a disheveled appearance. He is sweaty, and bloody, and has scaled Mt. Everest twice. He runs triathlons and has never lost a staring contest. Perseverance won a golf tournament with a torn meniscus.

Perseverance is welcome in the most elite circles. He is the guest of honor at graduations, award ceremonies, and fundraisers. The most successful people in the world credit Perseverance with helping them become who they are today. Perseverance was the question to an answer on Jeopardy.

Perseverance is patient too, both patient and proactive. Perseverance sees the word "no" and reads it as "not yet." He throws a stone in one side of a pond and doesn't look away until the ripples have reached the other side. Perseverance has faith... that some day- they will.

All Better

2008-10-29T22:27:00.000-07:00

When I was 3, I thought a kiss would heal my wound. If I hit my head on the corner of the table it was no big deal. SMOOCH! All better.

When I was 8, I thought a Ninja Turtles band-aid would heal my wound. If I skinned my knee on the asphalt it was no big deal. COWABUNGA! All better.

When I was 18, I thought vodka would heal my wound. If I left my heart in unreliable hands it was no big deal. GULP! All better.

Now I can see how each was wrong, and also how each was right. They were illusions of healing, but they could put a mind at ease... for a while.

I have often heard that it is time that heals wounds. All better? I don't know yet.

Smiles That Weren't Meant for Me

2008-10-13T21:12:00.001-07:00

It happens while I'm driving, probably because I am perpetually looking into oncoming traffic, studying the faces of the people as they speed past me (it's a wonder I haven't caused an accident). It happens in the classroom as my head swivels in a complex yet predictable pattern. It happens in the gym, when I catch the eye of someone in one of the mirrors. It happens as I walk down the street, or an aisle, or anywhere where there is two-way human traffic. They smile at me... I smile back.

But then I realize: The woman who was driving was on the phone. The young lady in class was daydreaming with eyes out of focus staring off into space. The guy at the gym was admiring his own muscles. On the street, I look back to see a baby in a stroller. In the aisle, I see the item they were buying was on sale.

All of them smiling... yet none of their smiles were meant for me. Still, I take them, trying to act like that was my intention all along.

Thought of the day

2008-10-07T21:34:00.000-07:00

Trying to change someone is hopeless. Hoping someone will change is restless. I wouldn't recommend either.

Human

2008-10-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

Just another day. A new day. Every day is the same. Today will be different. One day. I look good, watch out! I look terrible, don't look. #*!* I'm so tired of this. I'm so tired. Gimme, gimme, gimme. I am so lucky! Go away. The world is out to get me. I am so unlucky. I am self-centered. Stay. I don't care. I'm different. I am caring. I don't understand. I'm indifferent. AAARGH! I just want to forget. I am loving. Why can't I remember? I'm insecure. I don't stand out. I can't. I'm the victim. I am guilty. I am damaged. I am spiteful. I am wounded. Nobody cares. Nobody understands-

I am human.

September Ends

2008-09-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

It is the most precarious of months, a marker of both beginnings and ends. It is the month of transition. While the leaves begin to turn so do the wheels. More than any other month do I recall where I was one year earlier. Let's see, last September I was... And I laugh at who I was, feeling so much older having greeted another September. And it seems like a distant place no matter the season. Well that was back in September, I say in mid-October. And the continuum of time is breeched when thirty days pass while one yellow leaf travels from the tree-top to the ground. And I forget September until it sneaks up on me again, reminding me that time is always passing; even if I stand in one place- while September ends.

Invisible Scars

2008-09-29T11:47:00.000-07:00

This is a song I wrote about 3 years ago which was not that long after I first picked up a guitar. The guitar part is really quite minimal so I figured this would be a good candidate to put on here because it's almost like a poem. Although I don't want to give myself too much credit. It's called Invisible Scars.

I'll go out on a limb,

I'll say she's gonna live.

But she's not doing well, The wounds are fresh-

They have not healed.

Invisible scars,

Cover the sky of her skin like stars.

Making it hard- to start again.

Invisible scars,

They darken her heart like tar.

Making it hard- to love again.

It's gonna take some time,

Some tears have yet to leave her eyes.

She is not alright, Because it's me-

Whose stole her shine.

Invisible scars,

Cover the sky of her skin like stars.

Making it hard- to start again.

Invisible scars,

They darken her heart like tar.

Making it hard- to love again.

I took her to the edge.

I broke her down until she bled.

Her love for me a waste. All that's left-

Left on her face.

But I'll go out on a limb.

I'll say she's gonna live.

Marco on Marco (Your wildest fantasy/nightmare come true)

2008-09-24T22:28:00.000-07:00

Marco: So Marco, you've had this blog for a while now, what's it all about?

Marco: Well, basically it's a place where I can write, which I do anyway, and other people can see it and hopefully be entertained.

Marco: ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

Marco: Excuse me?

Marco: Oh, sorry. Gladiator...fantastic. You kind of set me up there.

Marco: Right... that's a good movie. So what I do is try to mix up light and heavy pieces. song lyrics, lists, etc.

Marco: That one about rochambeau was hilarious! Haha! You should do more stuff like that.

Marco: Glad you liked it, but I think writing comedic pieces is probably the hardest thing for me to do. You can't always trust that the comedy will translate as just words on a page, they have to come alive in the reader's mind.

Marco: uh huh.

Marco: Being in front of a live audience you have other tools at your disposal to get laughs.

Marco: uh huh.

Marco: First, there is body language, which can act as an emphasis or exclamation point.

Marco: Fascinating

Marco: When you take using body language to the extreme it is called physical comedy, which is something that Chris Farley did very well.

Marco: La da di da de da.

Marco: Second, in front of an audience you can react, whereas a comedic writer you have to anticipate an audience response. You have to trust that what you wrote didn't just sound funny in your head.

Marco: Speaking of that, I don't understand the title to your blog, everything I say is so much better in real life.

Marco: Hmmm, is that so? Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I really have to be in the right mood or have the perfect idea to write comedy. However, I can write about heartbreak at any time.

Marco: Uh oh. You're not gonna start crying are you?

Marco: No. I was just saying...

Marco: Good, cuz I will slap you.

Last One Standing

2008-09-16T23:08:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody! Back with another "short" short story only this one is woven with some lyrics from "Last One Standing" written by yours truly Marco Patitucci. Enjoy!

I'm offering you something good; I shouldn't have to chase you around.

That was it, the best way he could put it. The pen lingered on the period, darkening it, giving it emphasis. But it was the first line, where could he go from there? Where is there to go? A proposition made, a proposition disregarded. If he could do it all over again he wouldn't do it at all, but now that he'd done it he couldn't stop doing it.

I just want you to undress, because you wear the things that weigh you down.

It sounded like something he had actually said to her, a witty remark that somehow escaped his lips before escaping his pen. Something she might have heard and smiled, shaking her head before changing the subject or leaving the room. It was a remark that hid behind the smirk, while the smirk hid the insecurity.

You're turning around and around; are you chasing your fairy tale?

It was the least painful hypothesis he could make. Blame it on Cinderella and Snow White. Blame Disney. Blame romantic-comedies. Blame Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Blame "The Notebook." Blame Nicholas Sparks.

I know a bit bout chasing things; I hope you're not afraid to fail.

That was the irony of it all, he was chasing an idea and she was chasing an ideal. The two things were mutually exclusive and, on there own, virtually impossible.

And it's all on your sleeve, everything except your heart.

It's all on your sleeve, everything except your heart.

But I won't be the last one standing.

I won't be the last one there.

I won't be the last one standing.

I'd rather walk than stand and stare.

So Much Louder In My Head?

2008-09-10T22:20:00.000-07:00

Here is the scene. I am in class, hour two of the 4:30 to 8:30pm marathon session. My stomach is cramping... I am so hungry. I scan the room: a few people on laptops, a few with water bottles out, but unfortunately none eating. Damn. Do I really want to be that guy? I look down to see the 3/4 filled ziploc bag of Giant Cheez-its peeking out of my backpack. I came prepared. I open the bag and that salty-cheesy baked smell tickles my nose. What's the big deal? I think to myself. It's just a little snack, besides, the instructor did say it was okay to eat during class. I leave the open ziploc inside my backpack so as not to draw attention. I grab my first handful and discretely put it to my mouth. Crunch... uh oh. The first bite sounds like a boot hitting gravel. Is anyone looking? I continue chewing, but as I do so the lone boot turns into a platoon of soldiers making their way down a gravel road. Crunch...crunch. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Now I'm paranoid, desperately trying to figure how loud my chewing is but all I see are blank faces. Even if I did see a disapproving look it doesn't matter now. After that first tasty mouthful I have lost all self-control. Another handful, crunch...crunch. But I can't enjoy it. I am so focused on the volume of my own chewing I can no longer hear the instructor. And if my chewing is drowning out the instructor, why isn't everyone staring at me? And why isn't their a label on the Giant Cheez-it box warning of the GIANT crunch? I try chewing slower, but it's no better. Gravel wasn't made for sneak attacks. A few painful minutes pass. My eyes dart around the room like a drug addict as I finish my Cheez-its. Aware of my own ridiculousness, I still can't stop it... Even when I know it was probably so much louder in my head.

Patience is a Virtue(that I don't have)

2008-09-08T11:15:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd mix it up again with some song lyrics I have written. This song is about patience and trying to find the balance between patience and throwing your life away. Actually, it's not that deep, because the person in the song has already made the decision that they've waited long enough. So here is this, and I'll try to mix things up again on my next post with something a bit more comedic since it has been a while.

Patience

7/18/2007

I told you I'd wait forever,

But I think I'm gonna go back on my word.

I know now, I could've done better.

But dragging this out will only make things worse.

And patience is a virtue,

that's most often rewarded.

And patience is the moral,

of oh so many stories.

And patience is the one thing,

that could give me a second chance...

But patience is a virtue that,

I don't have.

The longer you take to make your decision,

the more I feel like you'll never decide.

While I just sit here, like a beggar.

Waiting for a sign that this love's alive.

And even though patience is a virtue,

that's most often rewarded.

And patience is the moral,

of oh so many stories.

And patience is the one thing,

that could give me a second chance...

Patience is a virtue that,

I don't have.

I wish I had,

I'd love to have.

Making Sense of it All (and other things I can't do) Part 2 of 2

2008-08-30T15:50:00.000-07:00

(this is part 2 of 2, the first part should be right below this, please read that first)

But how can I ignore my "why desire?"

The first thing I have to throw out is the idea that humans are rational beings. This is tempting to believe, because I myself like to think that I behave in a rational manner. In reality though, rationality is a result of our default processing function. Basically, the ability to reason is only part of the human psyche. Reason can work both with and against (most likely against) other parts of our nature such as emotion.

The second thing I have to accept is that I am only one force in a world with many forces. Any thoughts of control I have over my environment are in an illusion. My force is only one variable in a complex equation. The rest of the variables are largely unknown and take form in the many forces of the world outside of myself.

In each of the above cases I have to realize that at any time I am only holding part of the equation. In the first case, I can only assume how a rational person might respond. Even this small part I think I have is based on a dangerous assumption, that my theory of rational behavior matches the other person's. In the second case, I can only account for the value of one force (me) while the others remain unknown quantities.

To look at this from one other perspective is this: accepting the things you cannot change means accepting that not everything is a science. Even though I use the metaphor of a math equation that is only to show that if I try to understand in a scientific manner when people are involved (and not numbers and science) I will fail every time. However, if I can quell the "why desire" by giving up on trying to understand in such a manner then I can achieve the "flower petals floating on a remote lake" type of serenity. Because, in reality, humans are just too complex to understand themselves.

Making Sense of it All (and other things I can't do) Part 1 of 2

2008-08-30T15:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here is my little disclaimer. I'm really not trying to act like I know the answers to life's great questions. The self-help stuff was for laughs and to air some frustrations. I do feel like I have been discovering a lot of life lessons lately as a result of some of these frustrations. All of this is part of my "growing up" process. My last birthday was seemingly insignificant, 22 is not considered a milestone age in any society (that I know of). But my realization in the past week since my birthday is this: I can't hide behind my age anymore. I am an adult now and I believe that part of maturity is recognizing and accepting your limitations. (But please, do not take that statement to mean abandoning your dreams). Much of my new perspective has required me to submit to this inevitable truth: I cannot make sense of it all.

My latest realization is this: Accepting the things you cannot change often means accepting the things you cannot understand.

Many people are familiar with this quote from Saint Francis of Assisi "Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." I will focus on the first part of that quote today. From a conceptual standpoint, serenity sounds wonderful: flower petals floating on some remote lake, right? Unfortunately, I can't say that I've experienced such serenity, because accepting the things I cannot change not only means I cannot physically change them, but that inability is often a result of my own lack of understanding.

So why is this an important lesson?

The aspect of human nature that most directly relates to this quote and my realization is the desire(and in some cases need) to know why. If you have spent any amount of time with a child between 2 and 6 you're constantly reminded of this human desire. As adults that "why desire" is transformed from questions with tangible or scientific answers to questions about the interactions among people and relationships. Therein lies the problem, while the child's questions may weigh on your nerves, most of them can be answered with a level of certainty. The adult "whys" are much harder to answer. It is unlikely you will ever find out "why he or she didn't call," "why he or she stood you up," "why he or she gossiped," or "why or she cheated." Because of this your "why desire" goes unfulfilled.

(this is part 1 of 2, the second part will be right above this)

Top Ten Overused Song Lyrics (And whether or not I've used them)

2008-08-27T12:34:00.000-07:00

I have created a list of the top ten overused song lyrics and (because this is not an incrimination of the people that have used them) whether or not I personally have used them. For background information I have written about 100 complete sets of lyrics. Often these lyrics are in good songs, but more often than not they just originated in good songs. Here they are, in no particular order.

Bittersweet- It's everywhere and everything. Much more than chocolate and unfortunately now, much less than original. Of course there are exceptions, I still love Bittersweet Symphony.

Have I used it? No. Almost 100% sure.

Babe/Baby- Subpar R&B is much to blame for this phenomenon, as "baby" is a filler word of choice.

Have I used it? I have. One song I wrote is littered with "babe." Some people say that using babe is really "poppy."(Not poppy like poppy seed but pop music).

Rhyming maybe with baby- "Baby I'm amazed by the way you love me all the time, or maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you" from Sir Paul McCartney is a fine example.

Have I used it? No comment.

Sometimes- I searched "sometimes" on itunes and over 150 songs came back with that in the title including of course... Britney Spears.

Have I used it? Yes, but not as a title.

Nothing/Something/Everything to lose- Popular choice for album titles.

Have I used it? No. Almost 100% sure.

Falling- Rivaled "sometimes" in my itunes research of song titles.

Have I used it? I've definitely used "fall", not sure if I've used "falling." I might escape on a loophole here.

The Only One- Made a liar out of many.

Have I used it? Okay, I have but the lyric is "You're not the only one who knows I f***ed up." Not the same context as what I was talking about.

Forever- Made even more liars.

Have I used it? I can't think of a specific instance but I'm sure I must have, I mean it's "forever." It's practically famous.

Easy come, easy go- of Queen fame.

Have I used it? Yes, once. Then again I can't imagine needing to write two songs with that lyric.

Without You- From U2 to the Dixie Chicks, this lyric has gotten a lot of mileage.

Have I used it? If I have it wasn't a prominent role in the song.

There it is, my top ten overused song lyrics, feel free to comment if you agree or disagree.

Step Two: Forgive Others

2008-08-21T12:56:00.000-07:00

Okay I wasn't expecting to make this a series or anything but because of recent events (i.e. certain people forgetting my birthday yesterday) I thought it was important to point out that there is a second step to my self help book and the path to happiness, forgive others.

I don't make a big deal about my birthdays, I have never thrown myself a party or made any "Sweet Sixteen" like requests from my parents or anyone else. My opinion is that is a birthday is something that everyone has every year so it's really not "special" and thus the attention you get on your birthday is artificial and not earned. Don't get me wrong, I like to be the center of attention, I just like to earn it. Also, much of the hullabaloo made about birthdays is driven by our consumer culture. Still, I understand that my viewpoint is a minority viewpoint and other people expect certain things on their birthdays. I was surprised that I expected certain things too, like acknowledgement, although even a simple text message would of sufficed. But this is not about my sob story this is about step two: forgiving others.

I had a teacher in college who had a refreshing take on life and because of his attitude he was a very happy man. His philosophy was to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Sure this philosophy could be dangerous in excess but for the minor perceived slights in life it can work wonders. If you get cut off on the freeway? Well, the guy is probably rushing to meet his wife at the hospital who's giving birth. And if a close friend forgets to call on your birthday, well maybe they got run over by a truck. Too harsh? The point is, you're going to be a lot happier if you assume the best in people rather than the worst. It's not a radical or incredibly inventive philosophy but it is incredibly difficult to put into practice. However, if you can train yourself to assume the best it is much easier to forgive others because you have a legitimate reason to do so.

Step One: Forgive Yourself

2008-08-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

This is my half-hearted attempt at the "self-help" genre. Most people would say they don't think they're qualified to give out advice. I know I am not qualified so this is kind of tongue-in-cheek.

This is what the back cover of my self-help book would look like. The title is "Step One: Forgive Yourself: Because sometimes happiness is only one step away."

"Have you ever gotten on an elevator and gone to touch the button for your floor and then realized it's already been touched... then you make that sound that isn't really any words... and you know it's not that big of a deal... but you kind of feel like killing yourself."

Marco Patitucci was was watching stand-up comedy on television when he heard that funny, yet seemingly insignificant anecdote. But judging by the laughter of the audience, Patitucci suddenly realized he was not alone in hating the imperfections of his human nature. Inspired, he took an introspective look into the grudges he had been holding against himself for simply being human. Ultimately, he discovered that happiness was not as unattainable as he had once imagined. In fact, it was only one step away.

"If The Cure and Dr. Phil had a love child, who then wrote a self-help book, this would be it" -Rolling Stone

"You'll never 'forgive yourself'... for not... reading this book" - The New York Times

"3 1/4 stars" -Ed McMahon

People Who Need "People"

2008-08-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

I admit, I enjoy celebrity gossip; but I am not one of "those people." I am talking about the people that need "People"(the magazine). For one, I don't seek out my celebrity news. I have never perused Perez Hilton's website or Googled "brangelina baby pics." But, if I turn on the TV, and "The Soup" is on I will watch it and thoroughly enjoy it. There is nothing better than a beautiful disaster and Hollywood is full of them, one gleaming catastrophe after another. Should I feel shame for my inability to turn away from them? I think not. No, other than my recurring nightmare in which I am (gasp) Spencer and all I hear is the voice of Heidi saying "Shots? They're taking shots?... Shots?" I am not unusually consumed by celebrities or wannabe celebrities or celeb-reality or celeb-surreality. I am not one of those people who needs "People." But I do know some of "these people" and they are everywhere. How many times have you seen that person in front of you at the checkout line catch the eye of Lindsey Lohan and quickly turn away, blushing. "I shouldn't," they say to themselves. But as they unload items from their cart they can't help but peek over their shoulder. They see "Lindsey and Brit's Rehab Reunion" and faster than you can say Dr. Drew that copy of Star has suddenly appeared next to the Diet Coke on the checkout counter. And those aren't even the most serious of the celebrity gossip hounds. There are people that actually subscribe to these magazines; and if you don't believe me ask your mailman, it's incredible. However, the ironic thing is I need these people who need "People" maybe even more than they need "People." While I openly make fun of them, secretly I have a deep appreciation for them. Because, next to them, my recurring "Hills" nightmares don't seem so strange. Still, I probably shouldn't be telling everyone.

Doctor's Orders

2008-08-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

These are some lyrics from a song I wrote about 3 years ago. I can't remember whether I was trying to write a serious song or just one that was kind of funny. If it was serious, it makes "You oughta know" sound like a love letter. Anyway, I'm not going to record it or anything because it's pretty corny so here is your one chance to see it. It's called (you guessed it) Doctor's Orders.

My therapist told me,

This grudge that I'm holding,

Is tearing me down.

He says I'm too negative,

And that I should forgive,

And lay my burden down.

But I can't spin this all too well,

And I don't think you're going like,

the words I have to tell.

But this is doctor's orders, so don't get mad.

Yeah this is doctor's orders, so don't get mad.

You are the opposite of prude,

And you're the antithesis of good,

And you are the opposite of nice,

In fact I think you're the anti-christ.

I know I've called you an evil whore,

Once or twice before,

But I guess that's just not very healthy.

Cuz' my resentment,

Clouds my contentment,

Of being rid of you.

And then it goes back to the pre chorus and chorus then ends on "My therapist told me..." Yeah, so either I was full of spite and malice or was trying to be funny; I'll go with trying to be funny.

My Dreams Have A Narrator

2008-08-01T19:15:00.000-07:00

My dreams have a narrator. The cinematic dreamscapes I have used to be free from outside interference. But now, just like the influx of voice-over movies flooding the theatres, my dreams have a narrator. And, as much as I'd like it to be, it is not Morgan Freeman.

The voice is my own, yet the tone is distinct. It is the arrogant voice of my writer persona. His words lord over the actions of my other self as I navigate my dreams. It is not my conscience, a left shoulder devil or a right shoulder angel. It is a voice of knowledge, the voice of the future version of me. The same version which is always having deja vu. It is the version that is active when I am outside myself, outside of my head. I hate him.

He is a constant reminder of my failures, and a predictor of my future. He is the little-did-he-know voice that speaks right after an irreversible or irreparable action. "There," he points out, "that's where you went wrong," and he is right. He is always right. My dreams have a narrator; and it is me. My narrator has a dream, and unfortunately, I am it.

The Good Kind (part 2 of 2)

2008-07-26T10:56:00.000-07:00

The first part should be right below this

I could tell she wanted me to wait in line with her at the security check. "That's cute," I thought. "Well," I said, using the universal awkward silence breaking "I'll be going now" cue. She frowned, not cute. The relationship had been over for some time. Each of us had lost the desire to do the little things. Still, we had continued to do them until that day whether it was out of habit, or tradition, or fear. I tried to think of something to say that wasn't a generic movie line. "I guess this is it," (I failed). I handed her the laptop case, "Don't forget to take it out before you get to the front of the line." The frown turned into a question mark. "The laptop. They need it out for security check." I went in for the hug, thoroughly perplexed my brain's security check hadn't flagged those words. "Okay," she said with a half giggle, half sigh.

I always thought my last words to her would be classic, and they were, but not quite in the "Here's looking at you, kid" type of way. They say the best way to leave is to leave them laughing, I suppose that's true even if it's at your own stupidity. I walked away with a smile myself, shaking my head. It had not been so bad. And as I said before, there are only two types of goodbyes. The streak is over. Let the new streak begin. A streak of awkward, comedic, charade-ending, classic goodbyes. The good kind.

The Good Kind (part 1 of 2)

2008-07-25T21:21:00.000-07:00

So I realized that I said that there would be short stories on this blog and hadn't posted one yet. Better late than never.

While the intensity, style and duration may vary; there are only two types of goodbyes. Disregarding the open-ended goodbye, which isn't technically a goodbye, there is only the good and the bad, with the ugly definitely being part of the bad. It seemed like I had had a Cal Ripken-esque streak of the bad kind. Of course, that is usually the way it seems. Up until a few hours prior, I hadn't thought about how it would play out. Once I had become aware that I hadn't over-thought it yet, it was a surefire sign that it would occupy my brain's main processing function until I had played out at least a half dozen scenarios. So much for getting any work done. Still, I was hopeful, and fairly confident, this would be the good kind.

The car ride to the airport was mostly silent. The previous day she had told me (and told me) how important it was i show up at 7:00 am. When I showed up at 6:55 and then waited twenty minutes with theengine running I was more than a bit frustrated. Not a great start but I could tell she wanted to apologize. I knew she wouldn't do it though, I couldn't be right today, I couldn't be the good guy. I made up the twenty minutes on the freeway. It's easier to drive fast in silence. I followed the signs to short-term parking.

The emotional baggage was minimal, maybe a carryon, and a duffle bag worth of bitterness that could be checked at the gate. Still, she hated to see my empty handed, "Can you hold this for a sec?" I had been around her long enough to know that whatever I was getting, I wouldn't be giving back anytime soon. It was her laptop case. "I can't find my chapstick." She stopped to rifle through her purse after handing me the case. I took a few extra steps. I was always carrying her things: the jacket she didn't need but brought "just in case," her shoes at anyplace that bare feet were acceptable, and her keys, phone, and pocketbook for those occasions when she "just didn't need her purse" (She didn't need her purse, just everything in it). After a tense moment (for her) she pulled out the chapstick and put it to her lips; but not in that kissy face way that (apparently) some people think is sexy. She kept the chapstick in her hand, as if to say "my hands are full, I can't take the laptop back." I think she realized how silly some of her charades had become but kept them up out of habit, or tradition, or fear of something new.

Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion.

One Original Thought

2008-07-18T15:15:00.000-07:00

Don't let the title deceive you. There will probably won't be one in this post.

They are many poignant scenes in "Good Will Hunting." However, choosing just one to discuss is easy for me. The scene in the bar where the main character Will has a heated intellectual discussion with an Ivy League student about (I don't know) something intellectual (again I am just going from memory and I haven't seen the movie for some time so...). It is a classic scene. Basically there is a contest of wits between Will and a stereotypical looking ivy leaguer where both pride and (what turns out to be) Minnie Driver are on the line. While the ivy leaguer is making his point Will basically finishes his sentence and then tells him the book, author, page and line number where the guy got the information. Will then goes on this rant about how the ivy leaguer just believes whatever he reads in books and has probably never had one original thought and makes the guy look like an idiot. End scene. Oh and he ends up with Minnie Driver, in case you haven't seen it.

Besides making me feel like an idiot the scene got me thinking about original thoughts and if (and how many) I've ever had. However, I was finding this difficult because I'm not exactly sure what qualifies as an original thought. There are several factors I have considered in which there seems to be no concrete answers. For example, when is an idea "inspired" by another and when is it intellectual thievery? How far along must a tangent of another person's thought be taken before it is considered an "original"? I'm hardly ever thinking of nothing (at least I think) when an idea comes to me for a piece of music or a story so this is important to my artist ego. Oftentimes it is another story or piece of music that sparks something new. How different does the new thing have to be to be original? I realize this may seem like a waste of time but that line really struck me "Never had one original thought." I don't know why I took a line from a movie as accusatory to my character but I guess that's why people say movies can "speak" to you. You psychiatrists out there are probably thinking I (consciously or unconsciously, or is it subconsciously: sometimes I feel like I need double italics) feel guilty about something unoriginal but I'm about 94% sure that's not the case. I think it's simpler than that, I am just freaked out by the idea that someone else thinks like me and has the same thoughts as me. Creepy.

Tastes they are a Changing

2008-07-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been noticing a few things that point to me aging, and rather rapidly at that. No, I'm not talking about wrinkles, although last week I did have a Safeway checker not card me because she said I had wrinkles on my forehead. I am 21, almost 22, but am finding that my tastes (literally: tastebuds) have changed dramatically over the past 3-4 years. Things I thought only old people did to their food I now do and foods I thought only old people ate I now eat. And finally, things I ate when I was younger that made my parents cringe now make me cringe. Here are some examples: the last two times I have gotten Slurpees (childish? yes, but it's helping me illustrate a bigger point) they were "too sweet" and I had to dilute them with soda water when I got home. Foods I used to think were too spicy I now add pepper too. On a side note: I now know what Tums are and have a roll in my backpack. The concept of a Pixie Stik no longer entices me. I can now drink a glass (or two) of room temperature red wine without gagging. I prefer Canada Dry to a can of Coke. I can eat a slice of Jalapeno pepper without crying (most of the time).

Of course, some things never change, I will still eat cheesecake at any time of the day. I still can't stand pickles. Even the smell. My favorite cereal is still Captain Crunch Berries (and the limited edition Captain Crunch Oops! All Berries: which was the greatest mistake in cereal history) although Honey Bunches of Oats is a close second. And also no matter how old I get, Mom's cooking and Dad's barbeque will always be the best.

A Punch in the Head is Worth Two in the Arm

2008-07-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

I know I implied that my next blog title would be "No Pun Intended" but I think we have already established that I am a liar so this is something completely different that I have been stewing over. Women, this is an insight into the simplistic minds of men. Men, you should find much of this familiar.

The accidental punch to the head. Or was it accidental? A common occurrence in the basketball courts, football fields, or anywhere where two or more men are gathered at one time. In the course of competition (or roughhousing or small talk), an errant elbow, fist or forearm connects with a nose, eye or chin. Does mayhem ensue? Not as often as you might think. Us men have developed a sophisticated system to deal with such situations.

Yes, sometimes a full on fist-fight will immediately break out. And yes, sometimes more than the initial two people end up getting involved. But when cooler heads prevail there is one commonly accepted solution to resolve the matter. It is derived from a complex set of equations that I cannot feasibly present in such an article (because math was never my bag, baby). But, after all the derivatives and advanced calculus it simplifies down to this: 2 equals 1. The perpetrator of the accidental punch to the face receives two punches to the arm (as hard as he can or chooses) from the victim of the initial flagrancy. Because, a punch in the head is worth two in the arm. Why not an eye for an eye? Or in this case, a face punch for a face punch? Well, I am quite fond of the saying, an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. When the hit to the face is deemed accidental it is unjust for a deliberate shot to the face to be awarded to the victim. However, restitution must be made in the matter of face punches, whether accidental or not. Thus, two punches in the arm should satisfy the aggression of the victim without levying an excessive punishment on the perpetrator.

After the matter has been settled in the aforementioned manner, it is back to the game or activity at hand. If the two parties were friends before the incident, they will likely remain friends. If they were not friends, it is entirely possible they will become friends, having gained a certain level of respect for each other. If one party chooses to hold a grudge over the incident they will become an outcast as the matter has been considered resolved by the group. This is one of the simple yet sophisticated rules that govern the interaction of males: A punch in the head is worth two in the arm.

Two Glaciers (A generic metaphor for anything)

2008-07-08T22:45:00.000-07:00

Say you happen to be at the north pole (note: as I am writing this it is 88 degrees at 10:50 pm so the north pole sounds like a good place to be) and your standing on (what else) a glacier. But for some reason read: global warming the ice begins to crack right where you are standing. The glacier begins to split in two and separate while one of your legs is on each of the glaciers. Both glaciers are massive; they begin to float in their own respective, although seemingly meandering, ways. You are not a gymnast, or Jean Claude Van Damme, so the splits are out of the question. Sooner, rather than later, you must choose your glacier. Hopefully, this will be before you pull a groin or become polar bear food. Wait a minute, are polar bears at the north pole or the south pole? Either way, you get the picture. What are the consequences of your decision? Will the glacier you choose be the one that sinks the Titanic? Will it be home to a family of penguins? Uh oh, am I mixing the poles up again? Why didn't I pay more attention in Marine Biology? Oh yeah, I remember. Could I ask any more questions? Chances are the glacier you didn't choose will be out of sight before you have time for regret. This is an odd place to finish.

I again started laying the tracks down for a train of thought I had no intention of finishing so... this has been a generic metaphor that could apply to almost anything. Don't think too much about it, unless it's a hot day, all those images of huge mountains of ice have made this heat more bearable. (no pun intended) hmmm... "no pun intended" sounds like the title for my next...

Seventeen Tracks

2008-07-03T19:08:00.001-07:00

As you may know, I am writing a screenplay. Honestly, I haven't touched it in two weeks but... Anyway, I think this probably pretty typical but as I write scenes I imagine them with all my senses which, of course, includes sound. So recently I have been thinking about movie soundtracks and wondering what songs would make the cut in a movie about my life so far. I have limited myself to choosing seventeen tracks although for many of the songs I chose I am including the album that they came from because (I am a cheater) and oftentimes it has been an entire CD that captured a time period of my life. Some of these are a little embarrassing but here they are in no particular order. I have added specific lyrics on some for emphasis. (Note: these are not necessarily my favorite songs although many of them happen to be favorites as well) (Also note: I have excluded any songs I have written from the running because of personal bias)

1. Perfect Situation by Weezer.

I love Weezer, Choosing only one from them was tough but I knew exactly which one it had to be. "Here's the pitch, slow and straight, all I have to do is swing and I'm a hero... but I'm a zero." Love it.

2. Shatterday by Vendetta Red.

"When you bit the bullet, I held the smoking gun." Nuff' said.

3. Lookin' at Me by Mase

Always listen to this driving with friends. Sick intro. Harlem World was a legit album.

4. The Lucky One by Allison Krause and Union Station

On so many levels I identify with this song. Allison Krause has an amazing voice and I have always had a crush on her.

5. Bitter by Nine Days

I listened to "The Maddening Crowd" almost everyday after school my sophomore year of high school. If you don't know who they were they were kind of like Lifehouse, embarrassing right?

6. Last by Gratitude

"And we know that it won't last but were forcing it, forcing it" I think everyone can identify with that. And, "It's okay if you don't show, just want you know that you're invited." The whole album is money, too bad the band broke up.

7. Save Me by Unwritten Law

My favorite song by them. It's the perfect song for the part in a movie where the main character is driving alone at night, probably after doing something stupid.

8. Pieces by Sum 41

Opening line, "I tried to be perfect, it just wasn't worth it, I don't believe it makes me real." I was instantly hooked. Perfect song for a montage.

9. Rock the Party by P.O.D.

P.O.D. rocks. Saw them live once and they blew my mind. Great upbeat song, which my list so far is lacking.

10. Gettin' it by Too Short

"Stop lookin', for what you never seem to find, it ain't what you think you gotta read between the lines." Also, my first parental advisory stickered album.

11. Angry All the Time by Tim McGraw

This song really helped me understand a lot of the pain in suffering in a divorce. Fortunately I didn't have to go through this with my parents (still together) but it was an eye-opening song and I would find a way to sneak it into the movie.

12. Smile Like You Mean It by The Killers

I was crazy about The Killers when Hot Fuss came out. This was my favorite from that album.

13. Starlight by Muse

This would be sick opening song. "All our hopes and expectations, black holes and revelations."

14. Crazy World by Aslan

First time I heard this song was in Ireland and I thought it was a new song. Turns out it was 20 years old. A testament to its timelessness.

15. Alcohol by Brad Paisley

Both funny and real,"I'll bet you a drink or two that I can get you, to put that lampshade on your head."

16. Stuck in a Moment by U2

When you relive and relive and relive one moment.

17. Fly me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra

Because no list is complete without a little Sinatra. (Okay that's not true but just go with me on that one)

So there it is, my seventeen tracks, feel free to leave comments on mine or what song(s) would be on your yours.

Wake up in the evening

2008-06-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

I came up with a concept for a song a couple years ago that involved a person who basically eeked their way through the day just so he could "wake up in the evening" to his wildly elaborate dream world. This dream world hadn't been affected by outside events and time hadn't taken his companion away from him. (Sidenote: One of my favorite jokes is Q: What happens when you play a country song backwards? A: You get your truck fixed, your dog comes home and your girl comes back). So anyway this concept was about living life through dreams which I think, to some extent, is a popular philosophy. I have always been fascinated with dreams (the type you have in R.E.M. sleep). I love the song "Losing my Religion". I kept a dream journal for about a month in early 2007 and every now and then I take a look at these dreams that I've had and get a few good laughs. "Wake up in the evening" merged both the denotative and connotative aspects of dreams. The idea of dreams as what happens to you during R.E.M. sleep and also what your aspirations are. The merger of the two concepts was quite simple; that his dream (aspiration) was to be dreaming(sleep). This an extreme example of the philosophy of life I feel is quite popular today. This sort of dream it, achieve philosophy that often ignores reality. Even though I'm probably classified as a dreamer though I'm not the only one, I get frustrated when people say that you can do anything in life. All you have to do pull yourself up by your "bootstraps," believe in yourself, focus on your goal, etc, etc. What's the deal with pulling yourself up by your bootstraps? What is a bootstrap? Wouldn't you have to be some sort of contortionist to accomplish this feat? These days I think "Pull yourself up by the fur on your ugg boots" might be a better saying. Anyways, I really have spiraled around this concept for a while so... back to the song, I guess. I never finished it. And I think the reason I never did is I could never justify such an existence for a character. It's not exactly the cliche of questing for something unattainable that is so popular in books and movies (which is a very successful formula and often entertaining). But they usually end up with the thing they had desired or learn some greater lesson, where's the reality? The character in the song wasn't on a quest, he was pathetic. He wasn't satisfied, but all he looked forward to was waking up in the evening, in his dream world. In many ways I think this reflects the sense of entitlement many people feel with their dreams. They don't want to chase it, they want it to find them. We are all guilty of this it times. I know I am. Basically, I was able to create a story around this character that was incredibly depressing. Of course, depressing, sad, or vengeful songs are the easiest to write. Try writing a happy song, it will probably sound corny (no offense). In the words of Frank Ricard (Will Ferrell) when he was in the marriage counselor's office in the movie Old School, I really don't know where I was going with this.

My Apologies

2008-06-26T22:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't posted anything in a while and I was going to be lazy and copy and paste a short story I wrote this past year in my non-fiction class (the story was actually fictional, for the most part) but I can't figure out how to copy and paste on this site Command v you idiot. Believe me, I've tried that. There must be some plagiarism block or whatever for these blogs (people with ethics are so annoying) and I can't even plagiarize myself. Add that to the fact that I am way to lazy to retype something that's already in a computer (work smart not hard, right?) and here I am complaining about having to do something I love (writing) because my brain is fried from my laying in the sun by the pool (my summer job: nanny for kids who are on a swim team) and I don't feel very creative right now, at least I can work on my transitions. Speaking of creativity, has anyone seen that commercial (I think for HP) where Gwen Stefani drones on about creativity and it's not something you can turn on and off. I disagree, I think either you have it or you don't and I have No Doubt about that. Whoa! A pun, genius! You know what the thing about puns is? (That's right, another transition, impressed?) I hate when other people use puns but I use them all the time in my everyday speech. I normally don't use them in my writing though, today being an exception. Maybe I should change the name of this blog to 'I'm a hypocrite' since that's what most of these posts seem to be about. While we are on the subject, why do they call it the "hippocratic oath." Does it have something to do with HMO's. I don't even really know what an HMO is, but that part sounded like it might be funny. Well, as fun as another transition from HMO might be (oh the acronyms that could have been) I feel I might take this too far and end up actually writing something when I am in no state of mind to do so. Too late? Well, at least it wasn't plagiarized.

Paper Beats Rock?

2008-06-20T10:42:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a few days since my last post and I definitely need to knock that last one out of the top spot because it's making me look pretty emo (to the four of you who read this anyway. Thanks, mom). So here it goes, something a little more cheery I hope.

I am starting a graduate program in the fall to get my teaching credential in English. One of the tests I have to pass before I can start has an essay portion and one of the essay questions on the test was to discuss an article (I think it was form the 1950's) where the author claimed that Americans didn't complain anymore, and that no one questions authority. I had a little trouble ascertaining the validity of his arguments considering he really hadn't done any research. But, based on my personal experiences I agreed with half of what he said. As for Americans don't complain as much anymore, puhleaze, I'm not even going to address that. As far I'm concerned the number of people with a ridiculous sense of entitlement is increasing with each new generation. The second part he argues, that people don't question authority, I tend to agree with. My juvenile example to show this is from the game Rock, Paper, Scissors (or Rochambeau for the pompous and the French). How in the world does paper beat rock? Have you ever really thought about it? I mean, more than some two second argument after you lost to paper. Paper? Paper covers rock. Okay, but the rock is still a rock, it has not lost it's effectiveness. If it is thrown at you it will still hurt. It may be even more dangerous because now there is the possibility of paper cuts. Unless it is some sort of philosophical statement like the "pen being mightier than the sword" there is no way paper should beat rock. Let's compare it to the other two scenarios, shall we? Scissors beat paper, true or false. True, there is no question here, unless the greatest aspiration of paper is to become confetti I think this is a no brainer. Rock beats scissors. A little more muddled but an ordinary pair of scissors will only scratch the surface of a rock. The rock can crush the scissors, leaving them mangled and useless. So, in each of the other two scenarios the losing object is left unable to perform the task it was designed to do, whereas, the rock (nature's most primitive weapon) is not. Like the author of that article I can argue that Americans often do things without questioning their validity. We have failed to question the authority of the Rock, Paper, Scissor establishment and thus have become slaves to its hypocrisy. Doesn't everyone know that you can't stop the rock?

My sickness

2008-06-17T10:58:00.000-07:00

I am sick. No it is not a physical condition, I am not typing this with a trash can next to the computer. It is a sickness of the head, a mental illness if you will. As you may know, I write songs. In the past 4 years or so I have written 120+ sets of lyrics and arranged music for about 70 of them. I am not bragging, most of them I wouldn't want anyone to see but it is free therapy(or so I thought). In reality, my therapy has turned into my sickness. Much of what I write is based upon the reality of my everyday life circumstances, relationships, etc. This is where things tend to go wrong. The actual lyrics of these songs about my life are often inaccurate. I exaggerate, fabricate and manipulate what has happened or what people have said (you know, for the sake of the song). Unfortunately, the fact that I sing them over and over (and over) again creates a false sense of reality. Inevitably, these delusions lead to increased pain and suffering, my sickness.

I guess I can give you an example, although I hardly consider this my best work it is good indication of how my sickness transpires. I wrote this song after I had played my music for this young woman maybe twice (I sometimes play "concerts" for small groups of people. Also there is the occasional private concert. The song is called "All She Wanted" (Man, I have some nerve)

She's sick of hearing, sick of hearing songs about,

girls I once knew.

She's made it clear to me, made it clear by not ans-

wering my calls.

And should I give her what she's waited for?

Should I ruin all the suspense?

Should I tell her that this song's for her?

Do you think that she'll admit?

That all she wanted, all she wanted, all she wanted

Was a song, was a sign,

Was a verse or two, to ease her mind.

With my voice, touch her heart,

Sing about what she can do to mine.

It goes on but you get the idea. I'm pretty sick.

Saboteur

2008-06-16T15:03:00.000-07:00

I have a theory about geniuses. They are all saboteurs, self-saboteurs to be exact. I have absolutely no concrete evidence to back up my theory. Here is my abstract reasoning after doing no data collection and no research.

1) Everyone's favorite band breaks up (For me it was Gratitude, if you haven't heard of them check out their one, dammit, album).

2) Many geniuses have committed suicide (Kurt Cobain anyone?), Or...

3) They die young. (Chris Farley, John Belushi, comedic geniuses a stretch?)

4) They adapt easily. They have the ability to rebuild themselves, their careers, their images, and their ideas (why not take advantage?)

5) They can be social outcasts or isolate themselves because no one understands.

6) I just realized this is probably not that much of an original theory and they are probably a lot of "geniuses" that agree with me. Oh well, I'll post this anyway.

A Change in Perspective

2008-06-15T11:00:00.001-07:00

The eighteen year old version of myself would hate me right now. I don't know how, or when it happened but I somehow lost what was once my most sacred value. Always root for the underdog. I can't pinpoint it exactly but there is one recent incident that would have sickened my younger self. In the past Super Bowl, I rooted for the Patriots(the heavy favorite). I justified my allegiance to the Goliath of the NFL by citing that perfection in this world is so rare and that to see a team go undefeated for an entire season would be truly something amazing. I didn't, however, think I would be so upset when they lost. What was happening to me? Had become the fan that I had despised for so long. The fan that lives in the Bay Area but roots for the New York Yankees, the Los Angeles Lakers and the Dallas Cowboys. Not quite. I haven't lost all my morals. I will never root for the Yankees or Red Sox in baseball or Duke in college basketball. Also, I have stuck with the Raiders despite having nothing to hang my hat on since Rich Gannon was taking snaps. But still, every now and then there is a frontrunner that I find myself rooting for. This year's U.S. Open has presented me with one such situation. I have tried so hard to hate Tiger Woods, I really have. Every time I feel like I am getting close though, he does something amazing. After that infamous chip-in on 16 that led to his victory in the 2005 Masters there was no turning back. I had become a Tiger fan. So, today I will be cheering on Tiger as he seeks yet another major championship despite protests from that little voice inside my head that tells me I am traitor to myself. Go Tiger!

The Marionette Soldier

2008-06-13T20:18:00.000-07:00

I am constantly leaving myself little messages: notes typed into my Samsung u740 phone, faded pencil scratches on torn pieces of binder paper, a single word scrawled with pen on the top of my hand. They are ideas for songs, or for novels, a scene for my screenplay, an observed hypocrisy. Some of them turn into a large piece, but more often than not they lay hidden under stacks of paper on my desk until I find them, weeks, months, or maybe even years down the road. Like today, I found a piece of paper that was a "to-do list" from several months ago. There was a curious phrase tucked in the margin of the paper, "The Marionette Soldier." I have no idea what it means. It sounds political, which is unusual for me, I tend to avoid topics to which I am not very knowledgeable. So that is probably not it. What else could it mean? Marionettes. Strings. Whose pulling the strings? Control. Violence. No, no, no, nothing. None of this sounds familiar. The mystery of the meaning is hidden in the recesses of my mind, like some phrase scribbled on the margin of a scrap of paper at the bottom of a heap. So here is to "The Marionette Soldier," whoever he(or she?) might have been and what they may have represented. Who knows? "The Marionette Soldier" could have turned into some great piece; maybe even good enough for my first blog post. Whatever it is, I'm sure it sounded much better in my head.