simple things

I didn't log in to necessarily do a list but I think I will. I'm at work and contemplating slitting the throats of my co-workers since they hid my tennis ball from me yesterday and made me look for it for at least 20 minutes which is an eternity when it's the end of the year and we're slower'n shit.

So, a few simple things I enjoy.

1. a cold beer. Nothing beats a cold Bud on a hot summer day.
2. The beach. Not surfing or skimming, just laying there and being near the warm salt water and enjoying the day.
3. a good book.
4. A good steak.
5. Sitting on the porch when it's raining. That is fantastic.
6. Staying up late. There's something... rebellious (?) about staying up late. Like all the years you had to go to bed early and now you're up at 4 a.m. It's awesome.
7. Writing. Not everyone enjoys that, but I do.
8. Riding with the windows down.

There's a handful. It's just that the simple things are the easy things to enjoy. I love my PS2, and Wii, and PSP but they don't give the same easy relaxation as sitting on the porch while it rains with a cold beer.

-it is what it is-

-back at it-

Back at work, doing the paint store thing. Had a fantastic Christmas--no Griswold like drama.

Posted up down here in good ole LA (Leland that is) and furious playing my new PSP. It's fantastic. Just further proof that Amy loves me.

It's wicked fun. It'll play games, movies, music, video and a wi-fi internet connection. How awesome is that?

Yes, its' a lot like a mini laptop but it's NOT.

No other real news... tryin hard to drum up something witty but, alas, the words escape me.

Be cool

-it is what it is-

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Got tons of goodies, had a great breakfast and about to go see the fam. Hope everyone has a great Christmas and a blessed Holiday.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Christmas Eve

Wow... Christmas has turned into a Monster of a Holiday. There's 123987 people to visit, cards to send, parties to attend... and MILLIONS of presents to buy.

The worst part is looking for that Special Present that will make the recepient remember you out of all the others they receive.

Spent the day with the boys (Michael and Nathan) and ate dinner with the grandparents. Michael, in an uncharacteristic mood, pulled out the Bible and attempted to analyze the Song of Solomon. If you've never read it, it's akin to Biblical literotica (almost).


How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.
I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me.
Song of Solomon 7:6-10.

Needless to say, it was a wild evening. Gotta love family.

-it is what it is-

Key-Eating Chair

Amy graduated Saturday (yay fish!) and her parents came down from ol' MD to visit.

They brought me a recliner. It's a lil used and worn, but it's good and broke in and I LOVE IT.

Amy and I have an ongoing battle over whose chair it really is but I'm here to tell everyone IT'S MY CHAIR. I'm the boss. Heh.

Monday evening I came home from work and wanted to nap in my chair. Yes, it's an Old Man thing but I do it anyway. So I kick back in my recliner and fall asleep for a few.

I get up 20 minutes later, get to doing stuff, can't find my keys.

Look in the office, dining room table, all over the house.

Come back to the chair.

The keys had fallen down in the chair but didn't fall THRU the chair. Jerk.

Which reminded me of another chair that was in Amy's apartment. It was blue and a piece of shit. So when she moved out we threw it over the balcony.

THREE sets of keys came out of it. No telling how long they had been there.

-it is what it is-

CONGRATS AMY!

This morning was a beautiful thing.

AMY GRADUATED FROM UNCW!!!!

She now has a fantastic degree in Liberal Studies. (That does not mean Democrat).

The ceremony was ghetto fabulous. It started with some hooting and all that. No problem.

But what do you do when an old man shits on the floor, people brought air horns, and the students broke out beach balls to bat around during the ceremony?

Never saw that coming.

-it is what it is-

I see a trend

...and it's not a good one, no, definetly not. In fact, the Law would consider it a Serious Crime.

Today I decided to get my car inspected. Yes, wonderful, hallelujah. New Hanover county has blessed me with the chance to cough up 28 dollars for them to look at my car.

Hmm.

Riding dirty again.

Don't think I need to go for a three peat.

Heh.

-it is what it is

singstar, ornaments, and christmas

Yes, that is a Christmas tree ornament. How awesome is that. It's only the true hardcore gamers that will appreciate it; the same callused fingered freaks that will sit outside in the cold discussing the difference between PS3 and Xbox 360 while begging Best Buy to open to buy the latest in the Halo series. Yes, they will Know and Understand why this is a monumental moment in tree Decoration.



Singstar is Evil. It is only after many shots of Vodka that you can convince me and Andy to belt out Survivor by Destiny's Child and have my wife VIDEO that damn thing.



That is a sad day my friend. Beyonce will cry and YouTube will be shutdown after that catastrophe of a video makes its way around the world. My arm still hurts, why? Oh yes, the Wii is evil also. Tennis makes for Vile endings.

Justin and Stacie are Good People. They cane come grill and eat Chicken any time.

That is the sad Truth of my Weekend.

-it is what it is-

......pieces of thesis

-When I Was In School-

The more I write the more I realize why I’m writing. These stories and anecdotes aren’t medals or awards or achievements to be displayed and shone to anyone who comes over for dinner. The stories are a way of remembering and as they are told they become a way of reliving. College stories aren’t about trumping someone in drinking; they’re about believing in freedom. It’s about those fleeting years when there were no ‘real world’ responsibilities, no extreme bills, no obligations to anyone but yourself.

The college student has the basest of existence: a miniscule dorm room, horrible food, an extremely small social circle. Ostracized from the outside world but with more freedom than the world can give. It was a time of simplicity, friendship, good times and base. It would become the blueprint of our lives.

The times we shared and the things we did were never planned nor were they expected to be memorialized. They simply became our refuge as time kept turning.

Few things can compete with a wild nite with friends, a road trip to anywhere, and a 8:00 a.m. class with a hangover. No job will ever give the same amount of satisfaction that an all-niter to complete a 14 pages term paper will give a 19 year old college student. No paycheck will ever be as big as the gift package that mom and dad sent. No house will ever be as big or as personal and comfortable as the cell we called a dorm room. No beer will ever be as good as the first one we paid for legally. Life will never be college. New friends will never be drinking buddies. Vacations will never be spring break. Summers will never be yours again.

sound familiar?

as the shaker spins

Decided to chronical some good ol' paint store madness over where the shaker is spinning.

Nothing else to tell.

All my normal madness will be right here.

-it is what it is-

thesis time

I've been reading Hunter Thompson and I confess, I love his writing style.
Just get mad and twisted and type.

I'm wrapping up my final papers for the semester and I am currently faced with the daunting task of picking my thesis.

It's going to get Weird and Violent.

The past looms Huge and Monstrous. There is no way the escapades that I was involved in could have happened to me.

That is a Vicious Lie someone is telling.

Yet, the memories persist. Are they demons? Bad dreams? Hallucinations?

No. There are other People who remember them also.

My only concern is that these fucking words will come back to haunt me. Will I be a different person when it is all over?

Yes, no, maybe. It's a black beast that can only be tamed by letting it loose and then caging it in immortality on paper. Yes, that is the Only Way To Go

Who will read these words? The panel. A group of professors who will attempt to glean some type of educational value from these Words but the Joke is On Them.

There is nothing to be learned--at least nothing that four years of pure madness can't teach someone.

The way I see it--those four years at college are more pivotal than Anything. It is when boys Become Men and women Become Whores--but not always. That is a Blatant Rumor, Yes.

It is certainly when life come to a X-Road. Choose your path.

Choose your liquor.

It's going to be one of those nites.

-it is what it is-

nite before christmas 2007

-Night Before Christmas 2007-
(I wrote this)

the night before chrimmus and all thru the hood
every game playa was getting down to no good
watches and necklaces, the rings did flash
dudes in girls pants or jeans hangin off the ass
thugs all thugged out on corners under lights
wannabe emos layin down to crying at night
myself in my blue jeans and standard starter cap
despising all and wondering what started that
wanderered from here to yonder despite the cold
cause when it came to Santa, we were 'too old'

then from princess street a racket did happen
deep bass come blazing from speakers rattlin
cherry red cadillac with tinted windows boomin
perelli twenty twos... is it possible we shroomin?
then out of the back an original gangsta did appear
said 'fuck you! fuck you! and to all some good cheer!'
he wore lugz boots, fire engine red track suit
mumbling under his breath (don't even call me cute!
i'm father christmas, so don't even start mocking
tryin somethin wild and i'ma shit in ya stocking)
original gangsta riding, the father christmas of now
"For those that forget the spirit, I'll show you how"
'on myspace, facebook, ipod and playstation three!
Cell phones, three sixties, Gamboy and Nintendo Wii!
To the mall to the movies, to the game store post haste!
we must show these kids the lives that are going to waste!

he brought books, and bikes, and slingshots, and bows!
BB guns, red rider wagons and things to break windows!
the ancient toys of boys and girls who remember the fun
we didnt every present we were always happy with one!

he rolled out the goods as if the were indeed stolen
mad love to all and in the good times we were rollin

with an automatic start up, the best don'tcha know
He yelled "Never 'Ha ha ha', forever "Ho, Ho Ho"

Peace and love with ya--never forget this
friends and family the best gifts at Christmas.

-it is what it is-

-hard to let go now-

Since I've made it thru NaBloPoMo finally I find it hard to not blog everyday. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to blog this weekend since I'm going home to see the fam and then I realized



I DON'T have too!



At the same time, I think I'm going to make a valiant effort to blog more effectively and less sporadically.



Amy is at the house, decorating the house all Christmasy like and I'm going to be a good sport and go get her more garland and an extension cord.



Moms and the wives and the wife to be (Jill) are have a JAMM tonight. (Jill, Amy, Michelle, Mom, haha).



The boys and I are left to our own devices which may include blowing up things or eating dinner with the grandparents.



It could be a wild and violent weekend or not.



Will certainly keep you posted.



-it is what it is-

christmas

Last day of NaBloPoMo and I can't say that I'm sad to see it go. I've met people, commented on blogs and typed til my hands hurts.

Peace NaBloPoMo. It's not you, it's the calendar. We had some good times and we'll always Have November. The sad truth we were over when we Started. We knew that our days in the sun would fade as soon as December arrived. You Will Be Missed. Until Next Year.

In other news I have an awesome Christmas tree.

I realized something as the wifey and I put it up tonight.

I hate matching ornaments. I love random, ugly, non-matching sets. Growing up our tree was hideous. Well, not really. We just had stuff from years of accumlation for decorations. Stupid ornaments that we made in first grade with our beat down handwriting on them; lil ones we made for mom because we were 8 and didn't have money to buy her a gift. Michael had one that had changeable plates and it always said 'do not open until december 25th'.

Christmas isn't about order and things going right. It's all the chaos and madness that surrounds it... every crazy gift that you find for someone. Things get weird sometimes but you push thru. If it's always expected it's never memorable. Get wild with it. Christmas is about love and love is always a rambunctious ride.

Let Christmas come and bring the madness
for a moment let us all forget the sadness
packages papers boxes ribbons and bright gifts
in an instant loss of grief while the spirit lifts

Maybe I'll write a Christmas poem? It'd be a first time.

For everyone reading... you can still find me at lostpoetix.blogspot.com

Take care.

-it is what it is-

YAY AMY!

Been in from Amy's Final Thesis Defense and IT WAS AWESOME.

She's finally official to graduate.

So, spending time celebrating with her.

YAY AMY!!!

day 28-refund

I want a refund. Yes, my money back, my time back, my sanity back, and the energy I've spent. I want it back.

What grieves me so greatly that I would demand such a thing?

CLASS.

Any other exchange of goods or services presents the understanding that a service or good is paid for upon completion or satisfaction of services performed. Why shouldn't university classes be conducted in the same way? After all, we all know it's about the money, not education.
(Don't lie to yourself in some purist scholarly way and suggest it's about sharing the knowledge or being among other intellectual individuals. It's always about the fucking money).

I haven't learned anything that I paid to learn, so where my money?

I have been thorougly disappointed and aggravated and generally displeased with the teaching that I've received so technically I feel as if I should get my money back.

(I just googled 'refund for class' and apparently no one has tried this or at least nothing came back with that phrase. Would it work?)

Learning is important to me, hence the reason I'm in grad school. But when I don't learn I feel as if I have simply be the victim of an elaborate scam coated under the umbrella of education.

"Fuck you. Pay me".

-it is what it is-

random nite for poetry

I like to go back to my old poetry... read it, try to revive those old feelings of rage and madness.

sometimes i can.

sometimes it takes a few shots of vodka.

never the less... i think i was twisted when i wrote this one.

enjoy.

-loaded-

Erotic melodic envisioned mission
Amidst the mist of twisted listens
Ripped scripts that drip of slit wrists
Gripped sins held by pen powered fists
Unbelievable inconceivable thoughts of rhyme
Deranged head change found in a line
Breaking it out reupping the skill
Drugged on the power found in a quill
Undone locks unboxed and addiction back
Still the black spill resistance to crack
Forward march sleepless and corroded
words haunting at nite, forever loaded

-it is what it is-

...hangover-Day 26

.......there's nothing like a hangover.

and of course the floor of a dorm room you don't recognize of a dude you don't remember his name because he's the friend of a friend of a friend who said you could sleep on the common room floor or couch... fuuuuuuck.

get the fuck up. we gotta ride out.
what time is it
7:30. Josh has to get to class.
what time is his class?
9:30
it takes 1 hour and 40 minutes from Wilmington to Campbell.
son of a bitch.

you hate yourself, you hate beer, whiskey, liquor, tequila, vodka and rum. the world sucks, the sun is laughing at your and even God has turned his back on you.

you hate your friends. after all, it is their fault you thought you could ever take 7 shots of vodka in 5 minutes after drinking 8 beers and then you thought you could make it through the nite without pukin your guts, your dinner and everything in between.

fuck your friends.

i can't drive right now. i'm too hungover.
i've got class at 9:30. I have to make Physical Wellness and walk the loop today. It's Friday.
Fuck you. Your problem. You drive.

So I do. The morning sunlight burns my retinas. Highway 40 has stretched between Campbell and Wilmington. We'll never make it alive.
you sorry fucker.
*snore*

Channel surfing... stations change... who's awake? who's hungover?

WHERE IS THE FUCKING GATORADE.

yo bitch. it's your fuckin turn. i'm fallin asleep and i got to stay awake in class.
why
it's the review for the exam and I have barely been all semester.
fuck. stop at this next exit.

my head never hurt so bad.

class never lasted so long.

my shitty dorm room bunk never slept so good.

-it is what it is-

I am 18 again

The video is here
I heard this over Thanksgiving and for a moment I was 18 and wild again.



Half drunk and trying to dress ourselves we yell at each other.
I just got outta class! I need like, twenty minutes! I gotta shower and drink a beer!
Drink a beer in the shower!

What?

Take a beer into the shower with you! It'll be cold. Just HURRY THE FUCK UP!
We're never sure of a plan. No one know who's driving, where we're going, how many people are going, nothing is settled or solid.

We 2 cell phones between the... 7 or 8 of us.

Come the fuck on! We're never gonna get to Raleigh!
I thought we were going to Wilmington tonight.
Shit. That's what I meant.
The suite is loud and full of smoke. Beer is rampant.

Someone has taken a shower in Curve cologne and the whole place is stinking of Curve.
Justin! Where the fuck is he?
JUSTIN!
I'm taking a shit!
Well, fuckin pinch it off! We've got to go!
I'm waiting, watching, thru blurred eyes.

Andy dresses in pleather pants. Sha sha shoes. Too much gel for anyone.

I'm thugged out in my Lugz sneakers, jeans, long sleeve t-shirt with a t-shirt over it.

Come the fuck on! You're fine.
JAY WOULD YOU QUIT FUCKIN AROUND. YOU DON'T NEED TO SHAVE YOUR PUBS. FUCK THAT. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT MANSCAPING YA FAG.

still yelling at each other, trying to walk/stumble/run down the stairs to the parking lot where it's already 10:30 before we leave for wilmington.

is ass-girl going?
You mean Lauren?
Yeah, Lauren.

Lauren's a slut.
Bet I can hook up with her.
You do that. She's a slut. I wouldn't fuck with that for anything.

The DJ is spinning out countless orgasms, liquid smooth as the beats pound the floor in time with the hips and gyrations of hundreds of college kids all looking for a moment of love with a stranger in a dance floor in a college town.

I'm too drunk to stand.
WHAT?
I"M FUCKED UP!
ME TOO!
LET'S GO DO A SHOT AT THE CAR.
The liquor is in the car. The whole way we've done shots of SoCo.

.......the hangover to come

-it is what it is-

day 24-BIG NEWS

in all the Thanksgiving excitment, and trust me there has been some, I forgot some serious news to share.

AMY GETS TO DEFEND HER THESIS!!!

Which means, she gets to graduate!

Yay for AMY!!

*insert fanfare and trumpets and angels singing*

So come out to Leutze 138 Thursday the 29th and watch Amy put it down.


It's been a long and tiring journey, but I knew you would make it baby.

Love you.

-it is what it is-

day 23-black friday

...and I didn't go shopping, at least not yet and it's 1:15 in the afternoon. I hate shopping. Especially the day after.

There's far too much drama involved... I know there are some insane deals to be had but I just can't get out of bed at 2 a.m. and go stand in the cold. Fuck that.

My little fish, Amy, she loves it and she was able to go with her mom this year. Good for them.

Me? I slept. It was beautiful.

(Just hoping she got me a PSP for Christmas on sale).

In other news, I'm fat and full and loving it.

Currently reading I Am Legend and loving it while reading The Joke's Over by Ralph Steaman. He did the Hunter Thompson drawings for Fear and Loathing.

Be Cool.

-it is what it is-

day 22-Turkey Day

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hope everyone is having a fantastic turkey day. I'm working my way through another mug of coffee in MD where it's FREEZING. I miss Dubtown where it's about 75 degrees. Blah.

I'll probably be sick.

The worst part about Thanksgiving is that tomorrow is black friday, the unofficial start of the shopping season. People are too worried about those fucking deals to even pay attention to today. They get up and fight over the newspapers, pour over 'em to make a fight plan, and totally forget about friends and family and good food.

7 Things I'm Thankful For:

1. My wonderful wife; she is the best thing to happen to me. She takes care of me and puts up with me on a daily basis.

2. My awesome job. The people I work with are way too cool. If only everyone had a job like mine.

3. My Family: Mom, Michael, Nathan, and extended family.

4. Good Health--that's important.

5. Living in Wilmington!!! It's awesome.

6. My very cool house. If you haven't been by to see our nice lil crib then drop by sometime.

7. The fact that I'm only one semester from my master's degree. I'M SO FRICKIN EXCITED.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

day 21-Maryland

finally made it last nite... i just want to say one thing.

virginia sucks. the idea of having an interstate highway with a speed limit of 65 is outrageous.

65 is what people do when the speed limit is only 55.

and i hate yankees.

i had to cut someone off because someone slammed on the brakes and it was cut into the left lane or rear end someone.

it's happened to everyone right?

this asshole decided to pass me AND THEN SWERVE IN FRONT OF ME AND ALMOST HIT ME ON PURPOSE.

i'm sorry i swerved, but i didn't do it to be spiteful.

fucker.

-it is what it is

day 20-we can make it

and i've got to make it another 9 fucking minutes because my airheaded managers forget how hard i work.

it's ok if i work six days, all of them i stay from 7 til 5 w/o taking a lunch, don't ask for a day off the FOLLOWING WEEK like someone does, and still manage to work my ass off.

but god forbid i ask to leave a few minutes early.

driving to maryland soon as i leave here, so i'll have to check in sometime tomorrow.

my posts are growing exceedingly shorter... i'll have to remedy that.

be cool, be calm.

-it is what it is-

day... this one

I LOVE MOVIES. I'm a movie junkie--i love 'em. love 'em love 'em love 'em. If it's a horror movie, even better. But I like movies for different reasons. I REALLY like movies that want to teach or show something. I'm writing a paper for class about a handful of movies that EVERYONE SHOULD SEE. Cool Hand Luke, In the Name of the Father, My name is Ivan, The Lives of Others, Grapes of Wrath, The Tin Drum, Hotel Rwanda, and a few more.

This is what I wrote in my paper and I felt it was worth sharing.

The movies are not just actors playing roles from a script designed to make money. The movies are trying to tell a story, to make a change, and hopefully to make people think about their own lives and what they could possibly do to make their own lives better and perhaps their surrounding world. A mirrored version of reality has been filmed in creating the story of the movie. There are profits being made from war conflict zones, governments are impeding upon the rights of its citizens, false heroes are leading the children of society, and worst of all, no one even notices the red flags and obvious signs that are being given. Instead of merely absorbing the words and images that are being shown an individual should take it with them, digest it, and hopefully begin to see the hypocrisy and deception that lies around them. Art imitates life while life imitates art.

-it is what it is-

Sunday-For those about to rhyme

Here's a little random poem I found.
I don't know how long ago I wrote it... I think I may have been in high school but since I've done nothing remotely interesting today except sweep the driveway and work on homework, this is what you get instead.

Have a great Sunday afternoon.

For Those About 2 Rhyme

From now on, hold your breath
I don’t think there are any rhymes left
No more metaphors, or similes
Just simple black and white words, same as these
Irony is missing, juxtaposition is gone
So you best to hold onto those old songs
Alliteration has already relocated
Theme and tone have been emancipated
Diction is missing, Setting took flight
All of the pieces vanished into the nite
So poets of 2morrow must find new skills
New mechanics, reinventing wheels
The ways of old are busted
The gears that turned so long, finally rusted
The neverending ink, finally ran out
And the rhymes, ran into a drought
But I hold true, there are poets still to hold a pen
And someday, rhymes will rule again
Emotions will flow onto blank page
Love, anger, madness and rage
Lovers will write, capitalist willblast
It makes no difference, as long as the spirit lasts
The beauty in writing, of writing rhyme
The spirit that has lasted since the beginning of time
So now I raise my glass, to futureink
I look forward to it, and I will never blink
Let us give thanks for that yet to come
Thru them, our rhymes will always stay young
There are no new rhymes, only new melodies
Lyrical criminals, rhythmical felonies
A toast to those about to do as we do
For those about to rhyme, we salute you

-it is what it is-

Day 17-Why I Hate...

Cell phones. I hate 'em because people ignore real life to talk to peopl on the other end. I've seen whole families at restaurants ignoring each other to talk to someone who wasn't there. I've seen groups of girls come into stores and 2 out of the three will be on the phone ignoring their friend. Don't misunderstand me. I have a cell phone. I hate how people put the phone call at a higher priority than the visit they may be having with friends or families.

Ipods. I HATE THEM. I see the little white buds in people's ears and I wanna choke 'em with the cord. The little cord says to me "i'm too good to be bothered by listening to the leaves crackle, cars drive, HORNS BLOWING AT THEM AS THEY CROSS THE ROAD, or anything that's not piped in thru their ipod. When people wander thru stores just listening to the newest Akon or whatever it grates me to know end. LIVE PEOPLE. You don't need to buy your life.

Slutty girls. I mean little girls. Young girls who are trying to act adult. As in skanky looking 13 year olds. I saw two girls today; one was dressed in a MINISKIRT and the other was wearing what looked like fishnet pants. THE PARENTS SHOULD BE SLAPPED. So I've developed a new word. Minii-flooz. As in miniature floozy. Small slut. Pony-sized prostitute. You get the idea.

There's more things. Like bad drivers. And rude store clerks. But they pale in comparison to the above.

*sigh* I feel better. Have a great Saturday nite. Time to fire up the grill.

-it is what it is-

Day... Who cares? Favorites

So, I've come to realize I need to organize my thoughts and list a few favorites of mine. It's difficult sometimes, y'know? SOOO many good things out there it's hard to define one single defining thing.

Favorite Author: Hunter S. Thompson. The man was a genius. He managed to mix two other favorite things of mine. Writing and drinking. (He's the mind behind Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas). For those that don't know.

Favorite Talent (of mine): I take pride in my writing. I feel as if I've got a better handle on it than most people I know. Random funny story: My older brother graduated from college two years before me. My mom wrote him a poem. When I graduated two years later my Mom was so... intimidated? Maybe? by my writing that she almost didn't give me mine, heh.

Favorite Desert: Banana Pudding. Is that a desert? Who cares.

Fav Dinner: I'm seriously tied between steak and cheeseburger. They're both beef so that's almost the same right?

Fav Artist: Eminem. The Marshall Mathers LP will always be a favorite and the soundtrack to my high school years.

Fav thing about my wife: She understands me. If I talk to fast or mumble, forget, or whatever it is, she gets it.

Fav place for cheeseburger: 5 Guys. Don't sleep. You should try it.
Hmm.

Guess that's enough for tonight. In other news Kellie Pickler is AWESOME. She was on "Are you smarter than a Fifth Grader" and she did NC proud. Southern to the core, we love you Kellie. (When asked what group of instruments piccolo belonged to, the choices being woodwind, strings, and percussion, Kellie reasoned it to be percussion because they both started with 'p' and her last name started with 'p'. How awesome is that?)

Have a great Friday nite. Back to Guitar Hero.

-it is what it is-

Day 15-Nah Blop A Mo

I just like saying that. I'm an instigator. Maybe I should have put that in the meme. Regardless, I am. But not in the asshole way. I just like to get things wound up to a frenzy and see what happens. I'll say what peole are thinking just because I know they are thinking it and I want to buy the ticket take the ride and see where we end up.

Currently, I am semi-involved in an almost deeply heated discussion about racism. Due to this idiotic rant I've started up a good ol' heated discussion about racism and race. I spoke on it briefly Here but I thought I might voice a bit more here.

I went to a high school my freshman and junior year that was 80% black so the whites were the minority. My friends were black; we watch the same shows, we went to the same games, we had the same classes. Never thought of it as "them" and "us".

My junior and senior year I transferred to a school that was 20% black and the whites were the majority. This is where I didn't fit in. I had the same type of lingo, slang, attire, etc that I'd had at my old school. I never thought of it as "being black" I always thought of it as "This is me". To this day I've never made any apologies for how I am.

I think to suggest that someone is "blacker" or "whiter" (think, if you've ever hear someone or said 'he's so white' in reference to a black guy) you know what I mean.

Let it go. Let it ride. Judge a man on the merit of his actions. It's not the color of the skin, it's the meaning of his actions.

C'est la Vie.

-it is what it is-

Day 14-Exhaustion

Really didn't plan on having any filler blogs this month, but today was my first day back in town and I had class tonight. We were super busy and I'm super exhausted and I need to spend time with my wife. Will give great updates 2morrow.
Good nite.
-it is what it is-

Day 13-a meme

A random meme... thanks to someone... who has nothing important to say. But I'm glad of it, so thanks. :-) Had it not been for this meme I would have to tell everyone how I had to dial 911 at 3 a.m. and go to the hospital with Amy. Cool. (She's fine; combination of new medicine made her all.... weird).

Rules:
1- Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2- Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3- Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4- Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Hrm... Seven weird things about me. I've done so many of these it's hard to come up with more weird things...

1. I have small feet; like, really. 7.5 in dudes. That only means I wear small shoes damnit.
2. I love beer. Cold Budweiser preferrably. If you're coming over to my house and bring beer I will love you forever.
3. I am a Christian. But not one of those wild Bible beating ones. I'll discuss Christianity over a cold beer and the grill with you.
4. I can tap dance but I refuse to put on any performances. I took it in college as a filler class and I loved it.
5. I hate when people get worked up over little things because things could always be worse. They could wake up and there little brother or their father passed in a car accident. My point is, they'll be ok. Things could always be worse.
6. I am fierce friend. If you're my friend, then I'll fight for ya til the end.
7. (Damn these things get harder and harder). I act younger than I am. I try not to think about how I'm 25 and could be starting a family soon... So I usually resort to goofing on people and just acting like I'm still 21... Life is good.

*Sigh* I'll have to work on some more weird things for another meme.

In the meantime...
Beth
The Blue Eyed Mexican
Jamie Lyn Lynn
Incredible Megs
The Good Queen
Groovy Title
a former virgin

DAMN THAT.

that's work.

-it is what it is-

Day...Eleven

Hmm... interesting day. Finally filled out and sent in my application for graduation (ALRIGHT!) which doesn't matter because it won't be until May. Registered for class(es), depending on if I want to audit one or not...

So, this is for my faithful readers. My final project (I THINK) will be a collegiate memoir which I was already penning to begin with. Using it as a final will motivate me to work on it violently. (Megs, you understand). I was hoping I could just post a bit of what I have on here and see what happens? Maybe the intro or something? I'd just hate to post it up and no one say anything (shit).

That said, try to gimme something to believe this is a worthwhile venture. I'd hate to write something that only me and my wife will read. Blah.

The frenzy that led up to college was maddening. It was the longest summer ever. My best friend and I already knew we would be roommates at Campbell. Neither one of us wanted to do a room lottery and be stuck living with a stranger with weird habits and tics. To us, rooming together was the only option viable. We’d known each other for four years already, another four years would be easy.

We tortured ourselves during the first part of the summer. We’d call and all we could think of was the daily countdown. How many months, weeks, days before we’d leave? The summer was endless. We would never make it out of Sampson County. It was like watching with a bad guy that simply would not die.

After work I used to go up to the country club where Andy worked. We’d fantasize and plan our collegiate escapades. He would run for class president. We’d make the Dean’s List. We’d party on the weekends. We’d get all the girls. He would major in Criminal Justice while I was undecided. Our dorm room would be a rave room. Club Room.

The summer of 2000 was full of teasers and enticing letters. Every envelope, letter, or package that came to my mother’s house with the Campbell emblem on it was frantically shredded open.

I was ready, I was stoked, I was psyched, excited, enthused, manic, and desperate to move out of the house and into a dorm room where I would set the rules, come in when I wanted, study when I wanted, watch what I wanted and do ANYTHING that I wanted.

Poetry-Day Ten

I like to write poetry; that's something most of my friends know but people I meet are often surprised that I do. Never understood why exactly... perhaps it's because I'm a dude, because I'm too thugged out, too loud, noisy, outta control... I suppose those aren't the normal parameters into which poetry falls, but there's an exception to every rule, thus I write poetry. I write, therefore I am. My qualms lie in reading poetry. It either inspires me or frustrates me. So often I come across a fantastic poem and it moves me and soothes me deep in my being but it's so fantastic that it seems that anything that I write will never reach that level of brilliance.

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
and the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
T.S. Elliot

How amazing is that? There's something in there that is so mind-blowing beautiful that none of the feeble scribbling that this poor 25 year old poet can even come close.

I can only hack away at the 26 letters on this keyboard and wrestle with the words till something comes clean.

in rhymes find intertwined mind crimes
unless blind, wrists say "cut on blue lines"
in time find death to flesh on waiting list
must resist a blade clenched fist, solipsist
present degenerate, resent the fascination
death travels fast, failed reconciliation
ask Macbeth about red, the doubt that comes
show world pain, the blood red blood that runs
will over steel, still the hand shakes but stayed
turning now to find a finely re-inked blade
despite excision the will will not be sacrificed
baptized in the blood like disciples of christ
despite a slight the pens writes wronged rights
an many a soul is saved during starlit nights

-j.shelton-
-it is what it is-

Day 9-I Hate Shopping

This is beginning to sound like a miserable journey isn't it? George Romero said in an interview that the reason the zombies migrate towards the mall in "Dawn of the Dead" is because it functions as a unconscious sanctuary; they don't know why they're drawn there--they just are. I say that because I went shopping today.

I HATE SHOPPING.

It's not that I hate getting stuff, or buying stuff or having cool stuff at my house. I hate people that are out shopping. I saw a 13 year old girl screaming at her mother 'YOU SAID WE'D GO BACK THERE!' in the middle of the mall. Why? The mother was probably paying for it all and the ungrateful little shit should be glad of getting anything. I saw a group of middle school aged girls roaming the mall, lookin like the Slut Squad or the Tramp Team in full force.

I saw families sitting in the food court together at a table and if there were four people at the table then at least 3 of them were on the cell phones. I overheard people yelling at each other things that I can't repeat here.

I HATE SHOPPING. It brings out the worst in people. I saw a lady berate a young saleslady because she didn't agree with the sales sign.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL 'ON SALE'?" Poor girl. She's only making 7.25 an hour and she has to deal with grandma on steroids?

And if one more inconsiderate driver cut me off... It's ridiculous. Turn signals, stop signs, following the roadsigns, just all the little things that make driving safe and fun for everyone DOESN'T GET DONE BY THESE MORONS. Megs, I know you know what I'm talking about.

*sigh* Finally back home. My wonderful wife has made homemade soup and we're hanging out on a cool Saturday nite.

Til Next Time...

-it is what it is-

Day Eight-(I think)

Does anyone else do what I've done? Just log in and blog on?

Totally random... The thought process is like "I think I'll go blog. I haven't blogged lately and I'm feeling guilty because I've got a blog so I will write more but I haven't written anything in 4 days and I think I need to go blog so here I am sitting at my computer staring at the blog screen and I haven't blogged ANYTHING". Does that seem familiar to anyone?

*crickets*

Ok, so maybe I'm just weird that way. I just have a passion for writing and I want to write STUFF.

Hrm...

I moved to Wilmington almost 3 years ago (in January of 2005) because I was tired of living with my mom, teaching, being in a 3 stop light town (yes, I'm serious) and I wanted something bigger for myself. On the second Thursday after Christmas I marched down to the office and told the principal "Tomorrow will be my last day". This, of course, did not go well. I DIDNT CARE.

I've sold knives, cell phones, worked at an illegal online pharmacy (by accident), worked at Quiznos and finally at my current job, C&S Paint. It's great.

I like Wilmington. There's places to eat, shop, hang out, and great music. AND THE BEACH. THE BEACH. Which is pretty much the best part about living here. I try to hit the beach as much as possible in the summer.

Scotts Hill is dragging on forever, like tired birds with wings too tired to fly. It's 11:20 and I'm here til 5.

Be cool.

-it is what it is-

Day Eight-Scotts Hill

Scott's Hill... that forgotten peace of Highway 17 between Wilmington and Hampstead. It sits, sad, lonely, forgotten. Outside of my store is a cemetary with a handful of headstones marking the graves of the deceased. Noone visits here. Who lived and died and was buried in this forgotten land?

The parking lot of the store is where someone would have to park to visit. Before the asphalt, white painted lines, and conrete curbs, did mourning loved ones visit here?

This was not my planned post but sometimes you have to the story tell itself.

When was the last time someone came and visited here? The paint store has been here a year and Dan's never mentioned seeing someone come by. I'm sure it's possible but unlikely.

How long do cemetaries stay cemetaries? It's a sad little graveyard too. Only about a doze plots with tired stones. A stone bench out in the midst of them sits complacent and lackadaisic; the wind will always blow and the rain will continue to fall. Did parents come and visit a child? Did children come and mourning a parent? Did soldiers come to mourn a comrade?

A cold November wind blows this afternoon. At 5:00 I'll lock up and head home.

The stone bench sits alone.

-it is what it is-

Day Seven-From Class

There's only so much drivel a mind can take. This man manages to ramble on, go off on tangents, tell me mundane irrelevant stories and still be called a scholarly master. Holy Cow... I think there's only 9 minutes left to go but every minute will be documented and recorded.

This class is conducted via-screen; we're a split group, half in Jacksonville, half in Dubtown. Regardless of his location he's still just as eratic and uninformative. I'm so over classes. Just 8 minutes and I'm outta here.
I finally get to graduate again (yay!) this coming May. My final project, I think, will simply be a collegiate memoir... (six minutes to go). People are too often blinded by the supposed evils of partying and staying out late when students learn more while doing a kegstand than they ever will while sitting through College Algebra.

(Damn, still here). I'm amazed that I'm able to brilliantly (still six minutes) type this, semi-participate, and stay awake.

Work sucks. No it doesn't. What sucks is working all day, dealing with idiots and then coming to class and dealing with a huge idiot who thinks he's brilliant. According to him, he's done everything from act, write books, write essays, and built the pyramids. GOOD GOD. We haven't left yet.
(5 minutes)

This is simply a test to prove that I can indeed type for 9 minutes and perhaps some type of brilliance will spill in this manic rambling of a Full Throttle. Genius in a can. Or at least crack. Hopefully next year they will call NaBloPoMo "CrackBlog". Get ya crack on. Heh.

I think on Tuesdays I'm gonna start sharing poems (4 minutes) with you. But they will be my poems. Megs shares poems she likes; I'm get brave with it and share some I actually wrote. Perhaps the incite you absorb will be something (3 minutes) to what I imagined when I wrote it in a manic frenzy. (2 minutes)

Got to pack up. Till next time. Be cool. Be calm.
-it is what it is-

Day Six-Fear and Loathing in Buies Creek

Cool weather always make me feel nostalgic... I suppose it's from all the late nites I've spent wandering across campus, headed to the library for another god-forsaken term paper. So many cool nites, all nite, staring at computer screens, typing rambling words that may or may not mean something to me or the reader... forced to do it day after day... (hey, sounds familiar) but it was always purging of self. Like a personal challenge.

Fear and Loathing in Buies Creek:
The Savage Journey to Write a Research Paper: A Parody
For some, inspiration is found at nite; some find it in drinking;
Others turn to drugs; the truth has not been found
as to where inspiration originates.
Carmine’s Story

We were somewhere on the edge of campus, just outside of Shouse Cafeteria, when reality began to take hold. I remember a mental clicking of ideas, a few forgotten foggy thoughts, combined with the surreal feeling of finally being on top of things dominoed thru my mind like some sadistic game until the last one fell onto a long hidden obligation.

“Holy shit man!” said I to my roommate as I stopped in horror, my body beginning the denial process in an attempt to fool myself that I was mistaken. Panic is setting in immediately. Surely I am wrong. Surely this is not happening to me on an evening such as this. There’s far too many drugs for me to take, too much alcohol to drink, and cigarettes to smoke.
He turns with that dumbass “What the hell” look.

“I’ve got a research paper due tomorrow for Dr. Vaughan”. Curse that man. The lazy summer evening, with prospects full of fornication, alcohol, and substance abuse and just general degradation and mental breakdown had temporarily clogged my neural system into forgetting this monstrosity of an assignment. “Son of a bitch!” I cried. “Gimme a damn cigarette”.

I lit my cigarette and cursed mentally. Somehow I failed to anticipate this obstacle preventing me from self-destruction. From here on through the rest of the evening I must abuse the night, manipulate the madness and pistol whip the words, and essentially improvise an entire 12 to 15 page paper. How did this happen? I know that paper wasn’t due for at least two weeks. How in the hell did this shit sneak up on me. I breathed in deeply on my menthol. Well, there’s only one thing left to do. Grin and bear it and suck it up. “Looks like my evening and nite are shot homie. I gotta go to the damn library. Damn damn damn”. The repetition of four letter words only served to enhance my anger at this class and myself.

“As your attorney” says my roommate “I suggest you make haste to the library and researching like a bitch”. He was right and I knew it. I hated him for it.

Charles Michael’s story
So…it’s Thursday evening and Carmine and I have just finished eating dinner. My evening plans are something as follows:
§ Take a dump
§ Smoke a cigarette
§ Take a shower
§ Smoke a cigarette
§ Read some homework
§ Smoke a cigarette
§ Repeat as necessary
However, my plans were delayed en route when my rommmate carmine has a near epileptic fit just as we are leaving Shouse, the cafeteria where they serve what they believe is food. “Shit” + “House” equals “Shouse”. Need I say more. He’s got a research paper due tomorrow and he’s just remembered it. He always forgets shit, he’s burnt out more brain cells than he actually has left. He’s an English major so I’m sure he can handle it. And this has happened before. His game plan is generally something like………

Carmine’s modus operandi
8:00 p.m.
Pick a random topic that you have absolutely no idea what it is! Don’t worry about background or any type of class discussion that could possibly help you during the savage journey to the final concluding thought of your paper! That’s the lightweight’s journey!
9:00 p.m.
Next! Run into the library, type the name of the work, or the name of the author/politician/dead guy’s name into the search bar and zoom!!! You instantly have access to a maddening and overwhelming amount of help—incredibly musty, stinky, moldy, books!
10:00 p.m.
GO find the books and chek them out. Don’t even bother looking at the index or table of contents found inside. Just snatch up every book, magazine, microfilm, videotape, or informational device that you can find and save it for yourself. This is gold!!! You’ll never use a third of this tuff but at least you have now monopolized the information that could ever be useful to anyone!
10:15 p.m.
Next in your exodus toward higher education, graduating, and most crucial point, passing this class, check all these books out and haul them back to your room/apartment/girlfriend’s apartment, or somewhere else with a computer that you can beg, borrow, steal, or legally or illegally use. (For those brave enough begin this step by arriving at the library 45 minutes before it closes, get in the check out line, forget your ID which you knew you had to have and RUUUUN back to your room, return to the library, and then finally check out your books). Where are we?
????
Yes sitting in front of a computer typing furiously. Confusion sets in…is this what I was doing… or what I am doing?
Never the less, always the more. How to write a paper.
12:00 Midnite.
Write! Write, write, WRITE!!! Just write whatever you can come up with that barely relates to your topic. Absolute crap, pure genius, take your pick.
2:30-6:00 a.m.
Then, sift thru your book and other amounts of hired crap. Find a quote by some pompous, arrogant, idiotic, tired bastard and make it relate in the most far fetched subjective way possible.
9:17 a.m.
And print!!! Just type once and print! Don’t proof, don’t edit, don’t reread, just print and turn in[1]!!!

Carmine’s dilapidated, sleep addled mind state
“Hey bitch. Wake up. Bitch. Up. I finished my paper. Let’s go get some breakfast”. My roommate, the GQ looking sophomore that he is, wakes with a loud grunt. “Huh?” is his first intelligent mark of the day.
“Up bitch. I’m done with my paper. It’s 9:30. Breakfast is about to end. Let’s go get a grease omelet”.
I stand staggering, my body numb, and I no longer know what day it is.

However, I have finished a research paper for Dr. Vaughan. Charles Michael comes down and we finally get to breakfast.

Charles Michael’s waking thoughts
That worthless bastard. He didn’t’ sleep, he forgot, he decided to wait to the last minute and he’s got to wake me up to get breakfast? Son of a bitch
This breakfast still tastes horrible. This sorry bastard got me outta bed to come eat and now he’s so damn tired he can barely talk. Damn it all. You just let me have to stay up late one nite and I’m gonna worry the shit outta him.

Dr. Vaughan
12:40 p.m. Location-Taylor; Class-Hell
“Aren’t our research papers due today Dr. Vaughan?”
“…Yes but…”

Carmine
12:52
Zzzzzzz……….

Day Five-Euphoria

.......some stream of consciousness......

I love a cool summer morning, the kind that promises to bring intense heat, heat waves, waves, and a cold beer at the end of it all. I get up early on these mornings, the random sporadic days I have off, and I gear up: shorts, wax, skimboard.

The 7 minute drive to Wrightsville Beach never takes longer than it does on these mornings I have to myself. It is on the way that I feel I am journeying to freedom. It is in the salt air, the blue-green waves, and the semi-deserted sand that I think there are a few moments of salty serenity.

There's no warm up, no introduction, no awkward moments of getting to know you so we can hang out for the night and pretend to be friends.

There's simple the beach and I.

The water is always cold but I LOVE IT. The salty spray reminds me of why I moved to the beach which was this exactly moment. Early mornings watching the sun come up and hearing the sea gulls crying.

I've never felt so alive.

I stand ankle deep, waiting for the exact moment to slide my board across the surface of the water, watch it slide and then chase it... jumping and hoping that the physical improbability of landing on it and not DYING actually comes together the instant my bare feet hit the wax covered board.
If all the planets line up and it happens... (my profile picture shows what happens) then the momentary euphoria is unbelievable; I am almost Jesus, walking on water, somehow at one with the sea and the problems that always way on an individual. My hair is soaked with salt water, my eyes are burning, sand covers me but for a moment, just a moment, I am ALIVE.

This is my vacation.

Drop. Run. Skim. Again. Again. Again.

The morning ends. Other beach lovers arrive.

The euphoria hangs on me like junkies hang onto their high.

......the high is never high enough.

-it is what it is-

Day Four-Why I Have An English Degree

...and no, it's not because I wanted to teach. See, there are a few things each person is gifted at in his or her lifetime. A person can be good at politics; he or she may be able to tell you all you need to know about Hillary's political platform or why Ron Paul should be elected president (he's against the war on drugs, yay!). They may be able to sing extremely well or list all the states in ABC order. There's something out there for all of us. Me? I was good at one thing growing up and I came to learn I was good at a second somewhere along the way.

I like to read. That's the grand finale people. I like to read and I came to find out that I was fairly talented at writing.

And because of Holly Becht. Yes, you Holly. As I mentioned before I liked to read which led to discussing my mediocre mandatory English classes with a junior English major, Holly. She brainwashed me into taking an advanced English class (I got a B, woohoo!) and the rest is pretty much history.

I came to realize that it was probably the best and worst decision I've ever made. I love being able to read and comprehend, dig deep and pull out concepts, analyze and theorize the text and apply it to a real world situation. I hate not knowing what to do with this skill. People don't realize the talent and skill it takes in reading a text, realizing the underlying theories and nuances and finding the examples to support the argument. Wow, dont' think I've ever spelt it out like that before...

BA in English-pleasure and pain.

-it is what it is-

Day Three

Yes, I kinda like that idea of marking them off as the days roll bye... 27 days left. Can't even think of getting tired yet. "We've only just begun". This is fantastic.

So, today, Saturday, I did yardwork. How is it that I end up doing what I always hated doing while I was growing up? I think it has sonmething to do with having my own yard. It's very.... inspiring or motivation to watch MY OWN YARD take shape like potter's clay. Amy helped. She raked the pine straw up and then put it around the flowers. Not a bad idea; saves on buying straw and beautifies the yard. Yard Tips from Joshua. Word.

Me? I got the clippers out and trimmed the hedges and the tree vines that blocked my view of the white trash folks across the road.

While I am blogging I am waiting for my pizza rolls to come out of the toaster oven.

My yard looks good. Oh! I also swept the driveway clean of all it's funk and nastiness. Acorns suck.

Proceeded to ride around town with Amy on this fantastic Saturday to do some birthday shopping and just get out of the house. I could have sat here all day but sometimes ya gotta keep 'em happy..
Lunchtime, 3:00 and all is well.

Currently thugged out to: A7X-Almost Easy

-it is what it is-

Day Two

Maybe that's how I'll catalog this NaBloPoMo ordeal. Like a terrifying descent into the madness of writing. The way POWs go from semi-ordered soldiers to maggot eating maniacs intent on killing the next thing that moves. Day One. Day Two. Day Three.



Oooh. That sounds exciting.



Writing is more than the simple formulaic enterin of letter after letter; it's a purging of souls, an exorcism of ideas, an attempt to change the world instantly if only one could find The Right Words. We write and then we hate what we write. When we're not writing we wish we were writing. (When I was there, I wanted to leave; Now that I'm here, all I can think of is going back).



We stare blankly at computer screens and lined journal pages and mentally curse them for not filling with brilliant prose or eloquent verse. We pray that the words will bleed from our black ink veins. Nightly or daily, hourly we force words to come yet they are never the right ones. When will the right ones come?

In the bottom of whiskey bottles we search, cursing, crying, creating, destroying, penning, rhyming...

We search our pain for reasons to right; happiness is never insightful nor prose worthy.

I write because I must. Never have I cared if someone did or did not read my words. My own randon thoughts will hammer in my mind until a pencil and paper is found and the few sparse concepts drain from my fingertips.

SCREAMING HARDLY BREATHING, THE WORDS MUST BE WROTE
ATTEMPTED UNMENTIONEDS THE IMPOSSIBILITY CHOKES
UNKNOWN ALONE IN A CAGE OF ANONYMINITY
EVERYONE READING VERSE REMAINS MY SWORN ENEMY
HOWEVER, IN ME, THE WORDS RIGHT TO SURFACE OF LIFE
AND I MUST WRITE WITH THE EDGE OR BE CUT BY THE KNIFE
-purpose-

A few words I wrote in a altered/induced stupor on why I write. (Find more in my book lost poetix).

-it is what it is-

......game on.

I'm Joshua, unfortunately and violently referred to as Josh. My friends and coworkers and classmates strictly refuse to call me Joshua. I think it takes too much thought and energy. I have a BA in English... blah blah blah. See sidebar. I talk extremely fast and curse with a frequency often find in obscene or a lot like incrediblemegs. This is my first NaBloPoMo.

Sometimes I think I have ADHD. My memory is worse than your computers. Bad spelling drives me mad. If you see some on here it is probably because I was drunk. Bad grammar doesn't bother me as much, but double negatives are crucial. Punctuation and capitalization are arbitrary; it depends on the occasion much as proper manners and etiquette depends on the setting. Feel me?

I love slang but that's another post. In the meantime, here are some random song lyrics to share.

Sing like you think no one's listening,
You would kill for this,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit,
You would, you would...

Sing me something soft,
Sad and delicate,
Or loud and out of key,
Sing me anything,
we're glad for what we've got,
Done with what we've lost
Our whole lives laid out right in front of us

-straylight run


-it is what it is-

these words

Hmmm.... So, this NaBloPoMo has got me into the writing vein again. I'm feeling it. But here's the real kicker.

Are these my words? Are those YOUR words?

Sometimes when I'm writing I'm hoping that these words (not these words but... the ones I'm writing at the time) are more than just simple black and white scratches. Sometimes they feel bigger, more in touch with the universe, as if someone somewhere is writing the same words. Is that too complex?

Hmm. Words that unite us, since they give us the ability to communicate, are more than a device to convey how awesome "Pageant Place" is to another person, rather, they are the essence of our being. Maybe my words are on the same mystic plane as another individual, maybe its deja vu and another person has wrote the same words before. Does any ELSE feel as those their words are bigger than 10 point times new roman when they write?

-it is what it is-

if we all sucked at our jobs as bad as some suck at theirs

then we'd all be outta work.

Hrm. Not the catchiest blog title I've ever come up with. But i think it gets the point across.
(I hate capitalizing when I'm bloggin' because to me blogging is a very casual, free flowing, thought dumping arena where formalities and courtesies and dramatic emphasis on rigid structures are unnecessary)

Back to the matter at hand. I work hard. I'm sure anyone reading this works hard too. For those that are stay at home moms i know you have your hands full and God bless you because 'mother' is another word for God on the mouths of children and I know it's not easy. Yes, I talk like this.

Why is it when we go places, gas station, fast food, retail stores, anywhere that isn't home or a friends place, that the employees there act like we are doing them an inservice by coming in to shop? IF WE DIDN'T SHOP YOU WOULDN'T GET PAID.

Am I right?

Or have the old-fashioned values instilled in me simply made me raise my expectations too high? The lackadaisical attitudes, the jaded looks, the bitter caustic conversation carried on with other employees while I stand there and pretend I'm not listening, all of this crap grates on the essence of my work ethic like so many nails on a chalk board.

Get at me.

-it is what it is-

Boo.

October sucks. Not because it's fall, or because summer ended, or school has been in session or anything like that. It sucks because of October 31st.
HALLOWEEN SUCKS
Halloween sucks. Yes, it does. Halloween doesn't make a damn bit of sense. I know it's two weeks away and people are gearing up and hell, I'm even gonna go to a Halloween party with my wife (we're going as Run DMC) but all in all it sucks.
I ALMOST WRECKED MY CAR because some MORON was walking up and down the sidewalk with a machette and wearing a hockey mask.
not funny in the slightest.
Then the poor idiots across town have dressed up from everything from 'naughty' nurses, to pirates, clown, and even a hotdog.
Please.
No one even really gets down with the REAL spirit of Halloween. Halloween is not simply a chance to get wasted while dressed up like New York or a Blind Ref. You want scary?
There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin
Think about that.

NaBloPoMo

NaBloPoMo... that's a typing exercise right there. I"m gearing up, thanks to Megs I'm gonna get down with the freaks of National Blog Posting Month which is all of November. Hopefull my reader count will grow from 3 to 11 or something like that. I'm cynical, can't help it. No one has ever really been a faithful reader of mine.

If this is your first time in Joshua's Madness... then welcome to the chaos.

-it is what it is-

...spit yo game...

I LOVE TO FREESTYLE.

... not sure if I've ever told that piece of nothing fact on this thing before. My buddy Zach (yo, you made the blog kid) and some friend were over here back for Amy's Birthday and we got to beat boxing and freestyling... it's ridiculous how much fun someone can have simply making up verse and song on the spot. I used to write 'text battles' online... and I was damned good at it too. My family never got down with it... always bummed me out. They kinda looked at it as a subpar kind of style. That being said...

....no introduction because it is what it is...a legend, a giant
standing here before, name, anonymous... still stand defiant
start a riot, chaos, still standing on top battling any eager foe
worse than UFC, never stepping down to any foolish blow
Kimbo,
Tito,
Tyson,
I fight some
the game is just another chance for me
to punish,
destroy
humiliate
any adversity...
So let's ride, let's roll, let the dramatic action take control
cause worse thatn Shang Tsung.. I'm here to take ya soul
Game on... blow the whistle, I think it's time to ride
Cause stepping to these word, its verbal suicide
BRING IT OUT BRING IT ON...there's no denial...
kid couldn't rip a verse if he decided to shred the Bible...

-it is what it is-

...goodbye

Is this the end?

Why can't i be entertaining enough for people to read?

It is what it is.

-it is what it is-

-joshua

happy birthday amy!

Happy Birthday to my wonderful wife Amy!!!

I know, faithful 0.8 readers... you have been waiting for the moment for Josh to return.

It is now.

And I am sharing my wife's birthday with you

She got an iPod, diamond earrings, Calphalon pots, a digital camera and a surprise birthday party. It was ridiculous fun.

Have you played Singstar? Loser. You need to go play immediately. That's what we did Saturday nite. It's karaoke with a scoreboard.

Go now. ps2 will let you play.

-it is what it is-

-joshua

Gogol Bordello - start wearing purple

This is awesome!

Gogol Bordello - start wearing purple

sunday nite Sunday nite, just got back in from Best Buy and got the mostest awesomest cd I've heard in a long time. Gogol Bordello (no, I did not make that up, althought Amy swears I did), Gypsy Punks. It's a total orgy of sounds. They have a fiddle, drummer, accordion, acoustic guitar, bass guitar, and an amazing European/Russian kind of accent that takes some getting used to.I am attempting to post the video for "start wearing purple..."

Hoping this works...

happy labor day!

Happy Labor Day!

So to celebrate....

I labored.


I mowed the grass, weedeated, (I used the weadeater around), sprayed the house down for bugs, washed my car mats, and took out the trash.

And I grilled dinner. Yum yum.

Happy Labor Day!

-it is what it is-

-joshua

sometimes it comes back

Things you do, that is.

As some of you know, I was a teacher. 8th grade Language Arts. Nothing amazing, nothing special, just another teacher working the teaching gig...

It sucked. Well, I lie. Some of it sucked. Some of it was super rewarding. There's nothing like knowing you have an audience for at least 5 hours out of the day for your subject of choice.

When you see a student's mind just soaking up information or read something they wrote and know that you helped guide them to that exact point... it's wonderful.

There are some students that I won't forget. One girl in homeroom could never make it to school on time... chronically 5 minutes late... but a brilliant student. Another kid who was ADHD to the extreme but probably the smartest kid in the school--the only kid to score perfect on the quarterly exam.

I say all that to tell this. I never realized how much I may have changed them until today.

At the old school where I taught at (three year ago, let's not forget that) the assistant principal told my mothere that she got to work early to find a piece of paper stuck in the door with something writting on it. In typical teenage writing it said

'JOSH SHELTON RULES'

-it is what it is-

-joshua

Autumn Cometh With a Vengeance

You know it's true. I see the fall sales, the back to school fliers, the school buses roaming around, getting things in order for the fall.

I hate and love it at the same time.

I love fall and winter clothes. Hoodies, jeans, long sleeves, toboggans, the works. Love 'em.

But I really like the beach too.

So, to explain my absence, I've been at the beach on the skimboard getting wild.

Hanging on to the last moments of heat filled summer time.

two years

Yesterday. Two years yesterday since Isaac's accident. Sometimes it feels like it, sometimes not.

I'm headed home to see the fam in a few. One random memory to share however.

Super Mario World on Super Nintendo has 90 levels/boards. For the gamers you know what I mean. Each 'world' has a number of 'levels' before you get to the 'boss'. Feel me? Ok, i knew you would.

Super Mario World takes a while to beat. Even after having played it before, it can be quite a challenge.

One random Friday nite Isaac and I decided to beat it. Not just beat it but complete EVERY SINGLE BOARD.

Started about 7:00 in the evening after dinner, loaded up with Mt. Dew and Fudge Rounds, we went at it.

Mario, Luigi, Candy Mountain, Chocolate River, Cheese Bridge, Get the CAPE!!! You can fly with the Cape!!!, Bowsers a jerk, YOU'RE ALMOST OUT OF LIVES!!! We'll never beat Star World or the BONUS WORLD!!!

at 4:00 a.m................

mission successful. It was beautiful.

RIP Lil Homie Isaac.......

You will never die.

-it is what it is-

typing and writing

"You can't write poetry on the computer".
~Quentin Tarantino

I used to debate that in my mind. Could you write poetry on the computer? Isn't it possible to craft rhyme and meter and verse through the QWERTY keys given to us by Dell or Gateway?The genius mind that is Bill Gates surely recognized the possibility of typing poetry on his braind child that is Microsoft Windows.

Hmm.

Amy got me a leather bound journal for our anniversary and thus the beginning of this thought process which I'm currently sorting through. See, on here, I tend to be much more methodical, logical, and thought out. There's something of a overarching theme to each blog. (The title is what I'm referring to). Thereafter I usually give some type of horseshit to support what I just said.

Yada yada.

But there's nothing creative about that. There's nothing like making the fish hook 'j' or the geometric seeming 'k' or the oh so anarchic 'X' to inspire creativity. On here, all the letters look uniform and if I wanted uniformity then I wouldn't be writing poetry.

My journal doesn't even have LINES!!!! It just begs for some manic inspiration to be scribbled upon it. Thoughts have the opportunity to run rampant and wild instead of being forced to serif or san serif. (I like serif, personally. If I'm speaking too much geekanese just look up 'serif').

SOOOO--- that said. I think Quentin was right.

-it is what it is-

-joshua

one year

Today is my wife and my one year anniversary. She's great. That's 365 days of putting up with me. Yes, I am blogging on my anniversary. That's ok. She's cooking me breakfast right now. She's making heart-shaped pancakes. How awesome is that?!?

Things to remember from our first year of marriage:

• Just because one is right does not mean they should fight to prove so. Sometimes it's a very healthy decision to be right silently.
• ALWAYS think before you respond. Sometimes it's difficult but if you don't you'll end up saying a lot more than you thought was going to come out of your mouth.
• Keep your significant other happy and do little things for him or her. They are the most important thing in your life and it's better all around for one to remember that.

Happy and Silly Memories!

• Skateboard Tires! (Said Amy)
• Lazy Sunday Mornings (Like today)
• Staying up late watching movies
• Rob and Big
• House
• Yes, Dear, I checked the doors and they are locked :-)
• Schnoogs!
• Massages
• You bringing me McDonalds
• Late nite backrubs
• and thousands of other little things

Thanks Amy, you are amazing.

Happy Anniversary!!!

.......voldemort's dead

So. No surprise there. The semi-surprise was that Harry Potter did not die.

Why should he? JK never intended for him to be Christ-like and sacrifice himself for the sins of the wizarding world.

He was a kid, unfortunately, who happened to be THE BOY WHO LIVED. He wasn't special, he wasn't all powerful, he wasn't even an above average wizard.

He was simply Harry Potter. Hell, his name is uninteresting.

I know thousands of people are writing about HP right now. Let 'em.

JK wrote the book; she wrote all 7 of 'em. The fact that we were alive and able to read all 7 of them over the past 10 years is simply a privelege that we were granted.

I thought the epilogue was unnecessary but she wrote it so I read it.

I thought it gave closure to the whole series but one can always argue "it could have ended differently". You could say that about Paradise Lost, The Stand, the dark tower, or any number of series.

Harry Potter will live forever in our minds and in literature.

After all....

he is The Boy Who Lived.

-it is what it is-

...vacation!!!!

I'm not even sure what that means really... it means i don't have to get up when the alarm goes off

BECAUSE THE ALARM DOESN'T GO OFF THIS WEEK!!!

WOO HOO!!!

I'm busy trying to inhale the last harry potter book.

And Sunday is my one year marriage anniversary with my fantastic wife Amy.

:-D

-it is what it is-

back again

So nothing much of note has been happening. Summer is whipping by and I've been to the beach enough to satisfy my beach cravings. But I still want to go this weekend.

I do have a bass tube put in my car to make up for the subs that someone oh so kindly took off my hands (Read: Some sack of shit stole them outta my damn car). That's kind of exciting. There's nothing better than cruising Wilmington with a terrible old song on with 'booooooooooooom' from ya back seat going on. It's a beautiful thing.

Works great. Wish we were busier. Nothing else to tell.

Life goes on. The world turns.

Harry Potter 5 was a great movie.

The 7th book will be phenomenal I'm sure.

-it is what it is-

-pay it forward-

I suppose it's possible. Hell, a guy took off in a lawn chair with balloons the other day.


If you haven't read it, you should. If you're too much of a bum to read it, then watch the movie.

The concept is simple. Simpler than America is ready for, which may be part of the problem.

Do something really big, really nice, for someone you don't know, or know very well. In return, ask them to pay it forward. Not back to you, to someone else.

May we all have that kind of faith in society.

-it is what it is-

freedom...

So, day after Independence Day and I've been doing some... contemplating.

Freedom is what it is yet what is freedom?

"Freedom is not enough"
~Lyndon B. Johnson

We, in America, claim to be free. We have cell phones, myspace, facebook, ebay, google, youtube, and email.

We've got American Idol, Deal or No Deal, House, Grey's Anatomy, Big Love, and (used to have) Sopranos.

WE HAVE NO DEFINING CHARACTERISTICS AT ALL EXCEPT MATERIALISM.

And that's not much.

We're losing our national identity. We're mindless. The government is in a state of disarray and WE ARE SIMPLY SITTING BY. Do you know how Nazi Germany came to be? No one wanted to be the first to help their neighbors or themself.

Nazi soldiers and Nazi police attacked and arrested countless numbers of people for speaking otu against the government.

Isnt' that what's happening in the US? Why did we go into WWII to stop communism only in turn to allow it to fester and breed here in America? WE'RE A NATION OF HYPOCRITES.

I'm writing. That's what I'm doing. I have no other weapon that can combat the madness.

Here I normally insert -it is what it is-




.......but it doesn't have to be.

-joshua

bell jar

Alright...... Mentally, I'm exhuasted. I've just finished reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. Talk about a mind-trip.

Yet.. while the book is all encompassing and somehow sucks you in... it's not even that part the really bothers me.

It's the fact that I think most people have been there.

Here's "YOUR LIFE". Good job, get married, go to school, do well, make money, have a family... it's incredibly stressful sometimes to simply live.

Can we, as a society, hold on to our sanity? There's so many levels of acceptance that we have to meet some days.

Did I work hard enough today? Will I be able to pay the bills? Are my co-workers mad at me? Is this the job I've always wanted?

Sometimes it feels like all your dreams and things you wanted to do are taken away from you and you're not even sure how it happened. You can't even look back at the past and say "Hey, that's what the problem was". It's as if the entire system is working against you and all you want to do is say...

Open a fast food restaurant selling cheeseburgers using funnel cakes as the buns.

Why is it so hard to be happy? Whew.

But I'm happy. I've got a good job and an amazing wife. And I love every minute of it.

One day I'll open that fast food joint. :-)

-it is what it is-

-joshua

saturday nite

Chillin, doing nothing, loving it. La madre-en-law leaves 2morrow. Finally. After 10 frickin days worryin the hella outta us.

Went to the beach today. Went skimboarding for a while. Fell alot. A whole lot. Very sore.

Brain not working well. Typing In Short Sentences.

Did have a very good dinner at Oceanic.

I do have very interesting story about a drunk guy falling in a ditch across the road earlier this week.

That'll have to wait.

-it is what it is-

-joshua-

...test audience

Look at all these faithful readers!



Yes!!! It's fantastic.



So I told you all I was writing a new book. Yippee...



I'm gonna plug an antidote/piece of it into here at random and try to get some responses or feedback. See if it's worth pursuing.

The thing about this book is that a lot of it will upset/offend some readers. However, if you want to be proud of who you are, or be proud of someone else, you must be proud of who they were.

Tell me if you identify with it. Or if the voice is all wrong. Just gimme some type of feedback. If you never went to college, then at least let me know if its entertaining or not.



......................



Countless nights of madness were ahead of us and countless nights were already underway. How much beer could one person drink? The liquor store stayed in business because of us. It was pure lunacy every nite in suite 303 of Murray dorm. We were immortal; we were young; we were gods.

Halloween, freshman year, October of 2001, I was running with a few different circles. Jessica Paul was a friend of mine at the time.

'Josh, you want to go to ECU with us for Halloween? It's gonna be wild. Nothin' but people acting crazy all over downtown Greenville.'

Sign me up! Jessica was driving, I was drinking, and we were all partying. We started drinking before we ever left Campbell.

Then we drank all nite. We drank walking down the street, drank at a friend of a friend's apartment, we had blood in our alcohol veins.

Yet all good things must end.

We loaded up to drive back to Campbell at 3:00 a.m. and riding that far after drinking that much never ends well. I was ridiculously drunk at the time and thought that passing out would be the best thing to do.

So I did.

I was wrong.

Some where on I-95 Jessica was forced to snatch the car off the road or have vodka laced puke in her carpet.

It's amazing, to look at it now, to think that any of the above ideas could have a good result.

A. Drive to ECU
B. On Halloween
C. Drink all nite.

We are who are because we were who we were.

I made it back, alive, and had one of the worst hangover ever the next day. That nite?

We started drinking again.

-it is what it is-

-joshua

truth

.....i love my mother in law. she's great. couldn't ask for a better mother in law.

but there can be too much of a good thing.

i'll leave it at that.

-it is what it is-

new book

So I'm writing again. It's a new book. What else do you write? (That was to me, not you).

After the critical acclaim and mass flocking of my last book, I've decided to appease my audience, all 7.3 of them, and write another one.

It's tentatively entitled the things they packed which is a fantastic rip off on the things they carried. McAfee's book was so powerful that I've had to steal a writing technique and warp the title. Perhaps I'll call it something else.

It's a collegiate memoir... of sorts. It's not a story with a beginning middle and an end in the classical sense.

Of course it has a first page and a last page and a lot of filler pages in between.

It starts with freshman year and will probably end when I finish writing the damn thing...

How many times can you tell college stories? How many times do YOU say "When I was in college we..." and then momentarily relive one of the CRAZIEST NITES EVER as you tell the tale?

Find a song from your FRESHMAN year. It must be your freshman year because that is the year that is the most chaotic and you search for yourself and you either go wild or cage yourself in. Find a song and listen to it.

See how far back you can go.

Leave any random/crazy stories on here.

-it is what it is-

congratulations justin and stacie!!!

CONGRATULATIONS TO JUSTIN AND STACIE!!!

THEY JUST GOT ENGAGED ON THE 4TH!!!

YAY!!!

-it is what it is-

-NEW HOUSE!!!-

So... guess who's blogging from a new crib? That's right...

Me.

Finally got moved in over the weekend after much cussing, sweating, and Mt. Dew. Mt. Dew was crucial and essential on a Memorial Day weekend when it was at least 90 degrees out.

Thanks Michael, Nathan, Jil and Michelle. You guys are awesome.

My new crib is on Dogwood Lane.

3 bed, 2 bath, front porch, back deck... i'm super excited.

I did manage to fire up the grill Saturday and Sunday nite. Not too bad for a semi-novice grill master. I will be a Jedi-Cook one day.

Went to the beach today and Josh is now super-red and super-burnt. No bear hugs for a while. I know, I'm heartbroken too.

All else is well....

-it is what it is-

-joshua

damn it megs

Damn it Megs...

I have been tagged with the 8 weird things meme... AGAIN so thanks to my wife (read, 'ingenuity) I have been able to scrape together 8 MORE weird things about me.

1. I would live off of Mt. Dew and Fudge Rounds if possible. I made it four years on them... what's another 70 or so? Seriously though, they make the best combination of unhealthiness ever. Try one today.

2. During the course of my life I have acquired a shitload of useless knowledge. The fastest fish is a sailfish; turtles can breath through their butts; an ostrich's eye is bigger than an ostrich brain; and of course, I know all the words to 'eeny meanie thisaleenie'. If you don't, learn it today.

3. I like writing in pencil better than pen. Something about it seems... more in touch with the inner self? Self in touch with inner? Who's the winner? Crap, thought that was a poem there, maybe not. The pen is so much work... press down, don't wash it in your clothes.... so permanent.

4. I hate planning things. It completely takes away from life. I am much more comfortable with having a very loose frame and winging it as you go.

5. I am extremely self-critical. I feel like I could do more, be better, be smarter, write more, writer deeper, be a better friend, husband, son, brother... Why is that so? Why can't I just be satisfied with the way things are? DAMN YOU PEOPLE FOR MAKING ME FEEL INSIGNIFICANT.

6. I do enjoy attention. But I seek it subtly. I used to wear some very entertaining glasses... akin to John Lennon glasses. If I can find a picture that actually shows them well enough I will share it. For those that knew me then... they can tell you.

7. I miss college and sometimes violently so because I think those were the only four years that anyone was able to be the person that they wanted to be.... only in those years of independence and semi-creativeness were people able to dress, act, write, and be who they were. After graduation the man puts everyone down and I/we are forced to be someone else. I MISS CAMPBELL!!!

8. I am very passionate about things I believe or care about. If you are my friend, then you're my friend all the way. If I like a song, then I know all the words. If I like a movie, I want everyone to see it. If believe in something, then I'll share it with anyone.


*SIGH* Finally, these things get harder and harder. Thanks Meg! I was really burnt because of all the moving I've done this week. So now to shower and then to bed.

-it is what it is-

-joshua-

...so tired

From moving into my new house!!!

Got a lotta stuff moved in, got a lotta stuff left to go.

Not much else happening in the world of Josh.

Currently listening to 'As Cruel as Schoolchildren', the Gym Class Heroes CD. It's fantastic.

Currently reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I'm really into him lately.

Physical condition is sore and tired. But I can live with that as long as I can move into my new house. :-)

If anyone is bored and wants to come help...?

You know how to find me.

-it is what it is-

-joshua

-music-

I find it amazing how a song can move you from one place in reality to a different place in emotional memory. Here's an example. When's the very first time you heard these words?

With the lights out its less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

For the extremely young, or overly ignorant, it's Nirvana's 'Smells like Teen Spirit'. You remember that anger? That rage?

Or, better yet, let's dive into some some serious club music. This is for the crowd closer to my age.

Girl, you looks good, won't you back that ass up
You'se a fine motherfucker, won't you back that ass up
Call me big daddy when you back that ass up
Hoe, who is you playing with, back that ass up

Remember late nites at the club? How many nights did we act the fool at the club in Raleigh, Wilmington, Greensboro, Greensboro, Fayetteville, Pembroke......? These songs are the reason we have memories.

Dumb songs bring back memories too. Songs that really don't mean anything to a lot of people. Or they don't mean the same thing. Songs that were played over and over again in the dorm room or while driving around with the windows down.

Sweet home alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet home alabama
Lord, Im coming home to you

Here's one final thought....... and it's an older song that a lotta people don't know. It was played with my buddies, my best friend, suitemates, random people I barely know, and my little brother Isaac.

Armed and dangerous: ain't too many can bang with us.
Straight up weed, no angel dust.
Label us notorious thug-ass niggas that love to bust.
It's strangeto us, y'all niggas be scramblin', gamblin'
up in restaurants with mandolins and violins.
We just sittin' here tryin' to win, try not to sin,
high off weedand lots of gin.
So much smoke, need oxygen,
steadily countin' them Benjamins.
Nigga, you'd should, too,
if you knew what this game would do to you.
Been in this shit since ninety-two.
Look at all the bullshit I've been through

The anthem of angst ridden 18-year-old boys around the world.

-it is what it is-

-joshua-

...summer time

Summer time.... finally it's here. I can finally quit wearing 3 shirt and two coats to work in the morning. It's probably my favorite season. I could get down with the spring time, 75 degrees for the high days but they don't stick around long so there's no need to harp on it.

LET'S GO TO THE BEACH!!!
Summertime brings a sense of inner peace. You can stay up late, enjoy the summer nite, sit on the porch and listen to the bullfrogs. THAT'S LIVING TO ME.

Summer time is fun time; it's when you roll the windows down, turn up the radio, drive around going nowhere and not caring and loving every minute.

Summertime is cooking out on the grill, hanging out with friends, and staying up late hoping that it'd stay summer all year round.

Here's to long days, late nites, and good friends.

Summer time.

-it is what it is-

-joshua-

-new things-

So Amy and I have found a house to move into which I am super excited about. It's got 3 bedroosm and 2 bathrooms, a front porch, a back deck, and a garage to chill in. Its' pretty much what we've been looking for the whole time. It's in a really nice and quiet neighborhood so I can skateboard down the road and not DIE. Which is always kind of nice.

I've been somewhat melancholy lately with memories... Why do memories always seem more tangible and exciting than the lives we are leading? We look to the past for the madness and excitement that used to move us yet now we look at our lives as mundane and boring? There's so many of us that tell stories of 'when I was in college...' but we can't bring ourselves to re-enter that world.

Are we scared? Yes, I realize that we have many more responsibilities to attend to now; families, children, REAL jobs... but cant' we visit that madness now and again? It was those late nites eating waffle house that drove us, the drunken partying with friends, the hangovers that we thought would be the end of us that somehow gave us a purpose. It was if we could make it through that AND classes then we had accomplished something. We finished class (we graduated... or most of us did) yet now we've got nothing to prove?

Barkeep... one long island ice tea... and keep 'em coming.

Gimme the madness over the mundane.

it is what it is.

-joshua-

-someone somewhere-

Someone somewhere is trying to be heard
To be touched, held,
And loved
For a moment,
By someone somewhere.

Someone somewhere is dancing
The niteclub an alien world
And the illusion dancing in front of
Becomes a beautiful stranger.

Someone somewhere is singing
Humming the tune
And inventing the words.

Somewhere someone is dying alone
A good man with a good heart
Alone after all.

Someone somewhere is praying
For peace, love, patience, and guidance
From someone somewhere.

Someone somewhere is laughing
At a forgotten memory that resurfaced
The euphoria better the second time.

Someone somewhere is walking
Tall across campus
Triumphant and proud.

Someone somewhere is crying—
The injustice of love slapping in the face
And unmade memories
Collapse in mid-thought.

Someone somewhere is lying awake, reslest
Debating the future, dreams
And the maniacal world.

Someone somewhere is having sex;
Two college kids lose their innocence again & again,
As if they can make time stop in a 10 x 12 room.

Somewhere someone is driving alone and in tune
With the world. The perfect song at the perfect time at the perfect place
With a perfect note.

Someone somewhere someone is writing
A poem about
Someone somewhere.

-thank you-

Since I am successfully not writing my research paper that is due this week I have decided to turn my literary prowess to thanking a few people that deserve to thanked this week.

To the douchebag that decided to write "Camel Jockey?" on the back of my car: thanks for being such a childish little twit. That's my car homie, keep you 8-year-old acting self away from it.

To the massive scumbag that broke into my car: Go to hell. Not only can you go to hell, you can kiss my ass. That's my stuff and YOU STOLE IT. How pathetic can a person be? BROKE IN AND STOLE MY SHIT. I usually try not to curse but this is really infuriating. I was almost sick out in the parking lot Thursday morning.

To my wife: Thanks for putting up with me this week. And being there after my car got broke into. She's great. :-)

To the people at C&S: Thanks for letting me come in late. You guys rock.

To the Wilmington PD: Thanks for nothing. Police Report, yay! Let me know when you catch 'em. (Meg, I understand your frustration over the dots...sorry).

To everyone who sent me a message on myspace: Thanks!

-it is what it is-

-joshua-