Guide to Triumph: The Lost Edition

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Be Abrupt! Live A Little!

I enjoy beginning blogs the very same way I end them: abruptly.

Therefore, it should come as no surprise when I say my dating life has been pretty damn dry lately. Like a tandori lightning blast of tofu-chipotle-mint flavored chorizoless rancid battery acid cake.

That's actually too much taste and shitty flavor in the aforementioned ridiculous description, which is not off the mark.

There's a vague interest I have in acting before thinking, and making statements that blanket and shroud the expected. That said, I digress ... a lottle.

I clearly work with the premonition of leaving spaces blank and acting out of left field but there's some method to today's blog about the ladies and escaping them ...

What the hell could he possibly be talking about??

It's a facile exercise in lampooning every laughable cliche possible at the very mention of my love life right now, which is non-existent. But I like it that way, within reason of course.

Wow, I just revealed a dope-less moment about myself in this blog!! Yes, I'm more bold than an indecent proposal forwarded to your grandma via my iPhone. (She'll never get it anyways, so chill).

Snap!? Your mother's mom whets the appetite. If this blog were a food product it would likely be a dope ass burger. Werd.



Gotta love how I aimlessly try to work in visuals with the blogging. This awesome video by Fujiya & Miyagi echos my efforts. Fujiya and Miyagi - Knickerbocker


But since there's nothing electric (more like erratic) happening in that department (girls, not burgers), I should leave that aggressive blend of fact and fiction to debate. I won't though. Why has it been so lackluster you ask?

A truly satisfactory answer demands equal measures of hard science and hard liquor, but put simply, it's either my ability to suppress yawns has diminished or I'm more concerned with being as unrestrained as the wind. But I'm still truly enjoying the luxury of being single, no interpretation is needed for that. Dating is fun for now.

But in keeping melody with abrupt subject matter, you know you're dope if you are in the midst of planning a trip to the bowels of outer space and you don't even have to vomit profusely during space training or even leave Texas for that matter to get there.

I experience the most overwhelmingly peculiar things, which merits me saying I am awesome, more times than you care to register.

Not because I feel I have suffered unrequited recognition or anything, but because it's a genuine goal of mine to keep everyone (and myself) on their toes. It also helps that I can make a discussion about toilet paper taped to the business end of your shoe seem engaging.

"Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well." -- Ernest Hemingway

Dog shit on the pavement is strikingly similar to writing about boring things like how I feel or what what I will eat or listen to today. You want to avoid stepping in that heaping, smelly pile of feces at all costs. Instead, I do stupid (dope?) things for the sake of experience.

And that, my friend, is why I enjoy bizarre musings. Like living in a real leper colony in Hawaii, jogging in Israel with soldiers, hiking up the grand canyon to sit on a calcified stoop to pray to the New Mexcio Zim Gods, as I plead for a new pair of running moccasins.

So with a nothing-to-write-home-about love life, coupled with a ravenous hunger to absorb some quirky punches to the solar plexus of life, I've decided to take a little escape. A vacation, if you will. Something to get the bloodflow hot and heavy again.

There are many things people do to escape. Some get on a bike. Getting a new job is popular, or altering your routine in life. Others massage apathy into their meanderings and some bury themselves in sand and let beach crabs cramp their style. Some guys will retreat to a female's bosom.

I prefer to do things on my own accord, by myself, and enjoying every step of the way. Hopefully, I'll have enough money. And if you were wondering what the sound of pennies being thrown sounds like, listen to this dope sound.

The Cool Kids -- "Pennies" MP3

I'll be celebrating the day I jumped out of my mother's womb next month (I think the world will be honoring this day too by simultaneously making the most obscene and grotesque face at noon ... sort of like a personal flash mob, but in my name).

So I'm headed to Marfa, TX to honor that day.



Marfa is synonymous with "what the fuck's there?" Answer: Nothing. But therein lies the beauty. Art in open space, mingling with small town locals, watching the Marfa lights and soaking up the western frontier.

Before you continue reading, to gauge my mindset about Marfa, listen to this song. It explains why I'm going I think. It's a little bit of a somber, bombed-out hippie vibe with acoustics that gently strum your reclining thoughts into an unkown world. Word.Fleet Foxes -- "Blue Ridge Mountains" MP3

To gird my oversized ego is not a goal in going there. I will not be heading there to court local country bumpkin girls, though of course, I'm never opposed to it. It's more of an escape, remember? An escape to somewhere completely different. In the morally uncomplicated landscape of the fraternal picture, it's bros before hos, of course. Some friends will likely meet me there.

Once this trip is over my summer list of accomplishments will look like a heavyweight marshmellow sex stud with a swirling mustache in bed. And then ACL will cap it all off!

It will be sublimely silly and I'll never win points for tidiness in going to a destination with a purpose and goal, and I would never have it any other way.

ROAD TRIP! All you really have to do ... just do shit out of the blue, abruptly. !!!

Absurdity: The 'Huh?' Edition

It's time to turn up the volume and submit recklessly ridiculous thoughts that I'm pushing and pulling in my head right now. I'm gonna spill them like jars of spoiled milk that will make you gag and cry.

Of course, for the purpose of preserving the tacit agreement I entered when launching this blog, which is to leave you quibbling in jocular inquiry. And it can only be quelled by fostering a compromising fashion sense that embraces the dampened crotch look.

Yes, making you urinate on yourself while orbiting cosmic, out-of-this-world thought that's still down-to-earth is a short-sighted goal of mine. I also aim to bounce thoughts and ideas from my head, and hazardously ricochet them off your noggin like explosive literary devices tend to do.

Thus I bring you the following streaks of dim brilliance that hail from the bastion of low-brow intellect. That loosely translates to mean the things you are about to read will easily satisfy all drunken conversation requirements and will go down easy and pleasantly, like a Fiber One flush. BOOYA Bee-yatch!

I will start by posing the simple question: Have you seen my beeper?
I seem to have misplaced it and I can't find it anywhere. I've retraced my steps, jogged through my memory and I'm blanked by its disappearance. I even took a day trip to the '90s and it bothered me that I was the only one without one. I checked my belt loop, the visor on my car and even called the neighborhood drug dealer to see if he had snatched it from me. That beeper is responsible for 99% of the attention I receive from girls because it beckons them to partake in my decadent lifestyle of luxury. All they wanted to ever do was watch me page people, and now it's gone.

Being beeper-less prompted me to downgrade my taste and style for the finer things in life. Consider it a learning lesson for me. I know it's crazy, going a day without a beeper, but so is eating only vegetables, grains and fruits all day.

I recently forced myself to acquire a taste for vegetarian food. It's part of an attempt at micromanaging my own palatability because my sense of taste (and style for that matter) is so impeccable that I felt it necessary to dilute it. It's only fair to others. Plus, I wanted to see what it feels like to be a foolish, dainty, estrogen fueled dumbass. So I invited some vegan hikers with me to Meatball Mountain and I teased them with tenderloins and pig's feet. They cracked like the spine of a book they were carrying called 'Smart & Healthy Eating' which has obviously never been opened. Forcing yourself to believe a vegetarian diet is the right thing is gayer than a collective of wizards poofing fashion trends.

*These disorganized thoughts are appearing in a mild stream of conscious-like manner, with very little rhyme or reason ... but are certain to combat the mundane backlash that you likely become acquainted with when not perusing through a blog penned by yours truly.*

Speaking of awesome, peep this video by the Octopus Project. It's chaotic, colorful and random.


As an avid culture consumer, who's a generally vague and mysteriously intriguing collector of all things eclectic, I have virtually no allegiance to one particular thing. I tend to avoid things that suck, flock to live music shows, and engage in narrative sprawl in the form of writing that is highly recommended for anyone struggling with illiteracy ... but I have a newfangled interest in the laughably schematic inspirational tract through something called 'planning ahead.'

Shit, I can't even fool myself into thinking that's faithful in fact, since it's more fiction than Super Mario stopping by your crib to shower you with growing shrooms and share with you all the secrets to warping. But I was told if I want to make a habit of something, to do it repeatedly for 21 days. WE SHALL SEE.

What? You just wanna dance you say?

Here's White Denim's latest which was released in the UK, I believe. It's a polaroid shaker. Makes you just wanna do the crazy white boy/no rhythm dance. Word!

White Denim -- "Shake Shake Shake" MP3


Here's a nice little track from Grizzly Bear. Listen carefully, because the keyboards are actually a tune from Snoop Dogg. Either way, the song stabs you with infectious hooks and vocals.

Grizzly Bear -- "Two Weeks" MP3

So, getting back to some thoughts ... I'm generally a fan of flying by the seat of my pants, so it made my day yesterday when I learned that I am no longer homeless. Yes, I was couch surfing for two days. Thank God, because I was really close to moving to a house in the drug-infested, quasi-gentrified hipster oasis area in East Austin. Although, who could decline an offer that promises you'll live like a pimp with a renovated John in the bathroom?

Here are some unfortunate 'That's What She Said' precursors in casual sports that I'm waiting to use:

Tennis: "There's absolutely no way that's in."
Foosball: "Spinning the little man is illegal."
Basketball: "Give it to me down low."
Football: "He really hit it hard and worked the clock like a champ."
Sudoku: "Heck yea! I understand how it works!"

Because who hasn't talked to their stove?

I absolutely hate Kashi's cereal called "Good Friends" ... It tastes like a sour relationship, where roughage is abundant. I propose a swift and orderly name change to from Good Friends to Strictly Platonic O's.

I'm ill from the disdain that's collecting in a pool of piss from the lack of mustache growth on my upper lip. It is really annoying. Why are you so wack and fruitless o-harbinger of fuzzy shame? Among my peeves are big, conceited bodies of water, especially Lake Superior, snooty people, the blinking numbers on alarm clocks, passive aggressive wind when I'm pissing into it, and my lack thereof 'stache.

So yes, it's safe to say I have deftly jotted dope subject matter at a stroke. You're welcome to escape your workday any time aboard the tenacious pterodactyl that is my dope ass blog.

Thanks for comin' out! And please, fellas, put a stop to the effeminate way you stick your pinkie out when downing a Schlitz.

I will enter blogs more consistently, I promise.