Unfavorable Topography: 04/01/2003 - 05/01/2003

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

AL'S Pointless (self gratifying) Game:
Prizes Awarded

  • a mountain bike
  • a mountain goat
  • a llama named Buddy
  • a giant bag of fine cedar mulch
  • a life time supply of Smuckers Strawberry Jam
  • a tricylce with sweet ass streamers on the handle bars
  • a one month supply of Tampax Tampons
  • an all inclusive 5 day trip to Constantinople
  • a Taco Flavored Kiss from Jennifer Lopez
  • a special edition can of Cheddar Spray Cheese
  • 16 multi-colored scrunchies
  • me
  • a Pilsburry Crescent Roll (with butter)

Stats

  1. (2 points)
    Tori
    Lauren
    Sauce
  2. (1 point)
    Dave
    Anita
    Mike G
    Pat
    Aurelius
    Linz
    Mark

If Im forgetting someone let me know...
(Keep the Music going)


Tuesday, April 29, 2003

Cough. Piano. The return of the don't talk backs and ...the unopened email to god play themselves out to me right before sole, eyedea and the pedestrian spit wiry flows for ten minutes before eyedea pulls your card. "These book reports of nineteenth century French utopias always end up in eulogies anyway," the pedestrian states. "Well don't they?" Bill Martin was recording some James Family stuff for a while on his new preamp, which strangely enough reminds me of reading the Preamble to the United States Constitution.

I keep guessing at Al's name-that-song routine, but I fail to get most of them. I guess I can only keep trying. Trying to keep my soul (first word that I hear next). That's just it, isn't it? Most of my original work is based off of classics or neo-classicism. Everything that I write or read or hear or think can be found in a Jacques-Louis David painting. Damn his triangular brilliance at such a late time in my career. I will be forever lost to Smith's covers and gumshoe apprentices working their way past my office in an orderly, yet cartoonish fashion. I cannot wait until they grow up young Zouaves in an Acadian world full of talking fish and strange ambient light with symbiote qualities.

Sunday, April 27, 2003

Everyone knows that General Blog died at the Battle of Little Bloghorn. What this blog presupposes is: Maybe he didn't?

Bill...

Sauce...

Crypticism...

Is that even a word?...

What the fuck are you guys talking about?...

I'll post more later...

Pizza...

We don't have this money...
Country of origin
1. United States 1991 99.3 %
2. Canada 2 0.1 %
3. United Kingdom 2 0.1 %
4. Singapore 2 0.1 %
5. Brazil 1 0.0 %
6. Greece 1 0.0 %
7. Philippines 1 0.0 %
8. Netherlands, The 1 0.0 %
9. Japan 1 0.0 %
Unknown 3 0.1 %
Total 2005 100.0 %


Let's go...











The Netherlands!!!!!!!!!!!!
The woman who cut my hair this morning is named Janet.
Janet Drive played music for some smiling, happy, anxious, sleepy, confused, frightened, pensive, and lucky people tonight.
Tonight really shouldn't end because that would require tomorrow happening and I have way too much work to do.
Do me harder, baby.
Baby you're a rich man.
Man, this is harder than it looks but I'll keep diligently at it approaching some sort of personal nirvana.
Nirvana's new song last year is further proof they are as overrated as ever.
Ever so slightly ambulance noises intensify and I hope they soon don't wake me up.
Up up down down left right and you know the rest.
Rest up and kind of play catch up, ok Billy?

Friday, April 25, 2003

wow, what a past few weeks. This has been intense, and there is still plenty more to come. This semester has been by far the most stressful and busy of my life, and i do belive the worst of has yet to rear its head. I suspect to see the ugliest of this monster next week, udring what i woudl liek to call crunch time. Due to this i have had little energy lately to partake in scoial gatherings, binge drinking, band meetings, musical discussions and all sorts of othe rfun activities. Alas, all is not lost, fo rthe gift of knowledge has been bestowed upon me these past few months, in somewhat excessive amounts. I feel somewhat overprivileged and obligated to share this gift with the rest of the world, so i am starting a series of lectures in the blog forum. I will share my veritable expertise on wave theory, electromagnetics, and circuitry with regards to their applications to our good friend rock n' roll. my first lecture will begin now, so put thAt snacK away and get out your notebook.
Have you ever wondered how an electric guitar works (or for that matter our beloved, yet slightly neglected, fender rhodes)? well i have, and it turns out to be quite interesting. With a short crash course on electromagnetics we can easily see how that simple vibrating string gets to our ear and creates that most beloved of all the arts known as music.
First we must be introduced to the concept of electric field and voltage. An electric field basically electrical energy. This energy comes from charges(otherwise known as electrons and protons). Electrons are (-) charges and protons are (+) charges. An electric field is energy that can't be felt by us in any way. Only charged particles are sensitive to electric fields. If an electric field were in front of you, pointing from let to right, and a single free electron were placed in that field, the electron would move to the lect, conversely, a single proton would move to the right.
You can think of voltage as potential energy from your most recent physics class. Voltage is, in a sense, the ability of an electric field to move a charge, it isn't the force that moves the charge, it is the energy stored in a field that could move a charge, if a charge were present.
The final concept to introduce is the magnetic field. Everyone is familiar with magnets. A magnetic field is the field of energy created by a magnet or magnetic material. There are many ways to create magnetic fields, but that isn't important for our condition.
Now, on to guitars. The two components of an electric guitar that make sound possible are the string and the pickup. Let's start with the pickup. The pick is nothing more than a magnet. It is a magnetic material wound in a metal. The number of windings and shape and size of the core can drastically effect the sound of the guitar. This is because a magnet of this structure has natural filtering abilities. Also, another way to effect the sound is with the number of magnets used in one pickup. My and bills guitars both have humbuckers, one pickup consisting of two separate magnets, each with their own windings. THis magnet sets up a magnetic field, which generally would mean nothing other athn a metal object would stick to it if brought close enough. BUt something interesting happens when a string, which sits in the magnetic field, is plucked.
Guitar stinrgs are nothing more than a strand of metal. Metals as you know are good conductors. THis means they have a large amount of electrons, (-) charges, which are free to move as they please. When the string is plucked it vibrates rapidly inside the magnetic field of the pickup. Faraday's law states that, when a free charge moves inside a magnetic field, an electric field is induced. Furthermore, this electric field is proportional to the rate of change of position of the chrage(string). Simply, this means taht the velocity of the string is proportional to teh electric field induced. But, since the string is vibrating, its velocity is always changing. It can be shown that the velocity changes in a harmonic motion (sinusoidal). What this means is that the string moves witha certain frequency, percieved by the human ear as pitch, and an electric field is induced with the same frequency.
Here is where the windings of the pick up come in. The electric field induced by the string causes a voltage across the pickup. This voltage causes the free electrons in the windings to move. The windings are connected to the cable that goes into your amp, so the electrons are moved by the fields induced around the pick up to your amp, where they are amplified and sent to your speakers. Thus the magic of the guitar is unveiled. The rhodes works in the same way, except instead of guitar strings you have metal bars, and instead of a pick there is a hammer. It seems a bit complicated, but it really is quite simple. I must say thought that les paul (the inventor of the electric guitar) was quite ingenious. Please come to me with any questions on this lecture, i would be happy to clarify anything that isn't crystal clear. The net lecture will be on waves and frwquency content.
pat

Thursday, April 24, 2003

Faintest blog keeps falling, falling...

Sometimes, I don't really feel like I know the person that I'm becoming. He's not someone that I'm familiar with. I don't know him yet, I've never met him. But more than that, I can't really get a read on him. I can't sense what he's going to be like. I feel different. I feel changed. I don't know who I am anymore.

My head is a mess. I can't sort anything out anymore. Anything now seems like an incredibly daunting task, no matter how slight the responsibility may be in reality.

I throw up my hands. When will this end? When can I laugh again? When can I be carefree again?

Well, to be exact, probably not until May 15th, after the first big section of the Janet Drive tour.

But such specifics only serve to ruin the perfect abstractness of my despair! My heady melancholy has become a sort of pet for me, I suppose. There is some small joy in wallowing. In feeling sorry for one's self. Yes. I need that.

SO...Self...This one's for you.

Self...I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for you, self.

I apologize.

What am I talking about?

I started out saying something.

But now I'm not saying anything.

Did I ever say anything?

No, I don't think so.

Ever?

No, not ever. Not really.

I'm really confused.

Wait.

Forget it.

Nevermind.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

I wrote this last night, but I'm not publishing it until tomorrow afternoon during the peak blog times...take that blog gods and uncontrollable laughing idols that I WILL NOT worship without an identifying breathing in and out before each guttural maneuver. So Bill just took me back to (upside down question mark)high school? Good call with the hosing of Brett DiCrescenzo by playing records too his face and telling him off. So Mark just made my three-hour-nap-without-studying-for-my-russian-exam-and-too-tired-to-start-now-so-I'm-just-going-to-wing-it feeling of wastefulness into multiple fits of laughter when I read my email and found a excellent little surprise from my dear friend Mark, which made me chuckle heartily, while Bill sitting on the other side of the room happily pole vaulted over to my side and, well, you know what, I just forgot what I was going to write in a matter of a few seconds between me typing and me thinking and possibly scratching my chin...anyways, just picture me sitting at my computer and Bill standing up and we're both looking at each other---now how funny is that? Seriously folks, me in hysterics and Bill being all, "ah look at me, I'm a funny man". He didn't actually say that but if Evan Malone (blatant high school reference that not many people get--I'M SORRY) were here, he would have made fun of me for something or other.

Back to the point. Then I read the blog, cracked me up, I'm just trying to picture Mark writing it and its splitting my sides open with laughter because this man speaks with such passion that it makes me want to listen and then he says poignant and interesting things all the time, which makes me want to listen even more. Damn, next year is going to be awesome. Bill makes me laugh, cry, sigh, etc and Mark makes me think, drink, and chuckle. Throw Pat Knapp and Alberto Abril and some more emotions and I think I might be a well rounded American white male by the time you see me this time next year. Gentlemen, my cheers and applauses to you good sirs. You gentlemen are the reason why I write these things and part of the reason that I'm here.

Its density!

(ugh...Crispin Glover)

Its destiny!







(Ilovejules.com)

Tuesday, April 22, 2003

...Cause I smell blog and cannnnndy, yeah. Mmmmmm...


So who can identify today's tagline reference just above? It's easy. The winner gets a prize. And it may just be hot hot love with me. If you're lucky. And depending on who guesses it.


So SAUCE. Thanks for the delightful email message. I also did something today that made me think of you. A few weeks back you recommended "American Movie" to me. Well good ole' Peter Moller showed it in my reflexive cinema class yesterday. I must say, YOU, my friend, did indeed recommend a fantastic movie. I loved it so much that I just picked it up at Soundgarden today. I also picked up another juicy treat that some of us may be interested in...


Well that's it for today. Just thought I'd share today's "Hey, speaking of Sauce..." moment. Goodnight, esteemed reader and fellow gentlemen of the blog.


Keep on keepin' on.
new sixth floor dellplain bathroom stall drawing...rain has just killed filming for the day, bunch of suckbox gods up there playing with my life like its a chew toy. they are chewing on my soul, which keeps me still sick of runny noses and still out of shape with too many pamphlets to write and read and watch and deliver until a certain day makes me free from all of this nonsensical british jargon.

i once wrote an entire piece of prose without a mark of ending punctuation...it was my senior column for the p.c.e.p perspective student newspaper...ha, what a funny column that was, it was the second best thing I wrote all year. the other was the 2,000 word story on donnie warner relating running to jazz...thanks donnie for that one, that article boosted my creativity ten fold...and also thanks to james joyce for, well, providing some inspiration to write that senior column. what a good memory, I remember mrs. wielechowski telling all of her fellow teachers and friends about the article at ben's graduation party, but i think the best night was at ryan cosen's house before everyone went off to college for their freshman campaigns...we sat around the fire and just talked, someone brought up the article, i was standing above someone's chair, over their shoulder i smiled and spoke modest words...it truly wasn't that great of a column, but i'm glad my friends thought it was interesting...thanks all.

that pic is funny because its true...what bill wrote---->pure genius


"Hey there tiger, is that socialist propaganda in your back pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Here documented for the first time ever is the ensuing awkward silence as Sauce demonstrated confusion but remained confident that this moment will soon be over and although the wounds are deep the scars will heal and serve as a story to be passed down from generation to generation (however, the original will be placed in an antique locket somewhere in Kalamazoo, MI that can be found only by treasure map, and trust me, you don't want to know where that's been).

I'm sorry, it's late. I have an 8:30 and have plenty to deal with in the AM. Mark, sometimes in lulls like this I like to go back in time and see if there's anything I missed out on when I was... oh, let's say 12 or 13 and probably making Candlebox mixtapes off the radio (we play only the newest MODERN ROCK music). Debut albums by texas is the reason, mineral, the promise ring, and jets to brazil are all classics in my book but are rarely discussed at our bi-monthly wine tastings/music and movie arguments.

Tuesday, this is what you're up against.

Sunday, April 20, 2003

Yo momma's so fat, that when she sits around the blog, she sits around the blog.

GUYS I need help. I'm going crazy. I need new music.

Bill! Sauce! Anybody! What are some bands that I'm not into that I should be into?

Peace.

Friday, April 18, 2003

Bill or anyone for that matter. NEVER, and I fuckin' mean NEVER let me make plans to do anything EVER again. No live shows, no field trips, no nothing. What the fuck, I feel like I am destined to travel alone. This is fuckin' ridiculous. I cannot believe it is happening. Fudge.

Thursday, April 17, 2003

I'm looking forward to seeing you. And you. I can't wait to hug you and you for that matter. It will be nice talking to you and you also. I just might have to steal a kiss every once and a while from you. I don't know about you though, ha, that might get a little weird. You two enjoy this time together for I cannot be there just yet, but I will be home soon. And then I will enjoy your company, both of you. Until then...
The plan keeps coming up again. But I left the room and forgot it. Ha, my grin just stretched itself out like it normally does when I do something foolish or do something heroic, whichever it is, I think I still have the same expression on my face. And the same expression to the goddess of fertility for the easter eggs and the same expression eating dinosaur's ribs and trilobit ice cream with a few dino-riders. The 719 Burnley project is blowing up all over the place and the United States street band is in full effect to bring in the (forget spring) summer months with sounds and laughs and fortymoviehands.

I have been reading Nicholas J. Reynold's blog a lot and I must praise it. He incorporates words and imagery better than Ed Ruscha in my opinion. And tonight I will read somemore and that timeless expression on my face will most likely be there once again (and not because I will be arriving back here after seeing Hot Hot Heat, but I'm not going to mention that little trip because normally when I plan something, a little road trip of sorts to our friendly upstate hardcore town named Rochester, it normally fails miserably and horribly or calmly and patiently, either/or with more love (xo) than an Elliott Smith cover band.) (end parenthesis)

But I am looking forward to finding a Harvard Bar this weekend and coming out alive after this weekend. I do not know who will kill me first, the hordes of BoSox fans that I've been fearing since Gibby hit that home run in the '84 World Series and the picture from the front page of the Free Press that was completely accidental. Folks, its true. The cameraman was supposed to be following the ball in play and he had been doing his job until that moment when (I'll precede this next statement by saying that Tiger Stadium had a little bit of a rat problem in the upper deck press/camera boxes at the time) a rat crawled over his shoe at the exact moment Kirk Gibson hit the homerun. Well, by the time the cameraman realized what happened, that he lost the ball and now had nothing to shoot but Gibby running the bases, he....shot Gibby running the bases and its not even memorable to me since I was only two years old at the time, but I've seen replays and its funny, I can replay that entire scene in my head just from old news clippings and reel-to-reels with 1940's speak even though it took place in 1984. Thanks dad and mom for keeping that memory alive, or actually birthing that memory and others inside my head. And thanks to the future gentlemen of 965 Lancaster and DGK for a successful life thus far at a remote private school in a central, possibly, northern american city.
So where have I been you may be asking yourself. But I invite you to rather ask where haven’t I been; in the midst of things, on the cusp? What is to come? This thought has been clinking around in my head for a few days and the truth is I don’t know. All I know is that my blogging has run dry as of late and I needed to make reappearance. Actually I’ve been thinking about this for some time now and hoping that something, anything would inspire me to blog something meaningful, poetic, funny, anything. But alas, all I’ve come up with is the notion that the more I think about this the worse my blog will be, and furthermore the fact that I would go to the great length of planning out a blog would in itself detract from the soul of this blog, and at the same time make my entry trite, and for the lack of a better word fake, and insincere. So instead this is what you get. Rather than my Grand Return to this glowing page of verbiage, all you get is this mediocre stream of consciousness . Call it what you may. I feel like during my hiatus I should have been able to come up with at least one thought that… wait... nope nothing. Perhaps my brain has died, or I suffer from some debilitating lack of fun that that aborts the birth of thought? Ok here’s one, and it actually goes along with Mark’s poetry and Professor Sauce’s intricately woven prose. Bare with me here; words are fun. I don’t know why but I think we all agree that writing is a much more personal way form of expression when compared to speech. It allows us think through the flow of thoughts and dig out a trench in a sentence creating a path to clarity, and whit. I hope im not the only one that feels this way, because that would reveal much about me personally… well I could go on but I don’t see the need, my name has finally made back onto this page, those two beautiful peaking A’s… ahhh enjoy.

(we enjoy all the wrong moves)
Bloggy, bloggy, blog...

Clay, your poeticism reigns supreme.

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

The squeek of the door in the hall where I live
and the sounds you make say you're back again
But it's no surprise 'cause nothing's changed
that is, until we run out of days


Just returned from a delicious meal and got off the elevator. Saw Erynn on the couch talking to someone on her speed-dial. Koz poking around looking to stir up trouble. The girls down the hall playing some John Mayer/Howie Day/Bill Martin song I hadn't heard before, but I tried to hum along. Sauce might be procrastinating or trying to rid his clothes of the stench of shrimp. In other words, an average night here at my current abode. It's getting to the point where I can count down the remaining days on fingers and toes. And out of nowhere comes this weather. The smell of spring can make a person fall in love. So where are you hiding?

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Mark, I enjoyed your poetry. I enjoyed the first one more I believe. I must say my mind is not working too well at the moment. It is worrying about things and it will not tell me what just yet. So I am anxious for no reason whatsoever. Actually, it feels like its been doing this all day. I hope I go to sleep and wake up tomorrow completely oblivious to this feeling because I do not want it anymore. Jules, I would call you right now but it is late and I want you to sleep, plus I do not think I can explain this right now, its a weird sense of anxiety, probably due to the end of the semester and I am going through one of those, "shoot, what the hell am I going to do with my life" sort of things. Bill, keep playing Amanda Rogers, it is soothing me right now. Do not worry I will finish my russian practice and go to bed soon enough. I will shower in the morning because it is getting too late and the night air is too cold, despite it being a beautiful day today. Megan Archibald, thank you for the phone call, I am sorry I did not call you back. My unbusy life is still unbusy, but I like to play underneath Damocles' sword on too many occasions and pretend that my life is full of stuff that needs to be done on the spot and with utter, uncanny perfection.

But this blog is actually about Mark Pierce. He is the one who brought this blog on, I actually just wanted to tell him that I enjoyed his poetry and I wish him luck in his class next semester. I want to tell him why. The reason why I enjoyed the first one so much is because it reminded me of a few heroes. First, and the more obvious one is Achilles. The second is Owen Meany, oh how a reference to this book has made me shutter. Anyone familiar with the John Irving novel probably knows what I mean. I am completely enthralled by this book right now. I wish I did not have school work to complete because I would be trying to finish this gargantuan book in a matter of days if I keep reading, which I would like to do, but do not know if I will find the time until the summer creeps up and is full upon me. But, yea, I just wanted to mention that to you Mark--that I enjoyed them and the reason why.

I am a sucker for symbolism in poetry and prose. Don't ask me why, but Donnie knows! (clever smile and wink)

Monday, April 14, 2003

Blog sign, middle of a field...

Okay, gang. It's poetry time. I'm planning on taking a poetry seminar next semester with a fantastic writer/poet/professor named Michael Burkard. I think that's how you spell it. One of his book is somewhere on my shelf, but I don't feel like looking for it. Anyway, I took a poetry seminar with him before and it rocked. That's where I met Dan Lane and Lindsay Ouimette. So we're trying to get back together in this class. But I need to submit poetry in advance, so I thought I'd drop a few samples on the good ole' blog board. Here are two poems for your enjoyment. They're not great by any means, but I thought I'd a share a little bit of what I've been writing as of late.


Stipulations

I have a paralyzing fear of injury.
But all I want to do before I leave this place
Is get hit.
Preferably in the face.

I have a burning desire for injury.
But the injury has to occur in
Very specific circumstances.
Preferably in the midst of an act of heroism.

Those are the stipulations.



Hungover

It's about waking up and seeing your breath in the air,
Rolling over and stumbling, impossibly hungover, to the pair of jeans you've worn for three days.
But something between the spinning room and your numb fingers tells you

That this feels more you than you ever thought you'd feel.

So listen to that song for the tenth time in a row,
In the car that thankfully finally started.



Peace out.

Sunday, April 13, 2003

a sense of foreshadowing leaves the stunned blind and breathless
smooth sounds of jazz and forty days and nights leave me restless
Just considered this... when all sorts of things were going down last night, there was a ska band playing.

Ta ta.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

So I woke up today too early for my own good and I think some more rest is in order at some point today. Still in a great mood and in disbelief everything went as smoothly as planned. Last night was tons o' fun and if we made really made as much as I heard then it was a complete success as well. All bands involved played with maximum energy and smiles on their faces. Pictures anyone?

It kind of reminds me of this battle of the bands I played in high school, and upon further contemplation I realized it was almost exactly three years ago. So Driving John's Bronco played 2nd or 3rd, and if my memory serves me right the band right before us had a 25 year old singer who had a gold chain hanging from his pierced ear to his pierced nose. They closed with a Godsmack cover. Mmmmhmmm. I guess I can't talk though because our set that night was maybe one or two songs of our own with some weezer, pumpkins, and jimmy eat world covers thrown in there for kicks. Ah, junior year tunes for junior year drama. It was a big show nonetheless, maybe even more people than there were last night. 505's ratio of messenger bags to patrons was definitely higher, though.

So that was a little self-indulgent walk down wcm memory lane. If anyone last night wanted a cd and didn't get one go ahead and let one of us know. Also, if you by any chance read this and were in attendance at McKean High School on 4/15/00 I want your digits. Late.

Thursday, April 10, 2003

I'm practically blogging in anticpation...


Thoughts. That's all I've got. That's all you've got. And if you don't put that shizzle up on the bizzle, we've all got naught to show for it.


So here's my update. My battle this week is with my screenplay. Or more specifically, my lack thereof. It has to be done by May 9. I've got NONE of it written as of yet. I'm still stumbling with the story and the characters. The frustration is starting to bear heavy on my soul. I've created a bizarre world in head in which my story takes place, but alas, I've just gotten lost in my own creation. I wander the alleyways and lurk in the doorways the world in my head, talking to people that invented and living out strange circumstances and conversations that must have a place somewhere. Somewhere, anywhere, but on paper. I'm lost.


The other night I had a breakdown of sorts at about 3am. I was working on this script, and I realized I had been staring at a blank computer screen for two hours and had neither written anything nor moved from my seat. Suddenly I became alarmed at this strange lapse in conciousness. My mind was a blank, a swirling cloud, save for one piercing thought that I couldn't shake: Not only could I not write the world in my head, but I couldn't make any sense of the world that I actually inhabit. I am more lost than I ever thought I could be. Those damn lyrics in "Sleeping" make so much fucking sense. I'm so frustrated with my life that I don't know which way to turn, or even why I feel this way anymore. So I freaked out in the middle of the night and had a bit of an explosion.


Goddamnit. Why are my posts so emo? Somebody shoot me in the face.


Scrap that. So Bill. Your version of Out is fantastic. It gets better with each and every listen. Do I smell a Bill side/solo/remix project?


The Indie 500. Big dealy deal tomorrow. I'm really looking forward. I predict that the JDrive will be rowdier than all get out. And how. I hope certain baditudes (shall we say, Audiotudes?) don't get in the way of the purpose of the show. That said, let's not let ourselves go into the rock arena with any prejudices.


Sauce. It's been nice seeing you lately man. You need to jump into the fray more often. I must say, the riveting epic poem about a good old-fashioned game of pitch-n-catch kept me glued to my screen.


Well, that's all I got. My brain is fried. I wish I had something more worthy of note.


Beep.

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

Please read my blogs and whatever else I write. I am a nice person. Those of you who know me, know me. Seriously, you know me. So please read my blogs because I am a nice person, a good guy, a straight shooter even! Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Christopher Adam Sauchak
I just transcribe other people's words now. These are not my own words. These are words from recent vocal and auditory influences of my life. These are the words from the past twenty-six minutes. Listen to the incite, the rage, the daring escape from one room to the next ever followed by the sweet scent of passing motor coaches and winter birds calling each other by their first name and not their last. Check it out.

Erynn and Raychell are hanging out on the sixth floor. Roomie is right along side for the ride handing out mystical sprites and tinkerbell fairies (the scientific term for these mystical creatures). These kids radioinactive chilling in the backyard making sure the buckets stay on top of the lawn. And the rest of you crazy cats out there donning your koala sweaters because its getting somewhat warmer now--speaking of warmer now, let's turn our focus to Warner...wow, what an amazing poet (laureate). busdriver

Science said one time Christopher Lloyd character's plight of saturday morning genius television animation British word for program. daedalus scientifical notions of emotions ranging from catastrophic to Cenozoic and back to Ashley Court.

And please do not forget the Bill Martin solo project. (Links will be provided in a matter of seconds of footage from your local hip-hop television desert broadcast)

Monday, April 07, 2003

and now for the climactic conclusion of our game

Hoboken to Mudville and beyond the valley of the deep beats
from season ticket holders and the fans up in the cheap seats,
a sport for the scientific american giant of barbie-sized client
keeping score and track of strike outs and rbi's.
Me and my team on point like a thumb tack,
rally caps in position and we're poised for a comeback
on the strength of a ground-rule double and a sac fly
we found new trouble, and by one run we're back by
but we didn't lose faith going into the eighth
in fact every player on our team profited from our confidence
then with runners on the corners, me in the on deck circle
chin music gone bad turned our three-hitters neck purple.
I think that Yogi Berra in this kinda case is quoted quite often,
but anyway I'm up, and its bases loaded
and you should know before you can say, peanuts, popcorn
you can count on me to come in and clean up shop for 'em
you know what I'm saying, because I'm the big stick carrier
the switch-hitter with long ball power
call me the crank shaft, the schtick-schplitter
my weapon of choice is called the bat out of hell, booming 'em
its big and black and made out of aluminum,
anyway its the first pitch, fastball, swinging
like a caribbean I smashed a little nine inch ball into oblivion
to make the score seven-four and that's the way it stayed and in the end
the good guys win, the '93 provincial champions!


Yay for Buck 65 and his team of rag-tag emcees, dj's and b-boys. Congrats gentlemen, may your lives be merry and filled with glee!

I'll see all of you at the ballpark! So long!
top of the fourth and our leadoff hitter makes it to first base
here we go its the worst case scenario,
for any opposing pitcher because you gotta reckon
the first chance he gets he's gonna try to steal second, which he does
and for the first time during the mission
we got nobody out and a man in scoring position
the next batter flies out to right, but your word
that's still only one out and we got a runner on third
so the number three hitter steps up to the conventional talk
show him where you live, but draws the intentional walk
its a bold maneuver to make because trouble may follow
unless they get the double play from the cleanup hitter and that's me.
The infielders set up at double play depth, and they're ready
but I smack a line drive into left-center for a double, bringing two across
just leave it up to me to do the damage in the cleanup spot
'cause now the score is three to two.
The score remained the same through five, past tense to pretense
we kept them close with a dazzling display of defense,
but we had to pull the starting pitcher for one that was left-handed
the story of the sixth inning was base-runners left stranded
and bullpen activity
but still the job is getting done after a perfectly executed hit-and-run
and what may later prove to be the ultimate game winning catch
we got a tie game going into the seventh inning stretch.


hold on to your hats folks because after Harry Caray sings "Take me out to the ballgame" we'll have the exciting finish to our championship game with rhymes and beats.
Since the baseball season is now in full form without the help of the season of spring no doubt, I wanted to jump start the season by reciting an old hip hop poem by a friendly neighbor to the north, Buck 65. (There are beats to this poem, making it a song, but since I can't write the beats on paper, you will just have to use your imagination.)

a game worth winning, since the beginning of the first inning
an essential day-off since its provincial playoff
I'm playing shortstop, batting fourth in the lineup
the opposing pitcher's a right-hander with an unorthodox windup,
and a good move to first, throws a curve and changes speeds,
can be wild at times, and is known to blow the strangest leads
like the last time we faced him
he turned one savage lead into a loss for his team and inflated his earned run average
but today he seems focused, we were stuck out to dry
in the top of the first because he struck out the side.
In the bottom half the bad guys came out swinging,
a lot of coaches like to choose the same route, bringing
the big hitters to the plate, and players that are purely speed
to try and manufacture runs and jump out to an early lead.
This time it worked, so we were gonna need a hero
because after one complete the score's already three to zero.
Leading off the second I swung at the first pitch
no wonder
the center-fielder backpedaled to the warning track and settled under
O for 1 a can of corn, the ball is thrown around the horn
and back to the pitcher's mound
and all is going good for the bad guys, but not so hot for the visitors
the big right-hander is taking no prisoners.
He seems to have us figured out, the question is can we compete?
He's pitching perfect after three complete and has a three run lead.


Stay tuned for the next installments of the '93 provincial championship match.


Sunday, April 06, 2003

"Teenage Riot" by Sonic Youth is the soundtrack and no one even knows it.


Everybody's talking 'bout the stormy weather
And what's a man do to but workout whether it's true?
Looking for a man with a focus and a temper
Who can open up a map and see between one and two


Celebrate. Basketball and drink and Chris Elliot's short-lived Fox sitcom. February 1st I jumped on the bandwagon and exclaimed "G-Mac!" and the occassional "Craig Nasty!" at every opportunity. It's wonderful to watch something close to home blossom and take the country on by storm. Speaking of which... "the places you dwell." Look for it soon in a neighborhood near you. For the second Friday in a row I put something to tape (or hard drive, but who's keeping track) and I hope I didn't taint a classic but here goes. Confusing week. Cold week. Not getting better anytime soon but 'tis an interesting trade-off, after all. Snow and a national championship game, a kiss that doesn't mean a single thing (I hope you feel at least some guilt but you're so good at covering your tracks I can't imagine anyone will ever find us out). Let's just take it one day at a time and be thankful for the things that we laugh at (are you Art Garfunkel?) and that we remember. I'm not trying to be particularly pithy; it's pretty fucking straight-forward. Sense of smell is strong, love is strong, tight jeans turn me on, and pretty soon tonight'll be gone.

Wednesday, April 02, 2003

I kill spies. Spies, slugs, goons and devilish countenances. Yours, look, I see you off in the distance over near the shadows. Come here, you look like a good soul. Why do you torment dozens the way you do with the spilling of ink lost on that paper you so deservedly deserve. And yet, you take what you deserve and you use it for good? Evil? I see your evening eyes and they look kind. I have no theory as the way you find such good-heartedness in everything other than that of the people around you and your right hand. Ha, it is quite laughable when I hear you speak such tribal words. When did you learn such grace and sophistication? You are very impressive when you sit down and start moving your mouth with your lips. But I must say when you shout like that you will disturb the others in the galaxy. This restaurant, called earth, can only hold so much water and soon enough we will have to look underground like yourself. You have made quite a name for yourself in those regions, specifically the ones around the Carolinas and surprisingly the Catskills of New York and several parts of Wyoming and Utah. When you reach the edge let me know, I will not follow you per se over it, but I will teeter on it along the coast for as long as I spot the colliding horizon. And then later, I might pop my head into your office to see how things are going. And my what a large office overlooking the world it will be. I'll let you come over to my ocean and I will have my wife make us some tea, you will enjoy it, I promise you along with the wine currently in the selector course. Be prepared for a relaxing evening old friend. Let us discuss how we came to be, in life, in death, and in light. Cheers to the good times. Let the current roll through your head and care for your tired feet. Da svidanya.
Oops, I blogged my pants.

Well, we seem to be getting back into the swing of things. I'm glad we're all getting the old blog juices pumping again. Blog is a good thing. Never turn your back on blog. Cause ya know, David and Michael are good guys, they're good guys...But they'll fuck you every chance they get.

Anyway, I suppose I don't have much to speak about. I just wanted to remind the world that Mark still exists. Yes, world. Yes, life. I am still here. You may have forgotten about little old me in my little old corner of this great big place, but I am still here. You can hold me back, let me down, turn me around. You can make me wither, you can make me frail. But you, world, cannot break me. I refuse to be forgotten.

But on the lighter side of the news, I think it's safe to announce that I've finally made some progress. And at this point, the crux of it all seems to be laying squarely on the shoulders of a man named Napoleon and his huge talking cat.

Just drop me a line if you want more details.

Tuesday, April 01, 2003

Thanks to Patrick Knapp for speaking beautiful words tonight. I was thinking of things to blog all day, but never actually blogged them down so now they are lost in my head until I think of them again. It puts my earlier silliness in perspective, which I enjoy. Archimedes finally listened to his wife and look what it brought him, an entire principle and an embarrassing nude run across town. Eureka! Thanks also to Donnie Warner for giving me this opportunity and idea to thank people, but this is not a lifetime full of thank-yous, this is just today. Thanks to Bill Martin, Erynn Knowlton, and Becca Tweed for allowing me to be silly at times. Also a thank you to Nick Kozlowski, you brought an old man a kind gift--tell Steve Lewis to now worry about anything, I had a very enjoyable last year. Thanks to Alberto Abril because he is a good man and deserves much praise. Thanks to Mark Pierce and Jon McGlone for blogging so poetically. Thanks to Julie James for being her wonderful self. There is obviously more to her than just her self, but I need to create my own blog to praise her. Thanks to Caitlin James for being her wonderful self, talking to me, being Jules' sister, and for her newly formed blogspot. Very enjoyable, I suggest everyone read! Thanks to Craig McKey for being his crazy self and promising to come out here if the Syracuse men's basketball team reaches the finals. Thanks to Lauren Cancelosi and Justin Gravius for a terrific first-time production. Thanks to Calin Enache for some wonderful after dinner music chat. Thanks to Dan Krauser despite missing him as a neighbor, I can enjoy his company in the classroom and lunch. Thanks to Rachel Sussman for a walking buddy to class so early in the AM. Thanks to Jesse Paskevich, Matt Finley, and Evan (last name?) for small, nice chats to and from class. If there is anyone I forgot, I am sorry, it is late (2:17AM) and my hair is straightened so I must take a shower because I look like Crispin Glover and it freaks me the hell out! Thanks to Mike Zemanski for the luck and lovely discussion at 4AM a few nights back. Thanks to Azure Ray and The Blood Group in the changer and Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove in the mediaplayer for fulfilling my multimedia requirement for the late night. Thanks again to everyone. Even the Russian language which I am currently reading and writing at the moment. Thanks. Special thanks again to Patrick Knapp for allowing me to do this tonight, for a wonderfully written and poetic (see Pat, poetry can be in all forms) blog, and a few good memories that did not go to waste tonight and are now securely locked in written form. Another thanks to Bill Martin for his creativity and know-how to set up this blog and for being my roommate. Thanks, with much love.


Sincerely,

Christopher Adam Sauchak