Time for a Rollerblade Gang, Gang!

So my friends and I went rollerblading once a few weeks back and decided to be a rollerblade gang. Just some totally normal behavior for a group of twentysomethings. One gang member suggested the gang name be 8th Street Thrashers, "because you thrash on rollerblades," he said. The correction was made that what you really do on blades is shred. But we couldn't be the 8th Street Shredders, because--as you're probably already thinking--"shredders" will make people associate/compare us with/to the Shredder. From Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Anyone?

Anyhoo (ugh), tonight we were getting pumped to go blading again, but we still hadn't come up with a name. We had already established that bladers shred, so the most obvious name for the gang was the Shred Dansons (a gang name second only to the Tough Brets). So that's us now.

T-SHIRT IDEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The front says, "So you wanna be a Shred Danson, huh?"

Then the back has this:

Thoughts?

BRAIN DUMP!

I just stumbled upon this little gem and wonder why I didn't post it when I wrote it back in March. I mean, this is Pulitzer-worthy stuff (they don't have Pulitzers for blogs, do they?):

Sa'urday mornin' and I'm feelin' Bri'ish. (I feel like those apostrophes don't properly represent a glottal stop. But who really cares? You can get away with murder on the internet, write-ologically speaking.) I'm trying to decide whether or not I might need a hair cut. You see, I'm at the tail end of Spring Break right now and if I get a hair cut, I want to do it today. That way people in my classes will think that I've totally reinvented myself--I already shaved off my patchy beard a few days ago. Oh, and did I mention that these classes are HIGH SCHOOL classes, where it actually matters at all to anyone in your classes how your appearance has changed? But I digress. Scratch that--this whole post is a series of digressions. Hence, the "brain dump" title. We humans don't think very logically. Ever read Kerouac's Subterraneans? That book is all over the place. Now the next question is do I shower before getting my hair cut? I mean, I'm gonna shower afterward anyway. Do I take two showers? Do I just rinse myself the first time. Do I just rinse myself the second time? First-world problems, am I right?

Been a While, Ain't It, Fellas?

So there I was, hanging out at The Urban Lounge, Salt Lake City's premier hotspot where you can see the hottest acts in music today. Actually, The Urban Lounge sucks, and what sucks even more about it is that good bands really do play there, so I have to keep going back. Anyway, there I was, standing around with my friend and roommate, Jake Metcalf. We were there to see Okkervil River, the headlining act, but Titus Andronicus had to rock the house first. This we knew; their name appeared right under Okkervil's on the ticket. But before Titus Androicus took the stage, they--whoever planned the event--dropped another act on us: Julianna Barwick.

Now here's where I wish I knew the appropriate terms for music recording/producing/mixing, so I could explain what this young lady was doing up there. Let's just say that her music's ambition might just have been to be held up against Enya's, but "with an electronic twist" or some such nonsense. I mean, I liked it at first--very relaxing--but then each song felt like a continuation of the one before it and that she just had to take a rest for a minute. Jake said that he bets that her song titles are all very wordy, while I thought they'd either be dual-worded (do any of my reader want to find a single word that means "two words"?), with the first word of the title just being a modifier for the second word, like Owl City's "Rainbow Veins" or "Crocodile Sky" or "Vanilla Twilight" or "Hospital Flowers" or "Umbrella Beach." Et cetera. To sum it up, her music didn't suck, but I feel it works less for casual listening and more for soundtrack to movie dream montages or perhaps for subsurface speakers on a whale watching ship.

Titus Andronicus... were good. They sounded good and they brought great energy to the crowd. I just wasn't familiar with their songs, so I know I could have enjoyed it more than I did. Oh well. We all have our missed opportunities.

I am very glad to say that I did not miss out on the opportunity to see Okkervil River play. No ma'am. A couple years ago, they opened for Iron & Wine (I'll avoid talking about the show they played a couple weeks back at In the Venue) for the Twilight Concert Series, and I did miss the opportunity. I was stuck in Logan, Utah with no gas and no cash, so I couldn't go and probably bawled my eyes out or something. But then, toward the end of last summer (2010), a number of my roommates and I were watching the tour dates for The National in the wake of High Violet's release. We saw that they were not coming thought Utah, but would be playing in Denver, which isn't too bad a drive. So we planned on that. Then one day, Tyler (a roommate at the time, in case context has been lost) comes up to me and says, "Hey, dick. The National's playing with Okkervil River in Seattle." He might not have said the dick part. Needless to say, that changed our Denver plans. (That was needless to say, right?)

Okkervil was awesome in Seattle--well, Redmond, actually--but they were also the opener, so they played a curtailed set, just a handful of songs. The other night though, here in Utah, they blew my mind. I went to the Arcade Fire/Local Natives show in April and I put Okkervil's show up there with it. Heck, if O-ville River had had a band like Local Natives opening for them, I would definitely put it above the Arcade Fire show. They played a fair amount from I Am Very Far, but they delved back a ton, too. I was having a great time, but then Will Scheff said, "This song's about suicide," and proceeded to to play "John Allyn Smith Sails" (http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?v=SUi_Di5hO6g), and about halfway through that song I stopped having fun. And started having a blast. Seriously. They then played so many great crowd-rousing hits: "For Real," "Our Life is Not a Movie Or Maybe," "Lost Coastlines," "Westfall," "Unless It's Kicks." I came out of there with my head swimming, my voice struggling, but I felt so good. I really have no more to say about it. Wait--I guess I do: if you aren't familiar with Okkervil River, first of all, shame on you, and second...of all, I guess, start with the tracks I just named in this paragraph, and, I don't know, let me know what you think and all.

Lastly, to cap off the evening (which ended at about 1:30, by the way), Jake and I went to 7-Eleven, because if we don't go to 7-Eleven after a concert in Salt Lake, we fear some ill fate must surely befall us. It's kind of like whenever Derek Winder comes to Logan, we have to eat McDonalds breakfast. We hate it, but we do it. No one knows why.

Go to Bed, Me.

It's only quarter past midnight. I usually loaf about for another hour or so before calling it a night, so why not write a blog entry about nothing? (Because, you know, I've clearly established a pattern of writing about the important issues of our time.)

Highlight of the day: a perfect stranger called me a fag in a Facebook status comment thread. I think it has something to do with the flowery diction I employ in Facebook posts, and in blog posts, I guess. Heck, I probably speak theatrically in normal life. If that's the case, I say go to bed, me, and never wake up.

Item 2 on the agenda: I'm still unsure which direction to take this whole blog thing. Should I make it a diary? Should I make it a journal (a diary for boys)? Should I do what I've been doing: ramble about nothing and everything, but mostly nothing, obviously? A co-worker gave me the idea to open a blog and use it for my fiction writing so I can just find a computer and put my ideas down whenever and wherever they come to me. Don't worry, gang; that won't be this blog. You won't have to read my screenplay about a guy who lives in a world of super heroes but has no super powers himself, making him the butt of every super joke, and how he learns to accept his weakness and eventually comes to the rescue of those super heroes who scorned him.

Will someone just tell me to shut up? Just kidding. I know you've been pleading for my silence since the second paragraph, but you just couldn't stop reading. I'm awesome as a train wreck (which is, I believe, something Will Smith once said).

Time ta Puke Out Another’n.

So late last night, there I was, reading essays for my English 2010 class, and I thought to myself, I’m so glad I understand rules of grammar and punctuation, because I must be among the few who do. Then another thought came to me: you probably did no better than these guys at covering the requirements of the writing assignment, so shut up and get back to writing your draft of The Notebook told from the perspectives of the hypothetical children of Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams. And don’t forget to title it The Handy Dandy Notebook, because obviously this story is by kids, for kids.

Sometimes I wonder if I sleepdrive to bars at night and sleepdrink.  Or maybe sleepdometh.

This is Honestly a Post written Two Months Ago on My Wordpress Blog

Listening to my Cat Stevens record skip makes me second guess this whole blog thing. I mean, who do I think I am, Julie and Julia? I guess it’s a good way to throw thoughts out there in a semi-organized manor. I’m gonna get it from Neal and Tyler if they find out about this. Seth won’t say anything, and no-one’s gonna crack that shell. Lance… well, Lance is busy in Azaroth.

Right now I should be doing homework, which is actually a simple writing assignment. Almost as ironic as that Alanis Morissette song: “Hand in My Pocket.” Anyway, this seems more fun. (You know I’m trying to sound nonchalant, but that, deep down, I’m hoping against hope that this blog becomes a big deal in some way.)

Wow. I’ve already written more than a quarter of the length of my writing assignment. Well, better get to it.

Nite, Cyberworld!