I've been eating bad again. Well...that's not entirely accurate. I've never really stopped eating bad. I kind of do it a lot. I guess I should probably say something like, "I've resumed eating bad after taking a short three day sabbatical in which I consumed various creatures of the sea excluding shellfish (fat and cholesterol content), Odwalla Superfood, and multiple products containing soy."
I simply enjoy the taste of saturated trans fats. I'm not going to lie. I imagine they taste delicious all by themselves. In fact, if America hadn't gone health crazy like they have in the past few years, I bet McDonald's would be selling succulent little deep fried trans fat cubes to go along with your Big Mac and Diet Coke. I'd have bought an order probably. After all, I tried the McGriddle. It's the same thing. I'm making changes though. I'm gonna start eating salad or something. Soon.
So today I got up and had some cereal for breakfast and then a turkey sandwich for lunch. I also took some vitamins and a baby aspirin. Pass. Then I went out with my friend Brad and we smoked cigars and drank beer. Fail. I came home from the cigar shop and ate an entire frozen pizza all by myself. Fail. I ate a ginger snap covered in frosting. Fail. I had one piece of dark chocolate. Ten years ago that's a fail but I guess it's good for you now. Pass (only to make me feel better).
Ok, so here's where I'm upset with myself and the world. Pizza is a starving man's food. It needs to be quickly devoured upon arrival.....whether it came from Pizza Hut or your oven. Problem is, that's simply not possible. The roof of my mouth is proof. I'm like that rat who just can't learn the right way out of the maze no matter how many times I get zapped. I just want to tell myself, listen, as certain as the Raiders have had, are having, and will have a losing season next season, PIZZA WILL BURN YOUR MOUTH STUPID! Get prepared. Do something about it. We should start a foundation or something and get celebs to tax write off donate to us. Well maybe not so much but it was an ambitious thought. I think I'm going to just let my pizza hang out in the freezer for a spell until it calms it's evil self down and becomes edible without destroying my mouth in the process.
Seriously though, somebody needs to draw up some legislation against over hottified pizzas. Give it to the democrats. They'll busy themselves with this. We'll have a law next week and by the way your income tax just went up 10%. Have a nice day. Change is coming!!! Yippeee!!!
Profound thought of the day: Pizza hot. Hurts. Don't do it.
I'd probably write more but I took a 10mg Ambien and I'm starting to feel strange. Time for bed.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
The Bigger Half
So I was watching this peanut butter commercial and this kid and his friend are splitting a PBJ. Kid 1 says to Kid 2, "I got the bigger half." I thought about that statement for a second and decided that Kid 1 is full of crap. If you have the bigger half, it's not a half anymore. It's like 13/24ths or something like that. Kid 1, you are stupid.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Water
I'm not really sure when the whole water boom started. All I know is that when I was a kid, we'd go to the Diamond Shamrock gas station and purchase either Jolt cola, which had twice the caffeine of Mountain Dew, some orange Gatorade, or the largest fountain drink we could wrap one hand around and still use the other to steer our bikes. It never occurred to us to BUY a water. I'm not even sure they sold water in gas stations except for Evian which tasted to us like shampoo and melted ice cubes. And even if they did sell water, we had only mom's Taco Bell change that we'd taken from the center console of her car and we weren't going to spend it on something we could get from the faucet.
I'm not entirely certain when exactly gas stations began devoting valuable cooler real estate to bottled water....or entire aisles in the grocery store for that matter. I just know that at some point everybody caught on and nobody seemed to question that we were in fact purchasing the very same liquid that flows through every house in America (excluding select rural towns in Mississippi and northern Pennsylvania). I thought it was dumb at first. Give me a choice to buy a coke or bottled water and I'll take the coke and when the coke quenches my thirst and inevitably makes me thirsty again twenty minutes later, I'll either buy another coke or I'll find a drinking fountain. Bottled water was never invited into this equation.
Problem is, I, like other sheep slowly developed a curiosity for this new creation. It was different than other waters. It was purified...triple filtered mountain spring water hauled out in fine oak casks on the backs of scantily clad Peruvian women and aged to perfection. Yours for $.99 a bottle. I fought the urge. I tried. But then Eve pulled 12 ounces of blue Aquanfina perfection off that forbidden tree and I partook. It was fantastic. It tasted like hope. It tasted like water.
Soon enough, we'd all take the plunge. Bottled water became as vital to our lives as toilet paper and ketchup. And there were all kinds of it. Dasani became the Pepsi to the Coca-cola that was Aquafina. You had to choose. You couldn't have both. Water polygamy is not accepted. I went with team Aquafina because everyone knew that Dasani was just tap water, bottled by some guy named Lester who had a green patch over his eye and drove a panel van with a dented front fender and a bungee cord holding the hood down. Plus, he was a Detroit Lions' fan and nobody is a Detroit Lions' fan.
But then I discovered distilled water and it occurred to me that something was completely awry in this new liquid economy. There was a conspiracy going on right under our noses. Walk down any of the three water aisles in any grocery store and try to find the distilled water. I know. It only comes in a gallon and it's on the bottom shelf....next to the store brand diet strawberry soda. Who drinks store brand diet strawberry soda? Who drinks distilled water? You should. We all should. Something is wrong with America. Were you the piano upon which Paul McCartney wrote "Yesterday?" Were you in the room when the Broncos made the trade for John Elway? Have you tasted distilled water? Some things almost transcend....first man on the moon, the man or woman who invented the skirt/high heels combo, the wheel. Almost. Distilled water....transcends. Honestly, if given the choice between a top shelf Margarita and a glass of distilled water, I would choose the water three out of ten times. Do you realize what kind of victory that is for those mavericks in the trenches making this nectar of the gods?
Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Grant yourself this opportunity to experience new life apart from the confines of ordinary pedestrian bottled water. Start a revolution. Go distilled.
I'm not entirely certain when exactly gas stations began devoting valuable cooler real estate to bottled water....or entire aisles in the grocery store for that matter. I just know that at some point everybody caught on and nobody seemed to question that we were in fact purchasing the very same liquid that flows through every house in America (excluding select rural towns in Mississippi and northern Pennsylvania). I thought it was dumb at first. Give me a choice to buy a coke or bottled water and I'll take the coke and when the coke quenches my thirst and inevitably makes me thirsty again twenty minutes later, I'll either buy another coke or I'll find a drinking fountain. Bottled water was never invited into this equation.
Problem is, I, like other sheep slowly developed a curiosity for this new creation. It was different than other waters. It was purified...triple filtered mountain spring water hauled out in fine oak casks on the backs of scantily clad Peruvian women and aged to perfection. Yours for $.99 a bottle. I fought the urge. I tried. But then Eve pulled 12 ounces of blue Aquanfina perfection off that forbidden tree and I partook. It was fantastic. It tasted like hope. It tasted like water.
Soon enough, we'd all take the plunge. Bottled water became as vital to our lives as toilet paper and ketchup. And there were all kinds of it. Dasani became the Pepsi to the Coca-cola that was Aquafina. You had to choose. You couldn't have both. Water polygamy is not accepted. I went with team Aquafina because everyone knew that Dasani was just tap water, bottled by some guy named Lester who had a green patch over his eye and drove a panel van with a dented front fender and a bungee cord holding the hood down. Plus, he was a Detroit Lions' fan and nobody is a Detroit Lions' fan.
But then I discovered distilled water and it occurred to me that something was completely awry in this new liquid economy. There was a conspiracy going on right under our noses. Walk down any of the three water aisles in any grocery store and try to find the distilled water. I know. It only comes in a gallon and it's on the bottom shelf....next to the store brand diet strawberry soda. Who drinks store brand diet strawberry soda? Who drinks distilled water? You should. We all should. Something is wrong with America. Were you the piano upon which Paul McCartney wrote "Yesterday?" Were you in the room when the Broncos made the trade for John Elway? Have you tasted distilled water? Some things almost transcend....first man on the moon, the man or woman who invented the skirt/high heels combo, the wheel. Almost. Distilled water....transcends. Honestly, if given the choice between a top shelf Margarita and a glass of distilled water, I would choose the water three out of ten times. Do you realize what kind of victory that is for those mavericks in the trenches making this nectar of the gods?
Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Grant yourself this opportunity to experience new life apart from the confines of ordinary pedestrian bottled water. Start a revolution. Go distilled.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
I voted.
Yeah that's right. I voted. Took me ten minutes on election day. It was easier than ordering a diet coke from an illegal immigrant at McDonald's. Don't worry though. I'm not writing this blog today to try an influence you to vote. Part of that is because I don't think anybody reads this anyway and the other part is because I think all those celebrity "you need to go vote and make your voice heard" ads are just dumb. Look, if you've decided to vote because Kanye West told you to while he was on TRL and you were crying in the audience cause you just touched his yellowish sweatsuit, then you should maybe just leave the country because you don't deserve to be an American. Harsh? I don't care. Vote because people died so you could. If you don't vote, shame on you. If you're not voting because you don't know who to vote for, shame on you for not knowing who to vote for.
This friend of mine emailed me this forward that she also emailed five million other people. It was one of those gimmicky celeb infused vote or die campaigns on YouTube. The basic message from every celebrity we worship was "don't vote." Don't vote if you don't care about change....yada yada blah blah yada yada. Let me translate this for you: Don't vote...if you are a republican. That's the thing about celebrities and anyone under thirty who's a vegetarian and likes art films....they are all democrats. Listen, on the "I want to be a celebrity" application form, you have to check the terms and conditions box at the end of page 2 agreeing to fore go any and all previous conservative viewpoints. You are now a celebrity. You are now concerned about the looming extinction of the rare field mouse in Alaska. You have taken the obligatory trip to your African country of choice on your Gulf stream G5 with your two stylists, your personal assistant, your chef and your camera crew of seven to film you playing street soccer with some starving kids. Feel good about yourself. You are culturally aware. You are a Democrat.
Like I said earlier, I also think it's funny how if you're under thirty, you are or are assumed to be voting for Obama. I don't think any of my friends are McCain people. If they are, they aren't saying. But the truth is, most of them are Obama people because their friends are Obama people. They don't really know why they are. They just hate Bush....because you know....he's bad and stuff. And we invaded Iraq for oil and he's personally responsible for Katrina and I have cilantro growing on my back. A lot of people under thirty are voting for Obama because they're sheep. I'm not saying he's a bad dude. He's not a Muslim and he's not the antichrist. I'm sure he's a good guy who wants to make America better. I just don't think he will. Period. He might make us all feel better in the short term but I'm not drinking the cool aid. I think he's Jimmy Carter.
Truth is, John McCain't going to win the election even if I want him to. The sheep have spoken.
This friend of mine emailed me this forward that she also emailed five million other people. It was one of those gimmicky celeb infused vote or die campaigns on YouTube. The basic message from every celebrity we worship was "don't vote." Don't vote if you don't care about change....yada yada blah blah yada yada. Let me translate this for you: Don't vote...if you are a republican. That's the thing about celebrities and anyone under thirty who's a vegetarian and likes art films....they are all democrats. Listen, on the "I want to be a celebrity" application form, you have to check the terms and conditions box at the end of page 2 agreeing to fore go any and all previous conservative viewpoints. You are now a celebrity. You are now concerned about the looming extinction of the rare field mouse in Alaska. You have taken the obligatory trip to your African country of choice on your Gulf stream G5 with your two stylists, your personal assistant, your chef and your camera crew of seven to film you playing street soccer with some starving kids. Feel good about yourself. You are culturally aware. You are a Democrat.
Like I said earlier, I also think it's funny how if you're under thirty, you are or are assumed to be voting for Obama. I don't think any of my friends are McCain people. If they are, they aren't saying. But the truth is, most of them are Obama people because their friends are Obama people. They don't really know why they are. They just hate Bush....because you know....he's bad and stuff. And we invaded Iraq for oil and he's personally responsible for Katrina and I have cilantro growing on my back. A lot of people under thirty are voting for Obama because they're sheep. I'm not saying he's a bad dude. He's not a Muslim and he's not the antichrist. I'm sure he's a good guy who wants to make America better. I just don't think he will. Period. He might make us all feel better in the short term but I'm not drinking the cool aid. I think he's Jimmy Carter.
Truth is, John McCain't going to win the election even if I want him to. The sheep have spoken.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Rules for Halloween
I like Halloween. It's a fun holiday. You get to dress up and eat sugar and not feel bad about it. Halloween is that holiday that's really great when you're a kid and really great when you have kids. It kind of becomes lost for a while during the in between years. When you're a boy, there are really only two acceptable costumes to wear. You either dress up as something scary or you dress up as some comic book character. If you've chosen to go the scary route, your options include the following: Any mask that is gratuitously gory, has realistic matted hair, a possible hatchet wound to the skull including or not including said hatchet still stuck in skull, three-dimensional clumps of blood and/or brain matter surrounding hatchet wound and other various poorly stitched up wounds on face of mask or around the eye cavities. Please note that the mask must cover the entire head of the person wearing it. A facial mask is a cop out. You are also allowed to wear a mask that relates to any of the current multiple sequel horror films currently being played in the theatres. Like that crazy dude from the Saw movies that I won't watch.
It's important to know that there are unspoken rules about what you CAN'T be as well. No Frankenstein, no animals, and absolutely no ghosts. If you dress up as a ghost for Halloween, you can kiss whatever credibility you've built up in school goodbye. I realize how easy it is to cut some holes in a bed sheet and tie a bath robe belt around your neck but it's a no no. Don't do it. Don't be Dracula either. I freaking hate Dracula. And it's always those weird fringe kids that go as Dracula....you know....the ones that probably would be a vampire in real life if they had the choice.
You can also choose the comic book route. This includes any super hero but mostly Superman. I think I was Superman for two years in a row in elementary school. All young boys want to be or think they are Superman at one point in their lives. This continues throughout adulthood but none of us will ever admit it. I'm just saying that if I could rip my light blue buttoned shirt open, part my hair to the other side, and expose a big red spandex "S" to the world right before I put some thug through a building, I'd do it. So would you.
If you do choose the comic book route, you can't be a character from Star Wars. Star Wars fans are just strange....and they always dress up as Obewan or a storm trooper. The other day I saw this forty year old guy dressed up as a storm trooper at this festival in downtown Franklin where we live. I imagine he tried that costume on at least four time before that day.
If you're a girl, you have a much easier time finding a costume at Halloween. Be a princess or a cuddly animal of sorts. Every girl I knew in elementary school was something pink or pastel blue and princessy....or they were a cat. Princess costumes include any or all of the following: wands, halos, magic slippers, and ballerina outfits. Girls can get away with being an animal on Halloween. They have the cute factor. Oh look at Susan with her sweet little kitty costume and those painted on whiskers and that tail safely pinned to her butt. Original. Funny thing is when everybody turns thirty, those girls are still wearing that kitty costume and it's no longer any man's concern how original the costume is. The concern now is how many days it is until next Halloween and will you please wear that costume again? My wife was a cat for a Halloween a few years ago. We stayed in.
Somewhere in my early years, churches decided that Halloween was Satan's holiday. Now, keep in mind. I'm a Christian....I'm not out to knock my kin. But...it's always seemed funny to me how Christians went on an all out assault of Halloween when I was young. It seemed especially prevalent when I was in junior high. All of a sudden, you didn't go trick or treating...you went to the church "harvest festival" and you dressed up as Noah or something. What the heck is a harvest festival anyway and what's wrong with dressing up like a Ninja and asking for candy from your neighbors? I don't get it.
Halloween is just fine with me.
It's important to know that there are unspoken rules about what you CAN'T be as well. No Frankenstein, no animals, and absolutely no ghosts. If you dress up as a ghost for Halloween, you can kiss whatever credibility you've built up in school goodbye. I realize how easy it is to cut some holes in a bed sheet and tie a bath robe belt around your neck but it's a no no. Don't do it. Don't be Dracula either. I freaking hate Dracula. And it's always those weird fringe kids that go as Dracula....you know....the ones that probably would be a vampire in real life if they had the choice.
You can also choose the comic book route. This includes any super hero but mostly Superman. I think I was Superman for two years in a row in elementary school. All young boys want to be or think they are Superman at one point in their lives. This continues throughout adulthood but none of us will ever admit it. I'm just saying that if I could rip my light blue buttoned shirt open, part my hair to the other side, and expose a big red spandex "S" to the world right before I put some thug through a building, I'd do it. So would you.
If you do choose the comic book route, you can't be a character from Star Wars. Star Wars fans are just strange....and they always dress up as Obewan or a storm trooper. The other day I saw this forty year old guy dressed up as a storm trooper at this festival in downtown Franklin where we live. I imagine he tried that costume on at least four time before that day.
If you're a girl, you have a much easier time finding a costume at Halloween. Be a princess or a cuddly animal of sorts. Every girl I knew in elementary school was something pink or pastel blue and princessy....or they were a cat. Princess costumes include any or all of the following: wands, halos, magic slippers, and ballerina outfits. Girls can get away with being an animal on Halloween. They have the cute factor. Oh look at Susan with her sweet little kitty costume and those painted on whiskers and that tail safely pinned to her butt. Original. Funny thing is when everybody turns thirty, those girls are still wearing that kitty costume and it's no longer any man's concern how original the costume is. The concern now is how many days it is until next Halloween and will you please wear that costume again? My wife was a cat for a Halloween a few years ago. We stayed in.
Somewhere in my early years, churches decided that Halloween was Satan's holiday. Now, keep in mind. I'm a Christian....I'm not out to knock my kin. But...it's always seemed funny to me how Christians went on an all out assault of Halloween when I was young. It seemed especially prevalent when I was in junior high. All of a sudden, you didn't go trick or treating...you went to the church "harvest festival" and you dressed up as Noah or something. What the heck is a harvest festival anyway and what's wrong with dressing up like a Ninja and asking for candy from your neighbors? I don't get it.
Halloween is just fine with me.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Caving In
Ok, I swore up and down that I was never going to get into this whole blog thing. First of all, blog is just a stupid word anyway. Second of all, who the heck is going to read it? I'm just another guy typing away on his keyboard sharing my thoughts about life. I don't really have anything super profound to say. I just like to write. After all, that's what I do for a living. I write songs. It's a fun job...most of the time. I guess it's weird to call it a job but it is. I've been doing it for ten years now. Truth is, I've been fortunate to be doing it for that long. The music business is a pretty volatile place for anybody who finds themselves involved in it. That's the funny thing...most of us don't know how exactly we GOT involved in it. We just did. It's not really something you go to college for....well at least it wasn't for me. I just always liked music and so I wanted to write it. Eventually I happened on some people who liked what I was writing and here I am. End of story.
So...back to the whole blog thing. I tend to rebel against anything that a select pocket of people start doing. It's probably a character flaw or something. I don't know. I've always been like that. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a fringe guy. I'm not the weird pseudo-eclectic dude buying vinyl records because they sound better....or my friend's friend told me they sound better. They don't. I'm not non-conformist in that way. I'm non-conformist because I'm ok with being normal. I don't hate the suburbs just cause my friends do. Around here that makes me the odd one.
So when everybody started on the whole Myspace thing, I resisted for a long time. It was like all of a sudden everybody was an artist....and they all had photo shoots. Why do people who aren't famous get photo shoots? Look, no one is really asking themselves, "I wonder what Amy from Kansas is thinking while she's flittering about in some black and white field in her perfectly thought out not meant to look like it's been thought out Bohemian outfit that she wants you to believe she found at Salvation Army when she really bought it at Anthropology and this whole thing was magically captured by accident on film when really she asked her boyfriend who has a camera and iphoto to 'just make me look like I get art and politics and stuff'."
But I caved. I got a myspace.
Now we're onto facebook. That's the new one. It's not really new....it's just the new Myspace. Now, it's almost like if you mention your Myspace page before you mention your Facebook page, the world has passed you by my friend. We're no longer into that whole elitist top friends thing. We have matured and the name of our maturation is Facebook. Facebook is like the quiet first born kid who never misbehaved and got all A's. Myspace is his young little socialite sister who drives some version of a small Japanese car that's filled with lip gloss and gym wear and smells like coconut verbena body wash and Subway sandwiches. Oh, and if you flub and talk about your Myspace while we are currently in a Facebook world, don't you dare say anything about your top eight friends. If you do, congratulations, you have become irrelevent. We've been at top however many you want for a long time now. You can no longer eat with the cool kids at lunch. I wasn't going to get a Facebook.
I got a Facebook.
Now....everyone is blogging. Everyone. All of a sudden John from Maryland has a new barbecue grill that he bought at Costco and we know about it. In fact, we know that he got it on sale....fifty bucks off....but when he got to the register he had to renew his Costco membership....for fifty bucks. We also know that on the way home from Costco John stopped at Kroger to buy tomato sauce, some cat food, and three unripe bananas. After arriving home John promptly sat down and reluctantly watched an episode of 'Dancing with the Stars' with his wife because she thinks he genuinely likes the show but really he just likes the girls that are in the show and most of the hot ones have been voted off by now and besides it's like waltz night or something and last week it was samba night and they wear less clothing on samba night so John decided to grab his laptop and type this blog while his wife is watching Maxim spin some pre-osteo old woman around in circles. John writes and we read.
I'm not sure why we read it but we do. I guess it's because John's life is either better or worse than ours and his blog is the answer to whether we're keeping up with the Jones's or whether we are the Jones's. I wasn't going to start blogging.
This is my first blog. Basically, here's the deal. I said earlier that I write songs for a living. I like to write...it's enjoyable. But you really only get like three and a half minutes or so to say all the stuff you're wanting to say. It's such a structure. Sometimes it feels good to just write with no boundaries. I'm not writing a three and a half minute blog. That feels great. I don't honestly give a rip if anyone ever reads this. I really don't. I just wanted a different avenue to spill my guts besides music. So, if you happen upon this blog at some point in your day, just know that I went to Chlay's Thai Restaurant for lunch today and I'm thinking about going to Costco tomorrow to get some Salmon.
So...back to the whole blog thing. I tend to rebel against anything that a select pocket of people start doing. It's probably a character flaw or something. I don't know. I've always been like that. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a fringe guy. I'm not the weird pseudo-eclectic dude buying vinyl records because they sound better....or my friend's friend told me they sound better. They don't. I'm not non-conformist in that way. I'm non-conformist because I'm ok with being normal. I don't hate the suburbs just cause my friends do. Around here that makes me the odd one.
So when everybody started on the whole Myspace thing, I resisted for a long time. It was like all of a sudden everybody was an artist....and they all had photo shoots. Why do people who aren't famous get photo shoots? Look, no one is really asking themselves, "I wonder what Amy from Kansas is thinking while she's flittering about in some black and white field in her perfectly thought out not meant to look like it's been thought out Bohemian outfit that she wants you to believe she found at Salvation Army when she really bought it at Anthropology and this whole thing was magically captured by accident on film when really she asked her boyfriend who has a camera and iphoto to 'just make me look like I get art and politics and stuff'."
But I caved. I got a myspace.
Now we're onto facebook. That's the new one. It's not really new....it's just the new Myspace. Now, it's almost like if you mention your Myspace page before you mention your Facebook page, the world has passed you by my friend. We're no longer into that whole elitist top friends thing. We have matured and the name of our maturation is Facebook. Facebook is like the quiet first born kid who never misbehaved and got all A's. Myspace is his young little socialite sister who drives some version of a small Japanese car that's filled with lip gloss and gym wear and smells like coconut verbena body wash and Subway sandwiches. Oh, and if you flub and talk about your Myspace while we are currently in a Facebook world, don't you dare say anything about your top eight friends. If you do, congratulations, you have become irrelevent. We've been at top however many you want for a long time now. You can no longer eat with the cool kids at lunch. I wasn't going to get a Facebook.
I got a Facebook.
Now....everyone is blogging. Everyone. All of a sudden John from Maryland has a new barbecue grill that he bought at Costco and we know about it. In fact, we know that he got it on sale....fifty bucks off....but when he got to the register he had to renew his Costco membership....for fifty bucks. We also know that on the way home from Costco John stopped at Kroger to buy tomato sauce, some cat food, and three unripe bananas. After arriving home John promptly sat down and reluctantly watched an episode of 'Dancing with the Stars' with his wife because she thinks he genuinely likes the show but really he just likes the girls that are in the show and most of the hot ones have been voted off by now and besides it's like waltz night or something and last week it was samba night and they wear less clothing on samba night so John decided to grab his laptop and type this blog while his wife is watching Maxim spin some pre-osteo old woman around in circles. John writes and we read.
I'm not sure why we read it but we do. I guess it's because John's life is either better or worse than ours and his blog is the answer to whether we're keeping up with the Jones's or whether we are the Jones's. I wasn't going to start blogging.
This is my first blog. Basically, here's the deal. I said earlier that I write songs for a living. I like to write...it's enjoyable. But you really only get like three and a half minutes or so to say all the stuff you're wanting to say. It's such a structure. Sometimes it feels good to just write with no boundaries. I'm not writing a three and a half minute blog. That feels great. I don't honestly give a rip if anyone ever reads this. I really don't. I just wanted a different avenue to spill my guts besides music. So, if you happen upon this blog at some point in your day, just know that I went to Chlay's Thai Restaurant for lunch today and I'm thinking about going to Costco tomorrow to get some Salmon.
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