writeeveryday 2.0 A month of writing, three years of confusion

An Alaskan stream gushes beneath a canyon of evergreen boughs. A salmon darts upstream, dodging sparse debris from a flash flood miles ahead, projecting a fleeting flash of reflected sunlight on the washed out bank. He thinks.

HOLYMOTHERFUCKINGSHIT IT IS COLD. JESUS. Oh my god this water is so goddamned freezing. Oh this sucks so so bad. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. OH SHIT, A MOSQUITO IS ON THE SURFACE! Mmmmm….yum. Wow, I will just never get tired of the taste of fresh mosquito. AH! ANOTHER ONE! Mmm mmm MMM, eatins this good almost make me forget HOW FUCKING FRIGID THIS FUCKING WATER IS. ARGH! I’m tired. Maybe I’ll just hang out in this eddy for a bit to give my gills a restOHFUCKIT’SABEAR!!!! Ohhhhshitohshitohshitohshitttttt, swimswimswimswimswim go go go go motherfucker GO! Annnnnnd we’re safe. Phew. That was a bear. Bears are big. Wow bears are big. I wonder how far I am from the spawning ground? God I would kill just to be there right now. I’m tired of all this upstream bullshit. I just wanna chillax and fuckin’ spawn ALLLLLL DAY. Man it’s been too long since I’ve spawned. I guess I’m just getting old. Can’t just be spawning left and right like the good ol’ days I suppose. FUCK WHY THE FUCK IS THIS WATER SO FUCKING COLD!? AHHHHH! I can’t believe I fucking LIVE in this shit! SO. COLD. Some spawning would realllllly help this situation right now. Oh helllll yeah, look at that big ass bug just chillin’ on the surface up there. Hey lil’ bug, I’m bout to eat your ass. Heerrrrre I commmmee tee hee hee!!!!!! AGHFUCKINGSHITFUCKWHATTHEFUCK IS THIS THING??? HOLY SHIT THERE IS A PIECE OF BARBED METAL THROUGH MY FUCKING FACE RIGHT NOW!!!! HOLY SHIT!!! OW! STOP PULLING ME!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS THING DRAGGING ME BY MY FACE!!! STOP DRAGGING ME BY MY FACE DAMMIT!! Oh no! I’m out of the water! I can’t breathe out here! AH!! THIS HURTS SO BAD! MY GILLS HURT! MUST GET BACK IN WATER SOMEHOW!!!—wait a second. Wait jussssssst a second. It is downright WARM out here right now. WHAT THE FUCK. Is it always this warm outside of the water in the summer??? Bears get to bask in THIS shit all the time??? Mannnnn, that’s just rich. Why the hell is this dude measuring me right now?? GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME YOU ASSHOLE!!! I’M TWITCHING SO MUCH BECAUSE I’M SUFFOCATING RIGHT NOW FUCKFACE! Wait, what’s this? Really? Are you really about to throw me back? YES!!! He’s throwing me back in the water! I can’t believe this!!! One two three WEEEE!!! I’m airborn! I’m free! Yay! I’m back in the water.  FUCK IT IS SO FUCKING COLD IN HERE.

In the event of a crash landing in enemy territory.

• Water
• 1 lb of Emergency Rations
• Vitamins
• Antibiotics
• Morphine
• One German Dictionary
• One Standard .45 GI Pistol
• One Pair Nylon Stockings
• One Pair Heel Pumps
• One Brassiere
• Two Tennis Balls
• One Golden Flax Blouse
• One Blond Wig
• One “How to Woo a German Dictator” Guide
• One Easy to Break Wine Bottle
• One Briefcase to hold Secret Documents
• One Violin
• One Italian Concerto Performance Artist Badge
• One Copy of Bach’s Violin Sonata No. 1 in G Minor
• One Pair of Formal Wear
• One Skirt
• One Black Wig
• One “How to Woo an Italian Dictator” Guide
• One Easy to Break Vino Bottle
• One Standard GI Inflatable Raft
• One Paddle
• One Compass
• One Flare Gun
• One Pair of Slip-On Sandals
• One Kimono Dress
• One “How to Pleasure a Japanese Military Dictator” Guide
• One Easy to Break Sake Bottle

God Speed Soldier!

Tracy and Keith stand alone in the kitchen. They discuss their son, Joe.

KEITH: Tracy, I’m still worried about putting Joe on this ADHD medication.

TRACY: Aderol is a reliable medication, proven to help someone with Joe’s condition focus. What’s your concern? That it’s not safe? Because remember what Doctor Gooding told us, 98% of-

KEITH: No no, it’s not that. I know it’s safe. It’s just that….do we really want him to…focus?

TRACY: What do you mean? Isn’t that the point?

KEITH: Well yes…off course we want him to focus. After all, it’s his lack of focus that is holding him back in school…

TRACY: Then what’s your concern?

KEITH: I’m just worried that his lack of attention span is also holding him back…from his latent gayness.

TRACY: Excuse me?

KEITH: I mean, what if he just uses his newly heightened attention span to focus on other effeminate boys? Or gay porn? Or musicals? Or any number of gay things!

TRACY: We can’t control what he focuses on!

KEITH: And that’s exactly my point! We have no control over whether he uses his new powers for good…or homosexuality…

TRACY: This is ludicrous. The aderol with just help him ignore distractions when he needs to be focusing on his studies.

KEITH: I see your point…I suppose you’re right…

TRACY: Well I’m glad that’s over.

KEITH: …I mean, after all, when I really stand back and look at the big picture, I guess I too would prefer a gay son that does well in school to a straight son that’s stupid…

TRACY: Keith! That’s not at all the point I was making. Listen, if you don’t like how Joe’s medication is working, we can take him off, okay?

KEITH: Okay. But what if, after his stint of intensely focusing on boys he likes it so much that boys themselves become the thing that distracts him when he’s off his medication?? Oh god! It’s a lose lose!

TRACY: So he’s either focusing on boys, or distracted by boys…

KEITHL Is there a way to keep his mind off of everything except his studies??

TRACY: That’s called homeschooling.

KEITH: Yeah! Homeschooling! Wait a second…there are no girls for him to meet here. Are you trying to turn our son gay??

TRACY: I’ll be taking out the laundry. Call me when you’re done being crazy.

let’s say you wake up one morning- poof! there you go, you’re awake. and you’re sleeping next to the decapitated head of a horse. and you haven’t seen the first Godfather film. and you don’t own a horse. and you’ve never ridden a horse. and you don’t much care for horses. and the bed that you were sleeping in wasn’t yours. wouldn’t that be nuts?

This may be a bit too soon to think about, but I’ve been wondering what kind of Dad I’m going to be. I mean, bearing in mind that I actually might be a Dad (fuck the system man, I’m not making another slave for your corporate machine). The idea sounds cool.

Am I going to be mean? Am I going to be a “fun-dad”? Am I going to be accepting when my son comes out of the closet?

I don’t know. I’d like to think I’m going to be coolest, most-accepting Dad. But there are so many questions that linger.

I’ve worked with kids before. I’m decent with them. Actually, I’m exactly as I would expect with them. I have a lot of fun with them, I mean tons of fun, but I have a hard time being strict with them. I don’t do so well with punishments. My justification is always, “he/she’s just a kid, go easy on ‘em.” Even if they did bite off the hair of a counselor’s scalp. True story.

I still want to be the complete Dad (I mean if I have a kid of course. Seriously why would I want to create another mindless drone to work for some figurative beehive where he/she will inevitably want to kill his/herself?). So I sought to my own Dad to figure how to smooth out my rough edges.

What did he do to make me an “ok” kid?

He basically raised me as if I had gone through a war. You see, he was a veteran himself. A Vietnam Veteran to be exact.

He hoped I would never actually see what he had to see, but he wanted to show me what he saw through his parenting. I followed his every step, because why else? I loved him.

Simple moments like when I was a baby, he would greet me by yelling, “ten-hut!” and I would stand and gleam at my father’s presence. He wanted to instill a sense of authority over me and I wanted more baby powder on my bum.

By the time I was of a basic reading level, my mother and I would read together the Berenstain Bears and Franklin the Turtle. Then my Dad would take over, and sit me down to watch Platoon, Hamburger Hill, and Full Metal Jacket to help put me to sleep. By the time I was 9, I finally stopped crying when Private Pyle shoots himself (sorry spoiler alert).

He would see me playing with my friends, playing imaginary war or Cowboys and Indians or some sort of violent little boy game, and he would up the ante up the level of violence for authenticity purposes.

“Boy come here!”

“Am I in trouble Dad?”

“Yes you are! You do know that when you stab someone with a bayonet, you don’t stab them in the chest right?” prodding my chest.

“Because,” both of us simultaneously now, “if you stab them in the chest, it gets stuck, but if you stab them in the gut, he’s fucked.”

“Alright go back out there and have fun”

How can you not love the guy right?

I loved it. While other Dads gave their sons riddles concerning a wolf, a chicken, and some grain; my Dad asked me, “What would you say to God if he asks you, ‘Why did you shoot at those people in Vietnam?’”

Stumped, I’d respond, “Well it doesn’t matter because I’m the best Dad in the world.” He’d smile and then we would play catch.

By the time I was in High School, I wore an imaginary chip on my shoulder. As if I had experienced the horrors and atrocities of war. It was foolish of me. I’d scoff at the mention of war with my friends. They’d simply respond, “What does that mean Mike?”

“Let’s just say, I know some shit.”

“Ok well, let’s hope you know enough about the Battle of Lexington to present to the class.”

“Oh I know enough.”

“Ok, what maneuvers did the British implement after the first shots were fired?”

“Pshhh, next question—”

“You don’t know do you?”

“No.”

But in the end, his lessons did give value to the simpler things in life. It may have been ridiculous to any other person what my Dad did with me as a kid. But he had a very simple point: don’t take anything for granted. You go through some harsh or tough times to help you realize that you shouldn’t take anything for granted. Life is pretty cool sometimes.

I try not to. I’ll give in every now and then (ohh N64 how I miss thee). But I do appreciate what my Dad did for me and for his country. I appreciate my friends and I appreciate the fact that I have this crappy, crappy Dell to write this post.

I guess if I ever give in to our facists corporate overlords, drink some soma, and have a kid; that will be the best advice I can instill on him/her. Don’t take shit for granted, and appreciate life’s simplest moments. Until then, I’ve got some ragin’ to do.

i gulp down coffee like its the only thing that makes me happy anymore. and it is. the taste is despicable. utterly horrendous. but the jittery feeling i get, like a jazz accompaniment to my feet as they caress their way across the floor, makes me forget all the things i used to enjoy. momentarily.

i forget about the raw passion that used to energize every one of my days. the want that used to fill my belly. want fueled by revenge. on this person. on that person. on anyone who wanted to experience life and joy. i held the rock and they held the glass. and that was good for something. i pretended to be cynical. because of being let down all the time. because of being told my excitement made me less desirable to women. only detachment would hide the fact that i did not belong in a world avoiding extremes. i needed assistance. i wanted to get to cool. be cool. seem cool. fake cool. i needed a substance. st. cobain had one. i needed one. 

i stumbled upon the thing after the second and a half time i took a girl to bed. her bed. it was miserable. like giving into to a side of me that could settle and be okay. she gave me a fix of something that i would come to crave the rest of my life. i crave it now. 

but coffee allows me to forget about the substance that use to amplify the feeling of happiness. and would eventually synthesize the feeling of happiness. the substance that allowed my raw passion to slowly fade and gave way to cool detachment. that allowed me to be invincible. invincibility is being nothing. you can not effect nothing. for the longest time i was nothing. and it felt good.

and i gave that up. for now. and coffee is the only thing i have left. the only thing that my anhedonia leaves alone for ten minutes a day.  

Int. Guidance Counselor’s office

Jerry: Hey Mr. Sports Counselor, all the kids pick on me because I’m a little overweight. I tell them I’m big-boned, but they still laugh at me because they can run faster than me. What can I do?

Counselor: Why that’s easy you little rapscallion! Join the football team. Did you know that football is the second to only sumo-wrestling in median player-size?

Jerry: No I didn’t!

Counselor: Yes, now go put on some more pounds my boy! They won’t be laughing at you when they find out you’re the best linebacker in the nation.

Jerry: Golly, they wouldn’t believe it! That sounds great!

Counselor: Oh and don’t be surprised if you keel over at 35, but don’t worry you’ll have 2 super bowl rings on your finger and 3 playboy model wives by then, so the math adds up!

Jerry: Uh.. ok thanks!

Jimmy: Counselor, I get injured very easily and I don’t like to work very hard. Is there a sport for me?

Counselor: Why yes! Baseball’s the game! Get injected with some groovy liquids and you’ll be a national hero! You won’t have to do any work at all. Just be sure to thank God when you hit your titan-like home runs or else they’ll become suspicious.

Jimmy: Oh gee, thanks!

Karl: I’m a Nordic looking male, who’s overt and shockingly honest racism is masked by the fact that I’m completely surrounded by other Nordic looking men—

Counselor: Say no more my Scandinavian friend. Lace up some skates because you’re gunna play hockey!

Karl: Tak.

Tim: I like to drink milk.

Counselor: Nascar.

Mike: I like to smoke weed.

Counselor: Swimming.

Ron: I am tall black male who can run very fast and jump higher than most people.

Counselor: Um… I… I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything for you Ron. I don’t think there’s a sport out there that fits those requirements. I’m terribly sorry.

Ron: That’s ok Counselor. Thanks for trying anyways.

Counselor: Wait! I’ve got it!

Newspaper headline: “Ron Sterling wins International Chess tournament”

2 Men at a batting cage.

-Yeah it’s really great. I can talk to her about anything. It’s like having another version of you.

-Yeah but I came first.

-Ha of course. I will always honor and recognize that.

-Duly noted. So, she’s got a great personality.

-She’s so clever. She outwits me in every conversation. It’s truly endearing.

-She’s attractive.

-Gorgeous blond hair. I can see why any man would fall for her.

-And she can stand you as a person?

-Yeah an exclusive club—you two and my mother.

-And wanting to do it never gets in the way of being strictly friends?

-Doing it? You mean like doing everything you can to let her know you’re thinking about her and your friendship? No that’s not a problem—

-No I mean screwing, man.

-Screwing? You mean like how I listen to her worry about how her mean boyfriends screwed her over, while folding her laundry? No not a problem—

-No man! I mean SEX!

-Sex? Like going to her bedroom and lying down on the bed, and then getting naked and then putting… on our PJ’s so we can write our wishes together and put them in our dreambox—

-NO! Procreation. Making love. Doing the deed. SEX!

-No. I have no idea what that is.

-Oh. Ok then.

SATAOSR is a non-profit organization dedicated to ending the abuse of Sigur Ros songs in popular culture.

We are dedicated to preventing anymore videos featuring the song Hoppipolla and other sonically mind-blowing tracks by Sigur Ros from ever being produced. It is Sigur Ros Abuse (SRA) at its finest.

Taken from their pristine and untouched land of Iceland, Sigur Ros has been exploited and in danger of being completely void of all cultural meaning by the West. Sigur Ros thrives on “chill” atmospheres and “relaxed dudes”, but when maimed and processed into popular culture it loses its unique, progressive sound.

Our movement began in 2007 when we learned of Sigur Ros from the Slumdog Millionaire Trailer (like everyone else) and then realized that every other person at our university had gone and dried up the “Sigur Ros wells”. We were furious to find that the song was ravenously being overplayed.

There was the “great murder of ‘08” resulting in countless Study Abroad collages like Brian Chen’s “Adventures in Munich” and Chris Logston’s “Beijing Summer ‘07 Blast”. Not to mention the massacre that was the FIFA World Cup ‘06 advertisements.

Young 20 somethings racing to find any excuse to utilize the band’s delicate orchestral movement, its breathtaking grandeur, and its ultimately, beautifully enchanting melodies. It’s ability to capture one’s heart and mind was something so rare, it had to be exploited.

Today we live in a world where murderous Environmental Conservation Groups take innocent Sigur Ros tracks and place them against their will in their Public Service Announcements; where youtube users violently mangle SR tracks to compliment their timelapse and “High School Memories” videos; and films like Children of Men can look at themselves in the mirror and say, “I lived a good life”.

A sick, twisted travesty to say the least.

We are dedicated to returning Sigur Ros to where it belongs. In the dorm rooms of blazed out Sophomores who are “looking to trip far beyond the reaches of reality”. To return these songs to their rightful place—the backseat of a Honda Civic to compliment a young couple’s love-making session. To return them to their homes in every College Campus’s Co-Op Commune.

Please if you are as disgusted as we are in the treatment of Sigur Ros songs and wish to return them to their rightful homes, then join our cause.

Watch our PSA video for more information on what you can do to help. (Note: We realize that in our informational video we use the Sigur Ros song, Hoppipolla, to make our point. We realize the irony in this, but so what dickbag? You were moved weren’t you?!)

Please help, if not for our sake, then for our grandchildren’s sake.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIzbwV7on6Q

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