Mainstream Mania

The big day. A hodge-podge of the unknown, the uncomfortable, and the unforgettable. Together they make post-adventure excitement. And that is the essence for this Halloween . . . where I visited the most intense haunted house I've ever experienced . . . my own head.

10. House of 1,000 Corpses -- Firefly Slashing (you'll go to YouTube)

11. Nine Inch Nails -- The Broken Movie (Part 1)


12. The Broken Movie (Part 2)


13. The Broken Movie (Part 3)


14. Marilyn Manson's "Fuck Frankie"


15. Pencil Face


16. The Exorcist -- Crucifix Fun


Marilyn Manson -- "I Put a Spell on You"

The Core of Me

Unfortunately, I came down with a sickness tonight, prompting me to only buy a costume at Twin Cities Costume and Magic in St. Paul, then to rest up with the roomies, lighting the Jack o' Lanterns they carved (mine was left at yesterday's party), and watching my favorite scary movie. The perfect Halloween movie: "Creepshow". This movie, while cheesy and stupid, could be the main pop culture influence I've had throughout my life. I was six years old, sitting in the living room with my mom Halloween week, wanting to watch scary programs on television. She was looking through the TV listings and said, "Oooh, Peter, would you want to watch 'Creepshow'? It's by a guy named Stephen King." "Who's he?" I remember asking. "The master of horror," she responded.

Bam! Of course I was going to watch that! I was into monsters and debauchery when I was a baby (there's a home video of me sitting on a witch's lap at a pumpkin farm when I was one, laughing at her the entire time.). I loved it. It set me on a course to seek out more Stephen King, more George Romero, more zombies, monsters, etc. I have my mom to thank for my lust of all things "Fucked Up".

Here are two videos showing the death scenes of my two favorite stories in "Creepshow" (it's an anthology of five stories based off of an EC type comic book, like "Tales From the Crypt" or "The Vault of Horror"). Don't watch if you don't want spoilers . . .

5. Favorite story pre-high school: Father's Day


6. Favorite story high school on: The Crate


7. BONUS -- Another Stephen King related favorite movie: The Shining -- Dick's death


8. The Shining -- "Wendyyyyyy . . . give me the bat . . ."


9. The Shining -- "Heeeeeere's Johnny!" (I hafta)


Bauhaus -- "Bela Lugosi's Dead"

You Know Jack

A second Halloween helping, and in honor of the pumpkin carving party I partook:

2. This is Halloween


3. Return to Oz (Jack Pumpkinhead and Mambi)


4. Halloween 3 (Silver Shamrock)


William Elliott Whitmore -- "One Man's Shame"

All Bones About It

Because Halloween's just too fucking awesome to contain into one entry, let's just start 'er off tonight:

1. The Skeleton Dance


The Zutons -- "Moons and Horror Shows"

Surety is Never Forever

Nothing makes me happier than being confident in a work of art. People ask, "When you were making (insert work of art here) did you know it was going to be so well received?" Every artist I've seen has been humble in their answer. "Well, I liked it at the time. You never know what other people might think, though."

Bullshit. But good bullshit. You need to stay humble in your statements.

With my work, if I'm really pleased with what I've just done, I do feel that others are going to like it. Currently, I'm writing the second song of my current storyline. So far, if I was an audience member seeing the song, I would think "Jeeze, they're starting to pull lots of tricks out of their sleeves, what's next -- oh shit, they went that far! Whoa ho holy fuck, awe--YEAH!" This isn't bragging. This is the writing process of Patch. What would the audience think here? What if I repeated the thing from the last song--nah, that's not that important of a riff. Should it get really fast -- no, let's just change up the time signature, keep the audience in surprise mode.

I'm pretty convinced an audience would think positively about this song. And I love feeling this. I could be wrong, but seriously, this is the moment that every artist wants to talk about, but they don't have the stupidity to actually say it outloud like I do.

I could be wrong about the song, of course, but fuck off, I'm drunk, and I'm loving it right now.

Jet -- "K.I.A."

Skipping Beatles

A child at my school knows all of the words to "Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains. I forgot to take into account that Rock Band flaunts that as one of the beginner levels. But I grew up on that song. This kid said that he was going to Powerman-5000 tonight, he said that he met Static-X on their tour bus when he was two.

I asked his dad this as he picked him up and verified it all. This kid loves hard rock. Now, personally, I think those two bands are bogus, campy, hollow artless pieces of energetic flair to flaunt when you're drunk, angry, and stupid (which I like to be on occasion, and that's why I have an ounce of tolerance for these bands. That or I'm ignorant to how great they really are, and radio killed what could have been a good first impression), but I'm impressed this kid even knows this kind of music at his age.

His dad said "Yeah, I skipped The Beatles and went right for the gusto." "Good job!" I retorted. I'd like to see what his musical preference is going to be twenty years from now, coming from a guy who actually started on The Beatles from his own father.

I literally sang "Man in the Box" with the kid word for word on the playground today. Supplementing the Clear Channel version for the dual "shit" bombs, of course. A highlight of my time at the preschool.

Death From Above 1979 -- "Romantic Rights"

Coded Language

I became aware of Saul Williams through a random YouTube search. "List of Demands", the lead single off of his self titled album was the one that did it. I quickly checked out his work on YouTube and was floored.

Then, a couple months later, Trent Reznor dropped the bomb that Saul would be opening for his With Teeth tour. And that he would be producing his next record, "The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust".

I saw him live for the first time in April of 2008. He was scary, how intense he was. I was in the front row, and he was literally spitting on my face with his spoken word, his screams, his convictions. Nothing can make you yawn in the face of his intensity.

Tonight I saw him again. Unfortunately, it was a slightly off night. He was forgetting lyrics, CX Kidtronic (his DJ) dropped some of the electronics at times. He was humble in his apologies. He tends to jump into the crowd, meeting people with smiles and conversation on his way back to the stage. He is the nicest person, and he has a true message. An angry, yet uplifting message in his music. He is definitely one of the top five artists in my influence registry.

So, despite the mistakes, he was still amazing. One of the "truest" writers of our time.



Saul Williams -- "African Student Movement"

Life's Lemons

Tarot cards, cheesy records, ukes, and Saul Williams . . .

The best damn expensive pasta dish I've ever had in my entire life . . .

Rogue Dead Guy ale . . .

Talking about the nitty gritty, no holds barred . . .

This has been a good weekend.

Again, the affirmation that good people are in my life. I was setting up the drumset in the Patch rehearsal space. The space is still filled with roommate materials. The end of the month should see an instrument only space. Without really even telling me, Dustin, a great, great friend and musical companion (and most likely lead guitarist for Patch now), came over spontaneously. I heard him ask property manager Rick McCoy outside "Is Peter here?" I looked up with a shock. I thought he was around for my roommate. He came into the room and immediately started organizing cables and cords, power strips and instruments. It was one of those seemingly trivial moments that I'll take with me to the grave. People care about this project. People care about me. People know I care about them.

You want to help people out, Dustin? Just keep doing what you're doing. You're fucking number one in my book. All the guys in Patch so far are. Greg, Adri, Dustin . . . and one more that I'll be meeting tomorrow, hopefully . . .

Post-setup, I went out to St. Paul and took in the Selby neighborhood with Ashley, who truly inhabits the Karmath vibe. Combining logic with spirituality, all night long we conversed about the vessel and the soul . . . and I realized that the Dulcimer is one of the most awesome instruments to just sit down and play . . . and it's great for interrogation purposes, as well. Not saying what.

Life is good. Watch, I'll be struck with a fatal illness this week.

Pearl Jam -- "Soon Forget"

Free Pastures

I'm out of a dollar.

I made a bet. I thought a certain hill led to a certain locale. My companion didn't think so. She knew better. She bet me a dollar. I took her up on it. And lost.

As I was stewing about my dollar, we viewed beautiful, yet creepy houses along the side streets of Uptown. She gave me a candybar.

Before this, we walked around the Lake of the Isles. We talked about what our pet peeves were. I remember her saying "inside furniture when it's outside". I also remember her talking about the Minneapolis skyline. Looking at it from one of the bridges along the lake, she said, "Do you know what the best night to view a city skyline is?" I said, "No, what?" She said "Tuesday night, because that's when most people work late and stay in their offices."

I remember thinking "This is a long walk, but I don't want it to end after the lake." She picked up on that. Then she took my dollar.

We talked 1900's drug stores, tried to save a drunken man who was apparently locked in a glass cage and had passed out on his back (the bus terminal on Hennepin), saw a cop in his squad car browsing Facebook on the car computer outside of the Walker, etc. It was a damn fine walk. A walk that had no hidden underbelly of romance or anything. Just a nice friendly get-together, a friend I had had yet to have the pleasure of meeting one on one so far. A nice way to break the isolation and cave dwelling within my abode, toiling on dark eroticism and audience acceptance. Hard on the brain, that is.

A damn fine walk, indeed. Now . . . how to get the dollar back . . .

Woody Guthrie -- "Pastures of Plenty"

Liberty Cell

Song 1 of the erotica storyline. Print it out, read along at the show, if you feel like it. Understand why we're doing what we're doing onstage.

WORKING TITLE: LIBERTY CELL

Soundgarden -- "Rusty Cage"

Don't Forget Her

1) Alcohol.
2) Candlelight.
3) Three music videos.

After this sequence, Patch is written.

I started putting down lyrics and tabs into Acid Pro "notes" tonight . . . pretty excited. The challenge: how to make "lust murder" tasteful to a point of popular acceptance?

"Kept secret from the world, I’ve loved you all
Regret has yet to rear its head
Even in your pieces, you’ve stayed intact
Free as birds, you wear the rust of my cage

How many lives have been taken so far?
How many wives have I taken so far?"

Cage the Elephant -- "Back Against the Wall"

Under the Microscope

Research. A hell of a lot easier than the "Sound. Of. Static." winter long reading stint, which coalesced into basically 4/5 of "Schematics" work. "LCD" was the only one that came out of nowhere. Funny that that's my favorite of the five.

The LIVE 1.0 storyline (or, I should say, one of the storylines) is coming along nicely. I already know my family will hate it.

RITUAL TYPEOLOGY

Shield Your Eyes -- "Viscera Voltaic Pile"

"Going Somewhere?"

I tend to write off of inspiration. I see a movie, hear a song. I get an idea.

I watched this trailer right before I went to bed. It sort of turned the storyline for the live show I've got sorting around in my head into something tangible. Realized.

A beginning, middle, and end . . . very Patchy, this movie.



Brainiac -- "Fresh New Eyes"

Tainted Love

"Why do I do this to myself?"

As both a way to have peace of mind, and to pay homage to what I'm delving into for Patch, I visited the place where Beezelbub came forward after all these years. Inspiration never felt so scary. I was weak in the knees for a good hour.

Into the Epicenter of Madness

HEALTH -- "In Violet"

What's In Between

My opening disclaimer to Patch:

Relating to "Disclaimer: On Veins and Nothing"

Boards of Canada -- "Dayvan Cowboy"

The Know

The Lizard People = COMPLETED.
The Lizard People -- "The Know"

After the Fact, Before the Fiction

"You seem to be doing okay now," she said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

Alice in Chains -- "Sunshine"

When the Twitch Rears

Two kids were fighting on the playground. I came up to them, pulled them apart, and said:

"Look at me! Look at yourselves! You wanna keep on fighting like this the rest of your lives?! It's all you guys do, is fight! You know why we get mad telling you not to fight? Cuz you'll keep doing it the rest of your life if you don't learn otherwise! You guys know Dinkytown, right? Right over there? There are bars around there with people my age. Adults. You know what a lot of them like to do? Fight. All the time. Sometimes just for looking at each other funny. You give them a juice that adults drink, alcohol, and all they want to do is fight! You wanna be like them?! DO YA?! Jeeze, you're totally going to turn out like that. You don't listen! You're gonna go to jail, you keep it up. If I have to tell you again to not punch each other you're going to my version of jail. The picnic table! You got it?! You wanna be drunken losers in Dinkytown?! I didn't think so! Don't let me catch you punching each other again, or I'm calling your parents and sending you to jail. GOT IT?!

Now, who wants to go into the peanut butter machine?"

Needless to say, I hardly had any sleep last night, and my first sip of coffee was still waiting to be savored. I've also decided I'm going to be a peanut butter monster birthed from the "peanut butter machine" (a stupid plastic orange tube on our playground) for the Miniapple version of Halloween.

The Dead Weather -- "I Cut Like a Buffalo"

Three Coffins

Nailing the lid on 'er:



Miles Davis -- "Sivad (Edit)"

Chris Who?

As I was getting ready for bed, it occurred to me that it was Columbus Day today. The first thought in my head was: who gives a shit?

We used to care about Christopher Columbus in grade school. As I grew older, school stopped caring about it, we didn't get the day off, we stopped talking about it.

Christopher Columbus, the FOREforefather of America, represents the imminent growth each child has in their upbringing: we first worshipped Columbus and his discovery of our land. Next, we discovered that he found the place by accident (just like some children were accidents themselves). We found out next that he was an exiled buffoon. Then, that he tortured the people who originally lived in the "treasure utopia".

We grow up worshipping our "fathers" before realizing they're not the best thing since sliced bread after all. Forefathers of America were nothing special. People made them a symbol, something to fall back on. To make sense of America with. We realize that our entire world is full of bullshit "fathers" who look out for us while really looking out for themselves, looking for a little returned interest out of everything they get their dirty hands into.

Columbus is the symbol for the Revelation of Bullshit for true Patriot Americans capable of critical, objective thought.

If you are above the age of 12 and you celebrated this day in its original intent, stay the fuck away from me.






Beirut -- "Elephant Gun"

A Danny Tanner Moment

When I woke up this morning, on one hand I felt terrible. Physically. One move of the head and I was going to lose whatever I had left in my stomach (funny that I took a shower, washed the blood and muck from my body, despite feeling that way. It goes to show how much fun I had on my birthday).

On the other hand, I felt great. Mentally. For the past quarter year I've felt some foreboding terror rising up within. It all went away this weekend. Well, drained to a point where only a few remnants remain. Enough to draw inspiration for the coming Patch projects.

I received a few gifts from my family. All checks. No tangible "present" presents, but substantial, nontheless.

The real gift, and this sounds like a Danny Tanner monologue, was the affirmation of friends in my life. Friday night I looked around the Rainforest and couldn't stop smiling. Afterward, at home, people were talking throughout the house, and I realized that every single person there was such a magnificent being. The people I hold near and dear to me are true soulmates. The people across the country, with whom I've grown close to, talked to me for 2 hours each over the weekend at some point.

All my life I've wanted to have a close group of friends. A core, a first ring, a second ring, etc. I saw it all in perspective this weekend.

I felt the tension falling out of my brain as each new event unfolded.

The Pub Crawl: meeting new people, having no inhibitions, feeling somewhat attractive despite the pains I took to make myself extremely unattractive, meeting random people that I knew all over the West Bank, dancing the night away with random strangers . . . everything that I've been needing. A friend filled evening turned into a Cowboy Night of introspection, resumption, and comic punishment (puke galore and laughing about it).

It was the best birthday I could have hoped for.

Nine Inch Nails -- "Adrift and At Peace"

.25

My birthday.

A new era.

How to celebrate?

How's about by combining everything I hold sacred: gore, death, decay, friends, Halloween, debauchery and mayhem. That's a birthday.

And Looooord Alllmighty, was I granted a miracle, son? Hell yeah!

It's called the ZOMBIE PUB CRAWL. And it might have been the craziest night of the year for me.

And the Lord granted another miracle: birthdays symbolize New Years for me. As in, it's my own personal New Year. New resolutions start to be realized and embarked on. Ironically, they're not thought of so analytically on my birthday as they are on the actual New Years, but that's when my resolutions and goals are met. The first entry of this blog I mentioned transcendence, and the hope of breaking certain dry spells.

Guess who showed up on the second New Year just like they did on the first New Year?

White Zombie -- "Blood, Milk, and Sky"

Holy Grounds

The first birthday celebration, a blast from the past to celebrate the new: The Rainforest Cafe.

I've had some of the most poignant moments of my life at these establishments. One of my best first dates (one of the top ten moments of high school -- "VOLCANO!!!") which led to the relationship with my main high school sweetheart; one of the best birthdays I've had was held here as well: my 19th. This might have been one of the happiest moments of my life so far. Freshman in college, schmoozing with all of Bailey Hall . . . god, that was a good time.

And now . . . 25. The new quarter. The quarter where I have to shit or get off the pot. 1-24 is Preparation. 25-50 is Action. What other way to bring it in than with a nice trip back to the rainforest?

This restaurant, while corny and outright creepy at times, makes me think of my family. All my life I've been into amusement parks and themes and theatrical environments. My family put up with my obsessions and brought me to these places. Once, trying to come up with a family reunion locale, they thought "Why not Six Flags in honor of Peter?" My grandma, 85 years old, rode a looping rollercoaster with me, and loved it.

I imagine I'll continue obsessing over these places once I have my own kids and grandkids. If the wife says, "Well kids, your father and I wanted to take a trip to Disney World, but times are tough--" I'll chime in: "We'll find a way." Wife: "Peter, we can't afford--" Me: "You'd strip them of a chance to go see the Happiest Place on Earth? How could you?!" Wife: "We've been there five times already." Me: "Yeah, what's your point?" Wife: "We can skip it this year."

I get up, take the kids into my arms, and pronounce: "Kids . . . I think we need to give your mother some time to think. She doesn't seem to be herself. Honestly, wife of mine, look at their innocent faces. LOOK AT THEM!!!" Then my kids and I burst out sobbing and running for the car, where I will drive them to the nearest Chuck E. Cheese for pizza and ball pit time.

And to take in the splendour of the animatronic band:


The Beatles -- "Lovely Rita"

Rawhide

The cold hit while I was inside. I hardly had a chance to be outside this summer, stuck inside doing recording and mixing. And finally, as I'm nearing completion of The Lizard People's "The Boudoir Sessions", it's cold. Pretty soon I'll be coming back into the studio to create a companion piece to "Schematics" and the live project. Something minimalistic in nature, more electronic and stripped down, but it never stops, it seems.

This week (and it's starting to look like maybe next week as well) I've been finishing up Lizard People's "The Know", working on a palette based on Western orchestrations and Elvis-like vocal work. Think Ennio Merricone with a touch of Al Martino.

As I was driving to work, I was thinking about some of the work I've done in this realm. Being that my birthday is this weekend as well, I thought about my grandparents. Birthdays and grandparents seem to go hand in hand. October 10th is usually one of the few times I ever talk to my dad's dad.

A year ago, my grandpa turned 90. For his 90th birthday present, I recorded myself singing some of his favorite standard songs. One of them happened to be Al Martino's version of "Spanish Eyes". Another was Miles Davis' "Bye Bye Blackbird". I turned on "Spanish Eyes" when I got home today and couldn't stop laughing.

When I gave my grandpa the three song EP, the entire family went bonkers for it. "That's you?!" This tends to be a standard extended family reaction to recordings of their family members. On top of that, and I anticipated this, my family prefers me doing standards to doing Patch. After we listened to my gift, they said "What's Patch sound like? Is it like this?" Me: "Not exactly." I turned on an old mix of "Trachomanic" that I had at the time, and they said immediately "That doesn't sound like you either, but I liked the other CD better."

Here are two of the songs from that EP:

"Bye Bye Blackbird"


"Spanish Eyes"


So, tonight I have to revisit the "Spanish Eyes" vocal style to meet Taylor's "Know" wishes. Should actually be quite ridiculous.

Ennio Morricone -- "A Silhouette of Doom"

Recesses and Secrets

KARMATH:

An existence combining logical mathematical equations (what we deem as fact in the West) to otherwise spiritual phenomenon (what the East deems as fact). Together, they form the very core belief system of my life.

What goes up must come down . . . unless proven otherwise.

I've been privy to some strange events. Miracles, I guess you could call them. True Jesus shit. There are cases where the dead have risen, juice has risen in a glass right before the eyes of the beholder, and a man was once told to go home by his spiritual teacher in order to find out that his wife was cheating on him (this eventually led to my birth).

All the "miracles" I know about can be explained with science. The most sure concepts of the world are math and the unknown. They are proven. There is nothing more finite than numbers. They are what they are. You can't refute them. On the opposite side of the spectrum, the Unknown is sure, given that most of the universe (our own lives) is foreign to us. We don't have a clue, yet we try to explain it all. That's the beauty of being human.

Yet in the midst of it all, we become hindered by emotions. Obstacles. We lose focus. We give up. We have the ability to rest for too long, to take pains at having pleasure 100% of the time, to become enraptured with belief systems only because we, as animals, tend to be social beings. I feel Jonestown was just another flock of birds flying north instead of south for the winter.

We lose sight of the big picture. We don't have to, but we choose to.

I've been guilty of having possession take hold over me in relationships, of being altruistic to a fault, of being lazy, of letting friends go . . . for me, I try to fix whatever I did wrong rather than walk off without a care in the world. At the same time, being too analytical is a hindrance. This is why "fixers" flock to teachers for guidance.

It all takes place in Karmath for me.

KARMATH is a series of musical projects dealing with close friends and my relationship to them. After seeing their struggles with "fixing" their lives, I can guage a pretty good story in order to express what I feel they went through.

Here's a spoiler: the "SCHEMATICS"/"KARMATH" song "LCD" is originally based off my interactions with one of the Brotherhood. He has a tendency to disappear for days on end, not telling anyone where he goes. He's a nomad. I never knew if he did it because he was sad or just busy, and this always concerned me whenever he disappeared. I always knew the remedies to what made him sad, I just wanted to tell him. But I couldn't. You can't give people advice unless they're asking for it. He never asked for it. So none of us would give advice. It goes the same for anybody else. This just happens to be a common practice, hence, a law of Karmath.

I made up a story based off of this line of thinking, about a close friend who is on the brink of suicide. I think I know how to help them, yet when I try to talk to him, we merely talk music, pop culture. We don't get down to the bottom of it, and I feel weak and powerless to the whims of Karmath. "Another way to have him slip by". When his friends and I try to have an intervention, it goes through the same motions. As we're talking about the music and comedy, the man sneaks out, never to be seen again. We couldn't do anything to stop him.

But can we break the laws of Karmath ever? Could we stop the man in his tracks and say "Here's exactly what's wrong with you." No. That might put him over the edge more. I haven't written past this checkpoint, but these questions will be asked.

The real person has never wanted to commit suicide, it's based off of him and me talking about music and movies once we were done talking about a pressing concern. It helped heal us without fixing it entirely. Things persisted, but we were friends again. I imagine this happening with most close friends of the world, especially close friends who try to "fix" their lives.

I'm planning on doing another project based off of a friend who found himself jailed, at the bottom of the barrel for so long, and who has become one of the nicest individuals I've ever met. You look at this guy and you look at all the depressed emo imbeciles abound in our world and you go "What the fuck do all these other people have on this guy?! Shut up!" This guy lived what you want to live, and not by choice.

Another project is based on me dealing with my possessive hindrances that, thankfully, I've kept in check for a couple years. They have since risen to the surface, following a strange event that meant nothing really to the others involved but tainted me forever. You ever see your loved one fucked by another at your consent, merely because you thought it would be fun to have no boundaries? In so many words, be prepared to find out more about yourself than you ever imagined. And inside, it's not the pretty stuff that comes bubbling to the surface. If you want to maintain that relationship even after battling demons in your head, you'll go crazy. That is, if you're like me. But you're not, so, you don't care as much. The others didn't. It's a tough place to be in. I'm still in that place.

What does all this mean? Why am I writing this? It has nothing to do with today's events. I worked and recorded (I battled a squirrel, but that turned out to be not that exciting). In a lapse of novelty, I guess I'm resorting to what's to come. Next weekend I'm having a writing session for the project dealing with me. I'm kind of scared, to tell the truth, to be by myself in a motel (most likely) delving into the darkest recesses of my head. A place that's been on for the past two months, filled with creatures I never thought could be bred within. At the same time, I'm excited to come out with extremely visceral music and art. It will no doubt be some of the most violent work I've ever done. The studio will be made in two weeks, ready for the live band, who will be taking on this violent work. Three members, four, five . . . I'm not sure yet. Three is the bare minimum, at least.

We'll see. Stay tuned.

The Smashing Pumpkins -- "Where Boys Fear to Tread"

Coma Red

I am sitting in bed, listening to "Sleep", a CD made for the sole purpose of putting one to sleep. I took it from the nap room at Miniapple, having had constant battles with sleep whenever we put the CD on in our Discovery Room. Having an aquarium lighting up the room ever so slightly, the rest of the room's totally dark and silent with that CD going . . . it's a recipe for disaster. Every day I fought sleep along with my coworker. Eyes were heavy, heads would bob, we'd scare ourselves awake. So, having moved from the Discovery Room into another room, we've since changed CD's, and I took it home so that I could finally engage in the "Sleep" slumber I lusted for all summer long at work.

Now as I listen to it, it keeps me awake.

I think about work. I think about summer.

I think about a coworker who got fired because she succumbed to "Sleep", snoozing on the job. The director caught her more than once, and the coworker lied about it. "I was not asleep," she said. Well, it's kind of hard to lie when we all heard you snoring.

I even had to rat her out. Having been in this coworker's position of fighting sleep (although I think the coworker deliberately fell asleep, it wasn't just a sudden onslaught of food coma tiredness) I lessened the time she slept to a mere 10 to 15 minutes in my forced disclosure (which sucks, by the way, I felt like a snitch). She actually slept for a good hour with me sitting by waiting for the director or the administrator to come and catch her. And lo and behold, she was caught. Go figure.

She was on the higher ups' "list" for other behavior. She just didn't fit at a child care program. Anyway, I was present when the administrator and director decided to fire her. So I knew about a good week and a half before it happened.

The entire time, the coworker kept saying "You know something." She was super suspicious, seeing the administrator come around (she hardly ever comes around, but when she comes around more than two days in a row something's up), prospective interviewees were being led past the Discovery Room. It wasn't the nicest job on the higher ups' part. Personally, I think they were trying to frighten her.

I felt terrible. I was in on who were the favorite interviewees. Shit, I even had my say on who I wanted to take her place (she eventually was the one who got the job). The director fully agreed with me, not that I had anything to do with the final decision, but the point is the director was talking to me about the inner workings of the firing and the entire time I was smiling and pretending nothing was up in front of the doomed coworker.

It came to be the day when the firing was to take place. I went into work with a feeling of foreboding and queasiness. I even talked to Taylor about it. "I feel like a rat, man." Yet, when it came to be nap time, even after lying to this coworker's face about her getting to go home early because of being overstaffed, I was okay. I felt okay.

I tried my best to make her feel happy in her last moments of work. We actually had a lot of laughs, and I was trying to show her that I cared. She was supposed to be fired at 1:00, but the administrator came around at 2:15, so we talked a long time. Finally, the admin showed up at the school. Even before she asked to speak with the coworker, the coworker looked at me with such disappointment and disdain, as if it was my fault she was getting fired.

Thinking about this in bed right now: in my experience, when I've been nice, giving, and as altruistic as possible to people, those people have been the ones who have outright shunned my existence if we had come to a dire situation. The ones I never showed much interest in, having been 100% my fault they got canned or something, they just went on with their lives. I tried everything I could to sweeten this person's doom, and she hated me for it.

Bein' the nice everyman has its drawbacks. That's who I feel I am at Miniapple most days. I've gone from aid, to assistant, to day care staff. I've been all over. I'm the Everyman. I now meddle in all the different portions of Miniapple naturally. So, when shit happens (a child is misplaced, a parent is disgruntled, etc.) I take the fall or am blamed. A lot of that was happening today at work, even. I have to explain to parents and coworkers that we're a team with many different rooms and functions working at the same time, we're bound to make mistakes here and there.

You make an impact, show a smile, extend a hand, the receiver, feeling deceived, will feel nothing but the lowest contempt for you. You can't win.

Thom Yorke -- "Black Swan"

Hair o' the Dog

Nothing beats the harsh reactions of children to an extreme haircut. For instance, my own. I went from a shoulder length Robert Plant style to a short, less threatening Flock of Seagulls style. Here are some of the reactions:

1) "You -- you look like ME, now, Peter!"

2) "You're gross."

3) To another child about me: "He doesn't look that scary to me."

4) "Your hair's doing something."

5) "I like your hair. I'm sorry I called names to you before."

I said, "Like what?"

"Like 'Pumpkin Peter'."

6) Toddlers not recognizing me anymore and crying when I held them.

7) "It looks like you shaved your hair."

I said: "I cut it, actually."

"That's what I thought you did."


Basically, most of the time kids would hear my voice, talk to me while facing away, turn to face me, then stop talking. Their eyes would glare, mouths open. They'd cock their heads, smile, and not say anything, forgetting what they had to say.

To their credit, it is a pretty drastic change, though. Parents didn't recognize me, either.

Thanks Ashleigh!

Beastie Boys -- "Pass the Mic"

Screamtown

It doesn't feel like fall. It doesn't feel like Halloween. My favorite time of the year. Even after forcing it down your throat, it still doesn't feel like it. But I'll take it. Lord knows I'll take anything Halloween straight up!

Last night it was Screamtown, a newer Halloween destination in Chaska, MN. I visited Screamtown two years ago, their first year, when it was across the street from Canterbury, and it was pretty lame. This year, they've upped the anty with their new location. They sport five haunted houses.

1) Klown House: a dizzying romp through orange fences filled with deranged killer clowns. Fun, but not the greatest.

2) Terror in the Corn: a muddy trail in the corn. You go through sheds, up hills, through scarecrow gatherings. A group of faceless burlap sack people made clicking sounds in my face, a couple doing a low growl, reminding me of the crab zombies in Half Life 2, near bloodied scarecrows. Terrifying, actually. This was fun.

3) Rabid Alley: Basically a pitch black number of shacks, where you can't see anything. I bonked my head three times and got lost once. The Dark Knight soundtrack plays along with two other creepy animal soundtracks. It actually makes for a pretty good mindfuck. People hiss at you throughout, screaming at you in monkey squeals. Again, a mindfuck. Not a lot of haunted houses do mindfuck.

4) Oak Blood Forest: Another outside adventure. It's actually more beautiful than it is scary. Lights shine throughout the woods, making for really creepy images. You see silhouettes ahead outlined in green in front of a cemetery. People with chainsaws chase you. Interesting and campy.****

5) Hillbilly Hotel: The best haunted house of the park, if not one of the cooler haunted houses I've been to in the last couple years. It sports a number of different elements: first you travel into a trailer, a claustrophobic dark maze where buttons reside on the floor, waiting for you to step on them, emitting loud noises and weird gory scenes behind grilled booths. Very sideshowy. You get outside, and crazy hicks run around screaming and drawling. It makes for a crazy experience, since the schtick of hillbillies might be true. It creates a terrifying "it's possible" thought process in the back of your head as you go through the compound. Junkyards follow, then you enter another trailer, this one with more "hotel" paraphernalia. Low orange lighting, strange hotel rooms, hicks running around. Creepy. And awesome.

****A "monster" told us a story about the Oak Blood Forest attraction. The first year they opened in the new locale, they had the chainsaws in the northeast portion of the forest. Apparently, the closest neighbor, a widow, had a husband who died in a chainsaw accident, and she had been hearing chainsaws and screaming every weekend. She filed a complaint with the park, and of course they changed the position of the chainsaws. Jesus.

I highly recommend this to any Halloween nuts out there. But be prepared for mud. One of our cars got stuck in the parking lot, and I almost spun out and got stuck on the dirt road into the field. Your shoes will have layers of mud on them as well. The corn maze was quicksand. Look past this, don an air of campy good humor, and prepare to jump, and this might be the best thing you do all October.

Their website:
http://www.screamtown.com/

Marilyn Manson -- "Kiddie Grinder (Remix)"

Sole of a Man

Here's a conundrum (and a candidate for a Fuck My Life sentiment):

I have size 7 feet. It's never been too much of a problem in the past.

I went shoe shopping today. I went to two places. Both places didn't have shoes in Mens 7. So I asked around. Both stores told me the same thing:

"Yeah, Mens starts at 8. You could try Boys."

Me: "They have 7 in boys now?"

"No, they go up to 6."

So . . . huh? Are my feet destined to dwell inside Dutch Clogs the rest of my life?

Air -- "So Light is Her Footfall"

Gaugen Cliffhanger

I've always liked the taste of metal.

I can't put my finger on it. There's a definite reaction within the mouth upon tongueing anything metal. As a kid, apparently held by the clutches of Freud's oral relapse, I would sneak tastes of the latch of my dog's leash. Spoons and cutlery, having been beaten slightly in a dishwasher, will give off this sensation as well. Along with smelling gasoline at the local pump, putting your mouth on metal was one of those special opportunities, something your parents couldn't get mad at you about. They didn't know.

At least I know that when I finally get around to shooting myself in the head tomorrow by way of wrapping my lips around a barrel, I'll know that I can go out with the subtle joy of metal on my tongue being the last thing I experience before painting the walls behind me.

Gomez -- "Airstream Driver"

The Sigh

The new chapter of my life begins today. Remnants of the last chapter echo throughout, felt by the emotions bleeding into the fresh air, like a delay pedal's feedback waning out slowly but surely. I've said goodbye to my best friends. The house is now completely foreign. Two months ago you would have never thought that it would be like this. My third roommate moves in today.

The most persistent feeling, though, deals with The Sigh. Whenever The Sigh is had, one of the most poignant moments of your life has just started. They usually come after feeling crappy about something, losing a job, friends, a death. For me, it usually pertains to breakups.

After I go through a breakup, I usually spend the next hour sulking, walking slowly, hunched over in the rain. A thought will enter my head, a positive one, at the same time a Sigh comes to my lungs. Both converge, and as The Sigh is emitted, a smile is left on my face. "Wait a minute . . . I'm free . . . I'm back on the market . . . I can do whatever I want! I'm OKAY!!!"

This tends to happen with relationships not lasting more than six months for me. If they've been more than that, The Sigh is miniscule and often unnoticed, since negativity and the new novel single life tend to be a little shocking.

I'm currently in a post-sigh mode. I was somewhat sulky this morning, having gone through what I can only call a breakup last night. What with casual dating, friends with benefits, becoming exclusive, staying single but exclusive . . . let's just say we've broken up. Since that's what I felt today. A decision was made on my part, she seemed to give it back mutually. This is golden Sigh material. A perfect brew.

Options to make the Sigh come unnaturally: get really hungry. Buy something you find particularly tasty and refreshing. For me, it's usually a sandwich with mayo and potato chips. Eat this when you're not too starved and shaking. Eat it while talking to someone. The conversation will most likely turn happy, and you will be left feeling a little hungry, still wanting more food. This makes me want to do things. I don't want to sit around and sulk, food coma getting the better of me.

There's always drinking. If you need a quick fix there's always the hard shot. But this leaves me depressed once it wears off a little. Wine. Wine it up. Get a bottle, drink it while working on something or while talking to a roommate. As you get a little lubed up, again, the conversation turns happy and things aren't so bad. The Sigh is just around the corner.

How NOT to make the Sigh come: don't listen to beautiful music. Even if it's happy and uplifting, if it's beautiful, you'll only think of shitty things. "She was beautiful, man", I'd think. "Her blonde hair is just like that flighty flute melody." Depressing music will get you in the dumps as well.

Don't watch movies. At all. Not even comedies. Same ordeal as above.

If you want to purposefully hold off The Sigh: write. Delve into it all. Get it all out and you might come out with some of the best work you've ever done. Then, since you're probably going to be in a funk, do the above activities for Sigh inducement.

Today: a ham and cheddar sandwich with mayo and chips did it. 3/4 into it, I emitted a loud sigh . . . and smiled.

The XX -- "Crystalised"