I have a few jalapeno foods to add to the list. I have tried all of these in the last few days:

Jalapeno Creamed Cheese- J, G, and I found a bagel shop in Manhattan that had crazy flavors of creamed cheese: chocolate chip and berry being the most unusual. As you might expect, there was no chance I was going with anything but jalapenos.

Jalapeno Calzones- Obviously, jalapenos are great on pizza, so equally obviously jalapenos go great in calzones.

D

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Hello world!

At Cowboys & Aliens right now. The movie literally just started, and A runs out of the movie. So I turned to C and said, "He went to throw up."

Bulimia jokes towards A are always funny. He gets so defensive. That's what you get for always throwing up.

Love from,
Daniel Craig is a bad ass!
B

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7 books. 7 days. 7 chances...

TO GET INTO POTTERMORE! I know what I'm going to be doing tomorrow for ten minutes! Which reminds me, can I use someone's laptop tomorrow?

Love from,
By the way, happy birthday Harry Potter!
Yes, I did just wish a fictional character happy birthday.
B

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Stuckintheseventies423 here, reporting to you LIVE on this quiet Friday night from my patio once again (too hot in my garage). I don’t know what it is about the cool night air (thank you rain, fuck you heat wave) but it always manages to conjure distant memories (probably because I’m alone). I guess I just like writing stories. Whether it’s a short story, a screenplay, poetry/lyrics, or even comics (been drawing again lately) my mind never stops thinking about the places I’ve been to, the people I’ve met, and the things I’ve seen. It’s funny to me how those experiences get incorporated into my writing but I feel like it gives me a chance to try and sort things out for myself, I suppose. Every so often, it’s nice to just come on here and tell an embarrassing story or to bitch about my job (sorry about that).

This brings me to the time where I officially quit drinking vodka. I was a senior in high school. Yeah, I’m quite the fuck up but sometimes to find your limit with alcohol you have to fuck up a few times. Now, I’d already been drinking for a few years so I wasn’t new to vodka. In fact, it always seemed like the easiest thing for people to get a hold of. So it was everywhere and I didn’t have a problem with that. That all changed one night when my parents went down to Atlantic City leaving the house in my hands (I’m surprised I haven’t accidentally burned the place down yet). I’d been having a rough year (I guess I’m still not over some things) and was looking to get wrecked. Well, I ended up getting wrecked! Wrecked as in R.E.K.D!

The night started off with two of my friends coming over (MP and MH). We sifted through the liquor cabinet where we discovered a full bottle of vodka (it was Smirnoff, ugh) and then we looked for something to mix it with. We only came up with orange juice and so the three of us started throwing back screwdrivers and a few delectable smokables like it was nobody’s business. We watched a number of horror movies that night including Wrong Turn (I don’t know why, but we couldn’t stop laughing) and the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. By the end of TCM, I was already nine screwdrivers deep (must’ve been trying to forget about something) and was no longer capable of walking straight lines (yet, I kept making more). The second the credits started rolling I looked at my two buddies and muttered, “Man, what a crazy movie…BLAAAAH!”

I yakked all over the coffee table as MP and MH literally jumped out of their seats (fuck, it was the scariest thing they saw all night). MH had his head in the right place and darted for the kitchen, grabbed the trashcan, and placed it in front of me where I continued to spit up my insides! Now, the trashcan we have is one of those kinds where you have to step on the little pedal for it to stay open. Well, MH forgot about this feature and he let go of the lid. The last thing I really remember before I started blacking out was the metal lid slamming shut on the back of my neck/head. After this, the rest of the night was a blur as I sat on the couch with my face buried in a trashcan. I faded in and out of consciousness, occasionally hearing bits and pieces of their conversation as they tried to figure out what to do with me. MP was insistent on leaving while MH wanted to hang around until I started to show signs of life again. And then everything went black…

I eventually woke up some time in the night all by myself (which is scary when you’re THAT shit faced) and the only thing that brought comfort to my mind was the fact that at least I was home. Of course, I still had a tremendous amount of puke to clean up (the downside to having long hair) and I only dealt with about half of the mess before I called it quits and went to bed. Feeling like I had flirted with alcohol poisoning that night, I made a solemn vow the next day that I would never drink vodka EVER AGAIN! I’ve made good on that promise and now I really only drink beer and whiskey. And because I “fucked up” I now have limits! Learn from your mistakes (though, there’re something’s I’ll never figure out).

So there you go. Deprecating myself for everyone’s reading pleasure. Everyone has a story like this (shit, most are even worse than mine).

That’s about it, I should really sleep more.

Till next time, let us rock in peace

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No, it's not a new laptop or printer. It is Harry Potter. B, T, D and I (meaning myself and not a new friend named I) went to the midnight showing of 7.2 two weeks ago. We saw people in costume, long lines, I laughed and B cried. Now since HP is now over I thought what better way to keep it in our minds with a couple of funny comics. Enjoy.

Oh, Hermione, my infatuation of you will never be explained.

R

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I can openly admit that cops are not y favorite people. Is it clear now that most cops only become cops because they have an unresolved Napoleon complex. Specifically, they gravitate towards the law not to protect the people, as they promise, but to enforce their broken psyche on the same people they claim to protect. If anyone, at any place has been harangued by cops, please tell someone and ask them to do something about it. Clearly there are no checks and balances when it comes to the law enforcement in this country. If I wanted to live in a state of emergency, I'd live in Syria, but in America, cops need to show stronger senses of caution and understanding. I mean the guy who was tased in this video suffered from schizophrenia and was homeless. This just reminds me that life is a clusterfuck of people and to remain indoors at all times.

Annoyed and Baffled,

Char

P.S. If you are a competent cop, I'm sorry you've been tainted with the same brush as other ignorant and savage cops.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ljYNgLnpxM&feature=player_embedded#at=72

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Lately, I've been reading a lot of WWII biographies on the Nazi's. Not because I'm a Nazi sympathizer, but because I think there's a lot to learn from their regime and control over an entire nation. Today, I cam across an excellent quote that should be examined and applied to today's culture,

"Naturally, the common people don't want war, but after all is is the leaders of a country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag [people] along whether it is a democracy or fascist dictatorship. Voice of no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of their leaders. This is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger."

Herman Georing, Reich-Marshall to Hitler

The main purpose for writing about this is for you, the reader, to start questioning the accepted norms and values others have placed on us. Please don't take this as a spark for anarchy. Pursue your convictions and passions and challenge the hypocrisies and double standards.

Thanks,

Char

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Ants! Last night, after sitting on my patio for a few hours more than I usually do, I came inside and made myself a delicious pulled pork sandwich (not important to the story, but it was soooo good). I sat down on my couch and feasted in front of my computer as I worked on this new idea I've been tossing around in my head for the past few weeks (I think the world is ready for another cartoon rock band) when I was joined by my faithful animal companion, Mr. Kitty (it's a girl, she's horribly gender confused). She sat on the table for a while before running off into the kitchen (I assumed that watching me eat made her hungry and that she was heading for her food dish). When I didn't hear any loud crunching sounds, I figured something was wrong.

I leaned over slightly and noticed that Mr. Kitty was laying in front of her food dish as she rolled around restlessly. I got up and walked over to where she was and knelt down. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that a line of ants were making their way from a crack in the floor molding and were swarming her food dish. Her turf had been invaded! I grabbed a tissue and disrupted the chain, which sent the ants scattering in all directions. Mr. Kitty (not as dumb as she comes off) realized what I was trying to do and it wasn't long before she joined in on the fray! She pounced on the nearest ant, smashing it with her paws before lapping up the next few with her tongue (she takes no prisoners, neither do I)! It wasn't long before we both circled around and came face to face once again, with every ant having been smashed or eaten by Mr. Kitty. I cleaned out her food dish (where there were some stragglers) and gave her some clean food. Mr. Kitty sat up and looked at me, blinking her eyes several times (I've read that this is a subtle form of communication for cats) so I blinked back and patted her on the head before she went back to her bowl of crunchy food.

This morning I checked her dish again and no ants were found after the previous nights massacre! Be afraid ants! Be very fucking afraid!

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From http://jalopnik.com/5825657/vote-batman-for-city-council:

Vote Batman for City Council

Exhausted after years of attempting to fight crime and corruption through extralegal means, Batman's running for City Council in Tulsa, Okla. It's an unlikely journey for Mike Batman, who went from Syrian immigrant to dishwasher to car salesman to, hopefully, elected official.

Most mythologies place the Dark Knight as the son of wealthy elites in Gotham, but the reality is Batman started out as a school teacher in Damascus, Syria, before moving to Tulsa in 1983. His first job was working part-time at a Church's Fried Chicken for $3.35 a week, at least according to hisextremely sincere website.

Ever the upwardly mobile creature (the grappling hooks help), Batman worked his way up to a steak house where he worked as a busboy and dishwasher, while keeping his job at the fried chicken establishment. He didn't have a single day off for five years because Batman never sleeps.

He'd go on to open up a few businesses in the Tulsa area before settling on a car lot he callsBatman's Auto Sales. Now he's running for City Council in Tulsa as a Democrat and hasmade it past a primary into the general election.

He's also a huge giver, as the video above shows. He donated all of his gasoline profits at a station he owned to the Salvation Army for a month.

His pillars for success are simple:

1. Marry the right person. This one decision will determine 75% of your happiness or misery.

2. Work at something you enjoy and that's worth of your time and talent.

3. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.

4. Become the most positive and enthusiastic person you know.

5. Be forgiving of yourself and others.

6. Be Generous.

7. Have a grateful heart.

8. Persistence – Persistence – Persistence.

9. Discipline yourself to save money on even the most modest salary!

Despite his funny name, Batman is serious about his work. Even if people have been vandalizing his signs.

Don't be a joker, vote Batman!

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They're online I guess.

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So this morning I decided to take a trip up north to Fords, New Jersey in search of one of the greatest music stores I've ever personally been to. For the record (get it... ugh), I love vinyl! Not the bondage kind of vinyl (you sickos) but vinyl records (you know, those big black discs that people used to listen to music on). Now, before you even work up the nerve to call me a "hipster" I want to point out that I've been listening to my parents record collection (The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix) since I was about seven or eight. Are you going to call a seven year old a hipster? It's a way of a life!

Unfortunately, vinyl has a had a serious falling out with the majority of music fans ever since the advent of CD's and digital downloads. I'm still fine with CD's but I will never get into downloading music. Sure, the convenience of staying at home with the couch growing out of the back of your head is nice but there's something so... hollow about it. There's no hard copy of it, no inside sleeve, no artwork, no liner notes, no nothing! And sure the sound quality of CD's is far superior but it's missing that special warm sound that can only be produced on vinyl (snap, crackle, and pop). Plus using a turntable is just so much damn fun (it takes a keen eye and a steady hand to pick the song you want to hear)!

Thankfully, this great state of New Jersey has a number of amazing places for all the vinyl freaks and geeks to get their fill. There's Vintage Vinyl in Fords, New Jersey, there's Jack's Music Shoppe in Red Bank, and there's the Princeton Record Exchange in Princeton (go figure). Today, I'll be doing a quick review for Vintage Vinyl and Jack's Music Shoppe (because I've never been to Princeton Record Exchange but I will one day).

I'll start with Jack's in Red Bank. Can you say "overpriced?" Good lord, Jack's is an expensive place! First off, CD's and DVD's are worth about twice what they'd normally be worth anywhere else (let's say Best Buy). Second off, their selection is pretty mediocre. It's no surprise if I walk in and then walk out empty handed. Third, the way they "display" their vinyls by keeping them in boxes and crates UNDERNEATH the CD selections. I feel like they're trying to give me scoliosis. The only way to sift through them is to drag one of the boxes out into the aisle and then avoid getting tripped over by other shoppers. Lastly, the people aren't very helpful (I'll leave it at that because I'm not trying to make this personal). Jack's is good to visit if you happen to be in Red Bank but they need to drop their prices and dedicate an actual section to vinyl as opposed to just throwing them in boxes on the floor (looks like my attic). Jack's gets a big old boo from me!

Which brings me to Vintage Vinyl located in Fords, New Jersey. At the moment, this has to be my favorite place to go when it comes to shopping for music. It's only a short drive north on the Garden State Parkway (low tide today, stanky) and the store itself is located in a small plaza right in front of an electrical sub-station (not the best location) so it's pretty easy to miss if it's your first time going there. But once you're inside, you realize immediately that you've just hit the mother load! Wall to wall CD's and vinyl records, their selection is borderline limitless! Everything is pretty fairly priced (from new to used) and I usually walk out a very happy man each time. The people their are also much more helpful and will usually leave you alone as you browse through the incredible display (I could've sworn the girl at the register was shorter when I walked in. Maybe she has a box back there to stand on). They even have a small stage for mini-concerts and guest appearances. There's also a hookah lounge right next door as well as a White Castle (which I had today) and a Sonic Drive-In just down the street!

So, if you're a music fan and you're looking for some record stores to check out then these are some great places to start. One day I'll have to check out the Princeton Record Exchange because I've heard nothing but good things. Remember folks, these are only the opinions of one overly eccentric vinyl fan. Long live vinyl records!

Till next time, let us rock in peace

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Hello world!

Thursday's are the worst days of the week. At least they are when you work the closing shift at the Greek restaurant I work at, because Thursday nights are Greek Night. Which means full waiting service, live Greek music, BYOB, and the place will stay open as long as people are still here. So I have come up with a list of rules for myself, and my fellow employees.

1) Do nothing. I mean it, before your shift, do absolutely nothing. Store up your energy for as long as possible. You'll be grateful later when it's ten o'clock at night and you still have enough energy to get you through this living nightmare of a night.

2) Be prepared. Take a shower an hour before work, because once you get to work, you'll enjoy the memory of that precious hour where you felt clean and didn't smell of gyro meat. Also, don't bother doing your hair or putting on make up. Your hair is just going to go up in a ponytail anyways. Plus its like a hundred degrees inside the restaurant, any makeup you're going to put on is just going to melt off in the first fifteen minutes of work. Also, you might want to think about wearing that nice diamond ring your mom gave you. That way when the old drunk men start telling you you're pretty (apparently they don't mind your messy hair and lack of makeup), you can switch that ring onto your left hand and say, "thank you! My fiancé thinks so too.".... Trust me, it works.

3)Enjoy the drive. Enjoy that last fifteen minutes of freedom as you drive to work. Enjoy a cigarette, or two. Listen to music that will make you happy. Honk and swear at people if you want, because you're going to have to be nice to drunk assholes for the next five plus hours.

4)Be THAT person. Be the over-achiever who gets things done fast and efficiently. Bonus points if you do things like restocking without being asked. Also, it never hurts to carry around a few pennies in your pockets. Especially since you don't want to disappoint your boss's adorable three year old son, who's favorite pastime is throwing pennies into the fountain of Neptune in the corner of the restaurant. Why do all this? Because when it comes time for the boss to decide who gets to go home early, and who gets to stay until close (which can sometimes be as late as two in the morning), who do you think he is going to choose? The person who worked above and beyond what they were supposed to? Or the person who did barely what's asked? I'll tell you who, the person who works their ass off. Which is me, every freaking week.

I like getting off work at nine o'clock.

Love from,
It's also a good idea to keep perfume or febreeze in the car, so you can spray away the smell of gyros after work.
B

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Hello world!

Today I'm spending some time outside under my trees, listening to music. So I've decided to post my summer playlist. Of course, my choice of favorite music tends to fluctuate by the hour... Anyways, my playlist (warning: it is very eclectic).













Love from,
I did all this on my iPhone with a broken screen.
B

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An old favorite of mine.

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Versatility is a word, and therefore it has a meaning. Meanings come in all shapes in sizes. You can have more words or maybe ideas, images, or even fruit. If I had to define versatility by a fruit*, I would select the jalapeno (or as the Spanish/Wikipedia call it the "xalaˈpeɲo"). Yes, I took a very roundabout way and probably wasted a lot of your time to get here. The point is that I love jalapenos.

*According to Wikipedia, jalapenos are fruits. You would think I would know whether my favorite food was a vegetable or fruit.*

If jalapenos played in the NFL, they would play for the New England Patriots (who incidentally just traded for Albert Haynesworth- crazy...). If Bill Belichick loves versatility as much as he claims, he would have jalapenos playing every position on the field. Although I apologize to J and C for even bringing up the Patriots on their blog, I refuse to turn my back on jalapenos. They have always been there for me. There was the time I only had 2 slices of turkey, honey dijon mustard, and a loaf of 7 grain bread: not a travesty-type sandwich but certainly not the holy grail (thats 2 HG references in a few days- Spielberg and Lucas, you owe us some money). Fortunately, I searched through the fridge and found an unopened jar of jalapenos that my mom was obviously trying to hide (she is afraid of all things spicy and many things that she thinks are spicy but really aren't) . I snagged a dozen or so jalapeno slices and covered every last centimeter of turkey: A Delicious Sandwich Was Born (I want to make this very clear- sandwiches are born, not made).

I'd like to think the story I just told has a greater meaning. Did it actually happen? Who knows these things? Well, I do I guess, but more importantly you don't. Morer importantly, the moral of the story is that jalapenos make everything better, and I mean everything. Morest importantly, jalapenos are good in any food. A few months ago, Tk, B, and I came up with a list of crazy foods with jalapenos, and at minimum we all agreed that we would at least try all of them. Most of them sounded delicious. Unfortunately, I didn't keep the list (but knowing B she has it- she finds a way to record everything). This is my attempt to recreate that list, going from the mundane to the insane:

1) Omelettes- This is an obvious one. Jalapenos blend right into the cheese and and provide an explosion of spicy goodness.

2) Chips- Please see Lays Kettle Cooked Jalapeno chips. Just fantastic.

3) Pizza- Another obvious one.

4) Ice Cream- Although this might not be for everybody, there is no doubt in my mind that I would love jalapeno ice cream.

5) Yogurt- see Ice Cream

6) Pancakes- Since pancakes are in my top 3 favorite foods, adding jalapenos would probably give me another round of seizures, but it would be oh so worth it.

7) Breakfast Cereal- I would love some jalapenos with my cheerios. Imagine Cinnamon Toast Crunch with some extra zest. I do all the time.

8) Chocolate- They only serve chocolate covered jalapenos in heaven. Unfortunately, since I'm Jewish, I may never have the chance to try one. If you find one, please try it for me.

9) Oatmeal- I know oatmeal is kind of like breakfast cereal, but I think it deserves its own spot. I've had oatmeal the last few days before work, and I really regret not dropping in some j's.

10) Indian Food- I feel like indian food and jalapenos were born to mixed together. They could be the new spaghetti and meatballs.

11) Falafel- For those of you who haven't tried falafel before, you shouldn't. The less for you is the more for me.

12) Cheesecake- The Cheesecake Factory has like 100 different flavors of cheesecake. How do none of them have jalapenos?

13) Hummus- I have it in my fridge at my as we speak. That will not longer be the case after dinner.

There you have it, your lucky 13 delicious jalapeno options. Like I said before, I'm sure B has the longer list somewhere. Maybe she'll be nice enough to share.

D

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Hello world!

A few days ago a serious crime was committed! Someone tossed a shit ton of paper on my block, and half of it ended up in my yard. If I ever find the bastard who did this, I'll kick their ass! It's paper terrorism! I swear!

Love from,
This is why I hate people.
B

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After reading Char's post last night, I was inspired to go out and find my voice. Before reading his detailed instructions for becoming a better writer, computer programmer, and metaphysical philosopher, I thought I had my voice. After all, I have been speaking for years (almost as long as I can remember). All my experiences suggested to me that my voice was strong yet slightly nasally. Sometimes clever, but sometimes brutally annoying. However, I found out last night that my voice and I don't have a very strong relationship. How could we? Here I was thinking that my voice reflected my simple thoughts and feelings when it turns out that refined voices harangue in complex language and dedicated usage of words that college professors must be taught before they get tenure. I never knew that was what my voice really sounded like or should sound like. Fortunately, Char provided some awesome instructions for eruditizing my voice, so I made it my goal this morning to finally find my voice. I figured it would only take 30 min (the time it takes me to walk from the bus stop to my office- also the amount of time I have to write this post) since it only took Char 30 min to write his instructions (and not a second more).

Char's list of options was pretty lengthy, so I figured I'd start from the beginning: writing. Unfortunately, writing while you're walking is pretty tough, so I had to improvise. Luckily, one of his other techniques was to work on externalizing your inner monologue. I decided the best way to start seeing some progress was to monologue externally while writing the words on an imaginary piece of paper in front of me as I walked through midtown Manhattan. So there I was walking and writing and speaking and erasing (I don't like spelling errors). I wrote (and spoke) about my thoughts on god, politics, sandwiches, Oreos (thats right, Oreos gets capitalized but god doesn't), etc. I could tell I was making some kind of progress because other people could definitely hear my voice. People were looking deep into my eyes, which I can only assume was because they were riveted by my explanations about why chunky peanut butter is superior to creamy and what deli meats go best with jalapeno havarti cheese. I could sense that the people around me would look back at me as they walked past, not wanting to miss the brilliant monologue that had just passed them. I'd like to think that I inspired people today. By the time I got to my office, there was no doubt in my mind that I was about to finally find my voice. Although it may take some time, I feel like if I keep doing what I did today, I'll get there in no time.

D

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Dandy was the Yankees mascot from 1978 to 1981. Unfortunately, he was erased from history and existence as soon as the Yankees realized their mascot was a giant bird with a Yosemite Sam mustache.

D

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Hello world!

So I planned on writing about warped tour and the trip to the daily show... But apparently my grandfather discovered that I found the place where he was hiding his laptop. Mine's currently possessed by the devil, and I've been secretly using his when I can. My grandpa isn't the sharing kind... I think that might be a genetic trait. Anyways, maybe I can find a computer to use... Maybe I should ask my magic eight ball?

Its not a real magic eight ball, although I wish I had one. What I do have is a magic eight ball app on my iPhone. I have found that it comes in handy usually when I'm bored. Sometimes though, I like to pretend that it actually knows what's going to happen in the future. So I'll ask it silly questions like "am I going to have a good day today?" I asked it that question the day I went to Warped Tour, and it was right. Although, it was a little fuzzy on the details.

I ask it questions all the time. Even though I know it's just a toy, sometimes I wish it's answers were actually correct. That the silly things I ask it receive legitament answers. Unfortunately, no one can actually tell us the future.

Life, much like my fake magic eight ball, is really just a game of chance.

Love from,
I'm still kind of hoping that my fake magic eight ball is right about some things though.
B

P.S. Writing posts on my iPhone is kind of a pain in the ass...

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Always make sure someone's got your back, especially when you're doing salvia!

Don't go towards the light, man!

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We are writers, musician, programmers, builders and creators of anything and everything. But we are not truly expressing ourselves, and speaking the truth, until we’ve found our voice: the tone, tenor, pitch, style, personality we use to express ourselves.

Our voice is the very essence we display to the world. Find our voice and ultimately ourselves is difficult. Others have asked how I found my voice, however, there is no easy answer to that – I’m not even sure I can say I’ve found I’ve found my voice yet. It’s a never-ending quest – not a Grail quest.

But I feel I’ve found something that has the texture of truth, even if only a tactile approximation. I’ll share some of my thoughts, but keep in mind I don’t hold the answers firmly at all.

I’m learning, and I hope my learning benefits yours. This is written for writers, but should not be limited to creators.

Write a lot. This is almost all I need to say, as nothing else matters without the practice of writing a lot. Write blog posts, letters, booklets, diatribes (my personal favorites), letters to the editor, book reviews, love poems, short stories, novellas, and manifestos. The sheer mass of your writing becomes the raw matter from which your voice will emerge.

Experiment with the bizarre. Rip off the greats, and the goods as well. This does not mean plagiarize, rather, take your favorite creators and emulate their voice. Eventually, your voice will echo your idol’s essence.

Start Talking to Yourself. My writing voice is really the voice in my head. It’s not how I talk aloud, but how I talk to myself. In the noisy cavern of my skull, I listen to myself talk and that’s the voice I try to write down.

Getting that voice from your head to paper – that’s the trick. It’s by far the most difficult impediment, but again, do it often enough, and you’ll get proficient at it. It’s a rewiring of the synapses, so that your thoughts shoot down from fingertips and arise as typing motions, as bits and pixels. Most people don’t do hear themselves clearly enough to be accomplished at transferring their thoughts to paper, and thus, there is low fidelity.

Truth is Beauty and Beauty is Truth. I write a lot, and most of it is (and will be) bullshit. You need this bullshit if you want to find the truth. Sort though this shit until you recognize the truth you want to express. This truth should be a personal revelation. Many writers judge their writing from logical and predetermined standards.

Find Clarity. Good writing, as I understand it, is clear thinking. If your thoughts are muddled, your writing will reflect this. I would recommend a self-taught course on logic. However, I’ve found from writing a ton of papers, it’s a matter of simplifying your thoughts. Practice removing extraneous ideas and words. Consequently, this will leave you with a simple thought.

Remove the Noise. It’s a process of subtraction more than addition. Most people end up with too many words, because they never subtract. The noise gets in the way of your voice, so pare it down, trimming the noise from the bush until you’re left with the truth. To this day, I still need to write down everything in my head and then later remove the fat. My composition professor, Mrs. Hayes, once told me, “A well written paper is never finished, its continuously being edited,” after you write, edit, and remove the noise.

Most people also have too much noise in their lives to hear their own thinking. Too much is going on around them, online, and they have no time for solitude. You can’t hear your thoughts, your voice, without solitude. Removing the noise in your life is an integral key to finding your voice.

The Voice is Strong with You. You don’t embark on a quest for your voice for the sake of beauty – a noble pursuit. Its not enough to say “Hey I found my voice, I think I’ll take up knitting,” you must use your voice. Use it to express yourself, help others, and to change the world.

Reasons why I write:

Simplicity, in a world that needlessly complicated situations

Minimalism, to stem the tide of consumerism

Anarchism, in a world increasingly totalitarian, especially in the growing private sector

Deprogramming, to challenge accepted wisdom

How will you use your voice?

Best,

Char

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The last few days I've tried writing before bed, but unfortunately I always feel too tired. For some reason, I have a much harder time writing at home than I do at work. I wish I had a good reason for it. Actually I do. It's just that I'm at work, and the only thing worse than posting at work is explaining why you are posting at work. In hindsight, that doesn't make any sense.

In better news, I went to Church last week. Growing up, I had a partially explicable discomfort with churches. As R mentioned in his beautiful bacon bonanza, I am Jewish. And I'm not just any ordinary Jew. I'm one of those Jews who doesn't eat bacon or go to Church (should Church be capitalized?) Additionally, I don't eat shellfish, pork, eggplant, shrimp, gefilte fish, spare ribs, ham, key lime pie, or muscles. Some of those are un-kosher. Some of them aren't. Some of them are in fact the same thing. Some of them aren't. Some of them don't have anything to do with being Jewish at all. You can figure them out on your own time. The point is I'm not a very good Christian (probably for good reason), and I think it stems from my now completely inexplicable fear of churches. Jesus and I just don't get along. He always seems uncomfortable, limp, anguished... like he's being propped up or something (I apologize to everybody I just offended. Please don't come after me).

Forgive me, but I'm just a little uncomfortable with seeing the Christian messiah on every wall and balcony. He is responsible for all the Jewish jokes and crap that I've long since accepted as being my role in whatever group that I'm apart of (some might say that if Jesus is really responsible, then Jews are really really responsible). But you know what? I'd like to think that Jesus and I are friends. C and I are friends, but I wouldn't want to see him on every wall and balcony... Okay, maybe that's a bad example. The point is I have no problem with the J-Man. He seems like a good enough guy. It's not his fault that his followers don't always follow through with what I've heard Jesus is all about. I wish Jesus the best, and if it turns out that I'm wrong, I'll apologize. Maybe he'll forgive me, maybe he won't. If he does, no harm/no foul. If he doesn't, well, it's not like I didn't know I was going to Hell. I'll bring a deck of cards.

I kinda got off topic with the whole Jesus thing, but it definitely relates to my feelings on Churches in general. My impressions of Church are based on only a few experiences, but I feel like they're pretty accurate. After all, Christians aren't that hard to figure out: It's bacon 1st and Jesus 2nd. Everybody at Church is so quiet, as if all the Jesuses are watching and will publicly humiliate you if making any sound at all. Everybody is at the same time stiff, uncomfortable, and focused, what I like to call "Faith & Boredom." Although I just made it up, it sounds like something that I spent years researching. If that were true, I could tell you that 65% of Church goers believe in god, choose to go to church, but regret that decision 5 minutes into the service. Thank god for the end of NFL Lockout. At least those who suffer from F&B can hide from Jesus from September through January (On a side note: Do you really think Jesus goes to Church in the winter? If America is god's favorite country and football is America's favorite sport, doesn't that mean that Jesus tailgates every sunday?). From what I understand, sleeping at Church is frowned upon. At temple, sleeping is mandatory (in the sense that 3 hours of Hebrew puts everybody to sleep). I imagine not being able to sleep makes it hard for the F&B crowd to dream about the beginning of the NFL season.

Since I know nothing about the New Testament, I'm going to stay away from the actual meaning of the service. Similarly, I don't know Hebrew, so I'm ignorant about my own religion too (however, my Old Testament is pretty solid). The biggest different between Church and Temple is that at Temple, everybody is talking. I don't mean to say that there are loud conversations. Everybody at least makes an effort to be quiet, but by no means are people willing to sacrifice sports or gossip for the guy chanting in some ancient language into a microphone. Even when the Rabbi asks people to be quiet, people will be quiet for a few min and then start talking again. Whereas Church to me seems to be an individual experience, Temple is a team effort. If you haven't talked to 10 different people before refreshments are served, then you have let God down. God is very old and can't hear very well. We all need to yell together so that he can use his Human-to-God dictionary to translate what we're saying. That's why he loved animal sacrifices. God's sense of smell is top notch.

Finally, at temple you can look all-around the room without seeing any partially naked statues. When you're talking trying to sleep at temple (or church), the last thing you want to see is a naked guy out of the corner of your eye.

D

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I realized another reason why Shaun T. is the man...

9) He is a family man. Shaun T. makes me feel like part of the family. It's not just me working. It's not just him working. It's not just them working. We are all working together. I don't want to disappoint my family, so I work as I hard as I can. Thank you Shaun T. for making me part of your family.

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You can't actually see her, but she's there. I promise.

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I’m going to tell you all tonight about the one good thing that I’ve taken from the abusive hellhole I call a job. The people I work with. Granted, there are a few exceptions (many, as a matter of fact) but for the most part I work with plenty of decent hard working people. That’s the great thing about having worked at one place for so long, you get to know everyone and everyone gets to know you. Over the years, we’ve all had our fun together. From the smoke outs on the ninth hole after the day is done or the infamous summer of 2008 (some serious shit happened, we were all really drunk), we’ve had tons of good times over the years. Beyond the circle that is mostly represented on this blog, I have another group of people that I would do anything for and I know that they’d always get me back because that is the mark of true friendship. This is my tribute to them.

In particular, my buddy JS (aka, Jimbo). When I started out five years ago, JS was a long time bus boy that was working his way up to server and he was the one who showed me the ropes on my first day. Sure enough, he got his promotion and I continued on for about two years as a busser where I earned a reputation for working my ass off and helping everyone out, regardless of their department. JS was like the older brother I never had (he’s actually the same age as my real older brother) and it wasn’t unusual if I found myself coming to JS seeking advice or guidance. If there’s anything I’ll take away from knowing Jimbo, it’s how to be the fucking man. He’s an honest straight shooter who works his ass off to help support his family (kind of a sad story) all the while enjoying the simple pleasures of life with his buddies (much like I do). Though, my friends all went away to college and I was left with a really big void to fill for most of each year (many mistakes were made, I can’t help it).

This leads us to the summer of 2008, where the level of staff debauchery hit an all time high (and low). At the time (being “the kid” and all) I wasn’t really spending a whole lot of time with the people I worked with until one night at work when JS asked me if I wanted to hang out with his friends in his tree house. Hell, it was something to do and better than I’d been doing at the time (fucking Brookdale). So I went over to JS’s place and gave him a call when I arrived. He told me to walk around the back of the house and to head straight out into the woods but to look for a small foot bridge before the tree line. A bridge? You know when you have to cross a bridge to get somewhere that it’s going to be a good time. I found the bridge, which crosses over a tiny creek, and walked into the trees while following the dim glow of a fluorescent light hanging in the darkened tree tops ahead of me. Eventually, I heard voices as I came to a clearing in the woods and stared up at the tree house.

Honestly, it’s not much of a “house.” More like a big board of wood wedged between four evenly spaced trees with a couple of ropes around it to keep people from falling off the side. It’s basically a boxing ring suspended twenty feet in the air. There used to be a fireman’s pole that could quickly take you to ground level but that broke on JS and he fell twenty feet to the ground. Surprisingly, he got up completely uninjured. Anyway, to get up there you have to climb a twenty foot ladder which creaks precariously with each step. Regardless, once you got to the top nothing but good times were had by all. Jimbo’s high school friends and a good majority of the staff from work would be crammed into this tiny tree house just getting hammered and making some stupidly funny memories.

Like when the pulley-system carrying a cooler of beer failed and the whole thing dropped about fifteen feet to the ground or when JS’s friend through a beer into the woods and hit his ex-girlfriend in the leg with an empty beer bottle some thirty feet away (at night). Or maybe even the time we had to hide some “stuff” because his dad was coming out to have a beer and hang out with us, only for him to pull out a guitar and play some Leslie West songs. We had a streak going where we had hung out in the tree house twelve nights in a row and on night thirteen (of all fucking numbers) one of our co-workers (who were driving JS back from the bar) got pulled over and got a D.U.I. Meanwhile, I was alone in the tree house waiting for them to show up when I finally got “the” call (it’s a scary call to get). Or maybe even the time that C and J dominated the table in beer pong underneath the three house. It was never a dull moment.

Now, there’s a fire pit below the tree house and it makes a great trade off during the winter time. Again, stupidity ensued when we poured an entire can of lighter fluid and threw some straight up gasoline on top for good measure (from what I recall, we didn’t have a lot of wood to burn) and yours truly set the entire pit ablaze. I tossed a match at what I believed was a safe distance but the whole pit literally exploded (like, went BANG) and to this day I’m still surprised that I wasn’t engulfed in fire (and that I still have eyebrows). That reminds me of when someone dropped a full beer into the pit (which was hotter than hell) and we decided to leave it there. Anyway, our old floor manager shows up and sits right where the bottle had fallen. All of a sudden, a fountain of boiling hot Miller Lite shoots out from the flames and all over her leg! Luckily, she was wearing long pants so she didn’t get burned that badly and afterwards she was able to laugh about it (again, we were all really drunk).

The bottom line is, these memories are another reminder that I’ve met some great people over the years. Beyond my buddy JS, there’s a small close knit circle of people there that I’ve known since the beginning. They trust me and I trust them. Some people there are really shitty, on the other hand, and they’ll try to fuck other people over or blame someone else for their wrong doings because they have no sense of responsibility. No honor. It’s because of this kind of behavior that we’re doing so poorly as well. Besides a lot of other contributing factors, now we can’t even get along? Grow up fuckers (seriously, I work around adults for the most part). It’s the younger employees like myself, Jimbo, Surfer Tom, Dave-O, Kaytizzle that have really kept the place on a somewhat stable pair of legs (until we drink together). The rest is filled with nothing but backstabbers and phonies (go figure, it’s a country club). Same goes for management (which is sad) and it especially sucks because they’re the only ones with guaranteed jobs after this shit closes down in a few months.

So now it’s pretty much game over and the one thing I’m really hoping for is that we all remain in touch. I don’t expect to see them every day (we’ve already done five years of that) but at least a few times a month. I might have to talk to JS and try to instigate a few more tree house parties before the year is over. I might show up with a few more guests than last time! It’s all good when you’re chilling in a boxing ring suspended in the treetops! Going to the bathroom is a bitch, though. You have to go on the other side of the ropes and then there really isn’t a whole lot of floor left (plus you run the risk of losing your seat). So far, no one has even fallen out of the tree house and we intend to keep it that way!

I write a lot of really long posts, sorry for taking up so much of your time!

Till next time, let us rock in peace

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Hello world!

I would like to take a second to mentally high-five my friend T for joining our ranks on the blog... I'm also a little terrified of what you might write... I feel like your blog posts should have a warning label at the beginning...

I have a few stories to post on the blog. Hopefully, I can post about my day at warped tour, as well as our group venture to see The Daily Show, tomorrow.

So keep checking back in with us to see what ridiculous antics we've been up to.

Love from,
I don't even have the energy to change into pajamas...
B

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You can tell by the color of his skin

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If any of you are checking out Warped Tour at Monmouth park raceway today, go check out J's band The Jolly Rotten Skeletons on the jersey stage. It's at one, so you had better make you're way over to it quick!

B

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Sometimes you've got to improvise...

B

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First of, thank you for the introduction, B. Recently our group has gotten into the discussion of bacon. Due to the popularity of our resident chefs watching Epic Meal Time, our interest and conversations based on bacon have skyrocketed. We have discussed ways to implement bacon in creative ways in our everyday life (eating mostly). However, as those following this blog know that one of our friends (D) is Jewish. Whenever we talk about bacon he is confused and lost in the conversation. Just like telling a person with a peanut allergy how good Reese's are, he just doesn't get it. Therefore I feel it my duty to inform him and all others of...

R

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