Daily Archives: July 18, 2013

5 Things I wanted when I was a teenager that I’m glad my Dad nixed

At 14 its hard to get a good hair cut and try to make braces look cool (they will never be), let alone make the determination of what is ACTUALLY cool and what is just a fleeting trend. Below are 5 things that, in retrospect, I’m really glad that my dad told me “No. Freak.” Oh and it’s his birthday, so happy 52nd, Pops.

JNCOs

They say “Timing is everything.” Never has this been truer than quick burning flame of popularity that was JNCO…and maybe that time for about 6 months when people thought Orgy was a talented band. JNCO took piped jeans (and jorts) to the next level. Middle school is a confusing time, and if it weren’t for my dad, it would have been even more confusing if I wore these for day.

A Star Tattoo

(Disclaimer: If you have a star tattoo, this is not dig on you….OK yeah it is).

I blame it on my obsession with the music of Blink-182 and New Found Glory and my still mushy, malleable brain, but I would draw a star on my hand or arm with a Sharpie every day. I swore it would be a decision I’d never regret…..and so did the people with Tribal Arm Band tatts on their bicep.  Thank you dad.

A Ball Chain Necklace

I have no clue what the appeal of these things were. Maybe I thought it would go well with my punk rocker image and JNCOs I’d never get. Either way, it seemed that as these grew in popularity, “bigger is better” became the motto (Dusty will debate that this is always the case). In any case, as it turns out, never was definitely better.

A Chain Wallet

The look seemed so “biker” and bad ass. In theory it’s a great idea since it would be really tough for someone to pick-pocket you. I really needed a chain on my wallet to protect the 20 dollars, $2 dollar bill gift from Grandma and picture of my high school girlfriend from being jacked at the lunch table.

Frosted Tips

Never mind….that actually happened.

Iced tips for days,

tc

Advertisements

My Diahry: I Can’t Even Put A Title On This Because It Ended Up Being About Nothing. Screw It! We’ll Call This Post “The Space Between”


What follows is something that happens to bloggers from time to time. You start writing on a topic, and pretty soon you’re simply exploring your own thoughts. No one cares, but it’s out there now. A public diary of your brain taking a shit. Mental diarrhea. A diarhy.

Someone once told me that you never truly know someone until they do the thing that you never thought they would do, the thing you never expected they were capable of.

Sad. True?

The infinite space inside our 8-inch skulls is a no man’s land to all save ourselves. Ask me a question and get an answer of my choosing. And yet, please ask me the question. I need you to.

I’ve long believed that knowing yourself is a high virtue, a self-perceptive compass that points to the true North of lives that can’t be planned. But that peaceful sense of direction is a cheap emotional salve. Satisfaction—some call it love—comes when someone else knows you like you know yourself. They see you. Why does this matter? I’ll bet no one knows.

Are we alone? We. Alone. The words don’t mesh. But we do all feel it, a need for affirmation. It is an inherent desire amongst all men (and women, who deserve to be treated as good as men even though they have periods). I guess what I’m saying, if I’m saying anything, is that I don’t know if we can be known or not. All I know is that Up in the Air already figured it out.

Ryan Bingham: If you think about it, your favorite memories, the most important moments in your life… were you alone?
Jim Miller: No, I guess not.
Ryan Bingham: Hey, come to think of it, last night, the night before your wedding, when all this shit is swirling around in your head, weren’t you guys sleeping in separate bedrooms?
Jim Miller: Yeah, Julie went back to the apartment, and I was just by myself in the honeymoon suite.
Ryan Bingham: Kind of lonely, huh?
Jim Miller: Yes, it was pretty lonely.
Ryan Bingham: Life’s better with company.
Jim Miller: Yeah.

Fuck The Space Between, right?

Fart noise,
DR