Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Random Thoughts While Stuck In An Elevator (Circa 2006)

Upon getting stuck in an elevator, the first thing that usually comes to mind is similar to those old Elio's pizza commercials. Just imagine your brain going "blub- blub."

I believe that was literally happening to security when I rang them up. They asked what the emergency was. I felt "guy who really should have taken high school a bit more seriously and gone to college" may have been a bit too much, and besides my life free falling faster than the elevator I was on wasn't really the emergency anyway.

The only logical answer to "Which elevator are you on?" I could think of was "The one not moving." Besides, I haven't named elevators in years anyway. I was then told security was on the way.

The panel where the call button is does have a sign that says "When light is flashing, help is on the way" So to see it flashing almost immediately was a bit soothing.

I began to think about my commute to work that day. What the hell has happened to the Orange line? At one point an 8 foot man sat next to me, and smoothly pulled out a lap sized velvet board, 3 red bottle caps, and what I believe was a red cereal berry found in Capn' Crunch brand Crunch Berries. I believe it was much too big to be a fruity pebble. He began furiously shuffling the soda caps around and every time he asked someone to pick, they'd always get it right.

I almost felt ripped off at the fact nobody was getting ripped off. The only plausible scenario I could think of was the added bonus to beating this man was probably having one of those caps being good for a free soda. I even walked off the train with all of my belongings still in my pockets. I also walked into a scrappy looking Malden bound man with a pit bull wearing a big white muzzle. The man looked a little angry that I had gotten off the train before he was able to get on, and tugged on his leash to remind me he had a pit bull. I really wanted to tell him the thug card doesn't work, when your pit bull is muzzled. He just goes back to being cute again trying to fight it off his snout. I also wanted to tell him if he had any other thug cards kicking around, there was a man shuffling bottle caps inside the car in dire need of a new format for his game.

I just remember a time when you would walk out off of the orange line covered in your urine as well as whoever else's you had sat in, not just whoever's you had sat in. But there I go remembering the 90s. You know, that decade that snuck by when we were remembering the 80's?

I hummed a few bars of Aerosmith's "Love In An Elevator" but thought "Stuck in an elevator..... blah doo da blah blah get me the fuck out of here." were better lyrics.

5 minutes had gone by and I was beginning to get really hot in the elevator, as I had been bundled up for the day. I at least had the small TV screen in this elevator and enjoyed reading the news flash by as quick as the "Micro Machine" guys mouth.

There was more talk about banning gay marriage in the state. I gotta say though, I think the wave of conservative politicians and religious right who had recently been outed due to misconduct were probably being vilified for the wrong reasons. Sure they were snakes condemning people in a vile way and sure they were self loathing phony pieces of shit helping to set back like minded people who just want the right to divorce like everyone else. But I think I understand them now. They are only human. More importantly, they are men. They don't want to get married. They are conservatives and remember a time when marriage was between a man and a woman and when you were a permanent bachelor, it meant permanent. Who really wants the party to end? I can see the classic movie scenario of the girl with her arms crossed looking impatiently and sternly at her significant other; "Well are you gonna pop the question?" I cant even imagine being one of those poor bastards looking at a guy who could probably kick the shit out of them giving them a similar look.

Right around this time, I noticed the light had stopped flashing. Had they given up hope for me? Had they exhausted all their efforts into ever finding me alive? Had it really only been 7 minutes?

Like a modern baby Jessica in a well who refused to give in, I pressed that bell again, to assure them to not bother notifying my parents that I had died. I was going to make it! Someday at least. Only this time, I was again asked what the emergency was.

I figured "Human being trapped in a fucking elevator. "would have been good enough the first time.

Luckily seconds after this second attempt I felt the elevator finally moving towards the ground floor. I radioed into him that I was moving.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. We had that elevator on hold for some reason."

Blub blub blub........

Don't Drop The Hemp Soap

"Dude, there is nothing better than just getting stoned and taking a long fucking shower."

This was one of the more disturbing things I heard over the weekend. I mean, I'm all for a well deserved, warm shower to kick start a cold morning. Hell, I am for cold showers to kick start overdose victims too. Showers are great. You'll hear no argument against them from me. But smoking weed before hand?

My argument against that is quite simple.

1.Doing weed can make me paranoid.
2. When I am naked and in enclosed spaces, I don't want to be paranoid. Naked in an open or public space? I think that's probably a lot better, but if I'm stoned, I'm going to be paranoid. I'd probably end up with people were looking at me, and/or thinking the police were out to get me.
3. That's that.

I also don't want to be thinking, "Shit did I lather and rise already? I really don't want to repeat." Cause I mean, I'd be too stoned, man! Then I'd probably peak out and watch the tv I put on the sink next to my Mountain Dew and rib sandwich. But that's just me.

I didn't want to just shoot down my friend for being a drug addled soap head. That would have been too easy anyway.

I was 20 years old and had what I could best describe as a dilapidated a"party"ment in Mission Hill.It was the year I was living the Mikey Seaver life and lived all of a 5 minute walk away from my parents house, where I'd drop by for free laundry and real life situational comedy (sans Stabone). I had the day off from work and was sitting on beer cans and boxes in my living room with my roommate, who I think was sitting on trash and mice. I had mentioned off hand to him a short time before that if I had decided to smoke weed I'd do it with him. It wasn't really my thing and it made me too paranoid. But it was the beginning of spring and we were going to walk to the Otherside Cafe, so I figured I'd take marijuana and take IN nature. But honestly I think its because we were listening to Black Sabbath and are typical white dorks.

It had probably been a few months since I had last puffed tasty nugs ,bruh, so needless to say I was a bit disoriented but not uncomfortable.

I did have to use the bathroom before we left though.

Our door was hanging on half of a hinge due to the hands and/or feet of some real patient and intelligent person, so you had to kind of lift it back onto its hinge to get it to open and close.

I was sitting and just became deep in thought. My mind was racing because I wasn't used to smoking and preparing myself to answer such questions to myself such as

"Why is a muscle on the side of my neck twitching?"
"Are people going to know I'm high?"
"Do they already know?"

And that's when it hit me.

What it was, took a few seconds to register because I was, all of a sudden, on the ground.

It was the fucking bathroom door.

As I was off in la la land, the door finally decided that it was the best time to finally fall off that half a hinge. It came down and smashed into the crown of my head and brought me tumbling down.

My roommate must have thought Jamie Lee Curtis was in the bathroom because he answered those screams for help mighty fast.

But not before laughing hysterically at me with my pants down trapped underneath a door. The only consolation I have is that the nails we had on the door to hang our towels didn't impale my skull. But looking back on it now, maybe that's the kind of fate I deserved.

"Folks, I'm sorry. Your son didn't make it. But we need you to I.D. the body at the morgue. Hes on the last slab. Yeah, the one with his hemp pants down wearing a tie dye shirt, beads, rasta hat and big white bathroom door with nails hat.Yup, the one with the dopey grin and half shut eyes. Stinkin' of patchouli. What a dope. We even pronounced him a Dope On Arrival."

So with that cautionary tale, I implore you. Be careful in there. Elvis didn't listen to me either.

DFJ Takes The Cake

Interview I did with DFJ, one of my all time favorites.

Exclusive WMF DFJ Interview from WorldMovesFast on Vimeo.

Brass City Trash Chat

Interview I did @ As One Fest in CT towards the end of night 2 with Craig Mack of Living Hell and most important , the man behind As One and CT's mosh stimulus plan. Jay Reason of The Distance, Ivan from Unforgiven/Dead Wrong, and the great Big E From Interviews.

Connecticut Legends Interview from WorldMovesFast on Vimeo.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Interview with Cold World

Here I interview Alex and Dan from Cold World on day 3 of As One Fest behind a dumpster @ Bobby Allen's in Waterbury Connecticut (During the 3rd quarter of The Celts/Cavs Game 7)

Cold World Interview from WorldMovesFast on Vimeo.

Interview with Trapped Under Ice/Reign Supreme

This is an interview conducted in Waterbury Connecticut at Craig Mack's As One Festival last weekend with Baltimore's Trapped Under Ice with cameo appearances by Chris Morgado's Philadelphia's Reign Supreme. I was very very drunk, 100 Demons were about to play and the camera was about to die.

Trapped Under Ice Interview from WorldMovesFast on Vimeo.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Video Interview I did with Trash Talk

Trash Talk are one of my new favorite hardcore/punk bands from the Sacramento, Ca area. They ran into some troubles on the road so they ended up hanging in Boston for 5 days. I did this interview with them for World Moves Fast Dot Com after their show @ Great Scotts in Allston on Tuesday May, 6th. This is the first time I have ever done something like this but there will be more to come as I plan on contributing more interviews in this style to


Trash Talk Interview from WorldMovesFast on Vimeo.

Make sure to check the page out and bookmark it, its just starting up now but there are due to be many many updates daily down the road.


Also be sure to check out Trash Talk


Friday, May 2, 2008

Jumpin' Like A Girl For Squirrels In The Name Of The Lord (vol 1)

Since I am trying to update this blog semi-regularly before finishing up The Grittier Side (vol 2.) I decided to throw a couple of pieces up from the first issue for those of you who hadn't purchased, borrowed, stole or read a copy:

Jumpin Like A Girl For Squirrels In The Name Of The Lord

There is a stereotype attached to Catholic schools about being beaten by nuns with rulers and taught to fear hell and the devil. But I'm actually going to save my tales of metal lined straight edge rulers finding their marks on my devil worshipping 7 year old wrists for a goooood therapist. Or at least someone waiting for the #1 bus at the Mass Ave. bus stop when I decide I just want to drool and yell all day at passerby.

I will share a quick tale from the nunnery for now though that has always stayed with me. A nun was walking through a forest-like section of Mission Hill separating Alleghany St. from Cherokee St. (We used to call it "The Jungle" as kids and that was where I'd later hide with friends and smoke cigarettes when I was 13. Also when I was 10 a bug flew down my throat as I barreled through the rocky dirty pathway on my bicycle. I'm actually still waiting to die from that and/or have my mommy "take it out") As she was walking through, a squirrel came scampering up to her, as squirrels do. But this squirrel happened to be rabid and promptly chomped down on her ankle and would not release it from its teeth. This Nun, who was probably Chevy Chase, screamed for help and ran about with a squirrel fixed to her ankle, causing a priest nearby to come to her assistance with a rifle and blasted the critter off of her.

I personally don't see why priests or the Catholic church in general doesn't devote the lions share of their sermons to Rabid Satan Squirrels, because this story terrified me as a kid. I feel they could really get their numbers back up. I mean come on! The devil is more played out than a backwards Judas Priest record. What about these squirrels? I have yet to hear about Rob Halford or K.K. Downing attacking nuns. Which leads to my next thought:
Has anyone ever actually played a Chipmunks record backwards?

But I've also been meaning to start a new religion anyway, so maybe I'll hold off on that petition for a bit.

I was walking to work the other day, taking the scenic route in as I usually do on a nice day. I had just picked up a tea from Tealuxe on Newbury Street and was going to cut through the Public Gardens and the Common on my way to the Financial District downtown. I had a cup of "Lady Londonberry" tea steeping and I was so proud of myself for even being able to order a drink called "Lady Londonberry" without fear of shame or ridicule. I entered the Public Garden and as I had walked maybe 50 feet through noticed a flurry of squirrels running up and down trees and over dying grass, which is a pretty normal sight for the area. However, one of these squirrels after running around on the ground for a second darted out onto the pavement. Typically these are timid animals and will run the second someone is too close, which I felt I was.

The squirrel, dead center in my path, turned around and looked towards me real quick, almost like a wildlife Peter Venkmen and his Slimer.

It then began racing at me.

Still walking, I was saying to myself "Eh, it will run off." But it actually got about 2 inches away from my ankle. You know, what? I'm bullshitting.I don't know if it was 2 inches away. I didn't have a ruler nearby, because I'm still terrified of them from parochial beat downs. In any event this evildevilbeast was close enough that its tail had actually touched my jeans.

This resulted in me jumping in the air like a frail old woman. Or at least a semi-professional hackey sacker determined to do that jester and get the full hack.

My headphones and blood pressure were up high enough that the laughter of those nearby didn't even phase me. I picked up the pace and kept soldiering on. You know, like a solider. I was about to cross the footbridge and from out of nowhere, another squirrel loomed in front of me. Maybe it was the same squirrel. I don't care if you think I'm racist. Because They all look alike to me.

And they all want to kill me.

Again, this squirrel came running towards me. Again I said ".....it will pass?" And again I found myself jumping in the air like a 12 year old girl on a trampoline because I am a pussy. I couldn't believe it.

This actually wasn't the worst case of a rodent attacking me. Two others come to mind.

1) Twenty one years old and sleeping on the couch at my parents house, I awake to feeling something on my foot. My eyelids bearing the weight of sleep pull back enough that I can see a mouse on my foot. This caused me to pull off some sort of move that you will never see in a kung- fu movie without million dollar effects. It was a kicking, sweeping move that somehow had me levitated for a second and then on my feet for more jumping and panicking. As an aside, I feel this would be a much better way of waking someone up than a simple alarm clock. I would like to invent a clock that doesn't beep or buzz but actually lets a mouse out attached to a rope and jumps on you, or perhaps sends a spider free falling down from the ceiling as some sort of snooze button. I think tardiness due to oversleeping would be a thing of the past.

2) 20 years old. I had just worked a long shift at De Lucas Market on Newbury Street. It was the weeknight when all the new groceries had come in and we had to stay and price them and put them on the shelves. We usually ended up getting out around 1 in the morning, or usually too late to catch a bus. I love to walk so I'd usually make the walk back to my apartment in Mission Hill from Newbury Street, weather permitting. I'll try to sound as hip as I can, but I had just....you know...."done weed"? And that obviously made for a bit more of a paranoid walk alone at night. I had my headphones up loud enough to be aloof to everything around me. I was walking down Mass Ave. right where the Christian Science building is.

As soon as I walked past a trashcan.

A rat jumped out of it seemingly from out of nowhere, blindsiding me.

This huge rat landed right on my chest and then ran down my leg and into the darkness.

You could have put me on ice skates. You could have put me in spandex. You could have put me in front of a high jump. I could have won the gold medal in every Olympic division from the maneuver I did. Because I was determined to jump to the sky (like a girl) and then plummet to my own death.

To make matters worse as I continued home I could "feel" the rat still on me. I twitched my way up Huntington Ave., and around Mass Art saw a man with a huge cast on his leg lying on the sidewalk with his hands outstretched. I turned my walk man off, curious to hear what he was saying. He was laying there whimpering, asking for help in a real broken, battered voice. I was freaked out from the rat and was always cautious to help a shady stranger in the middle of the night on an empty street. I think I had just sheepishly said "Sorry." as I walked by.

Right as he was out of my vision, I could feel a whoosh of air behind me. The man had leapt to his feet and although I should have wondered "Gee, I wonder of a mouse just landed on his foot and woke him up too?" He screamed "YOU WHITE MOTHAFUCKA! GIMME YO SHIT!" and began running at me. Unfortunately for him the cast, though brilliant in theory, really slowed him down. The irony of me running into the Mission Hill projects at 2 in the morning for safety is a whole 'nother story I suppose.

But back to the present, I was making fun of myself for these girly acrobatic movements I treated a lunchtime crowd to and crossed over to The Commons.

I ended up behind a NASCAR family clad in....what else? NASCAR windbreakers, Asics, (I didn't see if they had the gel, but the husband did look like a provider) sweat pants, and stone washed jeans out for an afternoon stroll. Their son, who looked well fed from his breakfast of powdered drinks and powdered donuts ran off onto the grass off of the cracked, jagged concrete walkway and began chasing.... Anyone? Anyone?

A squirrel.

A squirrel that was headed right towards me.

After coming down from the air and landing on a bench with Lady Londonberry splashed against my jacket, I could only help but think.

"Man, they should really send that kid to a Catholic School."

The Ying And Yangs Of Opiates And Gravity (Vol 1)

Since I am trying to update this blog semi-regularly before finishing up The Grittier Side (vol 2.) I decided to throw a couple of pieces up from the first issue for those of you who hadn't purchased, borrowed, stole or read a copy:

The Ying and Yangs of Opiates and Gravity

I was standing at Downtown Crossing getting ready to sip at a cup of Tea I had been steeping since Harvard. (I'm a mutant) I go to take a sip and immediately have a waterfall of Chaider cascading down my chin. Thankfully my shirt and jeans were there to catch it. Thankfully two other people chuckled at me, and thankfully it happened again. Frustrated, I threw the top away and decided to sip with extra caution.

I end up sitting across from a middle aged man in a velour running suit chewing away at a half piece of straw, while rolling his thumbs with 4 inch nails over his knees chatting away to one scatterbrained dame. She looked like she was fighting off sleep like the roots in her teeth were fighting of gravity. "Gimme my money you bitch!" bellowed from halfway down the train. A man holding a small coffee stumbled and shuffled his way up front and almost sat in the laps of a young women and her 2 little girls. This caused her to drag her children away in fear. I was sitting with a cup of tea with no top.

He had the kind of facial hair and general appearance that just makes you say "Guilty" when you see his mugshot in the Boston Herald for stealing bags of shrimp and baby formula.

Surprisingly, he soon after nodded out holding the coffee while his two acquaintances carried on their conversation on what a "degenerate" Billy is. (I never knew junkies to have such sub culture like social echelons. Remember when it was about the music?)

But I was fixated on this guy nodding out. Specifically the "small dunkies regulah" (Outside of Boston its called a "small coffee") he was holding in his bloated palm with blown out fingers cradling it. Id watch the cup tilt and just think "Man, that guy shouldn't have switched to Sanka if he was going to be chasing the dragon all day. You need your energy!" But as it would look like it was about to pour, he'd just pick his head back up and ask for money.

I started to get pissed. I had just steeped my face and clothes in tea 5 minutes prior. And I wasn't on even a little bit of heroin. This guy had a Lowell city block party parading through his veins and he wasn't spilling a drop. I actually thought for a second the MBTA could really do a lot for their image by using something like that for a commercial. What skag head is gonna want to take a mode of transportation that ends up with his coffee in his lap?

He nodded out a couple more times and still every time, not a drop hit the floor. I was so agitated I wanted to run past him and knock it out of his fingertips. When he would snap up he would see the cup on the ground and I could have yelled "What did you think was going to happen! You're nodding out with a cup containing a liquid in your hand! Hot liquid! That's what happens you asshole!"

But that's around the time it got bumpy going to Back Bay Station and as I took a sip of tea it splashed up on me like Jaws on the Orca.

However, on the other vein collapsed hand, I gotta hand it to the good people at Cingular. They really know how to make a phone that withstands multiple nod out drops by junkies. From State St to Jackson this woman dropped her phone 8 times.

Why was she holding it in her hand while she was counting china white sheep? Maybe she was in the middle of a sick game of tetris? Maybe she was sending a text message but just couldn't remember short hand for "nodding out loud"?

I'll tell you who would probably really like to know. The 17 year old school boy who was mortified when she decided to take a rest on his shoulder, mouth wide open with her over sized plastic shopping bag resting in his lap.

I am sorry I laughed at you buddy. But theres just some things you cant learn in school.

I just hope some light hearted paramedic uses the "Can you hear me now" line when he's reviving her on Centre St tonight.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Dawn O' The Dead

Today is St. Patricks Day. However in Boston, it can be more like St. Patricks Week. Howeverest, it can be more like a zombie movie. Day by day leading up to the Evacuation Day in the city, you find yourself fighting off more and more bodies slouched stiff and moving in sluggish uniform, comfortably aluminumbed through cases of canned beers. Before long you find yourself locked inside your apartment wondering if the alcohorror ever end...

Then you get a call from your Grandmother...wishing you a Happy St Patricks Day....

Just last night, I was heading to Harvard Square on the Red Line, which was bringing people back from the St Patrick's Day Parade, so needless to say the cars were packed more than usual. Had I been in front of the doors like normal, I would have been like Flyboy at the elevators in Dawn Of The Dead. They would have eviscerated me right on the platform and funneled a 30 pack of Bud Ice out of my intestines. As I carefully worked my way through the throngs of the walking drunk wearing green plastic beads, oversized green shamrock glasses from the Elton John St Patty's Day Collection, and huge green striped "Cat in The Hat" styled hats, you know, like St Patrick wore. I noticed then a blind woman and her seeing eye dog were almost shoved off of the platform onto the tracks....and nobody else noticed. I felt like a squarer Mr Hand given my age proclaiming out loud "Is everybody drunk?!?!"

I know you might be thinking I am over reacting or maybe even exaggerating a little about overblown or overbloated this day has become, but much like a zombie movie.....they (drunk white people) always come back.....

"They're coming to get you Barbara..."

(I actually found that picture by googling "cinco de mayo+corona+white people")

I will end this entry with an older story:

"Date: 07-26-04 12:43

I got out of a neighborhood bar shredded last night, and walk into a group of 5 huge Irish guys and one smaller but much older Irishman who was probably in his 60's.

The older Irishman looks at me and says "Hey! You! Can I talk to you?"
And before I can even say "Yeah sure" he cuts me off by putting up his hand in a shush like manner and says "Shh! Dont say a word! Dont Say Anything! Be quiet!"

I follow his instructions because I thought I was about to get jumped, but after a 5 second silence per order of the Irishman, he looks me dead in the eyes and says:

"Can I take you home?"

Quite stunned and even more confused, I respond back with "Well I know I am a handsome guy but.."

Then Im cut off again, by his friend who yells in my face "NO YOUR NOT! YER UGLY! YER UGLY YOU BASTARD!" to which I respond, "Did I just get hit on by a gay man, yet then gay bashed in the next sentence?"

Obviously not knowing what was up, Im making my way very far away from there, but someone I was with told the old guy my name was P-Boy, and as I cross Tremont street here the desperate cry of "P-ROY! P-ROY COME BACK!"

And come back I did. 4 whole months later.

A few old friends of mine urged me to go down there and that they were buying. I had already finished drinking at home, because it was well past noon and though I really wasnt crazy about going back down to that shit shack because of what happened last time, they were old friends, plus free beers were promised so I put some pants on, wiped the tears out of my eyes, took my shirt off, finished watching the hole video "doll parts" and went down to the bar after a 4 month abscence.

As I get to the door, theres a total keg stander yelling on his phone outside over someone who he has a problem with inside the bar, which didnt really shock me, since I was already having a crummy night.

I walk in and see my friends immediately and before I can say hello they start telling me about how someone finds it unbelievable there are actually white people from Mission Hill, and how there was almost a beef over Hill Pride . I laughed it off, but still got to catch the following:

About 2 hours into being there, around last call, I tell my friend Im going to use the bathroom and then we would take off.

RIGHT as I get out of my seat, I feel this pale, drunk, painfully and uncomfortably close face just hovering next to mine. He was Irish.

"Hey brother, me friend Siobhan just turned 21 and she needs 21 kisses, so go on an' kiss er."

Looking around at their party of roughly 2 million people, I felt compelled to say:

"Oh no thanks man, Im not going to kiss some girl 1 million 999 thousand of you guys are with, it seems like someone would take it the wrong way. But tell her happy birthday."

Like Im really gonna wade through a crowd of drunk Irish dudes and kiss their lone female friend on the cheek and walk away without one of them being offended.

Or at least wanting to be my best friend.

This makes my new friend angry and suspicious all of a sudden..... and especially angry?!?! Angrier?!?! And probably.....IRISHER?!?!? (if thats a word)

"Whats your fuckin problem, you think shes foookin ugly!?"

"No, shes real cute", I lied, "But Im not going to randomly kiss some even more random girl at bar, especially here." And By then Im as pissed as he is and walk off to finally use the bathroom, and just leave him standing there, hoping he was going to be gone.

But he decided to wait for me; and as Im walking back and pretty much preparing to get into a fight with this guy he starts walking for the door and says.

"She wouldnt let you kiss her anyway.... youre probably a gay."

And all I had to say was "How are your people gonna sweat P-Roy?"

Then the dude got kicked out.

And yeah, that ended my come back night at that nameless bar.
The only bar in Boston where 5 mins turns into an eternity."

Saturday, March 1, 2008

March 2nd (Observed)

Well it would seem that I need to retract yesterday's blog and apologize for the incorrect information, since a "leap day" has "leaped" its way into another year of 365 already accounted for days. But I will not. You see, I have always been the kind of person that when told to leap, I say "nah, guy." I do not worship or genuflect to an apparent day deity with nothing more than an accepted apparition randomly appearing on a calender every 4 years. A calender of 365 days, that somehow always manage to show up every year, not just one out of four.

Is this 366th day like that perpetual jailbird uncle, silently slurring drunk up the driveway at night, sending your father outside in his underwear with a baseball bat every few years?

Can you imagine a prisoner disappearing from a lineup of 366 prisoners, then just randomly show up at...like...I dont know........ the end of February again and have everyone say "Oh, there's #366. Wow... hes been gone for about 4 years, huh? Wonder where he was...oh well, hes back." EVERY 4 years? (Are leap days included in prison sentencing too?)

Speaking of accepting something every 4 years, we are in the midst of an election year, and one of, if not the closest in our nation's history. Yet, I still haven't heard a single word about this matter from any of the candidates. I do know that Barrack Obama is bringing his message of change to the world, and I can't think of a better place to start than the old guard Gregorian Calender. John McCain was a prisoner of war for 5 and a half years. Can you imagine counting the days down, as a prisoner of war in Vietnam and then have a Vietnamese soldier employ the most sinister of psychological torture? "Happy February 29th, American GI" and emptying a barrel of rats into your cage?

Hillary Clinton hasn't told us the true horrors of orphanages around the world. Leap Day babies. These poor, forgotten about infants and children bastardized and ostracized like leaping lepers.

Just earlier this year I met someone who appeared to be about the same age as me :

"Hey whats up, I turn 27 years old this year on February 2nd, how about you."

"Well, my birthday is actually on February 29th, so "technically" I will be 6 years old, haha"

I punched this man in the mouth. I didn't know what else to do, I had never met a leap year baby, and we were never educated on them from where I come from. I had also been watching "They Live" a lot and to the best of my knowledge Rowdy Roddy Piper and Keith David used sunglasses to spot and destroy leap day babies. My, bad. If anything he was probably thinking twice about deciding whether to celebrate his false age on the next February 28th or March 1st.

But on that note, I ask you to stand up with me, all of you common folk who don't need an extra day of work, an extra day of a prison sentence or snob freaks of nature glomming on 3 possible days to celebrate a birthday that they don't deserve.

I ask you to stand proud and shout loud so that The White House can hear us:


Friday, February 29, 2008


Oh man, I was slaving to the clock last night sweating up a chill, wondering if this winter would ever end.

Then I noticed on the calender at work on the way out it said "Feb 28th"

Well, that just made it all worth it! Because March has finally arrived, right on time and it is almost spring! That means, rows of lush green life in bloom on every street and park or forest or whatever! Birds returning from vacation to their full time job: of waking me up in the spring! Hahaha, but seriously, it also immaculately concepts Americas Favorite Pastime: Baseball. Mmmm I can just smell the HGH squirting in the air from here! Now that its March of course. I still remember looking at my calender with a sad look on my face on March 31st last year. "Oh well. 364 days until March next year. Guess I will make the best of it."

But I am not trying to go off on a downer trip! Its been364 days! Its finally March again! March 1st! I am just glad we all made it out of the winter out like lions and in like lambs. To March. 1st.

Well, I am gonna go breathe some of that new March air that just hit the streets today. I urge you all to do the same? After all, I am no mathematician, but I believe it has been 364 days since the last batch of pure March air hit the streets last.

Oh, and happy March 1st!