ridin' dirty

A Feel Good Friday Clip

Herman Cain Sings!

The man's got some pipes. If this was his platform, I might consider voting for him.

Herman Cain Singing 'Imagine' to Pizza - watch more funny videos     

it's different for girls

guys, i'm in a joe jackson phase, i don't ever want to get out of it! i bought his first album for a buck a few weeks ago, and it has me freakin' out! also, squeeze! holy crap! i never knew they were the ones making all those great songs!

enjoy:

Nickleback Fights ...Back

Nickelback responds to NFL Petition from Nickelback     

My Flavor of the Month

My current favorite thing on the interwebs is this photostream from a haunted house up in Canadia.

Gold. Pure gold.

I can't figure out how to post most of the photos themselves, so HERE are a FEW of my FAVORITE shots in the WHOLE darned WORLD.

For now.

But seriously, SOME of these are GREAT.

American Juggalo

Here's a documentary about our beloved gaggle of clown disciples.


American Juggalo from Sean Dunne on Vimeo.

Letters to Joshua

I often find myself wondering what Josh would think of our shared adoration of his doodles. How would he feel if he knew how studied they've become. Revered. His scratches, almost ALL in ink, that we all yearn to soak in. To press to skin, a tattoo stencil, to hold onto. Would he laugh? Be embarrassed? Think we were nuts? The answer is probably somewhere in between.

His notebooks are suddenly so much more valuable than they ever might have been in his eyes... And I guess there's meaning in that somewhere. We're not crazy enough to presume to find an "answer". But we fan through the empty pages at the back, hoping to see something we'd missed the first two times we combed through it. We peer closer to the page to see the ornate detail in the shell of Sir Turtle, the arch of an eyebrow on the visage of Julio Jorge Rico Suavez. He never appreciated his art. Relegating it almost exclusively to the sidebars of the Vietnam conflict. Crammed in the corner of a page detailing the nature of self-esteem. To read his words - HIS words - brings a sting and a weight. A guilt you can't pin down.

I recently "took" an empty notebook from his room at Dads. Graph paper. Never written in. Five Star brand. There were two of these there, on the floor by his dresser, ignored in a corner... but I left one there. Whether someone else might want it, or maybe for me to come back to and "claim" later.

It's strange. You walk out of that room feeling half grave-robber, half brother ("A little half brother comedy..." ha. That was a good joke of ours.) If you're not leaving with a Josh-scented shirt slung over your shoulder or an obscure, hodge podged Lego figure in your jeans pocket, you're still leaving his space with more knowledge of his world than he maybe would have ever wanted anyone to have. Part of me feels guilty every time. Every time. The rest of me doesn't know what else to do.

So, fuck it. I've got shirts, damn it.

And I have this notebook. Black cover. Untouched. Maybe never opened. But it was his. In his hands. Once. Maybe twice, at least.

I'll be writing letters to Joshua inside. Filling it with doodles. I envision, and hope, to fill every available shred of bare graph paper. With doodles, with words. Dreams. Memories.

In the back of the book, I've started recording one liners and specific memories he and I have shared. Sometimes boiled down to a few words. Others a paragraph. I don't ever want to forget a thing. Whenever I recall a moment I'd somehow forgotten, I hate myself for not respecting it enough to forget it to begin with.

I'll be writing my letters to Joshua. In HIS notebook. And I will send him your love.

Love you guys.

Favorite GIF (Updated)

favorite gif ;)

favorite gif

tfwt

he reminds me of wilford brimley. right?

ICP meets Mozart

Seriously.

(And yeah, I totally did the face paint to the left myself. Woop woop!)

Wow.

This starts off bad. Then after a minute and a half it gets worse.

about the ghost blogger

one night i was feeling lonely, feeling bored, feeling uninspired. despite all that, i was also feeling silly. free.

i pulled out my ouija board.

adam, no longer my friend but once someone i'd called a 'best' friend, had given this official board to me years ago. you might remember tales of my homemade pizza box ouija board from when i lived in saratoga. or you might not, it doesn't really matter.

i store the ouija board under a teeny table that holds all sorts of silly ephemera. rocks and seashells and coins and tarot cards and dream books and discounted used CDs. the board rests on the floor.

so, on this silly, lonely, bored, uninspired night, i decided to toss aside my skepticism. decided to attempt a reunion with my former, more spiritual self. decided to try to talk to joshua james brisbin.

i reached for the box. it didn't want to move. i yanked. paper from the box stuck to the hardwood floor and i heard it separate from the cardboard. i yanked some more, kind of gently but also kind of violently, cringing. i imagined myself goo-goneing it in a few years when i move out of this place. i freed that damn box from its cave.

i took a step with it over to my bed and sat down. placed the box in front of me on the white comforter.

a deep inhale. a deep exhale. a quick check over my shoulder to ensure the door was shut. if the door is shut, the door is locked. that's how i do. no privacy or utter privacy. i'm extreme.

i took the board and planchette from the box and cast the case aside. my heart raced and i felt nervous and excited and even sillier than when the idea struck me.

i took a few more deep breaths. tried to push doubt from my mind. also tried to push away any impending tears. and then i pushed some more doubt away.

i know it's a toy. i know that if you use it alone, any movement is the result of blood moving through your fingertip veins and your subconscious trying to please you. i know that as an atheist i shouldn't pay credence to the notion of ghosts or spirits or what-have-you. i also knew that if there was a chance i could talk to josh one last time (or for the first time in a new way), i wanted that.

i sat there with my fingertips lightly placed on the centered planchette for what felt like days but was probably about two minutes. if it scooted slightly, i released any pressure from my hands. i whispered a few times, as is customary, "is anyone here?" i felt scared and foolish and morbid and silly. i felt a bit embarrassed, though no one knew what i was doing.

a week (two and a half minutes) passed and it seemed to start moving for real, slowly and deliberately. i freaked out and said aloud, through throat tears, "good-bye," and moved the planchette (as is also customary) over the words "GOOD BYE" at the bottom of the board. i even did the silly 'erasing' motion of wiping the planchette across each side of the board, a move i picked up during myriad 6th grade seances. i put it all away. board and planchette into the box. box into the cave.

then i sat on my bed and cried.

looking back on it, it's a little funny to me. i've thought a lot recently how death of a loved one can change survivors' perspectives. in the days of group mourning, i couldn't jump on board when people spoke about josh being there with us, about josh watching and listening to us. i understood it's a way to cope, a way to slowly distance oneself and say good-bye. but i also understood that he was gone, that he wanted to be gone, and that that was that.

still, i cling to the hope that maybe on another night i'll being feeling lonely and bored and uninspired and silly and brave. i cling to the hope that i'll feel even more open and spiritual and that i will open some line of communication with my little brother.

and i'll finally get to know him. like i had been looking forward to doing for the past few years. no lie, i think that in the last year or so i trolled his facebook page more than anyone else's. i saw that he was blossoming. i wanted to know more but i didn't want to bug him. i wanted to observe. most visits to his page showed me nothing new, no new posts, no new status updates. but i always got excited when i saw that he did post something. there were signs of maturity and it blew my mind.

i was excited to get to hang out with him at future returns home, infrequent as they'd be. excited to play around with him and you two and laugh at his jokes and pick on dad with him.

well, that's not going to happen now, is it? and i try hard not to beat upon myself for not including him on emails i've sent to you guys and dad with writings and songs i've done. i had considered including him each time, but we weren't close and i didn't want to bug him. i guess now i wish i had bugged him. but i didn't. hell, that night with the ouija board i think i was a little worried that he would answer and that i would have been bugging him. who knows.

maybe at christmas i can show off my (ever-cute) ouija skills and we can attempt to bug him as a group. just an idea.

i love you guys like crazy.

The Last 9 Minutes are My Favorite

Inspiration for TR2?

Rainbow Sponge!!!!1!!1!

cat doodle

some words to the man who was only ever part of this blog in spirit, though we all wanted more:

this is a different kind of depression. it's new. i'm not angry and i'm not scared. of course, i ache and i cry. but i'm not hiding; i'm seeking out reasons to smile.

now strangers are beautiful and pure, not threats. every moment has a different weight, like gravity itself has changed.

a handful of breaths knocked us all over, piled high. we're scrambling to pull ourselves and each other to steady, sure feet.

as jeff said, now we all shoulder a bit of your pain. and gladly. hang on tight.

I want to adopt them.

I guess I'll just be posting YouTube clips.

Woop Woop!

MMFCL, y'all!

This is Painful

I Now Believe in God

The bridge/breakdown will change your life.

What Did I Just Watch?

Whatever it is, it was awesome.

willful ignorance

i was looking through my documents and came across this little vignette/memory i wrote a month or so ago. the reason i'm posting comes at the end. i'm sorry it's such a cliffhanger.

strolling through the grocery store to kill time and find an eight-dollar bottle of wine, and i remember the time i flung dirt in the babysitter daughter’s eyes. we were digging by a tree with plastic spoons. i was eight years old. the babysitter had teeny skinny legs and a big pregnant-looking belly. she was short, had a perm and a pig nose, and wore lots of blue eye shadow. her daughter’s name was brandi and we were friends at school. i flung dirt at brandi because jj picinich had just flung dirt at me. brandi’s mom saw me, though. i was so ashamed and i didn’t even speak up. i didn’t say that i did it in retaliation. and then that bitch told my mom about it. really? that was my worst offense all summer and she couldn’t let it slide?

brandi’s dad worked at montgomery ward in a failing mall. we went there at least once a week and brandi’s mom put things on layaway. my mom began to lose her taste for brandi’s mom. i’m not sure what happened. brandi had a lazy eye and shiny black hair. i think there was a younger sibling. we used to eat fudgesicles from the schawnn’s man. sometimes root beer popsicles. we would play restaurant and make menus full of frozen treats.

sometimes brandi’s older cousin would come over. she went to an r. kelly concert and she said he dropped his pants and his boxers said “horny” in lights. did we know what “horny” means, she asked? yeah. of course we did.

i had no fucking idea. i didn’t want to know because i knew it was a bad thing.

Radiohead Fan Confessional

Charlie and Muammar

Charlie Sheen Interviews Muammar Gaddafi from Muammar Gaddafi

artistic hurdles

i'm feeling bloggy tonight.

behold, my latest favorite youtube video:

i don't know about you guys, but i can TOTALLY relate to her frustrations and the symptoms thereof. however, i'd never let that shit leak onto the internets. i would delete the video. that said, i'm glad it did get posted. i wanna hug her so hard.

Charlie or Warrior?

who said it? was it:

Charlie Sheen OR the Ultimate Warrior?

Texting with Jen

(For the record, I don't believe it.)

This Kid is Kind of Awesome

Just doing his own thing. He found what he loves and he's going all out.



I just wonder how long he can go without huffing one of those things.

This Sounds Like a Warning

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

keepin' it SJR in this be-otch

i got new glasses.

y'all heard it here first.

We (Humanity) Have Officially Given The #*@& Up

Hey, Everybody!! A Mr. Show Reunion is on the Horizon!!

 
Well, close enough for me, anyway.

Mr. Odenkirk will be directing Mr. Cross in the upcoming film titled Annie Jenkins: A Not Very Romantic Comedy, which will also feature Rainn Wilson, who is a very funny man, himself.

Experts estimate that this movie could make as much as $24 at the box office.
 

Get excited, people.

Please Tell Me That One of You Put Her Up to This Latest Ridiculousness

Really?!? Frank?!? This has to be something that one of you fed to her, right? To try to get a reaction out of me? Because no good (from her perspective) can come of divulging this, if it is at all true.