Attack!

I found this picture really amusing.

Nothing feels good

In my original post I stated the emo entries would be kept to a minimum, but it's hard when feeling depressed and the glowing screen of a computer monitor and blog are at your fingertips. As previously stated, I have no one else to converse with. Well, I do, but they are a thousand miles away or don't wanna talk. The alternative is drowning sorrows with alcohol and wallowing in self-pity, but doing it alone seems pathetic. Although, it sounds appealing right now and I'd be lying if I said I'd never done it. Maybe tomorrow night I'll be pathetic.

I almost walked out of work today. I was grinding teeth. Dealing with the public in a retail setting can be frustrating to no end. The addition of constant knots/butterflies in stomach (maybe heart is a better organ to describe it), hating the job, and a headache just amplify the problem. It would have been therapeutic, but only temporarily so. Besides, I'm already known as the "scruffy guy who never smiles." Adding 'loose cannon' to my description sure wouldn't help.

There are thousands of movies, books, songs, and albums that confront the subject of heartbreak. My therapy albums are Taking Back Sunday's Tell All Your Friends and Weezer's Pinkerton. Excluding the Asian fetish in the latter, they ring true for me. There is a comfort I can't get from human beings. Something about the lyrics. Guess I'm a simple-minded fool for letting such childish emo lyricism be meaningful.

Along with 'scruffy' and 'never smiling', 'jerk' and 'asshole' are titles I'm given (see previous post). I put up walls to prevent people from getting too close so I don't get hurt. It's comforting and moving every 5 years growing up always made me the quiet, new kid at school so I didn't smile much and only spoke when spoken to. Case in point: after 25 years, I only have 2 close friends. When I do let someone in, I inevitably end up getting hurt. Disrespect or heartache or whatever.

Alright, I'm done. All the balloons have finished falling on my pity party.

Are you ready for some football?

I would hate to be Cooper Manning. He is the oldest brother of the Manning clan. Meaning his father and two youngest brothers are, or were, quarterbacks in the NFL. Good quarterbacks at that. He is the only male offspring of Archie Manning not to have a Super Bowl ring.

What a terrbile feeling.

Metallica - Death Magnetic

Any time a band of Metallica's magnitude drops an album, there will be much hoopla. Death Magnetic is no exception. After the fallout that was St. Anger, their 8th studio album, a myriad of queries about the follow-up ensued. The band ditched long-time producer Bob Rock in favor of producer extraordinaire Rick Rubin. Buzz was positive from the beginning, but much skepticism filled the air.

Death Magnetic is easily their best album of original material in a decade. The album illustrates a return to the thrash metal roots of yesteryear with the melodic pop sensibilities of latter work. Palm muting, fast tempos, and time changes mixed with catchy hooks and melodious choruses make for a pretty diverse record. The shortest song clocks in at just over 5 minutes while the longest is nearly double that. Production values have vastly improved, but are still lacking. A return to complicated riffs and solos galore make Metallica seem almost youthful and downright hungry. Death falters in more than a few ways, but top to bottom is a solid record.

The record is remarkably dense in areas, but lean in others. "That Was Just Your Life" is the opener and is a return to form with a crescendoing intro, is up-tempo throughout, and has dueling guitars, but the verses leave something to be desired. Good way to start the album though the heartbeat intro is a bit cheesy. "The Day That Never Comes," the first single, has several tempo changes and a ridiculous number of riffs crammed into one song, as does "All Nightmare Long." The latter also has a damn catchy chorus. "Cyanide" has the feel of later Metallica material (and not in a good way) and almost seems to be haphazardly cut and pasted together in Pro-Tools. "The Unforgiven III" is not terrible as anticipated, but is a mid-tempo, piano and violin filled 'ballad' that would be more suited for ReLoad, or even the Black Album, rather than here. It just feels forced. One highlight of Death Magnetic is the return to an instrumental track with "Suicide & Redemption." The song seems like a studio jam rather than a calculated composition and, for what it's worth, works well. It's nice not to hear James Hetfield singing every once in a while, too. The outstanding track on Death Magnetic is undoubtedly, "My Apocalypse." Like "Battery" and "Blackened" before it, "My Apocalypse" is just a fast, brutal, chunky aural overload that closes the final minutes of the album.

One of the best aspects of Death Magnetic is how lead guitarist Kirk Hammett shreds all over it. Some songs even have multiple solos. The wah pedal he is accustomed to, and is his signature sound, is a bit overdone at times. Especially the intro for "Cyanide," but it could be worse. Lars Ulrich's drumming leaves something to be desired, but he gets the job done. Fills in "Suicide & Redemption" are lackluster at best. Too many cymbal hits drown out the toms and kick, and he rarely diverges from the 'ump-pah' standard. Double kick is used sparingly. Officially bassist Rob Trujillo's first studio album with Metallica, it's even more evident the Hetfield-Ulrich songwriting team does not let bass players contribute to the writing process. His sound is overly distorted and chugging in contrast to former bassist Jason Newsted's punchy, cleaner sound and although Trujillo's technicality is closer to original bassist Cliff Burton's, his parts on Death Magnetic are timid.

Singer and guitarist James Hetfield gets points for sweet riffs and song structure, but gets cancelled out by his awful lyricism. In previous interviews, Hetfield stated that he only became a singer, instead of just playing guitar, because the band needed one. The genre of heavy metal has never been known for stellar lyrics as long as subject matter was dark and includes some of the following things: blood, war, insanity, death, etc. You get the idea. Death Magnetic has these topics, so Het gets a pass. However, I will reprint this gem from "The Day That Never Comes": "Love is a four-letter word and never spoken here."

Death Magnetic is a great album. Beginning to end, it's listenable, chaotic, refined, melodic and still heavy. Maybe not the best of 2008, and not one of Metallica's best, either. Save for a few, the songs stand alone and will be in Metallica set lists for years to come. While it's easy to label this a comeback, Metallica have to deliver on the next studio album with equal or greater results, which is no small feat. Heavy metal has come a long way since it's peak of popularity in the 80's and Metallica is one of the few, if not the only, bands who has stood the test of time. Assuming the band can stay together, don't be surprised to see the Mighty Metallica playing the Super Bowl half-time show in several years.

Pour a glass

I dwell in the realm of cynicism. A pessimist attitude, if you will. The glass is half empty. I prepare for the worst in almost all situations; never believing the best outcome will present itself the majority of the time. I am content with this viewpoint because it works for me. I call it realism. Simply put, it makes my outlook on life win-win. Going into a situation anticipating the worst means if the worst possible scenario happens, I was right. If the best possible outcome occurs, it means I was wrong but feel good anyway because the best thing happened. Win-win.

Applied to real life, it works out rather well. Anticipating my order at a restaurant will be wrong when it arrives. Expecting a film will be lackluster before viewing. Assuming someone in a relationship, romantic or otherwise, will let me down or abandon me. The end result in every case, whether good or bad means I end up less hurt or justified (which is a self-esteem boost).

There is a downside. People dislike me for being a 'downer' or I get labeled an 'asshole' or something equally derogatory. When individuals look to me for support, I let them down because I unconsciously inject skepticism into my response where a positive, uplifting answer would have been appropriate. I hate it sometimes. The look on another soul's face when you have inadvertently crushed them is not an image one files under 'pleasantries'. It makes me feel horrible.

The truth is I probably use cynicism as a guard so others won't get too close. As far as life goes, it's the best coping device I have and I grasp it tightly. I like to think other individuals do as well, but perhaps not to the same extent.

Being 25 and rapidly approaching another birthday, I seriously doubt anything will change much. I'm of the belief half-full/half-empty glasses are nurture and not nature. I'm comfortable with myself and I like to think self-confidence and self-esteem are not mutually exclusive. The best I can hope for is some semblance of compassion or empathy when confronted with the conundrums of others. As cliche as it sounds, life can be tough, but people change. I just don't know if I am one of those people.

Give Pizza A Chance

Recently I had the pleasure of eating at Give Pizza A Chance, a food cart in downtown Portland. Between 4th and 5th on SW Stark, actually. I became interested in the place because some TX connects contributed monetarily to the start of the business. What's great about this place is all the disposable kitchenware is biodegradable. Only the napkins are made from wood. The plates are grass pulp, the cups are corn starch and the forks are potato starch.

The variety of pizza was nice. Something for everyone. Vegan veggie pizza for the strict herbivores and pepperoni and sausage for the carnivores. I chose the Greek from the recommendation of the server who was pleasant. Feta, tomatoes, artichoke hearts, red onions, olives and drizzle of olive oil in place of red sauce. Tasty for sure. The ingredients were noticeably fresh and the half white half wheat crust was crispy on the outside and moist inside. Great stuff for a food cart.

The really stellar part of the meal were the handmade sodas. Four varieties were available and I tried the cucumber lime and lemon mint. Both were refreshing and not overly sugary or carbonated. The lemon mint was perfectly balanced and was like a mojito sans booze. Bring your own cup because they are a steal at 75 cents.

I would highly recommend this place to any PDX residents in downtown around lunchtime.

$2-$3 slice

$3 greek salad

$1.50 hand-crafted soda (.75 your cup)

$1 for 3 garlic breadsticks

$6 for three of above items

$10 for whole cheese pie, $2 for toppings (allow 20 min)

spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, olives, peppers, onions, potatoes, pepperoni, italian sausage, feta, blue cheese

Ho hum

I've unfortunately realized that I use this blog to 'talk to'. I have no real person to rant to and listen to my inane stupid brain droppings, so this is how I get out my creative juices.

I need to get into a band again or start welding sculptures.

Check out Raul Allen. Wicked cool stuff.

http://www.rrallen.com/

Cat on a hot tin roof

For those who know me, it is no secret I love cats. I'm an animal lover, but as far as pets go, cats are better than any alternative. Although, felines only slightly win over canines. I won't go into details because that is another post, so for wordiness sake let it be said: I love cats.

Specifically my cat. He goes by many names, but for the time being I'll refer to him by his given name: Mikey. The reason I mention my cat fancy is because I have come to a realization. When he dies I will be a wreck. I most assuredly will weep like a little girl and may do so for a week or more. This is not an epiphany. Here's the thing: his death will have a greater affect on my life than the death of the majority of my friends and family.

Let's get a few things clear. I'm not going to have Mikey cremated and put in an urn on my bookcase. He'll be buried and there will be no eulogy. I think. I'm not a crazy cat person who wants 5 felines running around a chaotic hair filled house either.

Close/best friends will be worse than Mikey's death, but we're talking three people at most. Acquaintances are understandable because they are just that. Family is a bit different, though. I won't name names, but I know of one close family member in particular that if, God forbid, did perish I would shed no tears. This got me to self-evaluate.

Am I a bad person for grieving over an animal more than a human being? What does that say about my psychological state? Do I have priorities way out of whack?

Truth is people get very attached to pets, but isn't that surprising when one considers the intricacies of pet ownership. Each animal has a distinct personality just like a human being and therefore creates a definite emotional connection. Physical touch can be more frequent than human touch and, at times, more rewarding. Pets don't cheat or lie to get what they want. The hours spent with house pets alone is enough to understand it. I spend an average of 12+ hours a day (including sleep) with Mikey. Even with work, vacations, etc. The life span of the average cat is about 15 years. That is a long time to cohabitate with any living entity.

I do care about my cat more than the vast majority of people. So say what you will, but I'm comfortable with who I am.

OMG! Your so hott : ) LOL!!!111

So I screwed up and loaded the previous post after midnight, which put it on Tuesday. I planned for Tuesdays to be album review days, so I'll start next week.

My rant today is about how bad individuals are about the whole your/you're grammatical thing. It astonishes me how often I see the possessive 'your' where the contraction 'you're' should be used. Especially on blogs and networking sites. It's not even as difficult as the there/their/they're issue because there are only two options instead of three. Don't believe me? Check out Facebook and look at comments to photos and wall posts. There will no doubt be at least two or three errors.

The worst offenders I see are those under age 20. My 15 y/o sister has bad grammar and is an awful speller. As bad as she is, her friends are worse. She goes to private school, too. Therefore, the lack of funding in public schools is not solely to blame. She wants to be a teacher. I told her I didn't want her teaching my kids.

It's no wonder the rest of the world hates the U.S. when this nation doesn't even have a rudimentary grasp of the national language. Probably because of writing and texting with abbreviations too much (see y/o above), being too rushed, and the crappy schools. God bless America!

Hairy and the Hendersons

I'm getting old. We all age and at some point in life humans begin to see signs, overt and covert, that make us look/feel old. Crow's feet and weight gain are a couple examples. However, the worst sign of aging for all men has to be the dreaded [GASP!] male pattern baldness.

MPB can be rough for some, and nonexistent to others, but most males will experience it in some form or another. Everything from the 'Eye of the Hurricane' (bald spot on top center of head where hair growth spirals out) to the 'Devil Lock' (an extreme widow's peak where the hair line recedes on both sides instead of the middle). When men reach a certain hair loss point, most try to compensate with facial hair. There is also the practice of wearing hair very short or shaving one's head completely. Which brings me to my quandary...

Skinny white guys with bald heads and facial hair look awful. Specifically, shaved heads and full beards, but other facial hair forms apply. Key terms here being 'skinny' or 'thin' and 'white' or 'Caucasian'. A 6'3" 280lb man of any race will look fine chrome-domed and bushy-faced. Look at any NFL lineman or Rick Ross. A 5'11" 150lb man of any race BUT Caucasian will look fine, too. I can't think of a famous example right now, but I'm sure you can imagine it. That same size man with lack of melanin will look goofy and weird.

MPB scares me so much because I'm a skinny white guy. I also have, and enjoy, a beard, but I have long hair and plan on keeping it that way for a while. The Jesus look has been pretty good to me. Even with the subtraction of facial hair I look handsome, but about 5-8 years younger. Long hair and clean shaven is good. The addition of bald to my description makes for a potentially frightening future.

It's pretty safe to say I'm not gonna balloon up to 200lbs anytime soon. Even if I pack on the standard 1lb every year after age 30, that will only put me at 160lb by age 50. Now add a shaved bald head and bushy beard. Me in 25 years: heavily tattooed, 5'11'' 160lb middle-aged white guy with glistening scalp and mountain-man face. Not a pretty picture, but there is always the chance I will keep my beautiful locks until old age.

So maybe I should pray to the follicle gods to bless me, but until then, here's to the future!

It begins...

I went and done did it. Got me a blog. Decided to distance myself from the limitations of networking sites and here is said result.

First and foremost, I must give credit where it is due. Brain Droppings is a book by George Carlin. The man was a genius and I felt the particular phrase best described the content of what will materialize here. Various droppings trickled down from my grey matter. Pretty much what I find frustrating, titilating, tasty, and wonderous. I'll probably rant a lot(that's the frustration part), but topics will be as varied as the state of hip-hop, best type of mexican food and where to get it, stupid tattoos, and why cats are better than dogs. Plus the occasional obligatory embedded YouTubery.

The astonishing thing about blogs is the tendency to voyeurism. A written passage to mindsoulbody. Therefore, I will do my best not to make emoy posts like I did with Xanga. Not saying it won't happen, but I'll keep it to a minimum.

So ends post one. I'm gonna try my best to update daily or, at the very least, weekly. Onward and upward...