Just an ordinary handbag...

Wow. Sorry it's been so many moons since I last left an entry, folks, but at last I have returned. I hope everyone's Thanksgiving was spectacular; mine certainly was, and a shadow of misery still lays upon me due to the sickening amount of food that I consumed.
It's been snowing intermittently as of late, and I'm glad to see it. I don't want a repeat of non-snowy Christmases; they're so unsatisfying on aesthetic and idealistic levels. As you could probably imagine, Chandler was afraid of the snow at first, but I gently warmed him up to the idea ("warmed him up to the idea"... I crack myself up). Now he just sits there and collects flakes in his mouth. Eleanor, on the other hand, leaps at falling flakes and snaps at them, and is surprised to find there's nothing of substance there. Those kids are funny.
I ended up seeing several films over the holiday, in theaters and otherwise. We rented The Importance of Being Earnest on Friday, and the investment was payed with interest in viewing it. I was familiar with the play, but had never before seen the movie adaptation, and it was excellent. I can clearly see now that Colin Firth is one of the Men*, and it's difficult to go wrong with Oscar Wilde. Overall, kudos.
I also ended up seeing National Treasure, which was a fun romp through conspiracy theories and ridiculous heists. I dug it, though they painted some inaccurate pictures of the Knights Templar (they didn't happen upon Solomon's Temple, and in a macho moment of serendipity decide to name themselves the Knights of the Temple; they commissioned themselves under that name with the Pope, and went to the Temple in search of something which they excavated for for nine years**) and the Freemasons (that they're a bunch of goody two-shoes***). It was still enjoyable, and I liked the decision to have Nicolas Cage portray the way-too-smart conspiracy theorist lead. What I didn't like was that Sean "Boromir/Odysseus" Bean's villain's name was Ian. Ian! Why must a movie tailor-suited to my conspiratorial needs villify my name?!
The highlight of my holiday theatrical experience was undoubtedly Alexander, which I was pleased as punch to see was mostly historically accurate for a change. Of course, I did take issue with some finer points here and there, but I was captivated nevertheless by the film (which is an achievement in and of itself; typically, inaccuracies make me hate a movie because they remove me from the story****). I'm glad people can finally see that Alexander wasn't a bloodthirsty egotistical brat; he had a dream of fusing Greek and Asian peoples to create a Hellenistic culture that combined the best elements of both. Of course he was obsessed with glory, but he wasn't the ruthless, pathological tyrant that some revisionists nowadays attempt to portray him as. Of course, the film did depict him as being bisexual, which I did take serious issue with. The guy was uninterested in romantic entanglements of any sort, as they were a reminder of his mortality. It has only been in the last two decades, due to due to more mainstream acceptance of homosexuality, that his sexuality has become an issue, but the guy wasn't gay! Sure, he was fairly effeminate, but that doesn't make him lavender! For me, the issue isn't his sexuality, it's accuracy. I'm a firm follower of truth, and attempts to distort it, especially to cater to hype and attract publicity or scandal, repulse me. In a climate such as our's today, suddenly we have to re-examine ancient historical figures to look for dirty laundry, and if it isn't there, we invent it, and that's how Alexander becomes gay, and how he acquires an Oedipal fixation on his mother. But it isn't true, folks. What is true, however, was that he conquered most of the known world before he was 32, and regularly defeated armies sometimes seven times the size of his own! That is audacity! Luckily (for me, anyway- sorry, I'm a geek), the film portrays the Battle of Gaugemela, where in 331 BC, he stomped a mudhole through Darius' 270,000 strong Persian army with scarcely more than 40,000 men. That's because of superior training, armament, and the strength of Alexander's ideals against the slave-soldiers of the Persian tyrant Darius, and that's how Alexander never lost a battle.
Whew. Sorry, I was getting super-geeky there. That's probably enough out of me for now, as I get the distinct impression that this entry is getting too long. So, I'll continue touting my geekiness on the morrow, as we'll finally pick up with Part 2 of the History of Middle Earth. Please act excited. No, I know you are all, and I'm shaking like milk to continue it! With that in mind, I bid you all a fond adieu.

Love, Ian

*Long ages ago, I found that giving someone the the distinction of "the Man" suggested that he had no equals in coolness, and knowing that I admired so many dudes, I instead invented the doctrine of "the Men." Thus, any dude of surpassing awesomeness may be bestowed with the honor and know that he is in an inimitable position amongst his fellows.
**Whatever it was, the Knights Templar became super rich off of it as well as the envy of all Christian lords in Europe, as well as the Papacy.
***They're not. By far.
****Well, and I'm a gargantuan nerd. In case you hadn't noticed. Ever.

I'm Your Huckleberry...

Looking out my window today, I couldn't help but notice all the kids playing with giant cyborgs around my neighborhood, so I thought a recounting of the "Hooray all day" story would be in good order.
Flash back, if you will, two years ago to the Orchestra Room at Parker High School. It's approximately 8:10 in the morning, and Kevin and I have deployed our basses, awaiting the time to tune with the rest of the orchestra. Kevin asks me to hold onto his bass for a second, and his hands suddenly plunge into his pockets. Psychobabble ensues; I have no idea what Kevin just said, but I know he's very pleased about something. To these ears, it sounds like he said, "Canadians have pockets?! Hurray all day!" I ask him if this is, in fact, what he just said, in hopes that he would explain this cryptic phrase, but instead he just looks at me as though I'm the nincempoop. He takes his bass back, and slowly (please remember this is Kevin, so it's still about 1,000 miles per hour) enunciates, "I have candy in my pocket?! Hurray!" And so, a catch phrase was born. (A couple of minutes later, Kevin asked me to play an open F Major. Please bear in mind that basses do not have an open F string, nor can you play a chord in the first place!)
I also want to point out that former Monkee Mike Nesmith's mother invented liquid paper; with her blender no less. Just another cool fact to file in the Useless Trivia Wing of your memory banks.
Jenny and I ended up watching Tombstone today, and I am still convinced that when he really wants to be, Val Kilmer can be an astounding actor. His portrayal of Doc Holliday is still moving, as he is both hilarious and complex. Plus, he wastes Cowboys like it ain't no thang. Basically, this movie is awesome, and if you haven't seen it yet, you should do yourself a favor and rent it immediately. You'll thank me later. I assure you.
On a different note, it looks like I'll be undergoing surgery again awfully soon up in the UW-Madison Hospital, but I'll need a bone graft from my pelvis to complete the procedure this time; also, the new plate's going to be larger than the last. The good Dr. Lang noted that the blood vessels and nerves in my right arm are being pinched by my grossly out-of-place clavicle, which explains the infrequent tingling I'll feel over there from time to time. In short, I won't be a completely happy camper for a little while post-operation. But you know me; I'll bounce back quickly. Everything is a matter of Will; if you think positively, nothing'll keep you down. Even a pelvic incision and a newly re-aligned collarbone. Soon enough, I'll be rocking Pete Townshend-style windmills all over again.
I hope that everyone enjoys Thanksgiving. Perhaps it's cheesey to say this, but we all have an awful lot to be thankful for, and I hope everyone can recognize that, and work to appreciate what they have. I also hope that everyone eats an awful lot, but by the same token, I don't wish the misery I'll be feeling tomorrow night after piling away a week's worth of food on anyone. Be smart, folks. Eat safe. Friends don't let friends overeat. Safe the storing fat for winter to critters. And be excellent to one another!

Love, Ian

"Hey, Three Times Dead Smith! What a loser..."

Well, Erin is awarded no points for correctly guessing the movie Elf (see, she was 36 brownie points in the hole for three incorrect guesses, but redeemed herself with the fourth try). It would seem that Kayleigh correctly guessed as well, but a tribunal has found that she had an insider tipping her off. She's gonna pay Martha Stewart-style. But that's neither here nor there, as this installment is a tribute to
Mr. Casey Meehan!
Yes, Mr. Meehan, one of the coolest dudes ever, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Meehan was me and Erin's Psychology teacher during my senior year and he made it an unforgettable odyssey into the human mind. Well, and an Intro to Juggling course, and Blackjack 101. He's also the founder of International Vest Day (May 28th, if you're wondering). There's so many stories I could regale you with, but I could never finish this entry if I recounted them all.
For instance, International Vest Day began after he wore a horrorific tiger print vest to Homecoming when he chaperoned, and he was defending his fashion sense to us the following Monday in class.
How about how he was training to be a Navy SEAL, and during one of their excercises, some poor sap DROWNED three times? I mean, the guy drowned, was revived, got back in the pool, drowned, got revived, put on his game face, drowned, got revived by weary rescue workers, and went, "No, man, I'm gonna do this!" and finally passed his staying-underwater-forever test! That's tenacity! Of course, he probably never heard the end of it... in the locker room, he's getting snapped with a towel, shouts of derision, "Hey, Three Times Dead Smith, how's it goin', man?"
Listen, the guy's so cool, he was in 'Nam while he was in the Navy. Well, he was in 'Nam in the early 90's, anyway. But still, how tough is that? Not very, when you consider that he had the tackiest earring ever in at that point in time, but he had to take 'er out so locals wouldn't ride by and rip it out of his ear to sell on the black market. Agh.
How about once when he was juggling in class, he tossed me sandbag ball to begin my own juggling with, but somehow ended up hitting me right in the groin? That was awesome... oh, wait, no it wasn't.
Here's a random episode that's etched in my memory: Tom Johnson (who sucks a ton, mind you) brought a cup of hot water and a bag of tea to Psych one day, and was making tea for himself, when I opened up with our typical friendly banter.

Ian: What are you doin' there, Tom?
Tom: What's it look like, idiot?
Ian: I meant, rather, what are you doing with tea in class?
Tom: (thwaps Ian in the face with a wet teabag) Ha!
Ian: Ahhhhhhhhhh, weak...
Meehan: What just happened here?
Ian: (disgusted) Uh, Tom just teabagged me, sir.
Meehan: (equally disgusted) Oh, man, you didn't have to say that... ugh...

Okay, so that was atrocious, but wacky, zany innocent mischief was always abounding in Meehan's class. Of course, that wasn't the only draw to Psych. I felt pretty close to Meehan, and I could be serious with the guy and lay it down straight and have a serious discussion with him as well. All around, the guy was totally one of the most righteous dudes I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And Erin totally found his e-mail address today, so I'm entering into correspondance with him. Sweet!
So, count your lucky stars, folks, and your blessings as well. And give up three cheers for Casey Meehan! Thanks for stopping by.

Love, Ian

P.S. How psyched is Tim that Metal Gear Solid 3 is out now? The world... may never know.

I Hate the Bizarros!

Well, let's just state for the record that last weekend was awfully swell, to say the least. And by that, I mean the absolute least.
However, on the flip side of that coin, one of those seemingly obligatory and awkward "Oh-I-went-to-school-with-you-hey-what-are-you-up-to-now?" conversations ensued when I saw Matt Wilson and Aimee Speaker Friday night in Blockbuster*. It turns out that Aimee and I both had surgery over the summer, though hers led to a brush with mortality and mine only led to a week and a half of sloth and luxury. Speaking of Death, Matt had a grotesque 11 o'clock shadow going. That kid needs to recognize that razors are his allies, and stop attempting to grow facial hair. It doesn't work.
So I ended up going to Chicago on Saturday to see Me Without You, and I left the Bottom Lounge a true believer. They're really good; I dare say that the snobs at Rolling Stone would label them post-hardcore (whatever that means) and they'd probably have a field day misinterpreting their cryptic, poetic lyrics.
The band concocts wicked atmospheric sounds as well as some punk-tinged riffing to complement the chanted/shouted vocals of frontman Aaron Weiss. That guy's a madman; the guy was decked out in a winter coat and a hoodie, and it was hotter 'n blazes, believe you me, and he still insisted on dancing like a madman the entire length of the show. And trust me, they have some seriously dance-y breaks in their songs, as well as... hand claps! That's right!
They're another band of Christians that don't want to be classified as a Christian band, though Aaron admitted that all of their songs are about the reconciliation of spirit and flesh (if I may be so bold as to paraphrase). He's an awesome guy; an unbelievable and intelligent frontman, but also clearly a good soul with a goofy side. Here's some sample banter from the evening:

Random Dude: Hey!!! Tell a joke!!!
Aaron: Well, I don't know any jokes... wait! Did you hear about the corduroy pillow?

Aaron: Oh, well, it's making all the headlines...

Basically, folks, I dig 'em a lot now, and though they may not prove to be your cup o' joe, they're worth a shot at least. You could do WAY worse. I'm talking about, of course, Madball. Forget those guys, and NYHC anymore. Of course, my own hypothesis is that New York Hardcore has been dead for quite some time now, but Madball offers it no alternative but to spin in its own grave. 7 Seconds, Cro-Mags, Agnostic Front, and Negative Approach would not be pleased.
We ended up watching A Mighty Wind last night, and you've gotta believe me, that's an awesome movie. At times, it's funnier than This Is Spinal Tap, but the thing is, it's made by all of the same people. Check out Eugene Levy's performance, it'll make you stand on your head. And on a personal note: Don't get Bernatello pizzas. Never settle for the Bern!
Well, I'd hit the hay, but it's 11:30. Mayhap I'll conjure up some tortellini...an brilliant plan, if I say so myself. Thanks for listening, folks, and remember: when you make a disco album, the backlash is inevitable.

Love, Ian

* +12 brownie points to whoever successfully guesses what they rented!

The History of Middle-Earth, Part One

All right, folks, we're beginning the first installment of my ( cue the trumpets) History of Middle-Earth with this entry, so please bear with me. I'll make it easier on you by rationing out installments, so you won't be bored everyday you come to read this. Just... every couple of days... here we go!!!

The History of Middle-Earth, Part One

In the Time before Time, Eru ("the One") created the Ainur, essentially a race of angelic beings, out of his thought, and he taught them to sing the themes of the Creation that was to be. But the mightiest of them, Melkor ("He Who Arises in Might"), sowed discord in the themes of Eru. Eru put a stop to this, and said "Ea! ("Let it be!")" and the Universe came into being, flawed due to the the corruption that Melkor introduced.
When the Universe came into being, many of the Ainur entered it to order it and shape it. The chief of the Ainur were called the Valar, but the vast multitude were the Maiar and subordinate to the Valar.
The Earth began in conflict as the Valar would create and Melkor would destroy. Melkor also seduced many Maiar to his service; the most fearsome of these were demons of fire, the Valaraukar or Balrogs. Both factions fought in open battle, until Tulkas entered the world and routed Melkor.
With Melkor absent, the Valar could return to their original purpose. The King of the Valar was Manwe, who could hold communication with Eru, but the other Valar included Orome, the Hunter; Ulmo, Lord of Waters; Aule, the Smith; Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits; Mandos, the Keeper of Spirits; and Varda, the Star Queen.
They made their home upon the Isle of Almaren in the Great Lake in the heart of the single land mass that Middle-Earth was at this point in time. In the north and in the south, they situated two great lamps to light the world, and there was peace for a time as they wrought a paradise on Earth.
However, far in the north, Melkor delved his fastness in the Iron Mountains, and named his fortress Utumno, and gathered his demons and bred evil creatures. When he saw his time, he struck down the lamps and destroyed the Valar's home upon Almaren. The Valar retreated to the westernmost lands, Aman, across the Sea of Belegaer, and raised the Pelori- sheer, unscalable cliffs on the shores of Aman, and behind them established the Blessed Realm of Valinor. To light their land, Yavanna made the Two Trees of Light, Laurelin and Telperion, whose waxing and waning produced sunlight and starlight. They seldom returned to Middle-Earth afterwards, save for Orome. To hinder his passages east, Melkor raised the Hithaeglir- the Misty Mountains.
During the struggles between the Valar and Melkor, the world was changed dramatically, and continents and seas formed, and new mountain ranges were raised. The land of Cuivienen was shaped during this time, on the shores of the huge inland Sea of Helcar, and Middle-Earth lay covered in darkness for countless ages.

I think that's probably enough for one day, eh? I'll wait a couple before we continue along with the History of Middle-Earth. Thanks for bearing with my geekiness, folks. Don't count your chickens before they hatch!

Love, Ian

P.S. The Flaming Lips performed on Conan O'Brien last night masterfully, and did their song for the upcoming Spongebob Squarepants film, and Wayne Coyne played in a gigantic bubble. Pure, wholesome, witty, brilliant fun, folks!
P.P.S. Buy every single Flaming Lips record!!!

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!

How's it faring for everyone? I was just ripping up some of the Super Ghouls 'n Ghosts emulator Brad sent to me, and believe you me: this game is still one of the awesomest* I've ever played.
But on a different note, here's a tip for you, folks: if you're going to try to jog continuously for over an hour, try preparing by jogging for shorter intervals for several days before you begin that odyssey. If you don't, and you have roughly the body mass I do, you jog for about 10 minutes, collapse into a wheezing mess, then walk for a long while before repeating the process. I don't know; if you're of a certain disposition, it could be fun, I suppose, but I'm kind of dubious as to what is wrong with you...
I went jogging past my 'hood into the Ice Age Trail, and (thank my lucky stars) I didn't see any yetis or anything. I would've made it home much faster had I seen one... if I returned home at all, I mean. If I truly were in trouble, Tom Bombadil would probably show up in the nick of time. He's a merry fellow. Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow, you know...
After an intense bout of jogging, I like to come home to a good session of Rome: Total War, one where the game doesn't freeze after four turns before I can save my progress. It seems like it's always freezing after I recover from a deficit in my economy, or when I'm about to engage in an enormous battle (always with the Gauls; every other faction is much more polite). I'd like to invest in Lords of the Realm III; that one looks pretty awesome as well. I can remember playing the original Lords of the Realm, back when we thought WarCraft II** was the be-all-end-all of wargames. Sheesh, seems like ages ago.
So it turns out that I get to have another consultation in Madison, this time with the fellow who will actually be doing my surgery, in precisely one week. He's going to take a gander at the old clavicle, and from there we'll schedule surgery which for once I'm more than happy to have. As of late, I can actually feel it moving, and I know how limiting it's going to be having my bones not together, so the sooner I can have an operation, the happier I'll be. Except, don't make it on Thanksgiving. I have to eat until I'm miserable that day, so it just isn't convenient.
That's about all from my end, folks. If you're thinking about joining study groups devoted to Freidrich Nietszche, remember that his ideas on honor, integrity, and living life to the fullest are wonderful maxims from one of the greatest writers of prose in history, but his "genealogy of morals" and his conviction that God is dead are fallacious arguments and utterly specious. Basically, take him with a grain of salt. Thanks for listening to me, and remember: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Love, Ian

*I am well aware that this isn't a word. Yet.
**It's still pretty high up on the list of favorite games, though. "Dabu!" "Whatcha mani kee?" "What? What do you want? STOP TOUCHING MEEEEEEE.........."

I think I liked you better without the cowboy hat, kiddo...

Let me tell ya right now, folks: if you don't have the time for it, don't get me started on a discussion of Tolkien, because I will bore you to tears or make you late for something. However, if you have a free schedule, I'll entertain all sorts of interlocutions on any topic pertaining to any age of Middle-Earth. Luckily, no one's missed a meeting in Osaka over it for some time now.
In other news, though: as Brad so sagely pointed out, I do know one Josh from ages long past: Josh Jones, a.k.a. Cowboy. We were buds back in middle school, but when we entered high school he began his descent into cowboy-dom (or is it cowboy-DUMB?). This was coupled with an exploration into what I can only deem a Wiccan-stupid-Goth-existential-fluff philosophy which was the epitome of meaningless hooey. He'd write "Death is a mere state of being" on EVERYTHING, and he'd say it all the time. He'd meet all these people that had never met him before, and he'd try to convince them he was from the South (in his mind, Indiana IS the South) and it was utterly embarassing to concede that I knew him. Especially when he would give free demonstrations of the proper way to ride a bull. Really... Josh wasn't the deepest thinker this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Josh ended up joining the Armed Forces as several directionless former friends of mine did, but found himself in the vaulted position of Anti-Intelligence as of late (actually, it's Counter-Espionage, but in the world of Josh Jones, it's Anti-Intelligence. How appropriate!).
So, be wary of kids dressed in super-tight black pants and cowboy hats driving pick-up trucks decorated with yellow ribbons... you just may run into Josh Jones, Anti-Intelligence agent extraordinaire... and God help you!
That's about it for now, folks. I'll return bearing more news should any arise. Don't take any wooden nickels!

Love, Ian

Let me tell ya about the air con: it's got ONE BUTTON!

So, yesterday began with an early morning balloon expedition which took us to the distant land of Milton, and I was dog tired by the end of it (I may have caught a bit more sleep the night before, but this guy called my cell phone at 1:10 in the morning. It went a little something like this:

Caller: (extremely haggard voice) Hey, man... what up?
Ian: (totally tired) Um... nothing, man.
Caller: Hey... who is this?
Ian. This is Ian, but uh... you called me. Who's this?
Caller: Josh, man. What are you doin'?
Ian: (mildly irritated) Uh, well, I was sleeping...
Caller: Oh, okay, man, cool. Just wanted to see what was up.
Ian: (bewildered) Yeah... all right...
Caller: Peace, man.
Ian: Later...

I live in a Josh-less universe. What is the meaning of this?!).
But that's neither here nor there. After ballooning, I took a brief nap before I had to get ready to go to Jesus Christ Superstar. But then, as luck would have it, I saw Jordan online, and in utilizing my stealth skills as a Level 15 Secret Ninja, passed the burden of seeing the show to him. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah.
So, I hung around for a while and then went to practice at the Salvation Army a little early. We ran through our set and decided to use our newest song, bringing our live song total to 6. Jon got to use his parents' 15-seater van, so we loaded up all of our gear, and me, Zach, Eric, Jon, Ryan Bushaw, Jenny G. and Tim all got to ride in style to the Frontline. We listened to Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me for a while, and Bushaw and I traded back and forth virtually every line from Ghostbusters. Good times.
So we got there, and we set up, and we were all super-pumped about finally playing to hardcore kids, but we ended up playing first. As was expected, there wasn't much dancing since all the kids were saving their energy for the last 2 bands of the evening (there were 5). To make matters worse, we couldn't mic my amp or the drum kit, so our sound wasn't as thick as it should've been. To top it off, the mics for me, Eric and Zach's vox were inaudible. We made a strong performance, and we nailed all of our songs, but you couldn't hear anything, and the lack of movement from the crowd was the capper for me. I felt really down about the whole thing for a while.
Afterward, we stopped by McDonald's for a bite to eat, and they screwed up my order twice. I was going to let it stand, but Jenny G. insisted on taking charge and making it right. I don't know; I'm too timid for the most part to take care of situations like that. I feel like I'm being a jerk, although I know that I'm not. I'm trying to get over it.
So we went back to the Frontline and hung out for a while, and then the 2nd to last band set up. Kids started pouring in for them, including one with a Killswitch Engage shirt. Ugh. Anyway, they're called Your Heart Engraved (which is a terrible name), and they're super-talented, and, like... 12 or something. No, they're sophomores in high school, but you look at them in the face and they look like they're maybe pressing 13. Their mics worked perfectly, and they mic'd their amps and their drums and their keyboards, and everything was louder than crap, and they killed. The kids went nuts, and there was a sea of kids hardcore dancing. Jon joined the fray several times, but my favorite move of his had to be his tripod-to-headstand maneuver. Basically, I was kind of bitter about how well they went over in comparison to us, but I realized that it was really dumb of me to be that petty, and to be bitter because they were successful, so I'm over that. But I also couldn't shake the fact that I just wasn't that impressed with them. I mean, not in way of their ability, they're really good players, but their songs sound like on enormous breakdown, which I think is my main beef with hardcore. They also had a lot of Meshuggah-esque noise patterns and a lot of wheedly-wheedly high-register guitar riffs.
The thing is, I'm a metalhead, and I just don't see their music as being that extreme. I'm sure I'm wrong in comparing metal and hardcore because they're two different genres, but I know that hardcore has appropriated so much from the metal world. In ages long past, hardcore meant Minor Threat, Black Flag, Circle Jerks, Youth of Today, Dead Kennedys and 7 Seconds. Then, at some point in time, metallic breakdowns were introduced, as well as hoarse, vaguely metal vocals, but it was still considered hardcore. I think the jury's still out as to whether or not it's for better or worse. And although I realize the two genres are seperate, I know that "hardcore" is where it is today in its... I don't know, "evolution" because of metal's influence upon it.
It might sound like I'm ragging on hardcore, or on hardcore kids, but I'm not really. I don't have any problem with hardcore kids, or their music. It's just not really my style of music, because I kind of view it as a... red-headed stepchild, if you will. It's just not as pure to me, you know? That's my deal. So, I'm not ripping on it, I'm sure there's some I can get into, but it's not quite my bag. That's all I really mean. But they were really nice kids, so I don't mean to be hard on them. Just trying to be the voice of reason. Just kidding.
I'm sorry if this was overly long; I have a hard time being concise sometimes. But thanks for listening to me ramble, folks. It's always a hoot.

Love, Ian

What, are you smoked? BLAZED.......

So... our gig tomorrow is going to dominate. We are going to annihilate those kids! Me and my crew OWN this freaking town! I know everyone knows this already, but: Loomis rules. Or rather, we reign. In Blood.
In other news, my mom and I saw The Incredibles this evening, and I was quite impressed. I was worried, for some reason, that Pixar might not deliver a cool movie for once, and I am glad I was completely wrong. I dig it a lot, in fact, and if you have the means, I highly recommend it.
Furthermore, the very first preview before The Incredibles was... Star Wars: Episode III! It's called "Revenge of the Sith," and man... it is going to RULE!!! Let me tell you how much: a hundredfold what Episode II did! Even if you didn't particularly like Episode II, you know in your heart it was WAY better than "Phantom Menace," and this one will knock the socks off of its predecessor! I mean... it has wookies, man! Loads of 'em! Come on! And the starships? Awesome! And Darth freaking Vader being inaugerated as a Dark Lord of the Sith?! Get outta here, it's gonna rule! Oh my God! Whooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! May 19th, my friends! Be prepared!

Love, Ian

P.S. Yes, I am well aware that I am an enormous geek, but I am prepared to suffer the consequences. And besides, I can take it; I'm still a Level 15 Secret Ninja, after all.

Fool of a Took!

How's it going? So I ended up reading The Da Vinci Code because DJ loaned it to me, and... I don't know... it's a fairly good story, but the theme of the novel carries no weight and is another example of modern artists trying in vain to be deep or profound and failing miserably. If you're not familiar with the book, it posits that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene and sired a child with her, who in turn produced the Merovingian dynasty. Furthermore, the Vatican is in perpetual war with the bloodline's protectors, the Priory of Sion, to keep the whole deal hush-hush, because it proves that Jesus wasn't divine. I'm no stranger to the theory; it was expounded in a book I read some time ago called Holy Blood, Holy Grail (Mary is the Holy Grail, according to these rubes, because she carries royal blood ), and needless to say, there's enormous flaws in their theory. First and foremost, perhaps the most blatant error they make, and in a way, the crux of their argment, is this: they argue that the Bible's description of the Grail and its whereabouts don't match up with circumstantial evidence regarding the Grail. The problem? The Bible doesn't once mention the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail was an invention of a French poet named Chretien de Troyes, who identified it as a magical stone. It took centuries for it to become the cup that Jesus drank from at the Last Supper and his blood was later collected in.
But that's neither here nor there. What's far more important is that Loomis has another gig this Saturday at the Frontline in Machesney Park at 7:00, and let me tell you right now: it is going to be intense. Apparently the Frontline attracts lot of hardcore kids, so there will definitely be brutality abounding at that show. The absurd thing about all of this is that I will be seeing Jesus Christ Superstar earlier that day at 2:00, only because my dad's friend procured tickets for all of us many, many, many moons ago, and I'm now honor-bound to go. At least it isn't Avenue Q or some (even more) pointless rubbish like that, I guess. God help me.
Well, folks, I've said my piece; thanks, as always, for listening.

Love, Ian

How can a billion Chinese people be wrong?

So, I got my flu shot today (since I'll more than likely be undergoing surgery for my collarbone once more) and I'm finding that it really HURTS. A lot. I didn't feel a thing when I was poked, but since then the pain has been growing more and more vivid, so now it feels like a freaking ogre cracked me in the shoulder.
In today's Synchronicity Folder: they played "In Your Eyes" on the radio whilst Jon and I were donating plasma, thus making for a whole string of Lloyd Dobler coincidences.
In even weirder news, a poem that I wrote in 5 minutes in order to see the results of an online quiz to test my poetry knowledge is going to be published. Published! That's insane! They don't seem to understand that it required no investment of my time! A page of a book that poetry.com is publishing will be devoted to my poem! Why?!?!?! In case you're wondering, this is how it goes:

"The Postman Only Blinks Twice"

The postman only blinks twice at me
Before he delivers my mail,
I always wave at him emphatically
But always to no avail
I'm sure he's seen me all those days
He looks me in the eye,
But something's missing in his gaze
There's something gone awry
I can't imagine what wretchedness
He must feel within his bones
Or perhaps it is some prejudice
That afflicts him as he roams
I only know he feels no joy
When he approaches my abode
And sees the waving, mismatched boy
With clown shoes and no clothes

How is that worthy of publication?! I am perplexed and dumbfounded that a committee has deemed this drivel to be sufferable, much less good enough to publish!!! What is going on here?! And wait... I'm invited to attend the International Society of Poets' Winter Convention and Symposium in Orlando in February? What am I supposed to do there?! Just twiddle my thumbs and drink lemonade, I guess...
Sigh. Oh well, this isn't so heavy, I suppose. It's just mind-boggling, and I can't believe that such a typhoon of pure dumb luck came my way. It's been swell; I'll talk to you all later.

Love, Ian

That's a heavy book, man.

So, it was Alison's birthday today and her, and DJ, and Jenny G. and Eric and I ended up hanging out in honor of the event, and total awesome-ness ensued. After some intense Saved by the Bell trivia, we watched The Lost Boys, which is always a hoot, and watched a couple episodes of the Clerks cartoon. It's worth pointing out that I ate WAY too much pizza whilst all of this took place. Then we ended up playing this movie trivia game called Scene It. Oddly enough, the first question that appeared on the TV screen involved Say Anything; it's the scene where Lloyd Dobler has dinner with Diane's father and some of his cronies. I had no course but to speak the lines with the Dob: "I don't want to sell, buy, or process anything. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything... bought or sold... or repair anything sold, bought or processed." Wow. Lloyd Dobler is the MAN. And if you haven't seen Say Anything, do yourself a favor and watch it right now, and learn a couple life lessons from the Dob.
That should do it for today, folks. It's always swell talking to you.

Love, Ian

P.S. Did everyone get a chance to see the Northern Lights? If you have the means, I highly recommend it...

Run, Trish! He's killing me!!!

Now, can you please bear with me for the following rant? It's not anything atrocious, it just may become tedious...
The thing, ladies and gentlemen, is that I like Friday the 13th movies. You also have to know that the only good one amongst them is the first; I simply like its 9 sequels because they're so uproariously awful. They mire themselves in unconscious self-parody until they become accidental comedies, and they're great for "Zing!" value. I don't know why anyone bothers to try to kill or hurt or maim or immobilize or injure or cripple or maul or heckle Jason Voorhees; he's just gonna return even more upset and all the more eager to punch a hole through your chest, AND slap you just for a total dis.
And I want Crispin Glover to know that I forgive him for being in Friday the 13th Part IV: The Final Chapter; I'm sure he'd rather forget that he ever did it, anyway. And I understand that it was probably one of his first big breaks and then he had to take advantage of it to move on to bigger and better things (the "Do-What-You-Must-To-Do-What-You-Want" Principle). Mr. Glover portrays Jimbo, the only halfway decent dude amidst all of his stupid, hedonist cohorts, and the only jerkoff kid in the movie you feel kinda bad getting greased. Kinda. But the strange thing is, he meets his death silently; no screams, no cries for help, no whimpering. Brad was like, "Nobody, and I mean NOBODY pins my hand onto the table! When I get outta this, you're in for it, pal-" HACK.
Also allow me to point out that The Final Chapter is anything but. What's more, the ending sets up a sequel. The writers (yes, the writers; you know, one guy for the nouns, one guy for the verbs...) don't seem to grasp the concept of finality. Certainly, the characters do, as practically everyone dies in Part IV. EVERYONE.
And, I was wrong about its sequel, the dreadful Part V: A New Beginning. I thought that it had no connection to Part IV, but rather, it tells the sad tale of Tommy, Corey Haim's (yes, you read that right) character from the previous installment, grown up and unable to cope with the trauma that is VOORHEES. He's kinda off his rocker, and Jason decides to return from the dead, just for kicks, and Tommy doesn't it take it too well, as you might imagine. This movie sucks. But it does feature a clever twist (yeah, right) and some hicks you're more than happy to see kick the bucket.
So there you have it. I mean, none of you out there can't say that there isn't a movie you watch again and again although you know in your heart that it is a BAD movie. In fact, it may be a FREAKING TERRIBLE movie, but it's still your special movie. Let he who doesn't have a celluloid guilty pleasure cast the first stone! (But please remember that I live in a glass house, so throw it elsewhere, if you would be so kind.)

Love, Ian

P.S. Erin is officially lost to all who deem themselves sane.
P.P.S. Don't try to be a snork, folks; it's too hard to get the gum out of your hair.
P.P.P.S. Do gnomes really not have children until they're, like, 50? Or is this a myth promulgated by Nick Jr.?
P.P.P.P.S. "Gnome" comes from the Greek "gnome" meaning "thought" and "intelligence." Readers of The Silmarillion may recall that Beor, leader of the First House of the Edain, named King Finrod Felagund "Nom," meaning wisdom. Furthermore, in the earliest incarnation of The Silmarillion, the Noldor ("the Deep Elves") were called the Gnomes. But Tolkien changed it because he figured most people would think of those profane little men people keep on their lawns.

NEVER go up against a SICILIAN, when DEATH is on the line! Ha ha, ha hahahaha...

Hi there, folks. I know I'm overdue in posting, so I'll take my time with this one so you can get your money's worth.
Yesterday was kinda rough, what with confrontations and whatnot, so my mood could be much better. I'm not as miserable/enraged as I have recently been, but that's subject to change because of my sister's involvement in this controversy. The entire fiasco I'm engulfed in at this moment reeks of high school immaturity, and that's why it's all the more frustrating. Barg.
At least we got to practice last night. We're working on a new song, much of which Jon has been writing, so he was guiding me through the arrangement he has, and I was trying to change some segments a bit to make it more Loomis-approved. I think that once I can add some riffs of my own it'll be more characteristic of our previous material and not such a departure from our sound. I want to re-vamp (sorry, Eric*) some of our old songs a little bit in order to inject a more technical feel. I shouldn't, but the fact of the matter is this: I feel slightly bad that much of our riffage is somewhat simple. I'm not trying to show off or anything, but it sounds a bit more interesting at times to hear something technically adept, and I would only apply it tastefully, not in a bombastic, egotistical manner. That's just wanker crap. Like Necrophagist. (I'm just kidding, by the way; I haven't even actually heard those guys yet.)
In other news, Erin is slowly and inexorably slipping into insanity. She will NOT stop talking about how much she digs the new Bjork single, and about another Bjork song she likes that features e e cummings lyrics. What's the big deal, you say? Erin HATES Bjork. But what's more: Erin LOATHES e e cummings. So, uh, Erin... what the h is going on around here, huh?
There's one more thing that's weighing heavily on my mind: my dad and his meat. That guy will make 5 HUGE steaks in one sitting and think nothing of it. Is that really necessary? It's not like he eats them all right then and there (an impossible task, if you ask me), and he doesn't distribute them to various passers-by; he hordes them. Why on Earth would you do such a thing??!! Sorry. I had to get that out of my system.
On one final note, I've been listening to Cursive religiously as of late, specifically their most recent album, The Ugly Organ. I suppose it would be deemed emo, but I know that it is absolutely genuine and completely heartfelt. It floors me whenever I hear it; it's so amazing. I can't tell you any more, you must discover for yourselves how much it reigns. And, as always, the Flaming Lips help to lift my spirits. Thank you, Wayne Coyne et al.
That's enough out of me; I'm starting to feel a little light-headed, so I'm gonna take it easy for a little while. Thanks for listening to me ramble. Later, fiends.

Love, Ian

*That kid HATES vamps, man. Zach still maintains that they don't exist, but Eric is dedicated to ridding the world of vampire scum.

Bigmouth Strikes Again

Sorry, folks, but I can't really write anything witty for the time being as I'm sick of people that can't be trusted. When my mood eventually lightens I'll return with something more characteristic of me, though. My sincerest apologies; I don't mean to let you down. But when I bounce back, believe you me, I'll tickle some ribs. Later, fiends.

Love, Ian

P.S. Hey, at least I don't feel anywhere near as sick as yesterday. Count your blessings, right?

Some kinda tremors.....

Wow. I'm not feeling so hot at the present moment, ladies and gents. In fact, you could say that I feel downright awful, but at least the news of Bush's victory brightens my spirits immeasurably.
I was at Jon Taube's folks' voting party last night for quite some time and ending up making a movie with Eric and Jon. It's untitled as of yet, but I dare say it ranks amongst some of their finest classics, due in little part to my own meager contributions.
Man, I don't think I should soldier on for long, but I do want to point this out at least: everyone of you should go out of your way to find episodes of Kaiju Big Battel. It's an American show styled after wrestling, Japanese science fiction, and pure madcap fun. Three hosts (including a dinosaur) are your guides to the Kaiju Big Battel Tournament, wherein superheroes from Earth duke it out with ridiculous leagues of aliens, both good and evil. It's every bit as good as it sounds. Unless, of course, that sounds terrible to you, but you've gotta trust me, it's amazing. I'm rooting for Silver Potato, by the way. That guy kicks it old-school. Over all, if you have the means I highly recommend it. I've seen a couple of DVDs at Best Buy at the oh-so-cool price of $6.99.
I have got to be on my way, though, before I expire. It's always fun talking with you, folks.

Love, Ian

*Note: "Informer" by Snow has got to be one of the most terrible songs in the freaking Universe.

I like your spectacles, give them to me. Thanks.

I neglected to mention that in the great city of Milwaukee, the City Council requested several thousand extra ballots for registered Democrats. The thing is...these people don't exist. The addresses for these "registered voters" proved to be vacant lots, restaurants, laundromats; i.e. non-residential sites. But the Council decided to request the ballots anyway, so as to not "disenfranchise" these voters. How ridiculous is that?
Furthermore, in Philadelphia, when the polls opened at 7:00, it was discovered that 2,000 votes were already submitted. Naturally, they were going to be discarded as they were illegitimate, but the Mayor and several of his Democratic cronies are trying to overturn that decision, so as to not "disenfranchise" the voters.
So basically, remember all of this when whiney liberals complain about Republicans trying to rig the vote; their arguments are bankrupt, as they have no basis in reality in the first place, but these examples serve to highlight that for the most part, whenever they accuse Republicans of doing something, THEY'RE the ones that are actually doing it. Sheesh.
Later, fiends.

Love, Ian

John Kerry is a centaur!

I got up at 6:34 this morning in the hopes that my dad and I could beat the crowd and vote quickly in a mad dash. Unfortunately, I unwittingly transmittted this scheme via telepathy to everyone in the world, so when we arrived at the polls at 6:51, all of them had decided to vote in my district. Your guess is as good as mine as to why; most of them aren't even registered there. So we waited for about... forever, when suddenly, a voice called out, "11th Ward voters can form a new line here!" Luckily, my dad and I were joined by only about 10 other people from the 11th, so it was a cinch from there. And yeah, I totally voted for Bush. I'm not gonna rag on anyone who didn't, though, unless your name is Kevin Clutson. Kevin, you idiot!
I felt really good for having participated, but I felt somewhat out of place, as I was probably the youngest person there, by at least 9 or 10 years; but I kept figuring that that was because it was so early, and not because people my age weren't gonna turn out. Having accomplished my mission, I went back to sleep. At my house, I mean.
Aside from that, I've played a good deal of Rome: Total War and as of this moment have conquered the entirety of Northern Italy, as well as Southeastern Gaul. I'll show those Gauls who's boss...
Anyway, I'm out. You can lead a man to reason, but you can't make him think.

Love, Ian

Your pig fiancee is too late!

Man. November 1st is always something of a letdown after a totally rockin' Halloween, but it wasn't all bad. My sister had an orchestra concert which went over finer than frogs' hair; I'm always glad to hear a little Joseph Haydn. I filmed the show for posterity and hung out with Kristin while it unraveled, and we engaged in rigorous spasms of thumb-twiddling during "In the Halls of the Mountain King." During the course of the evening, I also saw that Sean Lupton had cut about 4 inches of his hair off, which was vaguely... horrifying.
I was telling Brad earlier that Jumping Flash is on my list of Top 5 Video Games of All Time. Does anyone else remember it at all? It's a first-person... I hesitate to call it this... shooter, but you're a robot bunny who can jump incredibly high. The levels all reach kilometers into the stratosphere and are filled with fun, childlike eye candy. It came out in about 1996, and was one of the first games I beat on PlayStation. Man, it's good. In case you were wondering, here's my Top 5:

1. Super Bomberman 3
2. Rome: Total War
3. Jumping Flash
4. Super Mario Bros. 3
5. Super Ghouls and Ghosts

Man, I wish I could obtain a copy of Super Ghouls and Ghosts as well. That was a fine game, back when the term "side-scroller" wasn't yet met with derision. Not to say that every side-scroller is awesome; on the contrary, they can be some of the most boring games on the face of the Earth. Next to Civilization*, anyway. Some may find Super Ghouls and Ghosts glib and unimaginative, but these people's opinions are worth about as much to me as an autographed Grateful Dead shirt. But that's enough from me; I'm out.

Love, Ian

*Please do not alert Kevin to the fact that I said that; that kid swears by that game, and its even more repulsive sequel, Civilization II. But he's very clearly wrong.

That's funny! 'Cause last time I checked, you were a...

So basically, today ruled immensely. I didn't really watch any horror movies (although I did watch a documentary about cryptozoology on the History Channel), and I didn't pass out any candy, but this all was subordinated to the greater good of pounding Madison's youth into dust.
Loomis took the stage around 8:00, after a band called Death to Desire (they're good guys). And... I think the kids there were kind of dumbfounded. Someone afterward asked if we were "mathcore", but we don't really have any crazy tech parts or anything in 13/8 or something like that. We basically are a metalcore group with grind influences (and believe me, I HATE the word "metalcore," but I suppose that that's the case). The thing is, we seemed to be too great an onslaught for these kids. I'm not putting them down or anything; I'm just saying that they haven't heard anything this extreme yet, so they weren't really prepared for the brutality that followed. They started to catch on, but I have to doubt that they had ever heard blast beats or cookie monster vox before tonight. But it was a killer show, and the audience and the people in charge of the venue were very cool, and welcomed us back to play again, and I certainly would at the drop of a hat. Zach and Eric are truly madmen, and make excellent frontmen. Eric in particular was a (tiny) demon up there onstage, making a bigger ruckus than he actually is. Our friend Tim filmed us from the front row and got some pretty rad footage. Zach unplugged my guitar during "The Principle of Cereal Made Flesh" (the Count Chocula song), but it was prefectly on beat, and Jon dropped out immediately. Then I shouted, "Aw, weak!" and Jon counted me back in quickly as I put the plug back in. We fired up the breakdown riff like nothing had ever happened, and it just looked really funny. I think that it should be an actual segment of the song now; we already have random pauses and samples all over the place anyway. Also, we finally did justice to "We Bite," tonight as well. Glenn Danzig would be proud. I hope.
So basically, tonight was an exceptionally excellent Halloween, and I hope everyone else's passed pleasingly as well. I wish everyone the absolute best. Oh, and on one last note: don't confuse being stupid with having a good time. It only looks like a good time because you're being stupid. Later, fiends.

Love, Ian