Bring Back Michael Keaton

I can barely breath in this oppressive weather. When I exhale the heat from deep within my body just hangs there on my mouth. It's this damned bushy handlebar moustache. I need to shave it. It gets in the way of literally everything. I can't get a job. When I eat or drink a comical amount of food gets caught in it. When I'm getting down with a pretty young lady, it is incredibly uncomfortable both for her and me. But I can't shave it. I have to be in the Batman movie.

"Yeah man, when I lived in LA I would do that shit all the time."

Gareth was an artist about town. I was talking to him at the Smiling Moose, an odd bar associated with early horror films, metal, punk and hockey. Gareth was drawing a figure on a block of wood, using a sort of stream of consciousness technique. It was starting to look like a dragon, a bit.

"Really? Is that how you made a living in LA?"

I was excited about the prospect of being in the new Batman movie. Chris Nolan picked Pittsburgh to shoot most of the movie, and I just happened to be unemployed.

"Yeah, every day, man. It was through cental casting, so they got a lot of shit. I would be on like... CSI.... uhhhh, I think it was Miami, or something. They would always pick the dudes with crazy hair, or handlebar moustaches." He pointed at the burden on my upper lip.

"Oh, awesome then. I'm hoping to be a cop or something. Or a nameless thug" Now I'm not a big guy, so I couldn't be a very intimidating thug. However, I could certainly play one of those strung-out, mentally unstable thugs; the ones who were traumatized by whatever villain they were working for that caused them to adopt the demeanor of a sick dog trapped in the corner.

So I kept it. I almost hope that I don't get a part as an extra in the movie, so I can shave this moustache. Now, don't get me wrong. It's an outstanding moustache. It looks great. But it's just so obtrusive. I'm tired of thinking I smell like BO all day because I ate chorizo earlier. But damn it all. You better fucking believe that I'm going to be in Batman. I absolutely hope I get a part. I'm not fooling anyone.

Gareth sent me a text message later with the finished product of his wood-art that he had been working on at the bar. The dragon-like figure turned out to be secondary. Gareth had added a crude face, viewed from the side. The face had the look of an invalid, and the dragon perched on top. It was bizarre. I thought it was hilarious. I'm not sure what it was meant to be, though. I suppose that was sort of what I was going for with this moustache.

A Song For Jeff

Oct 11th 2011, my best friend Jeff Mudryk died at the age of 22. I've spent so much time thinking about how I can create a memorial to him that does his life justice. I've thought about getting a tattoo, but it would have to be perfect. I don't have any tattoos, so it would be a big commitment.  So far, all I've been able to do is write a song for him and his loved ones. The working title is "I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go... to the bathroom." It was a phrase that we used a lot when talking to girls (we were so smooth). The lyrics are written from his perspective, and since nobody really got to say goodbye to him, I've written it as if he was saying goodbye to us.

Here are the lyrics:


Verse
Load up your guns.
Aim for the sky.
Ask questions later.
Don't ask me why

Get in my car.
Baby let's drive.
South of the border,
We're gettin' high.

Bridge
We got beers in the freezer.
Drink 'em before they get hard.
So many babes in the basement.
Too many dudes in the yard.

Chorus
I'm goin' away for a long time
and you ain't goin' with me.
I'm goin' away for a long time.
I'm goin' away for a long, long time.

Verse 2
It's a scientific fact
in our lives
that if we don't get love
then we shrivel up and die

Bridge
We won't do what you say.
We won't do what we're told.
We'll never slow down.
No, we'll never get old.

Just do one thing for me:
Tell Jessie I love her.
Send all my love
to my father, and my mother.

Chorus
I'm goin' away for a long time,
and you ain't goin with me.
I'm goin' away for a long time.
I'm goin' away for a long, long time.

END

Explanations:
South of the border is clearly a taco bell reference.
One of the best times we had together was the one time we shot trap. He had a better score than me, but not by much.
I didn't actually get high with Jeff, but I needed a good rhyme, and it was fitting.
The 2nd verse is taken from something he told me. He said he read a study that said a living organism that doesn't receive love will shrivel and die. When he told me that, I thought it was a bit silly. However, I've recently come to believe that he might have been on to something.

April 22nd, I will be performing this song for the first time at Gooski's. I've never really written or performed a song with serious lyrics before, but I had to write this song. My goal is to record it soon, and give a copy to all of his friends and family. I'll never stop missing the goofy bastard. I wish he could hear this song. It would probably make him cry because he was such a huge wuss.

What is Quicksand?

Jokingly, I once said that all of my male children will be named after a combination of authors from the Romance era, and main characters from Sylvester Stallone movies. The best names I could come up with were William Butler Dredd, Samuel Taylor Cobretti, and Henry David Rambo. I know. Thoreau came after romanticism. His name just fit much too well into the formula.

I decided that Henry David Rambeau is a good pen name for me. I'm someone who lives in an era filled with individuals who are violently unaware of the past visionaries who strove to truly understand what it was to be human.

How many of us in Western culture truly know anything about ourselves? Many of us do, but so many have no idea. Look at an online dating profile. You will rarely see anything more telling than "I like to go to the beach," or "I like to have conversations." So many are just so painfully unaware of themselves. One of the many times I've had to participate in a group ice-breaker, everyone in the group was tasked to say their name, and then something about themselves. One young lady took her turn and said "My name is Emily and.... um... I don't know." Unknowingly she said more about herself than she ever could have intentionally.

For some people, maybe it is better that they never get to know themselves. What they would eventually find could be too much (or too little) for them to handle. Much like Rambo himself, struggling to understand what was going on inside of him until coming to the stark realization that he was little more than a cold killing machine.

So, what is quicksand? Well, there's quicksand everywhere. It's at your job, in your house, and in your brain. It's the ignorance in which we choose to bury ourselves. At first you don't even realize what's happening. Most don't even acknowledge that anything is wrong. The longer you stand in it, the harder it is to get out.  Once you make the realization that you're sinking, you struggle to get out and it just makes it worse. Go ahead and try to grab the rope that cable news networks threw in to save you. They're in the quicksand too. Try to climb out by grabbing those branches extended your way from the political parties, but choose carefully because their pits are even deeper and wider. I'm not going to be the bones at the bottom.

Nobody knows this exists yet but me...

... but when people start to see this, I just want you to know one thing: I'm still messing with the lay-out, so ignore the tacky stock template.