One of my all-time favorite quotes is that 'the pen is mightier than the sword,' but i, personally, believe that two can be equally powerful- when your 'sword' is a chef's knife. It is my opinion that writing and cooking are the two most effective ways in stirring emotion in other people. 

If you were to write the greatest essay, story or poem of all time, it would have to be one that hit hard in the minds and souls of everyone that read it. All of the stops that may or may not exist in your writing would have to be pulled, some grammar laws would have to be mutilated in order to convey your correct message, exactly how you want it to appear on paper. It wouldn't be pretty at first, but eventually it would be the greatest thing ever.

the same thing happens with cooking a dish- if you set out to cook the best dish ever, you could steal the hearts of the masses, and like writing, it would be messy, it might not be a healthy dish, or it may not be something that many people are willing to eat- like certian parts of an animal such as foe gras, or pork, but if you create it exactly how you want to, it could be the best thing ever.

so is the pen mightier than the sword? i'd like to know.

if i'm sinking and laughing at something sunken in, i am 

This post is way overdue

On May 18th, what is probably my favorite active band- The Black Keys- released their sixth(ish) album called Brothers. A couple of days before the album was released, the album streamed on NPR and I listened to it, and to be quite honest, I wasn't too impressed. The songs themselves seemed to lack the thing I loved the most about The Black Keys- grit. I felt like the blues bones that made up the band softened up and were more like R&B bones, I felt like the band just didn't seem to be as extreme as they used to be, I just felt like they got soft. In no way did I dislike the album, I just wasn't too impressed, maybe I just had high expectations, or maybe it just wasn't what I perceived it to be.

Then... some time after May 18th, the release date, came along, and I went out and bought the CD. I felt like something changed from what was streaming on NPR, this album was full of grit, it was completely bluesy and not in the least bit soft.

I took a long pause here, and sort of forgot what my point was, it's not that NPR makes music suck, I guess that the message somew[here] would just be that Brothers by The Black Keys is a great fucking album. Thanks.

-DaveyJones

It was a bad week, that led to a bad night.

My buddy T picks me up and we head to a parking deck to smoke cigarettes for a while since it was raining. He calls up a mutual friend, K, to check up on him- he'd been arrested, our buddy, and he had the drugs on him that me and T wanted. Finding out everything was cool, we let K know that we'd be by his place later on to pick up some of them green pills we loved so much.

In the meantime, we headed over to the European coffee shop near my side of town, real shady shit- old Bosnian men gambling away at those annoying fucking slot machines. We've won at them before- but I know they owe me way more than I've given them. Drinking our coffee, we decided to dip out to his place to play pool, where we didn't have to pay for it.

He fucked his ex earlier that day, I knew it'd be bad news. She was ringing him up the whole damn day, before we got in his Buick to head to his place, he tossed his phone in the trunk muttered "fuck her" and threw his cigarette butt on to the pavement of the tiny parking lot in front of that dark, lonely feeling coffee shop.

We get to T's place, shoot some pool and have a bite to eat. Later, we head to K's place to pick up our Klonopin. We take two right there and head out to meet with our friends. After keeping it real for a while, we decide to hit K back up and place another order.

We swing up to where he is, pick up the goods and dip out. We go back to where we were with all of our friends but I don't leave the car. T gets up to go talk to his ex while I break up a kpin and snort it right up. Feeling pretty good.

We decide to head to our friend M's place to chill for the rest of the night. Her dad is making shots for all of us, but as the night goes on, i'm the only one taking shots with him, so it's like a 12 ounce shot. Start getting fucked.

He, M's dad, breaks out his piece packed with some good weed, I usually don't like smoking it, but I did to keep him company. Head's fucking spinning.

M's dad goes and makes me and him more shots, this is about number twelve.

Next thing I remember is I'm in A's car, with J and M, no idea where T is, and I pull out two bucks cuz i want a gatorade. I get my drink and they take me home.

No clue what else. I'm just going to accept that.

Aaron had a slouch...

...like from scoliosis or something when he was young. He looked around my apartment with a bit of worry in his eye, he hadn't been in it since I moved in three years ago. He eventually plopped down in the red puffy chair next to the side table, which was littered with cigarette ashes, coffee stains, and the ads that fall out of the New York Times.

Aaron and I weren't great friends, we knew each other for years, but went to school on separate sides of the state. We never really made a point to keep in touch.

We had just gotten back from a concert, a small blues show in a venue that used to be an old church. Aaron and I ran into each other at the show and decided to catch up. "The place looks nice," Aaron was affixed on the ceiling, even though there was nothing up there, "It's so much bigger than I remember."

"Thanks," I sat down on the brown sofa, nothing in my apartment matched. I flipped on the T.V., "I think the Sox game is still on."

"Sweet." Aaron fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a pack of Pall Malls, "Is it cool if I smoke in here?" As if the stink of stale smoke and the obvious ash trays weren't enough.

"Yeah, it's cool. Go for it." I pulled out my own pack of Camels, and grabbed a match off of the coffee table to light a cigarette. "So How's Rae?"

Rae, or Reagan, was Aaron's girlfriend. I'd been sleeping with her, way longer than I should have been, but Aaron had no idea. Rae got kicked out of her house a while back, and she moved in with me, and I guess out of boredom we started fucking. It wasn't anything emotional, we just enjoyed each other's company. She knew what I liked, and I knew what she liked.

"She's good, she flew up to New York last week to visit her sister." I already knew that.

"Oh that's nice." I felt bad, about Aaron. Looking him in the face gave me the biggest wave of guilt I've ever experienced. "You care for a drink?"

"Sure, why not." Aaron rarely drank, he had a drunk dad who was extremely quick tempered. Aaron just kind of had an aversion to alcohol.

"I'm not sure if I have anything," I told him as I was getting off of the sofa. On top of the fridge was an old bottle of scotch that Rae's dad had given me for my birthday, "Scotch?"

"Yeah, sure" he told me, as I grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet. I walked back to the dark living room, lit only by the flicker of the baseball game and sat back on the sofa, and poured Aaron and myself drinks. "Thanks."

"No problem." We both turned our attention to the game, Sox were ahead and when Victor Martinez hit a homer. We both cheered.

"We need to go to a game," Aaron suggested, "It'd be cool. I haven't been in so long."

"Yeah, they're pretty fun." The firm I work for gets tickets all the time, pretty descent seats, I could let you know-"

"Yeah man, let's do it." I don't think Aaron ever really got out much. I don't even really think he had many friends except for Reagan. So I felt good knowing I was giving him a good time.

We drank for a few hours, the baseball game was long over, and we were just talking and relaxing, finishing the rest of the scotch.

"Where'd you get this stuff anyways?" Aaron was really drunk.

"Huh?" I didn't want to have this conversation.

"These bottles, this scotch, it's just like Rae's dad's stuff. Did you get it from him?"

"I don't think-"

"Wait a second," Aaron interrupted me and picked up the bottle of scotch and looked at the etch marks on the bottom. I didn't know it said anything. "Yeah dude, JFC- Jeff Fucking McCandless," His middle name was actually Frank, "That's Reagan's dad!"

"Oh," I had no idea what to say, I got a feeling that my stomach dropped to my feet.

"Dude, what the hell? I've tried to get one of these bottles for so long! How the hell did you get one?"

"Well, when she stayed with me for a while, I guess her dad wanted to thank me." Seemed like a good excuse.

"No way dude, these are his most valued possession," Still holding the bottle upside down, he saw more etchings, "This is one of Reagan's bottles! She gave this to you! What the fuck, she knows that I wanted this! What's going on, dude?"

"We're fucking." I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth, I didn't think Aaron could believe them either.

"What?" His mood completely did a one-eighty.

"I'm sorry Aaron- I wanted to tell you," I didn't want to tell him.

"Dude, why? I've never done anything to you, I thought she-" His voice was starting to crack.

"I'm sorry man, I really am. It just sort of happened." We were both still pretty drunk at this point. Aaron was starting to realize that Reagan was cheating on him, and that she wasn't worth anything to him anymore. "Can I make it up to you?"

"How?"

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Yeah, common, hit me anywhere above the belt as hard as you can." Aaron was much weaker than me, if it weren't the case, I'm sure he would have kicked my ass by now, but that would never happen. "Just do it," I took off my glasses and put my arms out, waiting to be punched.

"I don't see why-"

"Come on man, I know you want to, you're not going to hit Reagan, so maybe this will make you feel a little better."

"I guess-"

After a little hesitation, Aaron wound back and hit me right on the side of my face, giving me an impressive bruise the size of a baseball right under my eye.

That's how I got this black eye, and why I'm really good friends with Aaron now.

I know it's long over, but I'm still having to deal with it..

TOMS shoes bugs me. I get that it's a great service, you buy a pair of shoes for someone else when you get your own, but the day without shoes seems a little ridiculous to me.

I get the point of it- to raise awareness and all, but the people who are fans of this erk me a bit. They are willing to shell out $40 to $70 for a pair of shoes (yeah, it's kind of two, but canvas shoes don't cost that much. TOMS are bad quality and are also straight up ugly) and then not wear them? It's pretty pointless, in my opinion.

Not only are people [over]paying for a product they aren't going to use, not wearing shoes is not the best way to raise this kind of awareness. Instead, how about a shoe drive, where people bring in their slightly used shoes, or just donations.

Also, there are many kids in the world without food. So when they all get a pair of shoes, they don't have to starve barefoot. At least if TOMS were leather shoes, people could eat them.

This kind of charity is profiting off of a dumb fad, too many people just buy the shoes just to get the sticker. It's an American attempt at doing something good that is only working out for a few people.

(Picture is kind of unrelated- but she's barefoot)

Things I wish we had blogged about.

Although I plan on keeping this blog for some time- as a portfolio of sorts- there are some things I wish could have been assigned to write about:

• I would have liked to write about accomplishments in my life, although I'm only a freshman in college, I would have liked to have a chance to write out all of the things that I've been proud of doing.
• I would have liked to have interacted more with classmate's blogs. I think part of writing blogs as a class is so we can learn more about each other, and in return, it would help us evolve as writers. 
• I would have liked to have been assigned to write creatively, it's one of my favorite things to do in my own time, and even though I have written a few creative posts, I wish that writing creatively was an assignment at least a few times. 

Mr. Miller did a great job at supplying posts this semester. I will do my best to find his blog for next semester, so I constantly have prompts, which helped me incredibly as a writer.

-DJB

If I could live anywhere in the world, I'd pick Sevilla, Spain.

My favorite place that I've ever visited was Sevilla, Spain. I would love to master the language, live on the river, and make a living as a street musician. I would marry a Spanish woman, and every night we'd relax on one of the many floating bars, drinking Cruzcampo, or Alhambra (the beers of choice there) and just relax all day and night. 

I would make a living as some sort of novelist, and drown myself in inspiration. It would be a great place to live because of the leisurely lifestyle, and the friendly people. Also, it's one of the only places I've been outside of the US where it's cool to be American, which works out nicely for me.

I went outside

I'm at the bar tonight, luckily I have my notebook in my bag. Tiffany, the bartender, loaned me this pen- it's one of those fat, heavy twist on/ off pens that important shit is signed with
I'm out back, on the bench where employees [/me] go to smoke. I'm looking at a concrete flower pot filled to the brim with a tossed salad of cigarette butts and a light dressing of ash. It smells like shit.
It's pretty quiet out- the faint sound of traffic is the mud on my auditory canvas, and it's accented with the kick drum and hum of the bass notes from the band inside.

The band is okay- it's the standard four piece blues band:
    The drummer is a tall, skinny white guy, is is sweating profusely, maybe partly because of the red spotlight that was right on him. Or it may be all the PBRs he's been drinking the whole night.
     This bass player- short, stocky, with really thick short hair and sideburns is playing an upright with cracks all up and down the sides of the finish. he's really hunched over.
     he guitar player is playing this hollow body electric, it sounds so sweet.and he's a sick player. He's got a glass medicine bottle on his ring finger, and really fucking knows how to use it.
    The singer- Sky G- is playing on an acoustic with nylon strings, but they're heavily distorted. He's got a phenomenal voice.

I really should be writing about being outside.

Shit.

Twice, the bus boys have taken out the trash and the back door opened, and the muffled sound of the band got really clear and loud. it's nice.
This girl, Allegrae, came outside just now- she was looking for me. Apparently I didn't tell anyone where I was going, so lots of people were looking for me . She brought me my phone, that I left inside, and it was full of texts asking me where I was. It made me feel a little bad.

But Allegrae-(I just paused to smoke a cigarette with her) I'm going home with her tonight. I've hooked up with her before. I met her at a bar- Uncle Dave's - where I host open mic. Maybe it was only because we both have Kurt Vonnegut tattoos.

Side note: in transferring this from paper to the computer, I'm realizing how drunk I was. I am typing it as it was written, and I'm noticing a hell of a lot of hyphens where they may not belong.


Rumor has it that I was her first time- so her friends say, but no virgin fucks like that.
She's really cool, she reads the same books as me and she's a How I met your mother fan.
She's really hot too- she's blonde, which I try to stay away from, but she has a great body. She's pretty thin and about 5'6". Totally my type. She wears horn-rimmed glasses like Tina fucking Fey, and wears these really short shorts and tube socks that go up past her knees.
Very hot.

I just got a text saying that my ex-girlfriend Taylor found out that I'm here and came.
Fuck.

She's such a buzzkill, and she hates Allegrae- probably only because I like her.

But there's plenty more booze to fix that first part.

Time to go back in and let it be known to Taylor that I'm not interested in her company tonight.

Later,

Davey Jones.

Op-Ed

This article in The Atlantic deals with one of my favorite topics- racism. 

But not the regular- KKK, Black Panther, MS13 racism, it's food racism, and I, myself, believe that I fall into the category of a food racist.

In this delicious article (the photo is from the origonal article), Andrea Scotting talks about when she encounters someone of a different race, she immediately thinks of the food that this person's culture brings to her in a Styrofoam box in about 30-45 minutes. 

This is something I do all to often. Whenever I meet someone new, and I find out what race they are- if it isn't already 100% apparent to me, I immediately think of food from their culture. 

Moving to Atlanta, one of my roommates is Indian (let it be said that when this happens in real life social situations, alcohol helps these seemingly rude questions go over a lot better) and I asked him if he knew how to cook curry. He does all the time now. It's great curry too, and he said that if I never had asked him, he would feel embarrassed to be stereotypical like that. He might have actually made it later, but we're great friends now.

This also works in bad ways- I don't like certain kinds of food, and it will sometimes be reflected in my attitude when I meet someone from that nasty food producing region. But the thing is, I am not someone who makes lots of long term friends, and I will be eating food longer than I will know some people, so it all works out.

-Davey Jones.

Quaint throwback to humble beginnings.

Who broke some rules.

This man (pictured left) was convicted of some crimes, some of which were indeed legitimate reasons for needing to be arrested, like owning a firearm as a felon, but the moonshining charges (yeah, it's illegal, but that's beside the point of my argument.

Making moonshine is something that people have done for generations, all of the ingredients are legal, all of the products are legal, the only illegal thing that is in question here is the fact that Uncle Sam doesn't get his cut.

Like marijuana, when the government realizes that they can make money off of something illegal, they might decide to legalize it, if they can make a profit.

The question here is that part of the reason that moonshine is so novel is the level of alcohol (which the government will eventually regulate) and the cheap price (which the government will fuck up as well).

In my opinion, all this boils down to is that there ain't no rest for the moonshiners, and that part of the process of making moonshine will still have to be the fact that it's so illegal.

You feel the cold in your teeth...

... in a way that makes you want to chew out your own teeth. Like, that itch in the parts of your skin that is only touching other skin, and it burns like hell. And the headache, fuck- the headache when your brain is on ice, and you get the sensation of black in the center of your head, and the blood rush makes your teeth want to fall out, or for you to rip them out yourself.

It's all the same, maybe because it all happens at the same time. And it lasts for hours, or even days, and there's no way to get rid of this itch, except to scratch, and when you're done, it starts all over again.

I had to take a break from writing this, that girl- the one i used to go around with- the one that lived with me in that shithole of a house for three months- paid me a 'surprise visit.' She's a drunken slob- she drinks cheap malt liquor [not because she has to- she's a delta trust fund baby (which makes me wonder even more why she lived in that shithole of a house for three months) she tried to hide her riches under her American-Apparel rush-overnight- delivery catalog] and it pours out through her skin, a despicable odor reserved for bums and  Appalachian-raised fathers who beat their children, wives, and dogs after a day of working in a coal mine, returning home to a dinner of fast-food fried chicken.

That smell blends in with her perfume- a scent I used to treasure- on the nights that she went home to her parents for money- I would smell it in my sheets and pillows, or in my old baseball t-shirts that she used to wear- and I would cherish it. It used to give me a sense of home- in that shithole of a house [that we lived in with sixteen other people] for three [fucking] months- it made me feel happy- ecstatic almost, with a warm feeling inside that would displace any feeling of misplacement in my life.

But not tonight- tonight when the perfume permeated the air around us, I felt sick- like a sick, stale yellow. The color of piss on old Bible pages, that sits in the sun for days, gathering pollen and animal excrement- only to ferment even further into an odor that stained your tastebuds- and wouldn't go away until something invaded your senses to drive it away.

Now all I smell is bourbon and cigarettes.

Op-Ed

This isn't like the typical Friday Op-Ed pieces I do, but then again it's not Friday and class was cancelled on Friday and Miller never asked us to do one.

(Click the image above to stream the mixtape)

In today's circulation of hip-hop artists, there are a handful who are coming out with new mixtapes all the time, but in my opinion, there is not a more true hip hop artist than the Roots, who put out one of the best mixtapes I've heard since the time that mixtapes were actual cassette tapes.

In "The Roots- Dilla Joints" the Roots pay tribute the late great producer J Dilla, in a way that only the Roots can, through true, smooth hip hop.

Being just about the only good thing to come out of Detroit, J Dilla kept it real to the masses with his sublime beats, and the Roots do an excellent job of immortalizing him.

In their album "Game Theory" the Roots also pay tribute to Dilla by covering his song "Can't Stop This," and they proved that they can't be stopped by releasing this mixtape of epic hip hop proportions. 

Till next time,

-DJ

Bail bonding- and why it doesn't really hurt anyone.

In the NPR article about bail bonding, they address the struggles that people face when being held in jail.

The reason that people are arrested is because they are breaking a law, and I am a  firm believer that breakers of laws should have to pay for whatever laws they break, but when courts get picky about where the money for the fines come from is when I start to find the system ridiculous.

When someone is is jail, they are often given the choice of to pay bail and not have to wait in a jail cell until their court date, which, in today's high- crime society, can be up to a year in major situations.  Bondsmen are there to quickly get the money for the fine that some people can't pay right away.

Some argue that the practice of bondsmen should be outlawed- but in the end, it's pretty much a win win situation for all parties involved. The court gets their money, the person convicted of a crime gets to not have to sit in a jail cell for what can be months at a time, and bondsmen make money. it's all that simple.

The situation that some fall into that gets to me the most is when homeless people get arrested for a minor crime- like being drunk in public, loitering, or things that lots of people do and don't get arrested for- and they have no money to pay the bail, so they wait in jail for months at a time, only to find out that there is a fine to pay- which they can't pay- and have to go back to jail. In my opinion, the community service system needs more play- if people are given the choice to do community service (and in some cases, it's their only choice) it helps the community around them, as well as paying the consequences for peeing in that one alley or drinking their forty in a park.

Just sayin'.

"Yo dog, you got my shit?" (I'll have a double cheeseburger)

"Yeah son, how you like this? It's one dollar." (Okay, that'll be one dollar)

"Thanks, Ronald, you have the best burgers." (Thank you!)

No problem son, take it easy, yo. (You're welcome! Have a nice day!)



Food is addictive. In this article from Slate, Dr. Wang (yeah) explains the paralells between food we eat today and cocaine. As far fetched and fantastical that Slate is,  what Wang is saying is almost disturbingly true. There are enough problems with the things that Americans eat on a daily basis already- the fact that it's a bunch of empty calories, high fat/ sugar/ cholesterol, and combine this with the stagnant lifestyle that many of these people live, having the food be addictive is not another thing that needs to be added to the mix.

One of the most interesting parallels between cocaine and food to me was the following:

"The rats in the study that were fed these unhealthy foods developed a tolerance to the pleasure it gave them and had to consume more and more to experience the same level of satisfaction"


People have a tolerance to food pleasure? That blows my mind. I get that we have tolerances to almost everything, but the amount of pleasure from food shouldn't be something that requires a tolerance.

But in a capitalistic society, this is a genius plan, make anything addictive, legal, and easy to obtain and you're rich.

Cigarettes, for instance, are an incredibly addictive, legal and easy to obtain substance, and they are used by millions of Americans daily. And like junk food, they're awful for you.

Another point that Wang addresses is that "We make our food very similar to cocaine now." What he means by this statement is that food is highly concentrated, and we use the "good stuff" parts of food now. He uses the example of corn, where hundreds of years ago, people ate corn, but now they eat high fructose corn syrup. Just like how hundreds of years ago, people chewed the leaves of the cocaine plants, where now the chemical ingredients are extracted out into cocaine. 


I wonder how long it will be until people start freebasing their cheeseburgers or injecting their french fries.

My dream wife is wanted for drug trafficking.

Apparently.

If you're looking at the 50 most beautiful women in the world, chances are that at least five of them come from Colombia. They breed them well in that country.

Along with beauty, Colombia is infamous for it's cocaine.

And now, the two have been mixed. The first paragraph in the article reads:


Wanted: A Colombian woman with long hair, thick lips and honey-colored eyes, 30 years old, with surgically enhanced breasts and a redone nose. She likes Spiderman and recites the poetry of Pablo Neruda
.
To be honest, this sounds like an ad that I would put out looking for a soul mate. But the catch here is that this woman, Angie Valencia, is wanted for cocaine smuggling. This is a price I'm willing to pay. Beauty is an advantage in many situations of life, whether it is getting out of speeding tickets, having a bigger variety of dates, and being able to smuggle drugs and have no one suspect a thing. 


I really hope that this woman, who is currently believed to be hiding out in Argentina- the home to lots more beautiful women, shakes off the bounty hunters looking for her. She was using her good looks to manipulate men, which is totally fine with me. Sex is a gift given to us by God himself, and if women want to use it to their advantage, more power to them. Men do it to, and although less effective, it is a way of getting things, and if some people have to be taken advantage of (just to be clear, I don't mean 'taken advantage of' in the rape way, I mean it more in the way that when presented with a sexy female, lots of men will throw away their priorities and let themselves believe that if they do what this woman wants, than they might get what they want) than so be it.

Angie, if you're reading this, you can totally hide out in my apartment till the heat dies down. I know how GTA works, so I assume real life Colombian police are the same.

I had a really hard time with this one.

I couldn't think of the best or worst book I've ever read. I have my favorite books that I always keep in mind by default, but for one, many of them are kind of cliche` and I just didn't want to write about them, and two, I don't know if my favorite book I've every read constitutes as the best book I've ever read. But since this is an assignment, I chose The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.

Also, since I haven't done anything like it yet, this will be sort of my homage to Mr. Salinger.

I read this book in ninth grade, as a recommendation from my English teacher of the time, Mrs. Garcia. She's observed my reading habits and deducted that The Catcher in the Rye would be a book I'd enjoy. I did.

I remember the day I read it. It was a Thursday in November when I went home with her copy of the book. It was like the one pictured to the right, but it was the same picture just zoomed out a little bit. The book was truly a piece of history, and just feeling it in my hands allowed me to feel everything the book had experiences, and I was about to be one of the lives that if changed. 

I walked home from school in high school, it was maybe a fifteen minute walk, but that day it took only seven, I was extremely eager to read this novel that I had heard so much about in my other books. I got home, sat on my bed and started reading. 

Since then, I've read the book at least twenty times, and I still enjoy it every time, but I can't quite point out why, but it is truly a moving book.

Around seven that night, I ate dinner with my family, I remember this day even down to those details, we had steak and potatoes,  and my dad let me drink a beer that night. He sometimes gave me different beers because he said it would help me enjoy the notes and details of his cooking more. 

After dinner, I went back to my room and read more. When I finished the book, I felt changed. I never really knew why, but over the years, I've come to realize that I could relate to Holden, and although the book didn't really teach me anything, I gave me insight into how much about the world I don't know, and seemed to change my life to some degree. I have become a totally different person since then, and although it may just have been because of the time of my life it was and I was going to change anyways, I credit most of it to The Catcher in the Rye, and that's why I think it's the best book I've ever read.

I own five copies of this book, and I read it every Christmas (partially because that's when the book takes place, partially because I just like to). I plan on giving a copy to my child when he/[hopefully not a]she is old enough, in hopes that it will aid them in growing up the way it aided me.

R.I.P J.D. Salinger 1919-2010

This is a hand grenade.

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"Dude, what the fuck is that for?" Julia took a quick drag of her cigarette and stared at the .35 in my hands that I was loading.

"Just in case."

"Just in case what?" She was yelling at me, "it's not like we want to kill him or anything, why are you bringing that?"

"Just in case Julia. I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it." I made sure the safety was on, stuck the barrel in my belt and six bullets in my back pocket, it was all I had left.

It was my grandfathers Colt Diamondback, he gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday, that was five years ago. I used to carry it everywhere, most of the time not loaded, but I liked having it concealed, seeing where I could take it without being caught, it was a sort of thrill for me. I've only shot it six times, five shots were at other people, one of them was straight up into the air to scare the shit out of some guys that owed me money.

I killed the five people I shot.

"Ted you bring it everywhere, they won't have guns, I know this."

"But there will be nine of them and only two of us,"

"But-" she interrupted,

"And since you've hurt your hip," I interrupted, "I don't want to take any chances of you having to run."

"I still don't think you'll need it." She slid the revolver around to the side of my pants, and covered it with the tail of my flannel shirt. "This is nothing, we'll be fine." She put her hands around my face, a Camel Light still burning between her fingers and kissed me. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

We got in my car and drove to bar where we were meeting a guy who worked at a pharmacy that replaced Oxycontin with placebo pills he made himself and sold the shit he stole. We were buying 100 80mg pills, at fifty a piece. Julia kept the cash in her purse, in those drug dealer stacks, four stacks of 100 100 dollar bills.

When we walked into the bar, we saw him there, sitting in a booth drinking a Gin Gibson. He was sitting alone, but I easily noticed the entourage of Incredible Hulks located a few booths behind him. When Julia and I got close to him, he snapped, and one of his goons walked over with a Halloween candy bag. When he stood up, I quickly saw the twinkle of his gun creep out from behind his leather jacket and attached to his belt. He walked over, set the bag it on the table and walked off.

"Take a seat," He motioned to Julia and me, and we sat in the booth, directly across from him.

I never read TMZ

Really just because I don't care about celebrities.

Take Tiger Woods for instance, who really cares that he cheated on his wife except for his wife. For real. Every time I turn on the television or pick up a newspaper or even just go to a news stand to pick up a pack of cigarettes, I'm always hearing about this motherfucker. Give it a rest media, he's a celebrity, so naturally everyone's going to want to get into his bed. What's bigger, in my opinion, is the face that his wife didn't know.

With technology today, and the way that women are, she would have suspected something a long time ago, like the times when Tiger is coming home from "a golf game" at four in the morning. Uh, Ms Woods, golf is a fair weather game, so no one is playing it after eight o'clock. Not even Tiger Woods.

So I say this to the media of the world, or at least Atlanta, please stop telling me about Tiger Woods, because frankly I don't give a damn.

Interpretation of a road. (because it's really just a road)

in Ali Hembree's blog, she critiques the following photo:

Where Ali interprets the picture as a road, going straight, than in all sorts of different directions, than straightening out again, I see the picture as a straight road, with the line just painted weirdly.

In life, there is a road, it's only one road, as depicted in the picture, but some people, in this case the 'people' is the person who made the piece of art, interpret it in different ways. As most road painters choose to paint straight, double yellow lines on a road for safety, he chooses to say that the road is open to his interpretation.

So, even when there is something as concrete and [quite literally] set in stone as a paved road, we can choose to see it how we want, and interpret it as we like.

Invisible people

I chose this man, probably because I can relate to him the most.

Michael from InvisiblePeople.tv on Vimeo.

Not saying that I was ever homeless for years, but I have been on the streets from time to time, and playing guitar on the street is usually the only way to make money when you don't have a place to shower for a job, or an address to get a check sent to.

I totally sympathized with Michael when it came to the issue of cops, after ten is probably one of the best times to play music on the street- many people are leaving bars and are much more likely to hand over a ten or a twenty than the change in their pocket, and it's just a low blow for the cops to give a homeless man a ticket. They know that it is difficult for someone to pay a sixty dollar ticket when they might be making forty dollars a day, but they do it anyways.

I wouldn't say that homeless people are any less invisible than others, they might need more help and it's harder for them to achieve, but especially in a crowded city, you never know what's going on in the life of the guy next to you on a bus, or the guy sitting on a bench reading a paper might be a CEO on his lunch break or it could be a homeless person. It's not that they are more invisible than anyone else, but people don't want to concern themselves with everyone they might encounter on the streets, either we don't have the time, or we don't want to face that kind of reality, but that's just how it is.

I know we don't have to do this over spring break, but it's good for me.

Saturday

Did some substances with friends, went and played baseball until it got cold, then we all went and watched a battle of the bands that a friend of ours was in. Went back to my friends place and felt the meaning to 40oz of freedom.

Sunday

Drove back to lawrenceville, it's really not an exciting town. It's about the equivalent of somewhere in the East Atlanta Village, just more people over 40. Went to the coffee shop where all my friends used to hang out, and as it turns out, still do.

Monday

My buddy picked me up and we went back to the coffee shop. After a while of realizing how nice of a day it was, we went to the park and played football. For a few hours. I haven't done that in years, but it was nice. Later we went back to the coffee shop and I ran into an old girlfriend of mine, Ashlan, and we started to catch up. I think we're going on a date tonight, but I don't know if I'll want to.

Later, we went to visit my buddy Michael when he got off work. Funny story about that; Adam's car was there, a cop ran his tags and had to speak to Adam. As it turns out, someone with the same first and last name, birthday, and similar address is wanted for all kinds of murders, stabbings and all other sorts of good stuff. They just had different birthdays.

Today

I got my job back at an old photo studio I used to work at. I'm just waiting to leave to go.

And maybe later today I'll give Ashlan a call.

Adios,

Davey Jones

Friday op/eds

Finding it totally relevant, I chose to write about this video, found at utne.com:

Procrastination from Johnny Kelly on Vimeo.

It's all about procrastination. Substitute coffee for tea, and exclude the fire escape plan (note to self: construct a fire escape plan) and I have done each one of those things instead of doing work that I should have been doing. Some more than others, like drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette, getting drunk and re-arranging my workspace (which can turn out weird the next day if you were doing it fairly drunk), and there are many more not even on that list that I have done. It's just something that I assume lots of people do, especially college students. I've seen my friends do so many other things instead of homework, it is almost an epidemic.

For example:

My friend Adam had a take-home exam, and because of procrastination, it was due the night after. But instead of getting it done, he spent the whole day trying to find other things to do. And being a fellow procrastinator, I was happy to assist in someone else's procrastination. We went out for lunch, went to a park and played catch, went to a bar and had a few drinks and then went to the movies, the whole time weighing the consequences and benefits of doing his exam, or going on to do whatever else it was that we wanted to do.

Like now, I was going to do research on my essay for English 1102 before I went out to the bar tonight, but I realized it would be better to write in my blog. And the time it took to read Miller's blog, other blogs I follow, find a website to find an article from, to find the article, to watch the video and think about what I was going to write, and finally, to drink a cup of coffee, smoke a cigarette, organize my workspace and write this blog was all time I could have spent researching. But no, now it's nearly eleven, all my friends are at the bar and I'm about to leave. I'll research tomorrow.

-Davey Jones

Spring Break 2009

Deciding not to go to Panama City Beach, or Miami, or anything else that all the cool kids did last year, me and my friends loaded up my car with fishing poles, guitars, a tent, and about 15 jugs of bottom shelf wine and headed to the north Ga mountians. It was about a three hour drive, about an hour of it was composed of me driving at about ten miles and hour, alternating between first and second gear up what was the steepest dirt/mud road i've ever seen.

Once we got there, we set up the tent, gathered firewood, caught a bunch of fished, and just kicked it for three days in the middle of the woods. It was probably the best spring break that could have been achieved for less than one hundred bucks.

The campsite we were at was virtually untouched by man, except for a booth with a clipboard and a wall of mailbox like things. Campers are supposed to sign up and say where they camped and for how long, and put money in the box corresponding to the location of the campsite they were at, but me and my friends being the people we are wrote a note that read something like this:

"Dear wilderness, thank you for letting us stay here, we picked up all of our trash, put out our fires and left it as it was when we got here. Sorry for the bits of broken glass that we couldn't pick up, and for the loud drunken singing in the middle of the night. Also, we're sorry for breaking your "no alcohol on premises" rule, but we were responsible. Unfortunately, we have no money, but someday we promise to return and spend time with you.

Signed,

Allen G.
Jack K.
Charlie B.
Scott F.
The girls that tagged along.

P.S. The underwear flag was there when we got here. We promise."

It was a great experience.

How to write a bad article

Make it an advertisement in disguise.

This article is totally just an ad for the website quotewizard.com in somewhat of a disguise. It's got the luring title, aimed at letting people know "hey, we're here to help YOU, read this shit, and then go to this website that's giving us money to nonchalantly slip in a mention!!!" But it was completely obvious to me.

Had the article been titled "SAVE MONEY WITH QUOTEWIZARD.COM" it'd be a different story, because it would simple advertising article, and i'd be much happier.

This article reminded me of the time that i interned with my aunt at her studio, evil twin productions in L.A. She told me all sorts of stories regarding the business, and ways that people get into it. How sometimes, musicians will not know anything about music, but have some trait or quality that a big company can relate to a population and market the hell out of it. Like hanna montanna. Then there are the others who try all their life, and might get one big break, and a tiny little bit of money, or more likely, people will work extremely hard their whole night, and never even get that break.

it might have been unrelated to the article, but it's what I felt.

Not being able to find the print online of my favorite artwork...

 

Kurt Vonnegut's self portrait, which also contains his signature, is by far, one of my favorite pieces of art, so much that I have it tattooed on my body (the flesh depicted is indeed my body). The story behind the actual print is that Vonnegut, my favorite writer, was sitting in his Saab dealership on his 82nd birthday and drew a self portrait and signed it. It is featured in his book A man without a country, towards the back, next to my favorite poem of his, the first line being "This crucified planet earth."

Not that it's a super well-drawn portrait, or that it's groundbreaking in any way, this doodle of Vonnegut's is great because of what it symbolizes, which is Vonnegut himself, including everything that he ever was. I'm not a fan of tattoos, but I, out of adventure, decided to get one, and faced with the decision of something that I'd want on my body for the rest of my life, I chose Vonnegut's self portrait/ signature without even thinking twice.

A girl, a rock and a cat.

There was this rock that me and her used to sit on outside of our building. It wasn't really a rock, it was more of a piece of a statue that had fallen off because of weather erosion, or because the city of Atlanta decided they wanted to tear down the building, either way it was there. And we called it the rock.

On the big slab of granite, being supported by three pillars of concrete, there was a scene of a bunch of people, looking like they worked on a farm or something, judging by their clothes. They all had coffee mugs, that was where me and her would put our cigarette butts when we sat on the rock. We'd sit there in the fall, for hours at a time talking about everything.

A frequent visitor of our rock, there was a black cat that we named The Great Catsby. He was a bootlegger, and in himself a critique of the American dream. He was an alley cat that roamed Atlanta, probably had turf that was his and kept other cats off of it. He was the boss. We believed in that stupid cat, it couldn't have been more than three months old when we first saw him, then we started to bring food out and leave it for Catsby, and over the months we saw him grow.

She and I stopped talking, not just on the rock, but all together. I fucked her best friend, and she ran off with a friend of mine from high school. I still see that rock from the road when i drive by it. The thing looks like trash now, cars have wrecked into it, birds shit all over it, and it's covered in broken glass.

I used to see the cat, it looked starved. You're not supposed to feed stray animals, because they get used to it, and stop learning how to hunt or find their own food. When me and her were still friends, we'd feed that damn cat, and it forgot how to survive on it's own. And then when she and I stopped being friends, the cat stopped eating. Catsby's probably dead now, our spirit of the American dream, so thin you could see it's ribs, overcome with disease and mange.

Today looks as awesome as it feels.

Why?

I read this article the other day, and it pissed me off at first, but then I just accepted it I guess.

Most cops are dicks. I know lots of cops personally that are pretty cool people to be around, but that's when they're not being cops. They are just being friends. I'm sure though, that when they go into uniform, they're dicks.

I understand it, I would hate my job if I were a cop too, but the one in the article must have really been having a bad day. Like his dog probably died, his girlfriend broke up wit him, he got demoted for being friends with underage drinkers and he probably got a parking ticket and wasn't in the mood for any smartass bullshit. Not to say that the lady asking "why" was just being a smartass, but you never know, she could have said it in a way to intentionally piss of the cop.

Working in service, I saw it all the time. People just like to think they're better than the person who is supposed to be "serving" them in any way. They think that since the person behind the counter, or in this case, in a uniform, is paid by me, so they should have to take my bullshit whenever I feel like dealing it out.

But that's not how it should be, we all have bad days and have to put up with stuff we don't necessarily feel like putting up with on a given day, however there's no excuse.

My sympathy is on the cop's side here, I don't think he just out of the blue arrested this woman when she asked why she had to move, I don't believe that that was all she said, and I feel bad that the cop is being ridiculed by the newspaper and all, just for doing his job. It is true though, that maybe he could just have let her off with a warning, but he earned his cuffs, along with the authority to use them.

Wednesday Video

This video is full of juxtaposition. There are a number of objects that flash on screen in-between shots to make the viewer see something in a certain light.

For instance, showing the weird vampire looking dudes, and then the liquid falling from someone's mouth implies that the liquid is blood, or the other way around perhaps. No one would really think that the guy with makeup on s a vampire, but if that shot is played next to a shot of blood dripping out of someones mouth, than the thought that this person is a vampire is a little more likely.

Now, why Jay Z chose to pick these characters for his video (almost making it look like a promo for True Blood or something) I'll never know. Jay Z has always been incredibly mysterious to me. I mean, he never really tells too much about his life. And for being so famous, he seems pretty introverted, adding to his mystery.

I'm pretty sure that Jay Z is an Illuminati, or at least a Freemason, or even a shriner. Either way, he's mysterious as fuck, and it makes me respect him even more. And since he's married to Beyonce, he probably knows the real reason that Destiny's Child broke up, and that's knowledge that I'm sure the government wants, so Jay Z is most likely part of some big CIA cover up, to protect himself, as well as Beyonce.

Analyzing a Monday video.

"Cut Your Hair" by California band, Pavement is all about the music scene. It's all about the sudden bloom of new bands, and in all different genres, the singer references "cutting hair" as a change. Meaning hair is the thing that is getting too popular. And that cutting hair would cut back on all of the spontaneousness of things would slow down by doing a spontaneous thing- cutting your hair.

Friday Op/Ed Piece

Okay, it's not curling, but this sport definitely fits into the WTF category of the winter Olympics in my book.

Most Olympic winter games are things that the atheletes already do for fun, such as skiing, snowboarding, ice skating/ speed skating, and [cringe] curling, but what what people are skiing and shooting for leisure?

My mind first goes to some sort of alpine snipers, akin to "bikini stranglers" who go to ski lodges and kill tourists for fun. They wake up in the morning, pick up their weapon of choice for the day and hit the slopes. While they're skiing down the mountains, they pick out a group of girls in fuzzy pink ski wear that are there to get away from the boys for the weekend, and just relax with some skiing. Well, our biathlon gold medalist doesn't like this. So he decided to follow them down the mountain until he picks the first one to kill. She's dead, and the other girls freak out, first stopping to see that she's dead, and they decode to go for help. as they ski down the mountain further, the sniper picks off another one, and this fashion continues until they're all dead and our killer is on his way to the Olympics.

Nas's video of the song "Hip Hop Is Dead" is an emphasis on "wrecking the DJ," and a social commentary on how the DJ has been wrecked, and ultimately, hip hop is dead.

Nas's social commentary really speaks to me, me being the average individual who is someone who is saddened by the fact that hip hop may, in fact be dying, and that only Nas can save it. He is the defribulator of hip-hop, and he's bringing it back to life for all his homies out there, who carry the burden of believing hip hop is inevitably dead.

Anything I want

So there's this chance that we might all die tomorrow. And I don't really know what to make of it. Sure, the message that the Iranian president gave was definitely open to translation, but this guy is not someone to fuck with. What if they did decide to bomb the hell out of America, picking off all major cities. Being someone who lives in a major city, I think that more attention needs to be brought to the subject.

Yeah, the media tries to protect us, it's suck for everyone if tomorrow there was just a sudden outbreak of paranoia, but most of the people I've said anything about this to has been pretty much clueless.

Oh well, maybe liberal capitalism needs to see an end.

Visual argument video:

Superbowl
So, I'm taking the easy route and talking about the superbowl. Honestly, I don't quite care for either of the teams, I would like to see the saints win, but I have a good feeling the Colts are going to win. Peyton Manning is just about un-stoppable.

I am, however, looking forward to seeing The Who perform, sure, they're old as shit, but I am really excited to see them play. Also, the NFL bought the rights to an Arcade Fire song, so I'm sure we'll hear it upwards of 68 times, and I like that song, so I'm excited. common sports!

Kids, this is the story of how I met your mother...

How I Met Your Mother is my favorite television show that's still on the air. It's all about Ted Mosby (Josh Randor, and "future Ted" is played by Bob Saget) telling his children the long and complicated story about how he met their mother. There is all sorts of impediments to meeting the mother, and it's overall a hilarious show.

Barney Stinson (played by Neil Patrick Harris) is the womanizing best friend of Ted who always is coming up with a crazy scheme to get in the sheets with a new lady. (Video Below.)



This show teaches lots of things, but it goes deeper than many television sitcoms might. The importance of friendship is explained in just about every TV show out there, but H.I.M.Y.M. seems to relate to me the most, and I see myself in the show, learning about why friends are important.

New episodes on Monday at eight, it'll be LEGEN.......







.......DARY!

I hate new Jersey.

After reading this [incredibly dated] article, it confirms that New Jersey was full of fist pumping guidos long before The Jersey Shore.

I don't hate NJ just because of all the guidos, I'm from Lawrenceville Ga, a place FULL of eastern Europeans who exemplify the guido persona. I'm pretty sure there were guidos from Bosnia or Romania before Italy. Just saying.

New Jersey is a poser. They stand next to New York, one of the greatest cities in the world, and totally ride it's coattails. Way too many people from New Jersey will say that they're New Yorkers, even my own parents for christ's sake. I've been to NYC and I've been to NJ. Not the same, people. These are two completely different cities, one being much better than the other, that are completely different places. It's like when people from Marietta or Gwinnett say that they're from Atlanta, yeah, it may only be a 20 minute drive, but it's not the same. People should be proud of where they're from [except New Jersey]. Every city has great things about it [except New Jersey], so just live with it.

I don't know where this came from. New Jersey is stupid and The Jersey Shore is stupid.

END.

-DJ

1/29/10

Women's skiing, aka Lindsey Vonn.

If you're paying attention to winter sports at all, then you'll recognize this girl.

Fuck the bunny slope, this chick is so awesome at what she does, this weekend, we made a drinking game out of it:

I went back to my parent's house this weekend in Lawrenceville, Ga. While there, I decided to hit up my old bars and see what everyone was up to. I went to one of my favorite favorite bars, McCrays. After being greeted by old friends and bartenders with a big cold mug of brew, we turned our attention to the ESPN screens and we all noticed Lindsey Vonn. She was so awesome, we decided to take shots of bourbon every time she exemplified awesomeness. And boy, was it a great night.

-DJ

1/27/10

Letting corporations in on political campaigns is just fine.

Lately there has been lots of hulabaloo about corporations "choosing" who is president. I think that it's just capitalism on a bigger scale.

Everyone gets a vote, right? The heads of big businesses are people, so they should get a vote. Just because they have more power and more people listen to them just means more power to them.

Smaller scale:

Compare Ted and Barney.

Ted is an average guy who makes a decent living as an architect, and he wants to support his candidate by putting a sign in his front yard and a bumper sticker on his car. Barney, however, is way up in the corporate scale and has a six figure salary. He decides to cover his car in a life sized sticker of his favorite candidate and to flood his yard with talking signs supporting his candidate.

Many people do both of these things, so it's no different than Leaderofcompany X deciding to put the face of his favorite candidate on his product.

-DJ

Opposing viewpoints

Who is the hotter Australian Supermodel? Miranda Kerr, or Gemma Ward?

These models have lots of things in common, they are both Australian, they're both models on the petite side, and they are both tens on and heterosexual male's "one to ten" scale.

Let's break it down:

Gemma Ward
She's blonde, which is the dealbreaker for many dudes, but not for me. She is younger, 22 as opposed to Kerr's 26, but the difference is minimal. In accordance with her blonde hair, she has blue eyes. Making her the ultimate Aryan woman. But compared to Kerr, she seems a little on the less-desirable side.

Miranda Kerr
She's a brunette, which I happen to be a fan of. Kerr, like Ward also has blue eyes, because god knows that brown eyes don't make it in this world anymore. She is bigger than Gemma, but not by too much, but she makes Ward look a bit malnourished, whish is a turn off for me. She's also married, keeping in mind that Ward is only 22, but it proves that her personality is good enough for a man to stand. Even if that man is Orlando Bloom, and has the money to buy Kerr's personality.

All in all, I'd go with Miranda Kerr. She has more qualities that I look for, and, in my opinion, is just all around hotter.

Friday Piece

This video made me feel many different things. Please watch it before reading on, if the link doesn't work for some reason, it's the first one of the AJC videos.

So there's this guy who wants to start an all white basketball league, it's not an incredibly bad idea, but he is sticking to his guns and claiming that it's not a racist move. He goes on and on about "the good old days" of basketball, and how you used to be able to go and enjoy yourself and how white players have more of the fundamentals, implying that black ball players are just born with basketball skills.

My favorite part is when he says that he wants [white] people to be able to go and relax at a game just as [black] people can go to a Lil' Wayne concert and "have a good time and forget about all your troubles." (when really, the only think Lil' Wayne raps about is his troubles)

Later, he just happens to menntion that people have already contacted him about turning his idea into a reality show, which, for me makes it seem like that was the only reason he was doing any of this in the first place. The show will show the white league, and at the end have an all star game against all black all stars. The show is to be called "Snow Ball ve. Bro Ball."

Today was a nice day.

I'll start out with a picture of the weather- granted that when I thought about why the weather added to the goodness of the day, it was less cloudy, but by the time I was both around my cell phone and outside, it got kinda cloudy outside.



With the image of the weather setting the mood, I've realized that I've been kind of a bad person lately. Bad, not like I go around pillaging and plundering (however, that would make a blog much more interesting)I've just had lots of opportunities to take an emotional step back and look at my life, and I've been a little unhappy with the results from time to time.

For instance, I've become too comfortable with hurting people, emotionally, that is. I have lots of friends that I've done some crappy things to, but in my own defense, this also can be weighed out by who my friends actually are (by the way, that was my second italicized word today, two's enough). Being at Georgia State has exposed me to literally hundreds of people that I've become acquainted with, but having coffee, or a few drinks with someone doesn't by any means make them my friends. Over the years, I've built myself up a nice "friend" portfolio, and I am content with the people in my life that are my regulars. This isn't really going anywhere, and I need to stop it.

Also, back to me being bad. I lie a lot. I lie to people, most of the time for no reason. On Tuesday, I went to get coffee with a girl I met at the bar (TnS Bar in East Atlanta- best thing to happen to me since the bar I was going to before that (Slice, right near Aderhold. Always a good choice)). But instead of telling my friend what I was doing, for some reason, out of the blue, I said I was just going to buy a pack of cigarettes. I couldn't say why, but when I hear the lies come out of my mouth, I think "how ridiculous of me, that wasn't even cool."

I'm really not in the writing mood today.

Friday Op/Ed Piece

I'm responding to this article.

First of all, I think that this answers the fundamental question that has been on everyone's mind for centuries: what the hell is mesquite? You know, every thing in the snack aisle in a grocery store comes in mesquite flavor, but what is it? Is it made from mesquiteos? But I think this desert food might have found it's place in cuisine.

I did, however, find myself disappointed while reading the article titled : Eating Locally in the Desert, It gives the appearance of some new way to grow food in the desert and solve the world food problem, although, flour can be made from mesquite, so maybe this is the solution, but Keith Goetzman fails to offer this as a possibility.

Question of the day

What would you do if this happened in D.C.?

Honestly, I don't think I would do much. Let's face it, if the president were near the area, I'm sure he would be protected at all costs, so nothing too bad would happen to him, but what I would do is kind of irrelevant. Nothing about my daily life really changed when 9/11 happened, other than hassles in airports, and nothing really affected me when Katrina hit, other than making sure my family in that area was okay, but I, personally, didn't really do anything.

I am a college student from a middle class family, I don't have the extra money to buy 1,000 gallons of water, or to build a house or anything. The most I would do if a catastrophic earthquake hit Washington D.C. would be to text "whatever" to "whatever phone number" and donate the ten dollars, just as I did for Haiti. It's really all I can afford, and it doesn't take any time away from me that I can't earn back, so it's something completely plausible that I could do, and it's probably all I would do if an earthquake were to hit Washington D.C.

Blog #1

Even though this will be the third time that Mr. Miller is hearing and/or reading this information about me, here it is:

I am David J. Brown, or sometimes DJ Brown, I was born in Ft. Lauderdale Florida and moved to Atlanta in late '96, I am an Atlantian, loud and proud. I did well in high school, English always being my favorite subject, and also did lots of work with photography. I was the winner of many photo contests around the area, with my work being displayed in numerous places around Atlanta, including Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and The High Museum of Art in Atlanta.

I've always liked to write, I was on board with websites like Livejournal and Xanga from the get go, and I have kept personal journals since I had the ability to write. Last November, I participated in NaNoWriMo, where I wrote a novel, upwards of 60,000 words, which is soon to be published.

As far as academic writing goes, I have typically always enjoyed writing essays for my classes, I believe that writing is a skill that many American students don't possess.

In terms of other interests, I like music; I am a fan of Bill Evans, Charlie Parker and Miles Davis, they are probably my top three musicians of all time. Also, I have been a fan of 90's alternative since it was fresh in the 90's.

I like to read, my favorite writers are Charles Bukowski and Kurt Vonnegut. I got into these authors at a young age when my grandfather died and left me his book collection. My favorite book as of today is Sirens of Titan.

I look forward to Mr. Miller's class, I will prove to be a capable student, and add flavor to the class, yadda yadda, and I know that he has to read lots of these, so I'll do my best to keep them interesting and thought provoking.

DB

P.S. I hate semi-colons. I think I only used one in this post, but that may be the last one seen for a while.

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