Bonjour, Bonjour

Bonjour, Bonjour

So I'm in France now.

Here's how that happened:

At the end of last summer I was doing the thing that I do at the end of every summer (trying to figure out my life) when my sister and her boyfriend mentioned a company called Thrilling Adventures to me. Thrilling Adventures does bike tours around the world, and they need Italian speakers. A friend of mine is leading trips, Spencer said. You should do that too, Kate said.

I thought about it.

I guess that I like bike riding, but it had been years since my last real (read: not drunken and not to 7-11) bike ride. I'd probably have to wear spandex. I'd have to go back into customer service, which can really, really suck. I'd have to put off my vague ideals that I "am an artist and must make art" for another year at least.

But someone was going to pay me to live in Italy, and maybe then travel the world.

Well.

Ok.

One month ago I finally applied, through the most intense hiring process that I've ever been a part of. I wrote two essays. I got letters of reference. I sent in a resume and driving record. They called me for a half an hour phone interview. They called me again and invited me to a hiring day (read: 8 hour interview where I have to give speeches to roomfuls of people, problem solve "troublesome guests" in a role-play at a smooth wooden table with executives frowning and scribbling madly in notebooks at my each and every response, demonstrate my skill in the Italian language, and fix a flat tire).

Then they hired me! They told me that I needed to be in France in three weeks, and bought me a ticket. I purchased spandex. I tried to call my Italian friends to brush up my now-bad Italian, but they being Italian never called me back.

I finished work in Nevada City and took a train to San Francisco, where I met up with Lily and Adam (and Karen and Sarah) and swore to myself that I was under no terms going to get wasted the night before my really, really long flight.

I promptly got wasted.

We took pictures of piles of people on couches for hours, then went to a party and loudly congratulated the birthday boy on his 21st birthday (it turned out to be his 28th) but then drank his beer anyway then ran to a bar then back to the house and someone announced that it was now a pantless party and food was eaten but pants were not worn and I fell asleep on a couch.

After three or four hours of sleep, delicious sandwiches were eaten and Lily and Adam drove me to the airport as I stared out the window in a hungover daze as SFO rose into view and it suddenly and roaringly occurred to me that I was leaving the country to begin an insane job in a crazy, foreign culture and I wasn't going to know anybody and start all over again and it was probably going to be great but I was scared of everything at the same time and I grabbed my bags and hugged Lily and Adam and walked through revolving doors and well I guess I was done with the States for a long time ready or not.

The flight was insane. I slumped in a chair in SFO and fought my hangover for two hours and got on the plane right next to a girl who was going to be a Thrilling Adventures guide, too. We talked for a while and I tried to sleep but it was the most turbulent flight that I've ever been on and I was too busy deciding that was going to tragically die to put any time aside for sleep but then we landed in Chicago and met another Thrilling Adventures hiree and we sat in this airport for four hours and then the plane was delayed so we sat for a little while longer then took off and flew for a few hours and then the German pilot came on over the intercom and I caught the words "liver failure" and "Canada" and "emergency landing" and then we started descending in altitude…

It actually ended up not being that exciting (some dude was having liver issues and needed to go to a hospital and so we landed on an airfield in northern Canada and there was snow and there we sat for three hours) and we took off again and flew to Frankfurt, where we promptly missed our flight to Marseilles (due to the three hours on a Canadian Airfield) and therefore were also going to miss the last train of the night from Marseilles to Pernes (where the Thrilling Adventures headquarters, ie where we were going to sleep, is). We got a new flight that was leaving in 5 hours, I spent a few hours trying to find someone (on the phone) who could drive to Marseilles (a 1.5 hour drive) and pick us up….and everything worked out. We made it into Pernes at 2am after some 30 hours of travel and passed out.

All the other people in my apartment were long asleep when I got there, so I just slept on the couch and woke up to realize that I was sharing the apartment with a whole bunch of Italian guys. I was cued into this by the shouts of "Vaffanculo" (Go fuck yourself in the ass) and "Che cazzo fai" (what the fuck are you doing) that were floating through the walls.

It turns out that I'm only one of two American guys here at this training. 1,000 people applied for jobs at Thrilling Adventures worldwide, and they'll hire about 90 of those, so I realized how close I probably came to not getting this job.

The training is frightening. It turns out that Thrilling Adventures is the number one active travel organization in the world, and that their big selling point are their "exemplary" guides.

In essence, they want us to be superhuman. We take groups of up to 25 Americans on these bike tours of say, Tuscany (I'll probably be working all over Italy, though) that weave through town after town. We make sure that everything is always perfect.

During the trip, there are two guides. They are both always, always doing something. For example, during the morning, one of the guides rides with the guests and the other one does van support. The bike rider sweeps the groups, making "sparkling conversation" and checking up on everybody. The van person needs to drive past the group at certain intervals so that everybody feels supported and watched over, then drives ahead with enough time to maybe prepare an amazing picnic lunch, with wines and cheeses and the whole shebang. During this whole period, they're maybe pulling over at times to confirm reservations or specific eating requirements, picking up hurt guests, etc. I'm half tempted to go on and on here; the sheer amount of problems that we're being trained to solve (three weeks of 8 hour days training) are pretty stressful, because I'm not sure that I'm as competent as they want me to be. But shit, who is?

Bikes are racked a certain way, guests are spoken to in a certain way, each problem is dealt with in a certain way. We're being trained in bike mechanics, cooking, European driving (IE driving a twelve seat van with a trailer backwards through a narrow, winding street in Portugal), public speaking, problem solving (your whole group just arrived where the bus was supposed to pick them up and the bus never showed, etc), accident management, CPR and first aid, and much, much more.

I was also wrong when I thought that I'd be camping a lot this summer. Thrilling Adventures does camp a lot, but not in Italy. We stay in 4 and 5 star hotels and eat at Michelin-starred restaurants every night. That's pretty cool.

I'll be working for two weeks straight, then getting one week off, all summer. Pay isn't great, but the lifestyle is. Thrilling Adventures guides in like 40 countries around the world, and more experienced guides tell me that if you're a good guide, you can guide anywhere (two weeks in Peru, then a month in New Zealand, then a trip down the great wall of china, then backpacking in Alaska, then river rafting in Bali, etc), and a lot of them really have been everywhere.

You can really only get year round work if you speak Spanish (a lot of the southern hemisphere countries are Spanish speaking). I was talking to a guide who told me that a lot of guides who want to pick up language skills work just the main season during their first summer (April to October), then move to central or south America for the winter to learn Spanish (I guess you can save enough money from April to October to not really have to work that much over the winter).

I think I'm going to request to stick to Europe for most of this summer, and then when the main season ends (October), move back to the states for a while, (probably San Diego) then maybe move to south America to learn Spanish over the winter. Anyone want a winter roommate in Buenos Aires?

Like I said, training is…intense. Despite the fact that we've already been hired, we're still being evaluated all the time (for a reason that I'm still figuring out) to see if we're really the caliber of person to be a Thrilling Adventures person. They occasionally will fly you home after training if they think that you're not up to snuff. It's kind of stressful. Yesterday was sort of hard, as I temporarily had a "Robin day" at the worst possible time.

I was supposed to do my European driving school yesterday. After a segment of public speaking training, we were headed out to the vans. "Do I need anything?" I asked Leslie, my mentor. "Oh, just your drivers' licensee, she said."

Fuck. I had left it at the leader housing (a half an hour drive away).

Ok, problem solve, I thought. That'll make me look good.

"Hey, do you think that Emyr (the other driving student) could drive to the leader housing for practice, then I'll drive back from there?" I asked.

"Oh, we're driving on another route today," she said.

Fuck. Well… "I…err…leftmylicenceattheleaderhouseI'mreallysorrydoyouthinkwecould changetheroutealittlesoicouldgetit?"

Keep in mind that this is an extra hour round trip that we're talking about here.

She hesitated, and then agreed. After all, I really did need to get my driving practice in.

Emyr drove on the way out, and I sat in a worried cloud. Man, was this making me look bad. This was not making me look like a very capable leader. Shit, what if they flew me home? Allright, just get the licensee and drive really fucking well, look good. Allright….I….

Fuck

One minute away from the leader housing, I realized something.

I didn't have the keys to my apartment.

They were back at the office.

"Ummm…so do you guys want the next piece of tragic information now"?

They both just looked at me.

"I don't have the keys to my apartment."

Leslie sighed.

"Well, maybe we can get keys from reception."

I brightened up.

"Oh, yeah," I said with as much confidence that my cloud of gloom would allow, "I'll run and do that right now."

I lept from the car with what I thought to be grace and confidence, perhaps like a male Ballerina going hunting, and ran to the front desk…which was closed. For lunch. For five hours.

Sigh. France.

I then ran around the back and vaguely attempted to scale a wall to climb in the second story balcony, but gave up after a small group of French children wandered out to watch the gangly white man trying to leap up a wall.

I went back to the van.

"Got the license?" Leslie asked.

"Uh….no…." I said.

"Oh." Leslie said, coldly. "I guess Emyr can drive back, too, then."

We started the half hour drive back to Thrilling Adventures.

At some point in the drive, Leslie asked me if she could throw my backpack in the back of the van, because it was in the way. I said sure.

"Do you have any valuables in there?" She asked. I barely descended from the cloud of gloom to answer her.

"Uh…no…you can chuck it," I said.

She flung it into the air, some 6 feet above the hard surface of the back of the van, as I realized something.

Oh, yeah, I did have something valuable in my bag.

My brand-new laptop computer.

Clunk.

I didn't say anything out loud; I had demonstrated myself to be enough of a disaster already. But fuck was I bummed for the rest of the drive.

As it turns out, the laptop was ok, and I'm going to do my driving a little later today, so hopefully they'll still keep me on as a guide. I am sort of a joke among the new guides, though, as that story spread like wildfire within hours. It's my day off after my driving practice, and I think I'm going to borrow a bike (we have amazing bikes) and explore some nearby hilltop towns in the afternoon.

And yes, I will be wearing spandex.

But I might leave my computer behind this time.

My Life is Paused (or) The Ghost of My Past

My Life is Paused.

I mean this in the conventional, Nintendo way. Somebody pushed the little grey button, right next to the Select Button (which is used for God Knows What).

But that Start button.

You're ten, eleven, twelve years old. You're fighting a dragon. Maybe it's a robot monster twelve stories tall. It's a dungeon that has exhausted every ounce of your childhood cunning. You're about to defeat everything, you're about the save the princess, you're about to save the fucking world.

But it's Time for Dinner.

Your parents, not being of the video game era, have no understanding of what's at stake. To them, the Princess is just a flashing pink dot on a monster of a TV that they're not sure that they should be letting you play in the first place.

Maybe, they think, you should be reading more.

And, fuck it, maybe you should.

But the whole point is that you finally hit that dreaded grey button. The dragon pauses, mid-breath of torturous flame.

You wander, dazed, out into the kitchen. You have a decent time, you chat with your parents, your siblings. You eat your dinner, which, frankly, is delicious. You clear your plate, and remember something.

The princess is going to fucking die if you don't do SOMETHING!

And back you go to the living room.

I, by the way, had no intention of talking about video games for this long.

I was just going to write, "My life is paused," then write something else.

But I didn't.

And I guess I have a point about that, too.

I'm currently living in Nevada City, California (population 8,000, most of them old and pleasant).

There are some cool kids that live here.

But this is a very, very quiet place.

And it's my past.

I'm living in the Ghost of My Past.

I moved back to my parents' house (into the same room I've had since I was seven) in September. It's an amazing room; spacious, well-lit…covered with posters that I picked out when I was fourteen.

Oh, and my closet is filled with my life.

More on that in a second.

Anyways, I moved home for a couple of reasons. My dad's been sick and I wanted to spend some time at home, and I didn't know what my next step was going to be. I figure a lot of kids do this. At least I hope so.

I decided, at the very least, that I was going to live at home, make some money, and then take a trip to South America in early 2007.

I had a weird night about a week after I got here. My closet, you see, is filled with my life. Ever since my first year of college, I would come home, dump everything I had in my closet, and then, the next fall, take very little of it with me again.

Love letters, journals, homework assignments, toys, pictures.

Anyways, about a week after I came home, I was feeling weird about living in the ghost of my past.

I mean sure, I had to live in the same room I had lived in for years. That was unavoidable.

However, by no means did those posters have to stay up. I was fourteen for God's Sake. They were nice, for nostalgic reasons, during short vacations, but I was going to LIVE here until January, when I was going to go to South America.

This room had to become me now, not me then.

The posters came down.

But the closet remained.

The closet that was filled with my life.

Anyways, one night, very late at night, I cleaned out my closet.

It took me six hours.

I'd clean for a little while, then read a journal for a while about the Love that I Couldn't Live Without from middle school.

I'd arrange some boxes, then go through pictures from my crazy year in Italy.

I'd take a load of garbage out, then look at some flirty letters from senior year of college.

I'd find and listen to Accapella recordings from my college group, the UCSD Tritones, and miss all of them, and singing, and performing, and every single rehearsal, to death.

I sat and really, really seriously regretted some of the things that I'd let slide away so that I could travel, travel, travel after school ended.

After this night, I began to think about my life, here in Nevada City, as Paused.

There are no new relationships being forged. All of my contact is with people I love deeply: My parents, my siblings, some of my best friends.

But none of this is new contact.

I am living in the Ghost of My Past, my high school past, which was a Me that I can't even begin to relate to now.

It's weird.

I put my focus to the future: my trip to South America in January.

I got a job, and work hard, rewarding work with emotionally disturbed children at a level fourteen group home. Like I said, it's rewarding, but Jesus it's hard.

But then South America fell through (three weeks ago).

And I found myself thinking, dammit.

What a waste.

All this time with my life Paused was for fucking nothing.

Here I am with some really, really hard earned money but no trip to spend it on.

And all the things I had to let go, to pause my life like this…

Wasted.

Moved on without me.

...But tonight.

You see, I've been spending a lot of time with my parents.

But it didn't take too long for me to start thinking about myself again, after I came home.

I make a point to spend a lot of time with my dad, and I have a good time, but then I go home at night and think about San Francisco, about San Diego, about a girl, about friends, about the life that's going on while I'm paused.

In essence, I've been a little selfish.

But tonight.

I went to the Nevada City Wild and Scenic Film Festival tonight.

I really, really didn't want to go.

A night of watching environmental films with my parents didn't sound like the world's best time.

But here's the kicker.

My dad joined a rock group after he got sick. He plays keyboards, and from what I can see around the house, he's gotten SO much better in the last few months.

He can solo now.

And his band was opening the Film Festival.

Anyways, I knew I had to go to support him, and so I went.

Parking was a bitch. It took me half an hour to find a spot.

It was freezing outside (15 degrees Fahrenheit right now), and I was bitter.

At the door they told me that I had to buy a ticket to the whole festival to see his band.

22 bucks.

And I had to buy it across town.

But I did it, and went in, and found my mom. She gave me a hug, and whispered that my dad had been looking for me the whole time.

The band kicked ass, and I was there in time to watch his solo.

We clapped and cheered afterward, and he beamed at us.

We then went to a handful of movies about the environment that were all totally, totally awesome.

We saw one about how Cuba operates largely without fossil fuels.

We saw one about Dams in Modern Day China.

We saw one about river kayaking in Tibet.

We came home and ran inside, shivering and laughing and yelling, and drank wine and talked about traveling, and sunsets in Bhutan, and food in Italy, and summers traveling alone and Bali and Saipan and Malaysia and full body massages and beaches.

My mom went to bed at midnight, but my dad and I headed for the hot tub and talked until one-thirty about how hard it is to be young and not know what you're going to be and where you're going to be it and who you're going to be it with and how in ten years I'll look back and wish I hadn't been so stressed out about all of it and just enjoyed the good things when they came but how frankly it's VERY VERY hard to just enjoy the present because the present is all we know know know

You know?

But then we talked about him and his stresses and being retired and such a thing as too much free time and loves and trips and things done right and some regrets and meditation oh yeah meditation damn it I've got to start not tomorrow today

And finally we laughed at how wrinkled we were and he jumped out and ran in one direction for his room (remember, it's 15 degrees) and I ran another direction for my room and we shouted goodnight and I came inside and shivered some more and toweled off and put on some shorts and now I'm here but hey I've realized something.

Sure, My Life is Paused.

There are Dragons and Princesses and Dungeons and Worlds that Need Saving out there, for me to eventually conquer.

But Dinner is pretty fucking amazing right now.

And I'm going to take it slow it this time.

The 100 Best Songs of All Time

A Few Weeks Ago,

I was driving home from work in my car, listening to Snow Patrol's "Run."

This song is overdone, cheesy...and one of the best songs I've ever heard.

I am a blatant fan of pop music, and "Run" is an amazingly crafted work of that genre. It starts out with this horribly minor key-guitar grind underneath sad, sad lyrics, in the sort of vein of sad where you sort of instantly want to change the song to something else. If you can make it to the chorus, though, the song errupts into...well, pop euphoria, and then beats it into the ground until the solo FINALLY emerges, and you kind of want to play air guitar with a look on your face that would get your ass kicked if you were in public.

But you're not.

Let's just say it's anguished. (The look.)

Anyways, I found myself considering if it was one of the best 100 songs that I've ever heard.

I decided that it was, and then, it being a long drive, started adding other songs to that list.

The Best Songs Ever

1. A Day in the Life – The Beatles
2. Float On – Modest Mouse
3. What I Got – Sublime
4. Do You Realize? – The Flaming Lips
5. While My Guitar Gently Weeps – The Beatles
6. Fake Plastic Trees – Radiohead
7. Across The Universe – The Beatles
8. Paranoid Android – Radiohead
9. Oakland Blackouts – Hieroglyphics
10. Agnus Dei – Samuel Barber
11. All Along The Watchtower (live) – Dave Matthews Band
12. Such Great Heights – The Postal Service
13. Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana
14. Killing in the Name Of – Rage Against the Machine
15. Bartender – Dave Matthews Band
16. Prayer of the Children – Kurt Bestor
17. Hey Ya! – Outkast
18. Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen
19. Tiny Dancer – Elton John
20. Eleanor Rigby – The Beatles
21. Interstate Love Song – The Stone Temple Pilots
22. November Rain – Guns 'n Roses
23. Laid – James
24. Good Vibrations – The Beach Boys
25. Don't Stop Believing – Journey
26. Sex Type Thing – The Stone Temple Pilots
27. Crazy – Gnarls Barkley
28. Send Me on My Way – Rusted Root
29. Solisbury Hill – Peter Gabriel
30. Clocks – Coldplay
31. Hide Your Love – The Beatles
32. Two of Us – The Beatles
33. Feel Good, Inc – Gorillaz
34. Ave Maria – Franz Beibel
35. Longview – Green Day
36. No Rain – Blind Melon
37. Immigrant Song – Led Zeppelin
38. Under African Skies – Paul Simon
39. Basket Case – Green Day
40. Mr. Jones- Counting Crows
41. Ants Marching – Dave Matthews Band
42. Losing My Religion – REM
43. Suite Judy Blue Eyes – Crosby, Stills and Nash
44. Aenemia – Tool
45. Gentlemen – Fela Kuti
46. If I Fell – The Beatles
47. Caress Me Down – Sublime
48. Free – Phish
49. Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes – Paul Simon
50. Chicago – Sufjan Stevens
51. Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me – U2
52. Let Go – Frou Frou
53. Sweet Adeline – Elliott Smith
54. Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth – The Primitive Radio Gods
55. Run – Collective Soul
56. High and Dry – Radiohead
57. Bulls on Parade – Rage Against the Machine
58. Help! – The Beatles
59. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Part One – The Flaming Lips
60. Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band/With a Little Help – The Beatles
61. Ruby Soho – Rancid
62. Over and Over (live) – Hot Chip
63. I Know What I Know – Paul Simon
64. White Room – Cream
65. Stairway to Heaven – Led Zeppelin
66. SemiCharmed Life – Third Eye Blind
67. Even Flow – Pearl Jam
68. Real Love – The Beatles
69. Clint Eastwood – The Gorillaz
70. Mr. Brightside – The Killers
71. Barrel of a Gun – Guster
72. Holland, 1945 – Neutral Milk Hotel
73. Nowhere Man – The Beatles
74. It's Only Love – The Beatles
75. Stinkfist – Tool
76. Run – Snow Patrol
77. Loser – Beck
78. Light My Fire – The Doors
79. Crash Into Me – Dave Matthews Band
80. Creep – Radiohead
81. Today – The Smashing Pumpkins
82. She's Leaving Home – The Beatles
83. A Hard Day's Night – The Beatles
84. I Would Walk 500 Miles – The Proclaimers
85. The Circle of Life – Elton John
86. I Can't Get Next to You - The Temptations
87. Buddy Holly – Weezer
88. Selling the Drama – Live
89. Without Me – Eminem
90. Transatlantisism – Death Cab for Cutie
91. Billie Jean – Micheal Jackson
92. Arc of Time – Bright Eyes
93. One Headlight – The Wallflowers
94. Where is the Love – The Black Eyed Peas
95. 93 'till Infinity – Souls of Mischief
96. Redemption Song – Bob Marley and the Wailers
97. Dig For Fire – The Pixies
98. Mrs. Robinson – Simon and Garfunkel
99. Be My Baby – The Ronettes
100. Istanbul (Not Constantinople) – They Might Be Giants

Now, about this list:

Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, The Who, Pink Floyd, More Bob Marley, More Led Zeppelin, etc. They were all 'superior music geniuses' than, say, the Black Eyed Peas.

However, this is not a list of the greatest music geniuses.

It's a list of the best songs ever. By Me.

Take #66, Semi-Charmed Life. I realize that this song may not be as powerful as Pink Floyd's "Mother," to some, but here's the difference. In 8^th grade, I was violently in love with a girl who was moving away. I already (like most 8^th graders) thought that Semi-Charmed Life was a pretty great song.

One day, she called me, and said, hey, you know that song semi-charmed life?

I said yeah?

She said, it reminds me of you every time I hear it.

I asked her why.

She said, because of that line about having sand in between your toes. It just reminds me of you.

This instantly made it my favorite song for the whole summer.

Some would say, well, this doesn't qualify it as one of the greatest songs ever.

I say, fuck yes it does.

Every factor needs to be considered when making your list of the best 100 songs of all time.

Pink Floyd are indeed an amazing rock band.

But I, for some reason or another, have yet to really be really, really obsessed with a Pink Floyd Song.

Maybe it's because I saw The Wall when I was too young, and it fucked me up.

Who knows.

Whatever the reason, Pink Floyd could make my list in a year. It might make it with 10 songs.

But it's not on it now.

The songs also have to stand out on their own: Phish's Farmhouse is one of my favorite discs of all time but none of the tracks really hold their own (for me) as singles, so no cuts for them.

The Beatles could probably squeeze 15 more tracks onto my top 100, but I'm a little Beatled-out right now, which hurt their showing.

I included a few live tracks. I didn't mean to- it's just that there is no non-live recording of Dave Matthews Band's "Watchtower."

Also, with Hot Chip: their song, "over and over," was one of the coolest things I've ever seen-live. On the Album, it might make top 200, but not 100. So I gave 'em the live version for the list.

If the song made you weep because someone didn't love you anymore, (two songs on my list) if the song made you dance 'cause you were falling in love, (4 or 5) or maybe you liked if the song said the 'fuck yous,' to all the people you already hated at the time, (a few more), or you were addicted to lying in bed, listening to the song, and watching rain hit your windows (at least one huge one), then it belongs on the list.

If the song was just catchy or well crafted, or maybe you just said shit, that's a good song.

Then it belongs on you list.

These are the best songs that have ever been written

It was cold outside when the chicken shot Andrew

Robin woke up that morning with a cat in his arm.

He was sleeping on the ground, and it took him a moment or two to remember why. Oh yeah, he had been drinking, bottles of wine following the Alabama Slammas that Brendan had whipped up. Brenden and Curtis were probably still asleep, elsewhere in the house. Robin wasn't quite sure where Andrew was. He had been sleeping on the couch.

Robin was sleeping in a sleeping bag that was a little too small for him. In order to fit comfortably, Robin had had to unzip the top third of the bag, which had become half of the bag as the night went.

There hadn't been any extra pajamas readily available in the ten seconds that drunken Robin had considered trying to find them, so he was sleeping in his boxers, which, unfortunately, were of the "bottom of the underwear drawer" variety-the kind that doesn't fit. This is to say; sometimes these boxers don't quite provide the "coverage" that they should.

He woke up with Andrew's grey cat in his arm. It purred and looked at Robin, and Robin began to pet it.

This created a sordid cycle that trapped Robin in bed for the next few hours: Robin was warm in his sleeping bag, the cat was warm in his arms, the cat purred while Robin petted it, Robin couldn't stop petting it until he got out of bed, he became dependant on constantly providing such a huge amount of pleasure to the cat, and so on. The two of them were unable to exit the sleeping bag until Andrew came into the room and Robin had to consider his BottomOfTheDrawer drawers and his unzipped sleeping bag.

Throwing on some jeans, he wrested himself from the cat, and wandered around the kitchen, watching Andrew make breakfast-curry. It was cold in the kitchen, so Robin put on a sweatshirt, and then a black pea coat, as Brenden wandered through, put some curry in a bowl, and left the room again. Curtis wandered in the door almost immediately after, and took a bowl himself. He left the room in search of Brenden.

Robin decided that he wanted some breakfast just as the supply ran out, and, standing in the living room, was told that there simply was no more Curry to eat.

Robin was plainly disappointed by this fact. The cat rubbed against his leg. Andrew decided to list the options still available to Robin at this point.

"There's some cereal and stuff."

Robin stared blankly at Andrew.

"Uh…and chicken! We've got these great chicken breast things!"

Robin continued to stare, but something had changed in the stare.

"They're like breaded…and are filled with butter and basil…you put them in the oven, and heat them up…they're…"

Stare.

"…uh…really good…ummmm….what?"

Robin began peeling at his face. It hideously contorted, and then began to give, coming off completely.

It was, of course, a mask.

Robin was still standing in the middle of the room, in jeans, a sweatshirt and a black pea coat. But he had the head of a giant chicken.

He was, indeed, a giant chicken.

Andrew stood glued to floor, mouth slightly open.

Robin reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a sleek black pistol, silencer attached to the end.

He raised his arm and shot Andrew through the head.

He dropped the mask to the side, and walked briskly over to where Andrew lay, shooting him twice more on the ground. He then walked from the room, got into his car, and drove away.

Brenden emerged from the garage with Curtis to find Andrew, dead on the ground, next to a mask of Robin's face.

There was no way that they could ever begin to figure out what had happened.

..."Haha, and like weeks later, detectives would find a frozen, breaded chicken buried in the yard outside Andrew's house, but they would never know!" Robin finished telling the joke.

Andrew laughed and fished the chicken out of the freezer. "Here it is…don't kill me."

Brenden came in and they told him the story they had just made up, about Robin actually being a violent giant chicken. He laughed, and looked for more Curry. Robin told him there wasn't any more. Brenden shrugged and left the room.

Robin took the chicken and began preheating the oven. While he was wrapping a baking pan in aluminum foil, he looked up and jumped backward, startled.

In front of him, on the kitchen counter, was a giant porcelain cat face.

"Jesus," Robin said.

Andrew looked up from a fragment of newspaper. "Oh, yeah. My mom has lots of stuff like that." He gestured above his fridge. "Like that."

There was a huge porcelain carrot-person above the fridge, with a small, disapproving face.

"That thing," Andrew said, "gives me nightmares. I hate that thing."

Robin began pulling at his face, like in the chicken joke.

Andrew laughed, and then Robin's face really did come off.

His head was a giant carrot.

Andrew froze, stunned, just like they said he would in the joke. His mouth was indeed slightly open.

Robin walked over and got really, really close to Andrew's ear.

"If you tell anyone," he whispered roughly, "I'll kill you."

He then walked back to the other side of the room and put his mask back on, as Brenden came into the room from the garage, empty bowl in hand, and stopped short, looking at the look on Andrew's face.

"Ummmm…what's going on, guys?"

Andrew licked his lips nervously and shot a glance at Robin, who looked grimly back at him. "No…nothing."

"Okaaaaay," Brenden said, and then slowly walked over to the sink, placing his bowl inside. "That curry was great. What was in it?"

Without taking his eyes off Robin, Andrew answered "Chicken."

Brenden froze. He put his hands on the edges of the sink to steady himself. He took a deep breath.

"You…bastard."

Andrew finally looked away from Robin, glancing at Brenden's back.

Brenden turned around slowly. He reached for his face, and began to pull at it.

Andrew tried to laugh at Brenden's contribution to the joke, but then stopped laughing as Brendens' face came off, revealing him to be a giant chicken.

Everybody stared and nobody moved.

Then the room exploded into action.

Brenden pulled a gun from his pocket and raised his arm to fire at Andrew, when a shot rang out and Brenden dropped to the floor, dead.

Andrew and Robin turned to look at the source of the shot.

It was Curtis. He stood, gun smoking in his upraised arm, in the doorway to the garage.

His head was a giant stalk of celery.

Nobody moved for a second or two.

Robin pulled his mask back off.

The carrot and the celery looked at a stunned Andrew for a second. The chicken lay in a slowly spreading pool of blood.

Curtis walked over to Andrew and stood in front of him.

"I do this not for you," he said, "I do this…for vegetables."

Robin grabbed Brenden's legs, and Curtis grabbed his arms, and they carried him from the room. The door closed.

Andrew stood alone in the dark room and thought about all this.

I Was In Italy and Hadn't Written Kath in a Long Time

To: Kathleen

From: Robin

Subject: And God Said

Tue Sep 16, 2003

Body:

Let there be

and there was robin

and this was good

and on the second day he said

let there be light

and there was more robin

and this was even better

and on the third day he said

let there be land for all of my creatures to live on

and there was robin

...

again

...

...

...

buuuuut on the fourth day He said

let there be all manner of creatures and beasts

and there was a really outdated joke by Robin

and on the fifth day He said

let Robin go and smoke a lot of hash upstairs

as weed is hard to come by here

and then he will lose all will

to continue with really long

and slightly Outdated

joke

joke

joke

wheeeeeew

okay, that was going to be the transition to an actual, conversational email, buuuut I am now too high to function...I mean, first I thought I could be "likes to fuck around on the internet" high

but sadly

this is not true

I am

batman.

One Good Thing About Music

I like
How many kinds
or types
(that might be a better word)
of music there are

I may hate what you're
Playing
But you dig it
It makes you feel
Cool
Sad
Happy
Empowered

So

Rock on

Unless I'm
Trying to sleep

In that case

Fuck Bjork
And Fuck you
But especially
Fuck Bjork

But that's
NotwhatIwantedtosay

Here

Sure
There's music that
you like if you're
cool

--> -->

A binder of Albums
That could quickly
Get you

Laid

But

There's a reason
That Kylie Minogue
Is running for president
In the musical world
Of England
Right now

(wasn't she the locomotion girl?)

There's a reason
Justin Timberlake
Already won

Now, that may not
Be my cup of
Tea
but it could
be with some
GOD DAMN SUGAR

(and milk please)

But the fact that
It rocks the boat
(don't rock the boat, baby)
Of so many
Is the coolest Thing about music

Ever

Although
Now that I think about it,
The coolest Thing could be
John Lennon's Glasses.

(you know, the round ones?)

Or Buddy Holly's Glasses?

or Wondering after 20 minutes what song Phish is playing now but not giving a fuck due to the stress of keeping your huge smile from making your whole body

Explode?

Wishing you were Cameron Crowe or more specifically a character in Almost Famous?
Laughing at Spinal Tap then deciding your favourite new band is the Darkness?
Playing a chord you just learned on your guitar and finally getting It

Brrring

Just right?

Ah

Slash's Top Hat!
Garfunkel's Hair
Paul Simon's Graceland
Beetovhen's 5th?
A perfect 5th?
A Perfect Circle?

Watching twenty thousand lost souls frenzytear up Arco Arena to Killing in The Name Of?

Man.
I didn't know that many people still had that much jumping in them.

Jumping with them!
Singing with them!

Ah
Singing

DancingatastringcheeseincidentconcertprobablydrunkoronwackydrugsI'mnotreally surebutgettingbumpedbysomeguyandtryingtobringyourselfbacktothis worldfromthatfunkeyplaceyou'vebeenforGODknowshowlongtotryto

Apologise

(sorry man, or something like that)

And the fucker just gives you a huge amazing smile through his plaid shirt and hippy beard and says

(loudly)

"sorry man, just trying to get by…you're too fat!"

And you roar with laughter
And he does too
And return back
To that bass line
Finally having let
That smile make
Your body explode.

And now you're all OVER the place

Amazing Grace
Amazing Solos
Amazing Rolos

(not really related to music but tasty nonthless)

Na Na Na Hey Jude

(you know what I'm talking about)

Stairway to Heaven
The Way each Beatle holds his guitar
Denfending Ringo as a legitimate rock drummer

(anybody remember when these stopped being questions?)

The Bandanas on Stephen Tyler's mic stand
Jungle Boogie at High School Dances
Bob Dylan's Scowl
Robert Plant's Howl
Eddie Vedder's Croon
Rainy Days listening to music that makes you sad

But in a good way

(my sister said that)

Elliott Smith's "Sweet Adeline" after One Minute and Thirty Seconds

(The First part's pretty good, too)

When Dave Matthews lets rip a bellow
Getting Freaky on a cello

(Just think cello rhymes satisfyingly with bellow)

The Start of Crazy Train
Feeling cool listening to Jazz
Ani DiFranco's leg Kick
Healing Music when you're sick

Drum Circles on beaches when it's warm enough

Sometimes without beaches
Sometimes without circles
Sometimes without Drums

But the Beat's always there If you can just find something to

--> -->

POW

Bang on.
Rock on.
And rock on.

Summer rock Festivals
But not the Warped
Tour
Too Hot
'Least I think so
And this IS my Poem

But you're welcome
To come in and dance for a
While

Just leave your prejudices behind
And bring them glasses with you.

You know
The round ones.

Duck

So I was thinking:

If you had a friend that was a duck, say a duck that was around person-size, and you were out playing catch with a bunch of your friends (including said duck), and you caught the ball and turned and threw it at your duck-friend, but oh no he wasn't paying attention, and it was headed right for him, what the fuck would you yell at him?

Say his name was Jake.

If you yelled "Jake!" He'd turn and get it right in the face. If you yelled "Duck!" He'd still turn and get it right in the face, this time a little peeved that you had taken to calling him "duck" instead of "Jake." So that's even worse. "Jake, Duck!" wouldn't work out either. You could try something like "Jake, crouch!" But he'd most likely spend the time he should be spending...umm...ducking wondering something like "Crouch? Who says crouch?" and he'd still get hit with the ball.

All in all, that duck would be fucked.

And what were you doing playing catch with Jake, anyways? Dude doesn't even have hands!