type until the fingers begin to bleed a bit

i'm a wario, i'm a gonna win

2009-02-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

I recently recieved some letter in the mail from Butt(e) College telling me that I rule at their school and have been awarded the title of king of academics or something. However, getting a 4.0 at ol' Oroville U is kind of like jumping the wall in Wario Stadium and lapping all the koopas and princess toadstools. It's cool at first, but after you realize that pretty much every human alive can do it, the accomplishment kind of loses its luster.

In other news, my nephew just gave me a Monsters, Inc. temporary tattoo. It's pretty badass.

2/12/99

2008-10-27T23:05:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about being almost 30 is that when you drive around listening to music that once changed your life, you realize that you pretty much are 30 and that at this particular moment you probably look like a serious douchebag attempting to regain some long lost sense of what used to rule but now pretty much sucks.

put captain solo in the cargo hold

2008-09-11T23:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, as I was outside trimming the basil plant and furthering my tendency toward total domesticity, my neighbor, Tim, walked out his front door. Now, for the record, I have seen Tim walk out his front door on a number of occasions, and have never felt the need to document his departure. However, on this day, when Tim locked his front door and plodded down the stairs, he did so with purpose. Because when Timmy left for work (or whatever people like Tim do) that day, he was not one of us...the ever-yawnable by-products of humanity, travelling en masse to work, to school, to death, to blahblahblah...

No. Tim lives.

...as a man who dresses up as a Star Wars character. You see, on that fateful day, upon hearing Tim's door close, I glanced up just in time to see a God-given miracle...a man carrying a Boba Fett helmet and a duffel bag full of bounty-hunting, Han Solo chasing awesomeness.

Tim rules.

ps...upon further review, I have decided that the helmet and accompanying outfit belong to Jango Fett, Boba's pathetic, headless father/clonethingy. All cred is gone. Tim sucks.

songs i wish i had written: track four (aka, speaking of which...)

2008-09-08T19:46:00.000-07:00

"Let's take the moon and make it shine for everyone."
--The Get Up Kids: Campfire Kansas--

no need for reminding...you're still all that matters to me

2008-09-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that they have continually reneged upon the musical promise made in '99 (best album evAr, anyone?), The Get Up Kids have decided that they ain't dead yet, and are apparently getting back together. This news follows on the heels of Matt Pryor's recent solo-acoustic tour, during which he learned that real kids spend real money on real dudes, who aren't afraid to play an old song or two.

Regardless, I'm still prolly gonna go to a dozen of those reunion shows. Of course, I said that about Face To Face too...but at least dt gave me the dvd...which is pretty much the same as being there. 1,2,1,2,3,4...and all that.

things you don't care about: volume four

2008-08-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

The best flavor combination of Runts is two pinks, one yellow, and one blue. An occasional green or red is a welcome addition, but never orange. Orange sucks.

songs i wish i had written: track three

2008-08-09T00:51:00.000-07:00

"You said, 'I miss you, oh sweet boy...and will you come on down?' I woke up to my cold sheets and the smell of New Jersey...when do I get to wake up to you?"
--Saves The Day: You Vandal--

things you don't care about: volume three

2008-08-06T20:31:00.000-07:00

I just found out that Tim O'Heir, who produced the auditory miracle, Say Anything "...is a Real Boy", also produced Crumb's album, "romance is a slowdance," which I listened to HECK-OF times while hiding in my SSU dorm room. Songs like "kid klone" and "1, 2" made hurting over girls and playing unhealthy amounts of Freecell a lot easier.

Corndog, California

2008-07-14T14:52:00.001-07:00

"When I die, they'll put me on a table...make me look like I did when I was alive. They'll tell all my friends and my family I died of natural causes. But drinking ain't natural."--Joel Kliebe--

This past Saturday, Corning, Ca. received a net gain of about 10 gajillion creds as most of the coolest people evAr descended upon its hallowed grounds for an evening of serious debauchery. Years spent training with J. Deuche allowed my liver to weather the alcohol tsunami and return home relatively unscathed...which is always nice.

you say it's your birthday. it's my birthday too...

2008-07-09T22:31:00.000-07:00

yeah.

Since I blew it by not dying at 27, I guess I am pretty much in it for the long haul now. Which is alright I suppose, considering I have my mid-life crisis to look forward to. I'm sort of shooting for joining a motorcycle gang, but learning how to fly a triplane isn't out of the picture either.

Either way, buy me something. I'm old(ish).

a man of few words (and even fewer ideas)

2008-07-03T23:19:00.000-07:00

Twitter has seriously ruined me. Ever since I joined and begin enlightening the world with my yawnable whatareyoudoing(s), I have found myself unable to write in complete sentences and equally incapable of elaborating upon anything. Seriously...you try writing some epic kcmasterpiece in 140 letters/symbols/spaces/whatever and see how it goes.

ps...you know what would have been clever? If I would have ended the above sentence about complete sentences in the middle. I should prolly go change that.

songs i wish i had written: track two

2008-07-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

" Look me in the eye then tell me that I'm satisfied. Was you satisfied?"
--The Replacements: Unsatisfied--

osgiliath burns

2008-07-01T22:14:00.000-07:00

I think I am dying of smoke inhalation. Which, while slow and painful, probably beats being burned alive or having a heart attack on the office toilet...with your co-workers swearing at your corpse and screaming "Oh my God" and "aaaahhhhhhhh" and stuff.

The real bummer of this whole thing is that as my body crumbles and I debate becoming one of those creepy mask people, chronic smokers everywhere are having the time of their lives. It's like they were all crammed into one of those little Clark Kent spacepods and blasted off to the land of the yellow sun, where they now have superhuman strength and can see through sorority chicks' blouses with their x-ray vision eyes. Everywhere I look, I see them. They drive around town with the windows down, cigarette in hand, mocking me with every puff. "Join us, lunger," they cry. "We used to be like you...only able to breathe good air. But then we found these magic sticks and now we can breathe anything we want! Anything! Muahahahaha!"

Darwin's survival of the fittest crap is sure doing me a hell of a lot of good now.

tales from the mundane: part three

2008-07-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Guess who's got an increasing appetite for free lunchables? If you answered the armpit of the United States, congratulations! You win!

songs i wish i had written: track one

2008-07-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

"And i saw you at the funeral, you were standing there like a temple. I said, 'Hi. How are you? Hello.' And I pulled up a casket and crawled in."
--Daniel Johnston: Grievances--

an open confession of an emotional malfunction

2008-06-09T16:39:00.000-07:00

I cry during Deep Impact.

Every time.

tales from the mundane: part two

2008-06-06T00:23:00.000-07:00

Gas prices are affecting everyone. Especially fishermen...who are apparently affected by the rising price of gas powered worms...?

the king of kong...

2008-06-06T00:03:00.000-07:00

should have been called The King Of Schlong.

I'm not saying, I'm just saying. Actually, I guess I'm typing, not saying. Typing about schlong. Which is weird, but okay...I guess?

dear lady from 'so you think you can dance'

2008-06-05T18:48:00.000-07:00

Congratulations! You are the official winner of the "horseface-haver '08" award. Have pride in knowing that you have beaten out formidable nastyfaces including (but not limited to) John Kerry and Mr. Ed. We here at the Josh Kerney Honors Society hope that you display this distinguished prize with honor.

And please, feel free to have someone knock those teeth out of your mouth...srsly.

ps...your voice could use some work as well.

things you don't care about: volume two

2008-06-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

Don't speed. They tell me it kills.

If you do speed, don't get caught by the Zumalt. He is the destroyer of souls...but, a nice dude nonetheless.

Furthermore, if you do get sentenced to the 7th circle, learn all you can. They teach you how to murder people, after all.

tales from the mundane: part one

2008-06-03T23:55:00.000-07:00

Apparently, in Idaho, you don't have to be Hispanic to be Hispanic. You only need an old cowboy hat and a wicked mustache. Ole!

In semi/notintheslightest Idaho-related news, local ex-politico Joel Kliebe was the lone dissenting voice in a state-wide effort to feed dancing to the Sarlacc. In a press statement released via text message, Kliebe stated that he could not deny the people of Idaho from expressing themselves through occasional booty-grinds and finger-shushes. Kliebe also referenced his love for jazz hands and his desire to getupgetgetgetdown as the driving forces behind his decision.

In response, George McFly was quoted as saying, "I can kick!"

you shall never obtain the necronomicon

2008-05-31T01:10:00.000-07:00

And you will never get W's crap(s) either, you terrorist bastards!

things you don't care about: volume one

2008-05-30T23:50:00.000-07:00

The greatest cover songs of all time evAr in the history of human history (in every particular order) are as follows:

Pure Imagination: The Smoking Popes
Close To Me: The Get Up Kids
Alec Eiffel: The Get Up Kids
Only In Dreams: Mock Orange
When We Two Parted: The New Amsterdams
Silent Night: Pedro The Lion
I'm Real: The Starting Line
Joel Kliebe: Josh Kerney

but i'm buddha when i sit

2008-05-25T00:08:00.000-07:00

I have the body of my grandfather. Thin, twig-like legs...upon which rest the Gordo. My protruding stomach rolls and swells in a manner rivaling that of the Pacific Ocean...wrinkles and folds upon wrinkles and folds.

This is my legacy. I am a marvel.

Black shirts for all.

the devil is waiting for us inside the palace...rush courageously

2008-05-15T21:40:00.000-07:00

So, you think you've felt intensity? That rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins? The fear that tortures you in places that you don't like to talk about? Do I run, do I fight, do I run, do I fight...

Sorry, cupcake. Until you have woven your way through demon dogs and tornado mouths, hoping for the P so you can upgrade from the candy canes to the twirly-thing, you haven't done anything. I fought a brain with lasers! Lasers, people!

Lucky is king...lucky is king.

fire in the sky

2008-05-15T20:54:00.000-07:00

Alien abductions coming soon.

there ain't no rules...

2008-05-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

'cept rootbrrr rules.

in 1986...

2008-05-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

i was slobulus for halloween. yup.

the gordo knows

2008-05-01T22:33:00.001-07:00

the dark, etc.

2008-05-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

When I see planes flying overhead, I often fear that some sort of underbelly bay door is gonna swing open, and bombs and such are going to start raining down.

I am afraid of getting kicked in the face by a deer. Repeatedly kicked in the face.

Sometimes, I worry that if I look too long at people as I pass them on the 99, they are going to figure out where I live and murder me in my sleep.

I have a deep-seeded fear of being stared at...and of not being looked at enough (2002 throwback).

Despite the Blue Oyster Cult's assurance, I fear the reaper.

I am scared of getting second-hand news. About anything.

Ferris Wheels terrify me.

whiskers

2008-04-27T18:41:00.000-07:00

I want to become a recluse and grow the type of facial hair that cave-dwelling men do. I want my beard to say, "Yes. I can fight a beast and I can win." I want my moustache to speak for me. I want the hair on my face to hijack planes and to make demands that only the glory of my beard will understand. I want to stay up all with my sideburns, watching Brewster's Millions, drinking vodka redbulls, and trying to call into C-SPAN. I want my whiskers to run for president...and when they win, they will say, "No thanks. This place is dead anyway."

the legend of bidwell: a link to the past

2008-04-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

Did John Bidwell plant talking trees in Lower Park so that they might one day help the Hero of Hyrule? You be the judge.

Looka looka looka looka looka looka looka looka here, looka shorty got back

2008-04-24T23:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Internet(s),

Guess who learned how to get himself a gmail account so he can blog blogs again?

Love, Josh

listen: kurt vonnegut, jr. has come unstuck in time

2007-04-11T23:36:00.000-07:00

The man so nice, they killed him twice.

So it goes.

faux news alert

2006-11-17T01:38:00.000-08:00

24 hour news channels exhaust me. They are nothing more than a constant barrage of "the dude that invented the microwave is dead" or "cereal gives you ball cancer" or "50,000 people perish in a country you never knew existed". (yawn).

And the interweb is even worse. All I ever wanted was to be the kid who knew about stuff before you did. I used to scour the Earth (in 56k real time) searching out new bands and celebrity mugshots and whatever. But somehow, a bunch of robots learned how to blog about things 2 days before they even happen. Sunk.

Therefore, since I am already resigned to a life of second-hand news, I have decided to take full advantage of my late-comer status. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

THINGS THAT ALREADY PRETTY MUCH HAPPENED

-Princess Diana died in a car crash after having her picture taken by a bunch of dudes that thought she was pretty. Last week, in an interview from beyond the grave, she said, "Well, at least I didn't live long enough to get all wrinkly and icky."

-Some guy with a huge goiter made a movie about a 7 foot ape that pulls the arms off of Space Nazis. The flick made a trillion dollars and gave everybody lockjaw. Oh yeah, and there was also something in there about aliens that had to live with horrible diseases, such as fish-face and pussy lips.

-At some point during the summer of '93, a bunch of dudes threatened to throw me into a trash can. Had they done it, I would have probably summoned Falcor the Luck Dragon to whup their asses.

-William Howard Taft was a hideously fat man...much like Star Jones, but for white people. (Insert cliched joke about the previous statement and give yourself a high-five).

-Contrary to popular belief, Back To The Future is not a fictional movie from the 80's. It's actually a documentary about two closet homosexuals who travel through time trying to have sex with their relatives. Furthermore, Marty McFly is currently trapped in some sort of time-rift that makes him shake like a crazy person.

See people? The past is progress!

further proof

2006-11-06T17:11:00.000-08:00

that A) I used to be REALLY skinny and B) I used to stack crazy amounts of scene points.

and now i'm swingin' and here i go-o-o-o

2006-11-06T16:17:00.000-08:00

Not since I first discovered that naked girls were only a modem away have I been this excited about the interweb. Why, you ask? Here's why, stupid. Ten years from now, when all the appeals are exhausted and Saddam is finally fed to the Sarlacc, some wet-nap nerd is gonna post the whole extravaganza on YouTube and I am going to watch it until my eyes fall out. Plus, by that time I will have probably figured out how to do super crazy computer things like make gifs., and I am going to turn Saddam's execution into an avatar for all the scenesters to use. Booyes!

ps...yes, I realize that lately I have resorted to making Trekkie and Star Wars jokes. Emo is over. Nerd is KING.

halloweak

2006-10-26T22:23:00.000-07:00

All the hype/anti-hype leading up to Halloween is starting to give me Error 404. People aren't even allowed to flip over cars and piss in the streets anymore, but somehow dudes are still stoked on dressing up like dildos and walking around downtown with the other 5 people that aren't at the bars.

But not me. I'm over Halloween and all of its werewolves and hocus-pocus crap. I'm all about the future, baby. I want to cruise the streets on a robot horse, drink synthehol, and listen to Buddy Holly by way of the microchips implanted in my brain.

But since civilization ain't quite there yet, I'll be spending this Tuesday playing this, listening to this, doing this, eating this, and probably getting this. System overload!

me love grimlock

2006-10-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

If you ever get tired of dressing up as a slutty devil every year, you could always try winning at life for a change.

new and improved josh kerney

2006-10-13T16:51:00.000-07:00

Now featuring ass bruises.

66

2006-10-09T18:36:00.000-07:00

In lieu of writing an award-winning 10th grade honors english paper about my journey to the end of the earth, I'm just going to post a bajillion pictures...featuring some SERIOUS male pattern bonding (free of charge).

is it larger than a microwave oven?

2006-10-09T14:33:00.000-07:00

1 + 1 = THE FUTURE

you tell those spiders, ron

2006-10-04T22:51:00.000-07:00

FOX NEWS ALERT: The battle against the spiders for bathroom supremacy has taken a devastating turn.

In a surprise attack that occurred earlier this morning, rogue spider-agents escaped from the confines of my shower and infiltrated the interior of my car. Armed only with their own tenacity and an undying hatred for Kirkland products, the spiders attempted to form a stronghold within my vanilla scented air freshener (OUR vanilla scented air freshener, America!).

But have no fear, friends. I captured one of the bastards on my way to the latest "toast to the times" reunion and squished him all over my copy of the new cabrini green jam.

Actually, have fear. I know that everyone is all worked up about a bunch of dudes halfway across the globe that want to nuke stuff, but trust me...crazy-ass devil spiders are the real threat. Plus, if spiders ever learn to breed with robots, it's game over. Seriously. I read Revelation last night, and there were hidden messages about robot spiders all over the place. Icky.

repetition: the prototype

2006-09-23T00:46:00.000-07:00

I just realized that I write the same 4 blogs over and over and over again. I am in terrible danger of drowning in my own monotony.

ps...see? If you had done your research, you would know that I have written this very blog at least a bajillion times by now. Except for this explanation...this is all fresh, baby.

king of all the earth

2006-09-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

I have decided to steal the thunder from my homeboys over in Thailand and am hereby declaring a coup on the city of Chico. Technically, I'm not really sure who the rightful leader of Chico is now that the Queen of the Momos is living large out in Idaho, but whichever frat-rocker/cabrini green-jocker is calling the shots had better watch his/her (equality of the sexes and all that) back. Because when I am mayor of this town, my first decree is going to involve shipping everyone who sucks balls (aka most southern california/bay area transplants) back to where they came from. Furthermore, once Chico is restored to its rightful state, vodka will flow in the streets and there will be free boomboxes for all and blah blah blah...

hello mr. moooooooooooon

2006-09-06T23:46:00.000-07:00

When I was just a little guy, growing up in the humid banality of the central Pacific, I used to spend my nights sitting on the hilltop bordering my backyard. Gazing upward, with a simplistic star chart spread out across my knees, I would trace the hidden constellation lines with my fingers, trying to distinguish between the faint specks of light above.

As I grew older, my knowledge of the sky slowly started to fade away, making room in my brain for more important things like cocktail recipes and Saves The Day lyrics. However, in an attempt to further emofy myself, I have decided to relearn all of the useless constellation knowledge from my childhood (hint hint, feel free to buy me books about stars and such).

Actually, forget it. I'm bored just thinking about it. I think I'll just stay indoors and find some other way to reconnect with 2nd grade Josh Kerney (yeah, I refer to myself in the third person...get over it).

in 1492...

2006-09-06T21:09:00.000-07:00

Following in the footsteps of super famous dudes like Sir Francis Drake and Christopher Columbus, I have decided to devote myself to a life of discovery and exploration (without all of the Indian raping and whatever). While I fully expect to be cruising around the Pacific Ocean in a few years, discovering lost worlds and naming random stuff after myself, I realize that I will have to start out on a somewhat smaller scale. So if any of you needy mcneedersons require my attention for anything, you will find me immersed deep within the bowels of experimentation, doing super important explorer-man stuff. Namely, finding out how many craps it is going to take for me to get through my Johnny Cash biography.

ps...bowels, get it?!!

do re mi fa so la ti do

2006-05-15T00:37:00.000-07:00

Riding around in the cabrini green van playing ipod sing-along is officially the new hotness. It thus replaces the old hotness...which was pretty much just Ben and I talking about which of our ex-girlfriends we are still hung up on.

shammies '06

2006-05-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

And the winner for "best band built from cardboard stolen while drunk at 5 pm" is....

You should really stop what you are doing (once you are done with me OF COURSE), and go listen to them.

the lord works in mysterious ways...the devil makes everything pretty damn obvious

2006-05-10T21:48:00.000-07:00

In order to ensure that my ever increasing lunacy (treating heartache with heartbreak, the bug situation, etc.) doesn't reach critical mass, I have decided to auction off all of the drama in my life. Now, I know that some of you are thinking that without all of my turmoil I will be just another pseudo-chubby dude with a receding hairline...and honestly, you may be right. But, I really (REALLY) need a break from myself. And although your taking on my extra drama (and paying me for it) might seem pretty nonsensical, let me assure you...it makes all the sense in the world.

First off, you would be helping your most favoritest (all hail the grammar king) boy in the world become even more...ummm, well-rounded? You see, despite the fact that I am constantly fixated upon all things pathetic and sad, I do have some sort of sense (no matter how dormant) that there are more productive things to do with my time. Yes, even I will admit that sitting around all day trying to decide which myspace profile song will make me seem the most depressed is getting a little tired.

Secondly, you are boring. Face it, you are. Wouldn't you rather experience the entire spectrum of excitement that my pathetic drama has to offer? Waking up at 3am to the slurred voice of some random girl that only loves you when she's drunk; replaying angry answering machine messages over and over again just to double check whether the insult being lobbed at you was "bitch" or "dick"; dirty-footed drunks with huge Gandalf walking sticks showing up in the middle of West Wing (rip); having the same hurtful conversation day after day after day, not because you like it, but because you are afraid of not having any conversation at all; etc (ad nauseam). Seriously...come join my world. We are a sad but gentle people.

Third, I am broke. My Italian roommate is ditching me for the summer, leaving me with the impossible task of (omFg) paying bills and being responsible. And since most of my spare cash goes toward buying copies of Mike Tyson's Punch-Out, I am going to need to set aside a few extra dollars so that Comcast doesn't shut off my interweb access...otherwise, I am going to have to go to the public library to get my daily dose of local porn stars.

ps...in lieu of money, I will accept Hot Pockets,vodka crans, and cassette copies of Barbies For Beatniks songs.

bobby drake is a bitch

2006-04-17T16:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when I am bored/depressed/lonely/drunk/alive, I freeze things.

it's going to end up on the friendship tip

2006-04-12T21:01:00.000-07:00

Just in case any of you heartbreakers were wondering, I only want to date you if you either A) have a boyfriend or B) live at least two hours away. Girls that fall into both categories go straight to the top of the list...at which point I will begin to stalk you on myspace, forging an uncomfortable pseudo-relationship that will last for years to come.

In other news, I am exchanging all my real-life friends for the dude with the chrome grill that Ben and I met last night. Because unlike you people, my new found friend has clever catch phrases like, "If I'm running, ya'll better be running" and "where's the party poppin' at?"

ps...yeah, I know that those phrases are neither clever nor catchy, but the dude had silver teeth...SILVER TEETH!!!

i get so lonely, i could die

2006-04-07T21:37:00.000-07:00

I am utterly alone.

However, the genius of it is that my game of hide and ~~seek~~ hide is fueled by choice (sort of). Yeah, I know that "by choice" is what all the real-life lonely dudes say, and that by saying it I am in all likelihood only hiding from the truth (horrible dresser with limited social skills and all that), but such is the nature of denial. In fact, I only bring up my loneliness because I am home on a Friday night, scouring the internet in hopes of finding a nerd who can tell me how to beat the final boss in Kingdom Hearts...plus, I really have nothing better to write about.

Sure, I could be out drinking with my newest internet stalker (better not tell your boyfriend), or trying to convince the best songwriter of rightnowthisverysecond to make me a hit record. Or, if I was truly daring, I could move out to Idaho and then text message my internet girlfriend a thousand times a day.

But since the only thing that I fancy more than loneliness is extreme laziness, I'll be here in my room, growing fame.

ps...outside living is for suckers.

number five is alive

2006-03-17T22:51:00.000-08:00

Despite what you may have heard, getting drunk on St. Fratrick's day is not the best way to spend your time. However, getting drunk and then spending hours on the interweb learning that Transformers are real is pretty damn close.

yule feel better in the morning

2006-03-13T22:23:00.000-08:00

When I awoke yesterday morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself laying on a coat that didn't belong to me and in possession of a hoop earring (which I don't wear...at least not on Saturday nights). My head was also pounding and I couldn't find my car...but there really isn't anything out of the ordinary about that.

So if you are missing a girl's peacoat and/or a hoop earring, get in touch with me and we can see about making a trade for your stuff. I accept the following payments...free drinks, kisses, and board games that I will never play. Or, if you prefer, you can just leave your clothes with me...I like Christmas presents in early March.

springtime, the only pretty ring time. birds sing hey ding, a-ding, a-ding

2006-03-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

Yay for life...spring break (bare breasts '06) is upon us once again. Granted, I haven't been to school in quite some time (other than to hit on arty looking chicks) and my life is essentially a constant vacation, but I still delight in the temporary reprieve that spring break gives me from frat kids and unruly Italians. However, while everyone else is doing super grown-up things like catching diseases and making morning-after pill babies, you can find me out in the orchards of my grandparents' house...watching hawks in flight and taking super emo pictures of flowers, trees , bees , and such.

slaggots and gargoyles

2005-11-09T17:55:00.000-08:00

The above photo was taken from the greatest rock and roll concert video ever made. If you're nice and/or you buy me cool stuff, I might show it to you sometime. Otherwise, you can wait for it to blow up worldwide and then buy it off ebay for one thousand million dollars.

it's only teenage waistband

2005-11-01T20:38:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, it's true...I am getting fatter.

And while some of the girls that I hang around with have been waiting for this moment (you evil chubby chasers), I could personally do without the pregnant lady stomach. It isn't that I want to be a lard-ass, but I don't like the looks of the alternatives. Sit-ups and eating right? No thanks. I'd rather scarf down cheeseburgers and play Super Mario 3 all day.

Basically, it all boils down to the fact that I am too lazy to start running and too hungry to stop eating. In all likelihood, I am just going to take the easy way out and have my stomach stapled or something. That way, not only will I be a slim 140 pounds (scenester weight), I will also have a supertoughguy scar so that people will think twice before trying to screw with me.

hulk smash

2005-10-30T19:09:00.000-08:00

Earlier this afternoon, I was having lunch outside of a girlswithhairyarmpits cafe, being lectured about making something of myself (maybe next year) when the wine-country monotony was disrupted by a barrage of curse words and car horns. I turned around expecting to see the type of egregious behavior that would warrant such an outburst...some dude driving on the sidewalk, or perhaps some herpes-having couple sexing each other in the back of a taxi-cab. But no. The only commotion I saw was a 200 year old woman in her Chrysler LeBaron trying to back out of a parking spot, all the while being berated by an angry Minivan driver that was pulling up behind her.

Now, I'm not really the type of person that jumps to conclusions (riiiiiiiight). Maybe Minivandude was just having an off day. It could have been that he was arguing with his wife/daughter (its all the same) over whether to have bear claws or chicken nuggets for breakfast. Or maybe he was pissed because those magic beans that he traded for his cow didn't grow into a beanstalk like they were supposed to. Hell, the simple fact that he was driving a Minivan could have set him off...seriously, I used to drive one of those things, and look at how screwed up I am. Regardless, his seemingly unwarranted verbal attack on the woman filled me with this strange Adam Sandler anger that I haven't felt since that one time (excuses on the ready and all that...).

At that moment, the only desires I had were to pull the man out of his primer colored vehicle and beat him to a pulp in front of his lady friend. I began praying that the good Lord above would see fit to fill me with some sort of Old Testament strength so that I could rip the douchebag's balls off and feed them to the mangy dog that was yapping through the van's side window. At the very least, I figured that God might choose this moment to make an example of Captain Minivan, using the beating that he was about to receive to teach the masses that people should never sleep with their relatives (no matter how attractive they may be). After all, incest is the number one cause of all things unnatural...like road rage and flipper babies and such.

In fact, there was no doubt in my mind that God would help me out, especially after all that stuff he had people write down about killing gays and stoning girls on their periods. However, Jesus must have been off playing dodgeball or saving people from eternal damnation because after my prayer was finished, I looked down and found myself just as scrawny and afraid as before...and apparently just as hungry because I immediately turned back around and finished the rest of my sandwich.

ps...I really hope that woman didn't wind up in a ditch somewhere.

r.i.p.

2005-10-25T15:09:00.000-07:00

A terrible tragedy has befallen my closet. My beloved Reggie and the Full Effect shirt, which has been with me since '99, took its own life earlier this morning. For a long time, Reggie was my thisbandiscoolerthanyou shirt of choice. The two of us broke heart after heart at every show we attended together. Get Up Kids, Saves the Day, Face to Face...we were the scene.

But now, I am left with only questions as to why Reggie would choose to leave me so suddenly...especially after the near loss of my Acceptance shirt only a few months ago (thanks Ben). Perhaps it was the numerous stains all over the shirt, or maybe my new found affection for plaid that caused poor Reggie to tear itself so prematurely (in a six year old shirt sort of way). In any case, I take comfort knowing that it is now in emo shirt heaven...hopefully being worn by Rosa Parks or that dude from SeaQuest DSV.

kings of coprophagy

2005-10-19T14:33:00.000-07:00

This morning I learned that hamsters eat their poop. Apparently, its okay because hamsters have two different kinds of poop...one that is edible and one that isn't, I guess. I wonder if hamsters even know the difference between the two types of crap, or if they just say to themselves, "forget it...I'll just eat both piles and let my body sort it out."

In a completely unrelated story...

When I was six, I opened my sock drawer one morning and discovered that at some point during the night, my cat had given birth to a litter of ugly-ass kittens. For some reason, I did not find it strange that there were newborn animals living among my socks. However, I recall being very disturbed by the tubes that were attached to each kitten's underbelly. Thinking that these tubes were flesh-eating worms, I began to tug at them, attempting to free the kittens from certain death. Unfortunately, I was unable to remove any of the worms, so I gave up and went back to playing mario twins.

be sure to stock up on your canned goods

2005-10-18T14:43:00.000-07:00

Armageddon is coming. And I don't mean that Affleck flick with the big rocks from space (asteroids are soooo 1998). I am referring to that "other" armageddon...like the one that killed off the T-Rex and forced space aliens from Mars to breed a humanoid species to re-populate Earth. Believe it.

Despite what the coast to coast am crowd are claiming, the end of life as we know it is not going to be brought about by bird flu or some flavor of the week cataclysmic natural disaster. On the contrary, the end of the world is coming (to a town near me) in a much more subtle, yet much more sinister form. Joel Kliebe, dealer of hangover headaches and destroyer of friendships, is coming back to Chico to claim what is rightfully his (the two or three girls that he didn't sleep with when he lived here). So be sure to board up the windows in your house, say goodbye to your loved ones, and go on that rafting trip that you always wanted to take...because once November 2nd arrives, its all over.

fashionable male

2005-10-02T13:52:00.000-07:00

My face (which has always been out of my control) has begun growing a personal tribute to George Michael's Faith era facial hair...grow for a week, shave, repeat.

the state of the ruin

2005-09-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I left for work, I neglected to put any cds in my car. Consequently, I was forced to listen to talk radio all day as I drove around (because fm is for pussies). My experience with am 650 taught me the following...

1) Ann Coulter's voice makes me want to Van Gogh my ears off.
2) I don't know if Tom Delay is guilty or not...but either way, he is still a jackass.
3) As far as I can tell, Jack Armstrong is probably dead. He has been replaced with a wild-eyed look-alike that only wants to talk about depression pills and the lack of sperm that live within his body.
4) Sean Hannity wants only two things out of life. The first is to make sure that every great American knows that he is a "great American." The second is to be Rush Limbaugh.
5) Speaking of which, Rush Limbaugh is still fat...and still a liar.
6) Michael Savage is obsessed with gays and is, in all likelihood, a closet homosexual (not that there's anything wrong with that).
7) Zell Miller needs to go away...seriously.
8) I can connect Bob Novak to the great Satan in four moves or less.
9) Bill O'Reilly likes to tell people to shut up. Over and over and over and...
10) George Bush is greatest president since...well, since that last dude.

guns don't kill people, dolphins kill people

2005-09-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

Apparently, its not bad enough that the evil-doer has filled the world with hurricanes, terror attacks, and global warming...now I have to lay awake at night worrying about killer dolphins as well.

bumfights '05

2005-09-26T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have decided that in lieu of saying hurtful things to the people in (and out) of my life that deserve it, I am going to start taking out all of my pent-up aggression on the homeless denizens of Chico. Although I probably don't have time to take on all of the homeless people in this town, I can certainly (at the very least) give up a few hours of my day to berate that bearded dude whose wife and kids are always trapped in some invisible car on some invisible Chico street.

And just for the record, its not as if I want to (or even could) cause any homeless person any sort of physical harm...because lets be honest, bums are tough. They eat trash, sleep on cardboard, walk uncounted miles, and kill deer with their bare hands (yeah, I made that last one up). If Rocky would have had some random homeless dude for a trainer, he would have knocked Apollo Creed out in the first round, guaranteed. Probably not that Russian dude, but definitely Apollo. The point is, if I were to physically fight a homeless guy, I would probably die. All I really want is a good shouting match...I just need to say aloud all of the accusations and insults that I have been carrying around in my heart for the past few months. Plus, most of my tirade would be filled with words that the vagrants are probably used to hearing on a daily basis anyway...liar, fraud, spoiled (okay, maybe they aren't used to that one), waste of time, deceitful, it was lust all along (or that one), and on and on and on...

Hooray for society's ready made punching/yelling bags.

stop getting up for the let down

2005-09-20T16:26:00.000-07:00

For those of you who care about listening to music that doesn't completely suck balls, you should go buy the new Cartel and Coheed and Cambria records that came out today. Basically, these two albums own/slay/rule/kill every album that has come out lately*, so you really don't really have a choice. Sure, you could keep rocking out in your room to Staind or Ashlee Simpson or whatever, but then you would be a douchebag. Well, I guess if you want to get technical, some of you are already classified as douchebags in my book...so you three can just do whatever you want.

* the two new albums by the musical juggernauts mentioned above are better than every recent album except for the new nog record. But if you don't already own that, you are a lost cause and somebody should feed your face to the snakes.

this isn't who i am...from confidence to self-doubt

2005-09-18T22:03:00.000-07:00

For those that missed the rock and roll (hide and seek) that hit Off-Limits last Thursday, here is the evidence...

Now, go back where you came from.

10/27/08 ps...turns out i might have deleted those pictures. whatever.

secret secret...i've got a secret

2005-09-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

For years, Italian Dave (aka sickerthandeathdave) has been telling me that not only do I constantly create drama for myself, but that I enjoy doing it as well. The strange thing is, the boy acts as if my actions are a bad thing (toast to the times and all). However, judging from the fan/hate mail that I have been receiving lately, I think that he might actually be right...for once. Therefore, I have decided to forgo the discussion of (and reveling in) my own drama for the time being in order to focus on the drama of other people.

ps...This is the drama of other people. I am starting to feel better about myself already.

the young livers rule tonight

2005-09-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

"when i die, they'll put me on a table...make me look like i did when i was alive. they'll tell all my friends and my family that i died of natural causes. but drinking's not natural." --Joel Kliebe: The Greatest Song Ever Written

I was certain that when the queen of the momos moved out to the land of mormons and potatoes, I would lose my rights to all things latenightinchico. Surely, I thought, it would only be a matter of time until my favorite bartenders forgot my favorite drinks, girls forgot my name, and I forgot my bar-crawl identity. But no. It seems that as time progresses, I am slowly becoming even more well known (and you all thought I had peaked already) in this dirtmall town. Its really not helping my downtrodden loner image, but whatever...loneliness can wait.

The point is, I have been going out too much and my liver has approximately two weeks to live. So enjoy those drunk dials while you can...

and the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again

2005-09-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

I was in the middle of taking a shower earlier (all lathered up and no place to go) when I noticed a group of six baby spiders playing/drowning in the water. The animal rights activist inside of me sprang into action, and I scooped up the little guys, moving them out of harm's way. I felt so bad for them...helpless and scared, lost in a foreign linoleum world. They probably thought that they were under attack from giants, and that I was going to make them into some sort of soup or garnish or something. I felt as though I had to do something to make the moment more special and lasting for all involved, so I named each spider before putting them all back where I had found them...water off of course.

Then I smashed them. Each and every fricking one.

dear prado, ya done good kid. love, josh

2005-09-03T02:05:00.000-07:00

After enduring the initial letdown of not getting to see Number One Notplayinginabar, tonight turned out to be decent after all. Not quite Butter, but close. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the cryptic rundown...

...one dollar beers (good thing I'm allergic), jaw-dropping Casey Deitz, don't push me I'm that dude from Sherwood, now you hiccup now you don't, that walk to tacos is sooo two years ago, normal street is dead jpeg...let it go, Daniel Taylor's first kiss (her not me), drunk dial arguing (lets not do that again), this many people listen to crap like this?, barefoot guitar stomping, day early high school reunion, lonely and disfigured at 2 in the morning...

katrina is a bitch

2005-09-01T22:35:00.000-07:00

I have been trying for the past few days to understand all of the destruction, devastation, and demolition (plus whatever other "d" words you like) that is taking place in New Orleans and beyond. I have been faithfully watching the news (Fox News just for you, Joelboy) every morning, but as the days progress, the images pouring out of my television are becoming less and less realistic. Its the same sort of thing that happened during the tsunami I suppose. Cars floating down rivers, housing projects that now resemble lakeside stepping stones, roving gangs of gun-toting lunatics, stories of murder and rape and looting... none of it makes any sense.

To me, New Orleans might as well be Indonesia...or the moon for that matter. After all, my understanding of each place is equally limited. I understand that this whole thing is a tragic and life-changing event for a great number of people, and I know that on some instinctual human level I should be sad or concerned or both...but I am finding it difficult to empathize with the troubles that these people are going through. The truth is, the worst thing that I have been forced to endure (besides the occasional summer heartbreak) is having my clavicle broken by some dude that is really good at running away from car accidents. Without some personal connection to disasters like Hurricane Katrina, its hard to fathom that life can get that difficult. Sometimes, it almost seems easier to pretend that I (and maybe you) am the centerpiece of some grand trumanshowish reality, and the world around me is all prefabricated...with all of its biblical floods and talibans and such.

ps...just between the two of us, I sometimes wonder that if I were to drive out across the country, would New Orleans even exist? Or is it something that I dreamt up along the way...a recurring dream within a recurring dream.

visiting small in a big town

2005-08-24T11:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I drove (rode) to San Francisco with the three best looking dudes in Chico to watch the best band in the world open up for three bands that aren't so much the best bands in the world. Granted, I had to brave six hours of Ben's driving to make the trip...but as far as I can tell, I came back fairly unscathed (except for the late night sodomy...shhhh).

It felt great to leave town and go a place where people aren't as clever, there are no trees, and the drinks are twice as expensive. Because the truth is, blowing 50 bucks in San Francisco on stuff that would have cost 10 dollars in Chico makes coming home at 4 a.m. feel that much better.

Not to give out the impression that trips to the city are all about spending money that you don't have on stuff that you don't need, I will enlighten you with amazing tales of life-changing events...or maybe just list them. Somewhere in between homeless Marvin (Jackson, Mississippi), Judi's Place, the art of vagrant poetry, destroying the hunger incurred by the evildoer, Number One Gun all access hook-up (yay!), hey do you want to feel my bump?, hiding in the trailer to ward off the wind, peacoat thievery, ipod sing along, backstage myspacing, and Chico boy show stealers, I realized that yesterday was the best day I have had in forever (always forever).

ps...if anyone wants to head out to Butter with myself and the Sherwood lookalike on some random Tuesday night, call me up. That place slays.

and oh so tired of being sick

2005-08-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

I honestly thought that I had put in enough time this summer doing nothing and being all things all the time...sad / nostalgic / lazy / angry / quiet / hurtful / happy / asleep...but apparently not. Today, after spending an hour waiting around for some moneygrubber to see me for five minutes, I was informed that my body still thinks that being broken is fun and has consequently decided to put off healing itself for another month. Hopefully, after the next month passes and my bones grow back together in whatever deformed shape that they decide suits me best, I can go get some late-night taquitos and start all over again. Maybe next time, my other clavicle will break so that I can have a matching pair.

In other news, there are people that are actually happy about life...supposedly.

read for read's sake

2005-08-18T06:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, for the first time since I finished school, I sat down and read. And I don't mean reading for five minutes to pretend as though I'm not bored, or holding a book up to my face in the park to score points with intellectual girls. I mean actually reading for an extended period of time. I was afraid, because its been so long, that I might have forgotten how to read completely. But sure enough, after staring at the pages for only a few seconds, the letters began to form words, which in turn formed sentences, passages, ideas, stories, and the all important 'the end'. Of course, the only reason that I was able to read the 200-ish pages in one sitting is that the book is a children's book (kind of) and was making me nostalgic for those days when I would play Bastian in the hidden rooms of my parents' house, wasting away the days dreaming of rock chewers and luckdragons. Maybe someday I'll grow up and start reading books on insider trading, but for now...I'll stick with what I know.

i want a new drug, one that does what it should

2005-08-15T15:24:00.000-07:00

Despite my love for modern medicine, I recently decided that it was finally time for me to stop taking the pain medication that I have been on since the accident. Although I am still bruised and disfigured, my body doesn't hurt as much...plus, I don't think that the Vicodin were really doing anything about my quasimodo status anyway.

The past week's clarity has brought about a rapid rise in both my intelligence and general demeanor (except for yesterday's lapse into bummerland...shhhh). My head is finally starting to clear up and I am at long last able to think clearly (for better or worse). The only real drawback is my inability to sleep. While I was on drugs, I was constantly asleep. Even when I was awake, I might as well have been sleeping...stumbling around like a slack-jawed zombie, searching out fresh brains to consume or whatever. But now its seems as though my body is making up for lost time by keeping me awake for what seems like days. Of course, I could use all this extra time to do something productive with myself...write some New York Times bestseller or something...but I would much rather just sit on the corner of my bed, engaging in long-distance longing, reading through letters and postcards from kids that I used to know...all the while hoping that the recently departed don't share the same fate.

Even when I do sleep, its not like its pleasant or anything. Most of my recent dreams are of head on collisions and monsters anyway. And I'll take insomnia over monsters any day.

deal of the year...scam of the century

2005-08-07T14:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, here's the deal.

I have been whispering sweet nothings into your collective ears for long enough...or at least for long enough without getting anything in return. Of couse, I do realize that some of you have gone to great lengths to show your appreciation for me...ice-water fill up, girl scout fan mail, birthday drunk dials, broken bone drink provider, how metal are you giveaway, etc. If you fit into any of these categories, then my proposal is not for you. Move along.

As for the rest of you intellectual moochers, go here and earn your keep.

Help me out with my quest to join the 21st century and I will love you forever. Double cross me, and I'll feed you to the sharks.

ps...its no joke, I have been keeping a shark in my bathtub for just such an occasion.

i'm the asshole? i'm outta here. i wouldn't eat here, i would never eat here anyway.

2005-07-23T20:49:00.000-07:00

The majority of my friends understand that I am an asshole (prick, jerk, not very nice, etc.) at times. However, it seems that some people are still having trouble figuring this out, so I put a sign on my door to clear up any remaining confusion. I suppose that I could offer up explanations as to why I act the way I do, or maybe enter some sort of rehabilitation program...assholes anonymous or whatever. "My name is Josh and I am an asshole. As long as I can remember, I have been taking things personally that I probably shouldn't. I get pissed off easily and blah blah blah." But what does it really matter? I'll offer up false apologies, everything will be fine, and then I'll start having the same stupid fights with the same people. Boring.

Instead, people that hate me (if only momentarily) should go listen to how this lady talks to her son. Afterwards, they (YOU) can call me up and see what a sweetheart I am in comparison. Happily ever after.

'till bill cosby does another picture page with you

2005-07-22T16:56:00.000-07:00

A few weeks before I was forced into my current state of social suicide by Ben Tietz's erratic driving, I escaped the humid confines of Chico for a few days. Since most people that come to this site are too dumb to read, I have magically transformed that weekend into pictures.

boredom is boring

2005-07-22T10:37:00.000-07:00

I really thought that with all the time I have on my hands now, I would be writing a lot more. But the truth is, typing one-handed/left-handed sucks. Besides, since I don't leave the house anymore (except to pick up secretundergroundemomixtapes), I don't have anything to write about. I could write about what I do while lying around the house, but that's boring. Well, I guess most of the stuff I write about is boring, so you might not even notice the difference.

Today I woke up at 3am, and stared at the ceiling for a few hours until I realized that I was actually awake and not just having a really uneventful dream. After rolling out of bed, I made my way downstairs and zombied out as QVC told me that I need to spend more money on juicers and skin-exfoliating treatments. I then spent the rest of the morning watching Italian Dave organize his dork cards into even little piles. Sigh...

Maybe once I am able to leave the house for more twenty minutes at a time, I will resurrect my ability to make you all love me through the power of the written word. Until then, I will be sprawled out in my room, being waited on patiently (hopefully) while I try to steal kisses from girls as they read to me (probably).

if you still don't know the way we roll, we go...

2005-07-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

Breaking your clavicle, having your face swell up, and getting all-around uglier is fun (not really).

the adventures of link(ing)

2005-07-12T20:23:00.000-07:00

Lately, it seems that no matter how hard I try, my weekends have been nothing short of life-threatening (in a take my own life due to extreme boredom sort of way). Even this past weekend, with all of its promises of youthful escapades, fell far short of expectations. Of course, the blame for that lies entirely on certain dudes that cannot operate even the most simplistic of communication devices, such as telephones and doorknobs. If not for the king of all music and his trusty sidekick, this weekend might have turned out to be...well, worse than it was I guess (ps...lunch with you was amazing as well...but that's par for the course isn't it?). However, if the smartest people I know are to be believed, this weekend might actually live up to its own hype. Behold the breakdown...

Friday: Wet-nap nerds all over the world, hand in hand with more attractive nerds ("can we go watch the trailer online?") no longer have to play flying-broomstick make believe to pass the time. After counting down the seconds since the last piece of similar drivel was published, kids who still believe in dragons can finally spend all day locked up in their rooms, orgasming over the newest scar-face novel.

Friday is also the release date for the most unnecessary movie remake of all time. For shame, Tim Burton, for shame.

However, for those people who are more interested in things that matter, this Friday night at Matthew's Cafe is the local show of the year. Never before have four such amazing bands played together under one God-loving roof. Girls that don't eat enough and the boys that love them are pumped. Hell, some people are even coming from as far away as Santa Barbara to view the carnage (and them be the lucky ones).

Saturday: True love has finally blossomed for Nate Horton, the greatest keyboard player ever (I would link to him, but the kid doesn't spend enough time on the internet to have a cyber-home). Unfortunately for all involved, Nate and his girl Tacie are going to be married in the hottest hell-hole of a town north of...that other hot place. But it makes no difference to me because Nate said that I could wear next to nothing, so its cool.

That one guy that is waaaay smarter than me keeps telling me that the real show of the year is on Saturday at Off Limits. I don't know if I believe him or not, but I will probably check it out just in case. But you have to old enough to drink beer (legally) to show up there.

Sunday: Rumor has it...just me and you...

he loves me...he loves me not...

2005-07-06T02:05:00.000-07:00

"I hope you're not upset, they're only words. And words don't hurt at all. Didn't you know?"--as good as gospel--

Dear People of the Internet,

I thought that I had already been over this with you, but just in case you weren't paying attention the first time...

1) Do not take everything I write literally or seriously. From time to time, I will employ a device known as "sarcasm." I understand that there are people in the world that are too stupid to understand sarcasm, but I do not think that any of you (my faithful readers) fit into this category. See? Sarcasm.

2) Most of the time (unless I "x" out your eyes...and sorry about that, by the way) if I write about you or hint about you or link to you or whatever to do with you...I LIKE YOU. I don't necessarily mean it in some sexual way (although...), but I don't generally waste time typing about people that I despise. We can be friends even after I mention you in some unfashionable way (promise).

3) Stop arguing with me over the internet/email/myspace/etc. I have a phone. Call it. Or, if you don't mind looking at my hideous complexion, you can find me at Normal St. on Tuesdays and LaSalles on Saturdays...and holed up in my room most other days (social suicide).

4) There was more, but I forgot it...

Love,
Josh

you are sleeping, you do not want to believe

2005-07-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

I awoke today to find myself in another dimension. My transportation to this new existence would have gone entirely unnoticed (maybe even preferred) if not for a few notable inconsistencies.

For example, I weighed myself this morning (because I am health conscious like that) and discovered that over the course of one night, I lost twenty pounds. At first I thought that perhaps my doppelganger had finally taken over my body, but quickly realized that the inevitable melding of myself and my space-twin is probably not going to cause me to lose any weight (sorry Daniel). And just when I thought that I had found the logical solution to my weight dilemma ( getting a little too carried away with my John Basedow workouts), I found another troubling clue.

I am one year older than I should be. The aging was instantaneous, but apparent nonetheless. Even as I type this, I can feel the sickly effects of growing old (and up) permeating into both my bones and my soul. But more importantly, I can see proof of it on myspace. No matter how hard I try to remedy the situation, my myspace age will not revert back to what it should be...26 or bust, I guess.

You know, the more that I think about it, maybe I am not in another dimension at all. More than likely, brain-sucking aliens are attempting to take over the human race, making everyone skinnier and older in order to alleviate any attempts on our part to foil their plans of...uhh, brain-suckage.

ps...I fixed the age thing. Better luck next time, brain-suckers.

summer bummer (rhyming is easy)

2005-07-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

I cannot catch a break. Directly on the heels of Joel's departure and the slowly fading drama involving my fair-skinned friend with benefits, comes the biggest heartbreak of the summer (thus far). Max Bemis, self-proclaimed crazy person and frontman for Say Anything, has pulled his band off the bill of nearly every show of their current headlining tour. Citing the ever popular and always valid reason, "due to circumstances beyond our control," Max has left the other bands on the tour, Emmanuel and Circa Survive, to fend for themselves. Undoubtedly, high-school kids around the nation, whose affections lie more with silly-ass haircuts than with good music, will still show up in droves...but not me. I've seen the kind of chicks that hang out at Circa Survive shows.

In other news, as good as gospel has recently written a slew of the best songs ever, with salivating titles such as "p.s. this is spiteful" and "we're nothing if not consistent." Undoubtedly, these songs will soon bring fame and fortune to all involved, but the unwashed masses (you) will have to wait until Brains gets back from Almanor to hear them (protools and all). Until then, you could always just show up at the ugly-ass singer's house and pay him five bucks to play you whatever you want.

In other news (yes, I am repetitive...get over it), my birthday is soon. Buy me something. Or, if you are one of the girls that I continually obsess over (or vice-versa), feel free to come over next Sunday...we can make out.

Idaho, is calling you home

2005-06-27T22:14:00.000-07:00

Joel Kliebe is going to die in two days. Probably (and hopefully) not in any literal sense, but for all intents and purposes, Joelboy will soon be dead to the Chico world. I am fairly certain that most of him died last night...somewhere in between the one hundred and ten dollar bar tab we conquered at Tres Hombres and the godonlyknowshowmuch tab that conquered us at LaSalles. But for what its worth, the momo went out on top. King of the world.

Certain memories have been replaying themselves in my head all day. On hands and knees, building fish traps out of gravel and mud along the banks of the Sacramento River. Hiking through Five Mile, researching places to film our ten dollar remake of Lord of the Rings. Mourning the death of Face to Face in Normal St (even though you screwed up the songs toward the end). Running through the frat-filled streets of Chico at 3 am, chasing helicopter search lights. And on and on and on...

But sadly, the most vivid memories are also some of the most painful ones. We crashed and burned with the best of them. But hopefully in the end, that isn't how I'll remember it.

I hope you know that I'll miss you, Joel. You mean the world to me and I need you here more than you know. Come home soon.

"And yet I feel the most real home I'll ever have is the space where our roads merged and traveled along together...for a time." --Craig Thompson, 'Goodbye, Chunky Rice'

monday...humiliation, tuesday...suffocation, wednesday...condescension, thursday is pathetic

2005-06-24T12:20:00.000-07:00

"i know your friends are after you to stop seeing me...seeing me at all. 'he says such spiteful things to you.' well maybe, but guess what? you girls say much worse everyday." --as good as gospel--

I know, I know. I promised some of you that I was only going to write about smiles and rainbows from here on out, but you are going to have to allow me this one last indulgence of frustration...after which, I will immediately return to my former glory and will exude nothing but wit and charm upon all of you (swear).

--three hours later--

I was going to write of scandal...of friendships turned otherwise, of excuses ready and waiting, of living for other people's desires...but I no longer want to. Instead...

Walking around with you tonight seemed fraudulent. Pretending to be something we were already...something lesser. Over the past few days, we somehow became acquaintances stepping out for the first time, two people who feel less than comfortable around each other (which is a demon all its own) pretending as though they aren't. Conversation after conversation about the most trivial of things, because fear of "that" conversation keeps everything under lock and key. In any case, its not right...or at least not honest. And if this is your solution to awkwardness...fine. But it seems all the more so to me.

by all accounts today was a disaster

2005-06-21T21:50:00.000-07:00

i lose at life...again.

the clearing up of hazy nights

2005-06-17T17:22:00.000-07:00

I get hung up on the most simplistic of things. A pretty face, an interesting conversation, that one line in that one song...I am easily intoxicated. Quite often, the initial hook is strong enough to blind me from any hidden (or even glaring) faults. And consequently, I often wind up falling head first into whatever newly found excitement is before me. But blindness ain't forever. Eventually, friendships will turn sour and attraction will fall to frustration...even the bands that stole my heart only months earlier will sound stale and forgettable. But that is life. The ebb and flow, the ups and downs.

I don't know why I occupy myself with people and things that constantly bring me down. Maybe I am just a sucker for disappointment. Lately it seems as though getting bummed about stuff that isn't worth my time is my latest fashion trend...this week's 3 dollar t-shirt and 200 dollar pair of jeans. Perhaps I try to invest too much of myself in others...or maybe not enough (I am too dumb to know the difference). Maybe I should become more self-serving like the people I so easily fall for.

Gotta fake it to make it, I guess.

ps...it turns out that the frustration of attraction isn't so bad after all.

might as well face it, you're addicted to love (and drugs)

2005-06-13T21:55:00.000-07:00

Apparently, my former neighbor (and soon to be resident of Butte County Jail) has completely lost his mind. Although the most obvious cause for his transition from James Brown lover to gun-toting psychopath is his fondness for drugs and late night booty calls, I personally attribute his new found lunacy to Number One Jordan's constant drum practice...brilliance like that is enough to drive anyone insane.

I can remember the good old days, when Kenny was perfectly content with late night alleyway brawls and early morning drug induced stabbings. But I think that the poor guy might have gone a bit too far this time. Breaking into your estranged wife's house and scaring the hell out of your children and neighbors is one thing. But shooting at the police is something else entirely. Because guess what? Those dudes shoot back. And judging by the bullets lodged in Ken's body, they shoot fairly well too. But even being shot three times was not enough to convince Kenny to give up. Like a champ (or a tard) Ken hung in there until the tear gas thrown by more dudes with guns finally ended the standoff. Looks like the Italian and I got out of that place just in time.

In other news, if you are going to the Circa Survive show this Friday and want me to go with you, buy me a ticket so that I can go for free. But be warned. There will be no fooling around after the show because I have to hurry over to LaSalles to watch the best Chico band ever play. Well, the best Chico band ever except for these kids.

my name is ash and i am a slave

2005-06-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I am the master of doing the same things week after week after week. Between the hourly myspace checkups, Wednesday night at Normal, Saturday night eighties, and hiding crushes from late night board game girls (same game same night same story), my routine has gotten...routine. But yesterday my friend Taylor (heartbreaker extraordinaire) and I left the banality of Chico behind and made our way to Chester, home of Chuck Norris and Pine Shack Frosty. Although Chester is pretty much Paradise with a big(ger) lake, it was still worth the two and a half hours of driving in exchange for fifteen minutes of hamburger eating and pee-water swimming. I even made it back in time to meet up with Daniel and JPEG for some late night debauchery. After all, I can't go around changing my routine all at once, my fans won't know where to find me...

you've got the moves, the shoes, the do-- you've got me

2005-06-10T20:09:00.000-07:00

"I often wonder if the girl I marry will be like the girls I fell in love with in my youth; b movies, late night tv, the photos I kept hidden under my bed (my princess and the pea). It will be interesting to resolve whether lust or love becomes the stronger vice." --such a pretty little thing--

I fall for girls like a third grader. Most of the obvious comparisons are in the seduction...the awkward glance, the insult, the sensual nature of rock throwing and hair pulling. I am such a charmer.

However, I have recently discovered why I act the way I do (at least in this regard). It seems that for me, the chase is everything. Its not as though I don't know what to do once the attraction is mutual (although some might beg to differ), but the truth is that I really don't care. I prefer (and sometimes even long for) the unattainable. People fall for each other all the time...simultaneous attraction is boring at best. Attraction should be tripped and stumbled over, completely ungraceful. A conversation here, an argument there, the accidental brushing of skin, the occasional spilled drink...the imperfection of a schoolboy crush.

I have developed way more than my fair share of crushes over the years. Like badges of honor, I remember most of them fondly (even more so when the girls wanted nothing to do with me), taking them out from time to time in order to polish them up or whatever. I cling to some of them incessantly...barnacles on the bottom of an old sailing barge. Some nights (whether from alcohol, boredom, or both) I will pick up the phone and call girls that I haven't talked to in years, just to see if any of the awkwardness still exists. But it never really does. I guess that even third grade lust becomes stagnant after awhile.

honey, I want you to make some friends this summer, lots of them

2005-06-07T17:02:00.000-07:00

I often wish that summer vacation still held the same sort of magic that it did when I was younger. Of course, I no longer have anything to vacation from (except for life...but I am putting that off for a while), but that's not the point. Most of the time, I would rather be ten years old than twenty...fifteen rather than twenty-five...and seventeen most of all. But I am cursed. A boy trapped in an older boy's body.

When most guys run into their mid-life crises and start banging girls other than their wives, they often spend a great deal of time reflecting on their childhood summers (and buying expensive sports cars). Most of those suckers probably wish that they could still take vacations as eternal as a ten year old kid's summer vacation. But that is where old people are misguided. Summer vacation is still pretty much the same length as it has always been (except for snow days or whatever). The difference is that people no longer know how to have fun by just doing nothing. Summer for a child is not long or endless by any means...but it is certainly epic. Hell, kids can play with sticks and dirt, and have more fun than some dude carrying around a mortgage and a dental plan ever will.

A few years back, I tried to reinstate the childhood summer, but nobody bought into it. Everyone was too concerned with work and money and blah blah blah. So I spent most of the summer hanging out with myself...and while it was fun for the most part, it really didn't help with my lifetime loner status. I started to think that maybe the fifty-somethings were right. Maybe summer was never meant to be anything more than another lifelong bummer. A dry, hot death that leads to autumn...which is just the windy death preceding winter...and on and on and on. But then again, maybe the fifty-somethings are just a bunch of pricks that don't know any better. Maybe summers can still be epic. I honestly hope that if summer ever decides to come around this year (it is still raining as I write this) that I can do more than just sit on the internet after work, or spend money buying a bajillion more cds that I don't want to listen to. Maybe I can find some cool sticks, and write my name in the dirt outside my apartment...Josh was here '05...

there's something very important I forgot to tell you...don't cross the streams

2005-06-07T16:28:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have not done so already, please go here to the netherworld in order to view the forty-one pieces of epic brilliance that I wrote before making my new home here...but be warned, they're epic in a smalltownwhitetrash sort of way.

your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions

2005-06-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

Last night as I slept, I dreamt that I was lying in bed at my grandfather's house. I couldn't have been any older than nine or ten at the time...or so it seemed, judging from the weight of my awkward limbs and weakened frame. As I lay awake in bed, I felt a sense of uneasiness come over me. I rose from my twisted sheets and made my way to the front door. Turning and sliding open the various locks, I gently pushed the door forward and peered out into the darkness. Through the fog that hung heavy in the night air, I could make out the shape of two figures...arms outstretched...as if they were being crucified right in front of me. I yelled out, shouting to the beasts that I could see them...as if that would make all the difference. Confident yet cowardly, I went back into bed, but the uneasiness continued to lay with me. Once again, I cautiously opened the door, but slammed it shut almost instantly. My mind was filled with images of gnarled teeth and tattered clothes...a nightmare within a nightmare. I ran from the door, collapsing into bed, heaping blanket upon blanket over my body. Although I couldn't see a thing, I knew the figures would see the movement in the shadows, the drawing of breath within the bed, the sweat seeping through the sheets...and fear began to worm its way through.

I have slept night after night with the same visions plodding through my head. The faces and places change...but the fear remains the same. Every night I am chased and hunted...an animal awaiting its execution. Some mornings when I awake, I search my body for bruises and gashes...seeking out evidence that the nightmares I am cursed with exist not only in my mind. Because fear of this nature has to leave its mark somewhere...