A Rusty Knife (new poetry)

Here's some poetry I just wrote. Got it posted up in the Bipolar Confessional, where you may want to visit if you like stuff along these lines.

"A Rusty Knife"

Cool little blessed teddy bears
A million little blessed teddy bears
Come to the sundown ritual
Bring your spotless goldfish, just put him in a jar
And gather at the foot of the mountain
Where fools perish and prophets hide

Now my mind's gone blank is it sometimes wont to do
I've forgotten everything you've said not too long after you said it
And it frightens me but what else can a man do?
Price to pay, eh chap?
A trollop dropped a wall-full of bricks and made an awful divide
Betwixt the things I don't remember and the fine line which sunders in two
Knowing and not knowing
Being and not being
Thinking and not thinking
Living but not living.
Dying but not dying.
Betwixt the things I don't remember
And the things I can't forget

You seem very disappointed that I will not attempt to describe the way these episodes feel, what's going on in my mind, how I perceive "reality", it's purpose, the fleeting nature of the whole damn thing.

I am genuinely sorry for that state of affairs, but alas, what power doth mortal man hold to fuck around with the hands of time, to try to tie them behind his back. I reserve the right to keep my mouth shut and set out to do a shaker's dance. Just out behind the church, right front of the out house. Cross that field of flowers, crushing the lucky ones, and meet me, that's what it was all about, mister, you've got no idea, and furthermore, we weren't even shakers, only two kids too young to be messed up yet. So little of it survives in my memory. I can't even remember who she was. Or what she looks like, even. I only know that the cold steel of the blade she had hidden in her "Sunday Best" skirt was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life.

It was a sharp blade. But old. Rust stuck to it and black dirty from all the blood shed carnage clinging onto the hard metal. This rendered the knife even more painful than a clean, sharp-edged sword.

Okay...give me a moment...

What was all that? I seem to have wondered off
Did you say
Something about shakers?
Or did you say quakers?
Soul Shakers and Earth Quakers

Could it actually be
Who crashes his camera
He hasn't a hammer
The flash is a freaky thing
It sticks to the back of the eyelid
It burns and it burns and it burns
Thor, is that you?
If it is...stop, please o magnificent god of thunder
cease from this mental torture you inflict
Upon one only humble
Your disregard for me saddens and discourages
I've worshiped you, Thor
I've brought burnt offerings to you
The spotless lamb, a pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
This suffering must come to an end
I'll take the rusty sword that brought me here
And slice the beast's neck
And hold it above, let it drain like a fountain
A pail for the blood
So, Thor, look down and consider your worthy servent
Mighty Thor, Manipulator of Gods
Trust me, if I thought I could
I would once more wield my dirty blade
...if I ever thought that this very blade had power to slay deity...
I would thrust it deep into Thor's guts, below the heart, so that the blade will cut sharp when I yank it up and cut in half the organ that pumped blood through his useless body.
Laughing, beaming


Quite some time back, on this very blog, I published a post entitled “10 Reasons I’m Glad I Stopped Smoking Pot.” I don’t know, maybe there weren’t exactly ten of them, but there were enough to where your average Joe would say, “Wow, it’s a good thing you finally quit after all these years.”

Of course, he would have been right. Each of the reasons were good enough to make any sane doper think twice before firing it up again.

But I have a confession I’d like to make.

I never stopped smoking weed.

I didn’t even TRY all that hard.

I was doing the whole “Christianity thing” at the time and I felt like I SHOULD stop. I TRIED. But the lure of a good trip was too much for this old man to resist. After all, I had been a stoner for almost 20 years---which I realize is not all that long for a 47 year old man. I mean, I didn’t start until I was thirty years old, and most smokers I know began toking it up by the time they were in their teens.

So I started doing it again. Sometimes I would try to justify it and reconcile it with my “faith”. Other times I just resigned myself to “doing it even though I know it’s wrong”, figuring I’d be forgiven anyway. Kind of like a lot of Christians do with tobacco. And then there were times when I’d just say “fuck it, I like it, and I’m gonna do it.”

As time went by I grew further and further away from Christianity as a religion. Consequently I felt less guilt over my penchant for getting good and stoned.

But, in my defense to those who would judge me for smoking the demon reefer, my consumption did drop significantly. I went from being an EVERYDAY pothead to a pothead who only bought a sack every two or three weeks. I’d blaze through a quarter in three of four days and then I wouldn’t even want to THINK about doing it again. A few times I even thought about quitting. I’d say to myself, “If I could only focus on the really shitty things that come along with the overall experience I would be better able to lay it down for good.” Which, IMO, is very sound advice.

It would seem, however, that when the crappy aspects are put on the scales with everything I like about pot, they tip to the side of the good stuff every single time.

So you get the picture.

I was just fine with that. I admit I lied about it a few times when asked if I was still smoking pot. I liked to think in terms of relativity---after all, there is quite a gulf to bridge between the fortnightly dabble and the “wake and bake”. I might as well say I didn’t smoke at all.

I had no intentions of quitting---at least that was the case until a few months back.

It must be noted that it had been SEVERAL years since I thought my tolerance level would EVER be brought down to the point where I truly enjoyed marijuana like I did, say, 5 or 6 years ago. That, combined with the mood stabilizing elements of the medication I take, had me convinced that the “good old days: of getting REALLY fucked up were long gone history. Ha ha! Even now it seems absurd to think that a person would be able to maintain a good weed experience when the THC has to battle mood stabilizers that are already entrenched in the blood. Still, when you only smoke every two weeks the down time weakens the tolerance level so you can hope for at least one good night under the influence. Maybe two, if the dope is potent enough. Otherwise the rest of the baggie is wasted, and I’m not the kind who can just stash away any left-overs for the next time I’m ready. If I’ve got it, I WILL smoke it. That has been my policy and a rule that I have never been able to break.

Anyway, on the afore mentioned occasion I was with some guys---two good friends I’d known for a long time, and one guy who I had never met previously, but who seemed like a decent feller. We were to have a cook-out that evening and were on the way to Sam’s Club to buy some steaks when JF whipped out some bud and a pipe. JF has been know to sell a little bit now and then, but I’ve rarely bought from him because he never has anything but the real high dollar, ass-kickin’ weed. He’s good about sharing, though.

On this particular occasion I had no idea of just HOW ass-kickin’ his stuff was. I should have only taken one toke. Hell, a little half-sized toke would have served me well. It would have been more than enough. But the ol’ “smoke it if you got it” mentality kicked in. So I ripped off two monster hits.

If I had only known…

We walked into that huge store/warehouse and the next thing you know I’m giggling like a fool. I looked over to my companion, the one I didn’t know, and I could tell, by the expression on his face and in his eyes, that he was “stoned to the bone”. He saw me looking at him and at that moment a bond of friendship was forged.

I was in awe at the sheer immensity of Sam’s Club, with it’s countless crates of goods stacked almost to the ceiling. I sauntered over to the meat section where my other friends were picking out steaks for the upcoming BBQ. I can’t explain it, but I got the strangest, creepiest feeling looking at all the different kinds of meat. I wondered how many different animals made up the selection. I noticed the colors, the shapes, the sizes, everything about them. For some reason it really disturbed me, so I left that department and walked down one of the frozen food aisles.

I don’t know what triggered it, but all of a sudden I became convinced that I was going to die right then and there. All I could think of was that I was so far away from my wife and son. It saddened me to think of how they would take the news of my passing. The feeling was so strong that I feared I would crumble to my knees, that my friends would have to take me to the hospital or something. I wondered how they would react to the situation.

In the back of my mind, though, through all of this, I kept telling myself, “Calm down, relax. You’re just really high and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be this intoxicated. Just ride it out. Remember, it’s supposed to be fun. Ride it out, you’ve been here before and done this many, many times---it will all turn out just fine.”

Once I saw the logic in this thinking I was able to chill out and the premonition of dying passed. I settled into a state of mind where I was inordinately interested in the other people shopping in the store. I’d take note of the food items they were putting in their carts. I’d watch them rolling from aisle to aisle and I realized that there was one common denominator among them all: they were ALIVE, living, and the engine of their existence was SPIRIT. ONE spirit. And so I felt a kinship with them because of this. It was simply fascinating to watch them, and that’s when I knew the hurdle had been crossed and I was in the initial stages of what promised to be a very good marijuana experience. (I realize that some or this may seem a bit strange, but so it goes in the wild and wonderful world of cannabis)

The night eventually turned out to be a very good one. The best moments occurred when I lay down at the end of the night, on the verge of passing out, and got lost in auditory hallucinations that reminded me of why I became a stoner in the first place.

Still, that whole “dying” thing had me thinking about quitting. Even though the rest of the night was great, you have to understand just how unnerving it was to be certain of my imminent demise.

Not long afterwards I was able to purchase another sack of the really good stuff. The expensive kind. Sure enough I had another experience in which I thought I was gonna die. It was like, I thought, “Everybody dies sometime and none of them know exactly when it is going to happen…How do I know this isn’t my time? Within the next few seconds, even?” And the paranoia kicked in, magnifying and multiplying the fear. I had to really try hard to occupy my mind with something else so I wouldn’t think about it. That wasn’t not easy, because most everything else was all out of whack, too.

I made it through that episode without losing my mind. Maybe it was the old cartoons I watched, with the sound turned down, that saved me? Or perhaps I broke through to a safe place by watching “Koyaanisqatsi”. Those are pretty much the only memories I have of that night, other than doing the “feel-like-I’m-fixin’-to-die rag”.

A couple of months went by after that without anything bad happening. Probably because the pot I was getting did not have the same incredible potency as the shit that messed with my head.

But the last few times I’ve smoked were incredibly intense experiences. In many ways even more frightening than the premonitions of death I had. I don’t really want to go into detail in describing those occasions or WHY they were more unnerving than those in the past. Suffice to say that I finally came to the realization that it would be best if I made a New Year’s resolution for the turn of the decade to get serious about quitting. I figure it shouldn’t be all that hard if I just call to mind the memory of how terrifying the last couple of trips were. If I could do that I should have no trouble leaving it behind.

I say that---I know it’s true---I feel like I can do it---and yet I still plan on buying and toking up one more quarter ounce before the year is over. Hasn’t come through as quickly as it usually does, so the weed I’d hoped to consume on Christmas day---which was supposed to be my last---still has not arrived. I don’t have any reason to believe that it WON’T come through, but since the order has already been placed I have no intention of cancelling it. If I get it in the next couple of days I will have it smoked up before New Year’s Day and can start afresh on the first of the year. BUT, if it doesn’t arrive in time I will just have to say, “Oh, well. This is my last satchel”, and enjoy it even if it stretches into the early days of the next decade. Then I’ll stop buying. Then I’ll stop smoking (the first resolution will be a lot easier than the second, but we’ll see. I won’t beat myself up for fudging on the second every now and again).

I know. I know. Why don’t I just nip it in the bud (pardon the pun) right now and don’t mess around with that last bag? Especially knowing what it’s capable of doing---the negatives, I mean, as opposed to the positive effects (which, regardless, always seem to overshadow the bad shit).

I can’t answer that. I imagine it’s like how a tobacco user wants to have “that last cigarette”.

So, if you’re reading this, whether you know me in person or not, won’t you please send out some good thoughts and positive vibrations of encouragement? I don’t think I’ll need them, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.

To anyone who I have deceived, insomuch as not admitting that I have smoked pot during the last few years (and that list, I assure you, is a small one), I’m sorry. I never want to “lie”. If I have done so it was because I didn’t want people I care about to think lowly of me. But I suppose that, in the long run and in most cases, I should not care what anyone thinks anyway. It’s my life, isn’t that what they say?

I’m not ragging on weed in general. Far from it. I’ve had a lot of good experiences while under the influence. I’ve learned a lot about myself and have been shown a whole different way of looking at things that I might never have known had I not tried marijuana. I firmly believe that it should be legalized. It’s not for everyone and not everyone should use it. But for those who enjoy it, can handle it without becoming slackers, it should be readily available.

My reasons for quitting have nothing to do with it’s being legal. I don’t know how strong my resolution would be, however, if it WERE legalized. My issues with it don’t have much to do anymore with how easy or hard it is to procure. But, that said, the temptation could well break me down. Especially in light of how I’ve championed legalization for the last 20 years. You know, “IT’S FINALLY LEGAL!!! This is what I’ve waited for! Let’s go to 7-11 and buy a pack of hoglegs!”

I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that any time soon, though. Do you?

So…My New Year’s resolution is…


My son had this posted on his blog...

I haven't laughed so hard in ages.

By the way, he is perhaps the biggest Beatles fan in town. At this very moment he is playing "Ob-La-Do Ob-La-Da" on his piano. It's one of at least 10 Beatles songs he knows how to play. Suffice to say that I am proud of him...and that the brainwashing techniques I used on him when he was but a wee infant were successful.


Needed to get out of the house Saturday so I arranged an all-night recording session with my friend. We do a fair amount of recording, but until now haven't been able to throw down any useable tracks. Which is just fine, because I don't really go there so much to get songs on disc, but to have fun. Still, it has been a little frustrating that, of all the times we have done this, I had yet to come out of it with anything to listen to.

My brother came out and spent a few hours helping out before he had to go play a gig in OKC. Then he came back around at 3:00 in the morning to pick up where he left off. It was a testament to the success that my friend and I were having that when he finally came back we were still up and running. I couldn't go much further, though, with all things considered (wink*wink nod*nod), so I crashed at about 4:30 am, listening to Haydn symphonies in the guest bedroom before passing out.

As for the songs...well, they still need a lot of work. There are three of them, and each one needs to be EQed, balanced and mixed. There are some bum spots that need to be taken care of. Moreover, I'll have to replace a couple of instrumental tracks and at least one vocal. But even with that I am encouraged.

They are all in the "novelty" genre, as I seem to have a gift for goofy songs. That was okay, though, and may have been of some benefit...since they were humorous numbers, and not my more personal stuff, I think I might have been more relaxed and less critical of my performance. The titles kind of give their light hearted nature: "Beer w/ My Friends", "Trigger Fall" and "Green Slime".

I'll most definitely post them to my garageband page eventually. But it may be a while, because I don't want to put them out until they are produced well. In the meantime, here are the lyrics, to be read with tongue placed firmly in cheek.


I like to drink beer with my friends
I like to drink beer with my friends
When the 4th quarter's over and the 9th inning ends
I like to drink beer with my friends
Yes, I like it

Meet me at the titty bar
Meet me at the titty bar
I got a pocketful of dollars and some gas in the car
So meet me at the titty bar
Won't you meet me?

I'd like to have sex with your wife
I'd like to have sex with your wife
You can have her back at the end of the night
But I'd like to have sex with your wife
Yes, I'd like it

Pick it, Mr. Guitar Man
Pick it, Mr. Guitar Man
I want to learn how to do what you do with your hands
So pick it, Mr. Guitar Man
Won't you pick it

I like to go to titty bars
I like to go to titty bars
I want a date with a porno star
So I'm hangin' at the titty bar
I got some money, got gas in the car
And I'm hanging at the titty bar



Green slime got a hold on my mind, yeah
Green slime oozin' all of the time, yeah
Got me a satchel and a bottle of wine, yeah
Get through the night with some green slime


I'm D.U.I. of green slime
I'll be D.O.A. right on time
Green slime
D.O.A. right on time

I got green slime drippin' down my lungs, yeah
I got green slime, I'm comin' undone, yeah
Don't try to tell me it's a sign of the times
When everybody wants some green slime


Green slime and it's smellin' like pond scum, yeah
Green slime make me feel so damn dumb, yeah
I won't stop until it ain't no crime, yeah
To be addicted to the green slime




I know he hurts you, baby
I know it all
Sometimes I wonder why you never call the law
Ah, but honey, before you make that call, why don't you
Pull the trigger...watch him fall
Pull the trigger...watch him fall

One of these days we're gonna take a little walk
One of these days we're gonna have a little talk
One of these days and it won't be long, you need to
Pull the trigger...Watch him fall
Pull the trigger, baby...Watch him fall
Pull the trigger

Up in the morning with the red cock's call
We're gonna put that bugger's back against the wall
I made some calls, cut a deal with the law, so you can
Pull the trigger...Watch him fall
Pull the trigger, baby...Watch him fall

I know he hurts you
I know he hurts you
But don't you call the law
I'll make a deal, baby
I'll make a deal for you, baby


It's been just a little over 30 years almost to the day since my mother walked away and left my dad (and, consequentially, me and my brother as well). I remember three scenes from that day as vividly as I see what's in front of me now.

I never found out the real reason she left. She and my dad told contradicting stories about "WHY". But they fought like cats and dogs for a long time before it happened. He'd holler at her from one room and she'd fire back from another across the hallway.To this day I have no recollection of what the arguments were about (I was 16 years old at the time.)

Inevitably dad would try to drag me or my brother into the fight to confirm and/or prove some point he was trying to make to her. This made mom even angrier and the row would expand to include how she thought it was so despicable for him to do that (of course, she was right about that)..

All of which leads up to the first solid memory.

I was driving my dad's pick-up truck around town. I don't remember if I'd left as the result of another fight, but it is possible. I did leave sometimes when they got into it.

I came home. When I walked through the door I saw, in the living room, my family huddled up, almost like a football team between plays, on the couch. I had no idea what was going on. But it looked a lot like my dad was on his knees begging for something.

Maybe they were simply hugging each other. I think, now, that was probably the case, because I vaguely remember dad calling for me to join them. And I refused. I had come to the point long before where I felt like the only logical thing for them to do was get a divorce. Of course, I didn't know, at the time, how that would break my dad. I was only thinking it would be best for all if the fighting stopped. It seemed as if a seperation would be the only way.

I turned around, pissed off, got back in the truck, and drove through town again. I was gone for about thirty minutes.

When I finally cooled down enough to come home I saw what became the second indelible memory.

About a hundred yards down the road from our house I saw her. Walking eastbound, down the road. She didn't have any particular expression on her face. It was a cold December afternoon and she was wearing her coat - I only bring that up because I remember exactly what it looked like, but couldn't describe it now, even if I tried.

I knew what she was doing. I even thought I knew where she was going. She was headed to a restaurant where she worked, a couple of miles down the road. She had become friends with the manager, who, I'm sure, played a role in the whole mess.

She was on the left side of the road. I couldn't even tell you the expression on her face because I don't think she looked up at me. She didn't seem to be too tore up about it.

I'm kind of ashamed to say it, but not only did I NOT stop for her, I actually thought "it's about time" when I drove past. You have to understand that I only wanted what I thought was best for BOTH of them. I could have handled an amicable divorce and living in a single parent household. But, then, I had no idea that this afternoon would eventually lead to my father's nervous breakdown. Hell, I didn't even know what a "nervous breakdown" was at the time...no trips to the hospital, we wouldn't have thought it was the thing to do.

I drove right past her. Though I honestly felt it was for the best, I still became intensely angry. Even more so when I got home and walked in the door, only to see my dad on his knees, in the same place I'd left him earlier. He was bawling like a baby. Never - NEVER had I seen my father cry, and this made me even madder that I already was.

I returned to the truck, slamming the door, and drove to the restaurant where I knew she would be.

And this is the third memory - even though some of it is a bit hazy.

The restaurant was called "the 99'er" and the afore mentioned manager was a buxom, unattractive woman everyone called Red Top. Her nickname was derived from her red hair, which was, indeed, as red as a tomato. I worked there for awhile myself and I always HATED having to call her "Red Top". I thought it was one of the stupidest nicknames ever thought of...but I don't think anyone knew what her real name was.

As I mentioned earlier, Red Top had befriended my mother some time prior to all of this. No doubt my mom confided in her and shared a lot of her issues with the obnoxious woman. I'm positive she was the one whose advice was the catalyst for the separation.

Anyway, I broke the speed laws a couple of times getting to the 99'er. I busted through the double-glass doors and demanded to see my mother. Red Top was there, but I guess mom had sequestered herself in another room, not wanting to deal with me just then. I KNEW she was there. I could read it in Red Top's eyes and facial expressions and the way she kind of tried to reason with me (because I was just about as angry then as I ever had been in my life).

I stayed for a couple of minutes, exchanging heated words with the interloper. When I left I slammed the doors so hard I thought they would break from their hinges. But not before yelling, loud enough for anyone who might have been there to hear:


Actually I don't remember the EXACT words I used.There may have been a few more. But I'm pretty sure I did say that.

I tore out of that parking lot, wheels kicking up gravel, and everything was a blur untli later that evening at church youth choir rehearsal. I won't go into what happened there...not that it's anything to be secretive about. I just want to wrap up this part of my story).

So...this bit of reminiscing is brought on by a dream I had last night. It was a VERY vivid dream and the emotions I felt within it were palpable.

My dad was not in the dream, although he must have been alive. I didn't know where he was, though.

It was just me and my brother, and somehow we found out that mom was leaving again. Apparently my parents had reconciled at some point since all the bad stuff went down. Now, for whatever reason, she was going away, just like she'd done 3 decades ago.

I was livid...even madder than when left, in the real world, when I was just a kid . I was pissed off at her because her leaving meant that I would have to go through the same hell I went through with my father in the months after she moved on the first time.

I suppose I should say something about that.

My dad, rest his soul, was totally wrecked. He would cry and wail. He would beg for me to go to OKC to try and talk her into coming back. For some reason he was convinced that I could persuade her to return. Most of the time I tried to get him to see how futile that would be. I tried to tell him it could not be done. Not by me or anyone else. So I had to say "no". Inevitably a fight would break out and he would come to the conclusion that, since I refused to talk to her, I must not love him, or care about him. Or that I just didn't want her to came back. Truth be told, I wasn't sure WHAT I wanted by this time.

He would keep saying, "My nerves are shot - my nerves are shot" - and at the time, as young as I was, I had no idea what he meant. Once he got so frustrated that he punched a hole in the wall with his bare fist.

It was one of, if not THE worst stretch of time in my life. I'm not looking for sympathy, though. I'm ashamed to say that I exploited the situation a time or two for my own gain.

At some point he pulled back together. I think he always loved my mother, evem till the day he died, with an ex and another wife in the picture between '77 and '99 (both of whom would be entertaining fodder for a novel, though for different reasons). I really think he would have given it all up if only she were to come back to him. But I don't know...Hard to say. People do change.

At any rate...let us return to the dream.

We had just found out mom was leaving dad for the second time. I'm incensed at the thought of this happening. Mixed with the anger are other emotions equally as strong. Sadness for what my dad would go through again. Fear of how I'd have to babysit him one more time. Resentment that she would put me in that position. Hatred for her and sympathy for my father. What would this do to him? Would he be able to make it through this time?

After a little while a pick-up truck pulled up with my mother and three black guys in the cab. I'm not sure what the significance of her companions' race could be.

I don't remember what led up to it, but at some point I wound up standing in the bed of the truck, looking through the window at the back of her head, and I screamed at her, with all the force and conviction of truth:


I raised the middle finger of my right hand and pointed it at her. I don't know why...her back was still turned away from me. If she had turned around she would have been terrified by the look of sheer loathing on my face.

But then, instantaneously we were standing, facing each other in the bed of the truck. For some reason I still couldn't see her face. In fact, I don't think I actually saw it at all during the course of the entire dream.

We hugged.

It was so strange... the only thing I noticed was the skin on her shoulder, with it's tiny birthmarks scattered about like stars in the sky.

And finally, just as suddenly, everything switched and I was standing in a dark room full of producers and engineers sitting in front of sound boards and video monitors. It dawned on me that everything that had come before in this dream was "only" a movie in the process of being made.

I didn't want to believe it. I COULDN'T believe it. But the next thing I knew I was watching another film they had made. A space shuttle launch is all I remember of it, and that was when I woke up.

I know this dream "means" something. I'm not one who puts a lot of stock in stuff like "dream interpretation" - so much of it is obviously bogus...but this one seemed to be a harbinger. Of good or bad, I don't know. Likely the latter, I'm afraid.

Still, I don't want to contemplate it or try to suss it out. I'm afraid of what I might find. I only wrote it down because it seemed like the kind of dream I'd need to remember someday. If I hadn't written it out it would be gone by this afternoon. I don't want to forget it. You know how it is..."write 'em down as soon as you wake up"...I never do that, even though I have some awesome dreams.

But this time...


Jonsi & Alex Recipe Show

Jónsi & Alex Recipe Show - Raw Strawberry Pie from Jónsi & Alex on Vimeo.

Jónsi & Alex Recipe Show - Macadamia Monster Mash from Jónsi & Alex on Vimeo.

A new solo album from Jonsi looms near and I couldn't be more excited. Especially after listening to the first single, "Boy Lilikoi", countless times this morning. I mean, I like the Riceboy Sleeps stuff just fine, for what it is: ambient music. But I prefer to hear Jonsi's voice front and center. Apparently that's what we're going to get with this new record. "Boy Lilikoi" is an even more joyful sound than the upbeat numbers on Sigur Ros' last album, if you can imagine that. And it's in English. Whoa. I'm sure there are those out there who wish he'd do something a little darker, a la "()", but if this track is typical of the rest of the album I think they will be disappointed. To be honest, I hope the majority of the album is much more restrained (like the balance "Meo Sud" maintained), but I won't complain if it's not.

"Boy Lilikoi" is currently being offered as a free download at the newly constructed "jonsi.com" website. I don't think they've set a date for the album's release, but the website is being updated on a very regular basis.


I lost about 23 pounds these last two months after starting the "low fat diet". I didn't go on the diet with the purpose of losing weight, but it is pretty cool to be slimming down a little bit. I hope to lose another 30-40 pounds to where I won't be "officially" overweight, but that could take some time, in light of the fact that I haven't been as faithful to it as I should be...I've gained back 3 pounds over the last few days. That's not too much, I know. Still, I am somewhat discouraged by not being able to restrict the fat that I eat. There were some circumstances that led to all the extra eating I've been doing the last 5 days, but I'd just as soon not say anything.

So, seeing as how I have nothing else to write about, here are some rambling thoughts inspired by some of the stuff I can see from where I sit.

I can't say that I've ever regretted buying the HDTV we own. It's an LG, and I couldn't even tell you how big the screen is, because I just can't be bothered to worry about such things. I have never been happy with the sound quality...not so much the sound itself but the volume level. It just doesn't turn up loud enough, and I can't figure out how to get the satellite sound to come through the home theater.

Speaking of the home theater...I can't say that I've ever been too happy with it. There is basically no graphic EQ to be manipulated so you're stuck with the factory sound. Which leaves quite a bit to be desired, even when playing back DVDs. It's MUCH worse if you attempt to use it as a CD player, even with it's 6 or 7 Dolby pre-sets. Nothing but lows and highs, with no mids whatsoever, which, I suppose, should be obvious when you consider the speaker set-up (two tiny speakers and a only a subwoofer for this function). I will admit that operas and classical music concerts do sound rather good with the DTS 5.1 sound...but I can't help but wonder just how much BETTER they might sound on a different (probably more expensive) unit. Had to send it back to the manufacturer a few months ago because it stopped reading discs. The warranty was just barely alive, but they did fix the problem, so I can't complain about that (seeing as how all I've been doing here is complaining.

Currently playing on the home theater is one of the discs from the "Gilligan's Island Complete 3rd Season". I'm not paying it much attention. I only have it on for company. The episode that's on right now is the one where the astronauts are orbitting directly above the island and the castaways are trying to find a way to signal them from below (driven into such straits that Mr. Howell's supply of brandy is sacrificed as starter fuel). I've got all 3 seasons of the show, but I don't really watch them very much. It's just a nostalgia thing, I'm sure. My middle school routine included watching "Gilligan's Island" as soon as I got home. They were cheap at Wal-Mart and sometimes that's the only reason a person needs. I don't watch too many DVDs anyway...I do have the complete "SCTV", and I very much enjoyed watching through it, show-by-show. But it will be a long time before I want to do it again. I got those extremely cheap as well, or wouldn't have bothered.