I have this belt. It has two metal prongs, which sure looks cool, but it makes it a little difficult to put on and take off. I recently got an even cooler belt with three prongs. And let me tell you...this makes it really difficult to put on or take off quickly. In light of this recent trend of belt makers upping the user unfriendliness of their products...I have made a list of the reasons it is good to have a belt which can be undone quickly.

Reasons Belts Should be Stripper-Quick

1- You're snowboarding on a triple black diamond. Things are going well until you fall, your quick snap boot clips undo and you are sliding quicker and quicker past that sign that flashed past you which said, "Warning: cliff ahead." You deftly unbuckle your belt with one hand and slide it out of the loops. You swing it over a lone tree branch as you plummet over the edge and grab a hold with the other hand. Now you can buckle the belt to a strap on your snowboarding jacket and await the rescue copter.

2- You're in a dark parking lot by yourself and you've just unlocked your brand new Shelby Cobra. No, not a replica...a real one. Out of the darkness three figures appear, and they don't look friendly. As they approach, you yank your belt out of the loops like greased lightning. Before these three thugs have a clue you crack the belt in the air Indiana Jones style, stopping them in their tracks. They decide that getting a Shelby Cobra is not worth aggravating a psycho belt-wielding man. Sure they're wrong...but at least they're gone...and you still have your car.

3- Three words: "Where's the bathroom!?!"

4- You're at the local strip club when the M.C. announces that it's time for the annual "Don't You Wanna be a Stripper Too?" contest? It's your turn and you're getting down to the big bass sound as you fling your shirt into the crowd. So far so good. But then you get to your pants and...what's this...four metal prongs of death await you and your not so deft fingers. You fumble, miss a beat, and it's all over. That guy with the beer belly and comb over was just handed the coveted golden stripper's pole trophy...all because his belt had a measly one prong.

5- Five words: "Your pants catch on fire."

6- If you were narcoleptic and you could move really really fast, then as you were falling to the ground you could swipe out your belt lighting fast and take off your pants and shirt and then if someone saw you laying on the ground sleeping they wouldn't say to their friend, "Hey...why's that guy sleeping with all his clothes on?"

7- Your friend is a heroin addict and is going through major withdrawal.

8- Someone is walking through a big crowd and he or she yells, "HEY! Whoever hands me their belt first gets a million dollars!" You know this one happens all the time. So gosh...this one alone is more than enough reason to get a simple belt.

So you know all those really funny movies where some guy is in a car and has to go to the bathroom really badly and for some reason he can't stop so he pees in a bottle? Well, I'm not sure where the cameras were, but I somehow ended up in that exact scenario yesterday. Yeah, this needs some explanation...

There I am at a gas station, an hour and a half into what was supposed to be a 5 hour and 45 minute drive from San Jose to Orange. I was tired, so I grabbed my usual caffeine fix...a Starbucks double shot. But I was really tired...so I got two. I downed them quick and took a sip or two from my bottle of water. Then off I went towards LA. About the time I hit the grapevine (for those who don't know, this is a really long, really windy road that goes over a mountain) I had the sudden urge to pee. Well, this makes sense since I had coffee, which does cause one to need to pee much more so than most other liquids. I laughed to myself as I realized that there was nowhere to stop and go to the bathroom other than on a bush on the side of the road. This urge grew and grew kind of like that itch that you can't scratch, so it just gets worse and worse. Now I stopped laughing because...well...it just wasn't funny. I thought about pulling over, but what if I did and someone pulled over to help me and I was, well, you know. So I did the most drastic thing I could think of. I quickly drank the entire 20 ounce bottle of water I had, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and realized this would not be as easy as I first thought it would. The seat in my car is positioned so one's knees are higher than one's waist. This means the bottle would have to be tilted nearly horizontally. Also, I was going uphill, making things even more physically difficult. And even more horrific was the realization that the opening of this bottle of water was a mere 1 inch in diameter. If you don't happen to be a guy, this is a problem because...um...how to put this tactfully (ha, as if any of this story is "tactful") Ok, I'll put it this way...things don't "fit", meaning I was just going to have to aim very well. So there I am...driving one handed over a windy mountain road...peeing into a Dasani bottle. I'm sure this would have been quite laughable to any of the many truckers passing me who could easily look down and see, well, you know. And I'm not sure how much the human bladder can hold, but I filled the whole 20 ounce bottle.

So now when we're watching a movie and some guy has to pee in a bottle and everyone is laughing, I'll just nod knowingly and say, "I feel your pain."

It's Christmas time...and you know what that means! Shopping! And I've gathered a few hints, tips, and stores that will help you with the ordeal of last minute shopping...because admit it...you'll be doing last minute shopping. No...stop arguing...you will be. So take my advice. You'll need it...

STORES:

Abercrombie and Fitch-- Head into this store and you will be bombarded with re-mixed versions of pop songs, employees who look 12 (other than the fact that they wear very little...no wait...even 12 year olds dress like sluts now), and soft-core porn. No, you won't look like that guy in the picture, standing there in just his boxers with pecs so big he could easily fit into a b-cup bra, but you can dress like him! Or undress like him? Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I've ever seen an Abercrombie add where a guy is wearing a shirt. Bad advertising if you ask me. And that catalog... I guess if you want to be surrounded by nearly naked, completely self-absorbed people, all you have to do is wear some A&F clothes. Oh joy!

Tommy Hilfiger-- I used to find it slightly unnerving how you couldn't buy one piece of anything from Abercrombie that did not have a huge "A&F" plastered on it. But then I found Tommy. If you don't like red, white, and blue...stay away...far away. No wait...I take that back. If you DO like red, white and blue stay far away from Tommy. Unpatriotic? Yes Tommy is. Do some research.

any store-- I guess the new thing is new vintage. Er...wait...what? That's right. I read more than one label that said nearly word for word, "No expense was spared to recreate the imperfections and nuances of vintage clothing." So, my friends, you can go buy a "vintage" shirt, with that oh-so-hip wrinkled look for a mere $50! Or how about actual vintage army fatigues? These will cost you a mere $40. Sure you could go to an army surplus store and get some of the same pants for $5...but they won't have a designer label sewn on them!

FOOD:

Shopping is exhausting...so go and treat yourself to some good food court food. Plus you can have some fun while you're at it. There are basically no repercussions for any action you take in the food court. You can take a glass bowl from the Mongolian Barbecue, toss it over your shoulder, and within seconds you will have a brand new bowl in your hands and someone will be sweeping up your mess. And you could do this countless times. Believe me...I just watched this happen. So go break some stuff and take out your shopping aggression.!

HINTS/TIPS:

--wear gloves. those bags are brutal on the hands, and some gloves will help to soften the cutting off of blood-circulation
--don't impulse buy. yes, of course you need the pen with the boxing duck glued on top. yes, you need the mini pillow that says "boys make good pets." yes, how could you ever live without the voo-doo candle that says "revenge." but pass by these indespensible gifts. your pocket book AND your friend who would be receiving the stuffed Santa in a speedo will thank you.
--take a deep breath. it gets pretty frustrating having to push through crowds of slow moving window shoppers. so take a deep breath and close your eyes. now imagine taking that idiot who just bumped into you, grabbing him by the collar, and shoving him over the railing sending him hurtling towards the first floor Santa taking pictures with little kids. now imagine how much that would relieve you. now open your eyes and let that guy walk away unharmed. it will be for the best...believe me.

It seems that my creativity is spawned by depression...or at least the presence of depressing thoughts. So at times when I am anything but depressed, ie: right now, I end up finding the most depressing things I can to try and inspire me. Otherwise I end up sounding like a love-stricken junior-high girl writing "dear diary..." No really, it's embarrassing.

And speaking of love-stricken...and to change the depressing pace a little...

What makes a person famous? Is it the number of people he or she is known by? The amount of money made? The cause? Items sold? Publicity? Is there a line that has to be crossed to make someone or something "famous", or is "famous" just like the phrase "world renowned" which is tacked onto anything from the curly fries of the local burger joint to the new rubber grip pencils some business-school entrepreneur just created? Do you get a letter in the mail one day that says, "CONGRATULATIONS!!! You are now famous! You can tell all your friends that you have joined the likes of Babe Ruth, Bob Fosse, Kurt Cobain, and that guy who created Pokemon! And for a mere $150 you can receive this beautiful, leather-bound, 15,000 page book with a picture of you, along side all the other "famous" people, along with a short biography! Order today! Supplies are limited!" Is this something along the same lines as love? What makes a person in love? Is it the amount of time he or she has known the lovee? The amount of money spent? The emotion? Gifts given/received? The mere statement, "I love you" ? Is there a line that has to be crossed to make someone officially "in love", or is "love" just a tacked on phrase? "I LOVE that tv show!" or. "I LOVE chocolate!" or. "I LOVE gouda cheese!" Wouldn't it be nice to receive a letter in the mail saying, "CONGRATULATIONS! You are in love! No more need to worry! No more need to wonder! It's all down hill from here as you have complete assurance that you are totally, positively, 100%, beyond the shadow of a doubt, head-over-heels in love!" Sadly this doesn't happen. Or maybe the post office has screwed me over. But either way it's up to my sad judgment to figure out what love is. But you know what? That's part of it. Part of the journey.

Enjoy the ride.
Learn from your mistakes.
I've learned from mine.
And now?
We'll see.........

Want a peek inside my mind? No? Too bad.

Here's the most recent page from my journal:

A man and woman walked in. His tattoos and piercings screaming "look at me." First thought? "Boyfriend and girlfriend." Then she called him dad. Maybe some fetish...who knows...but then she called him dad again. Good lord this guy must have had her when he was 13. It's like a post-apocalyptic world where death could be waiting for you anywhere. With the end of your life in focus, the rest becomes blurred. Suddenly dreams of a family and a house and a car are worthless ideas that will stay dreams. Suddenly sex is no longer about love but about taking your mind off of a hellish life. But wait...isn't that what sex is now? Just something to take your mind off of a hellish relationship. Suddenly impregnating some girl...who will remain 'some girl' because so much alcohol was involved that a name is impossible to remember...is the least of your problems. Only we're not in some great war. We're not about to die. We're fat and virile and pumped full of anything we lack. We're rich and attractive, or at least we pretend to be. We screw for fun and cross our fingers hoping all the STD's have lessened the chances of a healthy sperm reaching a healthy egg. And if a "mistake" happens...a simple acid solution will wash our hands clean of it. A blade and a vacuum and hey...what mistake? Only we have no excuse. We have only ourselves to blame for recreating Sodom and Gomorrah. And we love it. We revel in it. The more vile the merrier. Let's legalize rape while we're at it. Heck...if some unwanted guy needs to get his rocks off...why are we stopping him? And of course we need to legalize the disposal of pesky children who have gotten tiresome. If we can pull a baby’s head out of it's mother, snap it's neck, then dump it in a garbage can...why can't we stick a rag of ether under a particularly annoying toddler's nose and then twist its heads while it rests in an unfeeling stupor? So let's take the murderers out of jail, give them a Pulitzer, and have them start teaching seminars. It's time for revolution.


The black house and you, sheli ahava, give me hope.

In light of my very bitter recent entries...I figure it's time for something a little lighter...fluffier...with a better tasting filling.

But first...I need to clip my toenails.

Ok well now I've spent all my time clipping my toenails and I have a final in 10 minutes. Sorry, but that means no long update on the ever so exciting life of Grant.

But speaking of better tasting fillings...my eyebrow is pussing. Probably due to the piece of metal in it.

Alright, it's final time.

(Why do I feel I'm going to regret posting this?)

(But at least it wasn't bitter)

Bye.

A 15 year old choir boy was on his way to church tonight. He was a regular member who would sing at church and would never miss giving his pastor a hug before leaving. Tonight he was walking up the steps to his church as a now unknown man walked up to him, took out a handgun, and shot him in the head. Oh but this is nothing...the big news is Michael Jackson hanging a baby over a balcony for publicity. The big news is who's dating who, who's screwing who, and who's devaluing marriage even more by adding another divorce to the list like a notch in the belt. But what is expected when the world is as it is? Yesterday's values are today's jokes as kids who don't drink, smoke, or have sex are outcasts. Today's high-caliber crimes are tomorrow's misdemeanors. Tomorrow's rising crime rates will be explained away. My brother watched a man run from someone with a gun the other day. Six shots later the gunman was jumping into a van and riding away to anonymity while the victim lay writhing in the street for a few seconds before taking his last breath. The people nearby paused, considered, then went home to eat, drink, and watch TV to find out who's dating who, who's screwing who, and who's carrying the baby of a father who will only be known through DNA testing. Isn't this a wonderful world?

i just realized that i suck at writing

Why is it I always end up with some kind of crazy story when I go to the airport? I don't do anything that would cause wacky events to ensue...but they do. Oh they do. But first...

There are two types of bands. Those that just get louder when heard in concert, and those like Tool. And that's just who I saw in concert at Long Beach on the 24th. Not only was the music impressive...it was infinitely better than their CDs...which are amazing in the first place. In other words, to fully appreciate this band, you must see them in concert. Maybe they'll even be touring with Meshuggah again...the band who's lead singer -for the last two songs- flailed around on stage in a tiny black thong. Just be sure that when you illegally pull into a small driveway and put on your hazard lights so you can go around the corner to the bank that when you leave you pull across the lanes of oncoming traffic instead of flying down the wrong lane for a good fifty yards.

And speaking of bands...Breakfast Epiphanies had their first real concert at Hogue Barmichaels last night. Sure we got shafted on the time we were supposed to play. And sure most everyone left by the time we played. But it was amazing. I'll never get over the incredible rush you get when you stand on stage and play with a band. And we're doing it again on the 8th of December. I'll post some pictures of this last show soon.

On to the airport shenanigans (wow that word is fun to write). I decided that I needed some food since a bagel and some cereal isn't enough nourishment for an entire day. Now keep in mind that all the activities I was participating in were at least twice as hard as usual because of the state of exhaustion I was in and still am in as I write. (that means if I make horrid grammar mistakes...I blame it on the drugs...er...I mean sleep deprivation) So I was sitting there dipping my greasy fries into my barbecue sauce when I upend the entire thing onto my lap. I grab for a napkin, but McDonalds doesn't like giving their customers napkins. They might love to see you smile, but they love it even more if that smile is accompanied by a big friggin red stain on your crotch. So I was ripping parts of the bag off to try and wipe some flavorful goodness off of my pants and people started to look over at me. I hurriedly grabbed my jacket, draped it over my crotch, and jogged to the bathroom. Luckily there was some guy with a baby sitting across from me who watched my bag. After I got back with a large wet spot on my pants this baby took a liking to me. Have I ever mentioned how much babies like me? I'm sure they're just thinking, "Gosh...that guy looks weird...let's go have a closer look shall we?" But this baby was no different. Every time the guy would put her down, she would speed crawl straight at me...stop...and stare right in my eyes. This happened about ten times. Then she tried to eat my cell phone.

Have I mentioned that I'm tired? Yeah? I should probably do something about that. You know...since I've slept all of 5 hours in the last three days. It gets to you, ya know? So I'm uh...gonna go to bed. If you don't mind. Oh, you do? Ok, I'll just stay awake another couple days. I'll be fine.

It seems that someone has secretly conditioned me with Pavlovian methods. I'm just walking along, doing something or other, when out of the blue I really have to pee. Like really really. And it always seems to be at certain times...like when I'm entering my dorm room. And the only explanation I can come up with is some kind of visual or auditory conditioning. You know...like Pavlov’s dogs that would salivate when he rang a bell. Only it's not dogs, it's me, and I'm not salivating, I'm having to pee, and I'm not hearing a bell, I'm...well...that's the problem. I'm not sure what it is that must be triggering these intense desires to pee. If desire is in fact that correct word. It's more of a need. And this leads to another oddity. Where does it come from? No, not the desire/need...I'm talking about the urine. I promise you I don't drink as much liquid as what comes out of me in a day. Right...this just got kind of gross...my apologies...but I'm continuing anyway. We'll use today for example. Today I drank a Jamba Juice, a glass of water, and a small cup of coffee. What is that...35 fluid ounces? Sure. And how many times did I urinate? Um...allot. Ok, so this isn't a very statistic filled analysis...you'll just have to take my word for it. And believe me it's slightly unnerving when you seem to be pouring out liquid that you didn't put in. So as I see it I have a couple options here. I can: 1) get one of those things that you wear that you hook up to yourself so you just go when you have to and it goes into a little plastic baggy 2) wear headphones all day to block out any sound, and look at the ground as much as possible or 3) stop drinking any liquids. I think I'll go with three.

Another reason I know that movies aren't real:

I looked like I was going bald. That's what happens when you have really blonde hair and you dye it black. The roots grow in and kind of match your scalp, so you end up looking like those kind of creepy guys without allot of hair in the middle so they grow allot on the side and comb it over the balding part. And sometimes they grow a ponytail too to compensate...which adds quite a bit to the creepiness factor if I do say so myself. This is a bad thing if you haven't already figured that out. The best part is the fact that the blonde starts to show through on the upper back part of the head, making it look like a yamaka. I didn't want a yamaka. This led me to the decision to bleach my hair. Now if any of you guys out there want to feel really dumb, decide to bleach or color your hair and do it at a salon. Seriously. You'll feel dumb. Trust me. First you have to call and make an appointment. Then you will have to end up telling someone that you can't do something because of your "hair appointment" which you cannot say and sound masculine. I promise. So I sit down and this girl cuts my hair, goops on some bleach stuff, puts a plastic bag over my head, and leads me across the room. This is where it really starts to get embarrassing. You know when you see movies about hair salons how you always see about eight or nine women sitting in chairs with those helmet type things over their heads? That is what I was being led to. A single chair with a little bowl thing on a hinge. So I'm sitting there by myself with this thing drying my freshly bleach coated head...and it stings. Allot. Like a whole lot. Then the process has to happen again because after one bleaching my head looks like an orangecicle. So she goops more stuff onto my head, puts another baggy on, and leads me back to the chair. Once more...burning...lots of burning. Then she has to wash out the bleach, and was using cold water...which felt how water tastes when you are dying of thirst. It felt wonderful. But then she wanted to check the color, so she uses her friggin' huge nails and scrapes them along my scalp. Imagine having a sunburn that borders on blistering, and then someone scraping their nails across your sunburn. It's not a happy feeling. But I guess my point is that when you are in one of those helmet chairs, there is air blowing really hard onto your head and it's really loud. I was being asked questions from one foot away and couldn't hear anything. But in those movies, all those women sit there and gossip...talking quietly. I promise you it wouldn't work. Movies are so fake.

Before I begin I would like to ask about a phrase. Or more so a word. Or more so a phrase that involves a specific word. That word being 'said.' Alright, I guess an example is in order. Let's say I'm talking about a certain shirt I own and how much I like it. Then say I'm talking about a certain hat I own and how I like it just as much as said shirt. Have you heard of that before? Using 'said' to talk about a previous subject? I've known about this for a long time, but I guess allot of other people have not.

Since I'm asking questions now, how about I ask another one? How much do you know about puncture wounds? Well I learned all about them very recently. I was standing there looking at this guy who had his ears stretched so far around these wooden hoops that I could fit three fingers through them. He also had a 'collar' of tattoos around his neck. He led me to a small room that smelled like a hospital. He then took a three inch long, 12 gauge tube, and placed the tip of it against my eyebrow. I heard a hollow pop and felt cold metal sliding through the skin. A barbell was placed in the top of this miniature straw, and the straw was pulled the rest of the way through my eyebrow, leaving just the barbell.

I had no problem with any of this. It felt kind of like a paper-cut. But this didn't stop me from nearly fainting. I've explained my needle phobia before, and this was no different. A good five minutes after the piercing was complete I felt the surge of warmth flow through my body. That's about the same time I saw the little black specks enter into my vision. That's about the same time as my knees went weak and all I could hear was a throbbing pulsating sound and the sweat broke out all over my body. I said something like, "I uh...don't feel so good." The guy said something like, "You're gonna fall over," and he moved behind me and put one arm under each of my armpits. Next I was being held up completely by this guy as I tried my best to stand. My attempts proved very futile. My eyes were wide open but all I could see was black. I had a piece of paper in my hand and Naomi pried open my hand and took the paper, but I don't remember this in the least.

Maybe I'm anemic.

So yeah...I now have a piece of metal through my eyebrow.

So the other night I was laying in bed bleeding, but I wasn't thinking about the blood, I was thinking about my left pinky toe that felt very broken. I was thinking to myself, "how did I end up in this place?" No, not that exact place --bleeding and feeling broken-- all that took was walking across a very crowded floor without my contacts on; I'm talking about that exact place in life. As in, what are the chances that I ended up in the place I am in today? All it would have taken to change it all would be some great grandparent doing one small action differently than they did...and just like that maybe I'm in New York, studying medicine, addicted to MDMA. Or maybe I don't exist at all. And for all I know, the fact that my foot feels broken might change the path I would have walked today which could change my entire life. What I eat for lunch could effect who I'm going to marry. What I score on my test today could effect how long I live. It's amazing that I don't lock myself in a little room and hide from the world.

click HERE

I went to see Glassjaw at the Glasshouse last night. And it just plain rocked. (no pun intended (or did you not think there was a pun intended and now you're going to go back and look at what I wrote and see that it could have been meant as a really cheesy pun and laugh at me?)) Riiiiight.

The first band was best described by Naomi as "gay euro-trash." There were two lead singers (both with identical high-pitched screaming voices) who seemed to enjoy flailing about in a very feminine manner. This seemed a very odd contrast with the hard rock music. Hard rock music that had no melody mind you. During their five or six song set I never once heard a distinct melody squeeze through the screaming and distortion.

Glassjaw was by far the best. Their lead singer is (once more quoting) "a little spaz." And that's just what he is. He's this tiny little angry guy who jumps around stage and is incredibly entertaining. The only downside to their set...a light set up slightly behind the drummer. It was this little light that rotated back and forth and would turn on randomly through the songs. And my gosh this thing put the sun to shame. I mean...sunglasses would do you no good if you were faced with this evil demon of light. As it would face away from us you could see this huge beam of light reflecting off the sporadic puffs of marijuana smoke and hitting the back wall of the venue. The Army needs to forget about guns when fighting at night...they just need a bunch of these lights and they could easily blind the enemy and render them harmless. But despite the lead singer being sick, and despite my corneas being fried, the show was absolutely amazing.

Maybe next time I'll join in the moshing and crowd surfing.

And maybe I'll come home with a couple broken bones too.

Alright...so it's been a while. And for good reason. I'm busy as fcuk (I hope you're not dyslexic). Breakfast Epiphanies not only has a revamped site, but has played two shows in the last week. I'm getting up to speed at Schlotzkey's Deli (so that's one smoked turkey on sourdough with everything we normally put on it?) And I've finally started to eat more. Over a 72 hour period of time I had eaten three minimal and very non-nutritious meals. Then my body got angry. Here's the dialogue that ensued:

body: hey...idiot...you aren't feeding me anymore.
me: yeah...so?
body: that doesn't make me happy.
me: so?
body: so? so try and function normally without my compliance.

That's about the time that my body gave out on me. I decided that nearly fainting a number of times was enough reason to start rehabilitating my malnourished body. And other than that...I'm learning Hebrew, I'm making a public service announcement for The United Way, I'm planning a costume for Halloween, I'm reading like crazy, and every once in a while I'm going to class and sleeping. Those last two aren't separate by the way.

So go and read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, and Still Ain't Seen Nothin' Commin' by...um...shoot. By this incredibly articulate 15 year old.

I'm going to go and do something else now. Please forgive me for ignoring you my lovely readers. Maybe for your dedication I'll send you some Breakfast Epiphanies merchandise. We now have buttons!!!

check it...the new BE website is up and runnin'.

(i've resorted to single lines of text with links to things more interesting than my writing...isn't this sad?)

this is me going completely insane...

From :
To : "Greenmoose"

Hi there!

I got your email from Jennifer and I just wanted to tell you strait up, I really like 2 F*CK!
She told me u're into f*ckin' too. Lets hookup for a juicy weekend (maybe even this weekend)
and cum together!

can't wait to f*ck like rabbits,
Jen

..............................................................

From : "Greenmoose"
To :

Hi Jen!

It's good to hear that you and Jen are having some nice conversations about me and how into f*cking I am. I'm also really into good spelling...so it looks like you're a winner! And boy do I like it when people use numbers as words. u're 2 cool...strait up! I'm sorry to say that I will have to turn down your offer for a juicy weekend even though it sounds very...um...juicy. And even though I sure hate to turn down an offer to procreate, it's not exactly my thing to hook up with random girls and have sex. That and I kind of have a girlfriend. Looks like you'll have to spend Saturday night on the street corner like usual.

maybe another time...no, maybe not,
Grant

October 11- 1:00am: Del Taco
October 12- 2:00am: Jack in the Box

this is kind of a disturbing trend...

So I have no life. Wait...scratch that...I have too much life. In other words...I don't have the lazy slacker life I'm used to. I now have a job at a deli with an unpronouncable name where I get to brush up on my spanish. I was abducted into next weeks "airband" show, in which I am the bassist for a new rendition of Gwen's I'm Just a Girl. Breakfast Epiphanies is trying to record its next demo CD. And amidst all this I have to find time to eat (see above chart).

Speaking of the band...we're stackin' on the gigs. So if you're in the Orange area...come by and see us:

most Mondays: The Ugly Mug Cafe (on Glassell, by Chapman University) 9:00-11:00
October 25th: Chapman University, Henley basement 7:00-10:00
October 26th: Chapman University 4:00-6:00

And it just hit me. It's 2:30am, I have to be up at 10:00 for band practice, I'm feeling disgustingly ill from consuming an Ultimate Cheeseburger (otherwise known as the Ultimate-take-away-2-years-of-your-life-with-every-Cheeseburger), and I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. So I'll leave you with everyone's favorite game:

GUESS WHAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!!!

ed: "12 inches is so much better"
me: "no way...6 inches is perfectly fine"
ed: "dude...you need 12 inches"
me: "12 inches is way too much, i'm happy with my 6 inches"

by the way...here's my black hair

p.s. i really don't look that freaky...this is what happens when you scan your face with a crappy scanner

Hey everyone...it's national Have Sex Month! Or so the spark tells me. So...get out there and have sex! No wait...no...no sex. In the philosophical words of Naomi..."sex should not exist." I guess I shouldn't be promoting it then. Riiiight. I'm gonna change subjects now.

You might have noticed that I normally don't stick with one topic when I write. Well, you're just going to have to deal with that. Maybe i'll work on my transitions to other topics...but the way my mind works...there is no staying with one topic. It's multi-faceted...just like a lock (transition #1) I've been working on my thief skills (which obviously include lock picking) There is this door that leads to the roof of my dorm. I want on the roof of the dorm. The door is locked. The lock is my nemesis. Therefore I have obviously spent a good portion of time up that stairwell with makeshift lock-picking tools. Here's what I've learned:

Grant's Guide to Lock Jimmying

-Get a safety pin, bobby-pin, or needle and find a time when nobody is around the target.
-Shove said safety pin, bobby-pin, or needle into said target and jiggle around.
-Get frustrated and punch door.
-Nurse bruised knuckles.
-Shove said instruments back into door and try being more precise.
-Give up on precise and go buck wild on the lock.
-Jam said lock and leave the scene quickly.

Speaking of scenes...particularly making scenes (transition #2) I did just that at the airport. Though we Americans have plenty of pride in our country...we Americans obviously don't handle it well when someone wears an army fatigue shirt and black beanie in the airport. But I didn't think that my army shirt was too bad compared to the lady in what looked like a pink jumpsuit made out of 60's couch upholstery.

But I do have to say that those Southwest people know how to make lite of the crazy airport atmosphere (transition #3) While sitting on the airplane, the hostess said the following:

"there may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but there are only 6 ways to leave this aircraft"

"please be aware that the oxygen mask's bag will not inflate when you breathe, but you are receiving nitrogen...I mean oxygen"

"put on your oxygen mask in case of pressure change. if you have to help more than one child put on his or her oxygen mask, choose your favorite child first"

The rest of the flight went smoothly...unlike portions of my birthday dinner (transition #4) Oh, don't get me wrong...it was wonderful. But we were eating at Joe's Crab Shack. This place is obviously notorious for partaking in the public humiliation of their birthday guests. As we're about to leave, our waitress comes out with something behind her back. She has me stand up and soon I'm wearing a cow suit (fully equipped with udders) and straddling one of those horse heads on a stick. My "job" was to gallop around the entire restaurant, weaving through the crowds of people, and I had no choice. Yeah...there's a picture. It's not developed yet. You'll get to see it.

Dang...I've got nothing for transition #5, you're just gonna have to bare with me. I'm sure you all remember Eggplant man and his saga (and if you don't, go back a couple entries and read) Well...after his tragic death we found some friends of his waiting outside our door. No really...we didn't do this...I swear. Steve and Steve-arella were left with a note saying, "We hear a tragic 'accident' has befallen our dear 4th cousin, Fred Bob Cinnamon Bill (known to some by his alias 'Eggplant Man') We, Steve and Steve-arella Pepper have come to pay our last respects. Well...Steve-arella has...Steve has come for REVENGE...dun dun DUN."

Like I've said before...weird things happen when you group together a bunch of kids who don't drink or do drugs. People have to find other ways to amuse themselves (transition #6) Like my 'shirts that get reactions.' I wear certain shirts that get people's attention. Why? Because it's fun. Plus I get interesting questions and comments. So to answer you...no...I have no been to Camp Shalom...not even in 1997. Oh, and my philosophy of religion teacher started calling me Jesus. Sure it was because of the shirt...but still. At the end of class he said, "...so if one poor soul is left behind (points at me) like Jesus, he'll have a ride."

Alright...i'm out of transitions. And I'm dead tired. I've got a long day of class tomorrow. Then BE is playing at lunch. Then I'm going out to dinner with Naomi. Then...some other stuff. Or something. Riiiight. I'm going to bed now. He LIKES me he's HUGGIN' me!!!

Dear mom and dad,

you should be so proud of me! i'm learning so very much here at college. why just this morning i applied my newfound knowledge of value. i stumbled back into my room at about 8:50am and took a shower and decided to trim my chin-strap-like beard/goatee thingy (and as you can see my vocab is improving too!) I blinked at the mirror a couple times because my eyes are a little dry right now...but that's most likely because i've been wearing the same one-day contacts for three days now without taking them out (see...value indeed!) so back to the shaving thing (and i'll get back to the value thing, i swear) shaving while not awake is a new and interesting experience for me, especially since my motor skills weren't at their peak. after hacking off a chunk of blondish-redish fuzz from the right side of my chin i swore, then did the same to the left side. but it's ok, i already look a little unusual since i dyed my hair black the other day. it doesn't exactly match with my facial hair (or lack there of after this mornings incident) but hey, that's what college is about isn't it...experimenting. Oh, and speaking of my motor skills not functioning exactly properly, i dropped my $100 doumbek (drum) last night and it shattered into many a piece. but it's ok, i'll make up for my lack of motor skills with more sleep...who needs class anyway? oh yeah...i was telling you guys about my knowledge of value. so i came out of the bathroom and thought about eating (which i do occasionally) I realized that if i were to buy a sub sandwich and drink from the school's sub sandwich place it would cost me around $6.00. then i remembered Valentino's...the college kids best friend in the form of a cheap Italian restaurant (the other college kid's best friends come in the handy forms of alcohol, weed, and sex...but this morning...i was hungry) so i did some math and found that i could have an entire large pizza for the same price as the measly 6" sandwich. there was no question as to what i would have for breakfast...pizza! see? i'm getting more for my money...value incarnate. oh yeah, the band got to play a 5 song set at the Ugly Mug Cafe the other night! (this was before i broke my doumbek) it was so much fun. sure it went late, and then i didn't do any work for the next day (hence me failing yesterday's science test and audio design quiz) but ya know what? college isn't about grades and classes...it's about experiences...right? i mean, that's what you guys used to say. so thanks for the advice! i'm off to try and find a better fake ID. bye for now!

love, Grant

melt

Someone is stealing my fetishes. Let me explain: I was walking through campus and running my fingers against the fence next to me, across chair backs as I passed them, around corners as I turned them, as I can often be seen doing. And right about the time when I realized that I often do this, the guy in front of my starts to do the same thing. Exactly the same thing. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and tell him he wasn't allowed to do that anymore according to the Save-Grants-Fetishes-From-Being-Commonplace Foundation. Then again, you seem to share countless little quirks with me -which is amazing- so I can't complain about some guy partaking in one of my habits.

Plus I still get the perk of being the guy that people make assumptions about. Once more...let me explain: In my science class our teacher was talking about...um...something. But that's not what is important. What's important is his example of whatever he was teaching. He built up a Titanic-esque scenario where our class was on the boat and hit the iceberg and saw Jack let go of her hand and sink into the ocean and then needed lifeboats. But these lifeboats only hold 30 people. So this lifeboat ends up picking up one of the guys across the class from me because he could contribute something. Then it picked up some girl who sits over from me because people pitied her. And the teacher went on describing how this boat was picking up people from my class even though it was going over the maximum capacity. Then he looks at me and says, "Then we see Grant...and by now we have 40 people in the boat. And there's just a point where you have to draw the line and not pick anyone else up..." Yeah...my class abandoned me to the icy waters. But I know why he picked me...here is the dialogue that went on in his head: Let's see...I could pick him to be left...no, he would beat me up. I could pick her...no, she would probably sue for verbal harassment. How about...no...definitely not him. Then he saw me. Ahah! Perfect. I'll pick the quiet, kinda shy, slightly weird kid. You see, people see me and they assume lots of things. Not to say they aren't true. If you were to assume that my real name is Rupert and I've lived in Canada most of my life...you would be dead on. But if you were to assume that I am the most innocent kid ever (which I often get) you would be a little bit off.

And you would be really off if you assumed that I lead a normal life. Oh my friend...you have no idea. Example time: Remember our friend Eggplant man? Well, he encountered an untimely accident. To make a long story short, he was being dangled out of a fourth story window until he plummeted to his death and was hit by a car. Then he was placed in my scanner. There was eggplant juice everywhere.

And last but not least, you might have noticed a lack of "poetry" and "art" links. That's because I, in my never ending quest to tame the shrew that is procrastination, created the ever so hip, ever so cool, ever so sexually innuendoish G-spot. (it stands for "grant" i swear) Go over there and click and watch as your computer tries to handle the incredibly large, not very cool animations I have created. Don't worry, the poems are still there. Plus some new art.

What does Grant do when he is procrastinating? How about playing with the amazingly sad looking eggplant or aerating a coke can? Sounds good to me! Especially now that I have more time to procrastinate since I am deathly ill and stuck in my room. Oh, along with being deathly ill, I'm over-exaggerating. But I am sick and haven't eaten more than some macaroni and a bowl of fruit in three days. But does that stop me? NO! I've still been incredibly busy doing things like washing off the penis' and swear words drawn in the dust on my car, trying to figure out who the Spanish men in our bathroom were, and making prank calls.

transcribed prank call:

me: Hello sir, my name is Grant Paige and I'm from the HCFF. Can we have a minute of your time?
guy: Uh...
me: Great...we are selling light bulbs for handicapped children! These are wonderful light bulbs that last many years!
guy: I don't really want any light bulbs.
me: But sir...these are handicapped children!
guy: Sorry, but I really don't want any light bulbs.
me: But these children are suffering!
guy: *click*

So you wanna be a rock superstar? I do. And we all know that rock superstars break all the rules and get away with anything. So instead of destroying property, or having lots of sex, or doing tons of drugs, we wanted to break the BIG rule...the quiet hours rule. (now is when you all say "ooooooooh") It was 10:30pm and Breakfast Epiphanies decided to play plugged in. (once more..."oooooooooh") We were playing and I was in my own little world, my little bassist's world. Plus I was sick and not really all there. So we were jamming and I suddenly look up and see that we have about fifteen people watching us. We just had this huge audience in the lounge watching us on a Friday night. And they applauded! This gives me huge amounts of hope for our new demo CD and the shows we're trying to get. Plus I have a new bass solo that kicks some serious butt.

"Her name is Lisa Paulson...her name...is Lisa Paulson..." and I can't help but start chanting that ever so lightly whenever her name is called during roll in my audio class. And speaking of quotes...particularly quotes taken out of context...here's a few recent ones from my life:

--"nudity is the basis of our friendship"
"yeah...who would have guessed?"

--"there should be no sex"

--"last summer I had surgery on my overies...that sure hurt...but if I could get paid for it..."

--"wait...did you say that experiencing God is like having sex?"

--"D-it, if you don't stop being a B I'll kick the F'n S out of you, you A" (said just like that)

So my sociology class...it sucks. Alright...maybe that's being a little too harsh. But the teacher is a feminist who has -- in three weeks -- succesfully blamed female mutilation, single parenting, rape, pressure to look good, lowering morals, and abortion on men.

So um...I got a new bass amp, I might be working at Schlotskeys, I'm going to be playing bass for our new drummer's CD, I was insanely inspired to do a really cool art project, and I've been writing allot lately:

please tell me slowly now
holding my hand right now
leading me forward
catching my eye

only the truth be told
only the lies feel old
only my heart feels cold
only today

can you see me inside
do you feel safe by me
can you trust what I say
is this all wrong

in all the time it takes
to prove that you care
it can be torn apart
and it's been done

please do not fake it now
remove the blindfold now
let's set the stage
let's not give up

Mr. Eggplant's nose is running...and it looks like he has contracted leprosy. Maybe I should explain. Our caffeteria likes using large fruits and vegetables as decoration. So we take that decoration. I got Aaron to steal an eggplant by telling him that I would turn it into eggplant man if he did. So I dug some eyes out and let Aaron make him a mouth. The finishing touch was a nail placed where his nose should be. His home is on top of my monitor next to the crow. After about a day his eyes started sinking in and little patches of decay started forming. Today his nose started dripping and he seems to be exuding a slight odor...but I can't tell if it's good or bad. Needless to say we're going to have to find a replacement for him sooner or later.

In other news, my amp died. Did you hear me? MY BASS AMP DIED!!! Sure it was merely a 25w amp that was often played at full volume to combat the drums, but still. It died, I felt like crying, and now I might have to sell my body on the street corner to get the money for the new amp I fell in love with. It's an incredibly nice, incredibly powerful, incredibly expensive stack. But soon I'll be $700 poorer...but OH so much richer in happiness. If anyone feels the need to direct money into the Grant-needs-money-for-his-amp fund, I would gladly set up a paypal button on my site. A mere $10 donation from 71 people and I'm all set! And we would gladly promote you/your product/your company/your singleness in our CD cover. You KNOW you wanna do it.

Today was my turn to give the spoken word in front of my sociology class. After quotes from people like Angelina Jolie, I felt that someone needed to give some real advice. That person might as well have been me. So I got in front of class and read off one of my favorite quotes of all time:

Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.

To love is to be vulnerable.

C.S. Lewis

It was much harder to read that quote than I expected.

::

Tonight we were trying to find a parking place for Brett (who doesn't go to this school and therefore has no permit). The only parking place we could find was in a permit only section. We couldn't figure out what to do till Aaron came up with a plan. We ganked a parking ticket from a car parked across the street and put it on Brett's windshield. Therefore, if a cop sees his car and sees a lack of permit, he will see a ticket already on the hood. That means no ticket for Brett. This is incredibly ingenious in my opinion. And as far as I know, not exactly illegal.

I would like to tell you all that I have some insightful, introspective, meaningful monologue about 9*11. Or maybe a rousing speech against terrorism. Or maybe an anti-animal abuse message about Bin Laden and the gas dog. But all I've got are some slightly offensive quotes, and a few random stories. So enjoy!!!

I just got off the phone with one of Aaron's friends. Aaron was talking on the phone and says, "I think he is...", then turning to me he says, "Grant...are you single?" This led to me talking to someone I don't know from Oregon telling me about her friend Victoria who is single. And how they are all going to take a road trip later and I'm going to meet Victoria (who was described as model-like), and I'm going to really really like her. I just agreed and handed the phone back to Aaron. But hey, this does go along with the writing on the white board that says, "Grant, I love you. from a chick."
::
We have to pay money to my teacher for a play we are seeing in my philosophy of religion class. A couple people forgot the money. One girl raised her hand, and here is the resulting conversation:

girl: "I forgot my money...is there anything I can do?"
teacher: "Do you have kneepads?"
::
I might be seeing a Morrissey concert soon. I didn't even know he still toured, but he does...and I might be seeing him. Ok ok, so I do realize that most of you don't have even the slightest clue who Morrissey is, but how can you go wrong with lyrics like, "Most people keep their brains between their legs."
::
I will probably be assistant editor for a film called Crash and Burn. It's about an Opera obsessed lesbian, a half black/latino neo-anarchist, a pretty boy, and a hick who join together to get rich fast. But anyway...I wanted to see if anyone knew about the film, so here is the resulting conversation:

me: "Does anyone know about the film Crash and Burn?"
girl: "That's pretty innapropriate."
::
Last night we were freed of the oppression that is our window's screen. Emma helped us take it out. This resulted in me chucking a tennis ball out the four-story high window. And a paper airplane. I came back today from class and the screen is back in. I can only guess that Ed and Aaron did this to stop me from throwing a bed out the window next.

Utter chaos is reigning supreme here at Chapman. If you want a little peace and quiet...this is not the place to be. Let me repeat myself...RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!!

Here's the past couple of days:

--Aaron, while playing with his food, created a volcano like eruption of chocolate pudding, frosting, pink lemonade, and an oreo cookie that ended up mostly on his lap. To make it worse, this amalgamation was, according to others at the scene of the accident, vomit/diarrhea colored.

--Our room is meant to hold two people. We have three. And five guitar cases, two amps, a PA system, multiple temp. roommates at any given time, boxing gloves, three computers, and now...a full drum kit. Needless to say, it looks (and feels) like we're living inside a storage shed.

--When we're driving somewhere and we don't have enough seats, I get put in the back. As in the way back. I'm kinda like a piece of luggage. We all head to the car (and this has happened three times now) and Josh calls the back middle seat (because he figures that nobody wants that seat, so him calling it like one calls 'shotgun' will instill a desire in everyone to want to sit in that seat), Christina sits next to him...since it's a law that you can't split up the dating, Aaron and Meg get carsick if they can't see out the window, and Emma drives the car. Which leaves...me...and the 'trunk'.

--In the middle of the night our double-decker shelf that was perched precariously on top of the microwave came crashing down, sending video games, video game systems, food, eating utensils, bowls, and paper towels flying across the room. Ed started laughing, I said "oops", and then we all went back to sleep.

The other day I was sitting in my psychology class thinking about getting a piercing. These are the kinds of things I think about when I'm in class. Piercings. And stuff like THIS. And it occured to me that I would be afraid to get a piercing for one reason...pain. Now I'm not talking about the pain of getting the piercing. Though I do have a subconscious needle phobia and I nearly faint every time I get a shot. What I'm talking about is the invitation for others to cause me pain if I have a piercing. Wouldn't it be way too easy for someone, in the heat of the moment, to reach over, loop a finger around the ring, and yank?

And then it hit me...if a gynocologist is called a gyno...couldn't you call a psychologist a psycho?

But that was a question for another day.

So I went to my sound design class where my teacher talked about how she loved to listen to Nelle...and whenever she did she wanted to take off her clothes. Hmm...should I be afraid? Maybe so since later we were talking about mics and she said, "Dynamic mics are like the missionary position. Dependable. Always there for ya'. Not the most exciting, but it works."

And now...um...it's time for some freestyle writing:

all the insanity (basic inanity) can't stand profanity candidly said
else i'll bed my unrest maybe contest the best since i detest all tests lest
wait...what am i saying decaying day-freying is staying not weighing
just playing around all this sound's not profound just around and around and
i go with the flow towing fast or slow-mo only so-so i know apropo
with dreams teaming and gleaming seeming interesting
see what i mean?

don't worry it's nothing.

My first couple hours here flew by with unpacking. My first couple days here flew by with introductions, re-introductions, mass cleaning and class. And I'm sure that my year here will fly by in the blink of an eye. And according to the gas station attendent, the movie store employee, and the grocery store clerk...but best summed up by what the computer store worker told me, "School is great...after that, trouble. School is fun...after that, nothing but problems. That's when the problems start."

The night before I drove the six hours to school I went to my first concert. Yes, I'm now dirty and used just like everyone else. But I had a fantastic time. And I got some pictures with Aaron and Christina that will surely end up on the site. Of course you are now asking, "who did you go and see?" Don't ask. You don't know. (oh, and we got lost on the way there...of course)

That night we took more pictures.

The next day, school-Aaron and I went on a smoothie run for a bunch of friends. About 100 yards from the dorm the cardboard thing that is made to hold the drinks somehow dissasembled sending the drinks careening to the ground. The resulting explosion sent smoothie flying in all directions. Aaron scooped some out of a broken cup to have a taste while a cop laughed at us. I now have partially orange spotted pants.

Aaron attacked me with 10 open felt tip pens, streaking color all down my arm, while Megan wrote "I am sexy" on my hand and then told everyone that I was the one who wrote it.

I spent $370 on textbooks that I don't want in the least, and $180 on Windows XP which I don't want in the least. I could buy an incredibly nice acoustic bass for that price.

I just signed up for singing lessons, ate a bowl of EasyMac, and read the first chapter of three books.

Ah...college life is back in full swing.

um...my comments don't seem to work anymore. i went to the site: netcomments but it doesn't seem to exist anymore. maybe i never had a comment thingy and all of you are just figments of my imagination. maybe i'm a skitzo. maybe i've seen Fight Club too many times. maybe i need a new comment thingy. dangit.

I am the concert virgin. I will forever be the concert virgin. I must learn to deal with this.

I made my second attempt to see a concert within the last couple weeks...and met with failure once again. Luckily I have my friends Aaron and Christina to help me pop the proverbial cherry (no, not Aaron and Christina from school...Aaron and Christina from home...yeah...it's confusing). The first attempt was ditched for a rousing game of bowling...made even better by converting our outfits to show off our white ghetto selves (rolled up pant legs, shirt sleeves, etc). The second attempt was a failure due to a corporation that deserves almost as much hate as Pep Boys. Mapquest. Yes, this wolf in sheep's clothing has sent me careening in the wrong direction so many times I have begun to believe that it's all a practical joke. I just haven't found the hidden cameras yet. But like a dog that is beat and comes back to its master wagging its tail, I come back to Mapquest, eager for directions. So to make a long story short...we got to Slims to see Something Corporate and were turned down. I asked a passing security guard if we could take his picture as he yelled at us all to go home...he just laughed in my face. So instead of seeing my first concert, we rented some movies, got McDonalds, and discussed the laws against polygamy.

In light of the $750,000,000 Santana Row-- set to open in less than a month --burning to the ground as I write, I thought it would be appropriate to talk about the ins and outs of shopping. Going to your friendly neighborhood mega-store these days can be dangerous, confusing, and as we saw today...deadly. So here are some hints and tips to follow to make your shopping an enjoyable time.

Picking Your Store- Most important in finding the store that is right for you is checking what the store has in stock. Why shop at a store that fails to carry 1-gallon sized mayonnaise or live cats in jars!?!

Cart Procurement- Once at your store, finding the appropriate shopping cart is essential. It is a known fact that band-aid and ice-pack companies are profiting from carts that suddenly swerve into the shins of shoppers to one's left or right. Fight the system! Buy your own cart that is sure to work right. By revamping this popular model with the engine from the increasingly common Mini, one can peruse the produce isle at an impressive 80mph. And don't forget your safety flag!

Trying New Things- Why be bored with the same old food items you normally pick up? Why not be creative and try something new. Like pink bananas in syrup! Or some Potted Meat Food Product (obviously great on crackers)! Or, heck, get something with a label like THIS...then cross your fingers and pray that it's edible.

Checking Out- So there you are, standing in a huge line waiting to check out. Your cat in a jar is meowing, your electric cart is low on power, all you want is to get home and have a big heaping helping of Potted Meat Food Product but the line is taking forever. Your best bet? Following this easy-to-use chart...prepared just for such a situation.

So you've picked a store, tricked out your shopping cart, made up your mind to try new things, and practiced being an "arrogant bastard" or maybe someone with the "mental doldrums"...so get out there and shop! Oh, and you might want to pack a fire extinguisher on your new cart...you never know when you'll be caught in a 6-acre structure fire.

ok...what the heck? I read someone's site that talked about searching for certain words on google and seeing how soon their site was listed. So I did some of my own research. I typed in 50fifty to see how soon my site would come up. Not only could I not find my site at all, but Crisp's site AND I Make No Promises showed up. Then all the results were Japanese pages. This must be some kind of conspiracy.

So imagine an x-games veteran gone bad toting product placements in the form of sports drinks, energy drinks, clothing, cars, and sports equipment spouting lines straight from the worst acting coach in Hollywood and you have a perfect image of XXX. Other than male teenagers and those too cracked out to realize that major movie theatres have not suddenly decided to put porn on the big screen, this movie would appeal to nobody. Then again it did have its high points. Like a guy wearing a jacket and no shirt in a night club using a really bad russian accent saying, "bitches...come" to summon the barely dressed, appropriately named "bitches" to do God knows what with him. So all in all this movie made realize three things. 1- I really want to go to a Rammstein concert...I love fire. 2- Russians would probably be offended by this movie since one of the most in-depth conversations the bad guys had was: bad guy 1: How's it going? bad guy 2: Life is sh*t. bad guy 1: Well, what can you do? 3- Vin Diesel (or however you spell his name) can't act...even though he has a line in the movie where he mocks someone's acting. Oh, and the end credits are so distracting that it proves one of two things. Either nobody wanted people realizing they worked on this film, or the guy in charge of the end credits got shafted and took revenge by making it impossible to notice the names.

Speaking of movies, my good friend Jordan and I recently tackled the urban legend of the "hanging lovelorn midget" from The Wizard of Oz. If you're not in the know, supposedly one of the munchkins hung him/herself in the background of one of the scenes. Some of the stories even said it was murder. So of course we had to find out. Jordan brought over the tape and we single framed our way through the appropriate scene. I was sorely disappointed to find out it was just some large bird silhouetted in the background. Pretty unmistakable, but if you want to see for yourself...go to the scene just after the tin man sings his little song (which by the way seems to be the least known of the songs in that movie...probably because of his wacky accent...which is too bad since I was the tin man once) and the witch shoots a fireball at them. Then they go skipping and singing like full fledged gays on a San Fransisco street off into the background and STOP!!! It's right there. Slightly behind a tree, dead center, upper portion of the screen. Right at the end you see it flap its wings. After nearly crying in disappointment we went to McDonalds to get some McFlurries. So now I'm bent on getting the Pink Floyd album (which one is it?) that is supposed to match up with the movie in perfect unison. If that ends up failing I just might have to kill myself. Maybe by wondering onto a movie set and hanging myself in the background where nobody notices and starting a true urban legend.

And I changed some stuff with the about me page, added some more in the "my photography" section, changed the comment thingy to match the site, added a new link to my friend Aaron's band Demeri Followed, and saved the world while I was at it. You can thank me by giving me large sums of money.

Hey...I uh...made a couple small changes. See if you can't figure out what.

It was 5:45am and we were driving to Pismo Beach. I was drinking an Odwalla drink, which, if I remember right, was strawberry and banana flavored. I don't really like bananas, but I still liked the drink. I was in the way back of the van, which has cup holders on the sides. I leaned over and set my drink in one of said cupholders and it suddenly disappeared. I realized that the cup part of the cupholder was removed, so my drink fell into the inner recesses of the van. Which I found particularly funny. I leaned over to fish it out when a huge boom sent shockwaves through the car. I leaned up and looked at the windshield, which now had a smashed circle with a foot wide radius right in the center. Thin lines spiderwebbed from the circle and reached the very edges of the windshield. Everyone in the car just sat there and stared at it...dead quiet. Finally I said what was that? My dad responded with a rock, like it was a normal everyday thing.

I don't remember the last time I was that exhausted. Or this exhausted. But I got to build part of an icon screen for a big church. And I learned how to wire electricity for a house. But amidst spraying giant wasp nests with poison and dodging the pissed off renegades who survived, drilling hundreds of holes through wood planks, installing windows on the second story, and avoiding losing limbs to the various large bladed machines, I had a fun time. Except for my near death experience, which wasn't so fun. He has a backhoe (one of those big yellow machines with a hoe on the back and a huge shovel on the front) He fixed it so he can raise the huge shovel part and stand on it to work on the second story. There I was with the other guy, kneeling on the huge shovel, and holding a sliding glass door that was going on the second story. Then he raised the shovel. At about the 20 foot up level the spring for reverse broke and all hell broke loose. It was kind of like those fake bucking bronco things in the western bars, only there was nothing to hold onto. So he's yanking on levers and we're lifting in the air and falling back down and trying to not fall off and break our necks. I literally thought I was going to fall off and die. But maybe I was over-reacting.

Time to visit an old friend for a couple days.

Talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone.

I have once more donned the disguise of Lobster Boy whose main power is to scream really loudly when somebody pokes his sunburn. Luckily my sunburn is on my face, and I usually don't have people walking up to me and poking my forehead. When that starts happening, so does the murdering...and we all know that's a bad thing. The reason I am Lobster Boy is because I went to Great America and walked around in the sun all day. And one of the group had an un-needed wheelchair because she left the park for lunch and someone hit her car, so she got a wheelchair for kicks and got us to the front of all the lines. Being gimpy has its advantages. I would know. I'm gimpy in the brain. Oh, and Lobster Boy has one other known power...only he has this power whether or not he is firetruck red. You know the muscle that makes your eyebrow go up and down? I'll deem it the eyebrow muscle out of sheer lack of knowledge. Well, my left eyebrow muscle has been twitching for days. Yes...days. But it's off and on. And always at night. So when I'm trying to sleep, my eyebrow muscle twitches out of control. I'm still not sure how this amazing twitching power helps me, but I'm still doing tests. So for now, if you want to find me, I'll be running around at night. Not because I'm fighting crime, but because being in direct sunlight hurts too much.

Everyone wants what they can't have. Even if those who have what they want explain why it's not so great. Think about it. Those with over-protective parents always want parents who never ask any questions. Those with "uncaring" parents always want parents who show concern...even if it is constant. (I have the over-protective kind, and of course wish I did not). Girls with large chests always want smaller chests. Those with small chests always want larger chests. (and if you think I'm just guessing, I've talked to many girls about this. I personally side with the larger breasted girls...smaller is better...though nobody ever believes me). Those with nothing to do always want busier lives. Those with busy lives always want more down time. So um...yeah...I swear I was going somewhere with this. Nevermind...I'm going to work out because I want large muscles...even though I've been told it's not that great.

Ok, I stole this from Ed who stole it from Christina who stole it from someone else. It's interesting so I decided to join in the fun. These are questions that are all anwered by lyrics from one band that you like. These are all lyrics from The Cure (of course). Sorry that it's slightly depressing...but that's just how The Cure is.

1. Are you male or female?:

I wish it was all true /I wish it couldn't be a story /The words all left me /Lifeless /Hoping /Breathing like the drowning man

He'll never /Never turn away /Happy the man

Night time night time /Sets my house on fire /I'll turn into the melting man /I'll lose my life /To feel I feel desire

2. Describe yourself:

i'm running out of time /i'm out of step and closing down /and never sleep for wanting hours /the empty hours of greed and uselessly /always the need to feel again /the real belief of something more /than mockery if only i could
/fill my heart with love

3. How do people feel about you?:

Every night I burn /Dream the crow black dream

4. How do you feel about yourself?:

I try to laugh about it /Cover it all up with lies /I try and Laugh about it /Hiding the tears in my eyes /'cause boys don't cry /Boys don't cry

but there are long long nights when i lay awake /and i think of what i've done /of how i've thrown my sweetest dreams away /and what i've really become /and however hard i try /i will always feel regret /however hard i try /i will never forget

No I won't do it again /I don't want to pretend /If it can't be like before /I've got to let it end /I don't want what I want /I've had a change of head /But maybe someday /Yeah maybe someday

5. Describe your boyfriend/girlfriend/crush:

he waits for her to sympathize /but she won't sympathize at all /she waits all night to feel his kiss /but always wakes alone /he waits to hear her say /forget /but she just hangs her head in pain /and prays to hear him say /no more /i'll never leave again /how did we get this far apart? /we used to be so close together /how did we get this far apart? /i thought this love would last forever

6. What would you rather be doing?:

Staring at the sea /Staring at the sand

7. Describe where you live:

Don't say what you mean /You might spoil your face /If you walk in the crowd /You won't leave any trace /It's always the same /You're jumping someone else's train /it won't take you long /To learn the new smile /You have to adapt /Or you'll be out of style /It's always the same /You're jumping someone else's train /If you pick up on it quick /You can say you were there /Again and again and again /You're jumping someone else's train

8. Describe how you love:

"If you die", you said /"So do I", you said /And it starts the day you make the sign /Tell me I'm forever yours /And you're forever mine /Forever mine...

9. Share a few words of wisdom:

The further we go /And older we grow /The more we know ... /The less we show ...

It's time for everyone to groan in disgust as Grant gives his opinion on (somewhat) recent movies he has seen or bought. Why should you listen to my opinion and see movies I say you should and shy away from movies I say are crap? Because...um...if you don't...you'll regret it. Seriously.

Austin Powers: Goldmember: I'm almost ashamed to say I saw this. Ok...no...I am ashamed to say I saw this. I was just never too big on the Austin Powers movies in the first place. But there I was with three friends who were bent on taking away my drive-in-movie-virginity. So I saw this at my very first drive in movie. And it sucked. You know that Barenaked Ladies song It's all been done before? Yeah. That's all I have to say.

Eight Legged Freaks: Ok...once more I am ashamed. I saw the previews and seriously thought this would be a funny Bruce Campbell type spoof movie on all the stupid giant spider movies out there. No. It was just another stupid giant spider movie. Go watch the trailer...because that was decent. But please don't spend money on this. Sigh...I had such high expectations.

Minority Report: If you like Speilburg films...go see it. It's much more decent than AI which just sucked. It was fun to watch. Nothing Academy Award worthy. But fun.

The Royal Tenenbaums: Yes, I know it's been out a while...but I bought the DVD. This movie is fantastic. It really should have won some more awards. I find it incredibly funny and fresh compared to all the bad movies lately.

Amelie: Yeah, that one came out a while back too...but I just bought the DVD. This movie just plain rocks. Jean Pierre Jeunet is an incredible director and you should all see City of Lost Children as well as Amelie. Great movie.

I'm sure there are more. But this is probably incredibly dull. Time for user interaction! What movies have you guys seen, and were they decent or not. Do tell.

Many a year ago slogans were a whole differant story than they are today. Here are some I've run across:

--Feared by more people than ever before.
Buckley's cough medicine

--For headache and exhaustion drink Coca-Cola
--The favorite drink for ladies when thirsty, weary, and despondent
--Whenever you hear "Have a Coke," you hear the voice of America.
coca-cola

--Pepsi-Cola - It Makes You Scintillate
--It's a Great American Custom
pepsi-cola

--I dreamed I went shopping in my Maidenform bra
maidenform

--It's different...and I like it.
Dr. Pepper

--Take your girlie to the movies (if you can't make love at home)
old theatre slogan

Before I get down to business I wanted to mention a few things. One, I added a little photography section over on the left. I took those for my cinematography class. I'm new to this...give me a break. And two, it seems that the Breakfast Epiphanies website has been given a flash intro. And nobody told me. I really feel like part of the group guys. Really in the loop. Yeah...I'm really wanted here. FINE...I'm LEAVING. Ok, no...that was a lie. I'm sorry.

And on a random note (like I make any other kind), if you like energy drinks that give you lots of energy for like 30 seconds and simultaneously take away a year of your life by the can, try Sobe's Adrenaline Rush. It tastes allot better than Red Bull. And it has a slogan that sounds like a Viagra add: Get it up. Keep it up. Any questions?

On another random note I'm working. And I have once more been bestowed with the awsome responsibility of holding the key to the entire Valley Christian High School. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Muwahahaha.

And on my third and final random note, I have nothing of any importance or interest to say (as you all have probably figured out by now) so I'll just stop.

You know you have reached the pinnacle of your summer fun when you find yourself partaking in the activities that have consumed the last couple days of my life. I swear, take away my ability to do normal activities and my brain just turns into this comatose mush that finds hours of amusement in the simplest of things. Kind of like when you were a kid and you could just jump on the bed for hours on end and not be bored. Or when you would take a magnifying glass and follow little bugs around the backyard and fry them with the intensified rays of the sun. Oh wait...I still do that. But anyway. Here are some of the things I have been doing lately:

-Playing with fire. Fire is always a great entertainer. Especially when you have thousands of matches (literally). My brother's restaurant has unknowingly supplied me with about 70 boxes of matches. Each box containing a little over 30 matches. So what do I do? I tape a line of about a hundred matches together, set them straight up, light the first one and watch gleefully.

-Watching educational shows on TV. I think those people who decide what is going on TV have joined a conspiracy against all the lazy kids of America. There is nothing on TV. I really hate TV for the most part. There are just a couple shows that I really enjoy. But when you can't find anything else to do, watching educational shows is very entertaining. Today I watched a soap opera worthy show about monkeys. It was this huge rival between a warlord male monkey and a gang of vagabond ruffian monkeys. The warlord had his women who he used to make lots of little monkeys, but no older males were in the group. The "lost boys" as the show deemed them (aren't they just so creative) attacked this colony and chased the alpha male out of the city. He was considered banished and left on his own to live in the wild and die. The leader of the ruffian monkeys let his boys have a few hours with all the lady monkeys, but then he wanted to reign and not have to fight with the other males. So he chased them out too. Then he killed off all the baby monkeys because the females wouldn't mate with him if they still had a baby. I'm telling you, it had these gripping shots of the females holding dead baby monkeys in their arms. It was really sad. Or maybe the boredom has affected my emotions.

-Trying to figure out ways out of jury work. Yeah, I was supposed to go a while back, but I told them I was a full time student and therefore couldn't be a voice for the people. Sure it was partly a lie since I am not in classes all summer, but it's still partly true, since I am a full time student. The problem is this: the time they have given me to make up for my lack of juryness last time is truthfully in the way of school. It overlaps with my first week of classes. So here are my proposed plans:

**Show up with dark body paint on and when they call my name I will say, "OH...Grant Paige? There must have been a typo...I'm Brant Paige. See look, that thing says I'm white. Do I look white to you?"

**Show extreme racial prejudice. They won't keep prejudice people on the jury. Even if the guy convicted is white. I'll walk in and start screaming: "You honkey! Come on white bread, you gonna convince me that your white butt don't belong in jail?"

**Wear inappropriate attire. They won't let you in the courtroom if you aren't wearing the right clothing. I figure I'll wear a loincloth. I'll tell them I'm part Indian and they can't stop me from wearing the official garb of my people. Or maybe I'll wear one of those toxic waste suits with an oxygen tank strapped to my back. Either way, I figure they won't want me on their jury.

I was younger. Obviously young enough to not realize the possible danger of sitting on a slick tube and speeding down a hill of ice for fun. Plus I wanted to be manly, like the twenty or so older men from the group we had gathered on top of this hill. Someone came up with the great idea of linking together all the intertubes to make a "train." Within minutes this train, which was more of a giant ameba, was all set to go. Everyone else was large enough to fit snugly in the tube. I however was small enough that my butt would be dragging on the snow if I sat normally. So instead I was sprawled out across this thing like it was a lounge chair. Right in the front. One guy hooked his leg through my tube to anchor me to the rest, and we shoved off. I was majorly disappointed at the measly speed we were moving at. But in no time we were gaining more speed than anyone else on the hill, like a semi-truck going down hill. One guy at the back of the train accidentally let go, and I remember that we were moving so fast it looked like he was going uphill compared to our speed. Cold air whipped in my face, snow blinded me, ears completely numb, and I was having the time of my life. Then things went terribly wrong. We hit a large mogul. The problem was that when my tube went back down, I did not. Kind of like when an airplane drops from turbulence and you stay up in the air. Plus I was moving forward. So there I was, looking down at nineteen tubes as I did my best superman impression and landed in front of the ameba. Then it hit me. All I remember is complete chaos and lots of pressure. Then I was rolling down the hill at an incredible speed. All I could see was sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, sky...you get the idea. I finally stopped and tried to sit up, feeling more dizzy and nauseous than ever before. Tears streaming down my face. Then I hear fffsssssssssss behind me, so I look back. That one guy who let go earlier...he was on a collision course with my small and fragile body. Soon I was rolling again and all I could see was sky, ground, sky, ground, sky, ground, black...........and I was being carried to a little house with a red cross on it, only I didn't remember being picked up, and black.............and some guy I've never seen before had a hand in front of my face. "How many fingers do you see? What's your name? Where do you live? What's your phone number?" All I was thinking was "shut up...my head hurts and your talking is making it hurt more." The next thing I remember is drinking hot chocolate in the ski lounge. And my dad gave me some quarters to play video games. I loved video games, and I probably wouldn't have gotten to play them if my dad wasn't having to try and make me feel better after I revived from my concussion.

The letter was laying there on his dresser. But this wasn't just an ordinary letter, it was something bad. James sat facing away from his dresser just to get it out of his sight. It made him nervous. He knew it was something bad, but he didn't know how he knew. And this wasn't just some ordinary letter, it seemed to have this supernatural ability to always be in his line of sight. Right now he could see it in the reflection of the blank tv screen. Brilliant white like reflective tape in direct sunlight. James scrawled in the thick line of a sharpie pen. This was on top of a stack of previous letters, all of which had his name delicately penned in fancy handwriting. She liked to use calligraphy and even tried to teach him once. He picked up a lighter and clicked the flame on and off, contemplating burning the letter. But that wouldn't help his situation. He picked up the phone and got six digits into her number before he hung up. There really was only one real solution, and all he was doing was stalling. But James knew what he was stalling. He knew that even the wracked, stressed, tense feeling inside would be nothing compared to what he would feel after reading whatever the letter said. Or maybe he was wrong. He picked up the letter hastily, nearly completely tricking himself into believing for an instant that the letter could be something other than bad. Diving headlong into ripping the envelope open he unfolded the page and began scanning the lines:

"I don't believe you when you say you'd do anything for me and risk anything for me. I think your a liar. I don't beleive it I think your too scared to take a step or a leap of faith. I think you'd be ready to let go if I said so and I think that you are just to weak to do it yourself. Your too scared and you won't risk anything for me because you are afraid of getting hurt again, of getting rejected again. And I can't take it anymore I can't take wondering and I can't take your hope for the future and I can't take you. I can't take that you don't have enough faith in us. Whens the last time you did something really really nice for me? Whens the last tiem I really really felt that you cared, that you did something totally out of the blue and made me feel special?

I can't even remember.

So I say to you: fuck off. If your not ready to be who you say you are then I don't want to talk to you ever agian."

The letter hit the floor at the same time as the first tear did.

So there you are. Drinking a bloody mary with no vodka because it's healthy, or maybe because you have no Stoli or Kettle One left and you won't lower yourself to drinking vodka that comes from a plastic bottle. But you do have plenty of pepper, so you make sure to add a more than necessary amount. Oh, and you're out of celery so you find some other green vegetable like a cucumber and try and make the drink look presentable. Only it's hard to look presentable yourself when you keep having to chew your drink because you only have a fresh pepper grinder so you end up gnawing on little chunks of pepper and then trying not to cringe as the wave of spice clears your already cleared sinuses.

You sit back and realize...this is my life. This is what I have amounted to. This will probably consume the next eight or nine or ten years of my life until one day I will look back and realize that my day to day routine has been nothing more than settling for mediocrity, dealing with problems by not dealing with them, and complaining that there are no solutions even though I haven't tried even one to its fullest.

So you sit back and philosophize. Maybe you plan on writing a book about all the fresh and new ideas that surely nobody else has thought of. Especially stuff about love and relationships since any book on the subject will hit the top ten at some point in its existence. Nobody really understands the stuff. They all just like having others who pretend to understand it tell them in vague terms and sentimental stories what they're doing wrong. The first book will be called Men are from Mars, Women are...no wait...that's been done. Well, at least the book has an original idea. You see, up until a certain age, girls date a certain type of guy. The kind of guy they know they will never end up with. Either this guy is completely afraid of commitment, so he will never settle down, or he is just the completely wrong type. And guys, up until a certain age, date a certain type of girl. The kind they know they will never end up with. Either this girl is the kind the guy could never get completely attached to, or she is the kind who will basically hand him reasons to break up with her. This is sure to make millions.

But until those millions are made and you can spend your days (and nights) drinking bloody marys with vodka, you'll have to put all your energy into trying to look presentable even though you know you are not.

I'm back. So you get to hear about my trip. Or at least the interesting parts. Or at least the parts that I found interesting. Or at least the parts that I found interesting that I also thought you would find interesting.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
thoughts - actions - and events from my little road trip
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

*I hate traffic. And LA is one of the worst places for having it. All the traffic I endured reminded me of my earliest memory of traffic. I saw all these cars moving much slower than usual trying to go as fast as usual. It seemed perfectly logical that there would be no traffic if the really slow person at the front of the line would just let everyone pass. You see, I envisioned all these cars piled up behind one person slowing everyone else down. I'm not sure, but I think I thought this because of one of those informative Disney cartoons about driving. This cartoon talked about drunken driving, driving while tired, changing lanes without using your blinker, and most anything that causes accidents on the road. Why? I still can't figure it out because the people watching this cartoon were most likely a good five years (if not much more) from driving. But that's not the point. In this cartoon they talked about traffic. In the traffic segment, most likely as a visual gag, they showed that all the traffic was due to a woman driving while putting on makeup and swerving back and forth. What did this teach me? That women are bad drivers and traffic is an easily solved problem.

***as a side note, Disney has all kinds of great informative cartoons. Check out Education for Death to see some good ol' American propaganda.

*Right before golfing with my brother, he got a call from my dad. There was a death in our family and my dad wanted Chad to know right away. It seems that his 13-year-old, blind, deaf, overweight pug had died. This was his first dog (of 2), so he wanted to bury it somewhere special. But he's in LA. So the dog is in our freezer in a plastic bag until Chad can come home to give it a proper burial.

***as a side note, Chad golfed his best game ever after that call. and I birdied my first hold ever.

*It occurred to me while looking at the many fine entertainment facilities of LA that one particular business in general seems to be misnamed. The strip joint. No, I don't think that "strip joint" or "strip club" or "tittie bar" are misleading. What I find confusing is "gentleman's club." I kind of always thought that "gentleman" carried with it a sense of chivalry. Well, I guess that if ogling naked women is chivalry then I've been going at being a gentleman all the wrong ways.

*I saw The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys. I went to this movie with no knowledge of what it was about. For all I knew, it was about the recent Catholic Church scandal. But it wasn't. And I thought it was fantastic. The writing and acting were both extremely good. I would recommend seeing it. And I picked up The Royal Tenenbaums and Amelie on DVD. And if you have yet to see those. Go see them. Now. Stop reading this and go rent them this very minute. And if the movie store is closed...break in. Just don't tell the cops that I told you to do it.

*I met a guy named Tree.

*I was buying a shirt at French Connection (just because) and couldn't find the size I wanted. Small. Now this is a totally different subject, but it is the biggest pain having to find pants that fit my waist and shirts that fit right. But I won't go into that now. The particular shirt I wanted came in black or white. I asked the sales girl and she went into the back to check if they had any smalls. She came out carrying one of the black shirts. She handed it to me and said, "I like the black one. I think it will good on you." Um, since when do the sales people pick my clothes for me?

*I got some job hookups with a guy who just finished working on The Hulk, and is now in the middle of working on a new Kevin Spacey film. I'll be doing some camera work for some feature length Hollywood films if all goes well.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
end of thoughts - actions - and events from my little road trip
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roadtrip. Be back later.

So the last few entries have been long, tedious, and just plain tiring. I just wanted to make sure that everyone knows that this is not going to suddenly turn into some site with a crazy religious guy spouting off about Christianity constantly. Instead I would like to talk about spiders.

From what I know, most insects don't attack you unless they are threatened. Right? I mean, a bee won't sting you unless you hit it or hurt it. But some insects will just go after you the first chance they get. Ticks (the insect I hate the most), mosquitos, and spiders. I woke up this morning, scratched my arm, and went into the bathroom. I put on my contacts, scratched my arm, and brushed my teeth. I fixed my hair, scratched my arm, then finally looked at my arm. I swear, some spider was just feasting on me last night. I've got five bites in about a six inch radius. Three of which are in the triangle shape, the other two are rogue bites. My first thought was general disgust at the thought of some little spider casually dining on my arm while I slept. My second thought was wondering why spiders bite in threes for the most part, and in a small triangle shape. I tried looking it up on the internet, but couldn't find anything. My brother just told me he thought it had to do with blood flow, or getting more blood, or something like that. I just wonder what I would do if I woke up to find some huge spider making a midnight snack out of my arm.