Wednesday, December 20, 2006

December 20th - Peacoats and Pocketchange

I'm hurt that after several months on ifilm, my genius "doodoo dance" film has only gotten 45 views. I think that's an all time record for the least amount of views in the history of the website. Anyway, while the upload quality isn't terribly good, here's the link anyway (feel free to watch it multiple times in trying to make it look like a popular video)

In other news, I recently put in my applications to teach English abroad next year through the JET program and Princeton In Asia. The earliest I'll probably hear back from either is in late January. My brother Lane applied to JET as well, so if all goes well, maybe the both of us will be living together somewhere in Japan by this time next year indoctrinating Japanese youth with forbidden knowledge on how to be crazy like a Robbins bro.
Meanwhile, I'm still working at Beaumont's satellite billing center. I think I can feel a tumor taking shape inside of my head from all the countless hours I've spent in front of the computer. I can't tell if it's the hypochondria or if I'm really developing carpal tunnel syndrome. There's a young guy in the office who wears a brace on his wrist as a result of our taxing line of work, data entry. I'm actually at work right now as I write this.
Lane, I, and Emily all went to see Jeremy Enigk in concert (formerly of the seminal band Sunny Day Real Estate) the other weekend. While I haven't really been a fan of going to shows for quite some time now due to the endless standing and awkward eyeball exchanges with all the hyper-conscious teenage and twenty-something scenesters, Mr. Enigk was a pretty passionate guy (which can only be expected when you're one of emo's founding fathers). Since the concert was at the Shelter in Detroit (a rather intimate venue), we got to stand right up at the front of the stage merely inches (maybe a foot) from Enigk's face. When he opened his mouth to sing, even though I knew what his voice sounded like, it was still a surprise hearing such soothing melodies pour forth. He just doesn't look like the kind of guy capable of emitting that level of prettiness. Needless to say, it was a cool show. We followed it up with a late nite stop at the coney island in Royal Oak for some fries and rootbeer. Actually, Emily ordered a milkshake, but who's keeping track...
Speaking of Emily, it was her birthday last Wenesday. It was a bittersweet day - she had to go home to St. Clair for her Aunt's funeral, but she also got accepted into her first law school (not to mention that it was an amazing UFC fight night). Her and I went out for what we anticipated to be a fancy meal at Fiddleheads on Friday night, but the service was poor probably due to the fact that they were closing up in an hour and we looked like two 18 year olds that probably wouldn't tip well, not to mention that one out of my four pumpkin raviolis didn't even have anything in it. Fuckers.
In case you're wondering, my burgeoning mixed martial arts career is going well. I've been training brazilian jiu-jitsu and Muay Thai out at a gym in Commerce Twp for a little over a month now. It should only be a matter of time now before I step into the cage and forever put an end to my burgeoning modeling career.
Lastly, Lane and I finally put together my zine compiled of adderall inspired rants and doodlings primarily from my Freshman year of college (with some added bonuses of journal entries I did when I was 7, 9, 16, and various other ages). It's aptly titled "Jared's First Book". And now, I must depart. Sayounara, Quakers!

Friday, December 01, 2006

December 1st, 2006 - James Dean

James Dean was bisexual. It is well documented that he slept with many men and probably a much greater number of women. This kind of stuff had to be kept very hush hush back in the day, though, for if the public were to find out that the leading man whom men admired and women adored was actually a dandy, the world would have crumbled. The movie studio producing his films had to go out of their way to fabricate different headlines alleging Mr. Dean with various actresses to keep his bantering with boys on the downlow.
The rebel without a cause was only 24 when he died after colliding head on with another car while riding in his Porsche 550 Spyder, which he had affectionately nicknamed "Little Bastard". In addition to killing James Dean, the car and its parts would prove nothing but disaster for anyone that subsequently came into contact with them. This became known as "The Curse of Little Bastard", which went on for 5 years until the car mysteriously vanished on its return in 1960 to the original customizer, George Barris (who later went on to create the Batmobile).

Monday, August 28, 2006

The Days of Office Work

I work at an office, a medical billing office, where I sit at a computer updating addresses for hours on end - hours that I'll never get back. I dream of being a mixed martial arts fighter and have listened to over 75 episodes of This American Life on NPR. I've listened to so much This American Life that I've begun relating everything in my life back to the stories I've heard on the show. I basically moved into Emily's apartment (Emily being my girlfriend) which is 5 minutes from my parents' house where a racecar bed and trillions of stuffed animals still occupy my room.

Monday, July 17, 2006

A Joke

What did the leper say to the prostitute?
Keep the tip.

Monday, June 19, 2006

The Fight - A delayed post from mid-April

They're not really interested, maybe because I'm not telling the story
right. You can't blame me. It's my first time telling it. But maybe
it's because they're reacting how normal humane people should react
when hearing a story about a stupid fight. Honestly, what good
reasons do kids have to fight on college campuses?
Anyway, I got in a fight last night. I'd be lying if I told you I
really knew what it was about. There was this kid on my friend's
porch being confrontational, and so I sauntered up looking to get in
on the fuss. I'd like to say that I broke the kid's nose because he
was dropping f-bombs (that oh so hateful word faggot), and I've even
possibly deceived myself into thinking he swung first. Who are we
kidding? I'm so sexually frustrated that the aggression has to come
out some how, this kid was up to no good, and so that was that. I've
never been in a fight before; plenty of wrestling matches, but never a
fight. My fist just kind of acted on its own accord when it cut
through the air and connected with his face. Then when he tried to
retaliate, it was only natural that I headlock him to the ground
before resorting to the ole' ground and pound. I hesitated at first
before throwing those blows while he was under me. I think I even
offered him the opportunity for a ceasefire, but it wasn't meant to
be. I connected at least three solid times while on top of him, then
people were pulling me off, but nobody bothered to restrain him as he
tried to attack me again. My glasses got knocked off during the
ruckus, though luckily someone found them, even if they were severely
mangled. It wasn't until after I had left the party did I notice his
blood all over my favorite Addidas jacket.
So I try and recap the story for my friends this morning, but it
doesn't go as planned. They're not really as interested as I
anticipated. For Christ sake, these are the kids that talk about
their close calls with fisticuffs weekend after weekend. So here it
is, my actual brush with fisticuffs, no close calls this time, and
they don't even care. Maybe because we're all about to graduate from
college and this shit doesn't matter anymore. Before telling them,
though, I debated internally whether or not the incident was even
worth sharing, kind of like deciding whether to share the scoop after
getting with a cute girl. The truth is, I don't know how I feel. I
don't really feel anything. They might not be interested, but it was
still an interesting experience. Now I can die knowing that I've at
least been in one fight. The bloodstains on my jacket have washed
away, and in a short while I'll be off to have my glasses fixed. The
proof will be all gone, but the legend shall live on.

Monday, May 22, 2006

long time no speakeasy - May 22, 2006

A letter to my British friend

Yo, buddy, it's been a while. But then again, we're not supposed to be great at this whole correspondence thing (as you so eloquently once put it). Anyway, I'm a university graduate. Pretty crazy, I know. I've been done with school for about a month now and I've done absolutely nothing. I can't even manage to get a job waiting tables in Ann Arbor, even with a college degree. I told myself I'd find a job and dedicate my summer to reading and writing, but about three weeks ago I met this girl and my whole plan went awry. I always figured that getting myself a girl would provide me with a muse and the necessary inspiration to write my first hit screenplay (let alone first screenplay at all)...quite the contrary my friend. I've never been so content with being such a bum. I can't get a job, but at least I got myself a pseudo-girlfriend (we're very touchy about the labels). She even came back with me this past weekend to meet my parents, which turned out surprisingly well. Other than that, I have zero plans for the future. I'm quickly running out of funds, which proves difficult when trying to support a burgeoning alcoholism. At the very least, if all else fails, I've decided to move to Colombia with a friend in September. She has a job teaching bilingual education there with a place to live on the beach, so I figured I'd accompany her along and stay there for as long as it takes to become fluent in Spanish. Hopefully my Latin background will prove useful. Beyond that, I was thinking about interning at a film production company or potentially pursuing a masters degree in documentary filmmaking a few years down the road. My schedule is pretty open for the rest of my life and I'm not too picky, so if you know of any jobs or happen to be looking for a partner in crime, let me know. I'll fly out to London, Berlin, or Bosnia first thing in the morning. Let me know what's up man, it's been quite a while and it'd be great to hear from you. Take care in the meantime.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Some day in March (the 19th to be precise), 2006

Nobody reads my blog because nobody knows it exists. I guess that's sort of liberating in a sense because that means I can write whatever the fuck I want and it doesn't matter. So instead of sending emails to myself all the time with notable quotables and random other shit, I might as well just post it on here.
Random quote #1 (and I'd rather not remember the pedantic text from which I lifted it): An individual's capacity to make sense of the world presupposes the existence of collective traditions; but individuals must be able to experiment with these collective traditions by being allowed to live at their limits.

So yesterday I drove down to Ohio to see one of my friends from studying abroad in Australia, the famous Daniel Sgrizzi. He was touring the East Coast with his band Make Me, and they were playing a show right outside Cleveland at some high school kid's house. It was a surprisingly awesome show. It was also nice to see Sgrizzi again for the first time in close to ten months. As fate would have it, the guitarist from the band they were touring with, Flagship Niagara, was a kid I'd met briefly through a mutual friend two summers ago at New York University. Though I'd only met the kid for a few minutes, I recognized him by his incredibly distinct tattoos. After the show, we crashed at the Make Me guitarist's aunt and uncle's house who live in the old Rockefeller ranch (whatever that means). What I do know is that it was an awesome house in the middle of nowhere and the family raised fighting cocks. Now I'm back in Ann Arbor again trying to finish up the semester so I can go nowhere fast. Nowhere can't be any worse than hear though, and I hear they don't have Latin there either.