Favorite vegetarian indulgence or comfort food.


Mine~mashed potatoes!

anyone else love eagle vs shark?

I went to The Unlimited Enthusiasm Expo 08: Camp Jump and Yell!


Uncle Monsterface - Sock Puppet Rock Band


HARRY AND THE POTTERS!

hope you guys had a good fourth of july and currently good weekend. mine was uhh pretty lame, it rained all day till 10pm but people in my neighborhood where throwing fireworks anyways so i got a few pictures :[ . i been looking for a new lens for the camera because the one i have is a little damaged from the rain plus its time to upgrade. i found a canon one i like so i want to get it already :D :D :D

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whats your favourite source of protein?

my body is craving prot like crazy atm!

And so on the sixth day of my self-imposed sobriety, I cracked. It started off well but soon descended into madness and pitiful goings-on. It is Friday night and I must have at least one drink, I had thought to myself. The first drink was bad as was the company so I let everyone drift off and, against my better judgement, joined Andy and his friend. I would usually steer clear of someone if their friend was along to see them. His friend was unshaven and wearing an Everton football club t-shirt. I had heard about him before. I had also read some of his writing as he occasionally writes for the Everton fanzine, as well as being an English teacher. He was an interesting and talkative fellow who offered me his Pall Mall cigarettes. I declined. As the evening wore on and we travelled to a different bar, I spoke to him, Greg his name was, and learned many interesting things about him. He had done his masters on the Armenian genocide by the Turks, was one of two scholars on Armenia in England and, as a result, keeps company with System Of A Down/Serj Tankian. He also knew Gruff Rhys and Noam Chomsky. I was startled when he mentioned Chomsky. “You know Chomsky?” “Yes. We talk quite often.” “You talk to Chomsky?” “Yeah.”
I said goodbye to Greg at some traffic lights and I asked Andy if he wanted another drink. We migrated back to the pub opposite our office, a most depressing affair. Andy got a round in while I ran to the supermarket to fetch everyone cigarettes.
Now I was drunk. Quite how I’d got so drunk I wasn’t sure of but I was and I knew that it was in a bad way. The events before escape my memory in recollection but I ended up arguing with a girl who I’d never met before. The argument broke out in the middle of street and she began screaming at me. I found the predicament amusing and began laughing, beside myself at the situation. Who was she and why was she screaming at me? She insulted my skin and I quipped back at her and roared with laughter like a maniac. In the end, everyone pulled me away and apologised to the girl who kicked up a bigger hoohah. An old woman in the group questioned me on my behaviour. She was a stranger too, I did not know her but her big eyes looked at me through her big glasses and I was careless. My soul felt the shame, felt the rotting, felt the decay and now Andy had gone. The people around all took something from me. I had somehow smoked fifteen cigarettes in an hour or so. I eyed the coffee in a nearby restaurant. “Oh, coffee! What I wouldn’t give for a coffee right now!” I had no money. The barman from the bar, out drinking with us, spoke up. “You want a coffee?” “O no, you mustn’t buy it.” “No, really. You want a coffee?” “O yes please, kind sir. An espresso, please.” And I sat in the restaurant taking down the espresso and thanking the barman whose name I didn’t even know.
I left the place and got a burger. I sat there eating it and rupturing in the bed of alcohol. As I broke, it caressed me. This was all my doing. It is not the alcohol. It is I! I am the fool and alcohol is nothing more than a magnifying glass for life’s small print. Everything I thought decrepit and horrendous was exposed to me and I to it when I was drunk and wandering the streets of London. I got on the train, sent a few text messages and fell helplessly asleep.
I awoke in Clacton. I could hear the door’s beeping their warning of imminent closure. I will be whisked back to the depot! I leapt up and jumped out of the doors. I looked around. This was not Clacton. Before I had time to get back in, the doors closed and the train pulled out. It was Thorpe-le-soken. I was alone on the platform. This is a minor set-back, I thought. It is one o clock and my brother is home, I can call him and he will rescue me, he will come pick me up. I reached for my mobile phone. It wasn’t there. “FUCK! NOT AGAIN!” I cried out. I had left it on the train so I walked out of the station to the phone box. Thorpe-le-soken is in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing but fields around it and no streetlights. I had to get out of there and quickly. I got in the phone box and the small LCD screen showed “Phone out of order.” I hung up and tried again, still the same message flicking on the little screen. “FUCKING HELL!” I yelled and smashed the handset into the receiver. “All because I’m a fucking drunk, a no-good fucking drunk.” I collected myself and thought to go back to the station and ask to use their phone. They will understand. I will call Robin and he will pick me up and on the way home we will laugh at my silliness. I crossed the track and the station was closed. Everything was locked up.
I realised that I must walk and find a payphone and started out. I could hardly see and was having trouble walking on the invisible pavement. All that was visible was the horizon, the dim glow of Clacton in the distance. Jon Stancombe, who had called me earlier in the evening, used to live round here. I had visited his house many years ago. It was somewhere up this road. I contemplated knocking on someone’s door and asking to use their phone. Yes, a drunk knocking on your door at one in the morning asking to come in your house and use your phone… So I walked on. I noticed a great stinging sensation on my left index finger. I had burnt it with a cigarette. It stung like hell and I sucked on it, feeling the forming boil with my tongue. I walked for some time up the hill when I could make out a crossroad. I was sure that the turning led to Clacton. There was a signpost and I read it: CLACTON-ON-SEA 4 MILES. That was some walk. I went to light a cigarette but in the habit of bad luck my lighter had run out of juice and I had to go without. After some more walking I saw light spilling out onto the road. It was a phone box. Yes! and I moved towards it with vigour. Alas, each panel of glass was smashed and lying on the floor in the grass, and the phone was not working. I must walk home, I concluded. With damp spirits, I started home in a sad mood.
The country roads were dark and I still couldn’t see. Ow, my finger hurt something mad. Every ten minutes a car came along and blinded me with its lights so that I had to pause a bit and wait for my eyes to adjust back to the darkness. To avoid being hit on the narrow roads, I’d climb up onto the grass verge but it was uneven and I was drunk so I’d stumble and fall, dust myself off and carry on. Now I was becoming quite scared and all sorts of thoughts flashed through my mind. What if I were to see a figure walking towards me? What then? Would I dare ask it for a lighter before it lay into me with an axe and I was slain and nobody would find me? Don’t think such thoughts, Rhys! To quell the fear I sang Dylan who I’d been talking to Greg about earlier:

“I'm out here a thousand miles from my home,
Walkin' a road other men have gone down.
I'm seein' your world of people and things,
Your paupers and peasants and princes and kings.

Hey, hey Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song
'Bout a funny ol' world that's a-comin' along.
Seems sick an' it's hungry, it's tired an' it's torn,
It looks like it's a-dyin' an' it's hardly been born.

Hey, Woody Guthrie, but I know that you know
All the things that I'm a-sayin' an' a-many times more.
I'm a-singin' you the song, but I can't sing enough,
'Cause there's not many men that done the things that you've done.

Here's to Cisco an' Sonny an' Leadbelly too,
An' to all the good people that traveled with you.
Here's to the hearts and the hands of the men
That come with the dust and are gone with the wind.

I'm a-leaving' tomorrow, but I could leave today,
Somewhere down the road someday.
The very last thing that I'd want to do
Is to say I've been hittin' some hard travelin' too.”

A car came from behind and when it passed I saw that it was a taxi with its light on. I sighed and walked on. There was the odd house and the motion-detecting lights came on and the dogs barked so I hurried past. I walked for over an hour in the death black before I saw streetlights on the outskirts of Clacton lighting my path. I rejoiced. However for all my happiness I knew that there would be more people about now and I expected trouble. I walked through Great Holland then Great Clacton passing youths sitting on street benches at two o clock in the morning. What a thing to do, I thought. They offered no trouble and I skipped past. All the while I thought of my bed and how good it would feel.
I finally rounded the corner and saw my house. Calling out to the streets, empty and silent, pleasant and cool, “I am home! Haha! I’m finally home! What a night but now I am home!” I walked through the gates and took a box of matches onto the patio for a celebratory cigarette. Indeed I was broken but I was home.

Post script: I had not forgotten my phone on the train but had apparently not put it in my pocket after sending a text. Instead I just fell asleep with it on my seat, so someone relieved me of it while I slept and sent “really dodgy” texts to my friends the next day.

sun 600 lms

My Garden -- like the Beach --
Denotes there be -- a Sea --
That's Summer --
Such as These -- the Pearls
She fetches -- such as Me

I just found this the other day and thought it was really cute, so I decided I'd share it with you.



Me, age five.

http://www.flickr.com/people/euripidess/

1. The no color sky. The still tall buildings.
2. The book of Job and dreaming: cutting an avocado.
3. An avocado, unfolding.
3. The wind. The neon sign at the top of the street.
4. Sunday. Mothers at dinner and they're beautiful.
5. A feather in a jacket's stitching.
6. A feather on the back of a sweater.
7. Foods not okay to be seen eating alone: food on the bone.
8. The lights in Chinatown.
9. I was drunk and tired and spilling things. I leaned forward and spilled champagne on a woman's coat. He hid me in a hallway.
10. The snow in the evening. The empty avenue. To see the lights change at the same time.
11. Nobody told me.
12. The lanterns in the park. Empty.

------------------

1. Tiles where the train is.
2. People waiting. People leaning.
3. People sitting on a bench with their legs crossed the same way.
4. And on the train: the shoes of other people and new shoes.
5. A man sleeping in a woman's coat.
6. The cars in the morning. Their headlights.
7. Everyday, I like nice things.
8. In the basement: Plain 16oz hot cup.
9. The wooden escalator. The sound it makes.
10. A kid takes something sweet out of his bag. Bites it softly.
11. A woman sewing. Her threads on the floor.
12. A man's shirt: 16, 32-33.

--------------------


1. There are clouds. They are strange and small and close.
2. I'm eating chicken off the bone in my bedroom.
3. I'm picking at the scab at the back of my ankle.
4. I said if I didn't know by then I would kill myself.
5. I keep staring at the water boiling. The pot. Those white rings.
6. I went back outside. Everything was the same.
7. I like: the feel of my teeth, the dirty pillowcase.
8. Lipstick and I'm learning a lot.
9. A new thing: Hanging up my coat.
10. The vegetable shaving dried to the sink.
11. The men working. The building in the window.
12. My stomach. The wind and the building.

---------------------

I'm nervous and anxious and sleeping with the heat off again. It makes noises like something bad. Sometimes I stand at the window.

-------------------

(There's the port and the car door
and we sit. A foil corner, a bottle,
a jar, its mouth. Everything in the sun.)

-----------------

It's not magic: the snow turning into rain and then snow again.

 

Does anyone have any great ideas what to do with whole green mung beans that is NOT a soup and is NOT spicy? And by "not spicy", I don't mean "a little spicy", I mean not at all spicy - my spice tolerance is non-existent, unfortunately. Gingery is OK, but not anything with a lingering spice.

I picked some up impulsively and I don't know what to do with them, and while I can comb the web for recipes, I'd rather get some tried and true suggestions!

I just got a camera about 2 months ago and the film I got with it ended up being for some company. The border was atrocious. So I peeled it off and ended up feeling really cool until I broke out in hives from the emulsified silver. Had to throw all of the pictures away, but luckily the film I got was only, like, 8 sheets. I know better for next time.