A Rad Birthday Gift

Guess what? It was my birthday a few days ago. I turned 25. What’s up with that?

Anyway, I cohost a podcast called MASH the 90s with a gentleman named Eric Johnson. If you haven’t already checked it out, you probably should do that. I’ll just leave this here…

TOTALLY NOT A LINK TO THE ITUNES PAGE OF MASH THE 90S

What does any of this have to do with anything? Well, as I ventured into my mailroom last night, I noticed a package just chilling out above my mailbox. As I got closer, I was shocked to discover that it was addressed to me! Ok, so you probably already figured that part out. But! Did you also already figure out that Eric Johnson was the one who sent it?

…you did? Well, I didn’t at the time, ok? Good Lord, I’m 25. Give me a break. We old folk are surprised by each damn sunrise.

I opened the package and to my complete surprise, did not find anything remotely sexual. This is, after all, Eric Johnson we’re talking about here. Not an episode of MASH goes by in which he doesn’t spit out a double entendre. Instead, I found all of THIS.

A bunch of awesome 90s/kids/nerd stuff! Was there a Fruit By The Foot and two more bags of Super Mario Bros. fruit snacks? Yes. They are gone now. I’m not going to pretend that I immediately opened the, ahem, Gak and played with it after the picture. I’m not going to pretend I did that because that’s exactly what I did. I will, however, pretend that I opened the cap gun and fired a few rounds because I’m not entirely convinced that there aren’t drug dealers in my building. And if growing up in a small town has taught me anything, it’s that drug dealers are armed to the teeth with guns, switchblades, and nicknames like Pony Boy and Soda Pop.

The best part, besides the note (“Stephi B” is Eric’s boo),  is the, ahem, Gak I mentioned before. Let’s get a close up on it,  shall we?

That, folks, is a genuine article if I’ve ever seen one. Hilarious. 

Thanks again to everyone who sent Birthday wishes my way. I appreciate them very much. And a rad thank you to Eric and Stephani for the awesome grab bag. Eric, I guess one of these days we’ll have to meet in person. Although our streak is getting to be impressive in a ridiculous way…

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…still here? Are you waiting for a heart-felt, life-affirming moral to this post like in a bunch of others? Not this time.

I just really like fake Gak.

Tags: 90s, birthday, cap guns, Gak, mash the 90s, Nickelodeon

Insomnia and Straight Lines

It’s 4:05am. I can’t sleep. At all. And it’s not one of those fleeting periods of restless pre-sleep either. It’s one of the all-consuming blankets of restlessness that increases the more it goes on. You probably already know this, but if you can’t sleep, try not to think about it. When you do, it only compounds the problem. I think I’ve been thinking about it way too much. What only adds to the fun is that I have to “get up” in 55 minutes which in this case means “stay up and start doing some shit.”

Whenever this happens, my mind immediately shoots back to one very specific instance of temporary insomnia. I don’t know the exact date, but I do know that it was the day before the final day of summer break before my senior year at St. Thomas. You might not know it from my attitude toward school (a strange mix of shrugs and fist pumps) but I always got incredibly nervous before each semester began. Once you find your footing in college, every semester feels a lot like the last except usually it’s more awesome because you’re taking classes you want to be in instead of sitting in Theology 101 on a frigid December morning in an Aquinas Hall room that has no business being as ridiculously hot as it is. By that account, I should’ve been just excited by the prospect of kicking off my senior year. Awesome classes, two on-campus jobs that I really enjoyed, living in a house with some great dudes– these were just a few of things that I was looking forward to.

For whatever reason, however, all of that didn’t make a damn bit of difference as I tossed and turned in my bed for hours on end on that September morning.

Maybe it was the new mattress that I hadn’t broken in yet (a point that I made clear to my parents. yes, I am a bitchy and entitled teenager at times). Maybe it was the humidity that had gone a little over-board on its daily transformation of my basement into a rainforest. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Actually, it was definitely a combination of the two. But more than just those little annoyances, it was the fact that I was completely terrified of starting my senior year and thoughts of everything that the milestone would hold were bombarding my brain like mental atomic bombs. So, after hours of sleepless freak-out time, I got up, grabbed my computer, and went outside to sit on my deck. It was 5:30am.

We didn’t have internet at our house yet, so my options were fairly limited. And by “limited” I mean “narrowed down to listening to music and only listening to music.” I definitely wasn’t in the mood for any metal, so I flipped through my iTunes library and bounced from song to song for a while, just kind of staring at trees and the sky and other stuff people stare at when they’re simultaneously scared and in deep thought. Then, I came across the song “Straight Lines” by Silverchair.

If there was a more perfect song for that particular moment, I didn’t find it that morning. It wasn’t the first time I had heard it, but for whatever reason, the song resonated with more in a way that almost hasn’t been duplicated since. It connected with me so much that I proceeded to put it on repeat and sit on that deck for over two and a half hours doing nothing.

I’m not going to pretend that I had some incredible epiphany that morning and that everything about the coming year made sense after listening to “Straight Lines” over and over again. I didn’t. But I can say that it was one hell of a feeling to to completely focus on one thing. To be up before the neighborhood was buzzing. To not even have the opportunity to be distracted by anything else. To think through every nervous thought that flew into my head and come out a hell of a lot more calm on the other side. In the grand scheme of things, that morning doesn’t mean much. But it’s one that I’ll never forget.

And right now, at almost 5am almost four years later, I’m listening to “Straight Lines” over and over again doing the same thing. There’s no deck or crazy humidity and I’ve come to terms with my current mattress, but that familiar bombardment of nervous thought is here. I don’t think there’s going to be an epiphany this morning either. But I’m already starting to feel more calm.

“Lately I’m a desperate believer, but walking in a straight line.”

Funny how that works.

What I Would Be If Fictional Worlds Were Real

Day dreams! We all have them. Some more than others. I fall into that category. I’m a dangerously creative person when I focus it down to a laser beam but most times it’s just a flood of unbridled imagination juice. You know the chocolate that’s like 99% cocoa and you think, “Well, that must be delicious” but then it turns out to be the single-most bitter and hard-to-choke-down substance you’ve ever encountered? 

Yeah. It’s like that.

Aaaaaanyway, I was just checking out some reviews of the Hunger Games and got to thinking, what would I be if these fictional worlds were real? Hmmmm…

Harry Potter

Well, statistically speaking I’d probably be a muggle (there are more muggles than wizards, right?), but for the sake of interest, I’ll go with wizard. There’s little chance of me being in any house except for Slytherin thanks to my darkened heart (oh don’t be so shocked) but becoming a Death Eater is out of the question. I’m too chicken for that cultish lifestyle. So I’d probably just make fun of Snape in an attempt to be a kool kid but secretly gush about how much of an badass he is in my journal every night. 

Also, I’d steal a Death Eater mask because I’m a sucker for that kind of thing. And my patronus would be an armadillo.

The Hunger Games

Again, statistically speaking I’d most likely just be some dude who makes bread or works in a mine. Boring. We’ll go with a tribute instead. Depending on my partner’s musical interests, I’d either secretly plot to kill him or her literally right out of the gate or secretly plot to kill him or her by some suspenseful berry-related shenanigans. There’s a good chance that I’d fall in love with a rival tribute and sparks would fly… until she tried to kill me in my sleep, causing my view of love to be horribly distorted and disillusioned. This would lead to the aforementioned berry-related shenanigans.

After a few glowing moments in the games, I’d trip over myself and land on the only sharp rock in the arena. The end.

Twilight

I’d be shiny and completely confused as a result.

Hey Negative Nancy, Cheer Up

I’m kind of a cynical rain cloud sometimes. And by sometimes I mean “a shocking amount of the time.” This is kind of problem, no? I mean sure, you could spend your entire day focusing on everything that’s not going as planned or every little fault you think you have, but this only accomplishes two things-

1. You piss yourself off.
2. You piss off everyone around you.

This, my friends, is something I’ve been guilty of far too many times. Everyone is going about their day, pushing hoops with sticks and licking ice cream cones and junk, and then I come along and totally poop on the hoop-pushin’ and cone-lickin’ good time. 

“Dick move, bro.”

Dick move, bro indeed, fictional friend. It’s stupid. It’s whiny. It’s no fun.

But look, this isn’t some overly-feel-good, Joel Osteen “Just take your life and live,” post. God knows I can’t pull that off. What it is, however, is just a simple reminder to myself and anyone who maybe has had a few too many bad days in the recent past to to keep your chin up. The chances that you have a group of people willing to cross an ocean for you are pretty solid. Focus on that. The chances that if you take a second and look around, really look around, you’ll rediscover just how unbelievably cool our planet is are pretty solid. Focus on that. Listen to a song you love. Write. Play. Create. Eat a banana. Look directly into the sun just long enough to realize that it’s a horrible idea and be proud that you learned something. 

So remember, every day can’t be terrible. In fact, most aren’t. And if this still hasn’t made an impact on you, just take a look at a sun giving a thumbs up. That dude is on fire constantly and still manages to be happy and chill in some clouds like a boss. I think we can all learn something from that.

And The Award For Simple, Badass Album Art Goes To…

 

Flaunt your InDesign and Photoshop skills.

I’ll be impressed.

Create something like this Greek Fire cover.

I’ll fall in love.

An Epiphany

So, there I was. Just sitting, eating some ‘ghetti and flipping through the documentaries on Netflix. I came across one called “The Science of Sex Appeal.”

“Interesting,” I thought. “If I watch this, will I find out why I’m single?”

There was a brief pause.

Then, I laughed. Out loud. I LOLed.

Sometimes, the answer you’re looking for is right there in the question.

 

Shred Potpourri: Snow Dreams and Volunteer Solicitors

“Shred Potpourri” is what happens when one Mr. Alexander Jon Skjong does not or cannot form a cohesive thought. Instead‚ random pieces of jumbled ideas fire out of his head like some sort of mental… thought… machine… gun.

I thought of snow today. And I was excited. Which, as ridiculous it might seem, really isn’t that unusual. The temperature is finally dropping and we’re entering into the yearly blitz of holidays. So yes– I’m excited about Thanksgiving already and even am starting to get a little bit pumped for Christmas (as opposed to last year, when I barely could muster enthusiasm for either). And what do those holidays bring alongside the seven extra pounds of body weight and the crushing emotional black hole that inevitably swallows your heart when they end? Snow. Lots and lots of snow. And snow is awesome. For about two months. After that it just becomes astoundingly annoying and inhibiting. But it’s super duper happy time magical during the Christmas season. So bring it on, Mother Nature.

Hey volunteer dude attempting to get my money to help the environment or children’s hospital or some strange hybrid of both (perhaps a recovery greenhouse for young flora)– there’s about a 300% chance that I am about 400% less likely to give you my money while you’re spinning your binder on your finger. Also, when I politely turn down your offer to chat and you respond with, “Uh, sweet. But I wasn’t talking to you, bro.” there’s a 6 billion percent chance that the original figures of 300% and 400% triple. At least. 

If you want anybody to give you money for a cause, not being a complete tool is usually a good start. Bro.

Cancel whatever plans you have for the next 12 minutes and listen to this. You’ll thank me 25 plays from now when you can finally grasp the song structure.

I just read that a 16-year-old girl won a LPGA tour event. Remember that awesome thing I did when I was 16? Neither do I. Kids these days.

Hey! Listen! Look over there on the right side of the screen! See those pretty pictures? That’s a new little thing I’ve added. “Big deal,” you think to yourself as you swirl your snifter of brandy and adjust your monocle. “I’ve seen so called ‘pictures’ before.” Well excuse me, Fancy Francis. There’s a name for people like you and it’s “Fictional Personifications of Snobbishness.” In any case, go ahead and check out the photos when you stop by for a visit.

Until the next time…

s/a