Olympics are so corporate

Turns out the Olympics will be hosted in Beijing, China. Typical. After having them in Salt Lake, now we've got to re-emphasize how prosperous and intricately marketed our nation is by comparing it to a mud-watered, left-in-the-attic city that can't even take care of its own monuments. They say countries bid on where the Olympics will be held. So did Beijing offer all their factories that produce little doll hats, plastic dog squeaky toys and nail clippers or something? No, it's an international financial scam is what it is. And while it might boost China's economy with multitudes of tourists flocking to the stands selling silk shirts screaming "Welcome for Coming!" it sure doesn't help ME out. I just got a text from my bud Porter who's actually going to this stunt. And now I'M going to have to deal with the upgrade in caliber of his wardrobe when he gets back. Most definitely he'll be incorporating deck new apparel only found in China that no one else will have, nor even understand the ironic Chinese writings. So I'm currently planning my week-long trip to Denmark using my mom's paycheck in order to counter this dilemma. Danish is so in.

So why are the Olympics still going on anyway? Half the world sitting around the tube watching others physically compete with one another? No thanks. There're too many independent films out there I haven't seen yet. Don't waste my time with guys sweating it out and blindly chanting their appropriate country's anthems. Who cares! I couldn't imagine being as big as them either. It's morbid. No, it's programmed self-sacrifice. If I ever go over my 2% body fat I don't know what I'll do with all these jeans (I nabbed in Vice magazine that American Apparel was having a sale and I bought seven pairs).

We were gonna go for a town bike ride yesterday, but half of us couldn't get our rusted chains on our circa '79 fixed gears to work and no one had cash to buy a pump nor some WD-40, so we went back to Michell's. Some cheese puffs and two six packs of Blue Ribbon later, we're playing Rock Band. I did it for like 3 minutes, but got effing tired of it. Nothing but fan-fare, commercialized rock anyway. So I went to the basement and played the same 3 chords I know on my electric guitar without an amp for the next hour 45 minutes. I'd start a band, but I haven't met anyone with the same vision, and I don't want to get out of my element. When no one came down I decided to go back up. They wanted to watch something, and last week I bought "Wrist Cutters" on Ebay, and even though no one had seen it, they had all heard of it, so I was over it and sold it and bought "Caramel" instead. Sweet-ass Arabic subtitled film about affairs and lost love. No one's even heard of it.

This girl's eyeing me, so I'm probably gonna make out with her. She's got these super, thick-rimmed glasses that are sorta, like, covered by her leveled bangs. I'll probably tell everyone about what we did tomorrow at the show, but I might be too hung over to even remember. Anarchy.

Not really my thing, but whatever.

I was reading through a EuroPop Mag that's soooo underground, and happened to come across this diamond in the rough. I don't agree, technically, with everything Sebastian says, but he's pretty funny. Obviously his humor reeks of popular sarcasm and recycled wit. Probably the kind of guy that ejaculates his ideas through crude, self-restrained drawings. That all aside, it's humorous notwithstanding. I'd even find myself enjoying this guy's company, most likely, if I didn't loathe his brashness so much. Click on it to get the better view to read it.

Blogging isn't deck

My therapist (I don't really need one, I just set appointments with him to let my mind breathe some air) told me that starting a blog could be just as salubrious as our sessions. I don't know if I fully believe it, but I deeply revere the man so I'm going to trust his words. I don't really fancy the idea of blogging. Too many people do it, first off. And I really don't like discussing my life. But maybe this friendly self-banter in reality is what I thrive on. What others might or might not think of me could be the whole reason I am who I am. Anyway, like it really matters…

I don't know if I'm going to stick with my Facebook account. It's becoming so corporate. It's just, so many souls looking for something, keep finding themselves getting lost in it, and it's making me feel like a conformist (and dare I say addict?) to world wide web writing now. I mean, I already have, like, over 400 friends on there, and it's getting to the point where I'm full on ignoring requests. But I don't know. Maybe I'll just delete all my profile information and only leave one photo of me on there, as to keep the spirit of aloofness and detached mystery . Obviously Myspace is out of the question, you know? I mean, come on, it's had its time. Nothing but a whore pit and a slut lounge now. I use to dig up all my music through that. But now when I check up on the artists, I see they have entire throngs listening to them now, so I stopped liking those bands and started surfing on third name record labels. It's just there's sooooo much out there untapped, you know? Once you open your eyes to vinyl, new doors open. Sometimes I'll just sit and vibe out and just…. exist. Nothing sounds as REAL as music cut straight into the heart of a vinyl. And I'm so sick of the indie scene. So many venues now where a minute percentage of people might actually KNOW something about the band. A friend through a friend through a friend, you know? That's fine though, I've got my Zune. I had an iPod, but hell, everyone does. I'm not saying I traded it just because of that. It's just the buttons on a Zune are nicer and it's just seriously better. No joke.

Yesterday I was talking with my friends about bands you probably wouldn't know and we had just got a small bite to eat at Daniel's Organic Bar, and Robyn's going off on current events and shit, when I started thinking about just how much a spiritual journey we're all on. And it's good to have friends though it all, even though we don't ever really HAVE friends, just others we find on the path. And as I walked and thought about just being, I was so euphoric knowing they were thinking the same thing. But then I spilled some of my sprout and tomato sandwich on my shirt, right on the v-neck, and got the necklace I took from my grandpa's World War II military chest stained as well. The shirt was from some thrift store years back, or maybe it was like from my uncle's high school reunion, I don't remember (that's pretty much the history of all my clothes) but I got super pissed. I would've still been pissed, but this one girl I recognized from my friend's Flickr account was walking towards us. In reality, I didn't care to talk to her, cause I'm in a complicated relationship, but then I saw she had a pierced nose and she WAS uber-fashionable, so I nodded to her and she half-smiled. Turns out she wants to be a clothing designer. I've been monitoring her blog since, and she's got some stellar ideas. I have some too, but I'm seriously too busy working on some paintings and a book I plan on writing when I have more money. So little time, right? I'm just glad she came up and talked to me. She even had an iced vanilla chai tea (no worries, it wasn't Starbucks). I was slightly dazed, though, because when I'm with my crew, I worry sometimes. It's not like we're intimidating, but we probably are, a little. I see how some cats try and join our group, but seriously, since when can anyone just JOIN in, am I right? I don't ostracize, but just because I said I liked your head band doesn't mean you can just take a sip out of the Nantucket Nectars Organic Juice in my hand. And I hate it when I hear some say, "I'm with this group." We're not an effing "group".

My friend Dan bought some $100.00 Puma sneaks the other night. I let him know he's becoming a freaking conformist. I have these tennis hops I got off Rusty Zipper.com, man. No one recognizes them. Probably only exist in Sweden. I still only wear them once a week though. It's summer so I try and be barefoot as much as possible. Chelsea told me when I'm barefoot in my skinny jeans I look like Tunde Adebimpe (TVOTR [TV on the Radio] lead singer). I haven't listened to them like in a month because I've been getting new stuff, stuff you wouldn't know, but I enjoyed hearing that. Anyway, I have to part. It's been over a week, and I need to take some new Facebook profile shots, and they've got a new load of records that came in downtown (can't tell you the name of the place) and I need something new for my circa '59 record player I took from my grandmother. Maybe I'll write again, maybe not. I might have too many art projects to work on.