Dilemmatime.
So, I'm sitting here on a comfortable queensize bed in a lofty 5th floor hotel room fit for a King Mikie, sprawled out with socks off in all my purpletoes glory - after 6 hours of flying, 9 hours of driving 5 hours of walking and 2 hours of sleeping over the past 1 1/2 days, in New York (a 3 hour time differnce) relaxed for once when I get a call that a few of my friends are 40
blocks away in this town from back home and I need I hop on the subway and ride the half hour trip to come have a drink. I have to wake up early tomorrow. And I'm stuck not sure what to do. I'm tired
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Storylike Fantasy Blog
For the last few days, I have found myself in scenarios where I will come up with some really profound idea that I want to write down - and I'll be driving so I can't. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to write something down while driving, but its virtually impossible. Your handwriting is sub-standard the quality of a three-year-old, and the thoughts have to be arranged between frenetic braking and swerving. So what pretty much happens is, I don't write the idea down.
Although sometimes I do, and gladly so.
How many times have you had an earth-shattering premonition, or hummed a virally catchy tune that you improvised, and wished you had some way of recording or writing down in the moment so you could remember forever? It happens to me quite frequently, actually. Say, for instance, I'm walking downtown any downtown I'm in and looking up at the trees or across the street at total strangers. I'll have a thought about the color of their shirts or the function of leaves on a tree, then that thought will take me to another thought, and another until finally I'm in another land filling me with wonder of the things I've never learned about before. Then with my fresh perspective and experience-laden youth I am free to dream up a solution to timeless problems that no man nor woman has summoned, so with brilliance lighting my eyes I think, "this is it! I could really expand on this! I have found the clue, the cure for all the pestilence riddling mankind- this is the savior of ideas!!" Excitedly I'll walk along, riding the wave of enthusiasm, smiling smugly at the strangers, knowing that I know, and someday they too will know of my genius, so close, yet so far away, and they'll cry with their arms outspread, "Thank you! Thank you for saving us! You've brought light where once was darkness! Now we are free and can live alongside mankind and nature alike in harmony!"
Then within minutes I'm distracted by a crosswalk and the rims on a fancy vehicle stopped behind the white lines. So our minds move on to all the rest of petty daily life, forgetting these lost moments of heightened revelation.
Don't you just wish that in these moments we could stop time and write a whole book of thoughts for others to think too? The book would include the entire thought process, from what triggered each question to the final and total conclusive realization that each of us have, for each conclusion we come upon each day in our minds. Then everybody could have a chance to understand where we're coming from, and maybe where we should go. I wish there was a device that could transcribe thoughts into words and words onto paper without language to catch us inbetween.
Alright, enough of this crap I should probably go to work. Or on a bike ride. And realize the meaning of Life all over again.
Peace.
Although sometimes I do, and gladly so.
How many times have you had an earth-shattering premonition, or hummed a virally catchy tune that you improvised, and wished you had some way of recording or writing down in the moment so you could remember forever? It happens to me quite frequently, actually. Say, for instance, I'm walking downtown any downtown I'm in and looking up at the trees or across the street at total strangers. I'll have a thought about the color of their shirts or the function of leaves on a tree, then that thought will take me to another thought, and another until finally I'm in another land filling me with wonder of the things I've never learned about before. Then with my fresh perspective and experience-laden youth I am free to dream up a solution to timeless problems that no man nor woman has summoned, so with brilliance lighting my eyes I think, "this is it! I could really expand on this! I have found the clue, the cure for all the pestilence riddling mankind- this is the savior of ideas!!" Excitedly I'll walk along, riding the wave of enthusiasm, smiling smugly at the strangers, knowing that I know, and someday they too will know of my genius, so close, yet so far away, and they'll cry with their arms outspread, "Thank you! Thank you for saving us! You've brought light where once was darkness! Now we are free and can live alongside mankind and nature alike in harmony!"
Then within minutes I'm distracted by a crosswalk and the rims on a fancy vehicle stopped behind the white lines. So our minds move on to all the rest of petty daily life, forgetting these lost moments of heightened revelation.
Don't you just wish that in these moments we could stop time and write a whole book of thoughts for others to think too? The book would include the entire thought process, from what triggered each question to the final and total conclusive realization that each of us have, for each conclusion we come upon each day in our minds. Then everybody could have a chance to understand where we're coming from, and maybe where we should go. I wish there was a device that could transcribe thoughts into words and words onto paper without language to catch us inbetween.
Alright, enough of this crap I should probably go to work. Or on a bike ride. And realize the meaning of Life all over again.
Peace.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Five Facts
There may be them who's skeptical,
but rely on my words
I have several facts to tell
in no order of their worth:
Number One, I love my life
and Two, I'm very happy.
The Third discloses hidden truth
saying: I admire Santa Cruz.
(There's something reckless in the woods
here, something 'neath the tracks
behind the breathless sunset skies,
around downtown souvenir shops
that keeps me, angry, wanting more,
that never shuts me up.)
A Fourth fact lying more obscure
within my psychic state
declares that there is no man, woman, child
whom I hate. But also
more importantly, is larger
Number Five, I see in everyone
A power more than any God,
I see the great ability
to think, create and love.
There is no face that can avoid
the Human in us all
heroes cloaked in business suits,
heroines in their blush masks
crooked hats on shaved hair
hiding passion, pain, despair
I see mothers loving daughters
I see fathers loving mothers.
Every person is the God we worship
every one is great.
That's why I sometimes want to buck
society's occasion,
which places us all categorized
in an infallible invasion.
I am not privy to their games
no contract did I sign,
though I see value in arranging
people in a line.
(I always find myself stuck
between a rock and that Hard Place
that draws me closer telling me
there is no other choice.)
At least, despite the answer which
seems still has not been found,
There are Five Facts I can remember
when I'm feeling down:
I am in love with everything,
I am in love with you,
I love my life, I'm happy
and I do love Santa Cruz.
I love everybody out there,
Everyone is God.
Forgive me if I sometimes preach
things I know little of
We all stick to our guns anyway,
when all you need is Love.
but rely on my words
I have several facts to tell
in no order of their worth:
Number One, I love my life
and Two, I'm very happy.
The Third discloses hidden truth
saying: I admire Santa Cruz.
(There's something reckless in the woods
here, something 'neath the tracks
behind the breathless sunset skies,
around downtown souvenir shops
that keeps me, angry, wanting more,
that never shuts me up.)
A Fourth fact lying more obscure
within my psychic state
declares that there is no man, woman, child
whom I hate. But also
more importantly, is larger
Number Five, I see in everyone
A power more than any God,
I see the great ability
to think, create and love.
There is no face that can avoid
the Human in us all
heroes cloaked in business suits,
heroines in their blush masks
crooked hats on shaved hair
hiding passion, pain, despair
I see mothers loving daughters
I see fathers loving mothers.
Every person is the God we worship
every one is great.
That's why I sometimes want to buck
society's occasion,
which places us all categorized
in an infallible invasion.
I am not privy to their games
no contract did I sign,
though I see value in arranging
people in a line.
(I always find myself stuck
between a rock and that Hard Place
that draws me closer telling me
there is no other choice.)
At least, despite the answer which
seems still has not been found,
There are Five Facts I can remember
when I'm feeling down:
I am in love with everything,
I am in love with you,
I love my life, I'm happy
and I do love Santa Cruz.
I love everybody out there,
Everyone is God.
Forgive me if I sometimes preach
things I know little of
We all stick to our guns anyway,
when all you need is Love.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Maiden of Youth
The nice thing about being raised in the generation that I have been is that if I ever get sick of the music that's coming out, I can reach back to a whole load of oldies that I've haven't heard before. And for me, those oldies include Classic Rock.
Lately, I've discovered some local radio stations that play Classic Rock. My purpose here is to divulge to you why this particular style of music strikes such a nostalgic chord in me, why I can't seem to get enough of Van Halen, Bryan Adams, Guns N' Roses, Journey, the Scorpions, Iron Maiden, you name it. The reason why I love dual-guitars screaming shredded riffs against high-pitched melodic wailings and heavy drum beats comes from two parts of my childhood: Nintendo and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.
If you look back through most Nintendo games that were good, the music is an integral part of the experience. You're clicking and bonking around on the screen, but with synthesized guitars and flat bass drums bonking around with you. No Battletoads level would be the same if you were bonking and kicking in silence, in those 4-bit frog tunnels. No, you needed synthetic guitars and weird baselines to serenade you.
I credit Nintendo, but I think the evolution of classic rock in video games really reached its crescendo with Doom. Now I know you know what Doom is. And if you don't, it's easy to describe: imagine futurisitc military bases filled with snarling hairy scaly monsters drooling and howling in the darkness, while you're fitted with an arsenal of guns bigger than your arm ready to blow the creatures to smithereens. All this to the tune of... well, have you ever listened to Iron Maiden? Yes? If so, take out the words, and you've got Doom. I didn't exactly make this connection until late into my early twenties. It happened one day when I was re-watching both Bill and Ted movies, after a several-year hiatus. Somewhere in the middle of Bogus Journey, I realized that I had heard the words "Iron Maiden" and "ACDC" hundreds of time in my youth, played air guitar with abandon, and I had no idea what these bands sounded like. So at 23 years old, in the early 2000's, I researched Iron Maiden on a music downloading service. The song that had the most hits was "The Trooper," so I downloaded and played it back through my computer speakers. Instantly I was blown back to Base 1: Level 1 with rocket launcher in hand, swaying back and forth as I ran through military bunkers. I loved it! I'd come across an entire genre of music that brings back those synthesized, repetitive guitar riffs from my video games and puts them to life! It was like someone was covering my favorite music, but better!
I was taken aback. How could I have missed this?
It took a little while to understand. It's not that I had never heard these guys before, but rather that I had never listened to them before. I had never put on one of their albums, and listened to their music. Like so much of the information we process inadvertently every day, I had been indirectly exposed to music from bands like Iron Maiden since a very young age. My parents certainly never popped in old Guns N' Roses albums or sang Journey lyrics during my upbringing, but rather it was from the windows of other cars, radio songs at school dances, soundtracks to movies, stereos of brothers and sisters, friends, even cartoons and video games that gave me all the classic rock experiences that I didn't know I had had. So now I'm in my mid-twenties, listening to music I never actually listened to as a kid, feeling more at home in my skin than if I put on some mellow Iron and Wine or bumped to Flo Rida. You know? It's almost like this indirect exposure has had more impact on my subconscious than the influences I directly focus on and listen to... I mean, why when I hear Journey songs do I feel like I've been listening to them all my life when I didn't even know who Journey was until my second-to-last year of college?
So now I'm on Pandora. Rocking to "Emotion" by Aerosmith. I might be the only person my age who rocks out so viciously to this stuff, but you know it's in you too - that desire to let it all go and revisit every nuance of your childhood dreams. If you can find it in a type of music, what better way to spend a Saturday morning than by listening with pleasure while you clean the kitchen and get ready for another day.
Peace
Mikie
Lately, I've discovered some local radio stations that play Classic Rock. My purpose here is to divulge to you why this particular style of music strikes such a nostalgic chord in me, why I can't seem to get enough of Van Halen, Bryan Adams, Guns N' Roses, Journey, the Scorpions, Iron Maiden, you name it. The reason why I love dual-guitars screaming shredded riffs against high-pitched melodic wailings and heavy drum beats comes from two parts of my childhood: Nintendo and Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.
If you look back through most Nintendo games that were good, the music is an integral part of the experience. You're clicking and bonking around on the screen, but with synthesized guitars and flat bass drums bonking around with you. No Battletoads level would be the same if you were bonking and kicking in silence, in those 4-bit frog tunnels. No, you needed synthetic guitars and weird baselines to serenade you.
I credit Nintendo, but I think the evolution of classic rock in video games really reached its crescendo with Doom. Now I know you know what Doom is. And if you don't, it's easy to describe: imagine futurisitc military bases filled with snarling hairy scaly monsters drooling and howling in the darkness, while you're fitted with an arsenal of guns bigger than your arm ready to blow the creatures to smithereens. All this to the tune of... well, have you ever listened to Iron Maiden? Yes? If so, take out the words, and you've got Doom. I didn't exactly make this connection until late into my early twenties. It happened one day when I was re-watching both Bill and Ted movies, after a several-year hiatus. Somewhere in the middle of Bogus Journey, I realized that I had heard the words "Iron Maiden" and "ACDC" hundreds of time in my youth, played air guitar with abandon, and I had no idea what these bands sounded like. So at 23 years old, in the early 2000's, I researched Iron Maiden on a music downloading service. The song that had the most hits was "The Trooper," so I downloaded and played it back through my computer speakers. Instantly I was blown back to Base 1: Level 1 with rocket launcher in hand, swaying back and forth as I ran through military bunkers. I loved it! I'd come across an entire genre of music that brings back those synthesized, repetitive guitar riffs from my video games and puts them to life! It was like someone was covering my favorite music, but better!
I was taken aback. How could I have missed this?
It took a little while to understand. It's not that I had never heard these guys before, but rather that I had never listened to them before. I had never put on one of their albums, and listened to their music. Like so much of the information we process inadvertently every day, I had been indirectly exposed to music from bands like Iron Maiden since a very young age. My parents certainly never popped in old Guns N' Roses albums or sang Journey lyrics during my upbringing, but rather it was from the windows of other cars, radio songs at school dances, soundtracks to movies, stereos of brothers and sisters, friends, even cartoons and video games that gave me all the classic rock experiences that I didn't know I had had. So now I'm in my mid-twenties, listening to music I never actually listened to as a kid, feeling more at home in my skin than if I put on some mellow Iron and Wine or bumped to Flo Rida. You know? It's almost like this indirect exposure has had more impact on my subconscious than the influences I directly focus on and listen to... I mean, why when I hear Journey songs do I feel like I've been listening to them all my life when I didn't even know who Journey was until my second-to-last year of college?
So now I'm on Pandora. Rocking to "Emotion" by Aerosmith. I might be the only person my age who rocks out so viciously to this stuff, but you know it's in you too - that desire to let it all go and revisit every nuance of your childhood dreams. If you can find it in a type of music, what better way to spend a Saturday morning than by listening with pleasure while you clean the kitchen and get ready for another day.
Peace
Mikie
Dudebras
What's the difference between now and 5 minutes ago?
5 minutes ago there weren't three chocolate chip cookies in my stomach.
All About Dudebras: A Bro-ography
by Mikie Beatty
Dudebras can range from shaggy blond-haired wannabes to heavy buzz-cut button-up hip-hoppers.
Dudebras live in the rural vicinity of mid to northern California. You will not find the Dudebra outside of this region. Not even LA. Dudebras reign supreme between the coastal regions of San Luis Obispo and Half Moon Bay. The epicenter of Dudebradom is a place called Santa Cruz.
Before going outside, Dudebras will study hat placement.
Meticulously, the hat will be lowered, tilted and leveled with the bill matching the horizon line perfectly, resting just above the eyes.
Dudebras are locals, but also may be from out of town only if they reign from the "East Coast".
Dudebras have girlfriends, but lie to them in order to sleep with other Dudebras' girlfriends.
Dudebras practice incest amongst friends. If one Dudebra has finished doing his chick, another Dudebra is expected to get his game on, on the finished female. If he does not succeed, an outside Dudebra will swoop if there is too much downtime (ie. if the female does not have sex for more than 24 hours).
Dudebras don't speak, they chortle. You can recognize the resonating chortles of a Dudebra from outside of any bar or alcoholic gathering place on a given Thursday night.
Dudebras seek doing nothing to make money. The average Dudebra is "loaded", meaning his income exceeds his expenditures on a yearly basis greatly. This is usually due to fortunate circumstances because of a deceased Father, a hard-working grandfather who's ethics disappeared with the Dudebra's father, or a lucky friend who pyramid-schemed the Dudebra into joining. Dudebra's will refuse to work, but be pissed! if they don't have money to spend.
Dudebras are fat. No Dudebra will ever be asked if he was "gay or straight?" because of his looks. In order to prove to all ladies that he is not gay, the Dudebra will be fatter than average. You might look at the Dudebra and think he is buff or beefy or built or ripped - but you will secretly know that what you' are saying is that he is fat and you just don't mind. Admit it.
Dudebras have facial hair.
I have pubic hair.
Dudebras have facial hair.
Dudebras say phrases like, "if you have a boyfriend, why isn't he here?" Dudebras don't know any other subjects besides girls, and so their sources for conversation topics are limited to "...well where is your boyfriend now" etc. Dudebras think global warming is for geeks. A Dudebra knows that the beach is for "surfing and walk my dog". And a forest is for Trees.
Dudebras have dogs. A Dudebra would never have a cat because chicks have cats. Dudebras have pit-mix dogs. These are called bra-dogs. If you see a pit-mix playing and looking cute, it is because a Dudebra is in the nearby vicinity.
Dudebras will hit on your girlfriend when you are not around. This is not a warning, it is a statement; be aware of if you are planning a visit to Northern California. Or your girlfriend is.
Dudebras don't have guns. They've never touched a gun. But they can talk about guns, and talk about rap music about guns. But Dudebras will not have guns. Dudebras might have knives, but only pocket ones.
Dudebras just got out of a long-term relationship and so are just looking to "f*ck around" with chicks. At a bar, 96% of dudebras just want to "f*ck around" with chicks, 2% want to "get with" chicks, 1% is looking for true love, .75% are too drunk to look for chicks, and .25% will end up gay by the end of the night.
That's all I have for now.
Goodnight
5 minutes ago there weren't three chocolate chip cookies in my stomach.
All About Dudebras: A Bro-ography
by Mikie Beatty
Dudebras can range from shaggy blond-haired wannabes to heavy buzz-cut button-up hip-hoppers.
Dudebras live in the rural vicinity of mid to northern California. You will not find the Dudebra outside of this region. Not even LA. Dudebras reign supreme between the coastal regions of San Luis Obispo and Half Moon Bay. The epicenter of Dudebradom is a place called Santa Cruz.
Before going outside, Dudebras will study hat placement.
Meticulously, the hat will be lowered, tilted and leveled with the bill matching the horizon line perfectly, resting just above the eyes.
Dudebras are locals, but also may be from out of town only if they reign from the "East Coast".
Dudebras have girlfriends, but lie to them in order to sleep with other Dudebras' girlfriends.
Dudebras practice incest amongst friends. If one Dudebra has finished doing his chick, another Dudebra is expected to get his game on, on the finished female. If he does not succeed, an outside Dudebra will swoop if there is too much downtime (ie. if the female does not have sex for more than 24 hours).
Dudebras don't speak, they chortle. You can recognize the resonating chortles of a Dudebra from outside of any bar or alcoholic gathering place on a given Thursday night.
Dudebras seek doing nothing to make money. The average Dudebra is "loaded", meaning his income exceeds his expenditures on a yearly basis greatly. This is usually due to fortunate circumstances because of a deceased Father, a hard-working grandfather who's ethics disappeared with the Dudebra's father, or a lucky friend who pyramid-schemed the Dudebra into joining. Dudebra's will refuse to work, but be pissed! if they don't have money to spend.
Dudebras are fat. No Dudebra will ever be asked if he was "gay or straight?" because of his looks. In order to prove to all ladies that he is not gay, the Dudebra will be fatter than average. You might look at the Dudebra and think he is buff or beefy or built or ripped - but you will secretly know that what you' are saying is that he is fat and you just don't mind. Admit it.
Dudebras have facial hair.
I have pubic hair.
Dudebras have facial hair.
Dudebras say phrases like, "if you have a boyfriend, why isn't he here?" Dudebras don't know any other subjects besides girls, and so their sources for conversation topics are limited to "...well where is your boyfriend now" etc. Dudebras think global warming is for geeks. A Dudebra knows that the beach is for "surfing and walk my dog". And a forest is for Trees.
Dudebras have dogs. A Dudebra would never have a cat because chicks have cats. Dudebras have pit-mix dogs. These are called bra-dogs. If you see a pit-mix playing and looking cute, it is because a Dudebra is in the nearby vicinity.
Dudebras will hit on your girlfriend when you are not around. This is not a warning, it is a statement; be aware of if you are planning a visit to Northern California. Or your girlfriend is.
Dudebras don't have guns. They've never touched a gun. But they can talk about guns, and talk about rap music about guns. But Dudebras will not have guns. Dudebras might have knives, but only pocket ones.
Dudebras just got out of a long-term relationship and so are just looking to "f*ck around" with chicks. At a bar, 96% of dudebras just want to "f*ck around" with chicks, 2% want to "get with" chicks, 1% is looking for true love, .75% are too drunk to look for chicks, and .25% will end up gay by the end of the night.
That's all I have for now.
Goodnight
Friday, April 3, 2009
the wanting comes in waves
Check out the new Decemberists' album. I've been obsessed with it (just ask Candice, she hasn't heard the end of my excitement). Basically, Colin Meloy created a sort of rock opera that celebrates and condemns love and its amazing. His songs blend together as one cohesive story about a few circumstances, mostly having to do with a pregnant maiden, a fawn-boy, a forest mother and a foxy knave, all intertwined through some seamless use of the english language. Colin Meloy keeps you immersed, and if you listen very carefully you won't be disappointed by the graceful abundance of alliterations and poetic devices - and blended with music throughout - it's like watching a movie in your mind to the tune of Meloy and his ladies' wonderful voice and instrumental fusions.
OK I just wanted to rant for second, because I loved it. I went to and came back from LA this week, and listened to the album (along with Taylor Swift) a good few times.
LA is fantastic, by the way. It's a wanting city of waves, full of people who dream someimes too big. I still have slight doubts when I visit, but they're subjective and fear-based. Because at the same time I have a strong desire in me to keep trying new things and meeting new people - and LA is a great place to do just that mostly safely.
I don't know. But I really want to sink my teeth into something right now, something juicy and delicious, that will feed me insatiable urges. Where's blabe. Blabe?
OK I just wanted to rant for second, because I loved it. I went to and came back from LA this week, and listened to the album (along with Taylor Swift) a good few times.
LA is fantastic, by the way. It's a wanting city of waves, full of people who dream someimes too big. I still have slight doubts when I visit, but they're subjective and fear-based. Because at the same time I have a strong desire in me to keep trying new things and meeting new people - and LA is a great place to do just that mostly safely.
I don't know. But I really want to sink my teeth into something right now, something juicy and delicious, that will feed me insatiable urges. Where's blabe. Blabe?
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