gradually unraveling and sluffing off...

today i feel something akin to the state of my dorm room... dishevelled, unmaintained, in need of clarity and a good scrub...
maybe it's closer to a sock that's been worn too many days in a row... in either case, the solution remains the same.

It seems that the cyclical nature of time has again caught up with me, and I've come full circle toward not just wanting, but wholly needing christmas break, and all of its trappings. It's like that place, those people, those rituals contain essential vitamins and minerals, without which i begin to develop scurvy, gangrene and any number of other diseases. And not even an event as reassuring as the first true overt academic fellatio you've received since High School, can recreate the status quo, equilibrium.

The cold air, the slowing of time, the lack of choice, the decadent conversations which bend on through the dark and down countless side alleys. Is this always going to be the case? Because if so, I think I can deal with it... I'd just like to know.

Sooner and sooner...

Holding down the 253

Lately when I've found myself in groups of people I have been looking around me and thinking, "Who are they and where did they come from?" I've spent so much of my life knowing the same damn people. Until last year I could guarantee that in any group I would check my surroundings and have an extensive history with most of the characters. Now if I stop paying attention for too long I have new friends whose names I forget and who are humping my leg or making otherwise unwanted advances on me (P.S. Where are you with the wanted advances?). At most I've known these people for about a year and a half, at least I met them several hours ago. At most they are incredibly awesome people, at least they make me want to run my dick through a paper shredder. Sometimes these are the same people. But it's fantastic. I like realizing over UC fish and chips that I didn't even know these ones until a few months ago. I like having Thanksgiving with crazy sons a bitches, none of whom are related to me, most of whom I didn't know existed a week ago, none of whom asked me what I was thankful for, one of whom made a trifle containing Shrek twinkies. It's kind of empowering too. I could move to Abilene, Texas and become a homeless cowboy with a posse of midget ballernias by next week if I wanted to. In high school I never could have imagined my completely alternate life. I still have my old friends, but this is a brand new reality. Like a reset button that you only push part of the way or like the dude in charge of your reincarnation was new to the business and did a half-assed job. And this will just keep happening until I'm an old man on a park bench. This Triad business is a good idea, though...keeps me sane, reminds me I know people that I really know, makes me nostalgic. Is it almost Christmas? I'm ready for old fashioned creative Midwest entertainment, some serious catching up, and some damn grilled cheese and snow.

Djarum Blacks and perception asunder...

So...got trashed for Heather and Jeannette's birthdays on Friday. Basically, Paul got naked, Ashlea made fun of us all, Jeannette couldn't stop giggling, Brett Bunns showed up with half a dozen drunk dudes, and Heather had really noisy sex on the kitchen floor with some dude that Paul met at NIACC named Nate. It was surreal. It was repulsive. It was enlightening. It'll be a while before I drink again...

fear and loathing in katy's mom's apartment

So you thought Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was really fucked up didn't you? But you hadn't had innumerable jello shots, gin and tonics, raspberry vodka, and hypnotique. You should. Don't even get me started on To Wong Foo or A Clockwork Orange. I'm scared of my dreams tonight. I just got my ass kicked at Egyptian Rat Screw...I could have sworn my hand was moving way faster than the slapping of the cards indicated that it was. Well, I need to go chase the transexual cats with the airzooka some more. Peace out.

-Gary Busey

The Greenest Day of them all...

There is nothing finer than the realization of a musical goal. In fact, because they're really the only kinds of goals I like to set, that's about as good as it gets. Needless to say Green Day was a passive goal a long time due, and they did not disappoint. Any band who is willing to incite havoc just to fill an undersold pit to its proper level is worth my time. This is all I can really say right now... I'm still just bathing in it.

Goodnight all.

P.S. We're going again... together.

I need to change my underwear

So today Billie Joe Armstrong landed on my face...

That's right, I was innocently minding my own business at the Green Day concert when he leaped off the stage, landing directly on top of me, which caused me to throw my hands up and catch him by his ass. I touched Billie Joe's ass. This was not exactly a lifelong goal for me, but it was pleasant enough I suppose. My friend Bethany would have done a goodly amount of things that are not natural or recommended for her to have been in my place, so I feel it would be a dishonor to take it too lightly. The ass to hand contact is not the method that first comes to mind when I consider means of demonstrating your appreciation for somebody, but it will have to do in this case. I hope that Billie Joe recognized the surge of feelings and emotions behind that hand lovingly supporting his buttocks. That ass belonged to a man who singlehandedly created a good portion of the soundtrack to my adolescence, who forced me to listen to good music, and who continues to be one cool son of a bitch. Long live Billie Joe's ass, and may it continue to grace the loyal hands of its admirers with its majesty for years to come.

Shame on a nigga who tried to run game on a nigga...

So yesterday old dirty bastard died...

For years I'd been a rather passive admirer of this lovable icon of american hip-hop. Both because I have a fairly high level of respect for anyone who can make a living creating lovely rhymes and calling themselves whatever the hell they want, and because I really love hearing average white people say the name Old Dirty Bastard.

But, now it's over; another member of the musical elite has fallen victim to the spoils of wealth, and I'm left wondering. Can we have christmas without ODB? No, seriously. I mean think about it. Does it really make sense, and even if it does is it terribly sensitive for baby Jesus to get born again not more than two months after the untimely demise of Big Baby Jesus? I for one don't think so.

Of course this time paradox also works the other way. If the risen lord has finally "kicked it" in just the anti-climactic, foul-mouthed, drug induced way that we all knew it should happen then what are we still doing here? You silly christians got a lot of 'splainin' to do now!! :)

awww whatever... you can just carry on with your deluded ways. i know there are like 10034828 more jesuses out there floating around in latin america and other areas where it's become cool to name your kid after man-gods...

anway,
ODB/BBJ --> RIP holmes... i'll miss you

The threshold is the Atlantic Ocean!

So, I was hanging out with Paul and Jeannette the other day and at one point, Paul disappeared for a few minutes, only to return with a mason jar of murky liquid. Trusting his hosting abilities, I didn't pay it much mind until he set a shot glass full of the stuff and a coke in front of me. "Absinthe," he says, "made it myself." It tasted awful. And it's potent. Simply wormwood chips pickled in Everclear. Three shots and we were sloshed. No noticable hallucinogenic effects...only a playful kick of wibbly-wobbly brainwaves. Perhaps further exploration still to come...

and then there were three

So today I turned twenty...

Many people have expected me to have experienced some profound change in my very being, or to at least be waxing philosophical about the exciting possibilities that the change in the first digit of my age presents. For the most part I have failed to satisfy these people. I've never found birthdays to be a deeply reflective time. People are apalled when I reveal that I don't know what time I was born or the name of the bloke who plucked me from the depths of my mother. Next week a friend is visiting the very room in the very hospital in which he originated. Apparently this is a yearly tradition, and this fascinates me. What does he do when he gets to the room? Does he engage in some sort of cultic ritual wherein he strips naked and reenacts his own birth? Does he take a picture? Does he look around, say "Hmmm," and walk out somehow enriched and rejuvenated? This year he has asked me to go along and I think that I'll accept as some sort of sociological experiment for my own benefit. I don't know how, but maybe viewing my hospital room is what I need. For whatever reason, I have a difficult time wrapping my mind around the concept of age. I don't feel any older and technically I'm not. I'm one day older today than I was yesterday, which was the day that I turned a day older than the day before. I'm sure I will mistakenly identify myself as 19 years old for a period of time. The distinction is just not that central to my image of myself. Since I'm no longer a teenager, I am supposed to suddenly feel independent or mature or responsible or old or wise or important, but in actuality I've either been those things for a while now or don't plan on ever being them at all. I don't really believe in the pre-packaged, microwavable, TV dinner style stages of life that prescribe a certain behavior and transition for a certain age. I didn't stride proudly into a convenience store and purchase a copy of Horny Hungarian Housewives and a pack of Marlboro Lights on my 18th birthday. I didn't eliminate brain cells in Canada for my last birthday. I certainly didn't put on my responsible adult shoes, sever my teenage ties, and tutor a challenged immigrant child this year. Granted, I may cave in to societal pressures and an intense desire to be a deranged jackass and ride a mechanical bull half-clothed and half-conscious next year, but it's only one exception to my rule. And so I'm left with the main function of my birthdays being that they sometimes provide me with enough cash so that I can coat my gas tank with enough fluid to transport me a few blocks where I can then buy a fucking Sourdough Jack or a bottle of shampoo. This may not be sufficient for some people, but I'm happy with the situation. And if I can come away with a subscription to Maxim, a bag of candy corn, a serpentine cake, and a Maya Angelou card...what more could be necessary?

rhyme time!

i threw the baby on the fire
popped a tire with a wire
ran headlong through a patch of briars
and called a man a horrid liar

i dumped manure atop the friar
placed the cat within the dryer
severed the head of the old town cryer
and fifteen bastards did i sire

yet, still unquenched was my desire
and in my heart the malevolence lingers

Hey, Woah, DON'T TOUCH ME!

So, today I got irritated...

My Spanish Language hour, usually a benign and relatively entertaining Monday afternoon activity, was replaced by a field trip to the SU to listen to an extremely unnerving presentation on the fast approaching extension of the hideousness called NAFTA into Central America.

I'm not sure why... maybe just a buildup of the election, the republican rejoicing of my grossly ignorant/fascist hagen relatives and their soon-to-be brainwashed children, and the already demanding nature of the academic lifestyle have just crept up and crawled in dangerously close to my gag reflex. Not being able to just step back, breathe, and rebalance myself has given me a kind of socio-political vertigo that not even more cowbell can cure. Instead I've just started to get mad.

I've not yet decided how to deal with it all, but I have decided that as a start my family will be receiving Christmas gifts that I hope will continue to remind them of the short-sighted, selfish, money-grubbing policies that the government that we've had gifted to us is laying down as we speak.

This Christmas we'll be bypassing Christ's birth and instead reflecting on how he's being carried as the ultimate cop-out, get out of jail free, "lip service charity and goodwill" banner by a group bent on creating the most discriminatory, colonialist, irresponsible, intolerant, hate-motivated law.

whew! hope i can still stomach that post in a couple months...

It was perfect...

The resemblence between the best friend we never had, Mr. Johnny Depp, in Blow and our very own Peter is simply too powerful to ignore. Watching that movie, I was continually looking for both myself and our collective third leg, Eric. Also, as I drove home, I couldn't shake the feeling that I, too, through some osmosis, was carrying large quantities of drugs that I had to hide from the coppers. The overwhelming paranoia was more than I could enjoy. Perhaps I am impressionable...

edit: I highly suggest watching that movie with a convicted drug dealer...especially one as charismatic and knowledgable as friend Paul...the surreality and interactivity are joyous...

Introduction; Thesis Statement

Introduction: Minor Triad Defined

A chord consisting of three notes which can be arranged to form two superimposed 3rds; if the lower 3rd is minor and the upper 3rd is major, the triad is minor. - The New Grove Dictionary of Music


This definition seems to encompass at least partially the composition and harmonic characteristics of our group. It is mulitifaceted, dynamic, and yet still a unit, a chord, and something lovely.

Thesis Statement: An Ode Unto Ourselves

The Minor Triad will henceforth exist as a reliquary of ideas, expressions, contradictions, and hopefully enlightenment.

It shall exist ceaselessly until any of its contributors deem it defunct, useless, or ill-informed --for what is a triad without each note's contribution-- or until some force of nature would happen to remove it from the universe.

It shall make no restriction on its content, so long as said content is approved by even one of it contributors.

FOREMOST AND PARAMOUNT: This shared space will serve as an existential plane wherein the reconnection and resolidification of three individuals removed from one another by space and circumstance might begin anew and flourish.



Note: this will probably be the most formal, pretentious, and abstract thing ever posted... but who knows...