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K-Bones



Last Updated: 7/17/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: In a Relationship
Age: 25
Sign: Scorpio

City: Sacramento
State: California
Country: US
Signup Date: 4/27/2005

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Saturday, March 28, 2009 

My horoscopes, unlike usually, have been spot on lately. Interpret how you will...

Yesterday, March 27th

Play things safe today and avoid coming into contact with hotheads in your life.


Overview


Fighting causes far more problems than it solves today, so do whatever it takes
to keep yourself calm and others around you the same way. It may take
some doing, but is completely worthwhile.

And today, March 28:


Meeting a new person today? An unexpected snag will help you two bond more closely.


Overview

You and a partner or friend need to find common ground or at least an
opportunity for all parties to have their say. Compromise is possible,
even if it seems somewhat difficult to pull off.
6:30 PM 
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Wednesday, March 11, 2009 

Current mood:  hungry
Category: Food and Restaurants



I love Zagnuts! Before any pervs out there get the wrong idea, SHUTUP! I wonder if anyone in myspaceland even knows what Zagnuts are... They're only the most delicious candy bars ever made! The sad thing is, they're also the most difficult food to find. Which is sad... So, what are Zagnuts exactly? They've been around since 1930, and are now made by Hersheys. The odd thing is, they don't even have any chocolate in or on them... So what the hell are Zagnuts? Quit beating around the goddamn bush!

Well, does anyone love coconut? How about toasted coconut? I think toasted coconut is one of the greatest fusions of god's and man's creations. If coconut itself wasn't good enough, with its many forms (juice, milk, flesh, bras)... Some of the tastiest foods and drinks are made with coconut: curry, pina coladas, various confections and frozen desserts.  But toasted coconut? That's even better! I mean, come on! Toasting anything makes it better. Sesame seeds, bread, sub sandwiches, various varieties of nuts, etc, etc, etc. Coconut tops the list, by far. I must reminisce about a curious treat I had when I was in Georgia. I was given toasted coconut covered marshmallows! To make it even better, they were set ablaze by my pyromania, melting the inside and charring what became the crust. I hear you saying "Yo, you with the ADD! Focus! What are Zagnuts already!?!?"

OK, imagine this. Cue the comic book thought bubble and dream sequence music... Picture a Butterfinger bar. The insides are a crunchy, flaky variety of hardened peanut butter, and the exterior is soft milk chocolate. Now imagine the chocolate being stripped off, and replaced with TOASTED COCONUT!!! Oh yeah! Doesn't sound too appealing? Try it. Trust me, it's good. It's one of those things that doesn't sound too good, but is the most unexpectedly perfect discovery once you finally try it.

Now that I've got you salivating, the bad news comes. Try going to your local grocery store, gas station, stop-n-rob, or any store you'd expect to stock every known variety of candy. Will you find Zagnuts there? Hell no! Why? Well, it's your fault! Everyone who's never had a Zagnut is to blame for its rarity. Zagnuts are one of those things that have a tiny niche market. One of those icons, like Chuck Norris, that nobody cares about, except for a small group of people who swear by it. Seriously though, there are websites dedicated to how badass Chuck Norris is. I used to know a couple guys that compared everything in the world to how cool and hardcore he is. Really though. There's probably a whole truckload of urban legends about him.

Anyways, the one place I have been able to find them (in person, as opposed to the obvious world wide web), is your neighborhood Dollar Tree store. Thank you lord for bringing us the poor man's variety store! Not only can you find cheap canned food, silk flowers, toys and dishes (unusable because of high lead content), but you can find Zagnuts! Hallelujah! Even better, you know how discount stores are. You can get like 20 Zagnuts for a buck! So go out and try one. Unless you're allergic to peanuts. You won't be disappointed, I promise.







10:55 PM 
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Saturday, February 14, 2009 

Current mood:  amused

If anyone reading this is too young to remember the days before everyone had a cellphone, stop reading now! For everyone else, do you remember telemarketers? You know, back in the day, you'd sit down at the dinner table, or get home from work, or plop your ass on the couch to watch some primetime TV, and the damn phone would ring... This is before the days of caller ID, might I add. Or call waiting. Imagine that!!! So of course, you pick up the phone and get bombarded with Slick Joe Schmoe trying to sell you something you don't need and don't give a crap about anyways. See where I'm going with this?

Fast-forward to the 21st century. Now that everyone's looking back to how much megacorporations annoyed us with their incessant telemarketing, it gets worse. So these days we live in a connected society. We're all easily accessible as lines of communication lie dormant in our pockets, purses and cars. There's all kinds of new, snazzy advances. You can find old friends on your favorite social networking website, you can snap a quick picture or video and send it to someone miles away, and you can even become a telemarketer, sans the slick suave voice!

Wait, did he just say that anyone can be a telemarketer? Hell yes I said that! Now, with a few thumb taps on your Blackberry/iPhone/Palm/Sidekick/candybar/slider/smartphone/dumbphone/in-car communication system, you too can bug the crap out of anyone you want to!

Now why should I give a damn about this, and how does this acutally happen? Well, here's the 411, if anyone even knows what 411 is anymore. You could call this part 2 of my rant on underground/indie musicians, and music promotion in the 21st century. When you text message me about your show, you're a telemarketer. You're using telecommunication as a marketing tool. Plain and simple.

So why is this so bad? I should ask you, how much do you pay for your text message plan, the one that allows you to send and receive unlimited text, picture and video messages to anyone and everyone in your circle? If you're a geek like me, you probably heard the recent news that cell phone carriers make massive amounts of money off of text and media messaging, because it costs them a few shreds of copper off a penny to transmit these messages. Really though, google it.

So, back to the music thing... There are some really great local bands where I live, and probably where you live too. Being able to pay only a few bucks for some great entertainment around the corner from my house is GREAT!!! I have the utmost respect for everyone in this underground scene, creating a community and a source of stimulation in a 9 to 5 reality TV world. But when you turn into a telemarketer, you bug the shit out of me! So if you can't beat 'em, join 'em: If you send me a text message marketing yourself, I'm gonna send one right back to you, and I hope that your show just happens to land on the same night my show does, cuz that would show how ignant you are. Back in the day, if you had someone's phone number, it was because they were either a friend, a family member, or someone that you wanted or needed to communicate with on a personal level. If you were an artist or a musician or an emcee, I would already know about when and where your shows were, because you would tell me about it personally. I wouldn't be another statistic. I don't want to be another potential customer. I don't want to be another number. So don't be a telemarketer.



5:41 AM 
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Friday, February 06, 2009 

Current mood:  bitchy
So, anyone in the local music scene probably already knows where I'm going with this based on the title... In our connected, electronic world, most young people these days (including myself) are inseparable from myspace, facebook, and the various wireless devices everyone has. You know, iPhones, Blackberrys, Sidekicks, and of course the ever-so-sexy G1 now. Some would say this is great, others will complain about the brain frying radiation, lack of privacy (Cake's "No Phone" comes to mind), and the gradual draining of checking accounts. That sleek G1 with 3g internet service and unlimited texting ain't cheap!

Anyways, back to the original topic, my myspace page and my band's page are constantly littered with comments that are nothing more than 21st century fliers stapled to the telephone pole in front of my house. Being the good samaritan I am, I promptly grab the trash and throw it away. It's funny that I said telephone pole, cuz now I'm getting text messages with the same content! OK, I already saw your bulletin, comment, event invite, and every other form of electronic promotion you threw at me! I'll come to your show, if I like you, unless I'm broke, like I am now. I'll see you if your show is free...

The parallels between concrete and electronic reality are eerie. Walk into your local independent music store, and what do you see on the windows, doors, and on a shelf by the entrance? You get bombarded by so many fliers, they cease to exist as individuals, and morph into an illusion of one giant image. Kinda like those pictures that are made up of lots of tiny little pictures? Repeat that process at your local indie cafe/acoustic venue. Now this is paralleled in cyberspace with the myspace comment section. Go ahead, navigate to  www.myspace.com/lunascafebooking and see what you find in the comments section. The prosecution rests.

Now college campuses... what can I say about that... You know you're walking through the halls, and someone's standing there handing out fliers of the newest, hippest pimp and ho/black and white/wet and wild/pretty in pink/hot red/foam party at the newest, hippest douchebag nightclub? I'll just leave it at that.

OK, I'm IMing 2 people on facebook, booking shows for my band, writing this, and nominating peeps for the Sammies, so I lost my train of thought...

Now, don't get me wrong. Every band, artist, business, etc has to advertise, promote and get people to give them a try. I'm not against advertising and promotion at all. But when it's everywhere all the time, now we have a problem. Doesn't it bug you when you're watching TV or listening to the radio (if there's anything worth watching/listening to) and there's a commercial break every 5 minutes? Damn!

OK, I got one. Super Bowl Sunday. The most expensive 3 hours in America. How much did those businesses spend on those ads? Is Staples really gonna get that many white-collar customers rushing to buy paper clips monday morning to justify dropping millions of dollars on a 30 second ad? Are you going to get a gang of people rushing to your show because you drove up your phone bill texting everyone and their mom? Hey, at least the Super Bowl ads are creative and interesting... Maybe not so much after the Janet Jackson episode...

One thing I actually learned from corporate America is that word of mouth, and good relations are what will bring people back. That means, your show has to kick ass. Your music and lyrics need to be powerful, intelligent and creative. You need to make bodies move with your infectious rhythms. You need to plant ideas in peoples' minds and make them see life in a different light. And most importantly, you need to stop sending me these impersonal, scripted comments, fliers and text messages! Why don't you say something personal? Call me! Hit me up with a comment that is the equivalent of the cashier that asks "how are you today" sincerely! You're not too good to relate to your fans, and you don't have 8 million fans either, so it's not gonna take forever. And back to the word of mouth thing, if you are a really good artist, you don't need to tell everyone and their mom about your show. You can tell a few peeps, and the word will spread.


5:23 AM 
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Wednesday, January 14, 2009 
So, my band has a residency at Pyramid Alehouse in Sacramento.  We play every tuesday night. The usual routine is us pulling up to the back door, unloading our gear, and then trying to find a parking spot somewhere close...

I was observing my surroundings as I walked back to Pyramid from my parking spot, and I was shocked and a little outraged by the juxtaposition of numerous factors in this area. By day, Downtown Sacramento is a mix of state government, office buildings and various other 9 to 5ers in suits and ties, making their living. When 5 o clock rolls around, they all clock out, close up shop, and emerge from parking garages approaching their cushy homes in the 'burbs to care for their 2.7 children. As the sun slowly sets over the scattered skyscrapers, an entirely different atmosphere covers the area.

As I walk from my car to the Alehouse (a quite nice spot, although the mediocre food is a bit overpriced,) a few interesting things stick out. Across the street from Pyramid is a McCormick & Schmicks, a high end steakhouse that clearly caters to the office lunch crowd. I'm walking past the building housing this restaurant, and I hear a mumble coming from a doorway... I look over, and it's a homeless woman huddling in a corner trying to stay warm, shivering, crying and babbling jibberish to herself, just around the corner from a "$5.00 Valet Parking" sign and a young attendant in a black jacket. Now, California is not a very cold place in the winter, but for those without the luxury of running water, electricity and naural gas, it sucks!

Every week I arrive to perform here, I'm greeted by this scene. Even in my car, the instant the freeway turns into a city street on the edge of downtown, I see another element of the culture. On the corner of North C street and 12th street is a place called Loaves and Fishes. I remember going on field trips to the state capitol as a child and passing by Loaves and Fishes on the commuter train. There would be a group of dirty, bearded men playing basketball, a clutter of newspapers on the sidewalk, and plenty of people wearing sweatpants and large coats, even in the warmth of summer. I always wondered exactly what goes on there, so I had to google it, and came across www.sacloaves.org

Pyramid Alehouse is located on the K street Mall, right across from a cathedral and facing a commuter train line. For those that live in Sacramento, you know what I'm talking about. The K street mall started as a vision of combining office and chic living spaces, urban shopping, entertainment and a cool place to hang out. Unfortunately, due to politics and other BS I won't get into, this area with great potential has fallen into disrepair, full of boarded up buildings and useless wastes of real estate. When the state workers and office types board the last train home, a new flock of people turn the benches at the train stop their home.

It's hard to have a positive mentality and a drive to come here when there's so much wrong around you, but this last tuesday I saw something on those streets that made me smile. After we were done playing, I packed up my gear and rushed to my car a few blocks away to hurry off to work. As I crossed the street and passed a parking garage, I heard something that made me stop dead in my tracks. Instead of the usual teeth chattering in the cold air or strung out vagrant speaking in tongues, I heard the echo of a jazzy trumpet melody cascading through the parking garage. I turned and asked the parking attendant "is someone really playing?" After taking a second to understand what I was asking, he nonchalantly replied "yeah."

Although I was on a time budget, I took a second to feed my ears with the relaxing sounds of an intricate and obscure solo, made more sensual and soulful by the optimum acoustics and reverb that only a concrete parking garage can produce. Realizing I had to go, I continued on my way, rounding the corner and expecting the sound to fade away like an ambulance passing by. But no, as I turned the corner to find my car, the sound only got more intense. I passed another entrance to the garage, and found the source of the audio orgasm. An older man with a black hat playing his horn was all I saw in the driveway. I couldn't help but smile and again stand there for a second.

I wish I could have stayed there for an hour, or perhaps had my friend or love there to share the experience and dance in the street with, but I had to go, just as I do now! As I'm writing this, I got a call from my boss, asking me to come fill in for somebody that didn't show up. I gotta go make the almighty dollar! So I hopped into my car and drove to work, like I'm gonna do right now. So, show some gratitude, love your family and friends, donate some money to Loaves and Fishes, volunteer, help the community, or just give a dollar to someone in need, even if they're going to use it to get a six pack.
11:23 PM 
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Tuesday, January 13, 2009 
So, I keep getting these damn mormons knocking on my door... You know, doing their "mission" and whatnot. Hilarious. Just fucking hilarious. So, this pasty, nerdy ass white guy comes knocking on my door, and it's just impossible to see through my ghetto ass screen door (you know, the heavy metal ones that everyone in East Los has...) So my dumb ass opens the door (wrong move,) and homeboy comes at me with his schpiel...

Let me just say, I'm such a sucker. And I'm too nice. Seriously! Don't laugh, I'm only an asshole to people I know! I should be more rude and slam the door in dude's face or say some crazy shit in a demonic voice! Whatever, you all know what I'm talking about. Dude gives me the book of mormon, and says "blah blah blah, read this part right here..." Of course, they have to do their modern day crusade/holy war in the not-so-good part of town... Everyone in Roseville is mormon already! At least all the nerds I went to school with...

Back to the subject, dude just came back to my house saying "did you get to read the book? Can we set up a time to talk about it? blah blah blah." Jesus Christ! of Latter Day Saints!!! I hope dude tries to convert people at the trailer park down the street, where like 10 sex offenders live. (seriously, go to http://www.meganslaw.ca.gov and search for 3500 Morse ave, Sacramento, 95821.)

So, my segue into the military goes like this: Did you ever notice how when mormons go on their missions, there's always two of them? There's always the guy who does all the talking, and there's the other one that just stands there, like the main guy is showing the newbie the ropes or something. I've noticed that's how military recruiters operate too. They also go out into the community, which is usually the lower-class community, and do their work too. In groups of two. It's the same thing. There's the guy doing all the talking, and the other one standing there quietly observing. Why is he there anyways?

So, to prove my point, here's a story: It begins in the cushy town of Roseville, CA. I grew up there, in the nice part of town, and never once was I accosted by a military recruiter. Until I moved to East Los Angeles. Yeah, I lived there for a minute, Montebello to be exact. Any of you who have seen the movie Stand and Deliver? Yeah, that was a couple blocks from the college I attended.

Anyways, there just happened to be a recruiting office across the street from my house. So when I'd wait for the bus to go to school, I would constantly be bombarded by these groups of two, looking to turn me into a puppet with Bush's hand up my ass! Seriously though. One time, I got off the bus to go to work, which was a few blocks from the bus stop, and a recruiter stopped his car in the middle of a busy street so his partner could bail out of the passenger seat to make me late to work! He gave me the whole "this is what the military can do for you" speech. Seriously, dude straight bailed out of his car in the middle of a busy street! Not at an intersection, where it's semi-okay to stop your car, but IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!!!

So, just the other day, another dynamic Marines duo came into my workplace. Seriously, I was keeping to myself folding clothes and whatnot, when these two guys come in and try to give me the same routine. Since the last time, I came up with an ingenius way to fend off these guys. My advice to you all is: if you get accosted by a gang of these people, just tell them you have some kind of terminal illness that affects you. Tell them you have epilepsy, or schizophrenia, or hey, just tell them you're too fucking smart to sell your body to an oil acquisition firm! How bout that?

My point is, if you're still reading this, that people shouldn't have things forced upon them. If I wanted to be a mormon, I would study the faith myself. I would see what they have to offer me. If I wanted to be in the military (and who didn't after seeing Top Gun,) I would go to the recruiting office myself! I don't need to have your views or your job or your life pushed upon me. I will do what I want with MY life. As if the ads on TV weren't enough... Come on, you've all seen the Navy commercials with a really cool Godsmack song playing in the background, and a dude jumping out of a helicopter into the ocean. You've all seen the infomercials "call now to get your free copy of the book of mormon!" I'm probably going to hell for all this, cuz according to South Park, isn't the mormon faith the one that gets you into heaven? And according to the Montgomery GI Bill, isn't the military your free ticket to college? (assuming you survive boot camp and your deployment to the most hellish place on earh...)
4:17 AM 
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Saturday, December 06, 2008 

Current mood:  ninja

From Associated Press:

"LAS VEGAS – A broken O.J. Simpson was sentenced Friday to as much as 33 years in prison for a hotel armed robbery after a judge rejected his apology and said, 'It was much more than stupidity.'

The 61-year-old football Hall of Famer stood shackled and stone-faced when Judge Jackie Glass quickly rattled off his punishment soon after he made a rambling, five-minute plea for leniency, choking back tears as he told her: 'I didn't want to steal anything from anyone. ... I'm sorry, sorry.'

Simpson said he was simply trying to retrieve sports memorabilia and other mementos, including his first wife's wedding ring, from two dealers when he stormed a Las Vegas hotel room on Sept. 13, 2007."

DAMN!!! That's all I gotta say about that. I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut on my opinion...


6:18 AM 
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Tuesday, November 18, 2008 

So, I found an interesting article today about TV. You can check it here:


http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20081118/en_nm/us_misery

It's pretty interesting, I must say. It explaing an analysis of 34 years of data by university researchers showing the correlation between TV and unhappiness. Apparently, "researchers found that activities such as sex, reading and socializing correlated with the highest levels of overall happiness. Watching TV, on the other hand, was the only activity that had a direct correlation with unhappiness."

Wow, who woulda thought that sex would make you happier than television? They got me on that one! For real though, the article goes on to say that "Unhappily married couples also watch more TV: '(Happily married couples) engage in 30 percent more sex, and they attend religious services more and read newspapers on more days...While those not happy with their marriages watch more TV.'"

Then I had to pause and think about my mother for a quick second... She lives in East Los Angeles, which in my opinion is one of the crappiest places in the world to live. She drives in stop-and-go traffic two hours each way to and from work. She gets home and makes dinner, and instead of going to the gym or being active, like she used to, she plops in front of her relatively new 52 inch HDTV and watches American Idol religiously. Why such a crappy end to a crappy day?

Well, the article goes on to explain the bitter cycle of TV watching: "TV is not judgmental nor difficult, so people with few social skills or resources for other activities can engage in it...Furthermore, chronic unhappiness...can interfere with work and most social and personal activities, but even the unhappiest people can...be passively entertained by a TV. In other words, the causal order is reversed for people who watch television; unhappiness leads to television viewing." Basically, unhappy, tired people watch TV, and that TV watching makes them even more unhappy. But why?

Well Timmy, "These points have parallels with addiction; since addictive activities produce momentary pleasure but long-term misery and regret. People most vulnerable to addiction tend to be socially or personally disadvantaged, with TV becoming an opiate."

Ahh, the underlying issue here! We live in an addictive society, with problems caused by overindulging in mediocre, bland activities like fast-food and television. I like the description of TV as an opiate here, that makes a great comparison, since REAL opiates were once called healthy and are still used today in certain medical contexts. And everyone knows the euphoric feeling of being stuck in your chair after gorging on an artery-clogging Thanksgiving feast. How about gambling? I know someone with a gambling problem. What do all these things have in common? They're all being forced down our throats for profit. So much so that these commercial products become a way of life for us.

With that said, did y'all know that Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer started out as an advertising campaign by Montgomery Ward? I bet you didn't. Did y'all know that Ronald McDonald is the most recognizable face by American children? That's all my blabbing for today, so turn off the TV and come out to see my band live instead! haha!!! That's http://www.myspace.com/thezoohumanproject
4:31 PM 
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Monday, October 01, 2007 

Current mood:  amused

Coming this fall to a theater near you... Based on a true story...


Are you struggling to feed your obesity? Do you feel the urge to shout out things for no reason? Do you have to hang out around smart people to make your dumbass feel better? Then you need to live in: University Derelict-strict!

Starring:

Kevin Sakamoto as K-Bones

Jen Cordero as Imajen

and

Derek Martinez as MC D-Martee

Our three globe-trotting heroes open the scene in a cozy yet sterile Hawaiian restaurant, enjoying the meals given to them; tasty, yet questionably Hawaiian. as their bellies grow larger, it becomes apparent to them that finishing off the food on their plates would be inevitable. So after scooping healthy portions of chicken, beef, rice and tofu into generic styrofoam boxes, the sonic ass-kicking team departs from the restaurant.

Upon leaving, our heroes are confronted with a hostile group of bus fares awaiting departure to another street corner, preferably far away from here. A slight odor of armpit and from-unda breezes over and entangles with the teriyaki aromas escaping from the door to create a distinctly disgusting taste in our heroes mouths. This is where spidey-sense would have come in handy...

"Should we put our food in the car, or carry it with us?" asked MC D-Martee to the others. Immediately following his inquiry was an unexpected answer: "you can give it to me!" Wondering where this rudeness came from, our heroes spun around and caught eyes with a chronically obese young man, ready to bypass fork and knife for the more primitive hand-shovel technique. His polar opposite, a frail yet equally scummy man, responded with a playful put-down of his ever-so-slightly larger friend. At this point, finding amusement with the whole situation, K-Bones exclaimed to the bean pole, "you need this food more than he does!" After a short laugh followed by a glaring look from Imajen, K-Bones continued to walk down the street, the other two relatively quickly skirting along, as the handful of dingy "riff-raff" each submitted their two rusty pennies worth of unwanted input. Soon after, Mr. Obese chimed back in with "Hey, I just got that!" responding to the fat joke, albeit a little too late.

After the domino effect of open mouths continued, mostly ignored by our protagonists, a bold man at the end of the line, either feeling left out or like the target of the group's mockery, exclaimed to the still laughing K-Bones, "What are you laughing at? You won't be laughing when I take my cock out of your mouth!" [insert record scratch sound here] At this time, the trio decided to pick up the pace a little more, returning to relative safety as they rounded the street corner, having another laugh at the social circus performed before their very eyes.

Scene 2: Chicken Dinner

Returning to the University Derelict-strict for another night to test their wits, our trio enters The Blue Moon, a somewhat historic bar with many good reviews. What the hell were those reviewers smoking? Upon entering the bar, they were greeted by peanut shells littering the floor, old men in cowboy attire, and a general lack of physical attractiveness or bodily hygeine in the building. Great.

Tonight was a sacred open mic night, one that the musician and artist subculture embrace as church, except you're not stuck to going once a week to only one place. The mighty open mic is a rite of passage for those in the music scene, it defines the gray area between writing and playing in your bedroom/garage and becoming a performing artist. It is a community of (usually) supportive musicians who cheer each other on and each take turns performing for 10-15 minutes.

After entering an abyss of hair fading from the head and thickening on the face, our heroes file into a booth in the corner, preferably farthest away from the lonely homeless man hovering near them, hoping to find someone to talk to. After waiting for this open mic to begin quite a bit later than the stated time, the trio began to get restless, for they were staying with an elderly couple, and therefore had to be back at the house at a somewhat decent hour. Finally, the decision was made to try another place. K-Bones walked nonchalantly towards the holy signup sheet, in this case a wrinkled piece of notebook paper with the names of artists waiting their turn to play. K-Bones picked up a pen and scribbled "The Zoo Human Project" off the list, as the pen punctured the paper and made its way into a depression formed on the wooden table by a set of initials carved into the surface. As K-Bones left to rejoin the others and exit the barn, an allegedly important man in cowboy boots drunkenly announced "What are you doing, chicken shit!" across the bar. K-Bones kept looking away and quietly left the building.

The moral of our story: Seattle's University District is prized as a center for student social life, filled with great places to eat and shop, and its streets bustling with young people of all colors. Somehow, this became a second-rate skid row, where the neglected and forgotten hang out during the day, but then disappear by nightfall. Didn't anyone tell them that college students are poor too? And sometimes you CAN tell a book by its cover. If the cover has peanut shells and slowly rotting old men on it, DON'T READ IT!
9:53 PM 
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Tuesday, September 11, 2007 

Current mood:  contemplative

Well, I was going to write today about my drunken adventure last thursday night, but after opening the blog page and realizing what today is, I changed my mind quickly. So I must first ask all of you out there in internetland: do you know what happened exactly 6 years ago today? I'll give you a second *tick tock tick tock*


I remember fondly. In fact, it's one of the few things I remember fondly. My average high school day started out with a 6:30 AM marching band rehearsal. Yes, I'm a geek, but hey, the band geeks become rockstars, and the cool jocks become...well I don't give a damn! Anyways, after 2 1/2 hours of early morning music and exercise in damp morning grass, the band made our way back into the classroom to get ready for the rest of the school day. Then suddenly on the intercom, there was another one of those hardly understandible, yet somehow very important announcements. As we strained to make out what our principal was saying like a bilingual drive-thru attendant, I heard a few key words: attack, New York, airplane, etc, etc. Okay, being another typical high school dumbass, I quickly wrote off the news as "out of sight, out of mind." Little did I know what this day held in store for the future...

Of course the majority of the students at my school, and probably across our educationally inept nation took joy in this excuse to watch the news in class all day, myself included. I remember watching the footage over and over. Can you remember where you were when the towers fell? If you're old enough, can you remember where you were when JFK was shot? I've been told that Americans compare these events, because everyone can say EXACTLY where they were, and what they were doing at these times.

Well, like I already said, I was in marching band class when the planes hit, and when the towers fell, I was watching live TV in English class. I can't really remember what the reaction of my fellow students was, I think we were all engrossed in the boob tube. But from this one eye-opening day, much of America was bombarded with an entire global region's worth of issues, concerns, policies, fears, and paranoias that we were much more content letting the government quietly and inadequately handle. Obviously inadequately, since we let a couple idiots with box cutters take over four airplanes full of hundreds of people! Tell me there was at least one black belt in there...

Well, enough of pissing people off (for now,) we'll fast-forward a few years, to 2006. I had matured a little bit, screwed up and learned lessons, got in trouble, partied, recovered from said parties, and "In Time," I found "My Calling." I joined an amazing family of musicians which would later be dubbed The Zoo Human Project, and seemingly out of nowhere, I found myself on tour promoting a CD on the opposite side of our great nation. One late night after a show in Manhattan, we decided to visit the so-called "Ground Zero." Picture this: New York City, the craziest city on earth, one filled with high rise buildings, cramming people into tiny boxes above and around each other, all charging WAY TOO MUCH MONEY for these little things. Must I say, I started feeling claustrophobic just walking down the street and imagining what an X-ray of one of these buildings would look like...

But anyways, my disconnection with the events of 6 years ago today was washed away, for that day in 2006, I was there, standing at the front door of an amazing icon that ceased to exist in one day. It took millions of dollars and amazing manpower to construct it, but a few retards with box cutters is all it took to bring it down. As I stood at the base of the hole in the ground, I looked straight up into the sky, in an attempt to imagine what these massive buildings might have looked like. I couldn't muster up the imaginative power to actually visualive what once stood there. I must say, at that moment, a spectrum of emotions swept over me. Grief and sadness for the innocent people that suffered on that day, hatred and anger towards the people who believed it was their duty to destroy in order to preserve, exposure of all my weaknesses, the notion that the mighty USA might not be so mighty after all, and union with everyone else who felt these emotions wash over them, 6 years ago today...

7:10 AM 
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