Found Photos has some new stuff up.
Thought you might like to know.

Shakespeare puking, part 2

In yet another fine example of me not practicing what I preach, I always bitch up a storm whenever we sit on the sofa and watch DVDs. I think it's the biggest goddamned waste of time that could be spent out doing something. I sit there simmering through the whole movie.

Then there's last night, sitting on the couch watching The Princess Bride, and suddenly I'm struck with the realization that I'm having trouble thinking of anywhere else I'd rather be.

Inconceivable!

Caro left this morning for NJ and got in safely. So I met up with Angela, my friend from Honda, at L&V, a cigar/wine/coffee bar here in Troy. A pleasant time was had by all. It was nice to have another live human being to spill the beans to, and have her spill a few beans of her own to me. Several hours and lots and lots of wonderfully purgative discourse. She asks me what I'm going to do afterward, and I tell her I'm probably going to go home, put on "Princess Bride", and get drunk. She said that she's never seen it, so I invite her to come over if she wants (with the promise of no funny business). So we hit Kroger, she buys pizza rolls and I the Bud Light. When the movie was over, I (again, no funny business) walked her out to her car. One big hug later she took off.

I know what you're all thinking, and no, I wasn't even about to try to make a move on her. It was just too amazingly cool to have somebody to chill out with, and for her it was probably nice to be around a guy who, for a change, wasn't hitting on her.

Oh, and she loved the movie.

Jovial Intervention

Wouldn't you know, after not hearing that song for a good couple of years, I heard 'Drops of Jupiter' again tonight, so soon after hearing it the other morning. The gods are conspiring to either encourage or discourage me. I can't figure out which.

The Passion of the Dude on the Corner

So there I am on Brown Street in Dayton walking from the parking lot
across the street over to this restaurant I've been wanting to try for a
while, Nothing But Noodles. It's a 'fast casual' chain. Brown St. is the
main drag with all the restaurants and bars for the University of Dayton.
Kinda like OSU's High St. Anyway, there's this college age guy who hangs
out by the lot preaching to passers-by about God. He's always there
around lunch time. Today he's talking about communication, and as I pass
by, he shouts to the wind, "I'm not telling you to go to church. I'm just
saying you need to take the time to talk with God!" Somebody calls back
"Because you're a psycho!". He smiles at this.

Honestly, I admire the man's conviction. I wish I felt that strongly
about something... or anything, really.

An Errand

This morning, I was waiting at a local salon for her haircut to finish, and I was asking the front desk lady how to tame my frizzy mane. Part of the stylist's advice was to use shampoo that said either "hydrating" or "smoothing". Flash forward to tonight. I was sent on a mission to Kroger to pick up some corn on the cob and tater tots. Armed with $15 in pocket, and remembering what the stylist told me, I decided to make a side trip over to the shampoo aisle to peruse the selection. Sure enough, I find a $2 bottle of Suave Humectant. Then something strange happened... I picked it up and put it in the basket.

Do you realize the gravity of this gesture??

I made a nonpreinstructed purchase which benefits me. Only me. Not an 'us' purchase. Not a household purchase. Andy, with no external direction or authorization to do so, shopped for himself.

Fuck, that felt good!

"We are each others' destiny..."

Zero 7 put out what is one of the most beautiful music videos ever made. It also happens to most closely parallel the world as I see it. (and is also the inspiration for my most recent round of sketches.)

Go to Zero 7's site, find the videos section, use my email address (grover_flanagan@yahoo.com) if you don't want to give yours out, and watch the video for "Destiny". It's an absolutely gorgeous portrait of people living their daily lives.

Then watch the others. Watch both versions of "Somersault". The song itself is good enough to listen to twice. I've thought of posting the lyrics. I may still some time. Anyway, watch the videos. You'll thank me later.

As the cello breathes its melody

From the Found Photos site. F-hole tattoos. How unbelievably awesome is that?? The artist Man Ray painted f-holes on a model back in the 20's and took a portrait... one of my favorites of his. I melt into a puddle at the perfect blending of the two most ultimate forms of beauty, string music and the female form. I am in utter awe. 

Flashback

Maybe it was some stray scent on the breeze. Maybe it was the cool humidity. Whatever cocktail of elements came together this morning, as I was walking across the parking lot at Lowe's I was suddenly reminded of basic training early morning marches in San Antonio at Lackland Air Force Base. It was more than just a reminiscence, though. For a momentary flash, I was transported across time and distance. I was marching.

I loved marching, especially in the milky darkness of pre-dawn where the dewy chill intensified the sweet grassy scents. I miss the ticking of Sgt. Banks' boot taps. I miss the dull thud of 50 hard rubber soles on pavement and the regular sway of the silhouetted figure ahead of me. No singing, no cadence being called, no human voices, just pure metronomic rhythm in the dark. It was music, and it was strangely comforting.

I have not had sex since january.
The way things are going, my hymen will grow back.

I was awakened as always by my radio alarm clock. This morning was unusual, however, in that just as it clicked on, playing was the intro to a song I haven't heard in a few years: Train's "Drops of Jupiter". Instantly one of my favorites when I first heard the song, it was nice to be listening it again. It's one thing to download an mp3, but when you're listening to the radio, it's another thing entirely to know that hundreds, maybe thousands, of people are sharing the experience with you. Anyways, I had forgotten how potent the words had originally been to me, and especially in light of the current situation, how applicable they now are.

That's what I need. I need a soul vacation. I need to trace my way through the constellation. I need to get drops of Jupiter in my hair. I need to dance along the light of day. I need a stay on the moon. Most of all, I need to find that the idea of heaven that I've formed in my imagination is far overrated.

The song is about somebody going out and growing up. You can't just go "Poof!, I'm a mature adult now." Considering that I'm 26 and still as childish as a teenager, I've come to the conclusion that the largest portion of maturity (and the wisdom that accompanies) consists of life experience. The significant other in the song needed those experiences to grow as a human, or otherwise stagnate in a swamp of ignorance of the world, where innocense and childlike wonder slowly decay to uncertainty and feeling lost.

I am ignorant of this world. I am uncertain and I feel so hopelessly lost. And when I am on my own, tentatively planned to happen this winter, hopefully I'll get my chance to sail through the galaxy.

I was just looking at some stats and realized that as the only person I know who uses the Opera 7 browser, 17.95% of the visits to this blog are from MYSELF.

In fairness, I use the sidebar over there --> instead of the browser's bookmark list, but still... 290 visits?? I need to get out more.

I got the job at Kroger. Produce section. I start tuesday night.

As the fable goes, the grasshopper who spent all summer jacking off discovered fatally too late that he hadn't anything to sustain him through the winter. As such, this Groverly grasshopper is going to open his own savings account and work his fat ass off through this summer as others play merrily. It will hurt. He will turn ninteteen emerald shades of green with envy at those around him. He will whine that his life is passing him by. (he tends to bitch a lot)

Alas, come the snowy season (both figuratively and literally), when it's time to put down the proverbial pickaxe and shovel, he'll be both in the greatest need of, and also uninhibited to enjoy the hard-earned fruits of his labor.

And this winter is going to be the biggest, blurriest, most explosive fucking blast of his life.

Patience...

Patience...

Patience...

Self-righteous SOBs.

I have this to say:

If you are a pharmacist, and you deny women their legally and properly prescribed medications because you are holier-than-thou, YOU HAVE NO PLACE IN THE PHARMACY.

Make it go away

We're at O'Brian's tonight eating dinner, and as time passes the long table across the aisle slowly fills up with 30-something couples. They come in one by one and are all dressed business casual, no shirt untucked, not a hair out of place. Everything white and pastel save for the khaki slacks. The couples segregate to opposite ends of the table, and the men order beers while the women sip on glasses of Chardonnay. They chat quietly amongst themselves.

This tableau, frozen in my mind's eye, fills me with a feeling which the closest word I can think to describe it, is horror. I am terrified by what I'm watching. I want to run away from it. To me it looks like living death.

I'm seriously stressing out. I am going to be alone from the 29th to the following Tuesday, and I'm panicking over what to do in such a tiny window of time. There's so much I could do... go to a bar, go dancing, see a band, find an acoustic night somewhere, try my hand at karaoke, join a swinger's club, sit by the river and watch the sun set, get a tattoo, eat at L&V, find an open-mic poetry night, drive to Urbana and chill with Dad...

(Ok, so I was kidding about the swinger club. The only affordable one here in Dayton has a strict no-male-bisexuality rule. Nazi homophobes. I'm a freak like that.)

Seriously. What I really reeeeealy want to do is go dance, but from what I hear, the clubs around here are either trashy meat markets that play top 40 pop crap, deathtraps where you will get mugged in the parking lot, or uppity dress-to-impress martini-sipping sex-in-the-city-style snobvilles. I'm sorry, but after I come home from work and ditch the monkey suit, I want to shower, put on the jeans and t-shirt and let my hair down (so to speak), not pimp myself out.

(me. a pimp. snickering at the idea of me dressed like Huggy Bear)

Friday night I'm gonna meet Angela after work over a glass or two of beer and catch up on all the latest goings on at Honda and basically re-unload all the baggage I just subjected Yvonne to yesterday. Attention and pity. It's fucking more addictive than heroin. Anyhoo, she goes out a lot with her friends, I think I'll ask her for some fun things to do.

---

I forgot to mention, the fortune cookie I got when we went over to Becky's last week:

"You will be advanced socially, without any special effort."

Well, it's about freaking time! You know, for lately (and especially today for some reason), everybody at work has been talking up a storm to me and being all smiley and "You're so sweet, Andy!" It's quite an unusual (and welcome) departure from the usual "Oh God, it's talking to me." look I'm accustomed to getting.

This concludes today's drivelling stream-of-consciousness. :-)

Hey, even Shakespeare used the word "puking"

Today the internal pressure had reached boiling point. You know, just like when you get the flu and you know you're going to barf whether you make it to the loo or not? Well, I had some worries to get off my chest that couldn't wait any longer, and like throwing up on a crowded bus, it's going to get on the nearest person whether they really mind it or not. So there I am at work in Yvonne's office emotionally vomiting anxieties of my impending single-ness all over her, poor captive girl. And after hearing enough of my ridiculous bitching, she says that I should stop analyzing every last little thing and just go with what feels right.

[I pause momentarily to introspect]

I can't believe it. I say that to everybody I know. I dispense that advice more frequently than an "Our exquisite replica of..." machine in a truck stop bathroom douses people with oily smelly ooze. ("How would you know about that? Hmm?" I hear you ask. I plead the fifth.) It drives me up the fucking wall when people dissect, analyze, misinterpret, and overreact to every little far-fetched "what-if" their imaginations can concoct to support their worst fears, however obviously unrealistic.

And there I am, doing exactly that.

Am I the only one who is tickled pink by the "What goes on here, stays here" series of commercials for Las Vegas. Basically, they sell Sin City by implying to prosepective visitors that the city is a cornucopia overflowing with all the plentiful, promiscuous, and anonymous sex you can treat yourself to.

Brilliant tactic. Absolute genius.

True sexy talk...

Design from the T Shirt Hell website. Honestly, I want a girl whose heartbeat quickens, eyes widen, and nether region gets all tingly whenever she hears those magic words, "Tornado Watch in effect for Miami, Darke, Preble, Shelby, and Montgomery counties..."

Yes, I am a weather nerd.  

One step forward, two steps back

Remember me talking about dreams just a few short posts ago? Well, wouldn't you know the other day I got a letter in the mail accepting me to the Physician Assitant program at the Kettering College of Medical Arts. Guess what... I ain't goin. Nope. To do that I'd have to give up my prestigious career assembling wheelbarrows, and the almighty dollar bill just won't permit that. In fact, I just came in from submitting an application at the grocery store around the corner. Yep, if all goes well, in a week or two, your dear Grover will be working

seven

days

a

god

damned

week

just to pay the rent. So maybe later on I'll go to some other college for some other career. Some other time. There's always a later on.

"Genius is wisdom and youth."

So there I am last night, lounging on the back porch, reading "Silent Bob
Speaks" by Kevin Smith, and sipping ginger ale with a spot of Jim Beam.
After a few drinks and a warm comfortable buzz, I stop. Not because I was
getting sick or tired or anything. I just didn't want to get shit-faced.
So I stopped. Then a frightening thought struck me... am I getting old
and prudent before having the chance to be young and foolish? As soon as
that idea hit, however, I had another realization:

Given the way things are headed, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

---

(p.s. the title is my favorite line from the stage version of "Spoon
River Anthology")

What Dreams May Come

I've been asking myself lately what my dreams are. There's the trite and typical stuff: be a rock star, hang out with the OCC crew, build a cool house with a bazillion-level deck and a heated pool... you know, anything involving gratuitous amounts of attention and/or money.

But really, when I think all the way to the very end of things, what I want more than anything is to be lying on my deathbed looking up at my beautiful grown-up children. Just as I slip quietly into the night, I want to gasp my final words to them, "I love you all more than you could ever know. And, damn, was life fun!" And in this dream, nobody cries. Instead, they smile because they know I was right.

I will get there. Just you watch.

Castles in the Sky

We were at Becky's house tonight, and after some Chinese take-out, she and Caro retired to the back porch for some no boys allowed talk. Plus, Becky's (adorable) little infant girl was fussing endlessly, and her frustration level was getting obviously pushed. I volunteered to do a little babysitting. So there I am, Mr. How-hard-can-it-be-to-make-a-baby-stop-crying, and even my wiliest of charms just aren't working. She didn't want her bottle. She didn't want to be cradled or held up against my chest. She didn't want her pacifier. Even singing her The Doors' "Crystal Ship" didn't work, so I pulled out the secret weapon of sleep inducement. I sang her the song I wrote. Knocked her clean out like a lightbulb. How's that for some brutally honest criticism? :-)

---

In Dayton, the old Dayton Power & Light powerplant is (was) this grand old structure that has been abandoned for years. Styled after a castle, it was complete with arrow loops on the roof and gothic arched windows. It was truly a sight to behold, and for years I meant to get some pictures of it. But there was always tomorrow. Always next week. Always later to get it done. Well, they started knocking the building down last week, so at least I had the time to take some portraits of the portions left standing... girders sticking out every which way, windows smashed out. I'll never have a picture of my own documenting the imposing structure I had admired for so many years. There isn't any more next week, or even a tomorrow for me to make up for my inaction.

A bit of a metaphor for life, isn't it? Sometimes, for those who wait, good things pass right on by.

Meanwhile, back the watering hole... 

The two ladies I started talking to, and me looking like a doofus maximus. Remember the one on the right from my previous round of photos? I do not envy the massive hangover she must've had the morning after. 

Note, the Rolling Rock sign is no longer working in this photo. Gee...I wonder how that happened... 

After D's, I meandered on over here to kill the buzz a little. It's only two doors down. 

Mmmm... donut holes. 

Inside Tim Horton's. These two were totally digging on each other. It was so cute, I had to get a picture.  

Some lamps as I was walking the buzz off after Tim Horton's 

Same 

My back porch. Last picture of the night, just as I'm turning in. 

Wolfe. He's camera shy, so I don't have many pictures of him 

My name in Tolkien's Elvish script (Tengwar) 

Ok, I've been holding out on you, even though I'm guessing you guys have already figured this out... but I'm going to burst if I don't get this off my chest. Caro and I are officially splitting and staying friends. We're going to take care of the paperwork and filing fees as soon as the past due bills are paid, and she and Viv are planning on moving to New Jersey late this year.

There. I said it. Now you know for sure.

You Say Tomato

On the way to work this morning there was a McDonald's commercial on the
radio. The lady doing the voiceover boasted of the coffee being 100%
arabica. The thing is, she pronounced it "uh-RAB-ic-uh", and I always
thought it was "AIR-uh-BEAK-uh". Is this a case of potato vs. potahto?
I'd hate to think I was saying it wrong all along.

Think about it

Last night I was watching the Discovery Channel movie "Super Volcano",
which, along the lines of "The Day After Tomorrow", is a big 'what if'
about the magma pool under Yellowstone National Park erupting so big that
it makes Mt. St. Helens look like a 4th of July firecracker. Then I'm at
work reading a thing about how the the 'it' thing to do is play off of
peoples' religious paranoia about the end times drawing near.

Then something clicked. I'm no Bible scholar, but weren't a few of
Revelation's events that day turns to night, air turns to poison, rivers
and the moon turn to blood? Well, that describes a catastrohpic volcanic
eruption exactly. Day turns to night under the ash cloud. The falling
ash turns the air to poison, making the very act of breathing deadly. The
sulphur dioxide belched out makes skies all over the world a brilliant
deep red, which would reflect off waters making rivers appear as if they
were flowing with blood.

Creepy, huh? :-)

Testing

Just testing the function where you can email posts to your blog.
Yep, I'm sending this from good ol' grovermatic@gmail.com.

While I'm here, I have to say that I can't quite pin down exactly what
it is, but The Cardigans' song "Erase And Rewind" makes me horny every
time I hear it.

Sooner or Later

You know, lately I've been thinking quite a bit about why I take photos of myself. Is it really a vanity thing? Does this tie into my penchant for books by photographers who take portraits of celebrities? Maybe. But also, I equally was entranced by the book, Naked New York. I would so love to have posed for that... one portrait of my public clothed self, and one of my private nude self. Nothing sexy or erotic. Just plain people stripped of their armor, some looking vulnerable, some insecure, and some standing proud and strong.

I realized something. What I get from these pictures, be them celebs, nude New Yorkers, or even random acts of senseless living (as in the
Found Photos website, of which I am so enamoured), is nothing short of pure love. Pure joy. Pure wide-eyed innocent wonder. And what I want, more than anything, is to pass on that raw emotion to others, even if only one other person out there can grasp what it is I am trying so awkwardly to say. If I can inspire in somebody who looks at any of the photos I've posted even just a hint of the child-like wonder I feel when looking at others' photos, then...I don't know what then. It would just mean the world to me.

Returning to the topic of self-portraiture, it's not that I'm using it as peacock feathers. The point is not to say "Look at Andy! Pay attention to Andy!", but rather, "Appreciate this random face, for the person (and spirit) behind it admires others, and rest assured he admires and loves you." I want people to be comforted by it, as I am by other peoples' portraits. Does that make any sense?

I know what I'm trying to say, it's just coming out all weird. I'll get it right sooner or later.

Table at O'Brian's. 

Armand, my bestest buddy and ever-patient model. I have a 1024 pixel-wide version of this and it makes a great desktop if anybody wants it. 

Stairs at Sinclair Community College in Dayton. (and the tip of my boot) 

My back porch. I always thought lamps in the dark look lonely. 

Couple in costume (and character) at O'Brian's. 

O'Brian's. I have no idea who these people are.  

Serving crew in the tent at D's. 

Temporary tent set up outside Dunaway's.  

Aftermath. Look at all the wasted beer in those milk jugs! What a shame. 

Dude at Dunaway's 

One of the two ladies I befriended at D's. Yes, people were drinking beer from HALF-GALLON MILK JUGS! Jesus, even that was a little too much for me.  

I found Jesus. He was behind the couch all this time.

I was listening to the radio today, and they were talking about the roots of fanaticism, and they mentioned a concept called 'striving for the inner ring'. It basically entails striving to attain positions within higher and higher social circles, craving praise and validation from the right people. The commentator called it "spiritual longing gone sour".

Spiritual longing gone sour. Very poetic. Hmm.... possibly the root of some of my slightly more shallow desires? But how to quench this "spiritual longing"? Church frightens me. Tried the pagan thing, but found it just isn't my bag. Buddhism? Hinduism? Zoroastrianism?

Dammit. I hate this.

Sketches from Sinclair. The words on the side of the page are lines from a song I heard listening to WYSO. (who streams over the internet, hence the link. You'll thank me later.) I thougth they were nice I wrote them down before I forgot them.