Friday

So today I was cleaning the space around my computer, because I do that sorta thing every once in awhile (for instance, in this case once every two years), and I found this super old story I wrote when I was 9.

Hello, my name is Joe, Joe Kolophegis. That’s not my real name, but everyone calls me that. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because that’s what I tell them to call me. Last Monday something magical happened…

…I got magical powers. I have no idea how, but I did. I pointed to this broccoli and in my mind I was wishing that it was a cake and it turned into a big three-layered carrot cake!

On Tuesday I made it so we had world peace that was really cool. The next day, Wednesday I made it so we had natural powered cars. Finally on Thursday I made it so that everyone in band played really well, which we already did. That’s stuff I wanted to happen.

But on Friday, something terrible happened. I zapped myself to the thing that gave me powers and he took them away. It was some creepy old guy.

I figured out having magical powers may not be all that good, because you could do bad stuff with them, so I don’t want magical powers anymore. It would have gone to my head anyway. Yesterday I’m sure I saw my sister’s celery disappear! Mary, I salute you.

Needless to say, this blatant display of lack of ability infuriated me. What are you doing trying to write stories, 9-year-old self? Don’t you know that that’s a big people’s craft? Bad past self, bad! And just in case you don’t believe me I’ll just do the honors of picking apart this sorry attempt at fiction and tear down any illusions of talent you may have had.

So first off, that name thing.  “Some people call me Joe, and I don’t know why, maybe ’cause I tell them to.” Of course. Thank you for letting us know. That was vital to our understanding of this shitty story. If I hadn’t known why some people may or may not call you something, none of this would have made sense. And that’s sarcasm. It would have made so much sense it was coming out of your ears. Well, no, not that much, but you get the point.

And then that segue between the first and second paragraphs. You’re all, “Wait for it wait for it…” and then there’s absolutely no enthusiasm when you pay it off. “I got magical powers.” Period.  Monotone. “It is your birthday.” And I know it’s not just because you were for some crazy reason against the use of exclamatory expression, or because you were very confused about what interjections were and the religious connotations in that School House Rock song, because you turn right around and exclamify as soon as you get your stupid freaking carrot cake.

On Tuesday you made it so we had world peace? That was really cool, huh? Just really cool. Very nice. And on the next day you magicked in some natural-powered cars. What are you trying to prove here, kid? Are you trying to win a Nobel prize with this crap? Are you gonna make some people  and then take a day off to rest on the sabbath? I mean come on.

And then on Thursday you made it so everyone in your band could play really well, even though they already did. Nice job, Sherlock, way to waste a day on a frickin wish that had already been granted. Basically what you just did was you negated all the hard work and practice all your bandmates put into their instruments and instead stuck in your magic.

Annnd on Friday. You decided that you would zap yourself to the source of your power… and then what? Chat about magic? Ask to go to Hogwarts? And the creepy old guy who is the keeper of the magicianship just, what, took it all away? Did you, like, piss him off or something? Or is the creepy old guy just as annoyed at things you’ve written as I am?

Either way, nice job losing your power in less than a week. That’s probably some sorta record.

And finally, what are you trying to imply with that last paragraph? That your sister suddenly got magic too? But she clearly wasn’t silly enough to think that writing some stupid story about it was a good idea.

So Mary, I salute you. Good job.

That was dumb, sorry.

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Girl

They travel in packs, I swear. They are never alone. You want to talk to one of them? Nope, you’re talking to the group. Why not avoid the need to talk to them? You are male and straight most likely so good luck avoiding that. They are girls. They are always with their friends.

Currently I want to ask one out. Well I’d rather not do it in front of a group. So she needs to be separate from the group. When does that happen? Well to figure that out exactly would require stalking, and stalking doesn’t go over well. So take a guess, maybe when she is at her locker after school. Say that works. I finally have a chance, but what do I say? “Hi, I’m the guy that sits in the corner of your 7^th period who never talks, want to go out sometime?” Well maybe that would work but it’s a little risky to try. Maybe: “Hi, you know me right? Would you like to go out sometime?” Well that sounds okay, I guess I’ll go with that.

What she said yes? Hurrah! Hmm, where to go….. um…..

This is gonna be so much fun….

-Fizzzy

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You know what?

I don’t give a crap anymore.

Just eff off, you bastards.

Really, I spend too much of my time caring. Caring about people. Caring what people think, what people hear, what people say, whether people are alright.

But the thing is, they don’t give a crap themselves, so why should I?

So just leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. We can have a peaceful existence. Just don’t screw with me and it will all be alright.

I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. But come on, man, really?

I hate people like you.

And to the people who this isn’t directed at, all apologies, man. What else can I write? I don’t have the right.

-Timmy

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Love Lockdown

You know what’s weird?

The fact that I kinda like this song:

Love Lockdown, Kanye West

I don’t know if this is something that is okay to feel, or if Bus Radio is rubbing off on me and it’s something I should be ashamed of… but either way, something about this song, with its simplicity and awesome percussiony-drum-things, just strikes me as “huh, I kinda like this.”

Weird.

WIDT.

Soon.

-Timmy

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Weezer

I went to a Weezer concert last night. It was amazing to the greatest extent possible.

Shot by shot recap goes here.

So we left our house and went to pick up Crystal, Rose’s friend. Yay. Amazing. Then we drove to the max station where we found…. SHEZAD! Which was entirely unexpected. I mean, we all knew he was going to the concert, but we had no idea he was gonna take the same max as us from the same station.

Nonetheless, he was there, it was weird, surprising, all that stuff. So we went to the coliseum and went and found our seats. There we sat until the first opening act came out: Tokyo Police Club.

They were pretty not bad. My only complaint is that their drumming is nearly exactly the same from song to song. I mean, they’re not the greatest band ever, y’know, but they were definitely thirty times better than the next band (and much more grateful).

Angels and Airwaves… sucked. And the lead singer’s story about watching he friend’s sister naked was just a tad… excessive. No really.

I just have to gripe for a second. The show was set to start at 7:30, right? And it did. That’s when Tokyo Police Club came out. What’s annoying to me is the fact that Weezer didn’t get out there until, like, 9:30. No really, I don’t want to go to a Weezer concert to see not weezer for two hours.

*sigh*

Whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? And eventually the terrible Angels and Airwaves, who were there for an excessive amount of time, were done. After a brief time for setup, out came… WEEZER! About effing time.

They play a couple songs, and then one more, and then Rivers Cuomo: “How are we gonna beat that jam? We’ll need some help. Weezer need some help. So let’s get some of the guys from Angels and Airwaves back out here.”

I literally saw half of the people in the coliseum slump down in their seats when he said that, myself included. I think I might have actually groaned out loud. Maybe.

But then they were gone and it was happy. Incredibly so.

Then they dropped the sheet over their light board thing (the thing that’s in that picture there.. y’know, with the W? Yeah, that’s the one. But they did it all wrong. It’s supposed to go. y’know, “BANG!” with a guitar.. or gun.. and then the sheet’s supposed to fall, and the lights are supposed to be super bright and be in the shape of that Weezer W. Maybe add some fireworks in there.

But nooo, they finish a song, it’s completely dark on the stage, and it falls. What’s that all about? Nothing, that’s what. It was just dumb.

So they played for awhile, it was cool.

Then they left.

What?

And the guy from Angels and Airwaves (oh no, not again) came up and set up a record player which started to play “Heart Songs” from the Red album. That’s the newest one. I know that.

Theeennnnnenennnenenenenen — excuse me, that was excessive — they came BACK! AHHHHH! And the lead singer kicked over the record player and they started playing Silver by Nirvana.

It was awesome.

Then they played Buddy Holly, and I think that was the end. Either that or they did the hootenanny thing after that. Either way, it was kinda cool.

So I’m gonna skip past anything else that happened in the actual concert. We left and ran into Shezad in the lobby place. He bought a shirt. It was amazing. Then stuff happened, he left, we stayed for a little bit, then we went to the max station, where we ran into him again.

I think he was following us, that crazy hoodlum.

And then the max came and we got on and it took off and took us to, I think it was, like, ruby junction or something. And it stopped. The driver then said over the intercom thing “this is our last stop” or summat.

Now, realize, the only people on the max at the time were me, rose, crystal, shezad, and the people shezad went with, as well as some other couple of people. We were all going to gresham station, which was only two stops away. But it stopped. The damn thing stopped.

So we were out in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold–and it was cold man. Freaking. Finally the max came and we all got on with these three drunk kids who were gonna go hottubbing and weren’t gonna be arrested because they had a little Buddha.

Of course.

Then we got off, came home, and I crashed. I read a little teeny bit of Brisingr, but that put me to sleep faster. Damn thing.

But that’s all not the point of this story.

The point is this: after two hours of Weezer music, why the hell did I have Disturbia by Rihanna stuck in my head when I got home?

Quandary.

-Timmy

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