Well, hey!

So, alright, I haven't worked on this blog for a long time now, but I think I can stick to a weekly regime from here on in. With my salary being what it is now, I'm going to buy one new song every Sunday. Then I'll write about which song I bought and why it's an awesome song. So I'll be entitling these "Cole's Song of the Week Picks"

Anyways, I'll kick it off with a song I got a few days ago. If you're an Alternative junkie, you'll probably like this song. "Harborcoat" by R.E.M. is the song I've been listening to on infinite loop for the past few hours, with good reason. Like most of their tunes, this song has a driving beat and socially interesting lyrics. This song is about Soviet Russia and probably has more interpretations than I can think about right now. If you get the chance I recommend it. There's a live version on youtube, where you can actually see R.E.M at one of their earlier gigs.

Sleepy time!

Exhausted, I throw my keys on the floor, upon entering my flat

I kick my boots to the wall, not checking to see where the cat is

Both miss, thankfully, but she nearly hit the ceiling from the abrupt impact

I flop onto my mattress in the back room; taking my clothes off standing up would take

Too much effort. Wriggling out of them was more fun anyways

Somewhere on the bed was a wayward crumb, which found its way into my hair.

Thinking it was a tick, I pulled it out and flicked it towards the bathroom

“Tomorrow,” I murmured “I’ll flush you”

You didn’t have to tell me

To shut my eyes. I knew exactly how to sleep

Sometimes, we know better than other nights

Above me, a strange buzzing noise grew out of the mortar and PVC

My upstairs neighbor’s phone was on vibrate

And it wasn’t long until I heard him frantically searching for it

A chuckle escaped my parched mouth,

Picturing this Orson Welles of a man

Hustling to some rogue caller

“It’s under your chair,” I whispered “You know, the one you can’t get out of anymore”

Lulled by his conversation

Which was muffled by the insulation

I drifted off to sleep

Tomorrow

Would be

Another day.

Hum

“Master, tell me, how can one make the words themselves

Simple, yet cryptic, bold, yet refined, easy to understand, yet thoughtful

Dance from the paper to the mind itself?

How is it possible that a word itself

Can change a sentence to a moment?

A paragraph to an experience?

A page to a journey?

What ideas fuel the writing?

Furtive

Bleak

Intrepid

How can I turn a dialogue into a conversation?

And a word into a smile?

What is the difference between a rookie and a journeyman?”

“The answer, son, is one so simple

Spellbinding in theory, intangible to many

The aspect of writing is not to

Draw one’s soul onto the page

It is the opposite.

Take your page and press it to your heart.

Let your inner being perform rituals around the fire

Bellow with glee in creativity

For the art comes not from the soul

It comes with it.”

What is it?

What can I tell you?

You think you already know everything about this

"Single faceted"

Being that simple person

Hiding in the corner there

You say I make you laugh.

Yeah, that happens. I seem to have a knack for that.

But that's probably just about it.

Nothing more behind those jokes

Chistes y nada mas

Comic Relief in this "Oh so interesting drama"

Let me tell you.

When things really hit the fan

When shit really breaks out,

How are you going to handle yourself?

Scurry back to mom and pop

And have them hug you and tell you

Sweet Sweet lies?

Have them do everything for you?

Your facade is undone

Just don't let anyone see you.

All I can say

Is look.

There's more to everyone than meets the eye

More than surface value

And if there isn't

They're living a lie

And have no substance

Behind that

Mask.

Singer Accredits Success To Small Child From Another Plane

After his latest publicity stunt of attempted suicide, it isn't uncommon to see the lead singer of the band "Skunklefunk" in the news. The hit vocalist Trevor_Candy had hit rock bottom just last month after "Heavy dabbling in drugs", as the band's drummer, PilesOfBrown, recalled:

"Really, he just couldn't handle the pressure after our band had unlocked a new set list," stated the Brown, "I think it's always hardest for the singer...but him talking about suicide was a real wake up call for us. I mean... This was serious shit,"

Luckily, the singer pulled through his addiction, and could ultimately attribute his rise back to the top of the charts to his conversion to Buddhism. However, all successes come with a price. It was early in the afternoon last Monday when Candy was found reaching enlightenment, the ultimate goal of followers of the Buddhist faith. According to testimonies from the band themselves, Candy was saying things of how his life was "Simply a small piece of entertainment for a family or group of friends" and that "His recent success could only be the work of a 7 year old boy".

"(I) couldn't help but cry when he said that," states the group's bassist, default. "Really, it wasn't so much his conversion that shocked us, or this strange conclusion of his, but to think he'd think some kid was in control of his fate as a musician? It broke my heart. I mean, would you play music with someone who could, at any minute, drop everything for 'snack time' and to color with crayons?"

Undoubtedly, the fans were moved by this strange announcement as well. Seeing their idol attribute all his hits to "A 7 year old boy singing covers of songs from elsewhere" certainly took a toll on record sales. The band is already making plans to cancel their concert in Dublin due to "People unable to accept this harsh truth," stated Candy, blunty.

He went on to say that "He would've stopped playing after the summer ended, anyway. School would've gotten in the way, and his brother would most likely over-write our save file..."

After a short week of listening to Candy's long-winded and confusing rants, the band's morale was reduced to only a shadow of what it once was. The fate of "Skunklefunk" looks grim, especially after Candy's potential 'vow of silence'.

Odd. Very Odd Indeed...

What is it with people being so paranoid in this city?

I remember that before I moved out of Wyoming, Minnesota, I'd come to Nesting Grounds and the ladies working here would let their kids roam the store talking to its caffeinated customers like they were brothers and sisters.

About... I guess it'd be 8 months ago... the assistant manager of this place was celebrating her 40th birthday. They had a cake for her and were smoking cigarettes in the back room (Which is probably what any 40th birthday is like). Her 8 year old son came up to me holding a pack of tattered old cards and politely asked to play Go Fish with me. After taking a sip of my coffee, I obliged and we had fun (Despite the fact that the deck was missing a half dozen cards). She probably enjoyed having the kid out of her hair too while she enjoyed her brief minutes of celebrating her birth.

Today, however, a young couple was talking to their insurance agent here. They had a toddler who managed to stumble over to my table, where I was doing some light reading on my computer. I had only a moment to look over and smile at him before his dad ran up and snatched him away, sneering at me in his periphery.

From this, I can only conclude one of two things: I either look like a creeper child abductor, or people have become ridiculously scared of other people.

Am I taking this just a bit too personally? Maybe. And hey, I've never had a kid of my own, so I've got next to no parenting experience (Other than baby sitting and playing with my ex Kellie's two year old).

But are we not all human here? The people in this town seem to long for peace of mind, and when you get a big group of people seeking that, you either get paranoia or tension, it seems. Which gets back to the utopian theories of how the perfect world can't exist in reality.

So I can just say that I'll treat everything and everybody with respect. We all do stem from the same essence and have no reason to cause seperation. Your joys can be of mine, and your pains too. There's no reason not to be friendly, so there you have it.

Just remind me not to be bitter. Coffee tends to do that to you.

Grabbing Thoughts of the Restless Mind

As I write this,

Or rather, as I strain to write this,

I've got a fair enough amount of thought processes (Processi sounds so much better, but is, alas, not gramatically correct) shooting back in forth in my head.

How much does one have to think before they can be considered "Clinically crazy"?

Or is it that he who doesn't think is the crazy one?

I can't tell, and I'm certain this is a bit too much for the sane mine to take in.

Certainly, that can't be true. Take into consideration the bright psychologists in this world. Are they the crazy ones? Probably not.

Fact of the matter is, we can't fathom to comprehend that which is out of our grasp.

Example time:

Can someone love someone who isn't there?

This question poses many, but I've been looking at all sides of this proverbial variable.

1) Yes. Someone can love some who isn't there. Love is beautiful and mysterious enough to transcend all borders, barrieres and limits, so yes one could effectively love anyone or anything, regardless of its/his/her presence.

2) Yes, but that person isn't necessarily loving the person him/herself, but the memories of experiences shared with this person. This is simply the act of rememberance or honor, and not necessarily love of that person.

3) No. Love is fostered by care, togetherness, and commonalities, such as time spent doing similar things with each other. If the person you really love isn't there for you when you need them most, it's only harmful, and you'll end up being a hopeless looney. Attachment to a person can effectively damage oneself, and this isn't love but obsession

Which answer is right? Of course, this isn't the SAT of compassion and care, so I don't know the answer, nor can I say that my resolve of this question is the right one:

Quid Pro Quo is a latin expression meaning "Something for something". It can be determined as gratification, be it instant or in the long term, but nonetheless is something I keep thinking about. When you love someone (Memories, conversations, anything to do with them), you remember them. They impacted you in some way profoundly, and you care about them for as long as you humanly can.

Say, that after time passes, you see less and less of this person. They're busy with other problems, and suddenly find themselves trapped in their own muddle of reality, too busy for others. Contact has been cut off, and no new memories can be formed and new experiences can't be shared. You still love this person, though. And that lives on, because love is patient. More than that, love is ever-present. In this sense, Quid Pro Quo shows itself again.

If you remember this person every day, and still care about them, they feel it.

I have no clue how, but in time, they come back to you, very happy that you never forgot about them. And they will have many new things to share with you.

Does a certain person come to my mind?

Yes. Several. I feel like I have the capacity to love many people, and care about them in a deep profound way. Certainly not always romantically, but I care. And I try my best to always remember them.

However, to conclude this long-winded thought, I've got one person who I haven't talked to in a while. Who I miss.

A lot.

And I hope she's doing fine. Certain medical procedures take time to heal, and I'm sure she's toughing it out.

Who am I to say she isn't reading this now? It's a public blog. And I'm sure more read it than I think. Which is why I'm glad to share this thought.

I am happy. You should be too.

-Joy Sinews

Loop Loop

Well, it seems as if we’ve found ourselves in a predicament of sorts, again. By predicament, I’m not implying the usual sort of run-of-the-mill issues that the Jonathon Everyman faces on his ever so basic regiment. I’m not addressing the impending chances of death by meteor attack, nor am I staring head on into the face of everyday evil that is the Beast of Maim.

No, this is something much, much worse; a problem that could send the illegitimate offspring of Hercules and Wonder Woman scuttling into a damp cavern, beefy mace-tail between its legs.

It seems though, that this problem is all too common, which is most likely why it causes so much pain. It’s not the big things in life we focus on, it’s the little biting things that gnaw on us daily until our will is shattered and brain reduced to cauliflower. We cannot deem the day with only one problem as “Problematic”, but ones with the same problem over and over, tend to create a labyrinth in our mind and the only word we can choke out to define them is: “Prruhhblemmmatiiiic”

I’m assuming you all speak the way I do, which is probably a hefty postulation, seeing how I am; An oddity amongst men. I say that in the lighter sense, seeing as how my problem is plaguing me and I’m clearly undeserving of self-deprecation. Even I can’t trust me. Paranoia is a bitch like that: Cold, calculating, and callous. However, paranoia is not what’s bugging me at the moment.

Unless it is. How do I really know?

Right, I need to get back to main thesis of this little scrawling of mine. The fact of the matter is as such, sweet and simple, yet cruel and enigmatic:

I can’t get online.

Now, before you get all huffy (Like I know you will. Thanks a lot.) and say “Hold up there, Cole. There are starving children in Zimbabwe, fighting for every scrap and morsel they can get, and you’re here fussing about not being able to get online? You, sir, are a real jerk. Bona. Fide. Jerk!”, I should tell you a little something: “Mehbeh yooure the rrrll pruhhhblemmm whay theyyy cahn’t geet fooood!”

Ah, my apologies. That came out all wrong. I can never capture vernacular, so this is probably why I’m not attending college. All those questions on the ACT about regional dialects really darkened my score. Not to mention my incredibly quick response to write “I Won’t. Promise,” in the space labeled DO NOT WRITE IN THIS AREA.

So I guess I’m back where I started, surprisingly enough. Just like the first man to try and drive a Ferris Wheel. I’m sure he wound up exactly where he started too. Keep pioneering, friends, compatriots, and caretakers. We will eventually devise a way to unhinge and direct those things right out of the State Fair and into our homes. I’d like to see the look on Dale’s face when I show up to work driving a Ferris Wheel. He’ll piss his Nissan Stanza, I’m sure.

Going nowhere is twice as fun as not going anywhere.

~Doc

On a Fine Day

The following story is one hundred percent true. And by that, I mean it's true fabrication. However, does that make it any less interesting? The answer is no.

Some times, everything is stacked your way. You're happy without question or reason, and the refills are always free.

Other days, random people try to mug you to impress their girlfriends.

I should rewind a bit here, seeing as how this is scatterbrained enough as it is.

People hate people who are happy. It's a common fact. And me being some one who's constantly smiling, well I attract many enemies. Haters, as they like to be called, are motivated by their own self indulgence. They want nothing more than to cause woe to those who are happy and weathy in spirit.

On this day, I had ordered soup, to celebrate my 100th day of unquestionable joy. Meanwhile, in a booth in the corner, this young man happened to be conversing with his girlfriend about how his "Gay Pride" T-shirt didn't make him less of a man.

I had to agree. I really love how pink shirts bring out manliness in people. As well as hoop earrings and lap dogs.

So eventually, as I was eating my soup, this guy stood up and blurted out at his girlfriend "I refuse to sit here and take this! I challenge anyone in this place to a fist fight, right here, right now"

Me being the only patron in the coffee shop, I decided to humor him: "Pipe down, Sally, I'm trying to enjoy my soup..."

His face was pink as the tube top he had on and he quickly skipped over to me "Do you want to challenge me to fisticuffs, sir?" His lisp was so bad, he was thinning my soup.

Standing up, I said, "I can't hit a woman, it would be unkind."

Words couldn't express the look in his face, and his girlfriend was laughing so hard, irony was shooting out of her nose. So before I could tell him to take his estrogen and settle down, he slapped me. Then started to cry profusely as he ran out the door, apologies leaking from his mouth.

The girl from the back stood up and called over to me, "I've been trying to get rid of him for ages! Sorry about your soup... Would you care for a new bowl?"

"Sure," I said, "but on one condition. You were dating this guy? Why didn't you just dump him?"

"What can I say?" She started, "He's so much fun to take out in public."

NOTE: This post wasn't meant to be funny. There's nothing more funny than failure.

- He Who Can't Bear To Put His Name On This

CoC To Life

This is a little remnant of something I wrote back in high school. Since some of it's faded, I guess this'd be an "Abridged" version. I was really proud of it, and I still think it's a little something that we can all relate to.

1) Respect: Care for those who you hold close to your heart. In turn, they'll do the same. When dating someone, hold their needs above yours. Everything you pass between people is something sacred. Respect that, and you'll respect all others.

2) Integrity: Own up to the promises you make to others as well as the responsibilities bestowed upon you. Truly and honstly listen to the ones you care for. Lies and Decpection break trust so avoid them as much as possible.

3) Charity: Give everything you can to those who need it most. You'll win many hearts by carrying burdens, big or small.

4) Non-Violence: Never fall back on pure aggression or recklessness. Defend yourself with skill, wit and smarts; they're ten times as powerful as your fists.

5) Consistency: Be yourself, even when no one is around to notice. You never know when someone will call upon you, so stand ready and be alert for new challenges and trials.

6) Perspective: Never take anything too seriously. You'll find yourself in a whole lot less strain if you can look on things and weigh them to how really important they are.

... I'm sure there was more to this, but I can't seem to remember. It's old and beat up, but I still love it.

~<3

The List Game, Volume I

Top Ten List Titles Of Lists That Don't Exist But Should:

10) Top Ten Best Ways To End a Conversation:

9) Top Ten Reasons Why You're Afraid Of Cleaning Your Bathroom:

8) Top Ten Articles Of Clothing That Are Sure To Get You Killed In Foreign Lands:

7) Top Ten Worst Cop-Outs For A Blog Post:

6) Top Ten Sites Your Grandmother Would Call "A Cryin' Shame..":

5) Top Ten Places You Have Hair That People Talk About Behind Your Hairy Back:

4) Top Ten Reasons Why Pizzas Have That Little Table Thingy In The Middle Of Them:

3) Top Ten Worst Places To Go To Break Up With Some One:

2) Top Ten Reasons Why Your Dog Won't Stop Humping Your Neighbor:

1) Top Ten Best Names To Give Your Child So He Or She Can Grow Up To Become The Anti-Christ:

I seem to alternate serious and funny posts.

Lawl.

~Cole

Why Write?

It's not a common thing, really, being able to write. Nor is it something incredibly uncommon. It's something everyone takes for granted, since 99% of us can read and write. But when we say "Literacy Rate", what exactly does that entail? Would this literate person simply be able to pick up any book and read it cover to cover without problem? Or better yet, would they want to? 99% of us have the ability to read, but how many of us actually do want to? How many people in America actually feel the need to pick up and read a book? Not even that, but how many who simply do nothing but play video games all day (Albeit outstanding ones with amazing storylines that make statements about our life, such as Metal Gear Solid, American McGee's Alice, and Portal) can't be bothered to follow a storyline? Tales crafted with alligorical care, woven with love into this toy to entertain and be enjoyed, are passed up at the press of a button. When someone's idea or statement is passed up and tossed aside in favour of a game, it's no less than common murder of thought.

So why write? Why try? Kids seem to be fully content with the same recycled concept of shooting people in the face with whatever gun is at hand. Better yet, why even write books or blogs or anything? They seem outdated and boring to most people today.

Since I'm already late for work, I'll have to cut it short here:

Read.

You'll do yourself wonders if you do.

~Cole

A Poem, With Regards.

"So...let's rewind here," you'd say, surely. Because this is something no one can comprehend. Something beyond all mortal words, reasoning, logic, and thought trains (They could never leave Chicago going westbound at 10 AM fast enough).

Me being me, I'll gladly agree.

Because I love fabrication ever so much. I love how you have to fake your grasp of the story, because I know your subconscious is screaming out to you:

"I get it already! Don't make him talk more! It's befouled my brains and scrambled my eyes, like so many eggs before them."

But you ask again "Who? What? Why? When? What? WHY?" ever questioning, ever prodding, ever breaking down the simple glory of that which is a venture into the vales of intrigue. Something that is meant nothing more than to entertain, must be shredded to tatters in your very sight.

Don't think. Don't feel. Don't Get. Just analyze. Break down to the components, because once you have that, you've got a whole lot of little things. Little things that are meant to be stepped on, pressed to dust, then ions, then atoms. Particles of what once was, be it strange, outlandish, or ludicrous, something original.

Let's listen again and again, until the mouth turns blue and falls off. 'Tis not for our benefit, but his. Creatures capable of creation, shouldn't. Especially, if it was woven with love.

Love which can't be, now or then or any time henceforth.

Because that what holds it, is likely cracked. A funnel. And it'll take more than duct tape to fix it.

"Rewind?" I'd say, "Sure, sure... But the tape only goes so far back, if you can understand that..."

"I can't. Sorry."

"... Ah... Shame..."

“On a day, in which I pet freedom as though it were a porcupine”

I think it shouldn’t be necessary to say that porcupines are God’s least hugged creatures. Within all reason, one could come to this conclusion within seconds of hugging one of these small animals. Upon touching one, or so I can only assume, one would become severely punctured with several small needles that are sharp enough to draw blood from only a very gentle hug.

Since stoicism is a dying art form (seeing as how rarely any one can shut up about every little thing plaguing them from moment to moment, being it an untied shoe, divorcee, or hemorrhaging brain clot), humans as a whole would rather surge up against these tiny and unwitting creatures, shunning them for, being it inadvertent, causing us woe. We’d much rather waste resources printing hate doctrine against porcupines, than embracing them as one should (Needles sluicing through blood vessels be it as it may). National Geographic is sure to tell us more about porcupines than cancer, heart disease and car accidents, which are conveniently our nation’s biggest problems. We’d rather depict them as brutal, heartless killers, making Ted Bundy look like a pussy cat and Wilks Booth a toddler with a squirt gun by comparison.

How long will it be until humanity wakes up and smells the java? We need to stop this hate and stop wasting our valuable resources on mocking and hissing at these poor creatures. I challenge you, dear reader, to give up those “Half Caff Mocha Lattes” you love so much for a month and spend the savings on a Kevlar vest, so you too can hug these much trampled underfoot animals. And don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of time to whine about your waning libido and epilepsy while the spines aren’t penetrating your chest.

“Some would say ‘Grab life by the horns’… Sure, sure… But I say ‘Grab life by the porcupines; you’ll never believe what sticks with you,”.

- Cole

Dance With Death

As promised, here is the completed Menger Sponge. It's made of 180 Magic Cards, most of which suck. We finished this baby last night, and I'm most likely going to add onto it when Brendon has to head out to Summer school. Tch. Some people really should focus in class instead of taking blurry pictures. We'll know that if he drops, he won't be getting into photography. Enough ripping on my good friends (Don't think you're completely off the hook though). I think it's time to address the title of this post. Roughly half an hour ago, I got a phone call from Father Jon saying how people wouldn't shut up about how much they loved the music I did for the funeral today. Me being who I am, I ran off right after the service. I can't stand being around people who feel the need to tip me, let alone people emotionally driven to give me money.

It wasn't so much that I was happy about how the music went and how well I performed in front of a couple hundred people. I was happy about the phone call. When you're up on center stage with the whole world watching, you have to do nothing but block everyone out and reach deep inside to find that insticnt inside you; That primal urge to just play your heart out. If you can do that, your audience won't care if you play the most simplistic of songs. They'll be moved by this display of sheer emotion and your ability to turn out your insides.

This is why I love my line of work. Something as mysterious and shattering as death brings families and friends together, but the music gives them hope, comfort, and something to all talk about instead of the dismal passing that is death.

With that, I'll probably spend the rest of the day outside. It's a great day outside, and there's nothing like death to help you reflect upon the wondrous beauty that is our world.

~Mister Cole Thomas

Dulce Et Decorum Est

The word 'Teamwork' is a term that's thrown around a whole lot these days. Pictured at left is a little something I'm working on with a good friend of mine. We decided to take all our crap for Magic cards and make a Menger Sponge. It's essentially Origami on crack. The problem with making this thing is that the cards aren't glued, nor are they reinforced in any way. So we're making a rather fragile thing out of old moldy cards. However, through the power of team work, the think holds remarkably well, I'm sure. It stands up and I'm sure once it's finished, it'll make for a great chair.

Check for more pictures as we finish this thing. It's gonna be epic. Also, my title for this post is the same as the title for a very good poem. Go read it.

~Doc

Deep Thoughts

Ever eaten anything in the shower? Now, before you jump to conclusions, I'm not going to say that I'm a frequent shower eater. After a great conversation I had with a certain someone, I was provoked to take a shower (You know how those gritty conversations get you all dirty feeling? Something like that.). Though on my way to the bathroom, I got the sudden urge to eat cantaloupe. Now, in a normal situation, I'd probably have yelled at the wall for not magically producing a chopped cantaloupe, then taken a shower and acted all passive-aggressive to anyone foolish enough to try talking to me. Instead of getting man-bitchy, I snagged the nearest cantaloupe, and with a devious glint in my eyes, I snuck it into the bathroom and started the shower. I let the water run for a while so that it'd drown (Pun intended) out the sound of me giggling like a crazen hyena. When you get to be as nuts and cunning as me, you take in stride that people get worried when you're giggling in the bathroom.

After thinking about the consequences of stealing an entire cantaloupe, I jumped in the shower and stared at the pilfered piece of produce. Was this really worth it?

That question was easily answered when I ripped the rinds to shreds and started eating the thing whole, like a Blackfoot devouring the still-beating heart of the fallen buffalo. This got me to thinking: Why aren't there restaurants that serve their meals in the shower? Come in dirty and hungry, come out well groomed and well fed. It's the perfect idea. Having a bachelorette party? I'd be damned sure the waiter was wearing a Speedo as he brought the lasagna into the big bath.

Anyone knowing of a place like that should really tell me; I'd be there at least twice a week. Just don't drop the soap in the Creme Brulee.

~Doc

Stop. Sit. Muse.

Working for a church has its benefits. On the bright side of the spectrum, you find yourself reflecting on who you are in this world. Why you exist and why you're creating music. On the other end, however, you find yourself locked in conversations:

"Ugh. I feel sick. Do I look sick, Father Jon?"
"Eh, no more than usual."

Is it any wonder why I find myself questioning existence? Long answer, Probably. Short answer, no.

I'm a big fan of using all 2% of my brain, so for this fine day, I'll advise you to do the same. If you don't use it, you lose it. And that's something that rhymes, which is what all musicians should strive for. Rhyming lyrics. That and unexpected usage of name dropping. The more obscure the better, trust me. You want your target to be more bewildered than Ian Astbury's lyrics.

-Rimshot-

Enjoy yourselves today. And don't forget where you came from.

~Doc

Guitars in Heat

Well, it's been a long week. And I use that term lightly, seeing as how all weeks are all the same duration. "Long" refers moreso to the foresight, and what will be happening in weeks to come, not so much meters, time, or trouser size (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about). Nope, this has been a long week spent in somewhat quiet contemplation, laced stealthily with hopefulness and optimism. Now before I get all saccharine on you, I'll have to say that you've probably stumbled on this blog by accident and (seeing as how traffic may be few) I plan to keep you sucked in by any means necessary (Ladies, you know what I mean). If you did, however, come here on purpose, I'm delighted. Stay awhile and enjoy yourself. This brainchild of mine will be a testament to all I've achieved as a man on this crazy Earth. Ventures, advice, jokes, stories, or anything else I find to be worthwhile to combat the onslaught of crap on this wide web.

Since this is clearly a heavy order, I'll keep it brief for now: Don't leave your guitar out in a hot car.

The back windows of my '98 Taurus are tinted just past the legal limit in Minnesota (Which is fine, because I'm out of state right now. Cue shifty eyes) but don't be fooled. If you've ever owned an Easy Bake Oven, you know what I'm talking about here: Heat Convection at its finest. At this point, I'd much rather throw my guitar over the piping hot, Temp Warning laden, edges of Mount Vesuvius (Along with a few people to offer as human sacrifice to Quetzalcoatl. Cue more shifty eyes; You know who you are).

Back to the point of hand, unless you like tuning repeatedly, I'd advise keeping ice in your acoustic guitar case. You know, buy one of those gas station 40 pounder bags and just dump it in. It's the only hope for battling our one true enemy: The sun. This may be a little late (Being July and all) but I'd like to wish you all a happy summer. Kick back, take a vacation to visit some loved ones, and always keep your voice in tune. You never know when you might need to do some impromptu singing.

Pressing onward,

Cole, "DoctorAutopsy"