On Eggers, Burgess, and why, as I sit in starbucks this sunday afternoon I can't feel my legs (or at least, nothing below the thighs)...

Two things: (Have you ever seen or read "Shopgirl"? This isn't one of the aforementioned "things", rather an explanation of why I would begin a sentence so poorly as to number the "things" that said sentence would describe. In "Shopgirl", a flawlessly delicate masterpiece of a book, and later adapted film written and starring respectively Steve Martin, Jason Schwartzman's character occasionally begins sentences containing 2-part questions with the declaration, "two things" - accompanied by a casual right-handed peace sign.)

1. I have terrible circulation. I don't know why, but I have for a long time. If I sit in a chair, or worse, on the toilet for more than, say, 15 minutes without moving my legs or otherwise adjusting my position, I'm numb. From the thighs down.
   
   
2. Dave Eggers has the ability to make mundane and "normal" things embarrassingly hysterical, just as Anthony Burgess has the ability to make menacing and disgusting acts so intricate you can't help but turn the page to read on.
   

I'm reading "How We Are Hungry" by Dave Eggers, and "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess today, and have found myself glued to them both for hours. Any time I pick either up, I find myself stuck wherever I was when I started, 3 hours later.

This is why, as I allowed my bowels to move and my mind to wander reading such heartbreaking work of staggering genius, I can no longer feel my legs (or at least, nothing below the thighs).

Hey, It's me.

I said "good" when she asked how I was doing, and my face started burning. My ears swelled and started closing and the whole world muddled like a yawn. I could hear my throat constrict and the insides of my eyelids grew shards of glass and I blinked. I smiled. My eyes felt like burning... I'm not just happy... Strike that. What I meant to say was

I'm Just.
Not.
Happy.

I'm enthusiastically miserable. More than is acceptable. I'm unhappy enough - and have been for long enough - for my blandness and cold misery to call for a good tough love cleansing speech from a friend or worse - my mom. I can hear her saying "enough is enough, it's time to snap out of it and move on already" underneath her "dad and I really love you" speech. If she only knew how bad this feeling hurts, she'd understand. And she'd want to kick my ass.

"Well that's good to hear, darlin'."

.... wow.

Happy Friday.

A Proud Day.

It's a proud day for tiny smurf. Papa smurf has done well.

Business Time.

OMFG RATM!!!

Dude. DUDE! Listen to me. Seriously, listen. I have something very important to tell you...

Rage.
Against.
Thuh.
Machine.

... back together.

Holy effing balls!!#$&@*!#1

Now, I understand that because I have a fairly diverse readership, this may not mean much to you. And if that's the case, you're probably not listening.

RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE IS BACK TOGETHER!

Dude.
Duuuude. Seriously. Seriously.

Bjork, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and RATM are set to kill Coachella on April 27 in California I may very well become bi-coastal for this shizzle. If you want to understand what's going on here, I'll give you the quick recap.




1991 - The world is done a friggin' service by Tom Morello and Zack de la Rocha getting together to strike fear in the hearts of ... okay. They formed a band.

1992, November 3 - Rage is introduced to the world with their self-titled debut album. Peaking on billboard at #45.





1996, April 16 - Sophomore? Is that the right word here? Their Sophomore release? Well... #1. On Billboard. That's "Evil Empire."





1999, November 2 - This, regrettably, is where I finally heard of the band. Like most acts, I was introduced late in the game. However, I still play this freakin' record all the time. "The Battle of Los Angeles" is one of the greatest rock records of my life time, and certainly in the top 10 of the 90's.



2000, December 5 - Rage's "last" record. Didn't have the commercial success of "battle", but I gotta say, it was no reason to go breaking up over it.






Now, I gotta admit, Audioslave was no slouch of a rock band, but that's because Tom and the gang went and grabbed the last great true-rock singer, Chris Cornell, and did some damage on the speakers in my '87 Sentra.* What we all need to be focused on now, though, is the fact that Coachella tickets just turned into Gold. Solid effing gold.

Oh yeah, and Bjork is playing. So that's gonna make it... neat, too.

Wrock.

Your friend and mine,
Meshach Jackson


* I never actually had an '87 Sentra, but I also didn't have an iPod yet, and I didn't want to have to trace back all the crappy cars I actually did have around that time, so I have referenced here the crappy car that a friend of mine had, with whom I must have listened to Audioslave and Rage at some point or another... in the aforementioned Nissan.

Old, Wrinkly, Hairy Balls.

Every time I go to the gym, I get myself psyched to get pumped. Pumped up to get pumped up, if you will.

I walk the handful of blocks to New York Sports Club singing to myself some verse from a DJ Shadow tune or a Bjork hook, quickly swipe my key-chain card, climb the stairs to the locker room, and stop to get some water. Refreshed, I enter the locker room.

Every time.
EVERY.
TIME.

Every freaking time I turn the corner in the locker room, my tender, blue eyes are assaulted with the slap-stick mockery of the human body in the form of old, wrinkly, hairy balls.

What the Flying F#*k!?!?!?!

Dude, seriously.
SERIOUSLY!

There is a huge freaking stack of COMPLIMENTARY TOWELS on the counter. It's on your way in! GRAB ONE. Hell, grab five.

Cover up your layers of wrinkly, blue-gray, veiny fat, and by all means, that cold-cut meat pocket of a flabby, hairy ass BEFORE you decide to cross the 40 feet of open floor to take a shower.

These are the same dudes who stand 5 feet from the urinal in busy public restrooms with fists on their hips like a superhero fireman, wielding his furious trouser hose to put out the fires of evil. When their done, you can always count on them standing in the corner of your eye (while you count the pores in the tile in front of you), shaking and pulling themselves for a solid minute and a half just to make sure someone (anyone) sees their johnson.

Today I finished my workout, walked back into the locker room, and had to stand facing my locker while I changed clothes, so as not to throw up at the site of the 400 lb tub of layered pork stacked on the bench beside me. He's sitting ON a towel, text messaging.

No joke, pah'dna, you can let your nuts air-dry all you want in the privacy of your own home, but while you're in a room full of dudes ...

Then it struck me. That's it. That's why.

These dudes CAN'T do this foul shit at home. Their families would kill 'em. No one, no matter how long you've been with someone, wants to see sasquach's obese newborn walking around your living room.

Sorry, it just ain't pretty. I know it's mean, but I didn't make the rules. It's not about being skinny, it's about the mystery of the human body, and the nausea of seeing it in an obese and wet-meat-loaf-like state. Barbacoa. Layers of beef.

I just threw up in my mouth.

Anyway, my theory is this. I think most of these dudes want to be seen. Not for some strange homo-erotic motivation (usually), but just to know they still exist. In some way, not having your bare ass seen by another human being for say, 27 years, could make you feel less human, I think. I would imagine that it'd make you feel like something is wrong with you (which, who are we kidding? Something's wrong with you, dude. You 'got more rolls than Holsom™).

Consider this my plea, married peoples of the world:

If your partner joins a gym, you should, with all haste and hostility, begin preparing yourself to see them naked.

Often.

Comment on what it looks like (good or bad, the truth is all part of the healing). Make sure that your partner knows that his/her ass, splotchy and Baked Potato-ish as it may be, has been seen that day. No need for them to go and drag it across the corner of an innocent young man's jeans sitting on the bench. No need to stand at the sink with your gentiles against the counter while you apply your third layer of pungent after-shave. You've been seen. You're still there. Very, very, there.

Now, where the hell is my other sock?

What the hell am I thinking? Who the hell do I think I am?

Yesterday I found out that my younger brother, while serving 10 years in prison in Louisiana, has been "written up", and had 6 months added to his sentence. The 10 years charge was for armed robbery, which was committed with my older brother. 2 brothers, both arrested together, on Christmas Eve, 1999. They were scheduled to be released together in August 2008,
after serving 85% of their sentence (the state minimum for a violent crime).

Right in the balls...

... Yesterday I kicked myself right in the balls.

Didn't think that was possible, did ya? Yep. Me either. But thanks to a middle-aged chinese woman, a hour of "Yani's Slowest Hits", and a steam room, I accomplished the impossible, and racked myself.
Twice.
Once with each foot.

I've never really been a "Spa Whore" or a "Massage Junkie", but I've gone with Lektor a few times now, and I gotta say, I'm becoming attached. Lily (pronounced: "Lee-Lee") is apparently the queen of a profoundly intrusive and discomforting style of massage - one that is priceless and unforgettable once your muscles (and testicles) heal.

Getting closer to 30 everyday, I notice every once in a while that things that didn't always hurt me are now quite painful with no apparent escape (40 yearolds, bite it. This is MY blog). Kneeling or squatting in longer than 2.4 second intervals makes my knees grow internal toothpicks that stab into my brain and begin shutting down bodily functions... like standing.

Then, after a few weeks of working, working out, and walking my usual 40 blocks or so a day just to get a sandwich, I go back to Lily, and I get my crap straightened. I stay on my stomach for the first 45 minutes, and I usually fall asleep. The first time I did this, I awoke to try and respond to her question that I couldn't understand.

"Oh Di-pah?"

What the hell is she saying to me? I really don't want to get hurt here, and she's made it clear that she's capable of causing some serious damage... uh... "Yes?"

AHHHHHHH sweet Jesüs Gonzales! Did she break skin? I think she just put her fist through my back.

"Moh Dee-pah?"

"Yea! I said Yes!" This better feel good when I leave, 'cause right now I suddenly have sympathy for my mother. I feel like reading the Vagina Monologues and studying ancient rituals of glass eating in order to ease the pain those tiny Chinese hands are inducing on my back... and then it dawns on me what she's been asking me.

"NO MORE DEEPER! PLEASE! NO MORE DEEPER!"

"Oh, okay. You feel pain?"

"Yes! I feel pain!"

This breakthrough was the beginning for me. Now that I know that Lily is fully capable of climbing around on my back like a spider monkey looking for coconuts, and that she's got the strength of samurai, I am more comfortable with the fact that I need to tell her NOT to hurt me when I lie down. Which I did very well the next time I went back.

Lektor gets massages as often as is available because of the belief that it is not a luxury, but a necessity for a healthy, comfortable, and relaxed body. I tag along and subscribe to this belief as often as my testicles allow. Even that hindrance shouldn't be much of a factor after the most recent visit, when Lily demonstrated to me her ability to break my legs at the hip, curl them around into an oddly hairy pretzel, and slam my own foot into my scrotum.

"MOAH DEEPA?"

"NO LEE LEE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. NO MORE DEEPER!"

Candid. Apes.

• Colin Powell - He's not gonna run. There. I put it out there. Deal with it. I really don't think he will. He's the (sorta) black Oliver North of my generation. He stepped up when asked, and presented a compelling case of facts for Afghanistan, Iraq, whatever. I wasn't really listening. The point is, it made him look smart. Then we went to war. Now he looks kinda dumb-founded. Like, "Uh, I meant Watery Magnet Ducks. Or Wayward Malignant Discharges. Wafers of Mass Digestion... Crap."
  
  His military background and political experience would be great for foreign policy... for about 1 year. The first sign of conflict, turmoil, confusion, and the whole country would turn on him. Republicans would vote against him 'cause he's black. The black community would turn on him 'cause he's making them look bad. Democrats everywhere would just sit back and say, "Yeup, that's a Republican for yah." Meanwhile, we'd be another 40 years before a black president could get nominated.
  
  Nope. General Powell, you need to stay outta this one. You're a brilliant man with too much experience to go being a guinea pig for america. Leave it to the young bucks to do the hard stuff. You've done your time. Call it a day. Stay low. Pray another old white man wins in '08, and you'll get a fair shake in '12... as long as the VP was black, and made some amazing breakthroughs behind the scenes that you could ride in on.
  


• John McCain - What an unfortunate time to be a compelling, honest, logical, articulate, old, rich, white man in politics. Any other time, your war experience (ex freakin' P.O.W.), your political background (Congressman, then Senator), and your party (Republicans won't give up easily... here's a Republican as Liberal as Clinton was conservative), added to the political timing (after a 2-term President who could endorse you and step down) would just be money in the bank.
  
  Then there's the fact that you're an old, wealthy, white man. I say wealthy only by default. You're no Donald Trump, but certainly aren't skipping trips to the golf course anytime soon either. This, unfortunately for you, is not the year to be old, white, or male, much less all three. You kinda can't win.
  
  Think about it. Democrats aren't going to pass on an opportunity to be the first to nominate a woman, UNLESS they can be the first to nominate a black man. Republicans only hope is to drag Colin Powell and Condoleza Rice through the process, hoping no one loses their cookies laughing at the absurdity, and then actually nominate a "more of the same" kinda candidate, using the argument that "we're already at war, let's not go changing too much or else the Terrorists will attack us again." Meanwhile, John McCain gets slapped around publicly like a political Piñata, and probably has his national career ruined in the process.
  
  After which he'll be doomed to Political Correspondence and committee votes to ban school vouchers because their clause to endorse union wage cuts is too much of a trade off. (In other words, the most boring and disgustingly competitive part of politics... forever).
  


• Al Gore - Here's an Inconvenient Truth for you, Al. You're a great guy, who's public perception places you somewhere between the likable next door neighbor who's lawn is always perfectly mowed and never leaves the paper on his front porch, and the half-crazed New Ager who swears he met you in a past life.
  
  His politics are solid. He's been careful about having a steady voting history (as much as can be expected for someone who's been in for as long as he has), and he's formulated a solid front on issues of family, the environment, and ... uh... family? Not that these aren't very important issues, but now that they're out there, can't anyone tackle 'em? It's not like he INVENTED global warming. I mean, if he's a war vet with tons of experience in negotiation, and had an idea for how to handle foreign affairs, sure. He's got the knowledge that justifies his discovery, and the experience that calls for his being the person to execute his own plan.
  
  The problem with Al is, though he's brilliant (IQ of 135 or so, Harvard grad, etc...), he doesn't have his OWN plans... about anything. Then again, no one really does. Trump, Sharpton, Nader, maybe. None of the serious candidates, though. No one who has been in politics for long (successful politics, Nader) has gotten to where they are with their own ideas. They have committees, think tanks, debates, studies, etc... Al Gore worked with teams of scientists and engineers to "invent" the internet.
  
  He certainly did help push funding through the proper channels to make it happen, and certainly is working hard to raise awareness on issues of the environment, but once those issues are in the public mind, they're no longer his ideas. He doesn't have any more qualification than I do, once I've heard all the facts that he has to share. He's no environmental analyst. He's a politician. He's not a web developer or a hardware engineer. He's a guy who's used his entire life to form powerful relationships, a working biography that would "read" impressively, and probably a genuinely decent human being. The only advantage he could have on issues of technology and the environment is if he withheld the information to which he had access, giving him the upper hand. The problem with that is, who would know he had the upper hand until he gave us his information?
  
  
• Barack Obama - Career Politicians. These are people who make a career around looking like a great candidate for office. I have friends who are "in politics." They talk about it in lots of different ways. There are friends who chose law school because it sets you up to look really good as a candidate (the "He's obviously smart. And apparently knows the whole law now... " approach). Others who got degrees in Political Science because the process itself (the grit, the dirt, the leveraging, the angles, the studies, the media, the PR, etc...) was appealing to them. Some friends get into politics because there is some issue that is particularly important to them, and they honestly want to make a difference. Still others who just power-tripping psychos who want to have their hands in all the right pockets so that whatever they want in life, someone owes it to them to provide.
  
  Barack Obama seems like one of the guys who, had you met at, say 21, would have already been able to layout a plan for how he could get elected into national politics. Who's names he could use to advance in each place. What connections he would use to build up a resume. Not in a slimy way. In much more of a "this would sound just like a police academy student talking about how he'll one day be police chief, then mayor" kinda thing. However, if you asked him at 21, 34, or even 45 (his current age), what his plans are for, say, Social Security, Foreign Oil Dependency, Gay Marriage, Immigration, or a slew of other issues that our next President should be able to attack, his answers would be (and, incidentally, are...) formulaic politician-speak, offering generic answers with no originality, creating just as many problems as the previous "solution", and generally just being a gigantic let-down.
  
  Having given "Ralph" such a hard time about his name, I have to tell a story. One of the first off-hand comments a friend made to me about Barack Obama over 2 years ago when we first heard about him, was that he'd never vote for him. "Well, no. You're Republican, he's a Democrat, why would you?" My friend said no, the reason he wouldn't vote for him was that he didn't have an "American name." This struck me as particularly funny, as this friend and I share a common racial strand. We're both part native American. I busted out laughing as asked, "would you vote for someone named 'Sitting Bull'?"
  
  As absurd as the notion is, I have to admit that I think a lot of people, though they don't admit it openly, think about much more vain and petty issues than that when deciding for whom they'll vote. Statistically, George Bush is pretty much right on the money. Clinton and Nixon, Kennedy and Reagan, Carter and Bush Sr. All middle-to-late aged white men, all around six feet tall, all reasonably fit for their age, all either graying or dark haired, all celebrate traditional American religions (Baptist, Catholic, etc...)... I could go on.
  
  The one thing he has going for him, is the fact that this election is 100% about change, and he's an intelligent, articulate, well-spoken, and accomplished black man who knows the game he's playing, and knows that this very well may be his time. Barack, all the best.
  


• Hillary Clinton - I was 12 years old the first time I heard of Hillary Clinton. She and her husband were running for President and First Lady. She was the most out-spoken first lady I'd ever heard of. Still is. The way I first heard her name was in a joke by someone (can't remember who, but had to have been a Bible-Belt Conservative), who was clearly excited about the opportunity to tell me.
  
  "D'jew you hear that the Governor of Arkansas is thinkin' 'bout running for president?"
  
  "Um. I just wanna buy a coke and some gum."
  
  "Yeah, but d'jew hear?"
  
  "No. I'm 12."
  
  "Well, she says she'll have to ask her husband first!" (queue the big belly laughs)
  
  I walked away from that conversation confused. First, at the joke itself. Was the governor of Arkansas a woman? If so, why would she have to ask her husband about being President? She's already the Governor, isn't she? The logic of the joke escaped me. Then I heard it again when Clinton was President, with all the appropriate terms changed. I was 14 by then, a man of the world, and I understood it. I think I even laughed. Probably repeated it once.
  
  Over the next 8 years, it was a sorely played-out comment, that Hillary was really running things, and that Bill was kinda just a womanizing wimp. Then, a couple years ago, I read "My Life" by Bill Clinton. I felt like praying for forgiveness. Honestly. The strange thing is, now people are talking about how the only way Hillary could get the upper hand in the elections, making her the first woman president in history, and breaking rules and ground everywhere, is if people realize that Bill will be back in the White House again.
  
  "Man," I think to myself, "Payback's a bitch."
  
  Domestic policy by Hillary Clinton. Foreign Policy by Bill. With a Democratic Congress and Senate, I gotta say, I'm interested in seeing what happens.
  


• Ralph Nader - Ralph, Ralph, Ralph... I know Lincoln lost a buncha elections before he became president. But you should read his biography sometime. He was... brilliant. He was... persistent. He was... IN THE 1800's! AND he wore a TOP HAT! You have no gimmics, no personality, Ralph! Your name is RALPH for crying out loud!
  
  There will not, in my life time, or in the life time of my children's children's children for that matter, ever be a "President Ralph". Ain't goh'ne happ'n.
  
  "President Baraco"? Maybe. "President Hillary"? Maybe. "President Ralph"? You're 80 years too late for that one, pah'dna. Sorry. Global warming is important and all, and so is foreign debt, but Bono will be having sex in the Lincoln bedroom before you... aren't having sex in the Lincoln bedroom. Come to think of it, Bono probably already has. Ouch, that has to hurt, huh? An Irish rockstar with no college education whatsoever who has more international political influence than a Princeton and Harvard Law grad. Welcome to America, Ralph. And to the 21st Century, for that matter.
  


• Donald Trump - Dear The Donald, I sincerely respect your business savvy, and must admit that I kinda dig your hair. I think your ability to market yourself as a bad marketer is brilliant, and shouldn't be changed. New to New York City, I must say that I don't know the 'full story' of your success, but having read your account in a few forms, I'm impressed. Your moral character leaves a bit to be desired (see: Nihilism and Neitzche's world view), but I gotta say, you know how to run a business.
  
  Having built up all of this goodwill, good publicity, and great fortune, now you wanna go and run for president. I like you, the Donald. So don't screw it up.
  
  If you run, do it with style. No smear campaigns, just public debates only on properties that you own. It'll give you a chance to branch out into every state. You could host Kings and Prime Ministers in your home ... wait. You already do that. Well, you get my point. It'd be a step up, you gotta admit. The money is crap, we all know that. But if you're interested, I won't promise you my vote, but I guarantee that I'll be talking more about you than any other candidate, if only for the chance to someday say, "The President of the United States... The Donald."
  


• Al Sharpton - Al Sharpton scares me. There. I said it. What scares me isn't that you only see him when something terrible happens, like a 12 year old's body found in the woods, or a bachelor party ended with 51 shots from the NYPD into the chest of the groom, or a black kid in Milwaukee wakes up and realizes he's the only one there.
  
  It's also not that helmet of shiny perfection he calls hair. Though that's not exactly comforting. I mean, when I cropped the pictures, his hair wouldn't even fit in the square. That rhymes, and I know he'd want it that way.
  
  Al Sharpton, for all of our potential differences of opinion, I believe is a sincere, moral, and intelligent man. However, I can just see him dealing with the Prime Minister of Saudi Arabia in the back Garden of the White House, and border-line rapping and rhyming with his poetic since of speech and gospel preacher inflections, and just freaking them the hell out. It's one thing for a middle-eastern oil tycoon to walk away from talking to our President and feeling insulted by the Elementary level of communication. It's another for him to be Insulted AND confused.
  
  "Now you throwin' some big words at me right now, and since I don't understand 'em, I'm gonna consider 'em insults. Now back yourself down and have a civilized conversation wit' me, or my boys here are gonna have to you back you down for me."
  
  (at which point the secrete service kills the prime minister for threatening the President, and we go to yet another war in the middle east, just because our president used the words Ethnocentricity and Transdisermification while discussing the meal they were just served at lunch.)
  
  Al, I don't think we're quite ready for you. You're 3 generations ahead of your time.
  


• Jon Stewart - The first black man? The first Woman? NAY! The FIRST JEW! Let's ease into this, people. This dude's got more common sense, is more articulate, more trust-worthy (looking), has better writers, less experience (thank God), and fewer chances of being a douche-bag about the Palistinian-Israelite conflict than any other candidate. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert could wake this country up.
  
  Four years with these two, and it wouldn't only be the idealistic, young, single people in the country who are freaking out and crying for change. It'd be old, comfortable, rich white men who line up and picket. It'd be right-wing extremists and left-wing extremists marching arm-in-arm on the capitol steps crying for change. That'd be great. Electing Jon Stewart to the white house after Clinton, then Bush would be like your dog taking a dump on the Monopoly board right in the middle of a huge argument over who should get Park Place since Mom's assets are mortgaged. Now the whole family can join together, stop being mad at each other, and focus their energy on dragging the dog outside, and making him eat the Monopoly board he's just desecrated.
  
  Jon Stewart in 2008. It's our only chance to take politics seriously again. After he leaves.
  

Enough Already.

Let's talk about Market Share. Share of mind, share of market, share of wallet. A close friend of mine who happens to also be a brilliant business man once explained share of mind as a concept to me. He used Q-Tips as an example. He stated his illustration by simply asking me, "What do you use to clean your ears?"

"A Towel." I answered.

"Okay, but what do most people in America use to clean their ears?"

"Q-Tips."

"Right. Now, what are Q-Tips?"

"... uh... " [blank stare]

"Cotton Swabs."

His point was simply that most people in the world call what they're sticking deep into their ear canals by the name of the company Brand who most heavily markets the product, instead of by the name of the product itself.

MY point, however, is this...

I USE A TOWEL.

I offer you exhibit A:
In case you can't read the warning in the pic, I'll help you out. (This is on the back of a box of QTips, by the way)...

WARNING: Do not insert swab into ear canal. Entering the ear canal could cause injury. If used to clean ears, stroke swab gently around the outer surface of the ear only. Keep out of reach of children. Idiot.

(italics mine).

"So wait a second", you may ask. "Then what are Q-Tips for?"

"Well, first of all it's Cotton Swabs. Secondly, I'll answer you with exhibits B and C:

I have tried it all. I've kept just the pinky nail on my right hand long enough to scrap out the excess crap from my ear so that I always have the option. I have horrible sinus problems every day of the year, so there's always something in there. I've also tried the whole wet tissue thing, doesn't work for me. Then I started hearing horror stories about people slipping while they had a Q-Tip... er... Cotton Swab in their ear, and being deaf from then on. Then I realized that there was a simple solution to the concerns of both audio hygene and the physical safety of my precious ear drums.



Step out of the shower. Roll up the corner of the towel. Swab. Dab. Swirl. Wipe. Switch corners. Switch ears. Repeat.

I have had this conversation so many times with people who aren't plagued with either the sinus disease that is yet to be named but has managed to haunt me throughout my existence, or the fear of jabbing some compressed cardboard stick through the soft tissue inches from their brain. The conversation, as one I had just recently with Spektor, goes something like this...

"Oh my God, Q-Tips are so amazing. Don't you love using Q-Tips? Doesn't it feel great!?"

"Nope. I don't use 'em."

"WHAT!?!?!?! How do you not use Q-Tips? What do you use?"

"A towel. I dry off. I use the corner of the towel."

"HOW is that POSSIBLE!?!?!?! That's so gross! Let me see your ears..."

"k."

"You liar. You have to use Q-Tips, your ears are clean. How are your ears so clean?"

"Exhibit D, man. Exhibit D."

So, this is the beginning of my official revolt. No more BS. Halitosis is already too far (see Listerine INVENTING diseases so their products are needed), but what's going to be the name of the disease that represents caked up orange ear wax?

I don't know. And I don't care. I don't have nasty, greasy ears. They're clean.

But I'm not going to succumb to the peer pressure to cram little white sticks past the welcome ropes and into the private party that is my skull. No More. It's painful if you have crazy sinuses. It may feel great if you don't, but it better be worth your hearing. Count me out. If soap, water, and a towel can't make it clean, then it's goh'ne stay dirty.

Nah'm sayin'?

Dear Red Fraggle

I have 23 minutes of battery life on my laptop, so let's make it snappy.

I'm going to see MuteMath tonight in Times Square. I'll report back, but for now, suffice it to say that I'm excited. I'm bringing Lektor, who has never seen them before.

Lektor and I went to see Martin Short's one man play on Broadway last night. Amazing. Very funny, and really displays his broad talent. More notably, we had literally the best seats in the house, front row center with no one on either side of us. I don't know how she did it, but I was grateful. I had read before that Martin Short had written into the show a segment where he would dress as Gimini Glick and call celebrities from the audience onto the stage and interview them. Last night the celebrity in the audience was Jerry Springer. It made me focus on the first time I saw Jerry Springer in person. I was on the Jerry Springer show with my family. Aweful. Absolutely Aweful. I'll tell you all about it some day.

We're going to see Rent next week.

Rosco is still a bad ass, and getting stronger and bigger everyday. I've got some pics online, but for now, just take this one, taken on his 10 month birthday.



... a short, furry, Ahnold. Right?

For those still not completely worn out with reports about a record that is seemingly never going to be released, Roy Mitchell-Cardenas is bringing my record to me tonight, and possibly coming back into the city this weekend to hang for a day or so, and maybe even work with me on my live show, which is yet to be developed.

Expect me to be talking a LOT about the new Damien Rice album. Even if I don't actually talk about it very much, 'cause I'll be thinking about it constantly. It's good. Surprising at places, mainly 'cause he made such a big stink about wanting to release a "heavy" record, but also because it's surprising how good he can consistently be. Oh, and Lisa Hannigan is still an Angel filled with Magic Juice that makes her voice massage your soul and... she's ridiculous.

That's all for now. I'm tired, it's too early to be blogging, but I'm almost out of battery, and I'm very very busy today, so I thought I'd get this out of the way. I love New York. I really do.

On losing my status as a planet.

So I get anxiety attacks. So what. So sometimes I'm standing in line at starbucks during a perfectly productive and normal day, and my mind starts racing about some particular topic, and I suddenly realize that my heart is racing, and I'm standing in a cold sweat. I have a headache within seconds, and my breathing is irregular. It's not necessarily the same thing that sets me off, but I would have to say that the large majority of these mental rampages are close to the topic of money. Not having it, but... well, not having it.

I'm drinking hot coffee now. I have been a total wuss about my cafeine intake until this Saturday.
"Single Grande No-Whip Mocha Frappucino, Please. Oh, and can you put that in a Venti cup?" That was even a step up for me. A year ago, I couldn't stand the taste of espresso, so I would get the grande caramel frappucino. Whip cream and all. Now, I've progressed beyond my wildest dreams.

"Single Grande No-Whip Mocha, Please." See the difference? IT'S HOT!!! That's the difference. I have been a clumsy fool when it comes to hot drinks for the duration of my life thus far. Now, having clearly established that I am ill-prepared for the New England winter at hand, I am taking my first steps toward full-body warmth. Hot mocha. With a shot. So I'm warm, and jittery.

A new member of my ever-swelling and contracting inner-circle of influential relationships (hereafter referred to as "Lektor") has helped with a couple of the other steps. She's begun buying me wool hats that cover my ears and are "soooo cute" on me. I've generally had a helluva time finding hats, 'cause my head is so big, it's just slightly not a planet (I feel your pain, Pluto), so the new headwear is greatly appreciated. Gloves, on the other hand, have not yet been added to my 3 ft of closet space, but should be soon.

I'm rambling, but that's mainly 'cause I have only about 3 things on my mind, and I am not allowing myself to discuss any of them here... yet. I just really want to get over this anxiety, and get back to my luscious hot mocha.

Oh, and... go out and buy the latest cd by the roots. Now. And get ready to ... well, have your face melted.

This. Is. Awesome.

Research and Development for Rheumatoid Authritis

She's training to be a physical therapist,
and in the mean time, she's a certified palates instructor

this to say that she's incredibly beautiful
this to say that she can do the splits
this to say that she's incredibly smart and funny
this to say sharp, with her wits.

she's training for a marathon that she will never win
it's not that kind of race
it's the kind that everybody wins just for running,
and everyone cheers for everyone else
it's the kind where all the proceeds go to R&D4RA

this to say Research and Development for Rheumatoid Authritis

She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.


She says we haven't yet figured out what causes rheumatoid authritis
but we think we've got it narrowed down to two things
it's either women's periods, or smoking
so everyone put down your cancer sticks and stop the bleeding all the time

She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, what's with all the bleeding?

If you smoke, you'll never run a marathon
and that's the only way we ever raise any money for this crap
dozens of people all over Florida are suffering from this terribly disease
and all you can think about is a lousy drag
oh, and your period.

She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.

She wants to learn spanish by the end of the summer,
'cause she's going to Brussels in the fall.
she says if you get lost anywhere in Europe, you can speak spanish and they'll help you out.
the locals will think you're local too,
and since no one likes america but americans, it works out for everyone

She's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, Español.

She wants to be ironic, and iconic, and funny
she wants to wear Manolo Blahnik, and make money
she wants to sip her gin and tonic,
and discuss her last colonic
and pretend that all her dark days are sunny
She wants to learn the difference between wrong and right
and feign interest in leaning to the latter
she wants me mad when she has to break a date
but when she breaks a heel, be madder.

she's ridiculous, and beautiful
she's beautifully ridiculous
she is ridiculously beautiful
and seriously, don't smoke.

She says that she likes the cordoroy pants the best 'cause they go squish, squish when I walk.

Of The Metaphore That Angels Fall

It's true, dear
The metaphore that Angels fall
and of all the fallen Angels found
it's you that I find

You fall for
a reason unknown to me
but a reason just the same
you didn't fall just to rhyme

And it's falling
that makes you so cold
so hard, and so bitter
and so just out of reach

I've fallen
to feel a kindred soul with you
and hope you show me what to do
to find the core of your peach.

She means broken
when she says tired
She means lonely
by uninspired

So sue me
I only wanted time to sing
I never meant to mend your wings
featherless and lame

I've no regrets
save standing at the door
and waving farewell, but well
they're regrets just the same

She means never
when she says soon
She means my eyes
by the light of the moon

A hundred thousand stars are out tonight.
And they all fall down. They all fall down.
A hundred thousand stars are shining bright.
To watch you hit the ground.
'Cause we all fall down. We all fall down.

Here's what I meant. That's what I said.

I said I wanted to say one more thing. I meant I wanted you to hear me the first time.
I said it made me want to listen more. I meant it made me want to weep.
I said tired. I meant on the verge of falling apart.
I said I liked it. I meant it made me want to love you.
I said in a few days. I meant immediately, or sooner, if possible.
I said it frustrated me. I meant I wanted to punch him in the throat.
I said we have a lot in common. I meant you remind me of my dreams.
I said there's something off. I meant I want to crawl into a cave and disappear for a month.
I said I miss you. I meant to not hurt you by admitting I'm feeling home here.
I said I hate you, and I laughed. I meant the laughter.
I said not to worry about it. I meant that if I worried more about it, I'd go insane.
I said I'd be there. I meant I feel stuck there.
I said I'd pray. I meant I wish I would have prayed before.
I said I'd call. I meant don't leave.
I said I knew a guy. I meant sometimes I feel...
I said you should have been there. I meant you should never be away again.
I said I feel trapped. I meant I feel the weight of failure for staying still.
I said I could handle it. I meant I want to be strong enough.
I said what I meant once. Now I can't take it back.

Smile Sample

Download the sample of Smile, the first single from my new album. Lemme know what you think.

Thanks for listening.

Meshach

Heaven, Hell, and the Inches (or Ions) between

I don't THINK I'm bipolar, but God, I feel like it sometimes. It seems like I'm speaking in exactly the same way that I spoke yesterday, but somehow, that's not what anyone hears.

When one person calls you an ass, don't sweat it.

Then, I go through my day, and while I interact with people I can see their expression reflect the discomfort that whatever I'm saying (or however I'm saying it) is causing them. It's like having a huge pimple on the tip of your nose, and not knowing it. Or maybe, just Oral Malodor that somehow escapes my own nostrils. (Sinuses. That's the problem.)

Now that pimple is causing me pain for no reason. Not pain. Discomfort. Whatever this thing is growing out of my face is causing me frustration and confusion, and I'm lost as to how to remove it. Should I be on medication?

Nothing will ever go as planned. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. In the end, you will most certainly be alone.

Ray Lamontagne, The Roots, MuteMath, TV On The Radio, The Mars Volta, DJ Shadow, Kasabian, and Beck have all released records recently. This is the time, I guess. A new friend, Mario Vasquez, just released his record as well, and all signs are pointing to it doing well. Meanwhile, my record is in post-production. It's slow-going, and I'm more anxious than ever to let people hear it. So, I'm uploading a small sample. Hopefully today. Not in this post, but I'll work on it.

Cornelius Rosco P Coltrane Jr. is doing well. Heartguard and a new rubber toy ball helped a lot. He's putting on weight again (somewhere around 70lbs now), and hopefully will stay healthy, obedient, and intimidating for a long time - (my only goals for his life).

My car, recently towed and rescued (long story), is now back up for sale on Craigslist. Click the enormous link on the top of this site to buy it. Please.

The real problem with Halitosis is that no one cared about bad breath until Listerine invented the word.

I'm going to buy Beck and Kasabian's new records today. That should help the funk. Not my breath (as far as I know, it's fine), just the ... other funk. The one I can't find, but everyone else sees. Hell. I need something. I had two different people yesterday comment on my being "off".

If two people call you an ass, buy a saddle.