Whitney, don't you understand that what I say is true?

The Ataris played a very significant role in the development of my punk rockerness. And it had seriously been about 3 years since one of their songs turned up on my iPod. Until, my drive home on Sunday. I listened to Blue Skies and Broken Hearts, End is Forever AND Anywhere But Here. It completely blew my mind that now, almost nine years after those albums entered my CD changer (because back in high school, I totally rocked a CD changer in my room), I still knew all the words. Every, single, word. I guess they played an even more significant role than i had previously thought.

I remember meeting them at Warped Tour back in 2001. If I looked hard enough, I'd probably find a really good photo of me and Kris Rowe, their lead singer, that he took. That was the first time I ever met "rock stars" that made me go awkward. In fact, it would be one of the last times. Most of the time if I see someone in a band that I super-like, I tend to not talk to them, downright avoid them, instead of having that unbearably awkward two minute conversation about how much their band, like, chaaaaaaanged your life. Because, no matter how put it, it still seems prefabricated. At least in my brain. So, I just walk right on by. Except for the time I sort of met Matt Freeman and babbled incoherently for about 30 seconds. He smiled politely and walked away. Brain would explode if I ever met Tim Armstrong. ANYWAY tangent police, they were all pretty awesome dudes and it gave me hope that "rock stars" were just like meeee: 16, brokenhearted and grabbing at any piece of self identity I could find.

Trust me, I know, in the standard definition of "good music", they fall a little short. And while my 24-year-old self, complete with Radiohead discography and elitist indie-centric podcasts (that's a term...), wants to never wants to hear San Dimas High School Football Rules again, that broken and incomplete 16-year-old is completely winning out. There's such satisfaction in the little things that can teleport you to another place or time. And while I fully remember how disenchanted with the world I was when I was 16, I don't seem to remember those parts when I listen to the Ataris.

So, thanks guys.

So hey, remember that part up there when I said I was driving home on Sunday? Well, I did that! The one guy in Tucumcari who fixes radiators gave me a brand-spanking-new one. And I was OUT OF THERE. Barely even said g'bye to family, I just bolted for the door. It's not that I dislike spending time in Tucumcari, with step-siblings and such, it's that it wasn't my choice to be there. I was so ready for my own bed and some high-quality alone time.

You should see the hole in my radiator. It looks like someone shot it with a riffle. I'm still in disbelief. A freaking tumblweed?


On the last day of me Angie's trip to San Francisco, we both made a sort of pilgrimage. We went to Berkeley so I could visit 924 Gilman, the venue that launched Operation Ivy, Green Day, NOFX and pretty much any other punk rock outfit from the Bay Area. And then we went to the Castro, birthplace of the American Gay Rights Movement. I didn't know much about it then, but knowing what I know now, I'm so glad that I did that.


Milk is so good. It's too good, maybe. Everything about it is a labor of love, from the film stock selections to the set design to the music to the performances (oh my sweet Daniel Desario!). It's the sort of thing you watch and you know that every person involved, down to the guy who got the coffee, was completely enamored with what they were doing. It made me want to simultaneously punch and hug the world. It's also worth noting what Harvey Milk said, about giving people hope. You've got to give them hope. Sounds very, very, very familiar.

I cannot recommend that movie any higher. Please see it.

Got Christmas plans? If not, come on by. I probably won't make it to my mom's, thanks to mother nature. So, I'm planning on baking and some kind of movie/television marathon. Right now, it's a toss up between My So Called Life or Cameron Crowe. You pick.

Drinking beer in a Circle K bathroom.

Turns out there is ONE guy in Tucumcari who fixes radiators. His shop is "somewhere behind the feedlot". But since it's Tucumcari, my dad's assistant somehow knows him. So, he's coming by later to take a look.

Good thoughts, please. I'd really like to get home. :/

So, about this shoe being thrown at the President... I gotta tell you, I was somewhat impressed. Really, ninja-like ducking reflexes. I told Tyler it was probably the first time I was genuinely impressed by an action of our President. Guess those months in the Coast Guard paid off. (I'm a little disappointed by the responses on Pundit Kitchen. Come on, guys! This is lolgold!)

In job news, really, someone needs to pay me to blog. I'm not quite sure how you go about this. Maybe I could mention AMAZING, REVOLUTIONARY PRODUCTS, or talk about CONTROVERSIAL, WORLD-ALTERING STORIES. But, I think I do that anyway.

Linking. That's the ticket. Link as many things as you can possibly link. Link.

Safety.

On my drive home, my truck slayed at least 30 tumbleweeds. Maybe more.

The problem is, one tumbleweed slayed my truck.

And now I'm stuck in Tucumcari with a radiator leak.

It's important to note that Tucumcari doesn't have a single mechanic who repairs radiators.

S.O.S.

Hands back to the Ground.

San Jon, New Mexico.

I sort of love that some of the oldest technology in the world will become the savior of the energy crisis.


It comes in threes. First, Annie, then Mohammad, now Oliver Twist, my mother's dear fat cat has gone missing in Edgewood. This is not the place you want to loose a cat. He'd been roaming around a little outside, in an effort to curb the heartbreak of losing his brother Mohammad a few months ago. He didn't come home Thursday night. Both Kyle (who earns immense bonus points for his efforts in Operation Oliver) and I combed the land around my mom's on Friday and today, no trace of him at all. We also posted fliers all over town and the neighborhood. Fingers and toes are crossed.

When my family moved to Raton from Edgewood, my beloved dogs Fred and Sally escaped from a kennel by gnawing through chainlink fencing. Fred, our wild black lab, was found a week and a half later, skinny and begging for food. Sally, my malamute/german shepherd cross, was found six weeks later, waiting patiently for us to come home, in front of a gate that looked exactly like that of our former home.

So, the point is, my family is capable of pet recovery miracles. I hope most that somehow, Oliver will make his way back to my mom's house. But, a lot of my hope has turned to him not suffering, where ever he is. I'm glad it's warmer tonight.

My body's crying for a road trip. Being paid for not going to work and low gas prices make it very possible that I will next update my blog in Oklahoma. Or Kentucky. Or Michigan. Or Wyoming.

(Oh yeah, thumb's healing up okay. It's sort of gross and smells pretty bad. You try not washing your thumb for 8 days and see how awesome it looks.)

This isn't happening.

brb, taking pictures of abandoned water sheds.

Actually. brb, In Tucumcari. Mostly on a photographic mission, but it looks like I'll crank out some high quality job hunting while I'm here. I spent today in Clovis, exploring the Norman & Vi Petty Rock 'N' Roll Museum. In case you didn't know, Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison recorded in Clovis, New Mexico. You can't make this up. After museum, I wandered about town and clicked away at run down grain elevators and sprinkler systems. I love D80. So much.

Also, love this one.

Who watches the Watchmen?

My trip was as grand as it could have been, only a little short. Highlights included:

-Grandma's new storm celler. New Mexico, getchoo some twisters so I can have one.

-Getting Gas in Amarillo at the Toot n Totum. I saw 6 whole black people outside. Shock insued. Last time I checked, Texas was still holding minorities in pins at the border.

-Witnessing quite possibly the best Last Day of Employment festivites ever. Matt's old manager at Pac Sun quit his job and to celebrate got stinking drunk. At work. I watched him kick down entire merchandise racks, rip board shorts to shreds, throw a $2,000 mannequin at a power flush toilet (breaking both), scream at old people, play Welsey Willis's imortal working class anthem "Take This Job and Shove It" through the store PA, and finally, after removing his name tag, pull a pint in a paper bag out of his back pocket and start drinking right in the middle of the store. Motivational is the choice adjective.

-Saw Saves the Day and felt about 16 for a few songs. The Bud Light in my hand threw me back into reality.

-Ate biscuits and gravy. Do this as often as possible when you're in the South. (Okay, so Oklahoma's not the SOUTH south, but it's southern enough.)

-Rancid saves. Always has, always will. Little rays of sound sunshine from my iPod.

I feel not so much better, but more confident I'm getting a grip on all this. I guess that was really what I was looking for, a bit of control. Everytime I visit OK, I get these amazingly strong impulses to start over and move out there. So, here they are again.

I AM THE TAX MASTA. On top of filing mine and my mom's, I helped Maria with hers last night. It took fordamnever, but we eventually got it. And she's getting a lot of money. To celebrate, we're going to Tucanos sometime soon.

Like a sign from sweet little 8 pound, 2 ounce baby Jesus, these precious things from Okie Dokie Bassets will be ready for pick up ON MY DAMN BIRTHDAY.




So, if you want to get me the best present of my life, I'll take these two sisters and name them Buscemi and Dr. Manhattan. I think the top one's Dr. Manhattan. But, I'm also going to need a house to keep them in.

Pets or meat.

First off, custom slaughtering.



TEXAS.

Secondly, Tucumcari might the sleepiest town in the world. I looked down the street on a Friday night at 10:00 and every house was dark.

My main reason for going out to Tucumcari was to drive my dad to Pampa so he could get his Camaro, which he trusts no one else to drive. We did jazz on Thursday and stopped at the awesome Cadillac Ranch on the way there. PICTUREZ.






Holla! Jazz hands! (For the record, I had to crop my dad’s thumb out of the top of that.)

Other than that excursion, I hung out, small town style, and practiced that whole “big sister” thing, a role I’ve found myself really into. It’s nice to take your little sisters to the dinosaur museum and your little brother to the one screen movie theater.

ON THAT NOTE… me and Chase went to a 7:00 movie on a Friday night. Okay, in Raton, that was like Chaos Central. Literally, hundreds of children breaking stuff, making out, and pulling hair. Me and Chase were the youngest people there, in fact, probably the only people under 50 in the room. So, watching Bourne with old people is funny; the crowd had no reaction, whatsoever, until the very end, when one dude started clapping lightly, realized no one else was going to, and stopped.

Speaking of funny… Mclovin, you’re my one and only.


Here’s a few samples of me trying desperately to rip off Terrence Moore.


Also, it wasn’t that difficult to make Tucumcari look post-apocalyptic.


And I would like a grain silo.



GOOD NEWS. I get to care for a Rufus and a Lucy next week, which means I'll be Burque for a whole lotta nights! BAD NEWS. I'm bartending Fall Crawl. :(

I've been really anxious and overly emotional these past few weeks. Not quite sure what's up, probably some kind of alignment issue, but I cry whenever there's anything emotional AT ALL on TV. That includes the Disney Channel. (???) Going to Tucumcari was nice and relaxing, it felt like I banished a lot of that. But, nope. It followed me.

Anyone wanna go drink with me in Moriaty on Friday night? I'll either get raped or shanked. Maybe both. Come see!