Sleep

A while ago a post on Ludwig's blog got me thinking about sleep. In recent weeks I have been incredibly tired from the moment I wake up until about 6 at night. It blows and it only happens on weekdays when I have to get up early. Clearly, I don't get enough sleep.

Today was the final straw. I woke up with a shitty headache and I still have it. The only time it's not bothering me is when I'm asleep. That sucks. 

I usually get five to six hours a night. That is what I got last year and could totally function on it. I guess I'm getting old, though, because now it just ain't enough these days. 

I have been doing some research and it turns out that six hours of sleep is, frankly, not enough. I can't really do anything about it because I have such a hard time falling asleep. I get my work done earlier and earlier these days so I have the potential to get a good nights rest but never seem to. 

Tonight will be different. It's 10:30. I'm going to crawl into my bed. Read a bit, breath a bit, hit the lights and hopefully snooze off at midnight. That will give me seven and a half hours of sleep under my belt. If it feels that good in the morning, I'll do it every night. 

I feel sort of like a herb going to sleep at 11. Oh well. I guess that's how big boys do it.

More importantly, I'm curious, how much sleep do you guys get? I know Carlos gets a lot more than I do because he's more responsible. I talked to him and said it then and I'll say it again: you are doing it right. 

What about everyone else? You get more than 6 hours of sleep a night?

On an unrelated note, if I knew how to drive this is exactly how it would go down these days:

"What in the hell was that?"

Dog-Tired, Lingerie and Diphenhydramine

I write about sleep a lot. As far as this blog is concerned, the topic is about as tired as I am. Still, it seems that catching Z's is a pretty significant part of my life. A lot of my work revolves around snoozing and without the right amount of hours under my belt I'm a cranky asshole.

That being said, in the past few days I have been a very cranky asshole. I went three days straight without any shut eye and the days after that I couldn't sleep at night. Instead, I would sit in my room, stare at the ceiling and wait for the sun to rise. If i didn't have class, I would pass out around 9 in the morning and wake up when it was dark again.

Needless to say, that is a very, very depressing way to live. So depressing in fact, that I started to get very blue.

There isn't much to do in those hours, especially when most of the projects I'm working on these days necessitate properly equipped studios for me work in. I can solemnly swear that if it weren't for Opie and Anthony I would have gone completely insane by now. It's nice to know that at least at my lowest I can laugh a little bit.

Basically, my nights go as follows. I sit on the toilet and read some Seinfeld scripts because it's a lot quieter than watching them on TV.

Once that gets old, I switch over to whatever other bathroom literature we have kicking around the bano. Long story short, let's just say that Victoria's only secret is that most of her models are composed of more airbrush paint than flesh and blood.

Actually, it's funny. One of the most annoying things in the world is getting junk mail intended for the people who lived here before us. I can't tell you how many times I have been excited to see mail only to find out that the old tenants are due for their annual tooth cleaning. I have systematically been calling and cancelling most of the subscriptions but Preston and I both agreed that Victoria's Secret still has a small demographic in this house and them mailing magazines here is not a nuisance.

If it's close enough to daylight that I know I'm not going to sleep, I get dressed as slowly as humanly possible. This moment is when salt gets rubbed in my sleepy wounds. Staring at yourself, fully clad at 5 in the morning, knowing you will be on a train to school in only a few hours is the worst feeling imaginable.

Finally, I leave you with a warning. One of the ways I combated this sleep deprivation is by taking over the counter medications. They contain an active ingredient called Diphenhydramine which is, essentially, a big fat anti-histamine. I found out through my Mom that this stuff seriously fucks with your mental health. A few google search results verified this. I can tell you personally, as someone who took twice as much of these things as instructed to every night for a month, it does start to make someone very, very depressed.

So, please readers, if you are tempted to take such measures to get a good night's sleep do what I'm doing. Go get some help from a head doctor, not a generic miracle pill.

Anyway, things should get better as I sort my shit out. I have a very special package coming in the mail tomorrow from Amazon. It effects this blog and all I can say is stay tuned: something awesome is in the works.

I'm getting old

Pushing twenty years on this earth, my fast paced lifestyle is beginning to catch up to me. Father time has opened up my records and declared that I have been in my prime far too long. He has wrought a sinister plan for me to partake in, one that every man and woman too must eventually face. He has laid a road for me to walk down (or, eventually, hobble down) and it says "AGE...NO EXIT"

I'm getting old, folks. The grim reaper isn't looming or anything but I have noticed a few things that have been happening to me and when they do I say to myself "it's happening". What's scary is it is going to continue happening for a very long while. 

You think I'm crazy? I think not. I think I'm observational. Take the following points as proof:

1. My Bladder is That of an Old Man's

Most old people I know frequently make pit stops to the restroom. I never understood why they have to piss so much. For a long while I thought most of the world over forty had secret drinking problems. Now, more realistically, I can safely say it is their own bladders giving way. Folks, when I'm in class I expect to drop by the little boys room at least three times before the day is up. That's super annoying for me considering public restrooms are the bane of my existence, but that's going to be saved for another post.

2. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

I'm sleepy, goddamnit! I remember back in the day when I was a young lad I could easily stay up until 5 working, take a two hour power nap, wake up and then take on the world. Two hours of sleep now? Forget it. Six? HA! I need at least seven to be a functioning human being. It's sad.

3. Taste.

In recent weeks I have found myself eating greens during lunch. I'm not referring to Jolly Ranchers, I'm talking straight up greens composed of whatever it is the earth spits up when it's in a good mood. I have gone my entire life hating salad and all things that mildly resembled it. Somehow after my taste buds have begun to atrophy I get hungry for a salad. Can you believe that? Pathetic. What's next, Ensure and jello?

4. Art

This one is a doozey. If you were to come up to me three years ago and say "Kevin what sort of artists do you like?" I would have told you Jeff Koons, Damien Hirst, Joe Coleman, Bruce Nauman and other loonies raking in that contemporary cheddar. I wouldn't be caught dead in any museum that didn't have "Modern" in it's name and I hated painting. Now? Jacques-Louis David, Edward Hopper, Grant Wood and sometimes, dare I say it, Jean Baptiste Chardin. Still life? How fucking boring.

5. Attitude

When I see a bunch of kids sitting around doing nothing I think to myself "Look at those fucking hooligans, sitting around doing nothing. They don't know what life is like. They don't know what they need to be getting ready for. I worry for the future of this country..." which is silly, because they are usually a year younger than me and I'm usually sitting around doing nothing. I wonder if they are looking at me thinking: "Look at that old, bastard. He suxx :p lolz"

Here is where I ask the question to make myself feel better. What about you people? Are you getting older? Do you feel like the next stop is a lazy boy by the fire place, glass of whiskey in hand, loyal dog keeping your feet warm and an empty shotgun by your side to scare punks off of your porch? If so, please let me know. 

Sleep Paralysis

In one of my classes I'm working on a group project about sleep. Some members were mentioning sleep paralysis which sounded completely insane to me. If you don't know what it is imagine waking up in the middle of the night completely paralyzed. Physically you cannot move but you are 100% mentally cohesive. Many people say that the feeling is accompanied by an evil presence, that a demon is in the room or some shit. Whatever it is, it has been happening to people for thousands of years all across the world. 

This strange happening was famously depicted by Henry Fuseli in his 1718 work "The Nightmare"

Imagine being like that woman. Fully competent but totally un-able to smack the shit out of a little monster sitting on your hips. That is what sleep paralysis is like. What do I think about it?

If it happens to so many people it must be real. Are actual demons visiting us and sitting on our fucking chests? No way, Jose. Why? Demons do not exist, dreams do. I don't know what it is but I'm sure it's unpleasant and a serious pain in the ass. I was happy to say I had no idea what it was like until last night. 

I was sleeping and I woke up. Everything was red and the dream I was just in, someone was saying "Kevin be careful, it's right there"

I couldn't move. For some reason I repeated under my breath over and over again "I see it, I see it" and was looking at a gigantic, hairy lump nestled between me and the wall. I was still. I remember being absolutely terrified. I said to myself:

"Who allows cats to roam free in other

people's homes?"

and this unheard, unseen voice answered in my head:

"It's not a cat. It is NOT 

a cat"

People, I was having a dialogue with someone who didn't exist. I was having that conversation telepathically all while a demon slept right next to me. This went on for at least five minutes. It was the scariest shit I have ever experienced. 

Finally I slowly slipped out from the blankets and turned the light on. At this point, I came to my senses. I knew there wasn't a monster but for some reason I had to turn on the lights. It was really strange. The bed was empty and I sat on it, did some breathing and fell asleep again. 

Crazy, right?

Sleepless in Manhattan

One of my favorite things about being home is that I get to stay up all night long partying with my buddy Carlos. When I say party I don't actually mean party (we will watch movies, play video games and/or tell stories over a few brews) but when I say "stay up all night long" I literally mean we go to sleep at sunrise. 

It's a sort of tradition. It has destroyed my sleep cycle (even when I'm at school) for what will probably be the rest of my life. It's worth it though. We get a lot of thinking done and almost always have a good time.

Today was the first of these all nighters we have pulled since I have been back. Around 5:30 I saw the sun was almost out and I decided "why the hell should I go to sleep now and wake up at Carlos' place  at 6 tonight?" and I decided to walk home.

Let me say, starlets, one thing I rarely experience is this city, the Lower East Side in particular, very early in the morning. Every time I do I say "holy shit I gotta' do this more often"

It smells wonderful, it's not sunny, has a perfect breeze, not a soul out on the street and you never have to wait to cross. Wonderful.

Today, starlets, was the beginning of a beautiful day. Now I will go sleep it away.

Morning Motivation

I don't want to sound like a broken record but I'm going to anyway: I have a lot of work this week.

This country has a rich history of young men valiantly marching directly into the mouths of madness in the hopes of a greater good. During World War II there was D-Day. During the Civil Rights Movement, young men and women defied mob rule and sat non-violently at a "whites only" diner counter. During the American Revolution, Washington crossed the icy Delaware River with courageous elegance. During critique week, I had a big fucking to-do list. 

Today was the day to do it.

I'll break it down for you:

1. Drop off/pick up zines from printer

2. Go to loop, rent camera

3. Buy a few pounds of powdered cement (don't ask...)

4. Prep-order shipment of 50 buttons

5. Finishing touches on a short story

There was no room to slack off on this daunting day. I prepared myself for it last night and went over to my buddies house to ask for some artistic advice.

Long story short, I ended up crashing there. The night before last I slept for 15 hours and that really screwed me up. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn't get a single wink of sleep. Staring at my friend's ceiling, twiddling my thumbs, the night slowly inched onward. I knew I needed every minute of sleep I could get but I knew even better I wasn't going to get it. The moment sunlight hit the streets of Chicago, I packed my shit up and left. 6:00A.M.

IT'S SO COLD. I can't stop shivering and my hands are numbing up disturbingly fast. The wind is so strong at one point that I had to stop walking. The ground was slick with ice and putting all my weight on one foot risked me slamming my head onto the concrete. As I took this photo I was literally being pushed backwards.

I was tired. I was fucked. 

I knew I needed a big boost if I was going to get through the day on no sleep. I decided to go to Jewel Osco, stock up on a huge breakfast and promptly go home and cook it. I needed carbs, protein, caffeine and a little bit of sugar to keep myself going for the rest of the day. 

On the way to Jewel, I slipped in the parking lot and landed in a puddle. 

I, filthy, cold and wet, crawled into the supermarket. They had been open for twenty minutes and the place was completely empty. I can't tell you how strange it was strolling around the gigantic market, no elevator music playing, no people walking around pushing carts, just the sounds of my boots squeaking on the floor. 

It was very creepy. 

I got the hell out of there with my grub and ran home to start cooking. It was early and I felt like shit. I needed this bad. 

Standing over the gigantic meal on the stove, something came over me. I wasn't scared about working all day. I knew I would get it done. I knew the breakfast would work. Today was my fucking day. In fact, cooking that meal, I realized something. Today was going to be the best day of my life.

I'm not kidding, folks. I was 100% ready to take on the responsibilities I have as an artist, student and K-Dog with conviction and excitement. Because this should have been my worst day and I was going to rock it, it really was going to be the best day of my life. I couldn't believe it.

I sat down with my power meal and watched an episode of Law and Order: SVU like any other care-free day. When it was over I intended to take on the world. 

Breakfast of the Champion (me):

Three Sausages

A Shitload of Home Fries

Scrambled Eggs with Cheese and a Few Seasonings

One Five Hour Energy Shot

One Cup of Earl Grey

Good to go. 

I ate, I threw on my jacket and I walked out of the house. That's when it hit me. 

I was wearing my slippers. 

O.K, the power-food and energy drink didn't kick in yet. I went inside, put on my shoes and walked out again. 

That's when something else hit me and I threw up in the middle of the fucking street. 

Moral of this long, long story, folks?

NO FOOD, NO ENERGY DRINK, NO MENTAL PREPARATION CAN REPLACE SLEEP!

I'm screwed....

Gilligan's Roosevelt Island

I haven't posted in a few days for a few reasons but mainly because I have been so friggin' tired. Two or three days ago Daniel and I left Carlos' house at around 5 in the morning so we could have a nice, tranquil sunrise stroll. One thing led to another and we found ourselves waiting for the Roosevelt Island tram car with no sleep under our belts.

Let me first say this: I have never been on Roosevelt Island nor have I been on the tram car. Up until two days ago this land was just a legend. Folklore. Myth. I decided to see what it was once and for all and I'm glad I did: I now know to never return unless I become a nurse practitioner (inside Roosevelt Island joke lolz, yo).

Here is Daniel as the tram car first started to soar. We both felt pretty shitty but the adrenaline pumped from the thought of a New York City tax dollar built vehicle flying through the air over a large body of water woke us up. 

Keep in mind Daniel and I are running on zero sleep and have been partying all night. For the remainder of this post I will refer to the "turd meter" to easily express how shitty we felt. It's a complicated device but I can decipher it's readings for you. With that in mind lets revisit the previous stage of our adventure and then continue:

Did I say that the tram was taking off to soar the majestic skies of New York? Sorry, I was mistaken. Turns out that was just a bunch of old women in scrubs getting on the thing and making it rock uncontrollably. We have another fifteen minutes in the sun to wait and fester in our lack of relaxation. 

At this point our Turd Reading is pretty mild. We are as 

uncomfortable as hell but more pissed off that this tin can 

won't take flight before noon.

After a long while we finally took flight. I have to say, it was pretty exciting. The closest I have ever come to this was when I took the "King Kong" ride at Universal Studios. It was a little bit more exciting though because we did something to piss him off and he jumped up and swatted the thing out of the air.

Once we got to the island we felt pretty lost. There was a red bus sitting there waiting for us. Before we could put 1 and 1 together this women literally screamed at us:

"GET ON THAT BUS! IT'S ONLY TWENTY FIVE CENTS AND TAKES YOU ALL AROUND THE ISLAND! IT'S GOOD MONEY FOR THE COMMUNITY! GET ON THE BUS! NOW!"

I don't know how you were raised but I was always told that strangers screaming orders at you should be completely ignored. Always. Daniel and I both felt, even though it was pretty non-threatening, listening to this wacko would only result in something horrible. In a strange way we were right. We decided to stay off the bus.

Little did we know, it's the only bus in the whole place. It comes every fifteen or twenty minutes (whenever the tram comes). To put it short, we were totally deaded in the heat of Roosevelt Island.

We took the damn bus once it came to the Island light house. I know it exists because it is in Grand Theft Auto 4. Next thing I know we are back where we started. The fucking bus went in a goddamned circle in 10 minutes. We have no photographic evidence of this because we were so frustrated. I can tell you, however, our turd reading was reaching a dangerous high.

Then it happened. We walked to the F train, our one way ticket home. We were exhausted, tired, thirsty and hungry. Never again would we have to wait for that tramcar or bus. We could put this all behind ourselves and never look back. Then we saw something we can never un-see.

The F train was not running into Manhattan. Going to Queens and back just seemed too far from where we needed to be. There was only one option left for us. 

God. I tried to post the adventure the morning of but it was all incoherent jabber. Basically, I just woke up.

Morning.

On the edge of the edge

I, dear readers, am minutes away from losing a very important battle.
For the past few weeks I have been victimized by an onslaught of pressures, deadlines, stale-routines and a general lack of satisfaction. I feel like I have been on autopilot for the past month and I just snapped out if it. My plane is nosediving into a playground of snot nosed kiddos and I (as pilot) am trying (very hard) to pull that phallic lever thing up. Not to save the kiddos. Oh no. To save me. And my Plane.
Homework's been a bitch. Going to school has been a bitch. It's dark whenever I get out of school. It's cold whenever I wake up and when I go to sleep (if I have the privilege). I'm tired of worrying (or pretending to worry) about colleges. I have late homework and unfinished or un-started films. I haven't been out on a Friday night in months. No more massive parties that I used to go to. At first I was really digging that and in many ways I still am. It's nice to get away from loud, drunken idiot teenagers for a while. A long while. Still, the transition is strange.
There isn't really a simple way of putting it: I'm tired. Mentally. Physically. I need to nap but my beds got sharp, dirty springs poking out.
What really pushed me towards the edge of the edge what happened to my camera today. Now, keep in mind, I have been Internet and phone less for a week. They finally started working but every hour or so the Internet turns off, my mother goes ape shit and I have to fix it. It's insane.
I thought my camera would be relaxing. I developed some photos today and came home to find my mother had found some old lenses kicking around. I was very excited to shoot some stress out through the ol' Pentax when to my horror I found that the poor thing had kicked the bucket. I don't know when, or how, but she just refuses to work.
I'm getting her fixed but that was the final draw.
Take my Internet, take my sleep, give me homework, break my phone, fail me, deny me, push me off the 6 train, overcharge me for a pack of cigarettes, tell me I'm too young to drink a beer then say "Nice shot" as I blow off an Iraqi kid's head, make my hands hurt from the cold, knot my hair up, read me the same headlines in different fonts for the rest of my life and shit on my face and say it's to make me a better person. Just don't ever, ever fuck with my cameras. That's just dick.
That message is for whichever god you worship.
Whew.
What a world...
I need to take a break. Out of the city, completly alone. Somehow.
It's that or:

Off to a Good Start. Not.

I'm finally back in Chicago and it feels good. I am ready to hit this semester hard and make some dope work. Somewhere in the equation to yield success at SAIC is a little known (and to those who do know it, often ignored) necessity: a good nights sleep and promptness.

Anyone who has ever made an appointment with me for anything knows that I'm an early bird. This means that usually I arrive a half hour before I need to for every class so I can enjoy the commute over at a comfortable pace all while leaving enough time aside for Murphy and his stupid law to gobble up if he's feeling in the mood to shut down the Blue Line.

Today is my first class so I wanted an extra early start. No problem. Well, there's one problem. Last night I ignored the little known secret that promotes a healthy, happy day. In other words, I stayed up very late and got two hours of sleep.

Not a huge dilemma, I'm a big boy and have the next three days to rest. I crawl out of bed feeling incredibly shitty. Shittier than usual, actually. I look outside and it's dark as night. I toss on the long johns, get dressed and bundle up for the cold, unforgiving Chicago commute.

I arrive to class. It's early and no one is there. Nice. Hang out for a bit, drink some free Coffee and surf the web.

Time goes by. It's 9:00 AM and no one is in sight. Was class cancelled? No way.

9:15. Do I have the right room? Panic sets in. I bite the bullet and wait it out and surf the web. That's when I notice something on Gizmodo. The most recent post (one I had not read earlier in the morning) was at 8:00 AM. Had I gone through a time warp? My phone said it was just after 9. My laptop said it was 9, too. What's going on? Where is everybody? Am I being watched?

I'm scared.

I go downstairs to the empty lobby and ask the security guard a silly question.

"Is it eight or nine?"

She looks at me and says the most saddening news I could hear.

"It's eight. I'm so sorry."

She laughs, I sort of laugh and I crawl back into the elevator to sit like a schmuck in an empty student lounge. My head hurts.

Thanks a lot Eastern Time. You really know how to show a fella' a good morning.

Deep Sleepin'

I suck at sleeping. When I lay my head down to get a good nights rest I can't help but think about the things that stress me out during the day. I think about fighting bullies from my past, telling off assholes I encountered on the train or saving the world from a terrorist attack. Essentially, when I'm finally supposed to turn off and rest my brain decides to work extra hard. It sucks. 

I tried everything and gave up hope. I was looking for advice online (again) and I decided to try white noise. I listened to the white noise machines that were the most recommended. I didn't like how they sounded and decided to ditch the idea. Instead, I downloaded a "Relaxation Track" from iTunes. It's of a soft rain storm with occasional distant thunder. Turned it into an hour long play list, cranked the speaker and before I go to sleep I have them streaming wirelessly from across the room. 

Has it worked?

Holy shit, yes. I have been getting the best sleep of my life for the past few days. I fall asleep faster, I wake up less and I have wonderfully pleasant dreams. It's amazing. In all honesty, it's one of the best things I have done for myself in a long while. I had a picture taken of me last night in the middle of my slumbers. I look so beautiful, so at peace and so rejuvenated:

If you have trouble sleeping too, I would suggest picking a sound you find relaxing and doing this. It might help.

Pain In The Ass P.O.V

A little context here. My laundry room is in the next building so I have to put my shoes (and pants) on, walk outside, enter another building and crawl down into the basement. I'd complain about it but I got it better than a lot of other kids I know who have to drag their shit to a Laundromat. Still, things find ways of going wrong and it's only so long until I can't hold my tongue anymore...

"Don't be scared, Kevin. Don't be scared, Kevin..."

"Booyah! Clean laundry. Now I won't 

smell like ass tomorrow!"

"Hey, what the fuck? This shit's still wet! It was

in here for an hour!"

"I'll do it again. Looks like I'm getting 60 minutes less

sleep tonight..."

"Good thing I'm prepared. Wait...who put a dime

 and a nickel in my quarter jar?! ASS!"

"Fuck it. I'm going to sleep."

9 hours of sleep in 6 minutes.

I'm an odd sleeper. When I finally hit the sack I wake up probably three or four times a night. It's almost always because I was dreaming and my dream came to some sort of end. It sounds exhausting but it has no effect on my energy level the next day. I just wake up, sometimes laugh, smile, shudder or sigh and then immediately fall asleep again. No big deal. In fact, I like it.

The topic of dreams came up in one of my classes and I was shocked that a pretty high percentage of the room said they rarely dream and when they do, they don't remember it. I dream every fucking night and I always remember it. In fact, I'm sure I have told all of you, personally, about one of my long winded dreams that seem too surreal to be true.

I decided to take advantage of this and went to Radioshack and purchased myself one of those crappy little minicasette recorders. It has an automatic record feature so if it hears any sound it will start up all on it's own. I put it right next to my bed hoping to hear some sleep talking (which I did) but more importantly, so during these little moments when I wake up from my dream, I could just lean over and record them. It's been three days now and I already have DOPE records. I transcribed the first night for your listening pleasure. It's pretty amazing:

Note:

For some reason Youtube made the sound on the file really really faint. Unless you got headphones or ghettoblasters it probably won't work. I guess I gotta' make a higher res export. Goddamit.

Holiday Retrospective

It's true. I wrapped up the semester and came back home tired and anxious to do nothing. To celebrate Christmas and the coming New Year with my friends and family in the city I love. That's exactly what I did. A little too well.

I haven't posted here in weeks. That stings.

So far it's been a good trip back home. I have seen my buddies, played some black jack, slept enough and spent too much money on things that cost too much money because Manhattan can get away with with charging anyone anything.

Ah. Feels like home.

Essentially, I can easily summarize my time here in New York with two pictures. It started off with french fries at an old rest stop tucked away off the Palisades...

...and ends staring out the window at a cold, snowy 14th street.

Sure, a lot has has gone down between points A and B but that doesn't mean I'm going to sit here talking about it. What matters is that right now I'm at point B and loving it. I'm back in the blogosphere and it feels good.

The holidays were fun but they are long gone. It's time to snap back to reality, wake up from the strange wintry nap I have been in and clean my eye of sleep boogers. It's time to start this year off with a bang.

I do so with this. The first post of the decade.

Holy shit I'm tired

Yesterday I was over at the Museum checking out the Edward Munch show (which was pretty awesome) and I read that some out-dated shrinks had a theory he suffered from an urban induced insanity. 

Basically, that the cat spent too much time in the city keeping up with the hustle and bustle of things and it drove him mad. There was a name for it and I tried to google it but was instead linked to a blog about gays and depression.

Well, as I sit writing this I feel a little bit like our friend Eddy M. Running on too few hours of sleep with 12 long ones of class ahead of me, my eyes are crossing, my fingers can't seem to type and all I want to do is crawl into my bed and rest. Of course, I won't be able to do that for another seven hundred and twenty minutes. Or, 43,200 seconds if you want to get down to the nitty gritty.

Sure, I'm not going off the walls but I definitely feel drained by cities to a certain degree. At least maybe one city in particular (COUGH, cough) but I'm not going to point fingers. 

Damn. I'm tired.

Dark Side of the Internet...

I can't sleep and have a class in three hours. Usually during these times of stress and panic I try to do something productive so I don't feel like a complete waste tomorrow. Tonight I decided to use my time wisely and check out the blogs recent traffic report.

Things were decent but not ideal. The hiatus seems to have fucked things up. Hopefully word will hit the interwebs that K-Dog is back in business and things will be like they used to.

After perusing for a few minutes I noticed something very peculiar. The post on my track marks that weren't actually track marks has gotten me a lot of traffic.

Strange.

I decided to do a google image search. On the second page of results, I saw a fine example of the Internets wonderful talent of taking things out of context and making people look like asses.

Great. A photograph that comes up after searching "Track Marks" with my name underneath a photograph of my forearm.

What could go wrong with that?

YOU DECIDE 09'

Ludwig and I are itching to make another radio show now that people are flowing back into the city. There are good vibes all around and we feel confident that the next one will be a success. I thought the Reunion Special was hilarious (but I heard the complaints people, 2 parts is too many) and I'd love to top it. That's where you come in.

Here at A Journey we like to keep things simple. We like direct democracies. 

Also, we can't decide between the next theme. I'm going to write them all here and you can vote in the poll located on the top right of this page underneath the banner. It will be up for 1 week. If you read this but never comment (which is a lot of people) please take the time to just pick whichever sounds funniest. 

Here are the candidates:

BBQ Special

No Sleep Radio Special (would be recorded after we stay awake for two days)

Connecticut Radio Special/Camped out Special

Classical Music Special with Daniel Rutkowski

Jamie Lidell Radio Special

Live Music Special

Radio Theatre Special (narrative)

YOU DECIDE!

There will be MILKSHAKES!

My name is Daniel Plainview. I'm an oil man. I drill for oil. I also like milkshakes. 

Not.

When "There Will be Blood" came out Robbie and Carlos kept going on and on about how good it was. I, for some reason, thought it didn't look like my sort of film and opted out on paying the 13 dollars to see it in theatres. 

Eventually I did see it with Carlos on some movie channel and I was blown away. It was indeed my sort of film and I regretted not seeing it on the big screen with everyone else. 

Needless to say, "There Will Be Blood" was one of my most desired films to add to my Blu-Ray collection. I looked everywhere for it and (somehow) couldn't find it. One quick visit to Amazon cured my fix and saved me a couple of bucks. When I got it I made a phonecall. It was time to watch "There Will Be Blood" in crisp 1080i accompanied with killer surround sound with good company. 

Take this opportunity to meet my dear friend Monty. I can't remember if I have ever talked about him in previous posts but we met on the shoot of "War of the Ants" and am I glad we did. Monty is a big fan of the film and can do the best Daniel Plainview impression out of all of us. He was integral for what followed. 

After making a pit stop to stock up on refreshments, Monty, Preston and I decided to settle down and watch the film. There was one problem, though. Our stomachs were growling. "There Will be Blood" is not a film to watch hungry. It's already such a stimulation of all five senses that hearing your stomach eat itself will only further plummet you into the depravity of life. This, though serious, is nothing a little baked chicken boobie couldn't fix.

The hunger and anticipation was a catalyst for my new recipe: "There Will be Heart Surgery" chicken. It's easy, folks. Get an entire stick and a half of butter, melt it down and then put an equal amount of Worcester sauce in it. Mix that up real good and rub it all over the chicken. Throw whatever spices you have on top of that in the mix, fill the rest of the pan with olive oil (and if you have it, some beer) and let sit in the oven until the grease pops loud enough that you fear an explosion. That, my friends, is good eating. 

After eating we were all stuffed and a little, well, "giddy". The film hadn't even started yet and Spuds had drank waaaaaay  too much. We had to put him to sleep and let the men take care of business. 

After finally sitting down to watch the film the atmosphere changed. Daniel Day scared the shit out of us and we were transported to another world. The quality of this Blu-Ray is superb. The darks were a little too dark (which for a film that has entire scenes playing out hundreds of feet underground with no lights is a bit of a problem) but I can't say whether or not it is my TV or the Blue-Ray itself. I have actually recently been considering bringing my Blue-Ray collection to someone elses house so I can see how a television will effect the process. I have yet to meet anyone with the proper HD set up, though, so that is for another post. 

A few refreshments and three acts later the film was over. What a great time. I swear to you, I have never heard three individuals making so many "Milkshake" jokes. It was truly hilarious. After an hour Preston and I had just as good of an impression of Daniel Plainview as Monty did. 

It was during all of this that Monty, very seriously said "We need MILKSHAKES!"

One very late night trip to Jewel Osco later and what do you know?

We have Milkshakes. Delicious, chocolate milkshakes. I can't verify as to whether or not any of our refreshments made it into that milkshake but I can say that by the end of the night I was most certainly ready to hit the hay. Hard. 

I can honestly say, it was one of the most fun nights I have had since moving out to Chicago. I can also say, with absolute certainty:

I. Will drink. Your, MILKSHAKE!

Deaded by a bedbug

Today was the first day of my new semester. It feels so good to know that in half of a school year I will be able to put this terrible experience behind me and go to college where I can yearn to put other terrible experiences behind me. Until then I anxiously squirm in my chair day dreaming about life after high school. Things seemed to be going well, until...well...fucking bedbugs.

You see, last night I got home from a family trip to Boston (which was fun. It's an attractive looking town. At least the parts I saw) and started to get ready for the next day which would bring me a new semester. Everyone was in a great mood and I retired to my bed when I heard my mother and father yelling that my report card had come. 

My starlets, I'm sure you can guess what happened but it was pretty terrible. I got yelled at, I yelled and the overall conclusion was that I am a deadbeat because I refuse to do more homework than I have to. I guess this makes me a loser. Even if my GPA went up 30 points since last year it didn't go up that 40 points everyone was hoping for. Aparantly that means I'm a jerk off. Still, I'm learning as I grow older that I don't actually have to say "fuck that!" out loud. I can just say it in my head and nod when I'm told that I'm lazy bum. Seems to work out better for everyone.

After getting reamed by my mother and father I retreated and went back into my safety zone with a sore throat. I went to sleep and started to watch a Zappa flick when I looked at my blanket and saw a disgusting little bug. I picked it up and thinking it was a tick woke up my folks. They said "Kevin, I believe that is a bed bug". 

Next thing I know, my folks are ransacking my bed. Saying "We need to find them!" which was all well and fine, I wanted to find them too, but at what cost?

I watched in horror as everything I had ever tried to hide from my parents was thrown out into the open: cigarettes, love notes, little liquor bottles, huge beer bottles (one of which was still half full and even worst: it was a "St. Ides" which is equivalent to homeless man sweat*) failed tests and even photos I took of a sex shop window but felt dirty putting in my albums and felt guilty tossing out.

*see below:

Basically, theses fucking bedbugs blew my cover and on the same night I got deaded for shitty grades. We did some more searching and came to the conclusion that they weren't actually bed bugs. Instead, it was just some asshole bug who decided to land on my blanket and fuck my shit up. I'm glad to say that that bug is dead. If there is a heaven for bugs, he is most definitely not there.

It seems stuff like this keeps happening to me. Whenever it does, I just close my eyes and say to myself: halfway there, my dear. Halfway there...

Time Warp

My sleep cycle has been so screwed up in the past week or so but today something very strange happened. Two of my buddies came over, we ordered Pizza and watched the Day of the Triffids mini-series from way back when. They left at 9 and I closed my eyes for a minute. 

When I say "I closed my eyes for a minute" I mean it. There on the futon I decided to relax for a few seconds, eyes closed. A minute turned into an hour. Fine. I took a nap.

I got up and went to the kitchen. That's when I saw the clock and nearly fainted. 

6:00 A.M.

Wow. Some hour.

Itchy and scratchy

One little secret you may not know about me is that I have some strange immune deficiency which results in red, bumpy, itchy hives. They come whenever my body temperature gets a little to hot to handle. That means stress, showers, sun and apparently even sleep leave me covered in tiny imperfections that remind myself that my insides aren't ticking right. 

It doesn't bother me that much. Rarely do they spread above the neck so unless I take my shirt off I'm safe from public scrutiny. I never take my shirt off so to most regular people I'm just a hiveless boy with an immune system of steel.

Recently they have been hitting me hard. I was stressed out about it but then a godsend occured. 

Remember the Barack Obama Chia Pet? Well, a few days ago I was changing his water and spilled a chia-seed/slime solution all over my DVDs. There was only one out of the case: "Freaks" by Todd Browning. I popped her in to assess whether or not I had to buy another copy. She worked fine and as predicted I ended up sitting on the edge of my bed, covered in hives watching the film (again) start to finish.

That's when it hit me. My hives are beautiful. I'd get into it but it's complicated.

It prompted me to start a new endeavour. Every day I pick one hive. Scan it. Draw it. From there I will have a collection of hopefully hundreds. What I do with them once I reach that point is unknown. Maybe temporary tattoos, maybe blow em up and put em' on a grid in order of color/date/shape. Who knows.

Here's a taste, starlets.