as you may (or may not) be aware, we are currently living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment as a new house we purchased is being built. however, that new house was to have begun back in September but has been indefinitely delayed since. if it was begun on time, it would've been finished sometime around the end of February or the beginning of March. now, who knows.
we just heard word that our house is supposed to begin sometime within the next 45 days. if we go by this, and assume the worst (45 days), that would put the ground breaking at the end of January. six months for construction (at the minimum. more if we have a bad winter), and that puts the finish of our house at the end of July. that's five extra months living in this hellhole. christ!
i suppose it always can be worse.
ignore my complaints. at least the wife and i have our health, and a roof over our heads (which is no small thing when it's ten degree Fahrenheit outside with a skiff of icy snow on the ground).
the only thing about this whole situation, though, as it relates to my poetry, is that i don't feel at all like writing. ever since moving into this miniscule, infernal place, i've felt like all my energy is spent in trying not to get in my wife's way (or in finding a way to get her out of mine) that writing has become secondary or tertiary to that. i've written a few new poems, but nothing worth a damn. my output has dramatically decreased, my apathy about it has increased and the quality of my writing has plummeted. this happens, though. when i get more comfortable, with all my books and typewriters and other accoutrements out of storage; when i can set up my little writing space; when we finally move out of this little place, then it'll all come back.
i hope.
03 December 2005
02 December 2005
winter is here
it snowed today. big, fat flakes. i work on the benches of the Wasatch Mountains, and it is a good 10 degrees cooler up there than down in the valley (where we live). it was raining down in the valley (until later tonight when it turned to snow), but it was cold enough to snow up where i work. gorgeous. i love snow. i hate driving in it (especially here in Utah where morons in their huge trucks and SUVs think just because they have 4-wheel drive they can drive like maniacs), but i sure do love watching it fall.
today i received a copy of Poultry Broadside #4 from J.J. Campbell. he has two poems in this issue. John Dorsey and Corey Mesler are also featured in this issue. Poultry Broadside is a quarter-sized folded pamphlet published by Gunch Press. check it out.
today i received a copy of Poultry Broadside #4 from J.J. Campbell. he has two poems in this issue. John Dorsey and Corey Mesler are also featured in this issue. Poultry Broadside is a quarter-sized folded pamphlet published by Gunch Press. check it out.
30 November 2005
today
was one of those crisp late autumn days we get out west here; where the temperature hovers right around freezing, the sky is blanketed by high-altitude clouds from a recent cold front, snow dots the ground here and there and the air is so clear you can see forever. it's beautiful. very little wind, the nip in the air just enough for a coat and scarf. maybe a beanie to cover your ears.
it almost makes driving to and from work bearable.
it's been awhile since i've posted anything of value. this is because i was on vacation. the first in a long time. well over a year. it was two weeks long, but still much too short. however, we got to see our two nephews (2 1/2 years old and almost 1 years old) for the entire time. i wished we lived closer to them so i could watch them grow. alas.
i hate traveling. to be more specific, i hate flying. i don't do well in an airplane. this trip, however, was not so bad. our connections were on time, we have minimal layovers. the landing in Atlanta on the way to Florida (our only layover for that particular trip) was scary, though. the pilot came in way too fast and we bounced once, then shimmied. i'm sure it didn't look like much from the ground, but i was certain a wing was going to clip the ground and we would burn to our deaths in a mighty fireball. i'm happy to say that this particular hell did not occur. obviously. the flights back were uneventful and even a little fun (once the plane gets to cruising altitude, i'm fine; it's the takeoffs and landings that kill me).
so, what's new in the world of poetry, as it relates to me? well, while i was away i received my copies of Bathtub Gin #17, where my poem the business trip appears. Bathtub Gin is a great literary journal that is not easy to crack, so i'm proud of this one.
also in my mailbox was a copy of remark. #39. Kat did another great job on this one. it's an autumn-themed issue. job well done, Kat.
that's about it. nothing else new. it's been slow, i suppose. unfortunately, there were no new acceptances of any of my poems, but, on the other hand, there were no rejections, either. no news is good news, i guess.
it almost makes driving to and from work bearable.
it's been awhile since i've posted anything of value. this is because i was on vacation. the first in a long time. well over a year. it was two weeks long, but still much too short. however, we got to see our two nephews (2 1/2 years old and almost 1 years old) for the entire time. i wished we lived closer to them so i could watch them grow. alas.
i hate traveling. to be more specific, i hate flying. i don't do well in an airplane. this trip, however, was not so bad. our connections were on time, we have minimal layovers. the landing in Atlanta on the way to Florida (our only layover for that particular trip) was scary, though. the pilot came in way too fast and we bounced once, then shimmied. i'm sure it didn't look like much from the ground, but i was certain a wing was going to clip the ground and we would burn to our deaths in a mighty fireball. i'm happy to say that this particular hell did not occur. obviously. the flights back were uneventful and even a little fun (once the plane gets to cruising altitude, i'm fine; it's the takeoffs and landings that kill me).
so, what's new in the world of poetry, as it relates to me? well, while i was away i received my copies of Bathtub Gin #17, where my poem the business trip appears. Bathtub Gin is a great literary journal that is not easy to crack, so i'm proud of this one.
also in my mailbox was a copy of remark. #39. Kat did another great job on this one. it's an autumn-themed issue. job well done, Kat.
that's about it. nothing else new. it's been slow, i suppose. unfortunately, there were no new acceptances of any of my poems, but, on the other hand, there were no rejections, either. no news is good news, i guess.
28 November 2005
back
i am back from my two week vacation. we have yet to decompress from the whirlwind it was. i will post more later. suffice it to say, like all vacations it was too short.
14 November 2005
a fortnight's rest
we fly out tomorrow morning for our two week vacation to Florida. we'll visit family, participate in the typical Thanksgiving festivities (turkey, stuffing, football, arguments, etc.).
however, as i said earlier, i probably won't be able to access my email, nor post on this blog while there. i might, but i doubt it. so, if this place is as barren as the space between George W. Bush's ears, then you'll know why. and, if i don't return any of your emails (assuming any of you will email me) this will be the reason.
for all of you (in America) who celebrate Thanksgiving, i hope you have a fun, turkey-filled, football-filled holiday. for all of you who do not, then i hope the next two weeks are, at worst, average.
however, as i said earlier, i probably won't be able to access my email, nor post on this blog while there. i might, but i doubt it. so, if this place is as barren as the space between George W. Bush's ears, then you'll know why. and, if i don't return any of your emails (assuming any of you will email me) this will be the reason.
for all of you (in America) who celebrate Thanksgiving, i hope you have a fun, turkey-filled, football-filled holiday. for all of you who do not, then i hope the next two weeks are, at worst, average.
10 November 2005
sick as a dog
i came down with something last night. a head cold (dripping, sore throat, etc.). i don't do well as a sick person. i revert to a three year old. my wife hates it, but being the wonderful trooper she is, she takes care of me. i hope i can fight this off before our vacation (which i'm sure i can) and i hope i don't give it to her, because she'll almost definitely have it during then. flying with a head cold is never fun, either.
anyway, i think i'm gonna go lie back down on the couch and whine a little more. maybe mumble some melancholy sounds. and dose up on some over-the-counter cold remedies. medicine head, here i come!
anyway, i think i'm gonna go lie back down on the couch and whine a little more. maybe mumble some melancholy sounds. and dose up on some over-the-counter cold remedies. medicine head, here i come!
09 November 2005
the holidays, and some poetry stuff
we'll be leaving on Tuesday the 15th to fly to Florida to visit family for two weeks for the Thanksgiving holiday. in the six years we've lived in Salt Lake (coincidentally, today is our 6 year anniversary of arriving in SLC), we've not had a holiday with family. so, this will be a nice vacation. plus, we'll get to see my sister's two young children. therefore, i'll probably not get to update this blog during those two weeks, though i will try. we'll see. my parents don't have a computer at their place, so email and such will be lagging.
today i received Issue #38 of remark. Kat did a great job with it. i thought that i would miss being the editor of remark. after i quit and handed the reins over to Kat, but not so much. it's nice to have the extra free time to myself. and with some of the shit Kat has had to deal with concerning primadonna, arrogant, ungrateful poets; i definitely don't miss dealing with that. thanks, Kat, for taking over the editorship of the magazine.
lastly, i received from christopher cunningham a signed copy of his new book, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life A Measure of Impossible Humor, published by Nerve Cowboy. i've said this before on this blog, but i'll say it again right now: christopher cunningham is the greatest living poet in America. it's a bold statement, but one i firmly believe. the dude sweats poetry.
today i received Issue #38 of remark. Kat did a great job with it. i thought that i would miss being the editor of remark. after i quit and handed the reins over to Kat, but not so much. it's nice to have the extra free time to myself. and with some of the shit Kat has had to deal with concerning primadonna, arrogant, ungrateful poets; i definitely don't miss dealing with that. thanks, Kat, for taking over the editorship of the magazine.
lastly, i received from christopher cunningham a signed copy of his new book, Thru the Heart of This Animal Life A Measure of Impossible Humor, published by Nerve Cowboy. i've said this before on this blog, but i'll say it again right now: christopher cunningham is the greatest living poet in America. it's a bold statement, but one i firmly believe. the dude sweats poetry.
07 November 2005
already?
is it really November already? the second week of it, no less? jesus.
it's no revelation that time flies, but here's my theory on that. one day for a one-day old is 100% of that person's life. so, it seems like a lifetime for a one-day old to wait another day. a day for a two-day old, therefore, feels half as long. using this logic, someone at the age of 30 feels one day as roughly 1/11,000th of their life, or 0.009% of their life. nothing. a mere blink of the eye. and someone 60 years old feels a day as even half as long. so, using this rock-solid logic, this is why every year seems to accelerate by at ever increasing speed. obviously the year doesn't actually go by any faster, it's our perception of that year that is changing.
not that this has anything to do with anything. i'm just lamenting the fact that it's already November, the radio stations are already playing xmas music, and i'll be dead before i know it.
it's no revelation that time flies, but here's my theory on that. one day for a one-day old is 100% of that person's life. so, it seems like a lifetime for a one-day old to wait another day. a day for a two-day old, therefore, feels half as long. using this logic, someone at the age of 30 feels one day as roughly 1/11,000th of their life, or 0.009% of their life. nothing. a mere blink of the eye. and someone 60 years old feels a day as even half as long. so, using this rock-solid logic, this is why every year seems to accelerate by at ever increasing speed. obviously the year doesn't actually go by any faster, it's our perception of that year that is changing.
not that this has anything to do with anything. i'm just lamenting the fact that it's already November, the radio stations are already playing xmas music, and i'll be dead before i know it.
31 October 2005
the knuckle
i got my subscriber's copy of Naked Knuckle today. if you don't know, NK is a rather new (only on issue #5) poetry journal out of Modesto, CA that says it contains "poetry that'll bust your mind's eye wide open". it's a beautiful, small-format magazine filled with some of the best poetry around. this issue included the ubiquitous Karl Koweski, Christopher Cunningham, Charles Rammelkamp and Raymond Mason, among others. i've had a few poems in previous issues, too. anyway, it's nice to know that there are still journals out there like Naked Knuckle. plus, this issue has a creepy drawing on the cover that looks like Iggy Pop with a broken nose and a droopy right eye. it's weird. if you're interested in checking it out, or submitting, drop me an email and i'll give you the info.
28 October 2005
denied
well, it appears my mailbox situation has been rectified. AND, just in time for me to receive a rejection from Cellar Roots out of Eastern Michigan University. i had appeared in three previous issues of Cellar Roots, all themed issues, but wasn't able to make this one. ah well.
it's good though that our bills and letter and even a check we were owed from the electric company were returned to sender, but a rejection gets through. fabulous!
it's good though that our bills and letter and even a check we were owed from the electric company were returned to sender, but a rejection gets through. fabulous!
26 October 2005
chapbook o' the quarter
the last installment of Bottle of Smoke's Chapbook of the Quarter Club arrived in my mailbox this afternoon. this issue's author is none other than the venerable David Barker. David is a master of the short, witty poem. No one ever said so much using so few words.
the Chapbook of the Quarter Club is a great little thing that Bill at BOSPress started earlier this year. it is a a subscription service only, meaning he will not sell these books outside of the club. to join is just $20 and you'll receive four handsome, letterpressed chapbooks. i'm proud to say my chapbook Liquid Jesus was the club's inaugural chapbook back in the beginning of this year.
i look forward to these little chapbooks and i know you will, too. join the Club. c'mon. all the cool kids are doing it!
the Chapbook of the Quarter Club is a great little thing that Bill at BOSPress started earlier this year. it is a a subscription service only, meaning he will not sell these books outside of the club. to join is just $20 and you'll receive four handsome, letterpressed chapbooks. i'm proud to say my chapbook Liquid Jesus was the club's inaugural chapbook back in the beginning of this year.
i look forward to these little chapbooks and i know you will, too. join the Club. c'mon. all the cool kids are doing it!
25 October 2005
trespass
i got an email the other day letting me know that two of my poems, Midnight Trains and the emptiness of a moonless night, have been accepted to appear in the autumn issue (issue #2) of trespass magazine. trespass is a new literary journal with much promise, so i'm excited about this. check out their website and submit some of your own stuff.
i heard this morning that Rosa Parks died last night, at the age of 92. it's weird to think that such a little, old lady could've sparked such a momentous and historic time. i was thinking, too, that most of the people who took up the civil rights movement are now dead. i hope this is a piece of history we aren't doomed to repeat. though, i wouldn't be too damn sure with people like this in the world. eugenics is wrong on so many levels, but if i were to be in charge of implementing it, the parents of these girls certainly would be on the top of the list. as would similar people.
and, just to show i'm not some kind of fascist, #1 to be sterilized would be yours truly.
but, seriously, 50 years later and there's not much different. only we're more jaded and less compassionate and more insular.
i heard this morning that Rosa Parks died last night, at the age of 92. it's weird to think that such a little, old lady could've sparked such a momentous and historic time. i was thinking, too, that most of the people who took up the civil rights movement are now dead. i hope this is a piece of history we aren't doomed to repeat. though, i wouldn't be too damn sure with people like this in the world. eugenics is wrong on so many levels, but if i were to be in charge of implementing it, the parents of these girls certainly would be on the top of the list. as would similar people.
and, just to show i'm not some kind of fascist, #1 to be sterilized would be yours truly.
but, seriously, 50 years later and there's not much different. only we're more jaded and less compassionate and more insular.
20 October 2005
the fly that stings
i recently purchased and, today, received a copy of the latest issue (issue 2/volume two) of the stinging fly out of Dublin, Ireland. the reason i bought a copy of this journal is because my buddy, and a contributor to this blog, Brian McGettrick is the Featured Poet for this issue. this is a big time thing as the stinging fly is a major journal of literature. it's a gorgeous thing to behold, too. glossy cover, perfect bound.
congratulations, Brian. the five poems that are featured in this issue, too, are marvelous. you should be proud.
i am mentioning this because i think everyone should pick a copy up. not only to support a poet (which is something we all should do), but because the poetry in this issue is top notch.
again, congratulations, Brian. i'm sure this is the beginning of great things for you.
congratulations, Brian. the five poems that are featured in this issue, too, are marvelous. you should be proud.
i am mentioning this because i think everyone should pick a copy up. not only to support a poet (which is something we all should do), but because the poetry in this issue is top notch.
again, congratulations, Brian. i'm sure this is the beginning of great things for you.
18 October 2005
snail mail
well, we found out what the fucking problem with our mail delivery was. i turns out our moronic mailman decided that we had moved because our box was "overstuffed". apparently, he noted in our record (or in some damn thing) that our box was overstuffed for a few days and therefore we moved and all mail must be returned.
there are two issues at work here. 1) our mail was never "overstuffed". on our trip to Vegas, we were obviously unable to check our mail for a day. ONE day. so, because of this single day of neglecting to get our mail, it was stopped. what the fuck?! 2) if it was shut off and we were not living here, why the hell did we still get mail. granted, we didn't get everything (and it turns out all the important shit was returned (i.e. bills, correspondence, etc.)) but we did get some stuff. so, these dolts at the post office can't do their job AT ALL. first, they jump the gun on "overstuffed" mailboxes; choosing to return mail unnecessarily. and, second, they can't even shut the mail off correctly. if in fact we HAD moved, why the fuck did some of the mail get through. AND, didn't the shitforbrains notice that the mail he had delivered the day before suddenly disappeared the next day? this should've been proof enough that we had in fact NOT moved. jesus christ, the mental defectives are taking over the world.
anyway, our mail problem is now fixed, allegedly. my wife wants me to call the post office tomorrow morning to talk to our carrier. but, what the fuck am i going to say to this mental midget that he'll be able to understand? nothing.
so, if you've sent me something and it came back returned, please be advised that i AM alive, i DO live where you sent it and i WILL now get it if you resend it. i think.
there are two issues at work here. 1) our mail was never "overstuffed". on our trip to Vegas, we were obviously unable to check our mail for a day. ONE day. so, because of this single day of neglecting to get our mail, it was stopped. what the fuck?! 2) if it was shut off and we were not living here, why the hell did we still get mail. granted, we didn't get everything (and it turns out all the important shit was returned (i.e. bills, correspondence, etc.)) but we did get some stuff. so, these dolts at the post office can't do their job AT ALL. first, they jump the gun on "overstuffed" mailboxes; choosing to return mail unnecessarily. and, second, they can't even shut the mail off correctly. if in fact we HAD moved, why the fuck did some of the mail get through. AND, didn't the shitforbrains notice that the mail he had delivered the day before suddenly disappeared the next day? this should've been proof enough that we had in fact NOT moved. jesus christ, the mental defectives are taking over the world.
anyway, our mail problem is now fixed, allegedly. my wife wants me to call the post office tomorrow morning to talk to our carrier. but, what the fuck am i going to say to this mental midget that he'll be able to understand? nothing.
so, if you've sent me something and it came back returned, please be advised that i AM alive, i DO live where you sent it and i WILL now get it if you resend it. i think.
13 October 2005
six-pack
based on the title of this post, you'd assume it was alcohol-related (or at least -induced). neither is the case. what this title refers to is the new Bottle of Smoke Press Six-Pack release (#5). if you don't know what Six-Pack is, it is a small package of six tiny broadsides featuring six different poets. it's a fabulous idea. this installment includes poems by Christopher Cunningham, Henry Denander, Nathan Graziano, and this blog's very own C. Allen Rearick. helluva poem, Casey. helluva poem! in fact, all the poems are great.
included in the package was the new broadside by TL Kryss. a beautifully designed broadside with a nice little prose poem inside. the printing is immaculate, and set in a gorgeous typeface. well worth whatever Bill is charging.
check out Bottle of Smoke and dive into any of his offerings. you will, no doubt, find something worth the price he's asking.
again, great job Casey. always good to see your stuff!
included in the package was the new broadside by TL Kryss. a beautifully designed broadside with a nice little prose poem inside. the printing is immaculate, and set in a gorgeous typeface. well worth whatever Bill is charging.
check out Bottle of Smoke and dive into any of his offerings. you will, no doubt, find something worth the price he's asking.
again, great job Casey. always good to see your stuff!
11 October 2005
quick poetry update
i sent Eric Dejaeger, the bloke in Belgium who translated 18 of my poems into French, a copy of my 12 Gauge Press chapbook, The Magnificent Seven, and some broadsides as thanks for being so kind as to translate the poems and submit them to French-language journals. well, i just received word that Eric found three more poems that he wanted to translate (the last three in The Magnificent Seven chapbook). he sent me the new translations, and it's still a hoot to see my words in French.
anyway, nothing more going on other than that.
oh, wait. we're having issues with our mail delivery, suddenly. apparently, our mailman is rejecting mail that is properly address and sending it back as undeliverable. we called the post office and they said everything is copacetic, but they'll talk to our mailman to make sure nothing is amiss. whatever. he'll probably throw everything away, now. or contract some deadly disease so that he could cough on it, or bleed on it, or something just to spread the contagion to us. if i come down with some exotic, rare disease like Tay-Sachs or SIDS or Tourette's, we'll know who's to blame.
anyway, nothing more going on other than that.
oh, wait. we're having issues with our mail delivery, suddenly. apparently, our mailman is rejecting mail that is properly address and sending it back as undeliverable. we called the post office and they said everything is copacetic, but they'll talk to our mailman to make sure nothing is amiss. whatever. he'll probably throw everything away, now. or contract some deadly disease so that he could cough on it, or bleed on it, or something just to spread the contagion to us. if i come down with some exotic, rare disease like Tay-Sachs or SIDS or Tourette's, we'll know who's to blame.
08 October 2005
i saw the best minds of my generation...
yesterday marked the 50 year anniversary of the unveiling of Allen Ginsberg's seminal poem (which lucidly and viscereally described a generation) Howl. On October 7, 1955, Ginsberg read his poem to an audience in San Francisco. Howl (and that reading in specific) is given credit for kicking off the Beat movement in modern poetry.
anyway, Howl is still an amazing piece, meant to be heard, not read. i have a recording of Ginsberg reading this poem, and it is simply awesome (in all meaning of the word). i am not a Ginsberg nut, and frankly feel most of his poetry is overrated, but Howl remains one of the greatest poems ever written. and, anybody who can do that deserves to go down in history, and will earn my undying respect. Howl might have been a fluke for Ginsberg (depending upon your feelings of Ginsberg), but what a fluke it was.
read up on Ginsberg and his fight against censorship during the mid-50's McCarthyism. then, read the poem and revel in Ginsberg's images. enjoy the metrical timing and spacing. and celebrate a piece of poetic (and American) history.
anyway, Howl is still an amazing piece, meant to be heard, not read. i have a recording of Ginsberg reading this poem, and it is simply awesome (in all meaning of the word). i am not a Ginsberg nut, and frankly feel most of his poetry is overrated, but Howl remains one of the greatest poems ever written. and, anybody who can do that deserves to go down in history, and will earn my undying respect. Howl might have been a fluke for Ginsberg (depending upon your feelings of Ginsberg), but what a fluke it was.
read up on Ginsberg and his fight against censorship during the mid-50's McCarthyism. then, read the poem and revel in Ginsberg's images. enjoy the metrical timing and spacing. and celebrate a piece of poetic (and American) history.
06 October 2005
the penultimate issue
i received my subscriber's copy of the penultimate issue of Chiron Review today (issue #80). if you are unaware Chiron Review has been at it for some 23 years. they've published just about everyone, and consistently put out powerful issues. the next issue will be their last, and it's a sad day indeed. hundreds upon thousands of small press magazines have spawned and died in the 23 year run that Chiron Review has enjoyed. hundreds upon thousands more will strive to fill its place (though, no doubt, ultimately failing).
Chiron will be missed.
oh, in this issue is a great interview with Edward Field (and another, surreally done by Michael Basinski, with Nathan Graziano), and poetry by A.D. Winans, john sweet, Charles Rammelkamp and a bunch of others.
Chiron will be missed.
oh, in this issue is a great interview with Edward Field (and another, surreally done by Michael Basinski, with Nathan Graziano), and poetry by A.D. Winans, john sweet, Charles Rammelkamp and a bunch of others.
03 October 2005
some poetry news
i received my contributor's copy of the new anthology, Chemical Lust, by Monophonic Press (and the editors of Cherry Bleeds). this is a sex & drugs anthology featuring the work of Karl Koweski, Will Carpenter, Jeffrey S. Taylor and Tony DuShane.
i have two poems featured, anheuser heaven and right here.
i also just received word from Éric Dejaeger, the generous guy who translated 18 of my poems into French, that five of these poems will appear in the January issue of Noveaux Délits. he mentioned that with some appearing in Liqueur 44 and his own mag, Microbe, all 18 should appear in Belgium and/or France by the first half of 2006. this is amazing news. i'm so excited. i get about 18 poems in magazines in a whole year here in America. having 18 in French-language magazines in only half a year is spectacular. for me.
i have two poems featured, anheuser heaven and right here.
i also just received word from Éric Dejaeger, the generous guy who translated 18 of my poems into French, that five of these poems will appear in the January issue of Noveaux Délits. he mentioned that with some appearing in Liqueur 44 and his own mag, Microbe, all 18 should appear in Belgium and/or France by the first half of 2006. this is amazing news. i'm so excited. i get about 18 poems in magazines in a whole year here in America. having 18 in French-language magazines in only half a year is spectacular. for me.
02 October 2005
apartment hell, part II
in the last installment, i talked about some ass-hat who parked in my reserved parking spot. bad enough as that is, i've more things to discuss.
take this morning for example. today is Sunday. a day of rest. for me at least. well, this morning (and every fucking Sunday morning since we've lived here) the dipshits upstairs get up at 7 in the morning and make a shitload of noise as they get ready for church (it has to be church. why? because where the fuck else are they going this early EVERY fucking Sunday?) anyway, right on time, they wake up (which means the wife and i wake up) right at 7. FUCK THIS! church can fucking wait. CHRIST! whatever happened to sleeping in Sunday morning. if a god doesn't understand this and to hell with it.
oh, and the very first night we slept at the apartment (a Saturday night as it were) someone had a party.
but first, let me describe the layout complex. our area of this humongous place consists of 3 building arranged like a horseshoe around a central parking area. each building has 24 units, so there are 72 units to this area. there are bound to be a few (even more in an apartment setting) assholes out of 72 families.
anyway, this first night someone had a party. that's fine. i spent a good 50% of my university time at parties in a apartment complex. however, at 2 in the morning we were rudely awoken by some cocksucker yelling across the parking lot about wanting to kick some guys ass. it was loud, but since it was across the parking lot, the voice was muted and echoed.
"you pushed my girlfriend!" he was yelling, his voiced strained from emotion and alcohol. i imagined his face was red and he was sweating. his chest puffed out, his fists in balls.
"you pushed my girlfriend, asshole!" at the top of his lungs.
it died down a few minutes, then RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW (we live on the bottom floor) we heard him. it literally sounded as if he was IN OUR ROOM!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND!"
then the voice of a young girl, equally drenched in emotion and alcohol, pleading with her boyfriend to leave.
"PLEASE, JORDAN, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"
"DON'T FIGHT HIM, JORDAN, LET'S JUST GO!
"PPPLLLLLLLEEEEEEEAAAAASSE!"
yes, Jordan, i thought. listen to your girlfriend and GO THE FUCK HOME!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND. I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!"
just then, a deep, booming voice from across the complex yells, "shut the fuck up!" you could tell this dude was big. pissed. and ready to roll. i was only two of the three, but lacking the most important part (namely, being "big") i try not to get myself into compromising circumstances, lest i get my ass handed to me.
anyway, the emotion finally drained, the alcohol was absorbed and Jordan apparently listened to his girlfriend.
then, of course, the scrotum-lickers upstairs woke up at 7 so they could kneel before the power and glory of their lord. FUCKING FABULOUS!
lastly, our apartment complex allows pets (which is an rarity here in Utah) so there are TONS of pets around. this is also the reason we chose this place. anyway, there is a leash requirement because of there being so many dogs and so much uncertainty when dogs get together. well, apparently this leash requirement doesn't apply to everyone. and from my quick and dirty calculation, it only applies to about half of us. we're supposed to rat on those who don't use leashes, and if we do we get a cut in our rent. it's tempting. especially when you see some punk cocksucker walking around with his dog without a leash (the dog is, of course, always either a boxer, pitbull, rottweiler or a doberman pinscher) and the dude is wearing a tank top and has a barbed wire tatto armband, or a Yosemite Sam on his bicep or something equally lame. it's hard not ratting on them. it's hard not walking up to them and just slugging them in the side of the head.
anyway, this place sucks, but i know it's no worse than the millions of similar apartment complexes across America (and probably across the world). these places suck. they harbor the lowest of human filth and do nothing more than make me appreciate the fact that i've accomplished enough with my life that this stint is only temporary.
take this morning for example. today is Sunday. a day of rest. for me at least. well, this morning (and every fucking Sunday morning since we've lived here) the dipshits upstairs get up at 7 in the morning and make a shitload of noise as they get ready for church (it has to be church. why? because where the fuck else are they going this early EVERY fucking Sunday?) anyway, right on time, they wake up (which means the wife and i wake up) right at 7. FUCK THIS! church can fucking wait. CHRIST! whatever happened to sleeping in Sunday morning. if a god doesn't understand this and to hell with it.
oh, and the very first night we slept at the apartment (a Saturday night as it were) someone had a party.
but first, let me describe the layout complex. our area of this humongous place consists of 3 building arranged like a horseshoe around a central parking area. each building has 24 units, so there are 72 units to this area. there are bound to be a few (even more in an apartment setting) assholes out of 72 families.
anyway, this first night someone had a party. that's fine. i spent a good 50% of my university time at parties in a apartment complex. however, at 2 in the morning we were rudely awoken by some cocksucker yelling across the parking lot about wanting to kick some guys ass. it was loud, but since it was across the parking lot, the voice was muted and echoed.
"you pushed my girlfriend!" he was yelling, his voiced strained from emotion and alcohol. i imagined his face was red and he was sweating. his chest puffed out, his fists in balls.
"you pushed my girlfriend, asshole!" at the top of his lungs.
it died down a few minutes, then RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW (we live on the bottom floor) we heard him. it literally sounded as if he was IN OUR ROOM!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND!"
then the voice of a young girl, equally drenched in emotion and alcohol, pleading with her boyfriend to leave.
"PLEASE, JORDAN, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!"
"DON'T FIGHT HIM, JORDAN, LET'S JUST GO!
"PPPLLLLLLLEEEEEEEAAAAASSE!"
yes, Jordan, i thought. listen to your girlfriend and GO THE FUCK HOME!
"YOU PUSHED MY GIRLFRIEND. I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!"
just then, a deep, booming voice from across the complex yells, "shut the fuck up!" you could tell this dude was big. pissed. and ready to roll. i was only two of the three, but lacking the most important part (namely, being "big") i try not to get myself into compromising circumstances, lest i get my ass handed to me.
anyway, the emotion finally drained, the alcohol was absorbed and Jordan apparently listened to his girlfriend.
then, of course, the scrotum-lickers upstairs woke up at 7 so they could kneel before the power and glory of their lord. FUCKING FABULOUS!
lastly, our apartment complex allows pets (which is an rarity here in Utah) so there are TONS of pets around. this is also the reason we chose this place. anyway, there is a leash requirement because of there being so many dogs and so much uncertainty when dogs get together. well, apparently this leash requirement doesn't apply to everyone. and from my quick and dirty calculation, it only applies to about half of us. we're supposed to rat on those who don't use leashes, and if we do we get a cut in our rent. it's tempting. especially when you see some punk cocksucker walking around with his dog without a leash (the dog is, of course, always either a boxer, pitbull, rottweiler or a doberman pinscher) and the dude is wearing a tank top and has a barbed wire tatto armband, or a Yosemite Sam on his bicep or something equally lame. it's hard not ratting on them. it's hard not walking up to them and just slugging them in the side of the head.
anyway, this place sucks, but i know it's no worse than the millions of similar apartment complexes across America (and probably across the world). these places suck. they harbor the lowest of human filth and do nothing more than make me appreciate the fact that i've accomplished enough with my life that this stint is only temporary.
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