today

work

Latin guy on the phone: "An' was your las name?"

B: "Sampson. S-A-M-P-S-O-N."

Guy on Phone "Haha, so do you belong to that family on television?"

B: "Um... not really sure what you're talking about..."

Guy on Phone: "De Simpsons, hahahaha."

B: "Oh, heh heh heh"

Guy on Phone: "It's a Latino joke, you wouldn't get it."



???

even cold november rain

Were you between the ages of 14-21 between the time of 1987-1993? Do you remember music? Do you remember music television? Do you remember Guns n' Roses? Do you remember the video for the song "November Rain"?


A couple years ago I wrote up this thing all about Guns n' Roses and November Rain. I really like it and wanted to share it with the Microsuede crowd but it has 85 pictures and I thought that would be too many for the regular blog, so I started a new one just to host the November Rain thing. Check it out here:

http://novembersuede.blogspot.com/

It might be too long to read in one sitting, so I've broken it up into chapters.

By the way, thanks for cheering me up yesterday, jerks.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I'm having a really bad day. Cheer me up, internet!

two twenty nine thru three two oh eight

Victory!

Seriously though, as much as I talk about this stuff, please don't take it as a recommendation. Sometimes it's not very good.

Friday! Stayed up late re-watching the Wire. Are you sick of me talking about the Wire yet? Well there's only one episode left so we'll be done soon.

Saturday! Scotty had a bad day. Scoundrels stole his sword (maybe) and used it so smash his car window (possibly). While he was cleaning up the debris some punk-ass teenagers made fun of his vest.

Danny, Chris, and I were going to take him to lunch. I was lobbying heavily to go to Hooters because hey, that would be ridiculous. We ended up at the Red Iguana instead. I wish I had my camera so I could take pictures of the creepy playground at the creepy motel next door.

Really only one thing to do after that. Experiments with rocketry.

On his own blog Scotty has already proved that attaching bottle rockets to a paper airplane will only end in disappointment. That didn't stop us from trying again anyway.

Disappointment. But what about strapping a rocket engine to a balsa wood glider?

3...2...1...

Faster the blink of an eye the thing took off, looped, and came right back at us. All I could capture was the trail of smoke.

and the fate of the glider.

Scott claims the projectile came within inches of his head. I cannot deny nor verify this.

Sunday! Faster than the blink of an eye a plan was devised by my grandpa to go to Delta, Utah (far away) to look at the migrating snow geese that stop there every year on the way up north. I had to get up at 6am which you know I love doing, and then me and my grandpa Gordon and my own selfish brother Michael hit the road.

And what a long lonely road it was.

Cool sights along the way.

This is the Santaquin/Goshen/Genola/Elberta area of Utah. This is where my people come from. In the mid-1800s the clan that would become the Sampsons came from overseas and settled in this shithole.

The semi-ghost town of Eureka. The population peaked at about 4,000 in the 1920s, but now it's down to about 700.

Main Street.

Eureka is the 34th most roofless town in America.

This cabin belonged to Porter Rockwell.

Besides being a stone-cold killer, Rockwell was also a noted beard enthusiast.

Eureka's Theater. I guess people were a lot smaller back then.

There are old mine shafts everywhere. I'm not sure how authentic this one is because I don't think anyone would ever really write a letter backwards.

I don't know what El Chupe means. Maybe it means "the shrimp."

The Eureka Cemetery. There are guys here that were killed in the Civil War.

Finally, to Delta! They love their snow geese in Delta.

If there's one thing we know about Gordon, it's that he's always on the outside looking in.

Took a wrong turn and stumbled upon the site of the Gunnison Bend Massacre. In 1853 Eight surveyors were killed here by a band of angry Native Americans.

Spooky place. Feels massacre-y.

Finally we found the reservoir for some goose watching. Yeah, I guess that's a lot of geese.

There were probably, I dunno, a million geese gathered on the water. Unfortunately they stayed in an area that wasn't accessible.

The wind and cold proved that a little bit of geese watching goes a long way, so we stopped for lunch at one of Delta's two restaurants. I am fascinated by this odd garnish.

Hours later I finally got back home, where I found this jerk waiting for me.

I hate him so much!

work

4C

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. Every night with the techno music. I'm in no mood for this. Not now, not ever. The beat is un-changing and un-ending. 12:03am. I'll not go to bed for several more hours but it's still annoying. It's never been this loud. It's like a joke. A joke with a bass line that rattles the fixtures.

Surveying my apartment I find that it's loudest in the kitchen, but I can't pinpoint its origin. Is the music coming from that dude downstairs? I've heard him practicing blues scales on his guitar. Doesn't seem like the late-night techno type. Maybe it's the other kid on the first floor. The one that lets his newspapers pile up. Why do you even subscribe man? And how hard is it to kick them inside when you're walking in with your white Sean John coat and your jauntily tilted oversized cap?

Could be the old guy next door, but that seems unlikely. I recently found out that he's keeping track of my comings and goings, which I find slightly disconcerting. One time his medicine was accidentally delivered to my mailbox and he didn't even thank me when I gave it back. I could have sold it on the street to the young hoppers, buddy. A thank you would be nice.

I'm not sure what the story is with the people above me, but I know they like to move furniture around at three in the morning. I think I've only seen them twice. They have a very 1992 vibe about them. Maybe the music is coming from them.

I'm determined to find the source. I'm not looking for a confrontation, I just want to know where it's coming from. I re-apply my hoodie and head out for a leisurely stroll around the building. It's not coming from downstairs. I know that. I walk around to the other side, taking my sweet time, listening for any stray THUMP that might give me the answer. Nothing. I walk up to the third floor on the other side where my friend Rachel used to live. I loiter creepily in front of the front doors. Nothing. Nothing on the third floor of my side either. This is ridiculous. The source of the music has eluded me completely.

On the way back a goose hisses at me. I hate that goose.

triple two through two twenty four oh eight

Blogging. Just not feeling it right now. Forgive me if I'm terse. I think we'll start with the most important thing. There is a ghost at the Subway.



Spooky!

It was a movie rich weekend. Friday I watched In the Valley of Elah. Not as good as I wanted it to be. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder is a helluva thing though.

Saturday morning text sent to Emily in a half-asleep haze:

"Hmmm, but sleeping is not bored for me. In fact is quite needed."

Saturday afternoon I made delicious cookies. The process was documented.

I got kinda stressed.

Here they are.

I never said it would be pretty, I only said it would be cookies.

That night Nati and I watched Shaun of the Dead, a movie I can watch any time, any place. I really like that movie.

I spent most of Sunday sitting around watching watching Project Runway. I mean, ESPN.

Tried to watch the Oscars, but maaaaan they were boring. Plus 60% of the show was devoted to showing clips of past Oscars. Quit trying so hard. "Hey! It's me! The Oscars! Remember when this happened? Do you? Remember John Wayne? Remember Bob Hope? LOVE ME DAMMIT!" The best part of the Oscars is when I left to watch Live Free or Die Hard. He killed a helicopter with a car.

No Country for Old Men won best picture. Can't say I disagree with that. I've been thinking and I'm pretty sure I've never lost anything significant in a coin toss.