And the Mystery Is...

I should've written this post last night, but I couldn't. I naively glanced at my previous essay, blacked out, and woke up 2 hours later with over 100 open browser windows containing search results for "Kelly Clarkson phone number." I have no regrets. The concert continues to be as life-changing and life-affirming as ever; meaning, by definition, my life hadn't been affirmed until last weekend. Was I a ghost? (Twist!)

Whilst you ponder that mystery, I have a few more for you in my Top 5 Mysteries of the Summer countdown. I wasn't so sure these mysteries even existed until last night (sic 2 nights ago), when a conversation concerning the WNBA opened my eyes. An oft-arising debate between friends asked whether the WNBA is a step forwards or backwards for women. Nothing got resolved (mirroring the Washington Mystics' frontcourt issues - hello? you need a power forward), but all the while an important fact evaded us: The WNBA brought Swin Cash to prominence, which coupled her nominally with Jonny Cash, which eventually birthed the hit double EP We Ain't Related, Or So They Say, which is the greatest baller/crooner album of all-time.


The mystery behind that fact: It's not a fact at all. Enjoy!

Top 5 Summer Mysteries

1. Songs - Art is always impossible to grasp, and that goes doublefold for this summer's radio music. From the inexplicable faux-reggae beat of Paris Hilton's "Stars are Blind" to the Fray/Daniel Bedingfield/Etcetera piano melody underlying every whitey song to the complete lack of any variety in KissFM's "here is a mid-paced R&B song about falling in love" playlist, mystery abounds. A warning: Listening to KissFM while driving more than 5 miles on a Wisconsin freeway will confuse your brain into thinking it's entered a neverending loop. If you must endure this crazy mindgame, bring something that changes to remind yourself that the world is progressing through time. My suggestion for something that changes: A caterpillar.

2. People who live with no resources - On our drive through Waukesha county, we drove past a wide array of aluminum-sided factories and outlet stores. Amongst this capitalist sprawl, however, was not one center for the obtainment of survival goods. No grocery stores. No restaurants. No gas stations. No anything with the resources necessary to live, yet houses hid everywhere. There weren't even any schools. Tell me: If you weren't educated, how would you survive? Ask a passenger pigeon. Oh wait, you can't. They're dead because didn't have schools.

3. Abandoned schoolbuses - This is a pretty straightforward mystery, also encountered on our midnight drive. Of course, a skeleton manned the steering wheel. And compounding the conundrum was this eerie truth: The skeleton winked at me.

4. Sandhill cranes - A bird never seen before by anyone (given the sample polling group of me and Dan), this terrifying species has now appeared at both my backyard in Brookfield (first) and Dan's neighborhoood in Oconomowoc (second). Observe the presumed flightpath:

We think they took a car.

This development sounds shockingly similar to our currently-on-the-shelf kangaroo disaster movie, with one huge difference: Sandhill cranes are real killers. We all know kangaroos actually just sit around and look cute (thus the genius irony of our movie), yet sandhill cranes are really truly known for spearing dogs with their beaks and chasing famous birdwatcher John James Audobon into a river. I no longer go into my backyard without fencing attire and an instructor. I suggest you prepare similarly. If you're cornered by one of these monsters, it will be very difficult to WORM your way out of it. Cuz birds like WORMS.

5. Conclusions - How many times can someone make an overly clever blog ending and get away with it? Isn't it a bit predictable to end a mystery post with a....

MURDER!

Alienation = Life

Following is a review of the single most defining moment in a trio of young men's lives. Forgive the lack of humor, as this post must devote itself entirely to the recreation of an event that, if captured accurately, could set progress ahead thousands of years.

Saturday, July 22, 2006, 1st Time Era - Patrick H, Arun A, and Me I embarked on a journey that would transform our present from one of subtle meaning to one of extreme, technicolor magnifecence. We threw caution to the wind and took our first steps towards real evolution. We knew things would be different, but we didn't realize the entire structure of society would reimagine itself upon our actions.

We attended a Kelly Clarkson concert.

Our anticipation, albeit slightly tempered by the only opening act willing to wave its own band flag around during a set (Rooney), would eventually erupt in a silent explosion.

The alienation of three grown men surrounded by a sea of 10-year olds could only remove so much wind from our sails when the lights finally went out and the show begun. Hark! What's that there on the horizon? It's the silhouette of a man playing the wooded violin. Why, he plays so melodically and beautifully. Surely no human is capable of accompanying this glorious tune. Hark forth! Another silhouette. Surely no creature of flesh and bone could approach so near the bow-gliding master. Nay! 'Tis a goddess! 'Tis Kelly Clarkson! The masses scream, whilst we three adventurers enter Utopia with the quiet respect of those who know they have reached the Promised Land.

The legend of Kelly Clarkson is a well-travelled one. Forced to endure the scum pit that is Fox reality television, Kelly Clarkson was the first and only person to emerge from the process with some shine of sincerity and personality remaining. Having done so, she ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the father. All others who attempt to approach this city of God must (ahem) walk away, and still more must face the curse of horrible plagues - gay rumors, fat jokes, country singing, incredibly annoying soulless gray hair Dodge commercial singing. Meanwhile, Kelly's once-rival Justin Guarini mines the fires of Hell. And seriously, what was with his hair?

Returning to Kelly's most recent visit to Earth, she blessed the crowd with a blood-bubbling rendition of "Behind these Hazel Eyes." Patrick H feinted, almost cracking his head on a cement corner of the amphitheater. Yet just as his skull was about to meet its ultimate moment of cohesion, Kelly ordered salvation, cautiously lifting Pat into an upright position with a collection of slow songs via the power of 3/4 legato.

Showing that she still sympathized with humanity, Kelly performed a piece for New Orleans in front of a set shaped to resemble the swampy bayou. The mood was, for the moment, calm and relaxed, lulling many lesser fans into their seats. Yet these same seats were soon forgotten when a wolf appeared in the upper branches of one of the moss-covered trees on set! What was this beast doing in the midst of Kelly's vocal charity? Would he ruin everything for everyone forever? GASP! He would! The wolf jumped on Kelly and in one bestial swoop swallowed her whole.

Mothers consoled their young. Nuns tended to the sick. A city fell quiet.

Hark hark hark! The wolf began to convulse. Indeed, Texas fatty would not be on its menu tonight nor ever again as Kelly cut her way out of the wolf's belly with a shining sword. The glint of the blade revealed a sexy new outfit as well, which was soon stripped to reveal the old outfit once again.

The city rebirthed! Textile prices boomed! Keeping wolves as pets was banned! And Kelly sang! Oh, did she sing! Song after song immersed the crowd in a euphoria that was 1-part euphoria, 2-parts megaeuphoria. Alchemists have since attempted to duplicate the sensation with hallucinogenic compositions of all flavors, but all have failed, and all have been put to death.

And then it ended. Kelly left the stage by (ahem) walking away (ahem ahem). We were sad it was over, but we knew the goddess gave us what we deserved. She knew what was best for us, just as Scott Baio knew what was best for those girls on Charles in Charge, just as I know that inane television references are best for this blog. Pat, Arun, and I started to roll up our tongues, tuck our eyes back into their sockets, and collect the loose change we'd lost in jumping.

!!!!##!$#$#%#$@#$#$!@#!#@@@##@

Oh. My. Gosh.

She reapparated, literally thirty feet away from our second tier seating. She stood amongst the commoners, far away from her pillar of stage, and waved at us as if she were one of we! Despite the spotlight in her face, I swear she caught my loving stare, for into my heart flew this mantra: "Alientation is Life."

She was right, as she is always right. We twenty-something college graduates felt a bit out of place when we entered the arena that night. We weren't sure we belonged in this particular crowd of believers. And we didn't. But because of that, and because of a brilliant performance by the greatest pop star in generations, we never felt more alive.

Rest in Peace: Past.
Live in Brilliant, Kelly-Induced Chaos: Future.

Shangri-La.

'Field

Because our kangaroo disaster movie unexpectedly stalled out, my creative partners and I are producing a Laguna Beach/Hillz type show in the L.A. of the Midwest - Brookfield, Wisconsin. We haven't exactly cast parts yet, but I want my character (sic "real person") to be named Brady. Not only is the name supercool, but it will serve a fine memorial to late Orioles outfielder Brady Anderson. May Thor grant him everlasting peace in the form of lightning.

The greatest dead ballplayer alive.

As usual, I'm here to give you media freaks a sneak peek at the action in our upcoming series. Sit back, grab a potato snack, and enjoy this preview of (cue Death Cab's "New Year")...

'Field:

**************************

Scene: Tina and Lynda get ready for a party.

TINA: So I heard Brady's coming back from college for this party.
LYNDA: Yeah I heard that, too. Oh my god your skirt is so cute.
TINA: Don't you love it? I got it at (insert sponsor name).

(Cue Fallout Boy.)
City driving shot.
City shot.

Scene: The party.

TINA: Hey Brady, you're back. Happy Flag Day.
BRADY: Whatever.
TINA: What's up with you, Brady? Ever since you went to college it's like you don't even care about our Flag Day parties anymore.
BRADY: Things change.
TINA: Yeah. They do.

Brady leaves the party. (Cue "Boys of Summer" - the new version, obviously.)
City shot.
Beach shot.

Scene: Mike and Lynda walk a lonely beach.

MIKE: ....
LYNDA: ...
MIKE: ....
LYNDA: Wow. There's like no one here. Do you think this beach gets lonely?
MIKE: ...
LYNDA: ...
MIKE: (Chuckles)
LYNDA: (Smiles)

Lynda puts her head on Mike's shoulder. (Cue Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You.")
Wide beach shot.
Credits.

************************

I'm already sweating under the increased humidity of your salivation, but if you think that's good, wait until I put Sir Dan in charge of the music. Unlike me, he knows more than five modern songs (apparently ragtime isn't considered modern anymore? When did that happen?).

Oh, and if this production fails, you're just going to be stuck watching a live-action reprisal of farming sim game Harvest Moon, featuring hours of me standing in a garden with my Gamecube controller pressing "A" next to crops.

So please, donate your enthusiasm and loyalty generously. We promise we'll provide the angst, on the next...

'Field.

A. A. A. A. A. A. A.

To Push Down the "Man"

Look! There are two posts here! This one mostly created to hide the picture of Sean Hannity I included previously during a forest-mushroom induced hallucimagination.

As all who've touched me in the last week know, I am now anatomically connected to my Nintendo DS Lite. When you touch my finger, I move one step closer to winning the girl in the silhouetted dating game Feel the Magic. When you touch my hair, I picto-chat via wifi with all other DS owners in the vicinity. The conversation usually goes, Me: (Draws a smiley face.) Others: F off old man.

Women's faces only display their menopausal scorn.

Well now I'm just an older man, kids. Nintendo gave President Bush a DS Lite complete with Brain Age for his 60th birthday. That means two things. One, I have to work even harder on the "Head Count" mini-game, in which I'm supposed to keep track of how many people enter and leave a house; I can no longer be sure which figures are people and which are "enemy combatants." Two, I now have to buy the DS version of Animal Crossing so that I can sneak into Bush's fantasy village and chop down all his trees in the night. You cut down real trees, Mr. President, I cut down your pixellated ones. No blood for oil, no I won't trade you my zigzag shirt for your cabin-style wallpaper.

Moving on to another friend of the president, one Emmy category pits Stephen Colbert against, among others, Barry Manilow. Is the Academy trying to feed Mr. Colbert jokes, or is this the first we're seeing of what I dub the "Dakota Effect"? (Dakota Fanning can vote for Oscars) She's the most discerning 12-year old I've ever seen (I heard she won't eat chocolate-based ice cream!), and I know she wouldn't have just let this nomination absurdity slide by without some purpose. What do you want, Dakota?

WHAT DO YOU WANT?!?!?!?!?!

(Scene. Vote for me.)

The unabashed joy of someone who still respects the Oscars.

On the Road Again to Inconsistency

Grossssssss. I decided I didn't like the post I was working on. It was becoming too punny and self-serving. I mean, how cliche is it to interlude sentences with fictional aphorisms, right? What is this - amateur night at the Apollo? Am I right? (The black clown comes out and shoots me. I guess I didn't CRACK enough jokes for him. Cuz black people like drugs. Huh? Is that you, Sean Hannity?)

Black people are like "this." White people are like "better than this."

Anyway, I'll just give you what little I started on, to fill space, garnished with a side of forest mushrooms:

_______________________

Maybe I'll blog more often when I go back to school. Or maybe I'll never blog again. It all depends on when I die, I guess.

"Morbid beginnings are only the start to a broken path." - Phil O'Sophe

I don't really have a purpose at the moment. To anything. So I suppose I'll just be shallow and promote myself.

"He who touts his own greatness is greater than nought but a field of saccharines." - Manov Wurds

I was featured in The Guardian's minute-by-minute report of the France/Portugal game yesterday, riding on the coattails of a comment Dan (aka "my friend") made concerning Crybabiano Ronaldo's red shoes. Run a find-search for "Harry" on the link and you'll see it. Or run a find-search for "The Wizard of Oz." Just pick one of those, okay? Do it you coward!

"The man who alludes to cowardice in film is a man afraid of many things." - Thesenames Arebadpuns

So the President from 24 got an Emmy nomination. I hear that show has lots of explosions.

So Antiques Roadshow got an Emmy nomination. I hear that show has lots of explosions.

________________________

"Promise me you'll write a real post soon, my dear."
"I will, God damnet. I will."