I felt like I should explain that picture of George Washington over there on the right. If you click it, you'll read that I have a little less than two months to pull together $41.00 to keep this site—and all herein—up and running for another year. Since I don't have this money, I need to beg for it from other people—namely you. So, if you've got a spare buck, throw it in the kitty and keep this game going. And just to sweeten the deal, I'll hook you up with one of forty-one unique similes from my hitherto unwritten mediocre first novel and throw your name on the ever-burgeoning list of contributors.
Peace.
-Todd
We cleaned our room today. I was actually kind of surprised how not dirty it was in the first place. I mean, aside from the full can of coke spilled on the floor near the refrigerator, the anonymous grey stain from circa early first semester, what was left of the orange juice spill from almost three weeks ago and the stinky little banana splorch by the door, there really wasn't a whole lot to clean; and the carpet's not crunchy any more (I must have picked up a quarter-bag of Malt-O-Meal imitation Honey Nut Cheerios.). I also found two almost-black bananas in the bottom of a bag. They were pretty foul.
Peace.
-Todd
Last night, I went to the Big Wu concert in Iowa City. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. It ranks, possibly, as the greatest Wu show I've ever seen. They encore'ed with
Won't Get Fooled Again after having jammed
Baba O'Riley for about fifteen minutes. They played
Pinnacle. They played
Minnesota Moon. And by the end of the mega-long set, it felt like my left ear was pressed right up against the gigantic speaker in front of me, and it might as well have been. When I woke up at 9:00 to buy my Bonnaroo ticket, my ear was still ringing. But it was worth it.
Their opening act, Euphorquestra, were an excellent warm-up. It was like hearing Santana. Except with a bunch of college kids in place of world-famous musicians. And the lead guitarist broke a string about three minutes into their first thirty minute jam. It was pretty sweet.
Charlie almost fell asleep and drove us into a ditch on the way back to Grinnell. But he didn't. So it's funny. Instead of unfortunate.
I had a dream during the period of time during which I was asleep after purchasing my Bonnaroo ticket (9:30AM-3:00PM) in which Matt and I were on one of those crazy Japanese game shows. In ours, we had to breakdance while dueling with razor-sharp scimitars; we were judged à la American Idol. We got third place.
Peace.
-Todd
Today, while rubbing my newly-mohawked head, I thought of another pretentious simile for my mediocre first novel: It looked like a cat between two strips of sandpaper.
Pictures. Soon. I promise.
Peace.
-Todd
The Dead. Dave Matthews & Friends. Bob Dylan. Trey Anastasio. Willie Nelson. David Byrne. Primus. Wilco. Burning Spear. String Cheese Incident. Ani DiFranco. moe. Gov't Mule. Los Lobos. Galactic. Yo La Tengo. Femi Kuti. Medeski, Martin & Wood. Gomez. Yonder Mountain String Band. Damien Rice. North Mississippi All Stars Country Hill Review. Beth Orton. My Morning Jacket. Gillian Welch. The Del McCoury Band. Taj Mahal. Sam Bush Band. Vida Blue feat. The Spam Allstars. Los Lonely Boys. Grandaddy. Kings Of Leon. Bill Laswell's Material. Soulive. Neko Case. Calexio. Leftover Salmon. Cut Chemist. Chris Robinson & New Earth Mud. Umphrey's McGee. Maroon 5. The Black Keys. Tokyo Ska Paradise. The Bad Plus. Mark Broussard. Donovan Frankenreiter.
...and I'm going.
Peace.
-Todd
I just finished a paper for my Art History class, due later today. It's mediocre to good, but that's beside the point. In it I absolutely deride two famous architects, Denise Scott Brown and Robert Venturi, for their hideous buildings and disgusting ideas of what architecture, in 1971, should entail. Here's an excerpt:
Upon finishing that sentence, re-reading it, staring blankly at the page for several minutes, uttering a slight chuckle and asking myself if it was some kind of architects' inside joke—They have to be kidding!—I decided that I hate Denise Scott Brown and Robert Venturi.
I know I'm allowed my opinion, and I'm not too concerned about it, but am I actually allowed to take these kinds of liberties with assignments?
Just in case, I added a footnote to the first page reading "Please don't fail me." Then I added something about "contempt for mankind" in the conclusion. Just for good measure.
Peace.
-Todd
Earlier today, while sitting in my Art History class, fiddling with the rings of my notebook like loose teeth, I thought of what an obvious similie that would be for an author to use in their mediocre first novel.
Peace.
-Todd
I was halfway down the hallway at Bucksbaum (Center for the Arts) when I encountered Marcus and some girl from class saying we didn't have Stagecraft today. The professor was unable to get to Grinnell on account of it's snowing like whoa outside. So, after leaping in the air for joy, I spun on my heel and headed back to my dorm to await what would now be my first class of the day, French, at 2:15pm. Then I put on iTunes and listened to songs with loud, wailing guitars—namely Poison and Skid Row—and rocked out. A lot.
Peace.
-Todd