Magnets, how do they work?

What inspires me today...

Miracles.

Juggalos.
Jugalettes.

These are the names given to and worn proudly by fans/followers/henchmen/apostles of the Michigan-based hip hop group Insane Clown Posse (ICP for short).

Helpful and Necessary Visual Aid

Why do they all dress like gothic clowns?  Why would anyone listen to something dubbed as "horrorcore"? How would one go about getting involved in Juggalo Championship Wrestling?  What brand of face paint is best for Juggalo/ette impersonation?  Is that what love looks like?

These are all questions.

Maybe you have been faced with Jugalo culture recently while reading the Twitter posts of myspace icon and reality television celebrity, Tila Tequila.  If not, there is hope for humanity.

So, what is the first thought when trying to launch you and your friends' new indie-pop band via youtube?  

Indie-pop band name: Taken by Trees (could've guess that one.)

Answer: Acoustic cover of the ICP song Miracles.  Clearly.

Normal Situation.

My favorite gems from this song: 

"We don't have to be high to look in the sky"

"The Milky Way and f***ing shooting stars"

"Look at the mountains, trees, the seven seas and everything chilling underwater, please"

"There's enough miracles here to blow your brains"

"F***ing magnets, how do they work?"

"I fed a fish to a pelican at Frisco bay, it tried to eat my cell phone, he ran away"

Pure poetry.

Obviously I prefer the original, but that's just because Faygo tastes so much sweeter in baggy pants and face paint.

The slow luxury of reeling one another in.

What inspires me later in the night...

Poems (read every word.)

In the story my aunt tells, this is how they met.
It's September, the war just over,
the air crisp as the creases in my father's khaki pants,
bright as his Bronze Star,
pungent as the marigold my mother tucks behind one ear,
the night they both sign up
for dance lessons "the Arthur Murray way"
at the Statler Hotel in downtown Philly.

He's there to meet girls,
of that I am certain,
and she's there for romance,
though I don't think that's what she would say,
both of them looking for something as intangible as the cigarette smoke
that rises in old, deckle-edged photos—
everyone tough, glamorous, vampy.

Perhaps there are dance cards?
Or maybe partners are assigned?
The truth is, no one really knows
about the moment when their glance
catches and snags across the room,
a fishline pulling taut as they place their feet
on Murray's famous "magic footsteps,"
and start the slow luxury of reeling one another in.
Music spills from a scratchy Victrola
as she places her hand on his shoulder,
feels the slight pressure of his palm against her back,
and they begin to move together,
her hesitant steps following
his over-enthusiastic swings,
until they are both lost in "The More I See You"
or "I Don't Want to Walk Without You Baby,"
the future stretching out before them
like a polished oak dance floor.

I don't know if they went back for more lessons,
or how they learned to dip and twirl and slide together,
though I once saw my father spin my mother completely around—
her skirt flaring out around her like the bell of a silk lamp shade—
just months before she died.
It's their story
after all,
the one with a secret hidden deep inside it
like all love stories—
bigger than we are or will ever be—
music from a Big Band coming up in the background,
playing "You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To,"
while our parents swoop and glide
in the spotlight, keeping back
just enough of the story to make us wonder.

[My Parents' Dance Lessons 1945 - Alison Townsend]

I'm sorry I was late.
I was pulled over by a cop
for driving blindfolded
with a raspberry-scented candle
flickering in my mouth.
I'm sorry I was late.
I was on my way
when I felt a plot
thickening in my arm.
I have a fear of heights.
Luckily the Earth
is on the second floor
of the universe.
I am not the egg man.
I am the owl
who just witnessed
another tree fall over
in the forest of your life.
I am your father
shaking his head
at the thought of you.
I am his words dissolving
in your mind like footprints
in a rainstorm.
I am a long-legged martini.
I am feeding olives
to the bull inside you.
I am decorating
your labyrinth,
tacking up snapshots
of all the people
who've gotten lost
in your corridors.

[Compulsively Allergic to the Truth - Jeffrey McDaniel]

On button.

What inspires me today...

Power.

It's true.  I haven't blogged in quite a while.  I've probably lost both of my readers.  Oh well, you two probably had better things to do anyway.

The truth is, school leaves little time for meandering thoughts and rants about nothingness.  Instead, all of my otherwise misdirected energy has to be molded and shaped for the future of this great country/world.  I have to actually support my arguments "logically" and "be reasonable."  It's throwing off my entire vibe.

So, to not completely abandon the internet, which has entertained me so well these past few years, I offer this fleeting thought from stone sculpture (ironically the one class that allows for little to no thought):

I love power tools.

We had our test on safety gear, grinders, and pneumatic hammers, picked out our stones at the yard where middle-aged people gather in outside makeshift stalls to "create," and finally, it was time to carve.

At first I was intimidated by their awesome ability, speed, and soul-splitting noises, but now that I have fully realized and harnessed that sheer power, I can't stop thinking about them.  In comparison, everything else leaves something to be desired.  And that something is a motor and need for oil.

Sleuthing.

What inspires me today:
Lactose.

At the risk of sounding hip, I buy almond or rice milk.  To clarify, I am not a cool vegan, my intestines are just intolerant towards poor old lactose.  

When my family buys milk at home, we go big.  Gallon jugs for us.
I get non-fat because I don't like chewing my drinks.

With all that seemly useless knowledge about personal preferences on milk-like beverages now in your brain, imagine my surprise when my housemate brought home an actual.milk.carton.  On it there was a logo, farm name, nutrition facts, a little game to play, and even a barcode.

My question/source of confusion and worry: What happened to the missing children side of the box?

 Drop your cereal, we've got crime to solve! 

I feel like I remember "winding up on the side of a milk carton" to be a legitimate fear in my not-so-distant past, so I'm wondering how long ago they decided this wasn't an effective way of getting that sort of news out.  The world would like to know.

Wiki wiki

What inspires me today...

Ghosts

I love ghost stories.  I am not believing them fully as fact just yet, but come on, some of them are pretty convincing.  White powder footprints, stacks of pennies, music not able to be played in certain rooms, hand prints appearing on mirrors, blood spots on fireplaces that appear time and time again after being cleaned...  And those are just from one person who heard it from their friend whose sister actually experienced it!

Improbable: Yes.

Impossible: I'm not a scientist.

Awesome: Without a doubt.

Regardless, what made me start this ramble is that someone in Proidencia, Chile read my blog yesterday.  

"¡Tenemos un zoológico!"

Now, if you are currently on Wikipedia right now (as you should be) search the city of Providencia, Chile and scroll to the bottom of the page (which isn't far, there isn't much going on in that city, apparently).  Here you will see the list of notable residents.  

Pablo Neruda is one of these residents of note. 

Why this is important/matters/not as random as you think: early on in my extensive and highly respected/admired blogging career (a few months back) I posted a Neruda poem.  In response, I wrote a small poem of my own.  It was a short and sweet sentiment, but with dire consequences.  

The facts are clear:  Pablo Neruda's ghost is haunting my blog.

Other fun facts about Providencia, Chile:

• Large upper-middle-class population
• Has a Teleférico, or an aerial gondola
• Has an embassy of Italy, France, Russia, China, and Uruguay 
• There is a 22m statue of the Virgin Mary

Wikipedia has WAY more information on ghosts than Providencia, Chile.  Since Wikipedia is the authority on everything, and Providencia has been verified as "existing," then I have no reason to doubt the existence of ghosts.  The logic is flawless and the evidence is overwhelming.

Can I keep you?

Dear liza, a hole.

What inspires me today...

Buckets.

I will admit, this post is not of original inspiration.  One of my dear friends created a bucket list today, and suggested that I should do the same.  Since I now have a reader who is mildly interested in what I would place on a "bucket list," and since I love a good list just as much as the next gal... here it is.

50 things I would like to accomplish before I kick the bucket (in no particular order): 

1. Watch every movie on this list
2. Read every book on these lists
3. Visit/live in SE Asia
4. Hike the Pacific Crest Trail
5. Participate in La Tomatina
6. See at least 30 of America's largest roadside attractions
7. Take in a foster child
8. Ride in a hot air balloon
9. Attend the hot air balloon races in Albuquerque 
10. Learn a new language proficiently 
11. Tell all the influential teachers in my past how much I appreciate them
12. Learn a musical instrument 
13. Win at bingo
14. Ask for a raise
15. Learn to sail
16. Build a piece of furniture
17. Take the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Vladivostok
18. Become an expert in something unexpected
19. Surf
20. Hike through the Zion Narrows in Utah
21. Do the Master Cleanse
22. Make my own clothes
23. Hike the Inca Trail in Peru
24. Go Spelunking
25. Ride in a helicopter 
26. Live alone
27. Attend the inauguration of a US President 
28. Visit the Sistine Chapel
29. Milk a cow
30. Be debt free
31. Have something published
32. Start a collection
33. Learn the constellations
34. Read the Bible cover to cover
35. Learn how to cook
36. Visit the wonders of the world
37. Grow my own fruit and vegetables
38. Visit the top ten US lighthouses
39. Learn to flyfish 
40. Go snowboarding
41. Hike the Tongariro Circuit in New Zealand
42. Tour Ann Frank's house
43. Learn how to cut hair professionally
44. Give a large amount of money anonymously to a charity or non-profit
45. Build an appreciation for jazz
46. Cross a country by bicycle
47. Talk to Sam Beam
48. Safari 
49. See all the big world monuments (eifle tower, big ben, pyramids, dome of the rock...)
50. Eat at Falafel's Drive-In in San Jose

There are so many more things I could put on there, but I will spare you and cut it off at 50.
And now, a rant.  

Why do they call it "kicking the bucket" anyway?  Where is the mystical bucket, and which religion requires that it be kicked in order to enter the great beyond?  If there is to be any cosmic item to be kicked it should be a can, in my humble opinion. 

Further research on the subject proved very informative.

Don't know much about history.

What inspires me today...

Family Matters.

A nice long family discussion this morning on topics such as assisted suicide, the declining housing market, urban sprawl, and the environmental/social effect of consumerism, all over a few slices of french toast and orange juice, got me thinking; why did the idea of City States self-governed by guilds never catch-on globally?

All I'm saying is, if Portland, OR succeeded and became a fully self-ruled and operating entity, I wouldn't hate it.

Viva la Revolución!

Think about it.  A country of no sales tax where no one pumps their own gas.  

If that isn't the modern equivalent of milk and honey, I don't know what is.