Tuesday, October 31, 2006

don't ask me

the following are some observations found only in brainerd senior high school on halloween. seriously, ONLY in brainerd senior high school.


cody hummer as chet stevenson. priceless.
tom keller, brett kramer, and austin lesmeister doing a fun "dance."
sra. qualley as frida kahlo.
pritschet with hair.


the "safe sex" fairy.
that one goth kid dragged his girlfriend by the leash. most people dubbed it an "inappropriate" costume, but they failed to realize that he drags her with a leash everyday.
mr. borash didn't dress up.

now it is my honor to enlighten you with the greatest halloween story of all time. if only you could witness me in person telling this tale...enjoy.

today the lovely...the talented...the inspirational josh "the chef" bundy dressed up as flava flav. (to be honest, i don't know if it's spelled "flavaflav," "flavor flav," "flavorflav..." but you get the drift.)

imagine: josh was wearing a green-and-blue striped joker's hat. large sunglasses. he purchased a plastic "pure silver" grill from ebay which covered almost all of his teeth. he wore a black shirt with...in bold white lettering..."public enemy." he also purchased a necklace with a 9-inch-diameter clock. (it kept time perfectly.) the background of the clock was inscribed with the words "BLING BLING!"

every day...before going to spanish...josh and i walk together over to mississippi. coming from the senior locker section, we always pass the band room...and mr. melby always is on hall patrol/duty. after noticing the wacky apparel of mr. bundy...

melby: [directed to bundy] "who are you supposed to be? ALL-KNOWING?"

kubas: "mr. melby...you need more culture in your life."

melby: "did i miss something?"

hahaahahaahahahahah. THAT is why mr. melby is one of my personal heroes.

on a sidenote, i need some advice: is it inappropriate/unprofessional to swear in my lang college app essay? (keep in mind, this isn't going to a college--i just have to do it for the class)

mustache out!


Monday, October 30, 2006

Takes My Breath Away

So Toolmaster of Brainerd didn't even make the ballot, so barring some populist uprising, it won't be the class song. My problem: what do I do now? Not just about the song, but about changing the graduation status quo in general.

I suppose I have two options: keep fighting, or drop it.

Right now I'm leaning towards drop it. I worked at it, but it didn't work; maybe it's time to just stop caring about it and move on. Graduation has always been lame, and will be so forever. The song will be a drum-heavy rock song about love, the speeches will be preachy and earnest and boring, and that's okay. High school graduation is nothing special, and I'll have plenty of time and opportunities to do fun and interesting things later in life. When you don't care about something it doesn't hurt as bad.

But of course, that's not what I really want to do. I want this shit to be extraordinary. I want it to be silly and absurd and funny and totally awesome. And you know what? It probably won't be. But I'd regret it something terrible if I didn't even try.

Part of me is saying that I've tried enough, but I think I still have a chance to make a difference, and I know I have the energy. The only question is, how? Logan's gonna do his own lame speech (no offense Logan, but it will be lame. No matter how cool or interesting a BHS class speaker is, they're graduation speech will be boring), the song's gonna be fucking CARTEL, and the general atmosphere is gonna be YAWNFEST.

Sadly, legitimate avenues of change are closing rapidly, so I'll probably be tempted to plan some sort of prank. If I can't have the graduation I want, no one will! But besides being selfish, that plan has a very good chance of not working, or hurting someone, or getting me in trouble.

I suppose I can just try to raise a bit more of a ruckus about the class song thing. Apparently, Stenglein, Heise, and Rusk were the rejecters for Toolmaster, and Stenglein said something about how the songs were judged to be "appropirate for school" and "singable," something I would consider Toolmaster to be. Ted Leo's "Me and Mia"? Not so much.

I smell a conspiracy here. This looks like a job for an investigative reporter; now, where could I find one of those?


Sunday, October 29, 2006

my finger! is broken!

actually, it's not TOO bad. i think i legitmately have a hairline fracture...it hurts like a mother!

this is what happened:

my friends and i decided to play a little football today. good times. afterwards we always like to get some drinks/water/pop/whatever at triangle. so i drove a few of my friends...i went to shut my door...and being the idiot that i am...i wasn't paying attention at all and SLAMMED the door right on my finger. like perfectly--right on it. how many people do you know...who are completely oblivious when it comes to hurting themselves? way to go kubas, way to go.

in other news: i bought a scratch game today. it was for $3. i won $75. no, i don't have an addiction. i swear.

i don't like it when it gets really dark really early. it feels way too much like winter. even if it's 50 degrees.

mustache tip of the hat: way to go, temple. your 20 game losing streak is finally over!

oh, one last thing,

WHO'S going to borat with me? please. anyone. come.

mustache out!


The Prophecy Has Been Fulfilled

I saw The Prestige last night. It was a reasonably good movie about rival magicians. Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman were intense, Scarlett Johannson was pretty, and Micheal Caine did a very good job as the character he always is.

But what made the movie specila for me was the two reasonably magical events I witnessed during the show. First, a little backgroud info on the first mystical happening: earlier in the evening, Sam, Josh, and I had been trying to decide what design to use for a jack-o-lantern. Josh suggested David Bowie as Aladdin Sain. After some feeble attempts to simplify the design down to something we could carve into a pumpkin, we gave up; still, I had Bowie on the brain.

So a ways into the movie, we're about to be introduced to Nikola Tesla, Serb-American mad scientist, and I'm thinking "You know what would be hilarious, if they got David Fucking Bowie to play crazy old Tesla." I turned to Josh and whispered "With David Bowie as Tesla."

Josh replied "Yeah," and I thought he was just confirming how sweet that would be. But then Tesla walks out, with all the lightning bolts a-cracklin', and I'm like "Wait, is that seriously David Bowie?" And it was him, mismatched pupils and all. Fuckin' wweeeeeiiirrdd.

Coincidence #2 was not quite as odd, but still pretty special. I had been thirsty pretty much the whole movie, but not wanting to miss anything I'd avoided leaving to get a drink. Eventually I picked a boring-looking scene and walked briskly up the aisle. I stepped outside just as a darkly-clad, short-haired, dourly-bespectacled young hipster swept past.

Yes, it was our own Chris Derby, sworn enemy of Josh Mattson, D.J. Sensitron to his Hamline listeners, walking mere feet away from me. My exit had been perfectly timed to allow me maximum Derby viewing time, while keeping me safely out of his sightlines.

Further conincidence: Tesla suffered from synesthesia, a neurological condition we had been discussing earlier that evening. Hell, I'll bet Bowie had it too.

P.S. Pammy, after Chris replaced my background with a menacing picture of G. G. (is there any other kind?), I needed something to replace it with. I decided on this picture:


excuse me while i fall forward

so apparently this year daylight saving time is being extended about a month. isn't this exciting?

today marked the end of football pep band. am i depressed? no. saddened? not really. teary-eyed? ahhhh no.

perhaps the thing i am proudest of throughout the duration of melby fridays and saturdays...

i never once led the "woo-woo-woo" chant. nunca. zilch. and boy, believe me, i am honored to say that.

i'm pretty excited to bid farewell to october. the entire month has been pretty poopy. and november is starting to look up! i'm actually doing FUN things this month...speaking of which: jenden/garsha, do maxwell and myself have tickets for saturday? because we would like to come down...

i think i'm traveling every single weekend in november--and i can't wait at all! football, gambling, turkey...god it's great to be an american.

one final thing: would anyone like to accompany me to the premiere of borat friday? it looks like it's worth every penny.

mustache out!


Thursday, October 26, 2006

in times of shrinking expectations...the bread party rules supreme

november seventh.

get out and vote.

most of you know how i will be voting, (some may even be suprised to know that i'll choose a democrat or two) but i feel the need to say something...that perhaps is true of a heartless conservative:

i love negative campaign ads. they spice up everything--providing me with some much needed dirt on one candidate--and absolutely nothing about the other.

but really, what in life isn't negative these days.

i can sit infront of the TV for ninety straight minutes...watching the 5 o'clock news, national news, and 6 o'clock wrap-up without learning about one positive thing that happened over the duration of the day.

some of you may contend, "but kubas, with basic cable you have no exposure to the real world." i see the same things on ABC, FOX, NBC, CBS--nothing "positive" is happening.

and don't even get me started on commercials. i can't stand it when people gripe about how "[insert major party candidate] said some inappropriate words about [insert other major party candidate.]" have you seen TV lately?

it never fails that each day subway tells me how much better their food is than the other major food chains. verizon wireless has more minutes than t-mobile which, somehow, makes them better. t-mobile is cheaper than motorola. motorola is older than unicel. everyone can agree that unicel just blows. excuse me, i don't even own a cell phone. eleven times a day i'm informed that nine new toyotas get more than 30 miles to the gallon, but the average chevy only gets 25. but wait! chevys have 4 star crash ratings, unlike any 3 1/2 star dodge. apparently dodge has better customer service and warrantees than toyota...so i am forced to live with even more of these commericals. perhaps i should try taking lunesta because, fortunately, i won't become dependent. then again, ambien CR allows me to fall asleep faster and longer. maybe what i really need are more commercials clarifying how much the other brand sucks.

so to you, mr. pawlenty, and you, mr. kennedy--keep 'em coming! you make the one constant in my life that much more enjoyable. i'll see you in 12 days.


Get Your Read On

Music right now: Rhapsody in Blue, motherfucker. After this, Marriage of Figaro. Go band!

My fury cannot be fully expressed with words, or italics, or bold, or even bold italics. Here's the infuriatory reason for my lividity: word is Toolmaster of Brainerd has been removed from the ballot for class song. I don't know if it was Class Cabinet (I doubt it) or administration (likelier), or if it's even true, but if so, I plan to raise first a ruckus, then Hell, then the roof tomorrow morning.


My hopes for getting into Princeton are entirely too high. I'm setting myself up for a big let-down.


Whoo-hoo, I'm a Questbridge finalist, whatever that means to you. Seriously though, despite its stupid name, Questbridge will be sweet if it comes through. Basically, I filled out an insane application and sent it in to QB. Q-Bridge liked mine enough to make me a "finalist," so I'm now elligible to participate in the "College Match Program." I give them my list of schools (from among their 15 parnter colleges), they send out my app to all the schools on my list, and if I "match" with any of them, I get a full, 4-year scholarship. Plus, even if I don't "match," the colleges will still accept my application like any other undergrad app.

The only catch: if I "match," it's a binding agreement, so I only ranked schools I'd definitely want to go to if I matched. I'm not going to straight up disclose my list, but let's just say that it is one school long, and Princeton appears somewhere on it.

Here are a few numbers on Questbridge from last year:

# of applicants: 2200
Finalists: 935
Participants in College Match: 451
Matches: 46
Overall acceptance rate for finalists, including both College Match and regular admissions: 36%

So 36% isn't great, but it's better than nothing (or 10%, in Princeton's case). I guess it's lower for Princeton, and probably not so great for those who ranked only one school, but I'm keeping that hope alive. I could have ranked other colleges to increase my chances, but I just don't want to enter into a binding agreement to go somewhere I haven't even visited.

Oh well, I guess I can always just be happy about the other advantage of Q-Bridge; I'll find out December 1st if I've matched.

In conclusion, Questbridge: probably not worth all the work, but we'll see.

Cross your fingers 'til they dislocate, y'all!

P.S.: Space Elevators; Crazy? Discuss.


Wednesday, October 25, 2006

one flight down

a few years ago, prior to christmas, a young kubas decided he wanted to buy an ipod. nay...not just any ipod...but a top-of-the-line-brand-spankin'-new ipod mini. silver. dead sexy.

fast forward 2 years or so.

about a month ago we had a HUGE thunder/lightning storm. el ipodo (that's how you say it in spanish) was charging when suddenly....an ENORMOUS lightning bolt touched down about 1/2 mile from our house. instant power outage. the microwave began beeping, the fridge started shaking, and only god knows what happened to my ipod. it just hasn't been the same--no matter how long i charge the sucker--the battery is always dead.

so i have put my ipod to rest.

but...this brings me to the subject of itunes. sure, after a few years now, i've finally found what floats my boat when listening to music: playlists described by mood. (i know people have been doing this for years now...but hey, it took me a little bit to jump on the bandwagon)

various playlist titles include, but are not limited to, "power loon," "mellow," "upbeat," "scream," and perhaps my favorite, "female dog, please." (i've stopped swearing, you see) i'll give +10 bonus points to anyone who can come up with a new, funky fresh playlist title for me. it has to describe some type of mood--it doesn't necessarily have to be an adjective--i just want something that would fit into my life.

in other news, some have asked about my college/life plans. here goes.

some of you have been informed...others have no idea...that i would like to be a teacher. (what's that? a conservative helping people? it can't be!) oh but it is. i would like to teach something social studies related--geography/gov/general econ--something along those lines because, really, those are the only classes i understand.

i applied to the U, clemson, and BSU. the way i figure, if i get rejected by BSU it's a sign from God Almighty that i'm not supposed to go to college. i'm not really sure which college is my #1 or #2 at this point, but you can be rest assured that BSU is #3. it's more of that..."cheap-cost-guaranteed-acceptance-half-of-brainerd-high-school-will-go-there" type of school.

now you know. mustache out!


Y'all Ready For This?

You don't snugggle with I Shall Avenge My Father. You strap yourself in a feel the Gs.


Tuesday, October 24, 2006

It's Hard Outside For A Stache, F'real

Everyone knows that teaching ain't easy. You need a sense of humor, a great vocabulary, a carefully coordinated wardrobe, and, in some very special cases, a briefcase full of Laffy Taffy.

One aspect of teaching which never seems to get any coverage is the importance of gestures in in the instruction of young minds. Here are a few of my favorites:

The Jab

Execution: Squeeze fingertips together with righteous force. Jab forward with purpose. Best if jabs are timed with each syll-a-ble!

The Chopping Block

Execution: Hold one had flat like a steel-scarred platter of oak, and in your mind, lay upon it all of your students' misconceptions and ignorance. Lift your mighty cleaver of enlightenment and bring it down upon them in a series of victorious strikes. Remember: you can't make a knowledge omlette without breaking a few complacent eggs.

From the Heart

Execution: Once you have broken your students down with the previous gestures, it's time to build them back up into the good citizens this country needs. Place your open hands, palms down, on your chest, pry open your metaphorical rib-cage, and move your hands up and out in an effort to spread the love from within yourself.

P.S.: You may have noticed this post has been edited. This is due to my own lack of testicular fortitude. That is all.


Sunday, October 22, 2006

N-E-W Jers, Where Plenty Murders Occurs

So I went to Princeton with my momma this weekend, and had some fun and saw some neat stuff.

This post promises to be like an 8 foot broadsword: unwieldy, dangerous, and impractical, but overall, pretty neat.

First, a word on my hosts: Mickey and George Eggers are family friends. Mickey is a very grandmotherly, are-you-sure-you-don't-want-another-cookie kind of lady. General George is a slightly different story. I call him General George because he was in the army for about 40 years and retired as a General (Brigadier, not 4-Star Ghetto). He's about 80 years old, swears quite a bit, and when he laughs his shoulder's literally shake. He likes to talk a lot, but that's okay because he talks about interesting things like insider Princeton admissions policy and gout. He had some sweet dirt on Princeton admissions, but I'll get to that later. He went to Princeton back in '41, and he just went because some of his buddies were going, so he showed up too. Man, college was sweet back in the day.

Two more things about George, each with a picture:

This is the new science lab, designed by Frank Ghery (sp.?), which George referred to alternatively as "the atrocity" and "the abomination." He never actually called it an "abortion," but I could tell he was itching to. In George's defense, it does look pretty ridiculous right now. I assume it will be shinier and smoother when completed, but who knows...

Is this a human skull from the guest bedroom? Yes. Did I ever work up the nerve to ask where it came from? No.

(You may notice a chronic lack of photos in this post. This is not due to any lack of picturesqueness on the part of the Princeton campus, but rather to the problems of my own cheap digital camera. Really, this camera works best with small objects, on a table, viewed from about arms length, and containing reminders of mankind's mortality and the temporary nature of earthly possesions. So basically, excellent for vanitas still lifes, not so much for landscapes.)

Now then, on to the meat of the post:

Top Six Reasons Why Going To Princeton Would Be Really Sweet:

6. I loved the trees. They were old and twisty and mysterious. Most still had their leaves (it was like going back in time) and there were several kinds I couldn't identify.

5. They have a good mascot and school colors: Tigers/orange and black. The mascot is an actual physical, animate object, not a color like"Crimson" or a VEGETABLE like a "Cobber" (although I suppose a Cobber could be a human who "cobs" things; still, lame), and tigers are neat (there are a lot of tiger statues on campus.) Orange and black are good colors, and hey, Lowell Tigers, anyone? Yeeeaaahhh.

4. Because the mascot is a mammal, and a large predatory mammal at that, I will be able to use the line "The Paws That Refreshes" at some point. I realize it's a bad pun off of an outdated Coke slogan and it has bad grammar, but I think it's a good 'un.

3. The academics are top-notch, I like the housing system, the art history program looks good, and the art museum is unbelievably sweet: plenty of (entierly ignored) modern art, a shitload of impressionist and post-impressionist stuff (Age of Bronze, one from the same series as Impression; Sunrise, some Degas and Czeanne, even an Odilon Redon), a fucking wall-sized Reubens, a Bosch, some neat Byzantine stuff, a bunch of Roman mosaics and a room of archaic Greek painted vases. God-Daaaaammnnn. Plus, neat Japanese stuff.

2. There were lots of fun traditions, from stealing the clapper from the bell to the eating clubs to all the Ivy league rivalries. I realize a lot of these are essentially quite lame, but Princeton doesn't seem to take itself quite so seriously as some other Ivy-ish institutions. That, plus the sweet band, on Superblog. Eventually.

1. The campus was easily the most beautiful I've seen. It's all on a big hill, with the math tower at the base of the hill and the engineers rightfully isolated off in there own little corner. There are a couple of cool neoclassical buildings, but it was mostly Gothic revival. It was like walking through a bunch of fucking castles, with the turrets and the crenulations and the ribbed vaults. Also, the non-denominational church there was the single most awe-inspiring building I've ever entered. It just kept going up...

One odd thing: there were lots of spaces for statues with little canopies, as is typical of the gothic style, but there were virtually no statues. Our tour guide didn't know why. IT'S A MYSTERY.

Top Five Reasons Why It Would Be Fine If I Didn't Go To Princeton

5. They want me to take a bunch of SAT II tests. I was all like "Fuck All Y'All!"

4. The Tool to Cool ratio was, as far as I could tell, very similar to the other campuses I've visited (as in there were roughly 5000 tools present, and then me). And the prospecitve students really bugged me, especially the Brits, those cockey motherfuckers. There was this one classic guy, my age but with a full beard, wearing a rumpled tweed sports jacket and cords; his name was Zach, and he was interested in "Math and theater." Classic.

3. The admissions guy really bugged me. He seemed really disingenuous, although I suppose that arises naturally from the two-faced nature of his job; he has to get as many people as possible to apply, to keep up the application numbers, and then reject 90% of them, to keep down the acceptance rate and make himself look good.
1.Guy: "Early Decision doesn't really increase your chance of being accepted."
Guy two minutes later: "Well, the acceptance rate for normal decision is about 10%, and for ED it's about 20%."
2. Guy: "We all just sit down, and it's very democratic, and we look over each application and we ask ourselves, 'is this person a good fit for Princeton?,' and that's what we do with each individual application."
Reality, according to General George and his insider info: international students 10%, recruited athletes 17%, U.S. minorities 37%, children of alumni 10%. Which leaves, what, 26% for us red-blooded cacuasian americans? And those numbers have been suprisingly steady for having been selected by such a "democratic" process.
3. Guy:"Children of alumni don't really have that much of an advantage:"
Overall acceptance rate: 10%
For children of alumni: 39%

2. It's way the fuck out in New Jersey for chrissakes.

1. Really, I'll have a good time at college no matter where I go. Princeton would be nice, but I can live without it.

Now then: I realize that perhaps in writing 900 words about my trip, I've subconciously betrayed my own public sentiment that Princeton isn't that important to me...and that's all I'm going to say about that. Go Tigers.


Saturday, October 21, 2006

"like you said: it never was better than how it was"

well...most of you know i've been kind of down lately. for good reason. (if you don't know, don't worry about it) things (in my opinion) just shouldn't be going like they are--especially senior year.

but i'll avoid all that. i've decided to come back to my mustache mansion...my follicle family...my bearded brethren.

and now for some possible (but unlikely) entertainment.

God: "MOSES!"
Moses: "What now?"
God: "I forgot something."
Moses: "What the hell man. I gotta get down the mountain."
God: "Jesus, lighten up."
Moses: "Jesus..??"
God: "Don't ask. You'll know more later. I found an 11th commandment."
Moses: "I'm not writing it down."
God: "Oh...you don't have to."
Moses: "Then why are you telling me this?"
God: "It's important: Thou shall maketh way in thine senior 'loteth' for Andrew Kubas."
Moses: "For being God, you suck at talking in Old English."
God: "Just let him know."

There is the picture of me in a slightly homosexual pose. For those of you having trouble finding the SENIOR LOT PARKING STICKER, I have inserted a large yellow arrow for your assistance. For those of you having trouble finding the large yellow arrow, I drew a big blue one to help you out. Hopefully you found it.

in other news, on thursday i officially finished all of my college apps. i'm doneski as they say in russian. i've been kind of in-and-out of the house the entire MEA, so i genuinely apologize to those of you whom i have a.) ignored b.) stood up c.) forgotten about.

this post was, mainly, to prove to max that i am in fact still alive. speaking of sir maxwell, i hope you're having a dandy-of-a-time at princeton. enjoy it, buddy.

mustache out!


Friday, October 20, 2006

Bringing Sexy Back


Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Lamb To The Slaughter

Alright, alright, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to post my common app essay, and you're all going to swarm on it like the bloodthirsty sharks you are and tear it into tiny little pieces. I will then cobble the pieces together, throw them in a shoebox along with what's left of my pride, and burn them on my driveway in a quiet ceremony.

Keep in mind: While inspired by actual events, the actual events in this paper are near complete fabrications. So don't get all huffy about historical accuracy. Also I think I have some tense prollems. Also, this beast is 599 words right now, which is roughly 99 words over the limit. Feel free to rip and slash out whatever looks loseable.

Be gentle.

Prompt: Tell us about a person who influenced you in some way. How did they influenced you?

As I entered my sophomore year of high school, my confidence was at an all-time high. Ever since elementary school, I had breezed through every academic challenge the school system had to offer. Math, science, and especially writing were easy for me. My teachers fawned over my work like proud parents, often using it as an example for my fellow students. I expended very little effort but received rave reviews. Gradually, I came to assume that I was extraordinarily intelligent with unlimited potential; high school would be simple, then I would be off to the Ivy League to amaze the world’s best and brightest.

It took only one class, and one teacher, to bring me back down to earth. Mr. Wanninger was my teacher for Pre-A.P. English in 10th grade. He seemed different from my other teachers, staid veterans in tweed jackets and carefully coordinated jewelry, watching over their students with paternal concern. Mr. Wanninger seemed to belong to a different generation, our generation, swiveling about on his desk chair, cracking jokes and listening to the same music as some of his hipper students. In some ways it was nice to have a younger, more relatable teacher, but we soon discovered the other side of having a teacher as a peer. In place of the reliable encouragement of a caring, concerned parent, we had scant praise, meted out only to those who truly deserved it, by an intelligent, challenging equal. Even in these uncertain new circumstances, I was sure I could impress Wanninger with my first essay. I wrote it out, looked it over once, and, satisfied, turned it in days early.

Mr. Wanninger returned our essays a week later. The cumulative corrections on all my previous schoolwork could not have contained more red ink than the bloodstained mess that was my paper. Wanninger had found more things wrong with the paper than right with it. Indignant, I began to read his comments and corrections, fighting the urge to march into his room and present him with all the perfect grades I’d earned through middle school. He criticized my structure and style as simple and unrefined; he guessed correctly that I had written it in one night; and worst of all, he told me my writing was immature: I needed to “grow up.” All that stopped me from huffily demanding that he retract his comments and issue a formal apology was the simple realization that he was right.

My writing was poor, but it was my attitude that needed to change. I was acting like a child, doing shoddy work and expecting my teacher, like any good parent, to tell me it was wonderful. Mr. Wanninger represented a new kind of judge, one on my own level. Good or bad, he told you his real opinion. The truth hurt, but his honesty was invaluable in my quest to grow as a writer. I received top marks in English both semesters, was named student of the semester by Mr. Wanninger, and later won the school district prize for best essay.

I feel Mr. Wanninger also helped me grow as a person. My experience in his class served as a transition into adulthood. I am no longer a child to be marveled over and blindly encouraged by dewy-eyed elders. No, I am an adult; my actions will be evaluated bluntly and honestly. While this judgment may come hard and fast, it will be the truth, and with this truth as a guide I will be able to shape myself and, hopefully, fulfill some of that youthful potential from my elementary days.

P.S.: I probably won't check this blog again until Sunday, so go ahead and pile on in my absence.


You Can Send Him To Arizona State

Now then, on to this important wikipediaic information about England's Official Monster Raving Loony Party:

The Official Monster Raving Loony Party (OMRLP) is a registered political party established in the United Kingdom in 1983 by musician and anti-politician David Sutch, also known as Screaming Lord Sutch (1940-1999).

The manifesto, entitled "The Manicfesto", for the 2005 General Election the OMRLP's major manifesto commitment was once more their long held pledge to abolish income tax, citing as always that it was only meant to be a temporary measure during the Napoleonic Wars. This has been a Loony staple policy since the original manifesto was written by Sutch's agent Pauline Read in 1983.

The rest of the party's manifesto included:

-Refusing to sign up to the euro, but inviting the rest of Europe to join the pound.

-Drivers can go straight over a roundabout when there's no traffic coming "to make driving through Milton Keynes more fun".

-Traffic cops "too stupid" for normal police work to be retrained as vicars.

-Withdrawal of MPs' £118,000 expenses allowance, and the money "in future be distributed to the poor and needy so that they can waste it instead."

-Any MP whose constituency sells off a school playing field for development will be required to relinquish their own back garden as a replacement sports facility for the school.

-All motorways to become massive cycle tracks instead

-The introduction of a 99p coin to "save on change".

Top phrase I expect my mom to use this weekend: "Hemorraging cash."
She's a fan of that one, especially when traveling.


Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Getting McCoshed

Here are some fun facts that you may not have known about Princeton (thanks, wikipedia!).

-According to the university, it is the fourth-oldest institution of higher education in the U.S. and is one of the eight Ivy League universities. Originally founded at Elizabeth, New Jersey in 1746 as the College of New Jersey, it relocated to Princeton in 1756 and was renamed Princeton University in 1896

-Princeton has never had any official religious affiliation, rare among American universities of its age

-Princeton offers two main undergraduate degrees: the Bachelor of Arts (A.B.) and the Bachelor of Science in engineering (B.S.E.). Courses in the humanities are traditionally either seminars or semi-weekly lectures with an additional discussion seminar, called a "precept" (short for "preceptorial"). To graduate, all A.B. candidates must complete a senior thesis and one or two extensive pieces of independent research, known as "junior papers" or "JPs."

-Princeton is among the wealthiest universities in the world, with an endowment just over 11 billion US dollars (#4th largest in the United States) sustained through the continued donations of its alumni and maintained by investment advisors. Some of Princeton's wealth is invested in its art museum, which features works by Claude Monet and Andy Warhol, among other prominent artists (fuckin' sweeet).

-Tradition: The Clapper or Clapper Theft - climbing to the top of Nassau Hall and stealing the bell clapper so as to prevent the bell from ringing and, thus, from starting class on the first day of the school year. For safety reasons, the clapper has now been removed permanently (If you ask me, this is just asking for the covert installation of an independently purchased clapper).

-Robo - commonly played team drinking game at Princeton University, thought to have originated there. Beirut is equally popular (Read the article for Robo; it was apparently written by Tay, or his nemisis, Princeton Tay).

-The Tory - The Princeton Tory, conservative bimonthly magazine ("The TORY"? Man, they are just asking for it).

-The Princeton University Band serves as the marching band and pep band of Princeton University. Like most other Ivy League bands, it is a scramble band (Read the article for scramble band. That's my kind of marching band.).

P.S.: So Wanninger (or someone else with a reasonable command of the English language, I guess), can you explain to me the correct usage of "that" and "which"? For example the first sentence of this post: was it correct?


Early Out

Does anyone know when 2nd hour starts tomorrow?


Monday, October 16, 2006

Be Faithful

So my dad got a packet of vaguely interesting but essentially boring information from his dad, concerning the Kuehn family heritage. Apparently we trace our ancestry back to a gentleman named William "The Lion" Vance. He lived in England, was captured by the French, and oppressed some Irish folk; in other words, he led a pretty good life. There was some other boring stuff (The name Vance is derived from an Old-English word meaning a marsh or fen...), but here's the good part:

That's right, it's my own personal coat of arms. Hell, two of them. Now, I realize that some of you have made your own coats of arms in the past, with like a soccer ball and a slice of pizza on them, but these are REAL coats of arms. I could enter a goddamn jousting tourney with one of these things.

My only real problem is which one I should use. The one on the right has the neat "old man's head proper, helmet azure" crest, but I think that one would be hard to draw. And all those triangles? A little too Buckminster Fuller for my tastes.

I'm thinking lefty would be better. The shield is simple and neat, and the crest is waaay cool: a lion rampant, holding a scale. I might have to get a signet ring with that on it. I can use it to seal all my correspondence, and all my non-noble acquaintances can kiss it when I pass.


A Challenge

Max, you've been called out. My younger brother, Mark, says he can beat you in tennis. If you're not scared, we need to set up a time for the match, if there is good weather some day.


Sunday, October 15, 2006

Still Kickin'

C'mon Kubas, surely you have some thrilling debate stories to relay. Your harrowing journey of cases, novi, rebuttals, love, betrayal, and steamy trysts must have given you at least, oh, 300 words of solid posting material.

Anywho, I saw The Departed yesterday with Sam Walker. We were among about 6 other people at the 9:50 show, but we were still almost late because Sam refused to stop playing "The Battle for Middle Earth" demo at Best Buy until his army of cave trolls and goblin archers had crushed those impudent elves of Lothlorien. Man, you should have seen how distraught Sam was when he realized he wasn't authorized to build a "spider pit." In case you're wondering, the REAL reason we were at Best Buy was because I wanted to ask them about the availability of the Wii at their store. They told me no preorders, first come first serve. Let's see, the 19th is a...Sunday.

Oh man, that is pretty perfect timing for a campout. Set up tents out front on Saturday after dinner ($350 clutched firmly in hand [$250 for Wii, $50 for a game, hopfully $50 for another controller {although actually the game won't be as much of a neccesity as usual because the Wii comes packaged with Wii sports, which includes tennis, boxing, baseball, and bowling, all of which promise to be really badass on the Wii, but especially Tennis}]), party all night, walk in Sunday at 8 a.m. and claim my material object of choice. Or buy all of them so Logan can't have one, then only return them 29 days later.

But back to the serious movie and stuff: It was pretty good. 9:50 was probably too late a time, because I was kind of losing it near the end at around 12:20. Here's my advice for anyone who wants to go to this film:

If near the end of the movie you start thinking "You know what, I haven't seen nearly enough people get shot in the head today. I think I'll walk out," just be patient.

Actors to watch:
Alec Baldwin=Big badass
Jack Nicholson=Bigger badass
Mark Wahlberg=Biggest badass of them all

And Dr. Manhattan still loves the ladies. He's just sort of sick of the human race in general.


Thursday, October 12, 2006

Who Watches The Watchmen?

I know it's been a while since I rapped with ya, but the shit's been raining down and I just don't have a shit-shovel big enough to get rid of it.

Seriously though, I was unable to blog yesterday because I was reading Watchmen. Man, Watchmen was sweet. I'm very glad the Brainerd Public Library has a copy.

For those who don't know: Watchmen is a graphic novel, ostenably about superheroes but also about power and justice and mortality and morality and time, written by this man (see right), Alan Moore. He's pretty crazy. BUT, he also writes great stuff. It's got all sorts of great allusions and clever and powerful imagary, both in the words and in the pictures. There are stories within stories, great characters, tons of layers, and so many complex connections that I might just have to read it all again to really grasp it.

Seriously, I started Watchmen yesterday after school and I finished it at about 5 this evening. That's some hardcore reading action.

I'm thinking that "The Watchmen" would be a pretty good KB team name. We could each pick a character, or more accurately, be assigned on by me, right now. Sam Walker is Rorschach (duh), James Voelker can be The Comedien, Kara will be The Silk Spectre, Logan is Ozymandias, and I'll round that group out as Dr. Manhattan.

Apparently, there was a Watchmen movie being prepared, but it's been put on hold. Damn shame, that. I'd see it. I think the script was written by David Hayter, the same guy who wrote at least one of the X-Men movies and, more importantly, provides the voice of Solid Snake (see left) in the Metal Gear Solid video game series. It's a small world after all.



Tuesday, October 10, 2006

What You Want...Me To Freak This?

Now before Kid C has a chance to flip out at me for stealing more IHOB material, allow me to explain:

In the past week I've added two artists to my music library--Lupe Fiasco with Food and Liquor, and Will Smith with Willienium and Big Willy Style.

The enjoyment derived from each (measured in kPm (kilo-puppie minutes)--the amount of enjoyment derived from spending 1 minute with 1000 puppies) is as follows:
Lupe Fiasco--2 kPm
Will Smith--18 kPm

What can I say, Big Willy's just got the rhymes and the flow and the beats, and he keeps such a positive attitude! Don't you just love how he keeps his lyrics clean so everybody can listen without feeling uncomfortable?
Seriously though, my favorite tracks as of right now (I'm about half-way through each album):

I'm Comin (this has ISAMF soundtrack written all over it)

Will 2K (A rap song with "Rock the Casbah" as the beat, PLUS the line "the new millenium--wait, excuse me: Willenium"? No contest.)

Candy (If you thought you had enough candy brand-name based rap lyrics in your life, you need to hear this song.)

Freakin' It (Probably my favorite as of right now (the rap mags call me soft; yeah, try MICROSOFT), although I have high hopes for a track called "Uuhhh")

Graduation Speech Update:
See Superblog.


mustache haiku

to be honest, i'm not sure if haiku follows a 5-7-5 pattern, but that's how i'll write these for now.

"Manly Mustaches.
Why are they so frickin' good?
We should worship them."

"City of Barrows.
Why do you tempt us with meth?
We'll visit you soon."

"Mister Constant K,
Enforcer of pain and death,
He'll eat you for lunch."

"Kurt The Janitor,
From the ghetto born and raised,
King of Rainmaker."

"Sam 'The Man' Walker,
Hair of the sexiest kind,
But I can't touch it."

"Josh 'The Chef' Bundy,
He will destroy your ankles.
Shakin' and Bakin'."

"Thomas 'Fatboy' Day,
Has the prowess of a cat,
But built like a stick."

Hey! 3 posts in about 10 minutes. Not too bad, eh?


she just doesn't get it

periodically (as in each sunday night) my mother goes grocery shopping. while walking out the door to leave, she never fails to yell in my direction..."WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM THE GROCERY STORE?"

for the last (literally) month or so, the entire kubas pop collection in our fridge has consisted of pepsi and coke...pespi and coke. pew.

so i pondered her question for a little bit...and reached my decision.

"you should buy some pop. but nothing normal. heck, mom, i'm gonna give you a mission. buy some kind of CRAZY flavored pop. something extremely out-of-the-ordinary."

after she returned and loaded up the fridge...i had to take a gander at what she purchased.

sitting inside...on the top shelf of the fridge...was a 2 liter bottle of "caffeine-free pepsi."


"god bless us everyone."

i just sneezed about 12 straight times.

i don't have allergies.

my house isn't dusty.

my face is clean shaven...thus we can't blame it on something fuzzy.

any ideas? anyone?


Monday, October 09, 2006

Like Stealing Corn From The Crib

Fear the Ear! Concordia's new mascot costume is here! Do you have what it takes to work the crowd into a frenzy? Can you walk the walk and stalk the stalk? Mascot try-outs will be held at 6:15 p.m., Tuesday, Oct. 10, in Olson 139. Previous mascot experience is welcome, but not necessary. Here's your chance to be one of the mascot performers who will entertain at college and community events throughout the year. "

Which would you rather have on your resume?
A: Criminal Vehicular Homicide
B: Concordia Cobbers Mascot

DVD's burned so far:
11 discs of Lord of the Rings (the last disc of Return of the King special features was just too damn big.)
4 discs of Star Wars
Groundhog's Day
Roadhouse (widescreen)
Purple Rain
The Big Lebowski

To burn tonight:
Best In Show
Mystery Science Theater 3000: Manos, Hands of Fate
Roadhouse (fullscreen)

Also: Mustaches?


welcome aboard!

at lunch today 4 of the founders of this great blog were discussing....

we have really been slacking with mustache/basketball content. after all, those WERE the main reasons behind this blog.

we have all agreed to incorporate more mustache material into our/your lives.

my input:

if you haven't been checking out neoearth lately, you're missing quite a bit! one of our latest hits:
dushanbe, tajikistan.

i bet you're wondering,

"what does a mustache look like in tajikistan?"

another visitor came from sieverodonetsk, ukraine.

heh eheh, good stuff.


let's plan!

maxwell and everyone else involved,

when should we come down for a visit?

this weekend doesn't work for me. MEA doesn't work for max.


(items i'm bringing: the city rug, scratch games, my ID because we're going gambling (sorry max), and maybe all the essentials for dusting)


King Of The Internet

Sam and I were talking yesterday, and we decided that the optimal BHS commencement speech would basically be JFK's Inagural Address, but slightly edited to fit the occasion.

So then we did that. Over on Superblog, one can discover the full text.

The only real obstacles are:
A: principal approval, and I have a feeling Heise will either skim for any "fucks" and then give it a check plus or be cool with the idea or maybe, just maybe, not recognize it and think that Logan/Kara/Whoever has gone off the deep end, but hey it's there speech.

B: Whoever is actually doing the speaking must also agree to do this instead of the same stuffy, long-winded, "hitch-your-wagon-to-the-stars" rigamarole that has dominated every speech in recent (read: my) memory (although if it actually contained the phrase "hitch your wagon to the stars," it might be okay.). And I imagine those people will be Logan and or Kara (Megan Augustinak will speak too, as our "class president," but I'd hate to interfere with the classic her speech is destined to become), and I further imagine that one or both of them is reading this right now. So: Hey Logan or Kara, do this speech, eh? Mustache faithful, feed them encouragement please.

Oh, and you can't laugh. And wild gestures are a plus, along with dramatic phrasing.

Man...this could be wicked sweet. This would basically be the equivalent of getting "Hit 'Em Up" as class song.

P.S.:Can you find the hidden links in the post above?


Sunday, October 08, 2006

i miss my man in purple

seriously. where are you?

this weekend pretty much sucked.

my 4 AM wakeup call wasn't fun. then a 431074389 hour day was pretty boring. (5 rounds?!?)

i was looking forward to catching up on sleep tonight, but i haven't even started my homework, so i should probably get on that.

i didn't even get to go to the casino this weekend. WHAT?

i am going to hell for not going to the elks thing.

yay. life is good.


Saturday, October 07, 2006

Seriously Now

So I need to figure out what to ask my grandma for for Christmas. It needs to be available at any Target or Wal-Mart, cost less than $100, and be awesome. Go! I suppose several smaller items would be possible, but I think a lump sum would be easier for everyone involved.

I posted about this earlier, but I guess everyone just thought it was a joke.

P.S.: You can officially scratch Lupe Fiasco's Food and Liquor from any preliminary lists you were already drawing up. I, Max Kuehn, actually walked into a store today and paid $15, of MY OWN MONEY, to obtain this album.

In case you were wondering, this does make me a better person than you. You....pirate hooker.


Friday, October 06, 2006

"Give Me Back My Elephants!"

I'm all sick and stuff, but Josh Johnson managed to drag me to "The Protector," Tony Jaa's new movie tonight. Even as I burned up from fever, Tony Jaa was burning up the screen (and Johnson's heart.) Here's the breakdown:

First 30 minutes: So Tony Jaa's character's dad raises elephants, okay? And they're real holy? And they got stolen, and his dad got shot, so he has to go to....Australia. Duh.

Seriously though, this was probably the best third of the movie. Within it, one will see:
A-A bunch of guys get beaten up.
B-A speedboat smash into a helicopter.
C-Some great elephant footage.
D-Tony Jaa beat up 30 guys on inline skates and BMX bikes. Man, there is just nothing funnier than a guy getting kicked off a bike. Also, the dudes all grab flouresent light bulbs for some reason, so even when they do hit Tony the bulbs just, you know, break.
E-A sweet CG dream sequence.
F-A Jackie Chan cameo, although Johnson wouldn't believe me that it was really him.

Second 30 minutes: Story. Yawn. Although it was funny how many people in Sydney spoke Thai. Weird, huh?

Final 30 minutes: Very nice FFF (Furious Fight to the Finish). This third features:
A-A 9 minute continuous shot of Tony fighting his way up this big helical hall, KOing about 25 guys and throwing at least 4 over the edge.
B-A very Kill Bill-esque sequence in which Tony breaks about 77 bones, all with the same sound effect, but otherwise very creatively, and the dudes just stay on the floor around him, writhing in pain.
C-Tony fighting three guys, one at a time, in a burning Buddhist shrine, with 6 inches of water on the floor, for no real reason other than it looks awesome. Oh, and one of the guys was basically Eddie from Tekken. Aaaaand at one point he grabs some gong sticks and wails on a guy with them (see promo photo [if blogger will let me put it on here, which is looking doubtful]).
D-Tony landing shirtless on a platform with an elephant skeleton, then magically rising 5 seconds later, shirtless, pissed, and with some bones roped to his arms. Of course, this leads to the scene we all remember from the preview, Tony leaping through the air with two elephant thigh bones roped to his forearms, landing on a guys shoulders, and whacking the guy on the head with the bones.

P.S.: I found a sweet trailer, all in Taiwanese. The movie itself has subtitles, don't worry, but I kind of like how I have no idea what the dramatically timed words right at the end mean, and yet they're still terribly exciting.


Thursday, October 05, 2006

I Am Filled With Pug Magic

I could email this to everyone I know. But I value my friendships with you all too much to do that to you.

My momma told me about this clip. It features our greatest animal (the pug) on our greatest tv show (Montel), doing...something amazing. I don't want to ruin it for you.

If nothing else, this post will serve to show that the Manly Mustaches can post more entertaining videos than WTITYB.


yo quiero apostar

This picture reflects a popular Folkeringa past time; watching Lingo on GSN. (Google images doesn't really have a wide selection of Lingo pictures...I think this is the crackwhore German version--why else would they have 6 letters?) Anyway, the other day I was thinking, "Man, it's been like a month since I've watched Lingo." The "beeps" of the letters...the "bounce" of the balls...the "ding" of a Lingo...does life really get better? Jacob contends that...SOMEday...we'll go on the show. I'm waiting for that day.

Tomorrow...is kind of frightening. I don't really want to go to the Elks "celebration dinner," but somehow I'm obligated to do so. Please, if you have any affiliation with the band, come to the dinner. I don't want to be one of 4 people there. (You would think the number "4" is an understatement in this context...but, alas, no, we only have 4 verbal commitments of people who are going)

Saturday is going to be so much fun! (FYI: sarcasm) I get to wake up at 4:00 AM. Then leave the senior lot at 5:00 AM. Then, after a few hours I'll inevitably run into both Brian Agre and Kellen Riley. YAY! (can you say "sardonic") Actually, it shouldn't be too bad...I'm somewhat looking forward to seeing those boys. (Pelk, will you be at BJ?)

Saturday night, I am...FOR SURE...going gambling. I HAVE to...not to feed an addiction...but rather to fight other urges. I figure, logically, if I don't go gambling I'll undoubtedly become a member of a gang, start doing drugs, father 6 children, and then get locked up. So...I'm gambling in order to preserve my future. Trust me here.

This leads me to an interesting point brought up by Raquel (la rana...Rachel...): The reason I asked how to say "to gamble" in Spanish is because...well...I wrote my Spanish essay on when I took my Grandma gambling on my birthday. (A tearjerker I might add) Now you know.

"¿dondé está el bigote?"

i'm out!


Wednesday, October 04, 2006

dear kubas, please stop

the latest addiction?

my friends and i just decided to buy a few powerball tickets.

why? because $15 million is more than enough.

powerball: it's ALWAYS big.


Ong-Bak Got Nothin' On Me

This blog has had a dearth of full-length posts these days.

In an effort to remedy the situation, I present to you: Max's thoughts on college.

I figure that really, there are basically only 6 or 7 paths I can choose right now. So I can just list them, use my powers of divination to determine the future of each, and choose accordingly. Right? Right.

Option 1: Major in business/econ/managment/finance/vampirism
Take classes I hate, with people I generally dislike. Move immediately into moderately well-payed job I will hate. End up working for Jeff Smith anyways.

Option 2: Major in engineering/chemistry/physics
Take progressively harder calc courses, bitch about it on my blog. Move into well-paying job I hate. Get caught in some gears or silo explosion or fall into lye tank something. (My theory is, engineers must spend a lot of time on catwalks above massive gears and tanks of lye.)

Option 3: Major in psychology/sociology/new age feel-goodery
Spend four years shocking mice and conducting surveys. Move into boring Human Resources job at Jeff Smith Inc. Yawn.

Option 4: Cultivate my flowing modeling career
I mean, look at these shots from my portfolio:

Aw yeah, he is just poured into that jumpsuit.

Option 5: Take the Josh Mattson approach
Rock and roll all night, party every day.

Option 6: Major in journalism
Take maybe interesting courses. Deal with a lot of annoying people. Get job at Podunk Daily Shitrag (thank you America the Book) or unpaid internship at a reputable paper...or just go run the Dispatch. Zing.

Option 7: Major in art history/religious studies
Take fun classes. Deal with some douchebags, but hopefully fewer (by definition) than in business school. Hopefully travel to see some great art. Learn a lot about some very neat stuff. Go on to graduate school in art and become a teacher or writer, or go to law school, or just party 24/7.

That's pretty much it. Oh, wait, I'm legally obligated to include just one more:

Option 8: Join the Armed Forces
Join the Armed Forces. Die.

P.S.: I totally mastered the art of copying and burning DVDs, at least for the next 30 days. Aw yeah.


Tuesday, October 03, 2006

It's Time To Get Ill

My sister, she just has a talent for finding this sort of thing.
And check out this cast on an earlier transformers movie. Daaaamnnn. Also has some nice toy company conspiracy theorizing.

P.S.: Someone else write a page 162, please. Oh, and I'm considering art history/religious studies as a major. Thoughts?


The Name Of The Team Is The Manly Mustaches

I just figured out what I'm going to get everyone for Christmas. Also, I discovered what I want. Thanks Maya!

"How do we begin to describe Howie? He's not quite a ton, but still lots of fun. In fact, Howie has earned quite a reputation for being a bit of a prankster."

P.S.: Seriously though, I need to figure out what to ask my grandma to get me for Christmas. I was thinking a Wii controller or game, but she's getting impatient. Parameters: $100 or less, available at any Target or Wal-Mart, and I have to want it.

Covet it.




Monday, October 02, 2006


More page 162 action. I had so much fun writing the first one that I decided to make another. It was a good prompt, okay?

My Brother Sam Is Dead: A Memoir
held their collective breath as I stumbled into the warehouse.

“Did you do your duty, kid?” Frankie asked, low and menacing.

“Yah Frankie, I knifed him. I knifed him good,” I said breathlessly. “He ain’t….he ain’t gonna cause us any more trouble.”

Frankie searched my eyes for a lie. Finding none, he broke his scowl, loped over and scooped me up, easy as a poppa bear snatching up a cub, and gave me a rough embrace.

“Ya done good, kid, real good. I wadn’t sure about you at first, but the blood on thad knife is good enough proof to me,” Frankie growled, loud enough for the whole gang to hear. “You’re a full member now, kid, congrats. You’re bruddah woulda been so proud of ya, so proud.”

I bit my lip almost until it bled and felt my knuckles go white around the brass hilt of my knife. I’d wanted to scream, to drive the 6 inch blade, still wet with blood, up in between Frankie’s ribs. But I controlled myself and mumbled “Thanks, Frankie,” into the folds of his black leather jacket. I couldn’t lay all my cards on the table, not yet. I knew this was the gang responsible for my brother’s death, and while Frankie might have pulled the trigger, but I wanted the man who had made the order.

Big Fish Wallace was his name, and he was indeed a big fish, at least now. He’d earned a reputation for ruthlessness rising through the ranks; my brother was just one of many notches on his belt. Wallace had been so efficient on the streets that his boss had been reluctant to promote him to the board of directors, but his boss died a mysterious, gruesome death shortly afterwards, and Big Fish moved up. Off the streets and into the boardroom, Wallace was making a big splash. He had stepped up sales in his territory, and he’d embarked on an extremely successful, aggressive new recruitment program.

In fact, it was this very program that allowed me to join in with relatively little scrutiny. Desperate for fresh meat, the Southdale Crew was willing to take on just about anybody, even a scrawny 17 year old with nothing to his name but a hunting knife and a set of cold, icy grey eyes.

Of course, I wasn’t really 17. I was 23 by then, the same age my brother would have been. But Sammy had been a big guy, and I was so little for my age that I was able to pass myself off as his kid brother, eager to follow in the hero’s footsteps. If they’d guessed my real plans, they would’ve killed me on the spot.

Now as I quietly picked at the blood on my fingernails, I started to doubt the soundness of my plan for the first time. I’d never meant to hurt anybody, not anybody that didn’t deserve it at least, but I had just stabbed a man. I hoped he made it, got to a hospital, maybe got out of the business. He had more of a chance than Sammy ever did. Sam the artist, Sam the dreamer, the gentle giant, such a funny kid, a good kid. But these bastards had drawn him in, chewed him up, sucked all the goodness out of him until his own momma didn’t recognize him, then spit him out…and shot him.


P.S.: So all the type on blogger is really small and hard to read on my monitor now. How can I fix this? My eyes hurt.


Sunday, October 01, 2006

fun story that only about 6 people will get

a brass quintet named "synergy" came to brainerd the other day...my parents went to the concert. the following is a conversation between myself and my mother.

mom: "andrew, what's that one instrument called...it's like a mini tuba?"

me: "you mean a baritone? or a euphonium?"

mom: "yeah. is that what max plays?"

me: "yeaaaah...why?"

mom: "well, synergy had a euphonium player. he was white. and had the biggest afro i have ever seen..."


Page 163 Was A Doozy

So the U of M honors application came, and I was intrigued enough by one of the essay prompts to write this. It's 534 words, so it could lose a little weight. Any suggestions on that front, or how to make it even more ridiculous?

Prompt: Write page 162 of your autobiography.

sat down at the large ebony table and opened my menu.

I ordered the meal for the whole party, all in Swahili. I also signed it so Professor Kaufman, who was deaf, could follow along. I made a couple of mistakes when signing “braised pineapple” and “kumqat juice,” but only so kindly old Kaufman could correct me. I always felt slightly guilty for displacing him as the top Proust scholar in the country, and I think it did him good to win one from me once in a while.

We lapsed into small talk for a while afterwards, but I could sense that Dr. Stewart was itching to speak. I silenced the group with a subtle gesture and spoke to him directly.

“Now Andrew, I realize that as old friends we really don’t need a reason to get together and share a meal, but we haven’t had an event like this in years! You put this together. Why now? What’s the occasion?”

Andrew had a sheepish grin on his face. “Oh, nobody can keep you in the dark for too long, Max, what with your extraordinary observational skills and preternatural ability to read people,” he said. “I was hoping to make a grand announcement during the first toast, but I guess that cat is out of the bag now.” He cleared his throat and spoke loudly enough for the whole party to hear: “I received a call from the director of the National Endowment for the Arts yesterday, and he said he had some terrific news for the University. Apparently, the head of the Literature, Classics, and History departments (he inclined his head slightly towards me, with a proud, knowing smile) has been selected to receive a rather special endowment.”

Our somewhat oblivious waiter chose this moment to bring in our wine, but I forgave him, as I have so many others. I was so fixated on Dr. Stewart’s announcement I could barely smell, taste, analyze, and approve of the wine. The waiter began to pour and Stewart continued.

“A Congressional committee approved the extra funding, and the President threw his weight behind it, mostly due to his knowledge of your accomplishments and virtually limitless potential, and, well…Max, you’ve been awarded a $50 million dollar grant, no guidelines, no limits, no strings attached.”

I was stunned, speechless, but the applause and expectant eyes of my friends and colleagues compelled me to my feet. “I-I don’t know what to say. This is, such an honor, I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t you start with picking up the tab?,” quipped Dr. Lawrence, to a round of laughter.

“Well, I’ll certainly do that,” I sputtered, “but what about the rest of it? I mean, I’m still not through with my second MacArthur grant, and I haven’t even started on the third, and let’s not forget about all the book royalties. What will I do with all this extra money?”

Just then I was struck by an idea. “I know! I’ll give it to the institution to which I owe so much of my current success: The University of Minnesota!”

Dr. Stewart pulled his goblet away and spit out a cloud of expensive wine. He



"i don't think they're drinking gatorade."

Basic math:
+ (PLUS)



bring on oakland. at home. god i'm skipping school tuesday and wednesday.


What Else Is In The Teaches Of Peaches?

I saw two movies this weekend: Little Miss Sunshine and Jackass Number Two. Aren’t I just one eclectic motherfucker?

Here’s how they stacked up:

LMS: The dad is a motivational speaker who must balance his “if you don’t win you’re a loser” philosophy with his own failure, his brother Frank is a suicidal gay Proust scholar, his son has taken a vow of silence until he can join the Air Force (too bad he’s colorblind; tee-hee!), his father is a heroin-rattled, outspoken oldster who’s having trouble kicking the habit, and his daughter is an ugly girl who thinks she can win a beauty pageant. In other words, not much here.

JA2: Bam Margera is deathly afraid of snakes. Let’s lock him in a box with a bunch of snakes. Johnny Knoxville is crazy. Let’s have him get hit by a bull five or six times. Wee-man is a midget. Preston is overweight. Isn’t that funny?

Point: LMS….barely.

LMS: Setting a montage of driving to Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago”? It’s been done.
JA2: Setting a montage of “Old man balls” jokes to Peaches? Now THAT’s fresh.

Point: JA2, you had me from “Fuck the pain away.”

LMS: Not tons here. I guess the family did have to run to get the van started. And the dad did sort of fight the hilarious pageant host.
JA2 I may as well just mention the NON-action parts: some fo the pranks ran a little long, and…that’s about it.

Point: JA2 had more action during the credits than LMS did in two hours on the screen. JA2 again.

Climactic scene
LMS: I guess it would be the family striptease to Superfreak in front of the disgusted beauty pageant audience. That was pretty good.
JA2: Johnny Knoxville. Wearing an Evel Knievel jumpsuit. Taking off on a big fucking red fucking rocket. Jesus Christ.

Point: JA2 by a mile.

I probably laughed for about 12 minutes total during LMS, not bad for a “depressive-indie-comedy” flick; I mean, they have to spend some time on awkward silences, soulful silences, and especially quiet emotional silences, right? But JA2 had no such limitations, and as such I laughed for about 85 of its 90 minutes. My cheeks hurt and I have stomach cramps. I’m sorry, but I have to give this one to Jackass.

Can you forgive me?


"and that was how i got the bracelet out of my nose."

oh man. was halftime disappointing, or was it disappointing?

throughout the entire halftime experience...i found myself not drawn to the kixters...nor the rioting fans...nor the adorable face of mr. melby...but rather i found myself staring off into nothing...anticipating the sights and sounds of a balloon...the laughter and tears of an airplane...but what happened?


why god...why, on september 29th, 2006, did nothing happen?


speaking of which, man, it's OCTOBER. why is this scary? anyone? anyone? it's hard to believe that an entire month of school has passed...but at the same time it's so exciting! we're that much nearer to getting out of here! inching closer to getting far away.

in a sign of chivalry, craftiness, and genuine love for jennifer dens, i embarked on a mission which could only be accomplished by a mustache. a MANLY mustache. a MUSLIM, former fro-bearing, gambling, spanish speaking, meat eating, pink car driving MANLY mustache. that's right: i went where thousands have gone before, but no one had ever been. i jacked the "city rug." it's in the neon. not in the trunk...where men afraid of being caught rug-handed would place it...but rather in the backseat...visible for all the world to see. in a few short weeks this rug will travel on a journey southwards until it reaches that glorious golden resting spot. make that a glorious "maroon and gold[en]" resting spot. ahh, young jenden, the entire mustache nation loves you <-----------------------------> this much. which is a lot more compared to how much we love sam walker. (this much.) [what's that? you don't see anything? exactly.]

farewell. mustache out.