Monday, December 19, 2005

I'll Probably Be Dead Soon.

The other night I woke up at one-ish because my body had made up its mind to eliminate all of the non-native solids and fluids from the system without much worry as to which way they went out. Now, with the recent emergence of the "Shat Trick" (Three movements before noon.) I had little to ponder over the course of the early morning other than just how many Shat Tricks I would produce on this fine autumn eve. I'll probably be dead by nightfall. Also, I apologize for the scatalogical nature of the beginning of this Blog Entry.

I don't really know what got into me there, only what came out...and that's everything. But onward to more pressing matters:

It has recently become apparent to me that there is a disturbing trend in modern "literature" towards putting graphic sexual information into the text of novels. I am not singling out the writers of the so-called steamy novel. They are writing with that purpose in mind. No, my problem is with authors seeking to write a reputable book but cannot seem to keep themselves from including unnecessary and lewd sexual information. Okay, okay, they may be doing this in an attempt to keep things realistic, and that is fine, but there is some realism in modesty. Or am I just missing the big picture where everyone is telling eachother minute details of their sexual lives over beer and peanuts. If that is indeed the case, I wish someone would fill me in, I love a juicy tid-bit as much as the next guy. But the fact is that I do not see that happening. I don't hear it either. It is just weird. Used to be you could hint at relations in a book without going overboard and the general public would get it...which brings up the next point.

I actually find it less offensive than I do insulting that these authors feel the need to put such detailed accounts of intercourse in their works. It is as though they do not trust me to know what goes on during love-making. If they are going to go so far as to make the lurid intricacies known they might as well include diagrams with arrows and captions like, "I caressed the vaginal wall more-than-a-bit-roughly here:" That's how far the imposition of details takes me out of the plot. It's all kind of gross. So, for the Schifletts and Neffeneggers of the world: knock it off. Tell the story without telling me about anybodies genitalia size and uses. Unless, of course, these items are so bizarre that they are truly of note. For example, if your main character has problems with the ladies because his penis is the exact size and shape of a baseball lodged on a number two pencil, go ahead and let me know about it. That is interesting and different, and important to the story. (Although, it should be pointed out here that the main character of Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises was genitally handicapped and Pappa never felt it necessary to go into exactly what had happened and what was wrong...) Also, if the labia majora* are so cumbersome and unwieldy that it is necessary for a special harness to be designed and fashioned to control them I would like to know, because that is intimate and funny. But don't lie to me. To tell me that an erection is large enough to ride a rollercoaster unaccompanied by an adult is obviously a falsity. OR, in the event that it is not a fabrication, my interest has been piqued...You are going to have to go into further detail as to how this affects--both negatively and positively--the life of the possessor of such an instrument. Is it a birth defect? Did it just grow like that naturally? Did the person live below high-tension wires in his youth? When traveling, is it necessary to purchase an extra airplane passage for his unit? What kind of floppy mass of flesh is created when an erection of that size ceases to be erect? Do you need special trousers? If you DO need special trousers, would they be made by the same craftsman who made the harness for the lady with the beef curtains we mentioned earlier?

The bottom line is I am worried about this person, so you can't just throw yourself back into the plot after outlining a physical deformity such as this. And again I must apologize for the mental images that I am sure many of you have right now, welcome to my life.

Yesterday I took my lady-friend to a motion picturer. At the concession stand there I bought an ICEE brand frozen drink. I would just like to say right now that ICEEs suck. They are in no way comparable to the beloved Slurpee sold by the 7 Eleven company. I will, however, admit that the Icee is at least got right away. The problem is that they do not melt properly. The fluid all runs down to the bottom, leaving the ice all alone at the top and flavorless. It is really quite depressing. Alls I'm saying is that if someone, anyone, who has the power within the 7Eleven structure system reads this, seriously think about putting a store here in D-town. Word.

Another thing having to do with liquid refreshments...Today I was bored, thirsty, and a little bit tired. So I took a pint glass, a red bull and some OJ and mixed liberally. Let me tell you what I came up with was a delicious taste sensation that was both refreshing and energising. I would recommend that everyone who is so inclined try it. But if you like it, and continue to use it you have two options. You can either refer to the drink as Dr. Leith, or make your old lady call you Andy the next time you have sex. That is all.

-A.R. Leith

"I'm in love with love and lousy poetry." -The Weakerthans

* Special Thanks to Morgan Gilliland for being there with the techinal name of this body part when it escaped me. Thanks, Chief.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Alright, I'm Sorry.

I know it has been a while since anything of note has been put on here. And even longer since anything worth reading has shown up. (If it ever has...) The point being that I am really sorry in so many ways. I have been real busy. I promise to have something fun, interesting, or compromising up here really soon so you can all be amused, learned or offended collectively. I just haven't really had anything worth telling the world of late.

Oh, I did go to texas, and that was pretty rad. Truth be told, what I actually saw of texas was just like everyplace else there is to go in the continental U.S. A lot of shopping centers and suburbia, some nicer than others, as usual. That's about it. Oh, I did find it interesting that the area around Minute Maid Park--where the Astros play--was so desolate and kind of run down. There were boarded up buildings directly across the street from the ballpark, it was weird to see.

Speaking of that, I like to complain about arenas and other sports places being named for companies, but it just struck me that Wrigley Field is the OG sponsored ballpark, and I like that place lots, so I guess I should just shut up and roll with it, eh?

Anyway, that's all for now, and I assure you I'll have more soon. Go check out the Skinema section at for some humor if you are in the mood. Laters.

-A.R. Leith

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Strictly Speaking...

Some of the things that were said in today's earlier post were inaccurate. The stuff about people giving all negative response to what I write...or at least only negative encouragement, I meant that. The part about having nothing to say...that's not so true.

Today as I was wandering around the parking lot at the ol' Fort Lewis (Fort Leisure if you will...) I noticed that the car parked immediately in front of mine was sporting some rather interesting decals. They read--in descending order of height on the car--"Carnegie-Mellon", "Northwestern", and "Harvard"... What theeee FUCK!?

Now, I'm not one to bag on the institution that is going to give me my means of recognition in the world outside of academia, but we all know about the Fort. If you are not in-the-know let me give you a run-down. Fort Lewis is a "liberal arts college on the New England model" that is basically a fancy-pants way of saying that we don't give a shit about anything except the happy little trees and the whales in the sea. If you have a pulse and a means of paying the bill you are going to do just fine here at Colorado's Campus in the Sky...

Anyway, here's my gripe. Does this person expect us to believe that they attended not one, not two, but all three of these schools BEFORE coming to the Fort in ANY capacity? I just don't think that could be the case. So the next theory is that this is the car of a person who is sibling to persons attending these prestigious schools. In which case, why would you want that constant reminder in your back window that you are at a school that is probably pretty lax, even on that "pulse" thing we just talked about.

However, as I am writing all of this I find myself faced with a third, reasonably plausible, possibility. In fact it is a nice possibility that I will hence forth hope is the truth. Perhaps this economically reasonable ride was the property of a faculty member--or even an older student--who is the parent of children at such fancy-pants schools. If that is the case, as I hope it is, they have every right to be proud. They and their significant other should be giving each other the hi-fives (even though they are frowned upon in other situations I feel they might just be warranted here) after coitus for producing such excellent offspring.

And that, my friends, is why boxed wine is never really a good idea...

-A.R. Leith

Other Quote: "If you are going to do it half-assed, don't fucking do it at all."- the Tossers

Earlier Today...

While walking between classes today I thought of an excellent blog topic. But since then I have forgotten what it was. So I guess that's too bad, isn't it.

I would like to mention how cute I think it is that people are so quick to pester me to write new things when I haven't posted for a while, but that nobody really wants to make any comments on what has been written. I was kind of hoping, when I started this whole thing, to open up channels of dialogue for people to discuss topics of the day. It has not worked out that way, however. Instead I receive death threats for not offering entertainment for people. It is like everyone is saying "Dance, you funny little monkey, dance for our entertainment..." with nothing really offered in return. It is not easy to perform on command, but evidently people want it to happen, no matter what. So that's fun. Especially when I ask for topic suggestions so that I have SOMETHING to write about and NOBODY comes through....thanks guys.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Maybe I don't know. But probably not."- Big D and the Kid's Table

Thursday, October 20, 2005

How We Roll OR Talkin' 'Bout My Generation

Society is at an impasse. The terror alerts are color coded and time clocks need to be punched. All the kids are medicated to the eyeballs, crime is on the rise, and soon there will be no social security left. But there is no need to worry about it.

The greatest generation, our grandparents, cared about doing a great job, about saving the world from evils—real or imagined—and about providing a good life for their children. The baby-boomers, our parent’s generation, cared about little more than themselves and patting themselves on the back for all the good things they talked about doing. So, what is left for our generation to care about? Increasingly the answer to that question is…nothing. That is not to say that there is nothing worth worrying about in the world, just that a lot of people in the 18-30 age group cannot find it in their hearts to care about the world in general. As our grandparents would have told us—had we been listening—anything worth doing is worth doing right. Here are ten steps to afford you better living through apathy:

Step 1: Stop worrying about your career. Careers are a myth of a bygone era. Your grandfather might have worked at the same job his entire life, because he could. Used to be a company would pay a man decently for a job that he would work forty hours a week so that he could support his family. He did not always like his job; he did it because his kids needed to go to school and to eat. However, the Boomers decided that they all wanted middle management jobs so that they could sell the working man out for cheaper overseas labor. The irony being that the Boomers are now refusing to relinquish those jobs to the younger generation. All that is left for us, then, is to find a job we like that pays enough to get by and spend the rest of our time drinking Old Style out of Styrofoam coolers.

Step 2: Forget about finding Mr. or Mrs. Right. According to the Center for Disease Control as of the turn of the century nearly half of all first marriages end in divorce or separation. With those kinds of statistics marriage is little more than a temporary institution. There is no point, really, to concerning yourself with finding the right person, just someone who will be alright for now. That is not to say that you should not take full advantage of the modern amenities to protect yourself from diseases like babies. It is to say that fun is the name of the game so “find someplace warm—preferably moist—insert, thrust, repeat.”

Step 3: Global Warming? Pollution? Record hurricane seasons year after year? No sweat. And certainly nothing to get worked up over. As the boys in the Canadian punk-rock outfit would have it, “The world will go on without us. If we cannot fit ourselves into the scheme, we will be squeezed out. Suffocated, starved, or parched into extinction.” The planet Earth is a giant ball of dirt, water and gas floating in the vacuum of space. There is very little you or I could do to change that. The problem is that it may become uninhabitable for human life. More accurately, someday it will absolutely be inhospitable to human life in the form that we know it, so there is no use running around trying to change the way everyone lives. Evolution has worked thus far, why not let it have a crack at the next several millennia? The dinosaurs had a terrific recycling program* going and a highly touted public transportation system† but then a giant asteroid came and took it all away from them. Oh sure, we might have better technology and can “predict giant asteroids” but out time here on the mortal coil is finite no matter how we look at it so why spend all your time worrying about what could happen? Get a slurpee, rent a movie, and have a blast while you still can.

Step 4: In other parts of the world they are holding revolutions daily. The people are so fed up with some system or another that they are taking to the streets and using their ploughshares until the gutters run red with the blood of their countrymen. Here in America, on the other hand, we have Survivor, the Super Bowl, and Beer Commercials so we need not worry about that sort of hateful tripe. A young acquaintance of mine, Patrick Martindill, was until recently enjoying the good life provided by an excellent exchange rate in Bolivia while teaching English to the local high schoolers. That was all well and good until the very same locals decided that their government was no longer adequate and took up arms. Pat decided that he could not be bothered and simply avoided the world’s problems by moving back in with his mother and getting a job as a shoe salesman in Suburban Washington, D.C. Let the other people of the world worry about the problems that…

…you know what, fuck it. I know you were promised ten steps, but you get the idea. And, as Bill Amos, a 24 year old substitute teacher from Portland, OR—who substitutes because he can not find a real job, said when contacted for information, “Apathy schmapathy, I’m going to sleep…”

*Dinosaurs would eat almost anything and then turn it into useful fertilizer, which fed the trees, to produce oxygen, thus continuing the cycle of life.

†Just ask Fred Flintstone about his daily commute on the Bronto-bus.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." -L.M. Willis, Inc.

I am Kill All of You...

Look, I don't see very many of you writing a whole lot on your blogs. And whoever this "anonymous" person is, I do not know. The fact is that I am not made of time. I am a very busy college student. I fill my days with taking some sort of science-fiction character analysis. Evidently I am some sort of well-quaffed captain person on Star Trek...most likely. Personally, I think if I were to be any science fiction person at all it would be Barf from Spaceballs. So there. anyway, I'm going to post in a minute an article I wrote for class, so that you all have something to get you through your obviously busy days... Word.

-A.R. Leith

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Alright You Fuckers!

Judging from the most recent comments on my last entry there are some questions regarding the actions and events of October 1, 2005. But first I would like to clear up a couple of things.

Number one, the El Rancho Tavern is by no means the, now let me get this right, "dirtiest, stinkiest, most-hole-in-the-wall-bar ever." It is just another bar in Durango with self-important bouncers who pretty much shit their pants if anyone so much as asks them a question. Not to mention the fact that all of their anger took place while someone was trying to appologise to them for something that happened the night before. But I digress. There are bars in this world that far outstripe the Ranch in terms of down right dirtiness. The L&L on Clark, The old Fireside Bar, Timbers, are just a few that come immediately to mind. It would appear, then that the only thing the Ranch is really the best at is banning people for life...oh, and calling the police because they can't handle their shit.

That being said I would like all of you to sit right back and enjoy a tale of four young brothers you know so well...

Basically this is all silly, but I will relate it to you anyway. This Saturday last a group of us decided to go out and tie one on. There is nothing really out of the ordinary where that is concerned. However, because of some of the actions of last Friday night there was going to be a row.

Apparently, a young friend who shall remain nameless tried to leave the above-mentioned bar with a whiskey-coke zipped up in his jacket pocket. The proprieters were understandably angry about this, as is their right. (among the other things the young man did the proceeding night- 1. While running down the middle of the street is pulled over by police. Rather than halting he "pulls over" to the curb before the police can talk to him.) Anyway, so far there should be no problem, right?

So everybody goes to the Ranch, there is no problem at the door, or what have you. Everyone cointinues the merriment and purchases their drink. It is only AFTER everyone has paid their money and is drinking that the bouncer decides that he recognizes my friend from the night before and wants him to leave the bar. Okay, if you are pissed, that is fine, but don't let us all come in and spend our money if you are going to be a dick about letting one of our group in. That is shady. (Not that there is much about the Ranch that ISN'T shady at this point...)

So, whatever. We all finish our beer while he leaves with the bouncer. Once outside our young friend is trying to appologise to a man who is--in some unclear way--associated with the bar. Yadda yadda yadda, the young man can't remember even being at the Ranch the night before, so we start to ask questions about why he is being asked to leave, etc.

One thing leads to another and the bouncer and manager dude(?) strike their tough-guy poses, thus eliciting laughter and derision from the assembled group. Mind you, we are now outside on the public fact we were actually in front of the establisment next door to the bar. None the less, rather than just letting us be on our own outside the proprieters decide to call the police. Not wanting that we decide to move on our merry way to another bar. Evidently not satisfied with this the manager(?) dude(?) decides it is his civic duty to follow us down the street commenting on how much trouble we are in. Keep in mind that three of the four in the group were not even asked to leave the bar, we left of our free will. But whatever, he begins making fun of us, poking fun at clothes, etc. and we just continue to laugh at him.

I think the peak came when this little guy followed us into ANOTHER BAR. I decided that he had overstepped the bounds of decency and stopped to talk to him. He walked into me and bounced backwards...decides to shove me for that and asks if I'm "getting tough". I gently reminded him that I was standing still when he walked into me AND that we are now three blocks away inside another bar, and he backed off. So johnny tattletale decides he cannot let this go, even though the cops never showed up at the Ranch, so he runs out to main street and flags down a passing police car and "tells on us". Whatever, we laugh it off, the cops laugh it off, and the two employees from the ranch are still douche bags. That's life. Long story short...or shortER, we're not allowed to go back to this bar. And that's fine.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "There's nothing worse than being in a crowded room and feeling all alone." - The Impossibles.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

What up, Dawg!?

Well gang, fall has...sprung? That's not the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. Autumn is my favorite time of year, by far. The leaves are changing/falling, it's raining, and it's about time to find that someone to cuddle up with for the long winter. Not to mention the fact that you should probably be putting on those few extra pounds for the season so that you can face those harsh Midwestern winters. That means plenty of Pizza and Ice Cream.

Of course, that is not true. I am in the process of trying to lose 45 lbs. by Christmas. An unrealistic goal, I know, but the fact is what's the point of setting goals if the target is too low. There would be no sense of achievement. Okay, I have to go to class right now. I just wanted to let everyone know that I think everything is awesome right now and I hope you all feel the same. Word.

-A.R. Leith

Quote- "I'm not coming back. I'm over feeling sorry, so just deal with it. Find comfort in yourself, and know that what you have's not what you are." - Midtown

Saturday, September 17, 2005

If There Were Any Justice in the World at All, There Would Be a God-damn 7-11 Around When I Want a Slurpee.

That is all.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Lately I've been feeling dead inside; like my guts have dried up and died. But every night, I water them back to life."- Alkaline Trio

Friday, September 16, 2005

Dumber than a Bag of Dicks

Lately a lot of things have come to my attention that are both figuratively and literally "dumber than a bag of dicks". And I will talk about them at length, but first:

I would like to give big ups to the wonderful young lady who introduced me to the above-mentioned phrase. It never ceases to make me laugh, either for the people/situations it describes or the mental imagery it offers. So, thanks, El Dub. Both for the quote, and just for being you.

Alright, this one is probably going to get lengthy, because I haven't typed in a while, I have a morning to kill, and I am trying not to turn on the television. So get out your spectacles kids!

Number One- Picking your fights. (There is some saying about picking your friend's noses that I think might apply here, but probably not.) Personally, I think there are a lot of kids who are upset about the wrong kinds of things on my college campus. There is a local resort for skiing, known as Wolf Creek. At present there is a plan on the table for said ski area to be expanded into a sort of destination resort for the rich and famous. There is a coalition of locals who have come out against this project. That's just fine, I get it, right now Wolfie is a small ski area with great terrain that is very "local-oriented" and it has its charm. What I don't understand is why it takes some impingement on their valued free time activity to motivate the young people today to be upset about irresponsible civic expansion in the region.

Let's face it, Durango is a bit of a dump. For all the money being poured into development in the area there is a lot of shitty real estate that is going un-improved. If I were to be mad about anything involving development I would show a little outrage at the fact that there are many houses--particularly on the south side of downtown--that are barely fit for human habitation. However, because knocking down these homes to make way for newer affordable housing is less profitable for builders they would rather just raze previously untouched tracks of land and throw up a quickie development. (I'm not even going to get started on the quality of construction in the region right now...) Fuck these builders. For a town that claims to love the wilderness there sure isn't much resistance to destroying it. Alls I'm saying is that concentrated urban renewal seems more responsible than outward expansion. On the other hand the people here love the wilderness and seem to hate each other, and can't stand being close to other people. So it's a dilemma.

One solution that I like, and I think might have a chance, is for the college to buy up houses in town and use them for housing for upper level students. Word on the street is that Fort Lewis has plenty of money for acquisition and building, just not a lot for upkeep. Maybe the bulk of students throwing some rent their way would help out both the city and the school. I don't know.

Number Two- I went to see that movie, The Aristocrats, last night. There was very little actually funny about the whole thing. Oh, there was a lot of laughing, but it was more that nervous laughter when someone says something so horrible you cannot help but laugh, otherwise you might throw up a little bit in your mouth. There were three things that I found genuinely funny in the movie, though. 1. When Eric Cartman was telling the joke and enumerating the participants he used his fingers, which I found amusing because he was wearing mittens. It didn't make a lot of sense, but was cute. 2. An aging Eric Idle wondering aloud why the joke works at all in America, because there are no Aristocrats in the U.S. First of all, BURN. Second of all, it's kind of true because many Americans are dumber than bags of dicks and probably only like the joke because it has dirty words in it. 3. There was some discussion about how the sexual and scatalogical content of the joke just do not cut it anymore, so in order to continue to shock the audience new and horrible references must be included. So, to my mind, the funniest thing said in the movie was when Taylor Negron reminded us that we should not forget the terrible events of January 3rd...when he left his Visa card at the Four Seasons. It was refreshingly funny amongst the filth.

Number Three- I have started reading again. Time consuming, I know, but it also means that there will be a lot of stuff for YOU, dear reader, to process here once I have processed it in my little head. So, I read this morning that there is a not-so-new problem facing the city of Chicago. Apparently the Chicago Housing Authority (CHA)--when they are not too busy worrying about people's back porches--is systematically eliminating low-income houses with no positive change for the former residents. The interesting question, I think, that is raised by this is the fact that these people are being moved out of segregated communities into other segregated communities or neighborhoods. Now, it's no secret that Chicago is one of the most segregated cities in the U.S., but what is the alternative. I haven't yet come down on either side of this issue yet, because there are pros and cons both ways.

Of course, you could continue business as usual, sweeping the problem under the rug and turning a blind eye to poverty and blight. OR, you could relocate these people by interspersing them into established communities. There are problems either way. In the former case chances for advancement remain limited, schooling is sub-par, and only the scenery changes. However, there is safety and comfort in groups. If the people of the low-income areas were moved into random houses and apartments around the city would their lot be any better? Should the CHA be responsible should their new neighbors treat them badly? Would the simple act of the move really offer any chance at betterment, or would it accentuate the problem? Like I say, I am not making any statements one way or the other, just sort of thinking out loud about the situation. If I am going to someday save the world these are the problems I will need to have figured out, right?

Number Four- Evidently in Columbia the Coca Cola company is implicitly involved in the terrorization, intimidation, and sometimes assassination of attempted unionizers by paramilitary groups. This has prompted several colleges and universities here in the States to boycott Coca Cola on the campus. Not that the kids should be drinking that much soda anyway--it's not good for you...Rots the teeth. I don't really know how to feel about this. These sort of tactics certainly don't seem to be limited to the soda (or "pop", if you prefer) bottling industry. And overall it presents a problem for my overall ideology on globalization. Namely that I think economic expansion is just fine, and will be kept in check if the people of developing nations stand up for themselves and do not work for cheap wages. That way companies can expand their markets and improve profits without abusing human rights. The introduction of force and coercion into the situation kind of puts a kink in my theory. It is kind of a Catch 22. As the book says, "Catch 22 means that they can do whatever we cannot stop them from doing."

I also think that arbitrary growth rates set by corporations are unrealistic and greedy. Making a good product at a decent price while treating your employees well seems much more beneficial to society as a whole to me. But what to I know, I study English which is basically another way for saying that I am in a very expensive book club. I guess I just want everyone to be happy for a while before they inevitably shuffle off the mortal coil. I think the re-introduction of the middle-class to the wild would allow a lot more people to be happy without amassing so much shit that just goes to waste in the end.

Finally- Whatever the case may be, I think I may be an idealist, but I am also a realist. I am also a "happy-go-lucky-misanthrope". I might also be a socialist. I just want everyone to get-on and have a good time of it. With that in mind I have to allow myself every day, in every way, to be keen to give-'er. Things can get pretty muddled pretty quickly, you just have to make the best of it and not be afraid to draw some lines.

Okay, enough moralizing...especially from a kid who's barely holding it together lately, right? I'll let you go, but still send me any topic ideas you want me to write on. I like to hear, and hopefully offer some different views on the world...

-A.R. Leith

Quote- "Andy, you have a very tenuous grasp on reality." -My dear Ma

Tuesday, September 13, 2005


I don't really think I have anything worth writing about lately.

If anyone has anything they want to hear opined or griped about, you just let me know. Depending on how interested I am we could have another volume on a very insignificant subject. Just try me. I love to express my opinion about anything and everything. Even if said opinion is needlessly strict or angry. I think it's just fun. Go.

-A.R. Leith

Monday, September 05, 2005

Ten and Two

During my overwhelming course load this morning (remedial math from 8-8:55) I had a moment. Not the sort of shared moment that one has when they realize they are looking into the eyes of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with for the first time, but rather the type of epiphany that makes sense and order out of some belief or behavior with roots in our childhood.

The instructor of my class was likening the fundamentals of Algebra to that time in a young person's life when they are just learning to operate a motor vehicle. The idea being that going slowly and with caution in the very beginning would, indeed, be germane. While that may be true for mathematics it made my brain race backwards to the actual time when I was learning to drive.

I tend to get, well, frustrated with a lot of people who are on the road at the same time as me. When I am back home I hardly have any instances of this frustration. While there is a vast difference in the way that people drive between Chicago and Durango my anger with the situation did not really make any sense until this morning. I know full well that the pace of life in general in Durango is much slower than a lot of other cities and towns, that is a given. How else would you be able to justify everyone's acceptance of a nearly non-existent public transportation system? People here just don't seem to need, or want, to be anywhere in a hurry. And that is fine. That is mountain life and it is why many people have moved here in the first place. (My one exception to this forgiveness is when people feel that this means that their word--eg. saying you will be somewhere and not showing up, or showing up late--does not mean what it should. There is never any excuse for being inconsiderate or impolite, no matter how 'relaxed' the town you live in is.)

So why, then, do I become so anxious behind the wheel when I have to drive in the state of Colorado? I'll tell you why. It is because of my first day in driver's education class. (By the way, I am pretty sure that they do not teach parallel parking in Colorado's drivers ed.) My first time behind the wheel of a car was sometime in the fall of 1994 I believe. I was the first one in my group of three to get out on the roadways, and as I turned the Toyota Corolla onto southbound Willow Springs Road the 'behind the wheel' instructors first words of advice to me as a young driver were, "You'd better pick it up. People will not like you if you drive too slow."

"People will not like you if you drive too slow." What kind of psychology does that give a youngster? Am I to understand that my social standing will be hindered if I do not keep pace with the other cars on the road? As a sidebar, anyone not familiar with driving in Chicago--and probably any other large metropolitan area--should probably be aware that on the highway there 20 miles per hour over the speed limit is pretty much standard procedure for everyday driving. It is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It is because of this driving history that any posted speed limit seems to me about right for the minimum speed to be driven. This is why I am often baffled and angered by people who lolligag around town going several miles below the posted speed limit while I, a very busy person with things to do and people to see, am stuck behind them because passing lanes are limited and oncoming traffic also seems not to care about my schedule. Also, as young drivers we had it on good authority (somebody's uncle or father or something) that the police in Chicago were not going to pull you over if you were only going 10mph over the limit, because the fine was small, and therefore a waste of time and paperwork. I just thought it was odd this all flashed into my head during math. That's all.

It is worth noting that if you drive in the Pacific Northwest you will feel like a wanted criminal if you drive just the speed limit. Those people evidently don't have much going on in their days and see no problem with routinely traveling at ten mph below the posted limits on the highway, God bless them.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "When you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you."- Louis Prima

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Education Schmeducation

I've been told, yet again, that I do not 'blog' enough. I don't know what to say other than, sorry. I'm not made of time, you know. Sometimes I have to sleep and stuff.


The other day I was playing tennis against my roommate at one of the local tennis facilities. (Where better to play, right?) On the next court over there was a young acquaintance of my roommate and they conversed briefly. Now, this young man was playing with two young women. I shall not speculate as to their relationship, other than to say that they may have been brother and sisters or similar. That is not the point. Not the point at all...

These young people spoke very properly. In this day and age it is rare to hear a young person speaking properly. That is why it took me only two guesses to discover how they came to be so well spoken. My first question, obviously, was whether or not this threesome had immigrated from Canada. It's a logical question, I think. Aside from the "Ehs", the "Oots" and "Aboots" Canadians are generally well disciplined speakers. Much more so than American English speakers who have somehow found it in their hearts to include words like "ain't" in the dictionary even though it is a wholly bastardized version of the words are and not or is and not. Frankly, it doesn't even really make sense as a word. But god bless the American soft-hearts who could no less turn out the lowly "ain't" than they could find it in themselves to throttle a three legged puppy.

They were not, and continue not to be, from Canada.

My second guess as to their diction was home schooling. Spot on. I was so right that I might have given myself an elevated hand-slap if that were at all an acceptable social practice. The simple fact that this guess was correct says a lot about the modern school system here in America. You may rant all you want about underfunding of schools and whatnot, but the simple fact is that if a kid cannot cut it they should not pass a grade. People should never graduate grade school--let alone high school--without a working knowledge of the world around them. That includes mathematics, language, science, etc. It is not like most jobs that people end up with these days really require much else from you than showing up and sitting still for a predetermined amount of time anyway. (I actually think that the requirement of a college degree for so many jobs these days is more a form of classist discrimination against those who are self taught or cannot afford higher education than it is a necessity to perform the duties required of the position. But that is a topic for a time when I am able to write more.)

At any rate, I feel that schools in America have lowered the target so low that it is impossible to miss the mark. In fact, there is no way I should have graduated high school with the effort I put into my work. Schools are more diploma mills than houses of serious education these days, and that is disheartening.

Okay, that's it for tonight. I have more homework to attend to.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Only wimps cannot handle broken hearts."- Piebald

P.S.- The blog spell-check wanted me to replace the word 'classist' with the word 'classiest'. I thought that was kind of funny.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Evidently in my last blog what I said was not exactly "'nuff".

Tore, would indicate that something had been rent asunder. Made unwhole.

Taint, on the other hand is the area of the human body that resides between the anus and the gender specific equipment--either vagina or the cock and bawls. Sometimes it is referred to as "
the gooch" but that makes me think of the bully on Different Strokes, and that is not a pleasant thought.

At any rate, the other day I was walking at work and felt a good deal of discomfort in my general taint area and am now concerned that there may be some tearing in that region. That is really all anyone needs to know about the goings on in that space, other than to remember to keep yours talc-ed when the hot weather comes can be a lifesaver.


-A.R. Leith

Monday, August 22, 2005


I think I tore my taint at work.

Nuff said.

-A.R. Leith

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Fatalist View of Professional Baseball

Tonight I watched the Cardinals of Saint Louis take on the Cubs of Chicago in a professional baseball competition. The Cubs won, by the way, but that is bound to happen once in a while when you enter in as many sports contests as they do each year. At any rate, my mother was wondering during the game how they were able to get the balls and strikes on the scoreboard so quickly. Although, I suppose this all bears some explaining...

The Cubbies are an oldey-timey ball club with an oldey-timey stadium (it was built in 1918 or somesuch). The scoreboard is likewise long in the tooth and still manually operated. There are guys inside who change the numbers and all the intricate business that this involves. Speaking of- to be the man inside the scoreboard is my new dream job.

Okay, back to the story. So when a pitch is made in Wrigley it is rare that you have a chance to look up to the board before the balls and strikes have changed. It is like magic. So my mother sez to me she sez,
"How do they change the numbers so fast? It hardly seems there is time between the pitch and the numbers changing on the board." To which I replied, "They have a script."

It got me thinking about fatalism. But then I decided not to. It is boring and kind of depressing. I mean doesn't it seem like there isn't really a point if everything we do is predestined on some level? You could try to fight it, but even that would have been on your slate from the start. There is no getting around it. Even the balls, strikes, hits, walks, and outs in a baseball game. What would be the point if someone somewhere knows what will happen...has actually laid out every thing that will happen throughout your existence. I just think it might be best not to think about it is all.

Plus, if the whole scoreboard job doesn't work out somehow I think I might become a 'talent scout' for them girls gone wild picture-shows they advertise on the television.

Speaking of, I would like to let slip here on this blog that Wrigley Field is the best looking ballpark ever. Of course, this is because of all the stadium features that are now part of baseball lore. The ivy, the scoreboard, Harry Carey, yadda yadda... But more importantly the fans at this particular ballpark are a good looking bunch. In a summer when I have gone to three ballparks and watched many many games on the TV there is no crowd as attractive as the one to be found in the Friendly Confines. Seattle had nothing but a bunch of underprivileged kids or some shit like that and fat people. I'm not even going to get started on the people at the minor league park I went to. And when they show fan shots at other parks on the television there seem to be a lot of dudes and heffers. Oh, I'm sure they all have wonderful personalities and contribute positively to society, but c'mon. When I go to Wrigley I really feel like I'm dragging down the average looks-wise. 3/4 of the crowd are good looking twentysomethings and it makes going to the ballpark so much more enjoyable. Especially when they dress well.

Okay, I'm sleepy. Screw all of you. I hope someone is actually reading this shit.

-A.R. Leith

"You tell me that my problem is thinking...I can chase it away with a problem like drinking."- The lawrence arms

Friday, August 05, 2005

The world according to Leith

Arguably, there is something soothing in the idea of knowing how you are going to die. If not the actual method of your own demise, at leas the manner in which you would like the days immediately following to proceed.

I was lying in bed this afternoon, ironically reading the epilogue of a very good novel that dealt heavily with death, when the the wafting sounds of Amazing Grace being played on the bagpipes. Whenever I envision my own funeral (which is more often than it probably should be) I imagine good times and bagpipes. Not good times in the sense that there will be no sadness, but more in tune with a celebration of life-well-lived than a lamentation of what could have been. I always, ALWAYS, imagine there to be bagpipes, and a rousing good time of an afterparty. Of course, this is all speculation; or should be.

The problem that I run into is that when envisioning my own funeral it is almost always in the near future. I have never thought of it as being something that happens when I am very old, and where most of the people I know who would attend are very old. In and of itself this doesn't bother me too much, mostly because I have trouble imagining what the future will be like, and have all my life. It's not just the distant future that I have trouble picturing, but the immediate future as well. Perhaps that is also at the root of my trouble with financial planning and that lot. Who knows.

Recently I have been told by a professor that she had a previous vision of many of the events in her life. So, should I simply ignore my current visions of having a memorial service peopled with young, fresh, grieving faces; or should I take heed and maybe prepare myself to shuffle off the mortal coil a little earlier than some others? The truth is that I just don't know. This topic is linked, in a way, to another problem that I am facing in life, right now.

I want to be a writer. Whether or not it shows here I believe that I could be a good writer--with the proper editing. The problem, it would seem, is that I just don't really have anything to write about. I lack experience. The kind of life experience that makes for the stuff of great books. Somehow I need to get out into the world and start living, so that I can have something to write about...In order to provide for the family that I hope to one day have. But here's the rub: I feel stuck in a rut. To me, there is no foreseeable way out of the cycle of working, paying bills, and generally trying to survive. I have considered squatting, which would probably give me something to write about, but it does not jell with my sense of working for a living. I guess the only way I can think about it right now is to find a sugar momma, or some sort of benefactor, who will suport me in adventures to travel around so that I will have something to write about. Other than that I suppose I just have to get my ass out there and try to find stuff to write about. I suppose I could write novels, because you can just make those up and loosely base them on real life. Maybe I'll work on having one of those out by the time I'm 30. I mean, it worked for that King guy. He wrote lots of books.

-A.R. Leith

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Not Necessarily the News

I don't know if I have written about this before, but I am going to write about it now.

I have just finished watching the local NBC news and am confused and dismayed. What is offered these days to the viewing public as news is little more than the unfortunate events that have occurred in someone else's life.

The lineup of 'stories' for this evening's program were: Minivan struck by truck running red light- two dead, minivan strikes pole while driving- three killed, car spins out on toll-road- one girl ejected; drowns, new building rivals Trump's project on lake-front, and Atkins company files for bankruptcy protection.

My problem with the 'news' is that the first three stories really do not relate to anything in my life. I feel that there is some sort of perverse voyeurism at work in modern America. What possible benefit will I earn from hearing the sordid and tragic goings on of strangers lives? To me it is mere common sense to be careful when out in the world. Is there some sort of moral to be learned from these tales of woe? Obviously, if the man in the pickup-truck was some sort of crazed-serial-red-light-runner and was part of a society of such people there would be something newsworthy in the tale. As it is, however, I do not think he set out today with the goal of t-boning a minivan full of people returning from holiday. But thanks to the fine people at channel five he has now been made a shining example of something we all know we are not supposed to do. Don't run a red light, duh, got it. Mistakes were made, true, but rehashing again and again things that we have all pretty much agreed upon as rules for a polite society is not going to get us anywhere.

My anger was furthered later in the broadcast when there were two stories (about the new lakefront tower and the Atkins bankruptcy) that I would have liked to know the five Ws about. Where, exactly, was this tower going to be built? In the picture it looks to be taller than the Sears Tower, is that the case? What will it be used for? Strictly residential, or mixed use properties? How and why did the Atkins company come to this financial crisis? Has it been coming for a long time, or was it sudden?

Perhaps I have a more insatiable thirst for knowledge than most--I am, after all, on the defending championship Snowdown trivia team--but mostly I think that the people on the television news are lazy. I long to have been born in a past generation when there was no television, or at least very little. Newspaper reporters, at least in the old days, got out there and investigated the stories that they were going to write, got the facts, and put it out there for the world to read. If you just wanted to get the basic idea of a story you could read the first few paragraphs and be sated. However, if you wanted to know more you need only read further and most of your questions would be answered.

As a lit major I may have over romanticised the role of written language in our world, but the signs are everywhere that it is dying. There have been books written on the subject...books that, sadly and paradoxically, will probably not be read by the people who need to read them. I think I just long, overall, to be part of a different time. Let me explain:

Between reading the early chapters of The World According to Garp and the fashions in the new J. Crew catalog (who I am loathe to report do not produce a big and tall men's line) I can't help but think that I might have been happier growing up during the late 40s to early 60s in prep-school New England. It could just be part of a whole 'grass is greener' business, but whatever it is the appeal is intense. There is something that seems cleaner--more simple--about that time. Not to mention the style of dress was awesome in that era. Who knows. As usual I'm probably just weird...or eccentric as some have called it. Personally I think it's endearing and it should make each and every one of you love me all the more. Ha!

-A.R. Leith

"I have a message, save your generation...from killing eachother, by sleeping in."- Jawbreaker

Thursday, July 28, 2005

thursday night is the new friday night...

Okay, first of all, I am a little bit tipsy. But that is to be expected, because thrusday is the new friday. Tonight I saw one of the most amazing live performances of my life. This will be short and sweet. I just wanted everyone to know that if they ever get the chance to see Lord Mike's dirty calypsonians they should absolutely leap at the opportunity. In addition to there being an amazing live show there were several things better. First, I may have been ruined forever by a calypso dancer. Something about the cute face and the her dancing had me in a trance. Other than that the entirety of the show was spent with two cute girls who were lots of fun to drink and dance with. So all in all the show was amazing. Plus, cake was served. If you can beat that I'll assert that your pants may be on fire. Okay, that's all for tonight. Later kids.

-A.R. Leith

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

I love Tasha!

I don't know what else to say. I just plain love her. She is cute, and friendly, and has great teats. Two rows of magnificent teats. Now, if she would just stop shitting the floor we might have something.

Oh, wait. I DO know what to say! Some of you clowns only see fit to comment on my posts when I'm not writing enough of them down for your pleasure... What's up with that? When I ask for a little response I get nothing. That's pretty fucked up. But whatever, I just wanted everyone to know that I am not some sort of "trick pony" that you can get to do "tricks" or wear a "pony suit". But I will continue, because I like to write, and I have recently learned how to read, so I want to try it all out together. Yay!

Okay, as it has been a while since I've written anything here this could get pretty long. I will, therefore, break it down into little bitty bits for more fun and easy reading. Ready? Go!

One- There has been an alarming trend lately in the footwear industry--led by the folks over there at 'sketchers'--towards making every pair of sneakers on the market look like bicycle shoes. I've seen the ads on the television and, quite frankly, I am disturbed. There was once a time when shoes made for athletics were of some substance. (Actually, there was a time not too long before the time just mentioned when all athletic shoes were converse all stars, but we'll talk about that in a minute.) The advent of the modern 'dress sneaker' is distressing because of its tendency to make dressing down more socially acceptable. Nobody wears dress shoes anymore. Okay, that's not true; only women who care about how they look and businessmen wear dress shoes anymore. The only real problem I have with this is that it leads to people and events becoming less important-seeming. Nothing has much weight to it anymore, and that is sad. Plus, practically NOBODY--with the exception of some attractive mothers in cropped trousers--looks good in these shoes. They just seem odd-looking to me. Maybe it's the velcro, or whatever, but they just don't look like adult shoes. Not to mention how fem they make most men look. But that is a story for another day.

Two- Because we are discussing shoes and I have just been to the Warped Tour (never again, by the way) I would like to talk about punk-rock shoes. I would assume that, with the purchase of converse by the ubiquitous Nike corporation, that many of the punk-rock kids will have to switch over to the only other old school classic, the Vans Old Skools. However, kids who are concerned enough with the way they look, being into punk or not, will probably be pretty slow on the uptake and not know that their favorite everyday canvas shoe company is not owned by the darling of sweatshop globalization Nike. Fact is, no matter how much of a difference I used to think there was between the punkers and the 'regular' kids it's just not true. I can't say for sure if it ever was true, but I am inclined to think right now that it is not. Just because the look is 'different' does not mean that these kids care any less about the image they are projecting. So, it would seem that kids everywhere are just trying to find an identity, and that's fine, so long as you do it well. It is downright healthy, I think. Although it was said of me lately that I am dress very preppy. I am fine with that. I like the preppy look. I am disgusted, though, by the kids on that MTV show, 'My Super Sweet Sixteen'. They are far too materialistic, but I suppose must be excused because their behavior can be chalked up to capricious youth.

Three- It has been raining like a mofo here in Chicago for the last two days and I could not be happier about it. Not only do we need the moisture, but the change of weather is a blessing as well. In fact, one of the reasons for my decision to summer in the Windy City was because of the more variable climate. I was just in the Pacific Northwest and was severely let down to have nothing but clear blue skies for a week and a half. If I wanted that kind of weather I would have stayed in Durango. But here in the middle west we have had a banner week. We've gone from 102 and 103 degrees with 70% humidity over the weekend to torrential downpours on monday and tuesday. It truly is exhilarating and invigorating.

Four- For anybody who cares, I have decided today that I will be leaving Chicago on the 15th or 16th of August to return to a little mountain hamlet called Durango. I will be glad to be back, to say the least. I look forward to the slower pace of life and hopefully having a real job again. Kind of.

Okay, I'm tired of typing for now and will retire to my sleeping chamber. You should all hear back from me soon. Laters.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "You can sit next to me; we can talk or just kiss. You can rub my palm and say 'better than this.'"- The Lawrence Arms

Monday, July 04, 2005

Oblivion and Charlie Brown

There are Irish people in Chicago. Yep. No two ways about it. The Swedes settled Minneapolis (and as any drunken business traveler lounging at DIA can tell you--whether you want to hear it or not-- that is why so many there are so many good looking young women in that area), the Germans Milwaukee, and the Irish, Poles, and many Latins ended up in Chicago. However, my focus and my main purpose right now is to discuss the Irish.

Charlie Brown would lament by saying "Oh, good grief" where his little red headed girl is concerned. They are everywhere here, and soooo cute. Oblivion wrote a song about Charlie's crush on the little red headed girl, and it's a good one--and I know what they are singing about. Everywhere I look these days there is some pale girl with shockingly orange hair that I have trouble looking away from. I don't know what it is, but there is something captivating about redheads. I don't know if it is the fact that you know, somewhere deep down, that they are absolutely batshit-crazy, or if it's just because they are different from the majority. And I know, I is wrong for me to even think about. Just think of the sickeningly pasty children such a union would produce. They would have to wear specially made suits to go out in the sun lest they burst into flames from exposure. I would not want to wish that on anybody, but still, I have a staring problem when it comes to a cute redhead, and it would seem there is nothing I can do about it.

On the subject of breeding--I think I should marry a petite, dark skinned, dark eyed, dark haired woman to try and counteract the genetics I will be contributing to the mix. I think it would be the only responsible course of know, for the kids. Just think about it.

Sorry for doubling up on the posts today, but stuff is on my mind. Before I go I would like to shout-out (kids are still shouting-out, right?) to the folks at Nissan for putting skiers--rather than snowboarders--in their most recent ad for how Xtreme their Xterra SUV is. (Ha ha, Morgan, Xtreme!) Skiing is making a comeback...we hope. Okay, laters.

-A.R. Leith

p.s.- I think it is hilarious that Fall Out Boy named a song, "Tell that mick he just made my list of things to do today." I'm pretty sure it's a quote from something, but funnier out of context. Then again, I also think it's effin hilarious that the Dillinger Four named a song "Honey, I shit the hot-tub." So take all of this for what it's worth, right? (And last but not least, the word "effin"--see two sentences ago--is awesome because it reminds me of the beleaguered and flightless Puffin. I want a pet Puffin.)

Liar, Liar...

The question has been posed, "What does one young mand need with so many pairs of shoes?"

The answer, it would seem, is that those shoes do not go with these pants. There is a problem of leg opening, coupled with breakage and overall length, that makes it necessary for different styles and sizes of shoes to be purchased in order that a pair of pants is properly accentuated. If all of these ideas are observed and, indeed, followed the result should be the maximum flattery for the wearer. Everyone wants to look good in their trousers. Anyone who says that they have no such desire is a liar; whose pants are probably in danger of catching on fire anyway.

While we are on the subject: in the event of a pants related fire I would strongly suggest against this dirty "rolling-around-on-the-ground" business that your Average-Joe-Fireman would tout. Instead the steps to be followed are: 1) Have a little chat with yourself. Ask, "how much does this really hurt?" Does the prospect of the pain--or the cessation of the pain--warrant getting dirty? If the answer is "yes" go directly to the last step. 2) Attempt to find some sort of non-flammable liquid with which to douse your trousers. Ideally, you could actually find a fire extinguisher that would work nicely (as its name would predict). 3) If no such liquid or foam retardant is not readily available, or forthcoming in the foreseeable future, you should quickly remove your pants. The reasons for this bold move are threefold a. this will help limit damage to your epidermis... b. "You can learn a lot by taking your pants off." c. "If you don't take your pants off, you'll never know if she wants to take her pants off..." 4) If all else fails I suppose it would be wise to give in to the business of mucking about on the ground to put the fire out, but you might want to explore some other avenues on your own first.

I know all of this information is truly thrilling and worthwhile to you, and that is why I write it here. However, the real reason I signed in today was to tell you all about something that happened a couple of nights ago. After having consumed a good deal of malt liquor I awoke to find myself in the bed of a hefty stranger. Anyway, long story short; I may be a father in the next 8-10 mon... wait a second, that's not the story I was going to tell. That's not even a very good story at all. Nobody wants to hear about that.

Two nights ago I attended a rock 'n' roll show at Bottom Lounge here in Chicago, IL. Alright, so three of the five bands were pretty miserable. The other two were FUCKING AMAZING. (If I knew how to underline things on this infernal machine, I would have done that too) I was taken back to a time when you could watch an entire set by a band and just be blown away by the music, the stage presence, the crowd response...everything.

I don't know if anybody who reads this blog is now, or ever was, into pop-punk, but it has been so long since I saw a good show of that variety that I had to search my memory long and hard, and only came up with two truly good examples. The two that came to mind were Chixdiggit at the Fireside Bowl (circa 2000/2001), and The Queers, Mr. T. Experience, and John Cougar Concentration Camp (a year or two earlier). To see pop-punk at its finest is to be faced with a wall of sound coming from a band who loves the music, and loves to entertain. (To clarify, we are not talking about your Blink 182, Simple Plan, Yellowcard variety punky-corporate-pop, no, we're talking about the Ramones-style snotty-gritty-three-chord-pop-punk.) The two bands that rocked the Hizze the other night were Teenage Bottlerocket (members of the Lillingtons) and The Methadones (members of Screeching Weasel, Squirtgun, The Queers).

When Teenage Bottlerocket opened up the show I was taken back to my High School days. There is something about a four man setup of Bass, Drums, and Two Guitars that just makes things seem faster and louder. It doesn't hurt when the band opens their set with everybody but the drummer standing in the rocker splits at the front of the stage, and just rocking the fuck out. Harmonies and gang vocals abound and the fists are pumping in the crowd. Everyone is as one on the floor and on the stage. A good time was had by all, I can assure you. It was so loud, and so good. It's hard to explain, so all I can say is try and see one of the following bands if you can in the near future and on a stage with a reputable sound man, and you won't be dissapointed:

Screeching Weasel
The Methadones
The Queers
The Mr. T Experience
Teenage Bottlerocket
The Riverdales

That's all I can think of right now that are still around in some form or another, I think. But yeah, no frills, no gimmicks, no bullshit. Just straight forward rock, and a good time.

I believe that is all I feel like writing today. Happy holiday, and remember to try not to fuck things up as much as our predecessors have. Thank you, and goodnight.

-A.R. Leith

Monday, June 27, 2005

Where's the Beef?

There are things about us--about all of us--that cannot be hidden, no matter how hard we try. There is, perhaps, some sort of natural law that provides that deviation from instinctual behavior will end badly. It can be seen in the olde timey motto, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when at first we practice to deceive." And, as luck would have it, that statement always has been, will, and should be true.

I know that I have stated in earlier posts just how important it is to actually pay attention to the world around you on a daily basis; both in the sense that "if you are not outraged, you are not paying attention" and in the sense that you may miss the broader trends and ideas that a myopic attitude would generally tune out. Case in point, there have been a lot of ideas bouncing in my skull (which is surprisingly thick but soft at the same time) lately that would lead one to make broad generalizations which can then be honed into finer--if only more focused--ideas. Deception, fronts, and any other misleading representation of one's self are nearly always misguided and regrettable, and yet seem omnipresent in today's society.

Being an avid people watcher I took lunch in the food court of a shopping mall today. It would seem that summer is upon us, because there was no lack of school age children whiling away their time in the air conditioned comfort of the local mall. A transgression that may be pardoned by the fact that the temperature nearly reached the century mark today here in the lovely suburbs of Chicago. Nonetheless, I was taken by the wide variety of outfits that were being sported in an effort by the masses to be "different". I am an absolute backer of the idea that anyone can wear anything that they want, so long as the clothing is age and body appropriate and pulled off with aplomb. However, I think the lengths being taken by some young people today to prove how unique they are simply looks exhausting. Perhaps it is because I feel that somewhere, deep down in my insides, I feel that there is an 84 year old grouch trying to get out. Or maybe it is my long-standing love of naps, but I just cannot imagine taking all the time to first think up some of these outfits, and then execute the purchase, organization, and dressing necessary to go out in public. I would be remiss if I was to put these people down for their habits. To dismiss them as a lesser person would be perfunctory and unfair seeing as they are quite possibly very nice, intelligent people. My argument is only that people should dress comfortably in styles that can transfer with ease through many social situations, because you never know when hanging-out-with-friends can turn into running-into-friend's-grandparents, who will be polite and tell you that you manner of dress is "unique" or "fun" but will secretly be wondering how your parents could have failed so miserably in your upbringing. Okay, I know this one is pretty much a dead horse, so I'll say only two more quick things about it. 1) When you try too hard for a "look" when dressing yourself, it usually shows. 2) Big ups to my cousin Molly for rockin' the popped-polo-collar and knowing that "if you're going to look good you have to be at least a little bit uncomfortable" is the first rule of fashion. (P.S.- I may not always look good, but I generally THINK I look good, which is often enough.)

The second part of this post is from an amalgamation of four separate things that happened recently, that crystallized in my mind the ideas that will be laid out to you, dear reader, here today. From a conversation at lunch today with a female co-worker, to the casual mention of a recent DVD release, to an article read today while lounging, to an exchange at a smoky basement bar this saturday past the idea of "faking-it" has come to the fore of my mind.

First I will tackle the barrom chat and the magazine article. I am a hairy man. I have come to terms with this. Anyone who has seen me without a shirt on can attest that I'd stand a good chance if lost in the arctic with only a pair of flannel P.J. bottoms. Of course, this is not to say that I'm happy that I am wooly, but rather that I have accepted it. It is part of my life. I didn't ask to get hair everywhere, but it was deemed that it should be so, and here I am. Until recently my prevailing thought on the subject was "ewww, gross", but recent shifts in attitudes--mostly mine--have lead me to think of it in a different light. This follicle situation is not a voluntary position I am in. Were it left up to me it would just disappear. And, of course, there are many ways to see that happen these days, I had to weigh those options against the fact that I shouldn't not have to endure the pain and financial loss necessary to achieve a smooth back simply to look like a pretty boy. I am charming, fun, smart, and witty and if a girl is going to discount me because of some unfortunate hair growth then it is probably best that I recognize that she is not the kind of woman I am in the market for anyway, right? Right. Some might call "sour grapes" on this kind of attitude and that is fine with me. Those are most likely those are the people who have just been spurned due to their own shallowness. That being said, a young woman reached down the back of my shirt and felt my back hair in a bar the other night. Whether she was disgusted or not is unknown to me, because the acted with grace and tact by not freaking out one way or the other. The world needs more people like that. As a final note on this bit here, I'll ask again for comments to be posted here--this time by the ladies only--stating your opinions on back hair, or hair in general, being a dealbreaker. Do not let anything I have said sway you, be honest and open, because life is more fun that way. Thanx.

The other part of being yourself that has me thinking today is the idea of acting differently than you instinctively would in any given situation. Obviously there are exceptions to this idea, such as farting at black-tie affairs, and really anything where manners should come first, but people should also try to represent themselves as true to form as they can in every day life, I think. While dining today with a female co-worker the subject of the behavior of young men came up. In asking my advice it was related that, having insisted upon this young woman taking his phone number he failed to return the ensuing call. I tried to offer advice, but the best I could do was suggest the way that I would find most humorous if accosted by a woman whom I had failed to call back. It occurred to me that this would be the natural response from the kind of girl I find interesting, but it might not be my friends automatic way of handling things. As a clarification, the way I told her to approach the young man was to say "Way to call me back, DICK!", an answer that I would find charming in its roughness, but perhaps would not work on other men. The point being that sometimes suggestions do not offer answers, and that people are better of going with their own true-blue inclinations rather than what others suggest or what they think someone else would expect. Honesty IS the best policy, so DON'T have a different act for different groups of friends or acquaintances but DO know how to handle yourself in myriad social situations--this includes being polite and charming, no matter what.

Okay, I think that's all for now. I'm really sleepy, but everybody should really get back to me on that back-hair thing. I really do want to know, and it is as easy as clicking on the little comment button at the bottom of this post. It won't take a second, and you'll barely feel a thing.

-A.R. Leith

Suggestions for today: If anybody finds themselves with a little spare time and they don't want to spend it helping me apply depillatory cream to my back they should check out these two essays that I have read lately that made me laugh out loud. The first one is by David Sedaris and is (I think) called "Six to Eight Black Men", and the other is by Dave Eggers called "Your Mother and I". Both are good, and funny, so turn off the goddamn TV for an hour and read something. Thank you, and goodnight.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

There is no way I am having "Sponge Bob" in the house of GOD!

Did you ever notice how sometimes life seems just a little bit brighter on mornings when you are hung-over? Some of the brightness is for more obvious reasons, like you forgot your sunglasses, and there is a giant ball of burning gas hanging in the sky, intent on doing you harm in a variety of ways. But there are other, more subtle, sorts of fun that come as pleasant surprises when your brain takes a little time for itself, and these will be enumerated here:

1. I woke up this a living room...on a couch...with a cute girl on the adjacent loveseat. I am in no way intoning that anything "sordid" happened between this lovely young lady and me, but rather stating that it is always nice to wake up in the same room with attractive people. Simple as that. It is especially helpful when you have recently consumed large quantities of malt liquor. Basically, my brain hurts this morning.

2. As I was gingerly making my way to the red-line this morning I happened upon a father and two small children standing in the doorway to their townhome. Ordinarily this situation would not have been all that amusing, except that the little boy in this family DID NOT want to go to church. He was trying to bring toys with him. A stance that I completely understand, because church is boring. It is like those classes where they have you read every page of the textbook and then lecture directly-out-of-the-textbook. Those classes are not fun. At any rate, the debate culminated with the father beginning to count (Does anybody else remember counting? That used to put the fear in me something fierce when I was a youngster.) and declaring "There is no way I am having 'sponge bob' in the house of god!" Which was made even more amusing by his thick Chicago accent.

3. McMotherfuckingGriddles! (Mike, buddy, you wanna stop?) I had some time to kill in Union Station this morning, and decided to indulge in the bit of bowel-flushing sin that is McDonald's breakfast. Feeling daring and more than a little loopey after my morning stroll in the summer sun I opted for the number nine breakfast...baconeggandcheese McGriddles, hashbrowns, OJ. Now, I have long been opposed to the McGriddles--mostly based on the seemingly arbitrary pluralization--and I figured that if you are going to slander something on a near daily basis you ought to at least "know your enemy" as they say. Needless to say, I feel dirty. Like I might need a long bath and absolution from a priest to get over my morning meal. Fuckingsyrupflavoredminipancakesandwich! Whoever invented this little gem should be stoned. (And not in the "hey man you want to play frisbee" sense, more in the "you have just blasphemed in early C.E. Rome" sense.) Just like I believe that catty women are the reason that a lot of young women hate themselves, and each other--well, that and shallow controlling men, but men like that are douche bags anyway--I similarly believe that McGriddles and their ilk are the reason that so many Americans are grotesquely overweight. I hate fat people. And being one, that takes a good dose of self-loathing to admit, but it's true. It is a lifestyle bred of laziness, that people should not be let off the hook for, being fat is not a disease any more than any other voluntary activity. Generally these activities are the path of least resistance, but that is hooey. That's right, hooey!

4. This is the last one--I promise. Today is gay pride parade day here in the Windy City and, while I didn't go to the parade itself per se, I did get to see some of the people who would be there as they were getting off the train this morning on their way to the festivities. So, it was a parade of sorts for me. I think it is kind of odd that I immensely enjoy watching people celebrate, but rarely enjoy celebrating myself. But it did a lad good to see all the people in full party mode this morning. Although, I don't know that so many people should have been so drunk at 10 in the morning. I think that having to set an alarm to start drinking might be one of the early signs that "you have a problem". Unless, of course, it is the last day of the ski I guess everyone has their "thing".

-A.R. Leith

p.s.- Most "peasant shirts" look like maternity wear on almost all women, so take it easy ladies, I don't care what any of the major labels are doing, it's just a bad idea. But that's just one man's opinion (if you don't count Eric, Suzanne, and some other people, who seem to share the same opinion.) Thank you, and goodnight.

Friday, June 24, 2005

In Addition

Apparently my mother got wind of the subject of today's earlier blog entry and wanted everyone to know that she, too, had a prodigeous day on the procelain. I don't know if people are going to be sad or happy about this. Most likely the emotions will be disgust, apathy, or pity, but whatever. I just want to say that sometimes it is good to go out for the evening with your family and have a good session of coctails. We only went to four bars and one house tonight, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

Also I would like to mention that the temperature has crested the mid-nineties here this week, and I have had to re-incarnate a long lost tradition. Living in the "high desert" and the mountains has lead to a very low moisture lifestyle for me, where lotion is a daily application. However, being in the middle west--with it's infamous humidity--I was forced to talc up this afternoon. It is really a wonderful thing that everyone should try if they are ever faced with humid conditions in their life. It gives everything a much more loose and freewheeling atmosphere, and I think more ladies were checking me out tonight than ever before. Okay, ta ta.

-A.R. Leith

My Buttocks; Supple They Are Not...

Everybody poops. In fact, I think there is even a book by that title. But the fact is that I had to take a deuce this morning. That fact, taken on its own, is no great shakes I assure you. However, I had been a little backed up lately--a situation that I feel contributed to my recent bout of lower back pain. So, here's the recipe that always helps me in this situation:

1- 20oz. Cafe Mocha (double espresso)
2- Packets of instant oatmeal (cooked and stirred)
1- Qt of water
Mix all of these ingredients liberally in your stomach. But be sure you don't have plans for an hour or so afterwards, unless you don't concern yourself with feeling shame when defecating in your trousers. There is a bubbling sensation and everything is ready. Find yourself a sanitary porcelain mount, and go to town. Be sure to have plenty of two-ply, reading material, and a shower ready. Ta-Da!

Okay, that was kind of gross. Wasn't that gross? I think that was gross. I can't believe we just talked about it. Actually, to be fair I can absolutely believe that I typed it, but I cannot believe that YOU read it. What are you, some kind of fecalpheliac?

So, the real reason that I felt like writing today came to me when I was done with all that ugly business. I was attempting to re-assemble my outfit (which is stunning, today, by the way) and my short-pants were not cooperating. I would position them above my backside, and then quickly try to button them at the front. However, gravity and my near complete lack of a glutius conspired against me, to the point that it tood several tries before I was able to fasten the waistband.

My problem was first brought to my attention when I was pounced upon from behind in a dark concert hall by a long-time friend who was able to recognize me because, as she opined, I "have no butt". I don't really think that is a fair assessment, because I certainly have the proper muscles and there is not a simple void where the butt should be. My gluts are just on the smallish side. For this, I blame my parents. Genetics are everything in becoming a well rounded individual with a fabulously think back-side. My parents have given me everything I needed to become the man of the nineties that I am today, save for a luscious money maker. I do not really lament this, but at times it does make it uncomfortable to sit for extended periods.

I think that is all for now, but I will leave you with a list of things to think about:
1. I would make-out with Lisa Bonet (Circa The Cosby Show)
2. Artificial banana flavoring makes my skin crawl. I'm serious, it makes me want to go out and kill at night.
3. When I grow up I want to be a fire truck.
4. I want everyone who reads this to comment with a simple yes, or no, as to whether they would read a book if I wrote it, and somehow got it published. You know, just a collection of essays about everyday life. That would be fun, I think. So, please, comment.
5. Is it wrong that lately I find myself attracted to some women who are a decade my seniors?

-A.R. Leith

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

No Small Wonder?

As the judge would say, "Well, I was able to sit up and take nourishment today, so that's good." That being said I think the way these kids are going today is right down the toidy. I'm serious goddamnit, don't laugh!

Currently I am living on a block where there are no less than 15 kids at or below high school age. Now, in and of itself there is no problem with this--you know how the trends go with swinging age demographics in various neighborhoods--the kids are just fine as living breathing organisms. The first problem is that I am pretty sure that these kids are not getting enough sleep. I sleep...I think it is a well known fact by now that I am a man who enjoys a nap. The problem is that these kids, these lovable skamps, they DO NOT SLEEP! Eight in the morning is evidently time to run around screaming and jumping through sprinklers and whatnot. Then at nine or so I think they give up the auspices of playing and just stand below my bedroom window and yell a lot. You would not believe the vocabulary on these sailors they are. It's Ef this, and GD that. They're adorable, but terribly blasphemous. No one can take the lords name in vein quite like the youngest of the bunch who recently asserted that "with god as his witness" he was going to "fornicate" his older brother "with an iron rod to within an inch of his life." Touching, really.

My only solace is that the catholic gradeschool behind me is out for the summer and the all afternoon kickball games have come to an end. Naptime is safe, for the time being. I'm sure you are all pretty happy about that. I know I am.

Aaaaanyway, on to the reason for this here entry being written-
(Does it bother anyone that I used "this here" to describe the entry being written? Is it too colloquial?) (In addition to that, and recognizing the impropriety of immediately sequential parenthetical side-bars, I just got a whiff of myself and I friggin reek. My underarms have gone somewhere south of fresh, and that is not a happy time. I know nobody should really care about that--except maybe Kristen, for the obvious and previously discussed reasons--but I wanted to put everyone in the same frame of mind that I have been enjoying this morning. Namely, underslept, scared for the future, and a little stinky.) (Oh my, I got really far off track there, didn't I? I'll try harder to stay focused in the next paragraph, I promise.)

Okay, the reason I am scared for the future of america is thus: I turned on the television to some program on the Nickelodeon called "Lazy Town". The reason I titled this entry "No Small Wonder" is because I was feeling nostalgic for the good old days when there was good wholesome programming about families who adopt little girl robots, from whom we could all learn a lesson about innocence, caring, and understanding--and sometimes cheating at little league (but that is neither here nor there). Her name was Vicky, and she wore a little red dress. For many of us she was the first practical proof that Artificial Intelligence was not just some far fetched dream. That Haley Joel Osmet (sp?) is just a johnny-come-lately, and did his best work in a touching movie about senior citizens in their declining years and a pet lion. Back in my day we had Sesame Street, and I'm not talking about this borderline brain damaged Street of the modern era where they try and get kids to eat cheese and veggies by having a bilingual man and a red sock puppet (who by all accounts seems to suffer from adult infantilism). I'm talking about back-in-the-day when we had Guy Smiley, and the Count. The Motherfucking Count! The Count was pretty much the Sam Jackson of our youth and all he did was count things. What a pimp. Although I still feel that the muppets was a superior program. Where else could you find a pig spoofing Star Wars, and Sylvester Stalone singing "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" in duet with a Lion muppet? Nowhere, that's where.

These days the kids are watching some business where plasticised pre-teens (and one real pre-teen) solve problems caused by some subterranean super-villain and their "superhero" friend (who seems to have no super powers other than the ability to jump and do the splits at the same time, and to get super stuck in super stupid situations that the kids have to save him from). Today's lesson is that we--and by "we" I mean the youth today, even though I know this show is not directed at me--can save the day if we use teamwork. They had to save this mustachioed-so-called-Sparticus-super-hero-type because he had become dislodged from his own "super airship". Not since the nineteen forties has anybody thought it a good idea for a person who has designs on saving the day to pilot a zeppelin. Deridgables are not known for their speed, quickness, or maneuverability as a general rule. At any rate, when I turned the show on this character had somehow found himself overboard and was dangling from some sort of landing platform at the bottom of his airship. Luckily the kids were able to save the day by teaming up and using a soccer ball, the mayor, a frisbee, a golf club, and apple, a ping pong paddle, and a baseball bat in a classic frisbee opens box of soccer balls-one of which gets kicked by the mayor-to knock an apple out of a tree-which is chipped to ping pong paddler-who relays the apple to the batter-who hits a long drive to the dangling superhero-who then eats it giving him the energy to climb up and drive home. Seriously, the mayor is the only believable character in this little show. I cannot imagine what the kids are supposed to be learing from this outfit. The first time some kid tries to pass thier friend an apple using either a baseball bat OR a golf club they will learn VERY quickly that the only results this will produce will start with A and rhyme with wapple sauce. And in closing I would like to mention that this show was sponsored by neither a letter nor a number. Although it was thankfully devoid of "monsters" who have become obsessed with baked goods.

-A.R. Leith

p.s.- I would like to leave you all with a bit of christmasy summer advice in the form of a quote: "Deck the halls with drunken folly!"- The Lawrence Arms

Sunday, June 12, 2005


Okay, I had just written a very lengthy, and if I do say so myself entertaining, blog entry that was sure to delight. However, because sometimes technology works against us, like in Jurassic Park, when I went to spell check the popup blocker wouldn't allow it. So I tried a different route. The entry was completely lost. And I'm telling you, this was a REALLY good blog entry. I found myself laughing out loud as I wrote it, so if you feel you have been slighted (and you should) I would suggest writing an angry letter to whoever these clown shoes are the make things more difficult instead of easy. Oh, and also punch whomever decided that "pop-ups" were a good idea right in the kisser. Because without that asshole the "pop-up blocker" whould have even entered into it. Well fuck all...the main idea of the blog that I don't have time to rewrite now, but will get to when I have a chance was that I'm a little concerned that I might be a letcherous pervert, and that Mike and Sadie are lovely people who will undoubtedly have a long and happy life together, so happy day to them, and many more to come. Pisser! (Not to mike and sadie, to computers, bah!)

-A.R. Leith

p.s.- I don't know if this is a fluke, but every time I go to a wedding lately I get the song "not that kind of girlfriend" by the smoking popes stuck in my head. I wish someone would give it a listen and tell me if it is my psyche trying to tell me something. Werd.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

The other side of the coin-

It has been said by many a person that "what you dislike in others is what you dislike in yourself." That being said I think the reason I call "bullshit" on so many people--and the reason I can tell that people are being fake or insincere--is because I myself often feel like I am insincere. I alter my behaviour to be suitable to the situation I am in. I do this because of what I view as a sense of propriety. There is a time and a place for cutting loose and being free, but there is also a time and a place to recognize that you are part of a society with a substructure of guidelines and rules which, if they were ignored all the time, would lead to a sort of chaos. Essentially, I believe in society. I believe in culture, and propriety (even though it doesn't always show.) Understanding that about myself makes me want others around me to know how to behave/act/dress for any situation in life so that it suits the situation, not a persons ability to be an individual. So many people attempt to make themselves "unique" by their outward appearance and spend little to no time making their minds and ideas unique. It's the whole "book by it's cover" thing. If you are truly your own individual it will come through, no matter what you look like on the outside, so might as well dress the part of whatever you are doing, and the singularity of who you are will find a way to shine through. It's as easy as that in my mind, if that is easy at all?

The bottom line is that I was thinking about this in the shower this morning. I could give a fuck what people think about me...deep inside. But what I don't want is people judging me on my appearance, because that keeps them from getting to know me and judging me by who I am. So I dress in the middle "Prep-core" I call the style. But I feel it's accessible. But anyone who gets to "into" one style or lifestyle or another can fornicate themselves with an iron rod, because obsessive behaviour is strange, and kind of creepy. Keep and open mind and an open heart and life will fall into place. Word up.

-A.R. Leith

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

My Prediction... that belts and sashes are going to be all the rage in Wookie fashion this season.

So, I went to the movies tonight. Actually, I went to the movies last night too, but the movie from yesterday doesn't bear mentioning here save for the fact that Iron Mike should possibly have his name mentioned when it comes time to give out statuettes.

No, no, the film experience tonight was something vastly more disappointing and upsetting. I was made to watch Star Trek Three: return of the Je...Sith, or somesuch. My reaction that is reflected here is not going to be about the movie directly--although it was both disappointing AND upsetting--but rather it shall focus on this movie, and the bevy of others like it that have surfaced lately.

What is going on in the world today that we need such rampant escapism in the theaters? Is it because they have run out of solid movie ideas in Hollywood to the point that they are just rehashing old ideas quicker than you can say thelongestyardwaroftheworldsbadnewsbearsandpeterpanwithatwist three times fast? Why all the fantasy, the science fiction, and the longing for days gone by? Is the modern world such a shitty place that we can't bear to face it? Do we need that two hour break from reality so much that any old story will do, no matter how implausible?

The biggest blockbusters of late that come to mind are: the Star Wars saga, The Lord of the Rings epic, and their ilk...including, but not limited to, Harry Potter's franchise, and some upcoming movie about a piece of furniture/dimensional portal. What, exactly, is it that we are trying to get away from? At this point I think we have all considered the fact the the world just might be a shitty place to live. Rather than owning this reality, however, everyone chooses to participate in a good deal of name calling and finger pointing, or just hide from the truth outright. It would seem that people would prefer to be whisked away to a world where the ending is most likely happy, rather than spending any time constructively coming up with a way to try and end poverty, and spread authentic liberty--rather than the liberty given out at gunpoint by heavily armed teenagers, no matter if the people were asking for it.

Take me, for a prime example. I consider myself to be well-rounded, intelligent, and at least a little bit caring. But here I am, complaining about the world (and maybe poking a little fun here and there) rather than getting off my fat ass and doing anything about it. Well that's just great. Great job, dude. But what are you gonna do, really? In a land where people are in over their heads financially just to feel "comfortable" and more than half the population will back a man based on his domestic "values" while his other hand is busy picking at a wound that would heal if left alone. (Now, this may just be me, or does it seem that if we just got our noses out of the middle east they, as a whole would not dislike us as much? I read--or heard, I forget which--somewhere the other day that something like 97% of Iraqis just want the United States to leave them alone. I don't see why we don't give it a try...what's the worst that could happen, a theocracy? That's pretty much what we have in the U.S. right now, so what gives?)

Aaaanyway, most of this came from three hours in a dark theater with a full bladder. Mostly one line in the movie struck me as interesting because I thought it relevant to modern American politics: "So this is how liberty resounding applause." I thought it touching, at least. Okay, that's all for now. Comment with any questions, comments, complaints, etc. Word.

-A.R. Leith

Friday, May 27, 2005

I Woke Up Today

...So, that was nice.

What made it even better was that, when I rolled out of bed (by all accounts the time was nearing eleven), Jerry Springer was on. Now, I know it is just a little thing, but it was nice. The only daytime talk shows we get in the mountains are Montel and some overly sensitive rabble like Ellen, or Tony Danza--who recently attempted suicide using a go-cart...apparently he is twelve.

Of course, we all know that Springer is totally made up, but who cares!? Although, at this point the competition for exposing the dregs of society is getting pretty tight between the former politician from Ohio and the local news. I think if it didn't happen with in my actual neighborhood I don't really need to hear about bad things that happen to other people. Okay, maybe if it happened to a member of my family, but I would hear about that through the proper channels anyway.

The fact is that I do not need to know about the guy in Atlanta perched on a crane. I hope he slips, falls and hurts himself severely, but does not die. He deserves it for wasting my time. In fact I hope he develops a limp that never goes away. Actually, I hope he falls on a news person while he is at it. I just re-read an awesome article by Donna Deliva where she totally went off on reporters, among other things, it is a very good article and can be found in Vice magazine's "Bullshit" issue. Look it up.

I think that is all I really want to write about right now, except to send props out to all the people who have done things around me in the past that have provided me with continuing amusement inside my head while I am physically enduring great deals of boredom or tedium. So, right now, props go out to:

Lindsay, from Shakespeare class, who decided that she was periodically going to have an "AWESOME TIME". I laugh a lot at that in my head.

Chuck Norris for being so dedicated to a super shitty acting career that any mention of the names Chuck, or Norris, leads me to a good chuckle. Thanks.

That's all for now, but as I remember random funny stuff from my head, I will keep putting them here where you have to read them (butsecretlydeepdownyoulikeit).

-A.R. Leith

Quote (And future title of a book I will write): from Jon Stewart's Naked Pictures of Famous People - "P.S. My vagina is a mess."

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Sweet Home Chicago

Okay, this is going to be brief. I just want to run down what's going on in life of late, to kind of catch up so that in the near future I can tackle some other subjects. Werd.

I'm in Chicago for the summer right now, and things are cooler by the lake. That's about all there is to say about that, except that everything is much farther from my house here. I was going through gas like crazy until I realized that my friends houses were sometimes like 30 miles away. In the D town the longest drive I have is the six miles to work once a day. Goddamnit! It's okay though because petrol is way cheaper here. And there is public transportation. So that's nice.

(This next statement has very little to do with the girls I know in durango, because I only associate with attractive people, as a general rule, but...) There are so many fine looking women around here that it's effi'n amazing. Everywhere you turn there seems to be a cute girl. That being said, "There are a million fine looking women in the world, but they won't all bring you lasagna at work." Meaning; it is all well and good to look nice, but there has to be some substance behind the glossy exterior. It is the content that really matters in the end...because we all get pruny and gross and stretched out in weird places as we get older, but what's inside stays the same.

Okay, that's all for now. I'm going to the cubs game tonight, so that should be fun. Talk to you all in the near immediate future.

-A.R. Leith

Quote- "In my perfect world, I'd be assigned a perfect girl. The million kisses." - Jawbreaker

Sunday, May 08, 2005


I have been getting a lot of these "inside the nose" pimples. I don't know if anybody really knows what I'm talking about--or has had the misfortune of actually experiencing one of these gems--but they hurt like the dickens and are virtually impossible to lance. Last week there was one in my left nostril, and now there is one in the right. Thankfully they are not coinciding which would probably drive me up the wall. No, the left has dissipated, but the right rages on. I don't really know why I'm telling anyone about this, but the information is now out there, and you have to deal with the repercussions of having it. Ha!

So, I've been thinking about lifestyles lately. Not in the grand sense of what gender you prefer, or if you might be a ladykiller rather than a shy everyman. No, these thoughts have been of the utterly domestic order. As previously mentioned I will soon be returning to the suburbs from my current rural mountain home. The change will not only be in denseness of living, altitude, climate, etc. But it will also mark a movement from "college" living to a much more civilized style of home. I see nothing wrong with this change, other than that it makes me think about all the niceties that I--being a struggling student--cannot afford myself.

I generally feel much more comfortable in a clean, well organized, well decorated home. These, however, are luxuries that I do not currently have because of a lack of time and funds. Sometimes I feel like a slacker because I do not have money to throw around on home furnishings and the like. But then I think about some of the residents of my family and friends as they went through college and do not feel so bad. At the very least there are no holes between floors of my residence. So that's something.

Overall I think there is just a desire within me to achieve, to succeed. And that is what all this schooling is for. (Although my time spent on higher education has severely overstepped the bounds of normalcy.) The fact is that someday I will be able to attain all these things that I really want out of life, and I should spend more time focusing on the here and now, enjoying this time for what it is rather than what it is not. So I'm going to go get started on that now...or at least when I get up in the morning. If anybody wants to hang out and do something crazy with me, they should give me a call, or drop me an emial. Laters.

-A.R. Leith

New quote, because Reggie is tired of repeats:
"If you have a brain and use it too, you've got to know that I've got a crush on you."- Magnified Plaid