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For no reason, I saw this blog about a meme, wherein I heard of this weird thing people seem to be doing–
1 – Go to “wikipedia.” Hit “Random Article”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:RandomThe first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 – Go to “Random quotations”
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.3 – Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.4 – Use Photoshop/MS Paint or similar to put it all together.
5- Post it in the comments! (Using Imageshack or any photo hoster)
So because I was bored at that particular moment (never mind all the things I should have been doing), I did my own. And here, for no reason other than it’s just sitting on my desktop and I ought to just delete it but would hate to have done the whole deal for nothing [because I certainly didn't put it on that blog]), it is:
Thank you and good night.
The iPhone tells me my memory is almost full. Time to delete some pictures or video. Looking through pics shows me that A) I have many pictures on here I do not need to hang on to, and B) I have done a few things since I disappeared from the blogosphere. Herewith the proof of an interesting (if only semi-documented) life:
Ran from a metal dinosaurus one time...
Saw a pretty sunset (taken while driving. Not bad, huh?)
Got my eyes photographed (this is the back. Of my eyes. Don't ask me how that's possible. Science!)
Got me some glasses.
Watched some pro wrestlers (then saw 'The Wrestler').
Went to a D-League basketball game. (This is the HEB Grocery Bag. There is no team called the Grocery Bags.)
Nice to put it out there. Now I can delete them which will leave me more room for ‘This American Life’ Podcasts.
As of this last holiday, the Moms has officially stopped being my storage space provider. “You have your own house, with your own attic,” she said to me. The logic was clear. Cut to three cobweb-encrusted boxes with my unique insignia scribbled on the sides taking up all the space the presents had taken on the way up.
A few weeks later, I had a night home alone. To myself. I opened the boxes and let the nostalgia take me over. All night long.
A thousand letters later (I used to write a lot of letters, I realize now. An unusually high amount which I attribute to having a job answering phones that didn’t ring all that much sometimes.) and a bunch of looking up old friends on facebook/myspace, I came across the Big Find — a notebook of my early compositions.
The moms is not known for hanging on to things long-term. I don’t know what ever happened to the probably $500 worth of GI Joes I owned back in the day and still sometimes wish I had, and anything I didn’t box up myself (i.e. anything I wanted to keep before I went to college) is pretty much Lost In Space. So this was a big deal. We’re talking an Indiana Jones-”do-you-know-what-this-means-we-thought-this-was-lost-FOREVER”- type find. I flipped through the pages excitedly.
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First thing I realized: I have never been able to draw. And I was an awkward kid. Cause as bad as that drawing is, that’s more or less what I looked like. i immeditely pitied my young self.
If that was the bad news, this was the good news — I wrote stories. Fun, entertaining stories that you wouldn’t expect from a third grader. I used words like “however,” that seem ahead of the reading level. And my stories were about Martians and dragons and ghosts, the origin of Thanksgiving from the point of view of a cat, Christmas as experienced by a Christmas tree — interesting takes on traditional stories. I was impressed with my creative third-grade self.
Also — had a bit of a sense of humor, albeit a little immature:
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(I vividly remember trying to decide what word I could use to talk about dog crap and not get me in trouble. I thought “poop” was too strong, whereas “poot” didn’t really mean anything but still conveyed the intended meaning. I stand by my decision.)
Clearly our teacher (I believe this was Mrs. Cook) asked us to also illustrate our stories, which I tried valiently…
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(This was Captain.)
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An eskimo. Though there is no story about an eskimo in this notebook.)
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(holiday pics, obviously)
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(NO idea. NONE.)
Did I mention how I couldn’t draw? Those are the ones you can tell what they are.
The interesting thing is how though reading all of Young Me’s stuff, it seemed like it was some other person, it also seemed like it was…me. Just younger. I know that sounds retarded, but it felt so “yep, that’s me” at the same time as it felt so “what was that kid THINKING at that time?!”
Young Me was a good kid, though…
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…if a little pathetic.
What was truly jarring, however was this one:
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This is a biography of…Matt F. He was born in Abilene, Texas, and was always a strange kid. He had the worst memory on the block. Sometimes he couldn’t remember what happened 2 minutes ago. It never stopped him, however, from achieving his goals. For example, he could always write stories well. He always had time for anything and everything. He wasn’t a very reliable person though. He always forgot to do anything asked of him. People always referred to him as “strange.” But he could always set his mind to things.
That’s me NOW. That’s the me that Young Me created. That’s who I am. For Realz.
Not that I’m complaining. A tip of the hat to Young Me, actually. Cause I think he did a good job. But I need to remember to keep being that guy. And set my mind to things more often.
