Sean Sparks Solid

Le Return de Blogging

2011-07-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

Yeah, screw you, I don't speak your stupid foreign tongues. You know why?

TONGUES DON'T TALK, GUNS DO.

I think I have more posts in the last three years about returning to blogging than I do with actual blog content. I don't really know. I would check, but I'd have to go back through the four or five different blogs I created and dig through the hidden posts (that never got posted) and the visible ones and... you know what? I'm just lazy, which is exemplified by both the fact that I keep start/stopping blogs with "I'm back!" blog posts AND the fact that I won't take the time to count how many times I've done this.

Enough.

I'm going to start blogging again because I'm starting to get annoyed with wanting to constantly post to facebook/g+ feeds, and I think twitter is fucking retarded. I honestly don't know anyone who uses it anymore, and I really can't see it lasting all that much longer since it's essentially an intentionally lobotomized form of communication. You take too much content out of discourse and eventually it becomes a miasma of meaninglessness that you glance at, recognize, filter, and ignore.

But yes, I have decided to try this shit out again. The most fun I ever had was my travel blog, because I wasn't expected to talk about myself all the time, but regale with tales of what my adventures were like in the wild wild east (Italia (don't get excited, guns still do the talking)).

I'm going to have to educate myself a little bit on page formatting, because what I want to blog about is my perceptual event/interest absorption - Translation: Shit I find that I think is cool. There's too much of it in a day to put into the feeds, so here it will go.

Note: Often, these posts will be comprised of things that I may have stuffed into the feeds and gone back to recursively archive on here. Please forgive unoriginal overlaps.

Right. Re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-introduction done.

-Sean

Lelu Dallas Multi-Project

2011-07-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

Let's start with this silly social workout project I'm doing with some of the local burn community here in Denton:

Punching Fat in the Face! (THE BLOG)

It's a blog that six of us are writing while going through the pop-TV-cheesy-workout that most everyone in the U.S. has seen an infomercial about.

The original group who started the project (Sheyanne, Matt, and Bess) all made a pact to turn from their college town hedonistic diets and drinking habits while using this ready made workout program to "punch fat in the face", and get themselves into shape. A few other friends have jumped in and out of participating, including myself, because I eventually got bored with eating chocolate covered raisins while the three of them were working out in my living room, and figured I could use a change in my regular workout routine.

For those who don't know me, I have been a somewhat constantly active exercise happy person for a long time now. What most people probably don't know is the reason I exercise or do activities like Capoeira or (insert martial art here) is because when I was younger I struggled with figuring out my Chronic Fatigue, and eventually settled on shit-tons of supplements and regular exercise.

Because I tore my achilles tendon for the second time 4 months ago, I haven't been exercising as much, and have been downward spiraling into drinking more, workout out less, and taking less care of my body. So my P90X experience is going to be about getting my energy levels back up, lowering my caffeine intake, and strengthening the muscles in my leg that have practically atrophied over the months I was wearing a restrictor boot on my left foot.

SHOWS!

Yesterday I checked out two shows, one new, one on its second season. Keep in mind, I live in a hole with no television and stolen internet, so I don't usually know what everyone else knows about what's popular right now.

Alphas premiered this week, and has been widely disregarded as ScyFi's (who let them change their name like that, anyway? It's trashy) ripoff of NBC's now deceased series, Heroes. I can honestly say this, Alphas doesn't lineup well when compared to Heroes. Aside from different approaches to the concept of "powers", Alphas pilot doesn't take you in nearly as well as Heroes did.

Honestly, I think if Alphas gets to be called a ripoff of anything, it's Warren Ellis' hit comic series Planetary.
A special focus team that applies itself to anomalous situations that has a mysterious benefactor, a character with super human strength, and a character that can perceive and manipulate information flowing through surrounding technology via EM fields. Other characters overlap in how they apply, but I feel that there's enough evidence to say Alphas got some inspiration from Planetary.

Initial thoughts?

I liked it. It was a little cheesy, but there's some good character interactions that the show will be able to build on. What got my attention the most was Bill, the insensitive and overbearing fight/flight manipulator and Gary, the high-functioning Autistic technomancer, and their obvious very strong dislike for one another. Both character can be extremely immature and petty, for their own reasons, and bring a male childishness to this team of super-humans that will help the series to succeed (if it does).

Some of the characters were entrenched in stereotypes I'm tired of seeing in science fiction shows, the eccentric doctor, the dark and conflicted mysterious woman, the man in black, but having only seen what they can do with one episode, I'm willing to reserve judgment for a few weeks.

BOOKS

iO9 has two articles this week that are helping me plan out some new book purchases:

Valley of the Girls

Upon reading, this promises to be some candy surrealism that will keep me quoting for a while.

Machine Man

From the excerpt offered, I've gathered that this is a story about the social experience of bionics, from the point of view of a self-experimenting protagonist and his team. Seemingly dry, but deeply thoughtful, the narrative perspective of the writing puts me in mind of an early Phillip K. Dick novel.

MUSIC

This is a section that could get a little bloated, since music is basically most of what I spend my free time on. With that in mind, I'm going to keep this first entry contribution short.

Space Rescue Service by brother_maynard

A compatriot of mine, dear Brother Maynard of the Moorish Orthodox Church, has compiled this beautiful ego journey of a mix to the benefit of any of us who've discovered that in some of our darkest hours, a little music therapy can go a long way. With time on his side, he has compiled this mix of essential selections for a ravaged psyche over many years, and finally put it all into one mega groove that will steady your heart and tune up your soul. I would highly prescribe this for anyone who's finding their life a little more full of anxiety and shadow ninjas than they'd care for. Take with your choice relaxant and call me in the morning.

Fin

That's it for this, my first personal update on shit I think is cool. Stay tuned!

-Sean

Garage gypsie jam by seansparks

2010-01-26T21:54:00.001-08:00

This mix is the beginning of a new project I'm starting this week. I've decided I've closeted myself too much, and become too paranoid about how pristine a mix is when I make it. Therefore, to get myself out of my rut, I'm forcing myself to post one mix a week, regardless of how good it ends up.

I'm allowing myself three shots at doing it right, which is two more than I gave myself with this. The results will prove to be sometimes interesting, sometimes repetitive (hearing the same songs in mixes), and sometimes horrible.

Voila!

Garage gypsie jam by seansparks

Feelings?

2010-01-03T08:59:00.000-08:00

Inbreath... outbreath. Inbreath.. outbreath. Inbreath-outbreath-shortinbreath. Sniffle. Inbreath... outbreath.

The sweetest thing I think I have ever heard was Shey telling me before she passed out tonight that she was sad because she felt like she impeded my ability to socialize effectively. Four hours later, I'm still awake and sipping a 10% alcohol by volume microbrew, listening to the city awaken outside, watching the light shift ever so slightly in the room, forcing the creme floorboards to swell and burst white all over the walls, up, up to the ceiling.

Just knowing that someone gives a shit about whether or not you're comfortable with your social situation, as it is when contrasted with your intimate situation, is a unique and humbling feeling. It makes you wonder if you're doing enough to make them happy, and if you've been as generous with your emotions and considerations as they have. It makes you sit back and wonder at the last time someone probed that deeply into the nebula of your needs, aside from someone who was hoping to profit from it in some way.

But there she was, exhausted and sleep deprived, laying in my arms, and volunteering that she felt like she was standing in my way to having a good time when I was out at parties because she wasn't as much of a butterfly as me, or as interesed in flirting with other people as me. Not: "I don't want you to flirt with other people (etc) because I'm picky about who I like," or "you always ignore me when go to parties and run off to talk everyone else,", simply concerned that it was something that was stressing me out. In that moment, holding her and listening to her breathe deeper and slower, I realized that I felt nobody had ever loved me as selflessly as she had. She fell asleep while I laid awake, watching "The Adventures of Brisco County Jr". on some streaming website, and I sat and wondered about what a person could do with a feeling like that.

I don't know if I've ever felt completely loved before. I've loved a lot, and I've been loved in return, but always with reservations about some part of who I am. I've been fetishized, flirted at, fucked, an infatuation, and obsessed about, but I can't really think of anyone who ever loved me down to the very core of my being, flaws and inconsistencies intact. Even when I was engaged, I was always worried about measuring up to some standard, or being discovered for what I was incapable of or unskilled at.

But this... this is something new.

Acceptance without cavaets? How will I know when I'm becoming a dissapointment?

Oh. If she accepts me completely for who I am, that means that she measures me by the same standards that I do. End result: I will know when I'm dissapointing her because I will already have failed myself. End logic train.

All that's left is to find a way to deserve a gift more rare than Solomon's wisdom or Ambrosia fallen from the heavens. The thing that is written about in the most ambitious of stories, always ending in tragedy for that which was hoped at, but never attained. True love?

Nah. Fucking pussies. And you were totally buying into it, too, what with all the sappy confessions and other nonsense.

I bet you thought I was going to talk about how much I loved her back, wanted to make her preggo with a bunch of babies, and a bunch of other gay crap too.

Faggots.

-Sean

3 AM writing exercise: #37

2009-12-08T00:41:00.000-08:00

He watched, quietly, from his seat facing the entrance of the coffee shop. He had decided he would be waiting for her here, whoever “she” was. He hadn’t decided yet. The moment would draw them in, something about the brief passing of their bodies, the way the wind caught her hair when she opened the door, anything. This was holistic fishing for kismet, a science best not paid too close of attention to, for fear that it might simply disappear under scrutiny. So many beautiful things do.

He was a breath from letting his mind launch into his next personal narrative when it happened, and it happened with all the grace and solidity of Golden Gate bridge, arches that fell to firm lines, the brows over her eyes meeting so subtly at the bridge of her nose, and without any fuss sliding down to the softest little nip, a small curve at the end of a wonderful downward fall, tipping him over onto her lips, wet and pert, ready to catch him and give him pause in the adventure that was becoming her face. He relaxed there another moment, enjoying the fullness of them, and how though they were so full at the center, like her brow to her nose, they resolved in small, thin lines at the edges. It was as though she had squeezed them at the sides her whole life to get them just so, just so for him.

Then he was falling again, shaken lose into her parting lips becoming a smile, onto teeth that weren’t perfect, but were small and white, adorably flawed, the front two straight as towers but the two on either side laying lazily against each other. He marveled at its uniqueness. No dental surgeon could ever recreate such a miracle.

He caught himself on her lower lip, fuller than the first, and paused only a moment to once more indulge in its wetness. Her chin ended in a soft point, much like her nose, with an angular quality that spoke of a demure nature her eyes defied. What eyes! What wild, hungry eyes, searching. Everything about her was packaged so well, from her prim, fashionable small hat atop short, thick black hair, to her makeup, ending in small lines extending out from the edges of those eyes, accenting the angles, enhancing them!

So she knows! She must, she’s using them, using them to get to others, to get to him. Too late! Understanding dawned as the bars slammed home: the journey had been a trap, and he was already hers. Of course he was, she knew it before she ever walked in. She’d been walking there looking for him, after all. Not knowing who “he” was, just that he would stand out in some small way, in the jacket he was wearing, or the way he talked while he was reading, or that look in his eyes. Like nothing else mattered in that moment but her.

Karaoke night

2009-12-07T22:23:00.000-08:00

I remember the bill of his hat digging into the side of my head. It was the last good joke I got out before he hit me with a left cross to my jaw. That was also the last solid memory I had, his stupid hat digging into my temple, and me trying a wry grin and saying, "You're going to bend the rim of your hat doing that, you don't want to hurt your hat."

Earlier in the night I had vowed to get drunk with Havilah, my ex-girlfriend who's birthday I was attending at a dive bar in Dallas. It was a matter of pride (and social graces). When partying with ex's, do it drunk. For storytelling purposes, let it be known that in the last four years I've gotten drunk as many times as most people do in a month.

I just now finished watching the video that my girlfriend Sheyanne took of me right before I went back into the bar to take a piss before we left. I was using a coffee top as a scooping device to eat my leftover Urban Taco dinner (it wasn't a taco), and cursing at her for mocking my utilitarian choice of a 16 oz plastic coffee top for a spoon. As all drunken conversations between lovers go, this one eventually became angry. I think our main fighting point was on who drives who around more. It was enough to make an angry drunk man misbehave.

And misbehave was apparently the thing I wanted to do right after I got done allowing Shey to record my being an argumentative drunkass. I went to the bathroom, the guy with the hat tried to walk past me in line, and I stuck my hand out and said, "I'm waiting in line." He pushed past me, and after two people came out, I went in. While waiting for the urinal, he proceeded to talk shit to me, asking me if I was trying to make a point.

"No point. You cut in line, I'm waiting to piss, point's made. It's done."

I remember saying that, thinking it was a good thing to say. Neutral, not alpha-male, simply stating the obvious and letting it go. Then I went to piss, and that's when he started challenging me, digging his hat into my head. Then I tried to be funny, and got what funny always used to get me on the school playground, a punch in the face.

I punched him back, from the small stance I had, and wrapped my left arm around his neck. It was when I got him into the choke that I noticed the other guy in the bathroom who had been watching all of this happen. It was then that I realized this guy was his friend. It was definitely then that I got punched in the nose, and blacked out.

When I came to, I had a few more head injuries, and someone was talking to me. I stood up immediately when I heard "...out the back" and started running. I went around the back patio and looked, but all I saw was a car hauling ass out of the parking lot.

I have no idea if anyone got their plates. I had to leave because I failed to pay a traffic ticket off last week, and probably have a warrant out now. What I'm left with is a puffy, bruised face, a hangover, and the strong desire to break things. I hate that desire, because it's born out of a feeling of helplessness. It comes from a desperate place, and I never know whether I want to indulge it or if I want to tame it, calm it.

I put the angry kernel of myself in a small place a long time ago, and every time it starts showing at the seams I get nervous. The temptation to simply let it all out on something inanimate or unimportant is so strong, but a part of me always worries that once that dam breaks, nothing will put it all back in.

Borg, borg borg borg

2009-12-01T22:32:00.000-08:00

MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS TELLETUBBIES MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS MY THOUGHTS

-Sean

Going back through all the decisions...

2009-09-14T02:13:00.001-07:00

...that lead up to a stupid fucking slap in the face.

Deciding to randomly stop by S4 on Friday and pick up some work: It felt great at the time, how the managers were so happy that I'd come back to work for them, how they offered me as many shifts as I wanted and booked me to dance for a few special events right away.

Deciding that, hey, fuck it, I'll take that open slot this Sunday night. I could use the quick cash.

Deciding to drive to work in my parent's truck that I borrowed to road trip to Burning Man because I'd just put gas in it, instead of my own car.

Going in to work on a rainy night knowing that nobody was going to show up to tip me. I could have called in, but even the base rate to just show up for work is better than not having any money at all.

Getting in close to ten and not finding any parking in the employee lot, so I decide that I'll park down the street in the spot I have usually use on such occasions.

Leaving my $200 Oakley bag in the truck that's been with me to Italy, Germany, San Francisco, New York, and Burning Man twice. The bag that I would fucking sleep on in train terminals when I couldn't afford or find a hotel room in any of those places. The bag that had countless items that I considered the most important things to have on me at all times in it.

Not putting my ipod in my work satchel. No good reason, just decided to leave it there instead. I even unplugged it and put it in the glove box.

Imagine how fucking stupid I felt when I came back after work, where I made all of 4 dollars in tips, to find that the window had been broken and everything of mine, plus the truck's xm-radio-dvd-player-too-much-bullshit-electronics-to-even-have-in-a-vehicle stereo had been stolen.

Severely bruising my arm as I slam my elbow into the headrest over and over again, raging without thought against that unresolvable feeling of having been violated in some way, regardless of the value of what is lost, the meaning of what's been taken.

A streetwalker tranny coming up to the broken window in the rain, as I silently stare at the destruction done in the process of ripping the stereo out, and asking me over and over again if I can give her a ride to her house three blocks away.

Me finally looking at her and telling her she's going to end up looking like what I wish I could do to the people who did this to me if she doesn't fuck off.

Her asking me to give her my umbrella, the only thing in the truck now besides discarded receipts and my work satchel. Me screaming, with stupid tears for stupid things and anger at something I can't fucking control pouring out of me.

Driving home, feeling my skin tingle with cold every time a semi-truck drives by and splashes water in the window. Not able to say a word, beyond that now, stuck thinking about every stupid thing that led up to feeling like there's a rock of hate sitting at the base of my spine.

Feeling like a god dammed helpless idiot.

-Sean

2009-09-11T23:51:00.001-07:00

As of earlier this week, I'm happily ending my neurophysiological poly relationship with Molly, Mary, and Lucy. They just don't get me off like they used to.

Sorry girls, this boy has a masters degree to get.

-Sean

2009-09-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

I sat outside and read on my porch tonight, and listened to the seasons change. When I was a kid it was my favorite thing in the world to do, listening to the winds take new shape. I always hoped in it I could hear magic, hear something beyond the edge of reality that was measured in the barometric variations in gusts of air flowing through my geographic region.

Kids are stupid like that. Makes me melancholy all the same, and wish for simpler times when my decisions weren't so weighted.

I think I'm just going to shut up and DJ now. Music makes me happy.

-Sean

Burning Man 2009

2009-09-09T09:16:00.001-07:00

Should I be writing right now?

Probably not.

But I need to. Burning Man this year was... well, I think I need a wide array of adjectives to actually address what it was.

I wake up every morning since, and I don't feel right. I don't have my comfortable rituals to engage in, I don't have a clear path ahead of me. Everything I've ever known as "normal" is gone, and all that I'm left with is a frightening path into a hidden wood. I don't feel like "me" anymore.

What did I manage to achieve going to burning man? Maybe I shed something away. I certainly did my best at eroding existing relationships down to raw nerves and irritation. I packaged this year's experience as part of a gift for someone, and somehow confused the message I was trying to send, or they got the clear picture, and decided they didn't like the screen.

I have no idea. My brain is probably only functioning at 25% right now anyway. Heat, sun, 3-4 hours of sleep a night, and shift driving across a total of 4000 miles have left me feeling bludgeoned and confused.

My dreams have been frighteningly intense lately, too. I wake up screaming, or wanting to cry, and not being able to remember why it was so important that I get that man off the train before it explodes. Just that it hurt my heart to think I wouldn't succeed.

I think that right now I feel unfinished. I had a goal with this whole trip, an intended plan, and somehow I didn't manage to achieve it. So now I'm left with this sense of things unfinished in every dream I have. I look at the schedule of things to do that I laid out for myself before I went, and wonder if its really my handwriting.

I feel lost.

-Sean

Please eject the tape, and switch to side B

2009-08-13T09:10:00.000-07:00

I open my eyes.

This is it, the last time.

I roll over and turn the alarm off, lay in bed for a few moments and collect myself, letting the day wash over me sense by sense. The person in the bed beside me stirs, murmurs something encouraging, reminding me of what I need to do. Feels like I've always had someone there to do that.

I get up, unplug my phone, and walk to the bathroom. I'm not really there yet, my body is just doing it on autopilot, shuffling me through the seamless steps of a path well remembered. In the bathroom I turn the lights on, see myself in the mirror. I'm so different than before, different than yesterday, different than nine years ago when I started this journey. My face has swollen, eyes sunk deeper into my skull, and the sides of my hair have kept pace with my eyes from above, pushing my brow back into what some would call an educated look.

I don't feel very smart.

Nine years. What some made into a molehill I turned into Everest. In the time it took me to do what they've done they've changed careers, started families, made large purchases, and probably destroyed one or all three. They're probably just starting over right now with their lives, too.

I think about the face in that mirror, everything it's seen and done, everything it's dreamed of doing. Is it happy with all that? Does it feel like it's made a difference?

I smile. Bad idea, keep moving.

I go to my laptop, open it, and then go to the sink. Have to give it time to remember who it is, too. Pour myself a glass of water to get my metabolism going, wake up. I've been doing that for three years, ever since I read about it in Outside Magazine. Feed the cats, they're pining at me with tiny mews and rubs against my legs. I've learned to love them like my own children, obsessively and in everyone else's face. Everyone loves to hear about my cats. Everyone.

I sit down at the computer to the sound of tiny food pieces being pushed around glass bowls. I remember this, too.

This is the part where I sit and think about all the things I'm supposed to be doing, then go to gmail. Gmail is the gateway drug of social networking. It's okay to open Gmail, right? Because it's my email, that's where I do all my important correspondences. Have to keep up with everything, stay organized, you know.

I scan the list of my contacts who are online. Anyone I want to talk to? Nah, not yet, but I bet there's someone to annoy on facebook. And off we go.

Two hours later I come to the realization that I haven't started working on what I was supposed to be working on, yet, nor have I eaten breakfast, put on clothes, and the class I was supposed to be writing a paper for is about to start.

Then I do the one thing I'm good at, natively and with flourish, and create some incredible piece of writing in the matter of moments. It's the one sail that always stayed up throughout this journey, the one that kept me moving forward when nothing else would. When god was giving out gifts, he gave Hermes' pen to the wrong soul. Better it had gone to someone who was going to use it with some effort, than someone who'd use it to supply his own aversions to work or duty.

But that's the way it is, and the way it's been done.

I print it off, my fool's masterpiece, and take my time getting ready. I'm already late, there's no point in not showing up late looking good. Procrastination is something best done with style, because style is too cool for clocks.

After I eat, dress, wash my face and find my favorite track on my ipod, I walk outside and get on my bike. I look around at the house that I've spent the last career of my attempt over college mountain, with it's widely ignored yard and tiny square footage. I look around at where I am, and wonder what the fuck I'm going to do next.

I put my foot on the pedal, scream at the sky for want that the neighbors will hear me, that anyone will hear me and know that somewhere today, someone finally found release from their long-path to adult enlightenment, and I go to my last day of school.

-Sean

Storms again

2009-08-06T01:13:00.000-07:00

It's been storming now almost every other week in DFW this summer. The effect has left a constant fug of water in the air, humid to the bones... my bones, specifically. My knee is screaming every day now, without me doing much of anything on it. Awesome

I've decided a blog entry isn't worth writing anymore unless I start it out complaining about my physical ills. This is because that is the most interesting thing one person can talk to another person about, and it is guaranteed success in making friends and entertaining audiences.

I came up with an easy costume/gimmick today for burning man: I'm going to be a flunky for the DJ Census Bureau. It came to me when I was trying to figure out just how many people at Burning Man are DJ's. At population numbers well over 30,000, with a large majority of burners being fans of dance music, I'd guess that at least 5% of the total population claims to be performing DJ's of some type. A the most modest of projections, that would mean 1500 DJ's were all at the same event.

But these are just theories. What science and legal loopholes stand on is facts! So someone's gotta get out there and go camp to camp, figuring out just how many DJ's each camp will claim for the 2009 DJ census. In addition to my shirt-and-tie buracratic gag, I'm going to try to collect mix CD's from as many of the named and registered DJ's as possible. This way I could potentially upload all of those mixes (with permissions given, of course) and have a decent representation of the performing talent at BM 2009.

Thank the almighty god of cats I'm bringing a bike.

I figure, if nothing else, it'll force me to actually go to every single camp and say "hi."

-Sean

Naps

2009-08-04T17:11:00.001-07:00

An unfortunate side-effect of quitting caffeine is that I need to nap a lot now, and for some reason unknown, I always drool when I nap. No idea why, except that that's what you see people doing in movies when they have an unplanned sleep happen. I don't like waking up to a wet cheek any more than cinema heroes, so why's it gotta happen to me? Makes me wanna brew up a batch of tea and take some Aderal.

There's something I miss sometimes, the hard edge of a good accelerant... and who doesn't? I think everyone likes cruising the front wave of their morning coffee, red bull, whatever shit you gotta do to make life a little less mundane. In that time there's so much potential, so many tangents of thought spinning out from your brain and into the wake of moments left behind you. It's the kind of vision that hurts for a reason, because if we could think that way all the time, some of us might just DO something with our lives.

As it stands, I'm content in my little college town, reading my little sci-fi books, and thinking about a time when I won't live here anymore. It's not that I hate Denton, Texas, it's just that I love so many other places more. Like Austin, or San Francisco. Portland. New York. Seattle. Anywhere but here. In those places I might never get booked for a DJ gig again (and who would care if I didn't) but at least I could find a like minded individual on a night out or at a book store. Here it's a valley of apathetic hipsters who can't get excited about anything for fear they might rip their jeans from jumping for joy. They certainly don't dance.

Maybe that's my problem. I haven't had a good, hard dance in a while. Every time I've gone to in Dallas has had me dancing for the sake of not letting everyone else around me soak up the space like tiny black holes. I want some floor pumping, four-on-the-floor, ear raping jams, and right now with my foot the way it is, I don't think I'd trust myself to dance if I even wanted to.

And there's the rub. I'm getting old, god dammit. My heel keeps tearing, right knee hurts constantly, and I still haven't written that book everyone keeps telling me I should, and nothing is inspiring me to do it except spending a lot of time by myself. For some reason the less I can talk to other people the more I want to write about them. Or create them. Sex, too. Apparently there's an inverse-proportion rule with how much sex someone who can write well should get.

...and when you look at pictures of Douglas Adams, that kinda makes sense (gods rest him).

-Sean

Imported Italian Finery

2009-08-03T22:37:00.000-07:00

I just imported my Italy blog onto here as well, because this thing needed some meat.

-Sean

2009-08-03T15:23:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to Sarah McLachlan right now. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, I don't want to talk about it. It's just happening, and I'm strangely comfortable with being massaged by her nasally tone and pop-infused lounge-ness.

Today is a good day. I shed the shit of tired, angry Sean from the weekend and went to the gym, albeit on a somewhat unpredictable achilles tendon. I tore my achilles back in January doing Capoeira, and after three months of healing, I thought all was well. Then I was back at Capoeira last week, and I felt something make a weird sensation there. It doesn't hurt like it did before, but now I simply don't trust the fucking thing. It's a scary feeling not trusting a tendon that's strung so tight it could easily snap and wind up in my calf, where doctors would have to surgically restretch it back into place after slicing my whole fucking leg open. I sure as fuck don't want to be in a walking boot for burning man, which is only three weeks away.

My tentative plans have solidified, melted into a puddle of amorphic goo, hardened, calcified, shattered, and been reconstructed using uncooked spaghetti and glue. You'd be amazed at how much weight a bridge made from spaghetti and glue can hold, though. It looks like I'm camping with Fringe (address: 4:00 and B), my San Francisco friend Kelly's camp, that is this year bringing the Janky Barge. It looks like Jabba the Hut's airship, but with wheels. And DJ's.

Another new burning man thing for me, I'm bringing Havilah with me this year. After Flipside and PEX, I'm not worried anymore about the whole "bringing a significant other" thing with burn events. The open dynamic of our relationship makes us work seamlessly at burn events, and it's nice having someone to share stuff like that with who's okay with you sharing those things with other people as well. She'll probably be joining me on Thursday, so I'll have four days to figure out where all the good trouble is before she gets there to steal it all.

-Sean

Emo

2009-08-02T22:03:00.001-07:00

Today was a tired day.

Did you know I've never had a shoe thrown at me in anger before this weekend? Apparently that's the newest form of youthful self-expression. Kids these days. One moment I'm leaning against my car and talking to my friend Jessica, and the next an SUV comes flying by with a fat douchebro standing out of the sun roof and screaming as he hurls an article of footwear at me.

Honestly, I wish it had hit me. For the size of dent it put in my car, it was probably going pretty fast and would have hurt, but bruises heal and car panels don't. Now I get to decide if its worth paying my deductible to take a fist-sized dent out or not. Yay.

It's okay. I live across the street from a popular frat house. With luck, the idiots will accidentally park on my street one night (you better believe I'm going to be checking now) and I'll get to show them how awesome having your window broken and a sack of pee spilled all over your interior can be.

After that happened, my mood for the weekend was shot. I had started out the night in Denton in the first place with some kind of expectation that I was going to get to see Havilah, who had a date in Dallas but had told me she wanted to come see me afterward. The planning was tentative, but since we don't get to see each other a lot I ended up sticking around and hoping we'd get a chance to spend the night together.

Things went better on her date than she planned, and after a few miscommunications, I went to bed. I felt kind of stupid for the whole thing, because it made me feel wanting or greedy, like some love-sick puppy who's simpering for attention. I don't like feeling that way.

I think it also made it hard for me to hear about how great of a time she had, or to get the spotty report from shey on what happened with her night persuing an ex-lover in Austin. At least I made a good thing of it and used the opportunity to finally catch up on a bunch of sleep I was missing. Unfortunately, now that means that I'm awake at 12 AM and not tired.

I spent a lot of the day in bed (when I wasn't asleep) meditating on things, how I've let myself get too relaxed being in a school semester, even though I'm only taking one class. Wanting to start moving in some direction toward my post-graduation plans, even though they're vague as it is.

I think this week needs to be a lot of gym time, writing, applying to schools, and thinking about getting jobs. I've had my head up my ass for too long, and it's not comforting anymore.

-Sean

Reasons why I'm annoying

2009-06-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

I use bullet lists to take notes in class. My notes are relatively useless to anyone who asks me to email them, because they see me taking notes every day in class. Bonus: Getting offered money or smoothies. Take the acai and run.
I use bullet lists in emails to my friends. I have no idea if it upsets them, but I know it would sure as hell piss me off if someone sent them to me. It just reeks of small-time suburban riches born from savage middle management sales jobs.
I insist on making the power points for my group projects, bringing only my complete and utter ignorance of how power point works to the table. I do this because I hope it will make me become artistic. Trees are neat.
I try to find an opportunity to say a really stupid obsolesced word like "arch" as many times as possible in one day. I do this because I used to dream of being a famous spoken word artist, and hoped that taking the time to pay attention to one outmoded word in the English language a day would somehow engender a deeper understanding of language and the bardic tradition.
I spend a year trying to pitch a catchphrase to nearly everyone I meet. I do this because I like to take something utterly meaningless and find ways to make people want to buy it.
I like to talk about fictional writing projects or poems that came from some really intense altered state of consciousness experience, making sure to say the title of these works of incredible genius repeatedly, and never actually show them to anyone. Or write them.
I think regulating the right to have children, legally, is the only hope for our species evolving to a point of sustaining ourselves into the exponential reaches of time. Say that five times fast. "Weeble Wobble" is actually fun to say five times fast, because you can actually do it. Try doing it to impress yourself with yourself before going to work every day, it could lead you to great success!
I devote a good amount of critical thinking skills to coming up with ways to upset people without getting in trouble for doing it. Because somebody needs to.
I know a little bit about an enormous amount of things. By revealing this knowledge casually in conversations, I manage to convince a good number of the people around me that I know what I'm talking about. The life spans of sponges from different parts of the world, for example. I have no information on that topic whatsoever, but I know how to talk about sponges in a significant sounding way and sound like I'm contributing to the conversation. I don't actually care if this contributes nothing to the collective intellect around me.
I have an ongoing battle with my ex-girlfriend over who can be the first to tell the other one about that really cool article in this month's issue of "Wired". She has no idea that we're actually battling at this, and I don't want to tell her that's the way I think of it because I'm afraid it will result in me not having anyone to talk to about the articles in "Wired." We also try to one-up each other with our theories about how Lost is going to end. I think the universe is going to end. Heard it here first, worship at the feet of your new priest of Delphi.
I talk about how awesome my two boy cats are with endless gusto and pride. Everyone likes to hear about my cats' crazy hijinx. Everyone.
I enjoy adding tidbits and little facts about everything going on around me aloud. I've been told it's like having to listen to the CNN ticker at the bottom of the screen.
I can be a baby about things. Everyone loves babies, though. Especially when they scream.
I come up with more ideas than I can keep track of. My life is a mess of notebooks with sketches and thought bubbles. If I actually had any fabricating skills, I might be able to manifest these things. As it stands I can barely assemble something from a box.
I have too many people in my life who tell me how smart I am. It leads me to being less productive and more self-assured, and that doesn't help anyone.

Significant

2009-06-08T13:49:00.001-07:00

There once was a man with nothing. He nothing'd his nothing for nothing all nothing, and ultimately, got nothing for nothing. Nothing.

-Sean

Flipside 2009

2009-05-26T06:42:00.000-07:00

I came to FS this year with so many challenges to face, I wasn't sure whether I was walking to mecca or climbing into a volcano.

Resurrection wasn't just a camp name for me, it was about getting back up from an experience that completely destroyed my previous concept of self and made me question everything about who I was; Facing the hardest facts in my own experiences and life, and climbing to a new level of presence and potential as a human being.

Last year I began working with friends in DFW who I've been involved with in different camps and projects over the years, with the goal of not just creating a theme camp, but of building a core group of artists, skills-persons, visionaries, and performers who could collaborate through and beyond burn events to expand all of their creative and productive potentials. I was inspired through camps like PEX and Ish, and burner collectives on the east and west coast who seemed to think beyond the goal of creating a one-time temporary community and laid out plans for doing what they love while being able to sponsor new matrices of inventiveness with ideas like sustainability, modularity, open-source collaborative environments, art, music, fire, and toys that make our inner twelve-year old go batshit.

All of this I wanted to do with absolutely no concept of how to actually achieve it, so on this journey toward my obsession I worked to develop the skills necessary to construct something from nothing, learning how to network individuals, resource manage, share responsibility, and work hard to be deserving of the trust of others.

Guiding me was the belief that if I could get enough people together who I knew were brilliant in their own endeavors, we could make something that would be a seed for that dream. With the strength, knowledge, and hard work of everyone who came together in our camp this year, we did something that left all of us smiling like fucking idiots at the end of the weekend, gibbering non-stop at each other about what fun projects we saw next on the horizon... and in it all I finally learned how to organize a filing cabinet.

This is why I love Flipside. Yes, it's a hedonistic five-day rave that encourages the most base and debaucherous behaviors in it's participants, seeming at times to be nothing more than an intoxicant-centered fuckfest for the gleefully and voluntarily impaired. I know I always mark the moment when I find myself watching the sun rise for the third day in a row, probably covered in mud, glitter, and pink fur, and look around at everyone stumbling sunken-eyed and dry-lipped toward whatever solace they might be seeking at that hour, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

Then, beyond this moment of self-doubt and insomnia, I encounter something amazing. It could be someone with whom I instantly develop an incredible creative rapport or a type of performance art I've never seen before, some installation or production that inspires new ideas for me, or art that leads me to uncover notions of beauty and symbolic meaning hidden within myself.

The potential is endless, and endless potential is something this world needs more of. Something I want to find a way to provide, to individuals as much as the world. All it takes is one chance of seeing what we are capable of with the right resources and collaborators, one manifestation of a dream that carries forward the hope of others, and then we have no reason to stop believing in the potential in ourselves or each other.

After everything that I did this year leading up to (and at) Flipside, finding strength in myself, finishing school and finding a career path that inspires me, exploring a kind of love-life that defies convention (and sometimes the expectations of others), and having the opportunity to work with people who inspire me in so many ways toward a mutual goal, I feel that burning culture has granted me the gift it hinted at six years ago when I first showed up at Rec Plant with a two-man tent and some peanut butter and bread.

-Sean

New noo!

2009-01-31T20:28:00.000-08:00

I'm the second week in on a new cycle of nootropics:

Get Smart! and Pay Attention!

I just adore these product names.

For those not in the know, nootropics (or cognitive enhancers) are chemical or mineral supplements taken to increase productivity in the brain on a physiological level, to yield higher cognition or improved mood (both are important to learning).

I tried a cycle of nootropics a few years ago, but quickly developed a dislike for how many pills I had to take 2 to 3 times a day to yield a desired effect. I fantasized about having enough money to buy the powders for various nootropics in bulk and encapsulate my own doses, but lacked the funds (common problem in my fantasies. That, and not have four prehensile penises).

I know my nootropics (fairly well, I'm not a bio-chem student) and the list of ingredients on those two products far outdoes any shit brain booster you'd buy at vitamin shoppe, so I decided to give it a go.

I've been prescribed various stimulants for ADHD and ADD (yes, I have both. Don't ask me, ask the dipshit medical system that allows doctors to prescribe for a symptom for which they know no cause... and the psychologist who had to evaluate me for a borderline personality disorder based on the conflicting diagnosis), so I'm familiar with the effects of a pharmaceutical cognitive enhancer as a point of contrast.

What I discovered was that the combination of these two supplements yielded the best aspects of adderal: enhanced focus, awareness, processing speed, and none of the downers: over-stimulation, attenuation of focus, emotionlessness, appetite suppression, and anger or irritation.

I felt focused, clearly focused, but without the cracked out edge. That, and it doesn't make my skin break out. The downside is the cost, so far.

I'll know more in another two weeks. I'm keeping a day-by-day brief log of notes on how it's making me feel, etc.

-Sean

2009-01-15T04:06:00.000-08:00

It's interesting that with such a crazy life, I find so little to write about. I think it's part of the blog problem. Nobody talks about their feelings on blogs, because the people who read their blogs are their friends, and the people who they'd most likely discuss are their friends.

It's not as if we go somewhere else in the world and become someone different for a brief time, only to return as someone else who can write unfettered by complaint or molestation from those indicted by their tales.

I could change all the names, but those who know me know who I'm talking about.

So what do I write about? Musings? Harmless fictions?

Ugh.

-Sean

Drank - "Slow your roll"

2008-12-23T03:33:00.000-08:00

I know now that I would never want to be a door guy at a club.

This revelation occurred to me as I wiggled my fingers inside of my jacket pockets for warmth, listening to a horde of my friends cajole and attempt to coerce the door guy who couldn't let me in at the Cavern because the club was past capacity. Every person who was throwing the show, my friend Leah who asked me to come, and a bunch of drunk friends from an internet forum all stuck their heads out the door and gave the door guy a handful of "Come on"'s and "Look, some people just left, you can let him in now."

It felt nice to be wanted somewhere, granted, but I felt worse for the door guy. This literally went on for over twenty minutes, non-stop, and the guy just kept shaking his head and saying, "Take it up with management." People who arrived after me tried to first use their gender to get in, and then a name drop of one of the DJ's playing at the show.

After the door guy turned them down and resumed trying to ignore the club patrons all vying for their friends to get in, I looked at the one who did the talking and said, "You know I wish I'd thought of that before. I should totally play the girl card!"

OOOOOoooOOOooo hiss, someone better watch out, kitty's got claws. She simply unfocused her eyes at me and actually did a pretty convincing dramatic performance of being unable to see that I existed at all. Frankly, I was impressed. Happily, the door guy let me in first, probably because I just kept my mouth shut and waited patiently. Standing in the cold for 20 minutes was WAY better than what I was doing earlier in the evening.

I agreed a few weeks ago to be the host/dramatic centerpiece for the S4 Christmas party at one of the manager's homes. I wore most of the parts of a Santa outfit: boots, red pants, beard, and hat, sans the shirt to make me a "sexy, dirty Santa". I gave out tickets for the order of the White Elephant exchange, and then walked around and took pictures with guests. This was all fine and good until the party thinned out a little, and the remaining gay club staff started getting wasted and slutty.

I actually had the "stripper does a bachelor party by herself at someone's house" nightmare scenario come true, when I was in one of the bedrooms after having used the bathroom, and three people started putting their hands down my pants simultaneously. Twisting away, I turned to see a fourth person looking into the hall as they started to shut the door. Just as it almost closed, in burst one of the bartenders, my big gay knight in faded black jeans, rescuing me from a rabid mass of horny, probing fingers.

After that wave of boundary violation dissipated, I managed to get paid and leave relatively unmolested. That's when Leah sent me a text about the show I did a Chilly Willy scootch in front of, listening to people try to use different degrees of rave scene importance to gain me passage in. Too bad rave credits aren't accepted wherever ten-dollar-an-hour door guy jobs are sold.

After I got in, I was floored to find there was a week-night electronic music show packed to capacity. Music was awesome, and I got to see a lot of people I used to see twice a week, but now only run into every six months when I manage to get out to Dallas for fun.

After the show ended I hung out with Leah and friends at Taco Cabana and tried to explain Neuro-Linguistic Programming to three very intoxicated, albeit intelligent, but definitely drunk girls. Then I went back to Denton and used the remaining energy drink buzz to buy a bunch of shit at Walmart for my trip to Portland and SF. On Christmas day I'm going to be rockin' my new Dr. Scholls gel inserts as I walk through security at the airport. Living in luxury. Nothing but the finest in medical footwear enhancements for my slender arches.

And now we come to the end of the blog entry, where just ahead is a narrative tie to the title of the post. For all your cracked out hyper-caffeinated needs, drink Drank. It slows your roll.

Seriously, this shit is awesome. I had one when I got home, and apart from the horrible purple flavor (What. I said "purple flavor". Say somethin' motherfucker.), it really does help with jittery late-night insomnia. I'd recommend it to any idiot who gets jacked up enough of red bulls to stay up the whole next day.

-Sean

Sean Sparks Live Set Downloads!

2008-12-18T08:29:00.000-08:00

I'm finally joining the internet revolution, and have started encoding old demos and sets into web-friendly downloads (Most recent to oldest):

ZOMBIES!!! (Zombie theme party at Haileys Feb-2008)

Now Fuck Off (Burning Man Orphaner Set Aug-2007)

Live @ Minc (Summer 2005)

Using birthday powers to drop a bomb on your parents

2008-12-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

So on Tuesday night I had dinner with my parents for my birthday... regular thing, but this time it was just us. No little brother, no girlfriend or friends, and we actually had a lot of really good conversations. The wine flowed, mom got silly, and I suddenly decided that if ever there was a moment in time where I could easily segue into explaining my intimate life to them, this was it.

So I reminded them of Thanksgiving, when I brought female friend who I introduced as my friend, to join us and hang out. My little cousins saw her and kiss at one point, and asked my mom about my "girlfriend". My mom has met this girl on several occasions before, and had never seen her and I do anything but be chummy, and so she said, "no guys, that's just Sean's friend."

After premising this, I explained to my parents that in actuality, this girl and I had been friends and lovers off and on for 8 years, part of that time while I was dating Meredith. My mom looked like I'd shot her in the kneecap.

I told them that Meredith had known about this, and had also dated other people while were together, that we had had an open relationship. My mom asked why I never brought girls around, if this was the case, and I told her that if I had it would have just confused them or made them think there was something wrong with me, because it would have probably been a different girl every other time.

My dad laughed at all of this, and my mom said, "Monty, this isn't funny, your son is telling us something important!"

He just shook his head and said, "Gail, I was around in the 70's. Remember the 70's? I do, especially taking my Vette out to the street races and taking home some girls. I did this shit too."

Fucking awesome birthday present. I managed to score a level up in disclosure and trust with my family, way better than the Gphone I got.

Also, I got a Gphone.

-Sean

Wanting to build something amazing...

2008-12-11T06:43:00.000-08:00

...and not knowing how to do it by myself is the hardest thing in the world to deal with. My brain is like a super-tangential-idea-machine, and never stops kicking out ideas for inventions, story plots, art, performances, music, promoting myself and others, and most importantly, theme camp ideas.

I'm an idea man. I'm good at it.

I wish I could find someone in the community who's type A and willing to help me realize my concepts. Between my disorganized approach to manifesting what I dream and facing the final semester of school, a Mount Everest towering 18 credit hours of all 4000 level (graduate level) classes, I can't make it happen without an implementer.

So far people in the core cell of theme camp members have been helpful and very cooperative, and Jason T has been amazing at pushing the envelope and making the connections we need to make in Dallas for our fundraisers, but I wish there was someone who's done theme camps before and knows how to organize basic projects:

1. Booking a venue (preferably free) for a fundraiser, putting together fliers and promotion and appointing key people to be responsible for disseminating the information like it's their job (and staying on top of them to do it), organizing the sound system setup and the creation or acquisition of any items to be used for decor, performances, or to sell to make more money. Fucking bumper stickers that say "I like to burn shit." ... I dunno.

2. Being the go-to person for scheduling the group and special team (DJ booth construction team, art team, hexayurt construction team, etc) meetings, or being able to find someone else who can and making that their job.

3. Organizing saving the money, possibly through a tax ID and LLC status, and setting up some easy way for people who need it to purchase materials or tools to get it (and be accountable for what they spend it on).

4. Setting up or finding someone who can set up a means for the group to communicate effectively via a wiki or website for the group with a forum, and keeping everyone updated via an email list about important dates, including when to buy tickets.

5. Organizing or finding someone to organize the transportation of the camp materials effectively and cheaply to Austin, via a rented truck or our own vehicles with trailers (I think we've learned our lesson, finally, though. Moving truck = way to go.)

I'm just rambling now, describing things I wish I had the time and resources to accomplish, when all I have is ideas, themes, concepts, inventions...

I need an implementer. THE implementer.

Universe? Are you listening? I want to make something beautiful and amazing to share with 3000 other incredible and enlightened people, can you help me out? Tony Stark had Pepper Potts, and he was an asshole. I'm not asking for a flying exosuit or anything, just some pyrotechnics.

-Sean

Asleep at my Feet

2008-12-11T05:59:00.001-08:00

Asleep at my feet, you're curled up in a little ball. You've fallen asleep on my stuffed alligator, Rumba, and are holding your head up a little with your arm propped against your chin. Romulus, my cat, is sitting up right in front of your face, his right side to you as he sits and idly takes in the details of the room.

The sun is sliding over the hardwood in my kitchen, creeping nearer to my foot propped up on the coffee table with each glance. It's reaching out to me, clutching at my toes ensconced in warm, wool socks, trying to draw me out into the chilly morning air. I leave my foot there, letting is move toward the bait leopardlike, sliding behind cracks and peeking out across small expanses to jump to the next point of cover. It's almost here, now, tickling at the dry, calloused botooms of my feet.

You're very beautiful when you sleep. Your lips pursed just so, slight but full, almost kissing your hand. I remember what it felt like to kiss them earlier, feel them slipping and pressing against mine, licking them softly, wetly, with my tongue, then kissing them fully, our tongues dancing lightly around each other, tips darting across and over each other, then our lips closing, me biting your bottom lip just a little, with the softest tug. Our eyes opened, and it was like we'd just finished having a conversation. Intimate but cordial. This was as far as you wanted to go, and you were telling me with those eyes.

We stayed up and talked, ran our fingers over each others bodies, occasionally wrapping together and just sliding our legs together, hugging close. Beautiful, temporary, tomorrow has no expectations for us, just this moment of closeness and indulgent kisses.

It's caught me now, pulling me out into the cold, and you're still holding my hand. We'll go out together, smiling at the uncaring sun and dancing to the wind singing in the trees.

-Sean

Thanksgiving Break

2008-11-25T01:01:00.000-08:00

I took my test in my Abnormal Psychology class today, and knowing that I'm failing my Physiological Psychology course no matter what happens, I've simply stopped going. That means that the rest of my week is completely free, aside from familial obligations on Thursday. I had no idea this free time was coming to me, I've been staring at my feet for so long trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other that I simply didn't look up and see a rest stop ahead...

... if one were inclined to wrap that metaphor up with a nice, tacky visual, one might close it with "...on the interstate of life."

With this sudden gift of time comes the desire to do something with it. Something productive. Something worth writing a blog about! I'm going to set a few goals for myself for the six free days I have this week.

1. Pick up desk and other office/workshop needs from UNT surplus.

2. Finish getting my brother Adam's shit out of my house.

3. Put together my fantasy office/workshop in the room aforementioned brother was occupying.

4. Organize filing cabinet.

5. Draw plans for converting closet in that room into a sound booth.

6. Read three non-school books between now and next Monday. Yes, three. One fiction, two non-fiction.

7. Write one complete one-shot comic script, 24-28 pages.

8. Organize plans for birthday party next month and makeout party in January.

9. Learn one crafting technique. I'm thinking a mosaic... thing. I don't know, a fucking mosaic coffee mug or some shit.

10. Memorize one rope harness and be able to tie it in less than 7 minutes. (I have no idea how realistic this goal is, I'm just shooting for something)

Woah! Ten goals Sean? That looks like a lot of stuff to be putting on your plate for your vacation.

Yes. It is.

My plan is this: If I manage to do three things on that list, I'll feel pretty average about my time usage. Five? I'll feel like I'm pushing myself a bit. Seven or higher and I'm going to take myself out for steak and really good beer one night next week.

Oh, and as a by-rule of this, no internet foruming at all for the entire week. Because when I'm on vacation, it's time to rock my little masochist.

-Sean

Rasberry Truffle Ice Cream

2008-11-24T08:02:00.000-08:00

Okay. I might miss one thing about living in Denton. One.

Beth Marie's home made ice cream shop.

One of my few decadent pleasures in this town is taking myself there and getting two pints of some really bizzare flavor combination. This time it was Rasberry Truffle and Blueberry. The Blueberry is pretty tame, really, and because I ate it second, was completely trumped by the rasberry truffle.

Mmmmm...

My friends Nathan and Sarah came over yesterday with Sonic frozen deserts, which prompted me to get out the ice cream and dance around the room with it, feeding them little spoonfulls as I gyrated in my ice cream worship dance.

It merits dancing, as all good things do.

"A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having at all."

-Sean

We're just ordinary people, you and me

2008-11-21T02:06:00.000-08:00

For everything we'll never be, and everything we become
There is the story of the moon, and the story of the sun.
The story of the moon shows hints and ideas,
the dreams of our fears,
A fantasy that leaves on us its mark.
Our reflection in the dark.

The story of the sun tells what has been done,
so brightly it hurts us to see,
But what has been done is nothing new under the sun,
and in it we'll never be free.

-Sean

A Test

2008-11-19T22:54:00.000-08:00

I'm experimenting with Scribefire on Firefox, a browser app I downloaded a long time ago and promptly ignored for a year. Apparently, after having entered in my blog details, I should be able to publish this document in it's properly edited glory to my blog directly, without having to pause to log in and open a new document window. The very likeness of impulse buying, except with thoughts. Impulse blogging.

-Sean

Too good to be true...

2008-11-19T22:27:00.000-08:00

And so I find myself the lucky friend of fortune, smiled upon beatifically, held in her steady gaze. Aloft my heart sings and my mind cracks with flame, a panther slinks darkly up my spine. It pushes its face to the base of my skull, and upward, inward, till out my eyes it sees my lurid jungle, alive and wet; pulsing... breathing.

For no master's kept these lawns nor these brushes, green painted rushes, florid with color and delight. Manifested unapologetically, this dark, teeming majesty, harem of the moist, starry night.

Like travelers and tourists, finally free and furious, I shed my old name and soft skin. Kin kept in my books tossed out like known crooks and shut from my hearts paradise. Now cold in the night I quell at dark's fright, and the panther raises my lips in a smile. While letting myself go he pushed further below, and I think I'll be a cat for a while.

6 minutes 27 seconds.

-Sean

Having an internet problem

2008-11-18T17:39:00.000-08:00

It's lasted 2 weeks now. I've skipped classes, stayed at home for entire days and not gone outside, and each day all I have to show for my time spent is a bunch of forum posts, internet chats, and not even a blog written to record it all.

I feel like this is a symptom of some kind of apathy to my fucked up school semester. I have no idea. I wish I could explain it away and simply say I'm feeling low lately, but more and more I worry that I'm just fucking lazy. I just called up to one of the dance clubs in Dallas and they asked me to come in and work tonight, so I guess I'm going to go make some money. I need it, anyway. I'm poor as fuck, with no other options for pulling down cash right now.

Sucks.

Life can be such a bitch sometimes.

-Sean

Driving really really fast

2008-11-02T09:51:00.000-08:00

Ask me what my favorite thing in the world is. The title of this post should tell you what I'm thinking, but if you'd asked me a week ago I probably would have said sex. And it's true, I do love sex. A lot.

But not as much as I love doing 95 MPH on a pitched low angle feeder lane from 35 S to 35 N. Sunday morning traffic, swerving between cars as the road pitches and winds, refusing to drop below 100 on the straightaways, acceleration like white hot nails in my spine, fueling me, feeding my craving for that feeling of dancing on the stars, surfing chaos.

And taking that feeder lane... god... it was like the best orgasm I've ever had. Knuckles clenched on the steering wheel, feeling the tires slowly slip on their traction askew on the pavement, pulling my curve wider and wider against the all wheel drive torque from my suspension... and in that most terrifying moment where I could see all of downtown Dallas arrayed underneath me, with nothing but a small cement barrier to stop me from flinging me and three thousand pounds of wrecked machinery into a 200 foot drop, I was falling off the cliff again, just before I hit the ground.

That sensation, when your nervous system faces fear and pain and simply transgresses it.

The curve widened and straightened out onto the freeway. I let out my breath and took in a big gulp of air, and laughed for five minutes straight. Maniacally, madly, in love with life and everything in it, yet completely apart from it in an indescribable way.

Driving is part of my madness. I know it's a madness because socially it's not mentally healthy, and endangers the lives of others. I know this because I've spent a lot of time in my abnormal psychology class diagnosing myself. Very probably if I ever lost control of my car I'd kill not only myself but other people as well.

But I don't think I'll ever be able to rationalize that to myself in a way that will make me not do it. It's my madness, and you can't fucking have it. If I never keep anything else in this world, I'll at least always have my insanity. You can't take crazy away from me, and you'll just make it worse for trying.

-Sean

My first cat passed away last night

2008-10-31T11:18:00.000-07:00

Xena was my cat growing up, and when my first engagement ended she moved into the Richmond House with me, and resided there for four years. Many people in Dallas knew her as a really fat blur of fuzzy white that would shuffle from one overhead shelter to the next, couch to chair, chair to bed, etc, and some often confused her for some kind of feral creature that had gotten in during one of our parties.

She was a great pet, and an excellent nemesis. After a few evenings of having a girl stay the night, on one occasion, she climbed to the top of my bedroom set headboard (a good 6.5 feet up) and swan dived onto my head to express her discontent. Really, she was just being protective (and territorial), but it didn't stop me from bodily throwing her into the back of my couch. She righted herself, our eyes locked, and in that moment we knew where we stood with each other.

I loved that cat, as many who lived in the house did, in an embrace of all of her quirky bizzarities, such as chewing the air incessantly and doing the "talking cat" gag when her butt was scratched. She helped me through some really tough emotional times while I lived in Dallas. After I moved to Denton she went to live with my parents, her obesity had begun to get worse and she was losing her vision.

She spent 3 happy years in her original home until she died last night in her bed from cardiovascular complications, she was 19.

Bye Xena, I'm going to miss you, you cuddly evil bitch.

-Sean

What happens when I stay up all night and respond to two-week old messages on dating website

2008-10-30T16:41:00.000-07:00

I wrote this girl two weeks ago on okcupid, and since I couldn't go to sleep after going to Ghostbar to see Tiefshwarts, Audiofly, and Steve Lawler, I decided that now would be a good time to pick the conversation up again.

=====SeanSparks wrote=====

Person I've messaged on here.

I am attempting to experiment with electronic socializing.

Also, we read a lot of the same books.

-Sean

=====(Redacted) wrote=====

The electronic socializing is, at its worst, incredibly amusing. I have had men from other countries message me asking if I will marry them so they can get their green card. I show the funny messages to my roommate and we laugh. I have also me some cool people. Either way, you win.
What are some of the books you like?

=====SeanSparks wrote=====

All time faves?

The Illuminatis! Trilogy by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, The Hitchiker's "trilogy" by Douglas Adams (and anything else he ever wrote), The Discworld Series by Terry Pratchett, Anansi Boys by Neil Gaimen, Through a Scanner Darkly by Phillip K. Dick;

If we're talking fiction.

It's 6:30 in the morning and I haven't slept yet. Went out dancing last night at Ghost Bar and ended up staying up afterwards watching DVD's of the first season of The Sarah Conner Chronicles. I think this is one of those shows that I have to watch in a big marathon. Some stuff I can tolerate doing episode to episode, like Lost, because it helps build suspense, but I'm having a philosophical crisis with the plot line of this series and I need to see if my suspicions are confirmed.

You see, I think with the final Terminator movie they're going to reveal that this entire story has played out many times before, and that only the subtlest things change about what happens with each new instance. So I think the final movie will end with Christian Bale as John Conner, changing one new minute detail about all of the events, hoping it will work the next time around.

A lot of the episodes have emphasized the "game-like" nature of the Skynet system's behavior, so I think that all of existence is trapped in a four movie and one television series loop spanning the 30 some-odd years that the Terminator story takes place in. It starts with John Conner sending his best soldier back in time to knock his mom up so that he can be born, and ends with John Conner tracking all of the events and trying some new "move" against the course of events, to see if it will change the way the future ends up.

And if that's the way they end it, I'm going to be so fucking pissed. Fucking deux ex machina bullshit.

I hope this rant on the intricate story developments of a sci-fi phenomenon proves a better resource for mapping my persona on the web than a message full of detail probing niceties.

Kekeke.

It's no wonder my cats are running around the living room trying to kill each other right now. Beep keeps mounting their cat house, situated in front of the front door, and making this pitiful low pitch mew while craning up on two legs to look outside. I feel like such a bastard keeping them in like this, but Beep's run away for more than three days on 3 occasions now, and I'm trying to keep them inside so they'll remember where home is.

If anyone has any advice on this, lemme know, because I'm kind of stumped. Both Beep and Rom have been in/out cats since they were big enough to go outside, and now Beep leaves for 3 days to a week.

It's fucking 6:47 AM, and I've been up for 24 hours and 47 minutes now. I'm not sure why my insomnia decided to kick in tonight, I'm not particularly angsty or upset about anything, aside from having to put a spare on my front right tire because I blew it out on my way home from Ghostbag last night.

Class in four hours. Might as well just stay up and pray this shit wears off before it's too late to get some sleep before work tonight. Ass shaking punchy sarcastic Sean does not sound like a good recipe for tips.

Have I rambled tangentially for long enough yet?

-Sean

Fuck you, internet connection

2008-10-28T19:31:00.000-07:00

I've just wrapped up the third in a series of exhaustingly long days, work nap work school nap work work school sleep work school work nap... like that. I got home with the mother of all sinus congestions, and with heavy gulps of air through my mouth I stared expectantly at my computer screen as last night's episode of Heroes started to play.

And then stop. And then play. And then stop. And then play.

I reset my modem and router twice, rebooted my computer, eventually unplugged the ethernet from my wireless and went straight into my laptop, all with no improvement on my viewing experience. I've been pressing pause as it starts each new segment and waiting five minutes, and that actually gets me through about half the segment before it starts chopping up on me again.

I can't breathe, my heater still isn't turned on because I don't have a ladder to get into my attic to turn on the pilot light, and now I can't even watch the show I wanted to watch to wind down before having to go to bed early, so that I can wake up at six and do this whole fucking rat race again.

And I can't breathe. And it fucking sucks.

-Sean

OKCupid

2008-10-27T12:32:00.001-07:00

I have a profile on OKCupid, a dating website that I've found has a pretty solid array of interesting and sexy people. I met a trio of awesome people, a boy and two girls he was involved with, at a swinger party two weekends ago, and they told me they met on OKCupid. Since I was really impressed with each of them, I assumed that a website that matched up neat individuals that well couldn't be that far off the mark.

Lately I've been more concerned with meeting interesting people than I have with sexy, though I have to admit I like my interesting people to be sexy... regardless, I've been approaching likely candidates that I'd like for potential hangout buddies or someone I can bullshit with on the internet in a more candid, sarcastic fashion.

One girl said in her "Contact me if" box:

"You actually have something to say."

So I decided to contact her:

There are exactly 732 rocks in my front and back yard. Don't ask me why I know, I don't like disclosing that story to people I don't know, I just do.

There, I said it. I feel better for having told someone the number.

Thanks for being my confessional.

Oh! Also, I like the shape of your head. It has good symmetry.

-Sean

A picture is worth a thousand words

2008-10-26T16:00:00.000-07:00

Or several hours of wasted time.

I've seriously had that picture open for two days now in my browser, and am loathe to close it. I keep clicking on it now and again and dose myself with ten seconds of the cuddly-fuzzies, before returning to ignoring my studying by browsing the web for inanity.

I just signed up for my classes for next semester, and I honestly have no idea what I'm doing. I know that I need one more Italian class and one more Psychology class, but other than that I'm just kind of shooting in the general direction of counseling stuff. It's my last semester, so I'm having a hard time generating the juice to give a shit.

Other than that, life is actually really good. I made a LOT of money this weekend, and am finally out of my depressing slump of being so broke I could only afford to eat breaded things (PB&J, turkey sammich, grilled cheese).

Spent most of today sleeping and recovering from last night. It was my first time to work at S4 while the Halloween block party went on, and it was insane. Tons of people in costume, completely trashed, trying to pull my shorts off, grab my cock, etc, etc. I had to be on guard all night, and ended up smacking hands left and right, one of which belonged to an old acquaintance who was VERY drunk. Fucker should have known better.

This post has time traveled, because I left it open and went to work last night, so for a continuation on my work report...

Sunday night was slow, slow as molasses driving down a south dallas back road with an illegal immigrant at the wheel. The first two hours saw maybe five fresh faces in the back bar where I dance, and when people asked me how my night was going, I couldn't even get up the energy to put on my mask and lie. I just said "Shitty," and gestured to the empty bar. That actually scored me some pity tips.

Sundays are always slow at the club until about 12:30, and because it's 18 and up hip hop night nobody comes into the back. However, luck favored my plight, and one of the other dancers came in to hang out, stuffing dollars in my shorts and pushing his ex-boyfriend on me. He was cute, so I let him believe I was going to call him, and as a reward for my ruse one of his entourage popped their "tipping a stripper" cherry by giving me a $20.

For anyone who knows female strippers or has read or watched anything about female strippers, you're probably thinking, "Ooh, a twenty, way to make the big bucks Magoo," but what most people don't know is that male dancers, just like male pornstars, make shit compared to females in the industry. We're limited by a number of factors, including not being able to show what everyone who comes to see us really wants to see, and specific to my job (gogo dancing) not being able to sit with groups, do lapdances, etc. People aren't even legally allowed to touch me, though like any other dancer, I'll make an exception if they aren't repulsive and they don't try to rub their grimy hands all over my cock... and the money is forthcoming.

Back to the twenty. After the shy little boy with the taupe vest tipped me a twenty, my whole night took on a tinge of gold. I started dancing, smiled more, felt better in general. And it reflected on my wages, because people started coming to pay attention to me. There's two things that improve my mood at work, money and being paid attention to. Any person who dances erotically has to foster at least the smallest embryo of exhibitionist inside them, and feed that embryo with a healthy dose of narcissism if they really want to own the stage, so for me being paid attention to is like saying Beetlejuice's name three times. I'll gyrate and gesticulate with more dramatic poses and moves, be more engaging with customers, and make more money as a result.

In that last hour of work I went from 3 dollars to 57, at final count, which for a Sunday night is a pretty good take, when put on top of the 75 I get paid to show up. More than I'd make at Starbucks, at least.

No benefits, though, unless you count phone numbers and multiple drunken attempts at handjobs "benefits."

-Sean

I took a dating quiz on okcupid

2008-10-23T14:57:00.001-07:00

The Playboy

Random Gentle Sex Master (RGSM)

Clean. Smooth. Successful. You're The Playboy.

You're spontaneous, and your energy is highly contagious. Guys therefore find you fun to be around, and girls find you compelling. You have lots of sex, and you manage it all without seeming cheap or being hurtful. Well done. You probably know karate, too.

It's obvious to us, and probably everyone else, that you're after physical rather than emotional relationships, but you're straight up with potential partners. And if a girl you want isn't into something casual, it's no big deal. You move on. BEFORE sleeping with her. Usually. At least you try to. Such control is rare.

If you're feeling unfulfilled, maybe you should raise your standards. New conquests will only be satisfying if there's a possibility of rejection.

Your exact male opposite:

The Mixed Messenger

Deliberate Brutal Love Dreamer

Always avoid: The Playstation (RGSM)

Consider: The Dirty Little Secret (DGSM), The Nurse (RGSD)

Link: The Online Dating Persona Test | OkCupid - singles | Dating
My profile name: : SeanSparks

lol @ "you probably know karate".

-Sean

Have you ever been high as fuck?

2008-10-20T23:24:00.000-07:00

I know I have. This is a my very first post on an internet blog, from my livejournal way back in the year of 2000!!!

Do you ever have one of those nights where you're so undeniably high, that you look into a glass as you're pouring orange juice into it and freak out because you can see through the bottom? Probably not; But at this very moment I am so stoned that I actually did something that stupid.

Being at this point of a high has only ever happened once in my whole life before. That was a different time of the year however, and I had just started dating this young girl named Amber. The year was 1988, and I was in middle school, on my way there when a group of older kids yelled at me from across the field...............................................
What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah, anyway the glass I poured the orange juice into. It was colored around the sides, so when I picked it up I wasn't expecting to see the counter. It was sort of an odd visual. You know, I kind of like this Livejournal thing, it gives me a reason to write, maybe I'll even write in every day. Although I shouldn't say that since the people reading it might not check back more. Stop typing what you're thinking, you idiot.

Shit, I'd better delete that. Don't put it off you idiot. You'll put it off and never remember. Fuck it, keep typing, you're probably going to forget you're doing that otherwise.

So that's what I was like when I was 19. It's good to see I haven't matured much over the years. Peter Pan complex and all that.

-Sean

Beep and the Phantom Cat

2008-10-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

As I posted last week, Beep ran away for a bit, tramped around Amsterdam and found himself (in the arms of a Red Light District post-op reverse catsexual), and was recaptured by my friend Michelle sleeping under my neighbor's car.

After happily snuggling him helpless, I kept him inside for a few days until I could get a tag and a collar for him. I got him a cute little black one with a bell on it, so that I'd always be able to tell him apart from his doppelganger siblings, born of the same feral mother who led him away from the litter when she thought he was going to infect the others with an upper respiratory infection.

He kept the collar on, thankfully, because Romulus (the other cat) managed to get his off easily. Yesterday he came in to eat, and didn't have his collar on. I was a little bummed, but figured I'd get another one without a safety catch on it. Well, this morning he came back again, with his collar back on.

One of three things happened:

The Beep who wasn't wearing a collar wasn't really Beep at all, and was actually one of his sly evil siblings coming in for a free meal. Which is creepy to me, because I picked him up and snuggled him.
Whoever was feeding him before, when he was gone for five days, took the collar off of him when he came over to get a free meal.
Beep has developed opposable thumbs and a higher cognizance, and is totally fucking with me.

None of those options rests well with me, except option 2, in which whoever took the collar off of him realized that someone out there probably loved him very much, and decided to return the collar (and cat) to it's rightful owner.

-Sean

I can't have caffeine

2008-10-18T10:26:00.000-07:00

Over this summer my skin went batshit crazy, again, and I had horrible breakouts for months. I have really bad adult acne, and keeping it under control is a constant struggle. I figured it was part stress, part partying, and part caffeine.

Well, I eventually eliminated some of the stress, and cut down on the partying (to where I was at least sleeping regularly), and the shit wouldn't stop. I even cut down on the caffeine, but kept drinking green tea. Two weeks ago I decided to just stop drinking green tea as well, and BAM, the shit just stops breaking out.

Now it's healing, and I'm realizing that I can never have caffeine. In the scope of unfairness in the world, it's not so bad, but dammit I like to get jacked up and go dancing as much as the next person, or writing, or just bullshitting with friends at a coffee shop.

Oh well.

So it's back to sprinting every other morning for wake-up energy. Yay sprints!

OH HOW I LOVE TO SPRINT, IT IS JUST THE GREATEST BURNING FEELING IN MY CHEST THAT MAKES ME GASP FOR AIR LIKE A MAN DYING OF A GUNSHOT WOUND TO THE LUNG EVER!

-Sean

Sexual activist vs... sexual activist?

2008-10-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

Dan Savage, the well-known sex-advice columnist, just did a small slam piece on the New York Poly Pride Day, which was co-organized by one of my New York lovers and sexual rights advocate, Diana Adams. Her and my long distance boy lover Ed were the ones featured in the New York Times article a few weeks ago.

http://slog.thestranger.com/2008/10/...assumptions_ab

Despite my obvious affiliations, this is interesting to me because Dan Savage, ardent defender of the kinky and gay, is slamming a celebration of an intimate lifestyle that encourages communication, honesty (both social and individual), and is open to all walks of kink and sexual/gender affiliation.

Diana already replied to it, and even offered Dan a chance to go tet-a-tet on opinions and views with regard to sex-positivism. I'd love it if they actually did a podcast or interview as some kind of meeting of the minds, because I'd like to hear some more on why Dan Savage doesn't like poly being out in the open in this fashion.

-Sean

I love Doctor Who

2008-10-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

I've been in the process of redesigning my living room for more effective and productive living. Basically I'm taking the big TV and couches facing the TV out of the equation, because the big TV and couches facing the TV generally encourage me along one very predictable path.

However, I just got my netflix for the day, and the third season of Doctor Who. I love Doctor Who. Doctor Who resonates so much with my wild adventurous heart and traveling spirit. The completely obsessed madman with his magical time machine who becomes excited at the slightest notion of an interesting concept... well, he just burns me up inside.

Plus, the tenth doctor IS a rather attractive man.

I've been sabotaging my own watching experience, though, because I keep looking up information on the show on Wikipedia. I completely ruined the surprise of who the Doctor's new companion is and how long she stays with him for myself. So much for my sense of adventure, if I had a time machine I'd probably just skip to the end of everything and then get bored with it.

-Sean

Rocky Horror!

2008-10-16T07:21:00.000-07:00

Well! I do declare! Halloween traditions sometimes DO keep up to task with my own desire for weirdness and fun, and I just happened to notice that the UNT theater department is hosting a fundraiser Rocky Horror performance in the Lyceum next Thursday (the 23rd).

I haven't been to a Rocky Horror in years, and honestly I think it's time.

Who's coming with me?

*wiggles fingers*

-Sean

Beep Returns!

2008-10-13T16:45:00.000-07:00

YAY!

After a five day tour of the neighborhood, Beep returned victorious (and hungry). My friend Michelle spotted him in the driveway and scooped him up. I think I nuzzled him until he started grunting.

Adorable little fucker. I'm getting him a collar and a GPS beacon, so next time I'll know when he steal my car at three in the morning to go smoke pot with those older cats down the street.

Just took a four hour nap. Is that even qualifiable as a nap? I know I got at least one REM cycle in, because I woke up at the end of this crazy dream where I'd just taken the most satisfying dump in my life. Fortunately my dream didn't translate into bodily functions, but I tried to avoid rolling around in bed all the same when I was getting up.

Have Capoeira tonight, what's become the highlight of my Monday and Wednesday nights. This week we're focusing on learning how to play the instruments and sing in Portugese, which is part of why I love it so much. We're not just learning a martial art, we're learning how to celebrate a culture, and it's nice diving head first into something like that coming from a place that knows less about celebrating culture than it does about commodifying it.

I've spent almost this entire day naked. I love being naked.

Aaannnnddd scene.

-Sean

So I thought I was down for the count

2008-10-13T01:25:00.000-07:00

Two days of no sleep, hit myself with a bunch of sedatives when I got home, laid in bed and waiting. Nothing's happening. I'm still awake, just incredibly delirious, now. I just got out a secret stash of super happy fun pills that are capsules with 3/4 valium and 1/4 xanax. I like to just pour a little salt pile of it on my hand and lick it off. Mer and I used to put it on each other and lick it off when we would use it to cure our cracked out states of minds.

Now I wait. The cat sleeps beside me, also waiting. Waiting for me to fall asleep, so that he can wake up and figure out a new way to dig his claws into my body through the blankets, his "way of getting comfortable." Whatever, he's a malicious fucker who likes to wake me up.

Evil cat.

I can't wait to wake up tomorrow, I have this really neat feeling about life.

-Sean

Back from Myschevia

2008-10-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

Back from Myschevia, haven't slept all weekend, fogged out of my skull and deliriously typing in my blog. After sleeping in my brother's Four Runner for two nights in a mosquito infested forest, I finally caved in and headed home, but not until I'd danced my ass off, mixed a bunch of my new favorite tunes after the burn, and resolved some social tension issues, which always helps you leave a party feeling like you actually got something productive done: "I strengthened bonds with people I was having difficulties with... yay, now that will make up for not working for two days and spending a bunch of cash on gas to get down here."

Kekeke. I'm just bitter because I'm poor.

I really did come away from this weekend feeling that the totally hedonistic celebration, honoring the ancient spiritual tradition of lighting shit on fire and getting really fucked up around it, gave me the chance to set a lot of shit straight in my head and my life. I spent the drive back this afternoon jacked up on aderal and caffiene meditating on how to take my life apart and put it back together in a more efficient way, how to start studying more, improve my productivity in general, etc, and actually made a stop off at Walmart to pick up some school supplies for organizing with a trapper keeper.

Next step is decommisioning my living room as a TV watching room, and converting it into a study area. I don't need TV in my life right now, ever since I got the stupid thing in my house again (after 3 years without) I've caught myself watching more and more, and adding new recording subscriptions to the DVR every day. Sometimes I'll validate it by telling myself that it's good to watch shows about how various machines and processes function, or what kinds of neat new inventions are changing the face of agricultural development in the US.

So the TV goes out of the living room, maybe to a pawn shop. Next step, get a desk and work table, some filing cabinets and organizer bins, and build myself a PC since I can't seem to own a laptop for more than 6 months without completely trashing it. If I had the cash I'd get a Panasonic Toughbook, the REALLY REALLY tough model that they market to field archaeologists and construction workers.

Because I need to be spending money right now on gadgets. Brilliant plan.

I get frustrated sometimes by how many things I want to do at once. All of these projects dancing around in my head vie for primacy in my current grand scheme model, from organizing a badass theme camp for flipside to building a back deck add-on to my house, or looking at local lots for sale to find a good spot to build a green friendly eco-apartment complex, or learning to sew, or picking up another martial art... going on vacations to see friends in other states... writing a musical... it just goes on and on. I can never just pin one down and stick to it, and school is fucking me up royally with being able to focus on anything BUT school.

Which brings me back to fundamentals. Fixing my shitty study habits. I figure if I can effectively organize my study environment and processes I'll end up with less stress regarding school, because I'll have my shit together, and won't always be worrying about some paper I'm procrastinating until the week it's due.

That's the hope, anyway. Maybe I've had what counselors call a false-epiphany, and I'm rocketing toward what seems to me a brilliant attack on my lazy habits, but in actuality is just one more way to waste my time on some ridiculous minutia of my day-to-day.

Anyway-

Beep, the little black cat that I rescued from my backyard a year ago, has now been missing for four days. I think someone else is feeding him, because he was gone for two days before this, and then left after staying here one day, and has not yet return. Tomorrow I'll hit the pound up and flier my neighbors doors. I'm being naivé and optimistic right now, and traveling happily along on my assumption that he's fine and just misplaced. When I get him back we're going to have a nice car ride to the vet, and he's going to get fucking lowjacked.

Maybe I'll pee on him for good measure. Nobody will want to play with a smelly pee cat. Romulus (other cat, half bengal) has been moping about, desperately groping at any opportunity for physical attention. I think he misses his sparring partner. I really hope Beep's okay. I don't think I could handle losing him right now, especially after all the back and forth with Meredith about how we were going to share them post-breakup.

In other news, I have five modeling shifts this week, because one of the art teachers is a fellow burner, and he sent glowing reports and requests for further work with me to our modeling coordinator. Which rocks, because now I get to make more money AND model for a cool class with an instructor who knows what gift cultures and radical-self-reliance are. Plus, the music he plays is always on point.

I think I've dumped enough meaningless shit on here for today.

Bam.

-Sean

Electroclash: Use with Caution

2008-10-09T18:02:00.000-07:00

As a DJ of ten years now, I've started to notice a disturbing trend in tracks I'm perusing for purchase. More and more I see download sites picking up these tracks that combine one looping lyric, chopped to shit and layered over blaring synths and tinny splash effects.

I hate to bring up the "it sounds repetitive" argument, here, but this goes beyond repetitive. This shit is redundant. One track after another, the same hard hitting descending or ascending synth patterns bores me to tears, and the DJ mixes that get put out featuring nothing but blasé electro with the occasional dance-rock song are just fucking killing me.

Guys, there's like 80 or 90 various sub-genres of dance music now. Mix it up a bit. Surprise us. One of the happiest things I bid adieu to from the 90's was genre-whoring. "Oh, I'm a hard house DJ, I ONLY play hard house, I can name every other DJ and producer in the market pushing this sound, blah blah blah..." Yeah, that. Happy to see it go.

So let's not start limiting ourselves again, shall we? I know if you really want me to freak my shit on the dancefloor layering Huey Lewis and the News over some dope prog beat is going to do it far better than something that has all the musical excitement of an AC unit turning on and off.

-Sean

Last night at Work

2008-09-27T01:39:00.000-07:00

Made a bunch of money off of a guy who manages DJ's in LA named Andrew. He was there with one of his cash cows, Kimberly S, who played mostly the same stuff I hear at S4 every night, excepting a few tracks I actually owned. That very comment made to a friend was what got he and I talking originally.

End of the night rolled around and he wanted me to come back to his hotel room at the W (there's always one), and I politely said it wasn't likely, but I did want to stay in contact with him. A connection in LA is not a thing to spit at in the party scene/DJ'ing department, and he wasn't a bad looking guy.

Listen to me. I sound like a stripper.

Truth is my moral compass hasn't gone that far polarized yet, but with a few new places I'm planning to check out for dancing, it's probably not far off. Problem is when I get with these guys one-on-one my inexperience in the male escorting department is going to show, because despite all of my learning and experimenting I still haven't the slightest idea what guys like, how to pleasure them, and more importantly lead them on, etc.

I also failed my second test today, one for Sociology of Culture, which is a relatively easy course. I've simply not been putting my nose to the grindstone and studying, instead I've spent the last few weeks fucking about in the house, watching movies, feeling sorry for myself, and being completely unproductive. I think at some point I just started to feel overwhelmed with everything I have lined up, and threw my hands up in the air at it, saying "Fuck you, sort yourself out."

Now I've got two shitty first-test scores to show for THAT brain gem, and a LOT of catching up to do. Last day to drop is October 3rd, but I can't drop now because I've promised my dad that I'm walking in May, and if I do any chance of that is out the window. I'd have to do 19 hours in spring just to pass. So in short, I'm fucked. But I'm used to being fucked. I'm so used to being fucked, in fact, that I believe I've developed a nervous condition as a result.

I hope I've developed a nervous condition as a result.

I went to the doctor on Wednesday for an incessant chattering that occurs when my teeth are close together. It's about twice a second, click click click click. I was pretty sure that it's not normal, and freaked out on google with results that turned up Parkinsons, brain cancer, and other lovely diseases and issues.

The doctor, also the head of staff for the school's clinic, told me he'd never seen anything like it, and said that I could either wait and see if further spasming occured in my body, or I could spend thousands of dollars and go get an MRI or PETScan done.

Yay! Lack of resolution with a foreboding potential outcome! I love this game! :D

So maybe I'm stressed. Scratch that, I know I'm stressed. I've even decided to start meditating again, now that I've got the house to myself most of the daytime my brother Adam isn't around). I've felt my stress bits deteriorating as I've dominated one sphere after another in my massive cleanup of the wreckage left over from the breakup in June. I've almost got my house in order, all I need is to get rid of my bedrooom set and get a new bed and dresser, and finally remove the TV from my living room and put a real work desk there, along with some non-TV conducive furnishings and arrangements.

I wish I'd never let Meredith talk me into getting cable. I love watching my favorite shows, but it's not worth the money or time-suck that it's become in my life, again. I want to turn it off, but my brother doesn't want to not have cable, so now I'm stuck with it until he moves out.

I have no idea when that will happen, incidentally, but we're doing pretty good with sharing an 817 sq ft house. He's a really considerate roomate, and doesn't have a problem with working on small house chores during the day, since he's not doing anything else with his free time right now.

I'm going to close this MASSIVE rant out with a laundery list of things I want to buy when I have money again:

A decent road bike (Mine got stolen at burning man. Yeah, I know, way to go hippies. Gift culture does NOT mean gift yourself someone else's property.)
Running shoes (Mine literally have holes in them now)
A desk for my living room
A desktop computer (I manage to break every laptop I buy inside of a year)
Some decent speakers
an MP3 radio adapter for my car
Ableton
Torq
Get my turntables and CDJ's repaired

-Sean

Was just about to leave school...

2008-07-24T07:10:00.000-07:00

When I realized that this will be my last chance to blog. I guess I can do it again, but it's going to cost me money if I want to, so there's really no point.

So goodbye Rome. It's been fun. It's been more than fun, it's been insane, a wild ride through education, culture, and personal growth. I don't have much of a big to-do to leave with, tonight I'm having our second farewell dinner and then going out to a beach club.

Tomorrow is the Vatican. Saturday morning I get on a plane and come home. I can't wait to see my little monsters, I'm going to cuddle Beep until he goes batshit trying to squirm away. I might if even shed a tear or two. I can't wait to see my nuzzbuzz, either, and go see Dark Knight. Excited about that, after hearing all of my friends go on about how great it is.

Blog will stay up, because when I get home I'm going to retroactively upload pictures from the weekends that I couldn't get the school wifi to let me upload, in case people want to see some of the wildness from love parade, or something. The video of the visual show at the end of the night is definitely worth a watch, maybe not for the full ten minutes, but it's fucking cool.

Sunday I'm going out to Dallas to check out Barcadia in the late afternoon, maybe do dinner somewhere out there (Freebirds!!!), and go to the Church for some sexy female DJ's playing electro stuff. Everyone's invited to come out and along, I know some of the burner troupe are planning on meeting me up there already.

I'm back for ten days, so if you want to hang out let me know so I can pencil you in, my time will be pretty squeezed up between working and making ready for the next leg of the venture. Then it's off to New York. Yes, there will be a seansparksnewyork blog as well. I probably should have just been conservative with blogspot names and made one that was call seansparkstraveling, but... eh.

So that's it, in and out of five weeks overseas with a whimper.

-Sean

Means so much more knowing the words...

2008-07-24T00:40:00.000-07:00

What's going on
Could this be my understanding
It's not your fault I was being too demanding
I must admit it's my pride that made me distant
All because I hoped that you'd be someone different
There's not much I know about you
Fear will always make you blind
But the answer is in clear view
It's amazing what you'll find face to face

I turned away because I thought you were the problem
Tried to forget until I hit the bottom
But when I faced you in my blank confusion
I realized you weren't wrong, it was a mere illusion

It really didn't make sense
Just to leave this unresolved
It's not hard to go the distance
when you finally get involved face to face

21 guns for an awesome jacket

2008-07-23T00:47:00.000-07:00

Last year I bought a G-Star jacket in Seattle that was ever-so-sexy, tight, and gray. Like what's happened lately with many things associated with Seattle, though, it is now lost from me in the chaos of space-time. Some German-British girls are now the proud owners of my sexy jacket, because I left it hanging to dry on their bathroom door when they were kind enough to let me wash my face and change. So it goes.

My inner-Zen-capitalist is rationalizing the loss by saying I have equaled the balance for the kickass leather jacket I got in Florence. Too bad I couldn't have Temple-of-Doomed it with a bag of sand instead. At least I didn't have to run from any boulders.

Today is the second-to-last day of school. I'm happy about that. Sadly, I didn't learn that much Italian in school. Most of what I can speak I taught myself here, with flashcards, recitation, going out on my own and meeting people, trying. The three and a half hours we spent every day in the classroom only hurt my head and made me tired, and now I'm definitely ready for it to be over. I don't even care what I get for a grade.

Tonight is the first of two farewell dinners, this one sponsored by API (the company who I went through to come here), and the second by LDM (my university). I love free meals. I'm going on a gelato frenzy now, two a day for the rest of my time here, because I know I'm not going to have it this good again for a long while, and I want to try every flavor and dress-up combination I haven't tried yet.

Last night Allison, Sam, Jaquelin, and I went to the Cork (Irish pub) after getting gelato. Jaquelin has a little boy-thing person here, a guy named Giovani, and when Allison and I were calling it an early night from fatigue, we talked about her situation on the walk back. Jaquelin was tempted ever so slightly to move here and give love a chance, and honestly I couldn't blame her for wanting to. Why not take the plunge and see what unfolds? Every great thing I've enjoyed remembering in my life has been the result of folly or madness, from doing a 8 city tour by myself on spring break one year to driving to Austin at the crack of dawn because someone convinced me it would be fun. Those are the adventures worth having, and even if her relationship with this guy who speaks almost no English fell apart, she could still say she lived a more amazing fantasy than most people dare to dream.

Fuck logistics, fuck your house of cards, fuck the friends who want you to stay, seize something amazing and leap. Don't half-ass it, either, just jump and pray that you live to talk about it. If not, you won't care anyway. Falling off a cliff and surviving taught me that, though I wouldn't say that was a decision. More so gravity being insistent about its sentiment towards matter.

But hey, it makes a great story. When we're old, ugly, feeble and useless, what more do we have left? I want to live a life that wows the few brave youngsters who chance to listen to an old guy talk. I think more people should do the same.

So Jaquelin, if you ever read this blog, do the wrong thing, the crazy thing, the inspired thing. Jump off a cliff, and land on some hot Italian boy cock.

-Sean

Whew!

2008-07-22T04:38:00.000-07:00

Today I had to redo my oral presentation. Yesterday I tried to do it in front of the other girls in my class, locked up in brain dead post-"two days of no sleep" mode, and stammered my way through a sweaty retarded string of broken sentences and incorrectly conjugated words.

I still feel like shit today, a not-so-subtle nudge from the universe that I'm actually starting to age, but my teacher let me do it over with just her in the room. I rewrote the whole thing yesterday and made it simpler, then recited it over and over again last night until I couldn't stand anymore. Literally. I forced myself not to nap yesterday, because napping has done nothing good for me at all here. Just makes me tired when I wake up, then not able to sleep when I want to go to bed. Last night I was stumbling around the apartment with a sheet of chicken scratched sentences in my hand, mumbling them over and over. Sometimes my eyes would cross involuntarily, or the floaters from when I had my nose broken would become apparent. I felt like a malfunctioning robot, like Johnny five in the second movie after he got his ass kicked by the bank robbers. Crazy, pissed off, committed, and falling apart.

Eventually I fell onto the bed with the paper in my hand, and I woke up like that this morning. Apparently I tried to set my alarm when sleep was covering me with its leaden blanket, but I didn't set the switch all the way back to the "on" position. I slept in two hours, but since I've been making myself get up at 6 every morning, it wasn't a big deal.

Tomorrow is the review for my final, and then Thursday is our last day. I've started pitching to everyone that we go to one of the mega-clubs in Ostia, just so we can say we did a beach club in Italy. Plus, I want to get completely shitty and discard every bit of Italian language I've absorbed in the past five weeks.

Friday I'm doing the Vatican in a very special way. I'm going with my uncle S. to check out the many artifacts in the museums, etc, and staying up all night in Roma afterwards. Have to pack everything first, and figure out what the fuck to do with the bottle of wine I bought. Shipping is expensive, but I know it won't survive being checked in my bag. I considered hollowing out the memory foam travel pillow my mom gave me for the trip, but it's not long enough to ensconce the neck of the bottle.

This way, though, I get to have one more madcap adventure in the city, rife with history, culture, and Hunter S. Thompson's preferred method of experiential interpretation. Then I can load my shit into a cab, get on a plane, and turn my brain off with sedatives for 9 hours. When I get to Newark airport it will be 11 AM the same day I left, and I can have breakfast in some shitty airport restaurant and pretend I don't have jetlag. It will probably still hit me, but at least I'll have started my circadian rhythm on the proper morning hour.

"Proper." American. Cheeseburgers. Football. MTV. Constantly going. Work. Bush. Texans.

Fuck. I don't want to go home. Just ship me BBQ, texmex, and my cats. You can all come visit me. I don't need the rest of the shit that comes with America. Maybe burning culture, but I can just as easily find that or create it here.

-Sean

Dancing

2008-07-22T01:02:00.000-07:00

In this moment
Dancing as free as the air
Screaming, smiling
I don't even speak your language
But now all of you are my friends
And there's nothing you can do about it

Love Parade

2008-07-21T01:26:00.000-07:00

This fucking baby wants me to throw it out the front bay doors of this plane. I can hear it in the screams, the complete dissatisfaction with existence as a whole, it's saying "Help me! Please... someone turn this whole thing off! I don't want sentience, just give me sweet oblivion! I want to hit the ground like an overripe watermelon! It'll be fun!"

It would be for me, at least. The plane's about to land, so I can't mask this tiny banshee with some soothing trip hop anymore. Must turn off all electronics, or risk the wrath of a stern and grandmotherly flight attendant. I wish I'd given myself more time in Germany, toe-dipping into an entire country was such a tease, especially when I realized I could actually get laid there if had a few days to work at it. And I need to get laid in a terrible way, I've caught myself making my usual instinctive utterances that I usually think in my head at the site of a nicely curved ass or plump pair of lips out loud.

At the point where it's happening because I'm incredibly sexually frustrated, it could be construed (slightly accurately) as rather creepy. I'm even creeped out by it. I don't want to be the creepy shameless grunting guy, so I need to sort this out.

Probably it will end up having to wait until I get home. Five days isn't a lot of time, and I need to be soaking up the last bits of Rome and studying for my final, instead of throwing my libido at the brick wall that is the seduction of Italian women.

I actually thought about writing this blog entry last night when I was dancing my ass off, and had the problem of where to place the punchline. As I posted in my last entry, Love Parade was this weekend. My mind is reeling at the monumental task of summarizing my adventure. And adventure it was, for this was not some idyllic light touch feel-good journey of touristy exoticas, this was a venture into the very face of madness, which bears a remarkable resemblance to Jim Carrey on a cocaine binge.

You'll have to forgive my overly verbose prose, dear fans di Italia, I'm ever-so-slightly delirious. Remember that hotel room I was going on about, the one I was going to put my bag in and use to hide from the craziness of the parade? Yeah, I got scammed. The accor hotel chain website linked me to a hotel profile in Dortmund, then changed the city my hotel was in on the confirmation page before I clicked to transact. My stupid for not reviewing it more closely beforehand, but I was excited. The hotel was in Hagan, 20 km from Dortmund in the opposite direction of the airport I would be returning to in Dusseldorf. So, they got my money, but I could honestly care less. I survived the weekend budget intact, and had an amazing and unforgettable time.

I arrived in Dusseldorf an hour and a half late, resulting from a mass exodus clusterfuck of the first wave of Roman residents leaving for the month of August. I took the airtram to the main terminal and caught a 2:00 train to Dortmund. I was literally bouncing in my seat in anticipation, but a small part of me was doubting there would even be anything there when I arrived. Stop by stop my worry grew, until I began trying to think of ways I could make the most of the trip otherwise.

Then we Essen. Hundreds of glammed up people drinking beer and howling soccer chants rushed the train. Happily I kept my seat, because everyone else was sardined in, and it only got worse as we went. Soon we were all laughing as the doors opened on teeming throngs who were confronted with an already firmly entrenched teeming throng on the train. There were arguments, standoffs, and bribes. Oh, how they would have taken a different tack, had they known what would happen next.

An hour into the ride the train began to slow awkwardly, halting to a crawl, then chugging forward again, the braking, until at last we came to a full stop in between platforms. Nobody thought much of it, this was Europe after all, public transit is as solid as a horiscope on a fortune cookie.

Time passed, it got hot. People stopped laughing and smiling. More time passed, and people started to get weak and lean on each other, sweaty and pale. Everyone started yelling and banging on the sides of the cars, and suddenly the doors opened and let in a rush of cool wind, eliciting orgasmic moans and sighs of relief. Outside it was gray and raining, and people hopped out of the car to get some air or smoke. Ten minutes later the conductor came on the intercom and said he could not go any further because the rails were blocked up ahead. I didn't find out until much later that night that the reason the rails were blocked was due to a suicidal teenager jumping in front of the train in ahead of us.

With my holistic senses cranked up to 11, I jumped onto the tracks and followed the crowd. We marched approximately 4 kilometers in the rain, jackets over our heads, stumbling on the rocks covering the tracks. The sky started shitting water on us with a spicy curry's late night vengeance, and we started running to a bridge over the tracks about a half mile away. Under the bridge a group was already gathering, singing more soccer chants.

After the rain let up the mass of people split their paths. Some walked on to the next train station down the tracks, others opted to climb the bridge and find a bus to Dortmund in the city, knowing no trains would be going to the next station anyway. I went into the city, and started the English poll ("Do you speak English?"). Combining broken English contributions from five different people, I was able to ascertain that was a way to bus to Dortmund from the main terminal in the city, so we all stood at a bus stop. After milling about for another hour, people began to get restless and creative, and several guys carried police blockades they found down one of the streets onto the road we were on and started dancing around them.

Wiser party hopefuls started walking away, and having already seen a lot of news reports that started out with drunk people doing similar stupid things, I followed. I hadn't even gone 200 yards when four police vans full of cops hauled ass down the street toward the mob. I walked faster.

Ahead a new group was forming at a tram, and here I finally met some people who spoke decent enough English. After finding out I was from Texas, they vowed to get me to Love Parade no matter what, and so we went by Tram to the main station, then by bus to Dortmund, then through four kilometers of hundreds of thousands of wet and disgruntled people, uphill and through the mud. Having to tote my bag everywhere didn't make it easier, since we had to push through crowds to make any real progress. I missed the parade, but wasn't too upset about it since everyone got rained on while it happened. The rain kept returning in sporadic torrents, and everyone would scramble from the streets like cockroaches, hiding massed against the building walls, then return when there was a pause.

We arrived at the main sound system at around 6:30, and the show was just starting. The area was a huge parking lot filled with a sea of people and vendors, with guys climbing and perching atop 50 foot portable construction halogen lights and waving German flags. We pushed our way to about the middle of the area, still nearly a football field away from the stage, and tried to clear ourselves some space while DJ Rush played. Moby went on next, followed by Richie Hawtin, Arman Van Burin, Paul Van Dyke, and a few popular German heavy hitters who's names I couldn't remember. They cycled the acts so each DJ only played for 20 minutes, playing their best peak mixes, then going on to the next.

Now for the punchline. Underworld.

Underworld closed out the night. To some this may not be as significant, but for me hearing the group who made the very first electronic music song I ever listened to (during my first psychadelic experience) was fairly epic, especially when they performed Born Slippy. The Germans who had adopted me were overwhelmed by my enthusiasm, since none of them were familiar with Underworld.

After Underworld was done, someone named Paul Pope did a "Sea of Lights" show with a ridiculously huge array of lights, spot lights stacked 8 high and 12 across, with fireworks, lasers, and color filters. It was a visual jamboree, and put me in mind of the burn at Flipside this year.

The city shut down the sound at midnight, and the crowd started to break apart back toward the train station. My hosts wanted to go home, so I resolved to follow them to the train station so I would know how to get there, then find myself an afterparty. With a piece of paper I etch-e-sketched myself a little map of the town, noting all of the afterparties I passed along the way. Parting with my new friends after exchanging email addresses, I had a huge dinner of sausages and beer, mellowed out for a bit and tended to the toe I ripped open that morning on a door.

Revived and refreshed, I hit the best looking afterparty (largest line, smallest venue, second story balcony overlooking one of the city squares), where happily I coat checked my bag. After trucking it around all day, I felt like I could jump over the moon, and proceeded to drink red bulls and dance my ass off, only stopping to switch rooms, for seven straight hours. The bar had three large rooms, with the Ministry of Sound playing in the one I spent the entire night in. My devotion on the dance floor was rewarded with comped drinks, CD samplers, and difficult conversations with cute girls.

At 7:30 they shut down that afterparty, and I left to find more trouble. As I walked out of the club, I heard a guy on the sidewalk say, "I'm from Australia," then someone he was talking to say, "Cool, I'm from London," so I walked up and said, "Awesome, I'm from America!" That was how I met Fletch (the Australian), who was probably the nearest person to Tucker Max I've ever met. Him and his traveling buddy Brendon invited me along with two girls they had just met, and together we went to an afterparty at a pool. It was great in theory, but when we got there we discovered it was 30 euro to get in. Fletch tried for a while to find a way to sneak in, but eventually we resolved to get wasted and go to a playground instead. Drinking beers, the girls gave us a tour of the city, and eventually we went back to their apartment where they let me clean up and change out of my mud covered clothes. By this point it was 1 in the afternoon, and I bid adieu to the party and headed to the station. Brendon went along, since he was tired as well, and we road back South together, talking with a German teenager about Hitler (he brought it up).

Germans are very sensitive about the way the world perceives them, at least the majority of those I spoke with. Many of them mentioned that Germany was not the way it used to be, and that Nazi sentiments were not popular there, except in some radical political parties who never actually got seated in offices. I never volunteered the subject to them, but they usually brought it up somehow when they realized I was American. I felt bad, especially since the country I was from had more to answer for currently than there's did.

After a long train ride I got to the airport and flew back to Rome. I brought my roomates back two six packs of German beer, since the poor bastards always buy 4 euro Heinekens in Rome. All in all, it was an awesome 30 hours in Germany, but I definitely want to return. If anything, it helped affirm for me the plans I've been laying in my head over the last week, I want to return to Italy next year and live somewhere more rural for much longer, through some program that can set me up with some little shit job to get by. Then I can work here, save money up, and travel to a lot of different countries, all while firming up my Italian even more.

Damn, that was a long post. Sorry. Shiny nickels to everyone who actually read all of that.

-Sean

Special Request

2008-07-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

This is a specially requested update, because Ashley is leaving to go camping in a few hours and needs to know what's going on. Lucky for Ashley, even though I didn't go to school today, I stopped in to see if my bank account had been supplied with more widgets.

It hasn't.

I just got back from the beach, I'm all tan and relaxed. I swam out to this rock barrier that the town built there hundreds of years ago so that armadas of ships couldn't attack directly, and would have to approach one ship at a time. I cut my foot. Happily, it was a small cut, since I'm GOING TO LOVE PARADE TOMORROW MORNING!!!!

I didn't take any pictures at the beach, but everyone else did, so I'll just get the pictures of me posing in my silver booty shorts from one of them. I'm about to go to this Irish pub Allison and crew introduced me to last night and play cards whilst drinking cider. Happy about cider. Happy happy happy.

Happy about tomorrow. Fucking ecstatic. Don't even know how to control myself, really. I spent the last hour in my room utilizing space in my backpack for every absolutely necessary item. Got my first aid, toiletries, jeans and second pair of dancing shoes, t-shirt, jacket (it's 60 degrees there right now), and various protein bars and a sack of almonds. Adderal and Ambien are a must. Can't bring my italian books, so I'm making flash cards tonight to do on the plane on my way there.

Downside to this weekend. Monday I have to do an oral presentation on a picture, the theme: A moment out of time. Five minutes I have to spend talking about this picture, five minutes! She even said five to eight! How do you spend eight minutes talking about a picture in a language you barely comprehend without notes? And with maybe three brain cells clicking together, on top of that?

So I've got to bone up tonight, big time. Hardcore. Bone.

With cider.

Can'twaitcan'twaitcan'twaitcan'twait!

-Sean

€276 left, awesome night last night

2008-07-17T00:53:00.000-07:00

Man, this is really going to be a photo finish. Yesterday a group of students that were part of a program called "Rails for peace" stayed at our school for a day. Serbians, Kosovonians, Bosnians, Germans, Italians, and Belgians to balance things out. We had no real concept of how tense some of their workshops were, until I spoke with many of them much later on, and had them recount the Serbia-Bosnia-Kosovo connections to me from their own sides.

That aside, a lot of them were hot. And smart. And funny. I made friends with a girl who insisted on being called Swan, because her name was very difficult to say for us, and meant Swan in Kosovo. She spoke five languages, was 19, and had the most amazing stories about being forced to excommunicate Kosovo and live in Germany for two years while NATO bombed Serbia and rebuilt their infrastructure.

Allison and I stayed the whole day with them while everyone else went home for lunch and whatnot. We got to see comedic dramatic performances of what they had learned in their workshops so far, which were chalked full of self-referential humor to terms like "perception" and "input" and mocking a lot of the coordinators for being so stiff-necked.

After that we went out to the Tyver river and hung out at a bar, where we all drank and talked about our native countries. I apologized a lot for Bush, every time someone asked me where I was from and I said Texas, they'd give me this steel-eyed gaze and I'd say, "I'm sorry! We don't like him either, I'm voting for Obama!"

All of the people in the group were amazing, and it overwhelmed me how much they had to get past to just sit in those rooms together. It put me in mind of a similar program in which US students might have to do the same thing with students from all of the nations of the middle east, Palestine, and Israel. Maybe North Korea too.

Today my head hurts, my pocketbook is even lighter, and I've got 9 days left on under 300 euro. Happily, I discovered a chinese food place down the street from my house where I can get 2.50 euro bowls of fried rice and chicken, and can budget the rest of my time here carefully (aside from this weekend. Rules go out the window then).

Now, I must prepare an oral presentation that I have to give on Monday, right after I get back from Love Parade. Imagine how happy I am about that. Just imagine it.

-Sean

Aida!

2008-07-16T00:30:00.000-07:00

I went to the opera last night with my school and API to see Aida. Three hours of beautiful costuming, dancing, and people singing in old Italian I couldn't understand if I was twice as good at Italian as I am now. It was beautiful, but it lacked the good stabbing now and again that I had grown accustomed to in American dramatic musical theater.

People did die, though, in the end. It was your quintessential star-crossed lovers tale, set in Egypt during a Roman war campaign against Ethiopia.

I was a little annoyed at all of my fellow students shifting constantly, falling asleep, or giggling at stupid things constantly, but it didn't take away from how amazing it was when a shooting star fell right behind the outdoor stage, which was built into some of the ruins of Rome.

I made the mistake of letting slip to the API coordinator Audra that I was going to Love Parade, forgetting that she was 23 and probably knew what it was, since she does live in Europe. Sure enough, she got the mom voice with me and even went so far as to say, "You DO know what goes on at these things, right? And you're going by yourself? I don't know if that's such a good idea."

I pulled rank on her, though, and reminded her that I'd been a DJ for ten years, then started dropping names of DJ's and such so that she wouldn't worry that I was just going to rave and kill braincells on things that will make me appreciate the texture of a pillow with an intensity no man should ever focus upon an article of bedding.

Now I'm off to do self-imposed homework. That's right, I asked my teacher to give me extra homework. Don't say it, I know. I know.

Fucking dork.

-Sean

Make that 11 days to go on 330 euro!

2008-07-15T09:33:00.000-07:00

I booked a hotel room in Dortmund. City center, double bed with balconey, at 70 euro. I figure 100 bucks American is worth a good view of the madness, a place to hide if I'm overwhelmed, a bag drop, and a costume change hideaway.

Save your economic travel tips for someone who cares, I'm raving in style!

-Sean

11 days to go, 400 euro left

2008-07-15T04:11:00.000-07:00

CAN HE MAKE IT?!!

DUN DUN DUN.

DUN.

Last night was awesome. Awesome awesome awesome. I made a friend here in our school, this girl Allison from Chicago. She's a fellow polynaut, though didn't really know there were terms to describe the practice. Over the last few weeks we've bonded over talk about relationship styles, partner issues, etc, and last night her, myself, and her two roomates Sam and Jaquelin went to a festival behind Circus Maximus (where the chariots used to race, now a public park).

We were sent there by Davide, one of the teachers here, to see some indie rock band. I never found out who they were, but they sounded very similar to Bjork or Mazzy Star. We didn't actually go inside the area where the stage was, because it was five euro, and we discovered the most amazing candy stand run by a family from Firenze (Florence). I bought a bunch of sugar-dried apricots, and the girls got sacks full of a variety of gummies and jellies.

We traded candies and walked around the festa, stopping in at little shops and occasionally making purchases, talking to shopkeepers and checking out the Italian indie/emo scene. The styles of clothing and makeup are amazingly similar, even down to the lightly scarred undersides of their pale forearms where they used to cut themselves during their "dark" period (middle school).

Candies in tow, we trucked over to Maximus and sat in the park drinking beers and redbull, bullshitting about the incredible nature of the very park itself. Once thousands of Romans would gather there, women never to be allowed where there are now jogging paths, and great steeds would rush around the elliptical track, spurred on by screaming fans and the cracking whips, pouring sweat onto the dusted road, dragging their champion's chariot to the finish. The park is still the same shape as the circus, a bowl surrounding an elliptical track, and in the center were a group of teenagers drinking beer with candles set in a circle around them, probably talking about who-likes-who in their school. Shady gents in hoodies lounged about the center as well, sometimes being approached by nervous looking tourists. Hands would move, items hidden away in pockets, and they would separate.

Allison and I broke away from her roomates, who called it a night early, and returned to the festa with an invigorated lust for the items we wanted but hadn't purchased yet in Italy. I finally bought a second ring for my left hand, successfully replacing some unwanted jewelry with some Italian silver, and a pair of capri pants that it took Allison a good 10 minutes and two visits to the same store front to convince me would look good on me. They're brown and orange stripes, a boldly European pair of pantelocini if I ever saw one. We found her some nice shirt/skirt things, and giggled as the guy behind the table flirted with Allison, commenting on her bust being too big for the shirt, etc.

We resolved to memorize Italian phrases as well as the regular vocab and conjugations we've been studying, so we can at least appear to be good at Italian to anyone we only have to speak to for less than 30 seconds. I still have to stand there and stare at someone when they ask me something to think about how to answer them in the right tense, and move all of the direct objects in front of the verbs, and remember what words mean what, etc. The whole process is exhausting, and not nearly as fun as saying "Basta!" When someone won't leave me alone.

Just found out it's going to be 66 degrees and probably raining in Dortmund for Love Parade, but that's not really getting me down at all. I'm just having a hard time figuring out what to bring with me. I don't want to bring my backpack because I won't have anywhere to deposit it, since I have no lodgings for that night, and I don't want to be overburdened for just a day there when the more I'm carrying means the less easily I'll be able to dance.

Feel free to post comments with suggestions. Right now I'm thinking capri's, boots, short sleeve black shirt, vest, space holster for various items, but that's where my creativity stops. Maybe I'll get one of those plastic collapsible rain sleeves, but I still don't know what to do about a place to put sunglasses, etc. I might have to cave and buy smaller sling bag. Damn me for not bringing my camelback, it would have been ideal for this conundrum.

Of course, the airline might have made me check it, since it is a giant receptical for liquids. Who fucking knows.

Vexed,

-Sean

Tuscany Pictures

2008-07-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

I try to put comments in all the pictures, so if you want to see what they say, just click on the slideshow when it's going.

VRM VRM VRM VRM

2008-07-14T01:32:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, an engine is turning over. Someone in the driver's seat is smiling to themself, satisified that it's finally working, after they've spent hours under the hood trying to get in running. That's what I feel like today.

Friday I got on a bus with a bunch of other kids from API (the company I went through for my study abroad) and we drove to the Tuscanny region. We went to a ceramics company and got a tour of the facility, with an explanation of the basic principles to making good hand-crafted ceramics. Temperatures for baking certain colors, speed of turning for different shapes, etc. I bought some finery, and we went on our way.

The bus rides were probably some of the best parts of the whole weekend, because I can't even describe how beautiful it is there. I tried taking pictures of it, and my camera wasn't good enough. I tried writing in my travel journal about it, and words failed me. Rolling hills of green, vineyards and crops traced across them in agricultural geometry that runs into bursts of treeline racing throughout the hills in sporadic populations, achingly tall hills topped with 700 year old monastaries crafted out of marble and sandstone, bell towers that reach toward the sun and ring clear across miles of valleys... see, it's just words, and it doesn't do the trick. I started to feel tears pushing at the edges of my eyes when we were at the wine tasting, just standing on the front lawn in front of the cellars and looking out over their fields of grapes. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Next stop on Friday was the hot springs spa. We all got to go frolic in the hot springs fed pool, half indoor, half outdoor, with a little tunnel connecting the two, and I sat under a waterfall they had situated over stone benches, letting the water run over my legs, and poking holes in the cascading liquid blanket with my fingers. I got a full facial and massage, which was a tad bit expensive, but worth every euro cent.

I went into a little quiet room with candles burning, and a woman came in and helped me undress, then put a towel over me and left. I relaxed for a little, and then another woman came in and covered my face in a mask of nutrients that she let set for about 20 minutes. After this, she came back and did a salsylic peel and microdermabrasion, then left. Another woman came in and introduced herself as the masseuse. Tiny, probably in her 60's, and her skill with her hands showed every year as experience. She massaged my face with another nutrient mask and moisturizer, neck, shoulders, hands, feet, and head. Then she left me to nap for another 20 minutes, came back and washed my face, reapplied moisturizer and sunscreen, and sent me on my happy way with an apple and a hot cup of detoxifying tea.

After this, I slept on the bus for the two hour drive to our hotel. The next morning we went to Siena and did a guided tour of the city. I saw the remains of Saint Catherine, literally her skull in a glass case. Apparently the remains of known saints were one of the first forms of tourist attraction in Italy, and so the church that Catherine had grown up in got first dibs on some displayable bits, so they picked her skull and thumb. Couldn't take pictures of it, though. Siena was beautiful, and is a VERY proud town. They don't like Firenze (Florence) and have no problem openly talking shit about Florence at every available opportunity. They even have a tower that isn't taller than one the one in Florence, and so they put a flagpole on it to run their flag higher than Florence's tower. They also have the most beautiful city center I've ever seen. It's like a seashell, and they hold annual horse races there every year.

I abstained from buying anything there, and instead laid on one of the monuments during our free time and watched the clouds sail by. We went to another town that day, San Gimigiano, where I bought a really cool leather mask. The town was tiny, had almost nothing to do, aside from the fact that it was situated in a particularly beautiful area of Tuscanny.

Went out that night with the API kids and drank at the only bar that stays open late in Pienza, where our hotel was. It was not stumbling distance, and so I took it easy and tucked in early. It was nice getting to socialize a bit with the 20 year olds, we managed to talk about our favorite television shows and contrast points on popular music.

... yeah.

Anyway, Sunday was the wine tasting. We did a tour of a few towns beforehand, but it was cold, windy, and raining, and the towns weren't very interesting. By this point I was a little toured out, anyway, and just wanted to do something that didn't involve a lecture I would only retain 10% of later on anyway. So the wine tasting. The Vineyard was beautiful, as I said before, and it was probably the most fun we all had the whole trip. The tour coordinators had to have us all fill out release forms saying that we wouldn't get drunk, etc, etc, because API doesn't condone alchohol abuse. Knowing that I was actually older than the tour coordinators didn't help to make the situation any less laughable.

I discovered a few important things during the wine tasting:

I love being able to drink wine
I love cheese dipped in local honey
I love fish pattè
Desert wines are the shit

I bought the first bottle of wine I've ever bought for myself, and plan to keep it for some years. Some day when I'm old I might crack it open and enjoy memories of the beautiful Tuscan countryside.

We toured the facility and saw the casks that they store the wine in. We couldn't talk very much because sound disturbs the aging process, as do heat, light, and a bunch of other subtle influences. After the tour I bought my wine, then picked lavendar in the front lawn and sat in the grass, staring at the windswept fields below. It was so calming, I just wanted to go buy a hammock and string it up in the surrounding forests coming over the hills. It reminded me of what we talked about in Environmental Psychology, how just the sight of nature can improve mood and cognition, and relieve stress far more effectively than many forms of talk therapy.

We rode back to Rome, having to detour back to our hotel to pick up a jacket that one of the girls had left in her apartment, much to the grumbling of many students. With nothing really to watch on the DVD player, much of the weekend was spent watching two seasons of Friends. I never want to see an episode of that show again for the rest of my life. I'm very serious about this, and will probably get violent with anyone who tries to get me to.

-Sean

Off to Tuscany

2008-07-10T05:16:00.000-07:00

Took my midterm, probably got another B. Leaving for Tuscany in the morning, but I leave you with this:

>

-Sean

Had to come back

2008-07-09T11:36:00.000-07:00

To the internet point after dinner. Holy fucking shit, was that delicious. Tender, bloody steak, with fried sweet potatoes and kidney bean soup. Throw in some Tiramisu and an hour of undisturbed reading of Gibson and Sterling's Difference Engine, and you have the happy Sean that you see here now.

And man, am I happy. I'm practically fucking beaming. I've got the food giddies like crazy.

I also came back because I forgot to mention the demonstrations yesterday. I wish I could more easily get pictures on here, but leave it to say I felt the presence of the police state of Italy breathing down my neck as I walked back and forth from school and home. The Carrabieri were out everywhere in full force, wearing riot gear and... shaking people's hands?

Big smiles, lots of laughs, helping old ladies cross the street, the MP of Italy apparently want to put out the message Italy's Carrabieri: Surpressing your liberal angst with a smile!

I've got to hand it to them, though, they have some kick ass riot gear. I like their motorcycles too. Make me think of Tron. I'll have to take a picture of all the tron bikes and three wheeled (two in the front) motorcycles here, they're the newest Euro accoutrement, to be worn with your best buttonup and gold fringed tie.

-Sean

I hate to be a product whore

2008-07-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

But I love Proactiv. Love love love it. I'm going to write them one of those gushing customer emails about how my life is ten times better with their assortment of face washes and other crap they sell. It's crazy how happy I get just from having my skin be under control, and how much it effects my moods. Crazy crazy, like you could write a paper about this shit.

And in fact, someone already has. Studies have shown that people with severe skin problems tend to be more introverted, easily stressed, and go outside of their homes less. Describes me for the last two weeks to a T.

So yeah, I got my package, after the Italian government raped me and it for money and wrapping. Happy Sean. I'm so happy that I'm treating myself to steak tonight, even though it's a reckless financial decision. I want steak. Steak steak steak. Dead cow, in my mouf, yes please, gimme more.

Tomorrow is my midterm, and it helps that I have to study so much with the whole, "I'm not doing Italian stuff in Italy," lament I've been having. Transitive and Intransitive verbs are my culture conquest here, not statues that I've seen a thousand pictures of already.

Is it wrong that I don't like tourist attractions? I'm in what's regarded by many as one of the greatest ancient sites in the world, ruins everywhere, statues, busts, TONS of history, from Campo di Fiori to the leisurely figure of Trilusa, Piazza Popola to the Vatican Museum, Royal Museum, Collosium, Pyramid, etc, etc, etc, ad nauseum, and all I can think about when I'm in these places is how many fucking tourists there are standing around and gawking.

I see a beautiful statue and think, wow, that's a beautiful statue. I'm hungry. What time is it? Gilato time. Am I shamelessly American? Horribly apathetic? Overwhelmingly uneducated? I know what a great deal of these places represent, the history behind their construction, recreation, preservation, etc, but I just can't get into it.

I know Mustafa is reading this right now (if he's reading it) and gagging, or scoffing at me, or scoffing while gagging, in some kind of scoffgaggery that I've yet to see performed by man. I do have to say that Trilusa was a cool guy, as was Bruno. There's a couple of everyman-joe's who got thrifty with their pens (and in Bruno's case, burned alive for it).

I'm teaching my roomates how to play a card game tonight (after downloading three different sets of the rules and compiling them into the set of rules I actually remember), but I can't really drink while we play because of my fucking midterm tomorrow. Bitch is going to be hard. I'm not worried about the written part, so much as I am about the listening exercise. All of our listening exercises have used this CD where the characters talk ridiculously fast through some distorted medium, a telephone call with a bad connection, a noisey resturaunt, an office with copy machines in the background, and the two other girls in my class and I just stare like labotomized cats at this boombox, waiting for it to get easier.

I'm actually in an internet point across the street from the steak place I'm about to go lavish my tongue at. I keep looking out the window to see if they're open yet. There are so many little things Americans take for granted that would throw an unexpected wrench in one's plans without being aware. Resturaunts, for example, do not open until after 7 oclock. You can hit up pizzerias and panini shops, but most resturaunts close between lunch time and dinner time. Which is why I'm drooling in an internet point, staring at the sign that says i butteri. Just say that out loud, and tell me it doesn't make you want a steak. i butteri. I think my stomach is making noises at me now.

I caved and bought another American book, because as much as I love trying to read So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish in Italian, it gives me a fucking headache after a while. The way I've been doing that is going page by page through a chapter, highlighting words I don't know the definitions of, then making a list of the words, defining them, making flash cards, doing the flash cards for a while, then trying to read the chapter again. It's helping me build my vocabulary a lot, but I'm still somehow a total idiot in conversation.

I did make sure to add the words "bitch" and "treacherous" into my flash cards today. One never knows when they'll need to scream that into the night.

Sweet! They're opening!!! Steak time.

-Sean

Half way!

2008-07-09T00:33:00.000-07:00

Man, I knew I was going to be here for a while, but today I woke up and did my usual business getting ready for school, realizing that this was the halfway point in my journey. It made me think about all the things in Rome I hadn't done (including the Vatican), and how I still feel like I can only barely converse in Italian, and badly.

Gaia messaged me last night, telling me in her bad English to be home at 2:30 so that she can force me to talk in Italian. It was basically a command, which made it even more adorable. I'm excited to get another opportunity to hang out with people here, instead of with my roomates (not that they're bad guys, they're just more of the same Americanism I'm trying to escape).

One of said roomates had some face wash that's actually helping, and we're going to a spa this weekend, so I'm getting a luxurious face treatment with massage on API's bill. Excited about that. We're going to Tuscanny on Friday and checking out some Italian countryside. It's a bus tour, so each apartment is trying to get together their own weird set of DVD's to make everyone else watch. We're vying for Super Troopers and Airheadz, and Tank Girl if I can find it somewhere.

I have a whole bunch of homework due today that I'm simply avoiding, which is bad. I should stop blogging and work on it.

-Sean

P.S. Thanks to the special someone who called me last night. That was awesome.

Oh shit

2008-07-08T00:27:00.000-07:00

So, my Wells Fargo account is drained.

Looks like some pending transactions didn't go through immediately, and I had an inaccurate view of how much money I had left. Now I have a little over €100.00 in cash left, and that's not going to last me very long. Part of what sucked up the last of my money was going to the doctor yesterday and the prescription he gave me. Felt like shit after this weekend, couldn't get out of bed, so I finally caved and went to get checked out.

In other shitty news, my proactive still hasn't come, and I now don't even want to go outside. I'd post pictures of how bad it's gotten on here, but I can't get the fucking school's wifi to let my picasa on my apple connect. All in all, I'm in a shitty mood today. It's spread on my cheeks, jawline, under my eyes, and just kind of working it's way up. I've started noticing how people look at me like I'm some kind of leper, sticking out among all the smooth faced Italian beauties walking around.

Started shaking I was so pissed off last night, after trying to scrub my face clean with about a thousand different shitty products I've gotten over here, just wanted to hit something really hard. My roomates were all pretty skittish around me, but Eben (the goofy floppy haired one) came in to my room and commanded me to get up and go get gelato with him. Things went better after that, and tonight we're going to go see Wanted for a little touch of home. Maybe we'll get some french fries from McDonalds too, since apparently that's the only thing they can make correctly.

For all the fun I've been having, this trip has been a real insanity well of crazy. Coming here fresh out of the rubble of relationships ending, burning up my power converter (and a wall socket), not having my proactive and getting exploding face syndrome, some flu-like shit, and no money one day before the half-way point of my trip.

Maybe God is getting me back for making the joke about getting stoned and going to the Vatican.

-Sean

Ugh...

2008-07-07T00:45:00.000-07:00

My head. Won't move. Can't wake up. Want to wake up. Can't wake up. Must research things for people and stuff.

*slap*

HELLO AND WELCOME TO WEEK THREE OF SEAN'S FIVE WEEKS IN ITALY! IF YOU'D LIKE TO HEAR MORE ABOUT SEAN'S WEEKEND IN FIRENZE, PRESS 1. IF YOU'D LIKE TO SEE PICTURES OF THINGS, PRESS 2. IF YOU'D LIKE SEAN TO POST A COPY OF THE EMAIL HIS NEW FRIEND SENT BACK TO HIM, PRESS 3.

YOU HAVE SELECTED 3.

wow your italian is really a shit but my english is not better ...
yes i wanna met you again of course...i teach you the italian lenguage and you teach me the martial art..when i can i write you a message to see you, cause i work and no have many time . A notice: today i found in the road a small cat and now it stay with me at home is another new friend...hihihi..**

If that's not adorable, I don't know what is. I wonder if it took her ten minutes to write that short message, since it took me that long to write this:

Ciao!

Voglio parlare gratzie di nuovo per il divertimento abbiamo avuto a Amore. Manderó le fotografie a domani, quando ho la volta le fare l'upload. Sono sicuro mie scritte non é meglio di mio parlo. Allora, fammi sappere se vuói a ci incontriamo.

-Sean

Oh well, at least we suck as a team. I'm going to upload pictures here in a bit, and my jacket cost €100.00, for the Nuzzer who was asking.

-Sean

Apeshit Goods

2008-07-06T04:14:00.000-07:00

Oh damn. Damn damn damn.

This place is like the mall I should never be allowed into. I already got a bunch of things for family, and after walking back and forth for nearly four hours I caved and bought myself something. Something really expensive. Something I probably shouldn't have spent money on, since I won't even get to wear it until it gets below 50 degrees outside. Leather, black, smooth with asymmetrical cuts and a clasping collar.

Not that expensive, since it would have cost about three times what I paid for it here in America. All in all, I feel pretty good about my shopping experience. I didn't put myself into a financial danger-zone, but I did cut it pretty close.

Now I just have to figure out how to spend the rest of my time in Italy on a gellato-less budget.

THEY BE STEALIN' MAH GELLATO!

-Sean

A night and day in Firenze

2008-07-05T11:44:00.000-07:00

Today I woke up with my brain in tiny little pieces all over the inside of my skull, blasted to bits by the berzerker fun I had last night at Amore. I learned a new word in Europe, "bomba," which when said while indicating one's mouth (like you're eating your fingers) is basically universal slang on this continent for disco biscuits. The venue for this event was a huge concrete parking lot at the back of a bunch of warehouses, with large scaffolding stages and booths for water and other goods. I arrived pretty early, on the scale of things, since most other people didn't start showing up until 1 AM.

It amazes me how intimate and friendly people are here, especially guys. I had tons of guys coming up and taking pictures with me, hugging me, giving me high fives, not because they were interested in me sexually, but because they liked my outfit, or the way I danced, or the fact that I was American. I know it wasn't just that lots of people were fucked up, because this was going on before many people even started showing up.

I saw Sasha play, but was constantly drawn away by the intense awesomeness of Magda's set. Lori was right, that bitch is hot shit. She had my ass on the floor and slaving to her beats for almost all of the three hours she was playing. I ran around like a crazy person, crowing at the night, showing off some capoeira moves I'd been practicing in the apartment, and taking the occasional moment to lay on the concrete and let the cool stone soak in and chase away some of the Roman humidity.

It was while I was taking just such a moment that two girls approached me who were sitting some distance away. One was wearing a festa mask, and the other was wearing pants and a shirt made out of a lot of shirts with images from the Peanuts comic strip on it. They started commenting on my attire in Italian, saying that we stuck out together, since I was wearing my Kick-Ass-and-Cut-Hair capri pants, Oakley boots and vest, and my new MP gloves. I told them I was American, and they decided to take me under their eaves and lead me about with gusto. Gaia (real name), the one who had the mask, spoke a little English, so with prompts from her for definitions of words I didn't know, we managed to spend the entire night conversing in Italian. I'm sure that for her it was very similar to talking to a 10 year old with a learning disorder, but she bore through it politely.

In one night I managed to converse more in Italian than I think I have in the last year, and by sunrise when they offered to give me a ride home, I was prattling away about Human Traffic, Carl Cox (who they informed me is playing in Rome next Friday), and a volley of other incidental subjects. It felt great. We exchanged emails and numbers, and she told me she actually lives fairly close to where I live. I have finally made my first Italian friends. At a rave. And then there were glowsticks.

It was funny how at moments I felt like the first white men in America, we would exchange cultural gifts, me teaching them how to do a basic pop-and-lock maneuver and them breaking down the best way to score at a party in Rome, or going back and forth helping each other with lingual techniques.

All and all it was an amazing night, and I got a free ride home out of it.

I slept until about 1, then woke up with the intention of doing Vatican city. After reviewing the status of my brain, energy level, and emotional disposition, I opted to go plot out the free wifi's in the city instead. Failing that, because all of the free wifi's suck, I followed a sudden urge to go to Firenze. Erin offered to let me crash in her apartment while her and her roomates were on an excursion, and I hopped on a Eurostar and met up with her for some of the best pasta in truffle oil I've ever had.

Tomorrow is shopping, then back to Rome. I got to catch a glimpse of all the vendors packing away their wares as I arrived, and I know I'm going to have a REALLY hard time not going apeshit on goods.

MMMmmmmm... delicious apeshit goods.

Now, I think, it's time for gellato.

I'll upload pictures and videos from last night, maybe tonight, maybe Monday.

Cuddles.

-Sean

Pictures from first week in Italy

2008-07-03T07:34:00.000-07:00

How to kill time in the computer lab

2008-07-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

Thing is, it's really fucking hot here. Pretty much constantly. For those that read this who are burners, imagine 3:30 in the afternoon at Flipside every day when you're on the opposite side of the whole event from the creek, and you don't have a hat. And no wind.

So I stay in the computer lab for the afternoon, usually. Today I'm actually waiting for my package to get here from my parents with a new thing of Proactiv in it. I lost mine in transit, and my face looks like I used poison ivy and sticking my head in a box of mosquitos as cleanser.

I've always heard that if you stopped using Proactiv it would do that, I just didn't realize how severe it would be. I imagine the effect will reverse pretty rapidly once I start using the stuff again. I just really want my skin crack to get here so I can dose up and look pretty again for all the girls I still can't talk to.

So, how to pass the time. Here it's 3:30, but there it's 8:30, meaning everyone is asleep, just waking up, or going to work. I plan to stick around until 5 to see if I'm going to get my box. Of course, I didn't bring my casual reading books with me, because I try to reduce weight as much as possible for walking around with my bag. The hike to school is only about 25 minutes, but sometimes I'll want to go somewhere else after class, like for gellato.

Annnnddd I just got a call from the Italian customs office telling me that they had to open my package because it's illegal to import cosmetics unless for personal use. Guess I can go home now.

-Sean

!!!!!!!!!

2008-07-03T04:13:00.000-07:00

So my coordinator, Sophie, has tuned in to the fact that I like to party. She came in to my class right before my test started and dropped a piece of paper with a list of all the active Discotechs in Italy. Then, after that, she showed me an article about a party happening tomorrow night called Amore.

It starts at 9 and ends at 9. Here's the lineup:

Danny Tenaglia- Sasha- Magda

Marco Carola- Guy Gerber

Claudio Coccoluto- Camea

Dj Red - Maurizio Cascella

Francesco Assenza

!!!! Tenaglia and Sasha. Say no more. Say. No. More.

Ok, enough rave talk. We have an Italian assignment to research a famous Italian poet, and I've taken a shine to Trilussa.

Numeri

è vero, ho poco valore,

- diceva l'Uno allo Zero -

ma tu che vali? Niente, proprio niente.

Sia nelle azioni che nel pensiero

Rimani un oggetto vuoto e intuile.

Io, invece, se mi metto davanti ad una fila

Di cinque zeri uguali a te,

lo sai che divento? Centomila.

è una questione di numeri. Più o meno

è quello che succede al dittatore

che aquista potenza e valore

tanti più sono gli zeri che lo seguono.

Numbers

Yes, it's true, I'm not one of value,

- says the One to the Zero -

but what's your worth? Nothing at all.

Neither in the actions or in the thought

You still remain an empty and useless thing.

Me, instead, if I am first of a line

Of five zeros like you

Do you know what I become? One hundred thousand.

It is a matter of numbers. More and less

it's the same that happens to the dictator who increases his power and value

according to the zeros that follow him.

Trilussa was well known in Rome for speaking against the church, government, power in general, and writing of for the people. He often spoke in satire, equatable in some ways to Jonathan Swift. Nothing in his repetoire about eating babies, unfortunately.

Get to download a whole lot of culture next week, lots of walking tours and learning. My head has started to hurt at the end of my Italian classes, and I have to get up and walk around to stay focused.

But yeah, Sasha. Unst unst unst.

-Sean

WOOOOO!!!!

2008-07-03T01:34:00.000-07:00

Two things. Important things.

One. I am clutching in my leather gloved hands (I bought some Italian Military Police (Carabiera) fingerless kevlar padded riot gloves) one plane ticket to Dusseldorf, Germany, from which I will depart by train to Dortmund, where I will spend 30 hours dancing my fucking ass off at Love Parade. July 19th.

That's right motherfuckers, Love Parade.

I am a giddy ball of giggly squirmy happy glee right now, just thinking about pumping my fist in the air senselessly for two days.

Point two. Today I have my first test, after which I am going to celebrate by going to check out the discotec scene at the beach tonight. So, more dancing. The tomorrow I'm going to Sperlonga for some small town Italy oceanside tanning and tourism, then the Vatican on Saturday. Sunday will probably be filled with checking out free concerts around town, or I might go up to Florence for that day. I need to go to Florence, gods dammit.

I'm really nervous about my first test. My Italian class is literally my teacher speaking in Italian about Italian for 3 and a half hours, and our book is a book about Italian in Italian, so studying takes about 5 times as long as normal.

Gotta go, test time.

-Sean

Severe lol's

2008-07-02T03:33:00.000-07:00

One of my roomates told us about this email that a friend of his found on a girl's computer when she left her email open. It's an intranet emailing system called Blitz, and after discovering this the friend who found it forwarded it to everyone in the school. We read this aloud last night while sipping vodka shots after a hefty pasta dinner.

honey bear, now for a more you and me note--
seeing you on video on my computer was amazing, even whenyou had your clothes on. you really looked beautiful and itmade me miss you terribly. it was wonderful to see yourfacial reactions as you read my words to you. your face ispriceless. so lucious a bear i do not deserve! and yourbody, oh your body. your breasts are really just perfect,and its not, as you suggested just me seeing a lot of breatsand wanting them and dealing with it by telling you i likeyours. yours (mine) are the ones i want, and that is that.and your honey pot...oh love, i know you dont think so, butit is beautiful! no joke love, your peach fish is one of myfavorite things in this universe. your perfect fuzzy pubictriangle is no doubt the most lovely geometric entity in theentire world of shapes. had i known that such a wonderfulshape could exist i might have paid more attention in 10thgrade geometry. oh how your creamy white skin of your tummytransitions into a cute little forest of honey colored hair.how i'd like to run my hand through your jungle of love.how i'd like to rest my head on your tummy, with my chinhair mingling with your down-there hair and my ear pressedagainst your womb so i might hear your cries for me. i betyour womb needs me. i bet your honey pot needs me. babybear sure needs you. perhaps i could work my hand down alittle further and round the corner until i just rest it onyour honey lips. then a little gentle pressure and theneasing off as i begin to rub gently up and down, all thewhile kissing your neck softly. licking your ear until ittickles and occasionally entering deep into your mouth withmy tongue. and then you notice i'm not so innocentlytouching the very top of your honey lips, rubbing up anddown, occasionally straying to your soft thighs and downbelow your honey to your butt. oh love, how i long to touchyou. you'd be wet by now and i'd work my hand slightlyinside you and you'd moan and i'd moan and then my middlefinger would be all the way inside you rubbing in and outand pressing up on the inside of your honey pot. you'd moanagain and say, 'maybe she needs a little kiss' and i wasjust waiting for you to ask! i'd give her a little kiss atfirst. and then a big one. then i'd take you inside mymouth and suckle intently on your honey lips as you screamwith pleasure. then i'd lick you softly up and down withbroad strokes of my tongue. and perhaps you would let mepour warm honey over your breasts and down to your honeypot. i'd start with your love buttons and lick and squeezeyour breasts until you force my head down between your withyour hands. i open my mouth and suck on your lips and startllicking and licking and youre moaning faster and faster andpush my head down so i cant breathe and i'm suffocating inhoney pot delicious goodness. yumm! and then you moan, 'fuckme, fuck me bear and i stop licking your honey covered potof love. you lie on your back with your legs in the air andi come up on to you and you take my hard dick into your handand guide it into your dripping wet pussy. it slides ineasily and you only moan a little. the whole time im moaningand saying, yes anna, yes, im giving it to you. and i amgiving it to you. soft at first and then hard and deep.you moan, fuck me from behind bear. ok love bear, i will.you turn onto your side and wait in the fetal position forme to enter you. i come up behind you and sink my dick deepinside your welcoming honey pot and fuck you hard from theside. then i get on top of you and thrust hard and fastinto your tight and wet pussy as you lie on your side in thefetal position. youre getting close to coming so i get onmy back and you get on top and again take my throbing penisin your hand and shove it forcefully this time into yourneedy vagina. then you move from a kneeling position lyingdown on top of me. you hump your cute little butt up anddown and my dick slides in and out. you go faster andfaster and start moaning and panting heavily. you say, imthink im gonna come soon, and scream fuck me anna. you gofaster and harder and have me pinned down to the bed. i amyours. all for you, my pussy is all for you, you moan as youfuck me. you start screaming and moaning and your wholebody convulses. i thrust a few last hard times deep intoyour pussy and we both scream nonsensical love words as wecome together. our climax is long and perfect and then wejust lie there together and hold each other and whispersweet nothings that mean everything. a happier moment ihave not known love bear! of course you ask for a tissue,and i oblige, limping naked across the room with strainedlegs from loving you so hard. i bring you tissues and youstop up your honey pot, which is dripping with my seamen.we lie together naked until we fall asleep in one another'sarms. a happier moment i have not known love bear!

Back to Italian class I go.

-Sean

Getting ditched in Italy

2008-07-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

Sucks.

Last night our school sponsored us tickets to a Monday night Ragga festival, and I wanted to go. I went home in the afternoon and laid down for a nap, and when my roomates left they failed to mention that it was time to go to the show. I woke up about ten minutes after they'd left, threw on my clothes and spent the next hour getting lost looking for the concert. I probably walked three miles after it was all said and done, trying to find the entrance to this park. I'll never forget where it is now, that's for sure.

When I showed up I tried to call one of my roomates to find out how to get my ticket, because the ticket booth was swarmed with hundreds of Roman hippies trying to get in. Turned out after all of my hiking and trying to figure out my location, the coordinator (Sophie) had given away the rest of the tickets to people at the gate.

It was fifteen euro to get in, so I decided to just call it a night and go to bed. What an awesome blog adventure. Sean doesn't make it to a show and goes to sleep early.

Oh! New developments! The psychotic birds that wake us up every morning with their horrific shrill cries are gone!!!

YAY!

Now, instead of Italian banshee birds, we have nail guns, hammers breaking floor tiles, and American pop music on the radio of the construction workers currently destroying the apartment across the courtyard from us. I've started constructing a list of phrases to yell at them when I wake up and get really pissed off about it.

I've been trying to upload my first week pictures from Italy, and my computer is being a cranky bitch. Soon'come. Soon.

-Sean

PICTURES!!!!

2008-06-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

La Spezza - Cinque Terre pics:

Also, I got a gym membership today. I am a happy Sean now. I'm pretty sure I have everything I need to survive. Except maybe getting to see Wanted in English.

Don't tell me it sucks if you've seen it and it sucks. I'm going to find a theater in Rome that has it without dubbing.

-Sean

Big Weekend About

2008-06-30T01:44:00.000-07:00

To start off, yes, I thought about decomp all weekend, and how much I wished I was there, and how much I was glad I wasn't. Day 10 now and I'm starting to miss everyone terribly. Apparently, according to our really sexy coordinator Sophie who I was chatting with this morning, that fades after the second week. Awesome.

I got back last night from a really amazing scenic trip to La Spezza and le Cinque Terre. La Spezza is the main train hub right before Le Cinque Terre, which are five villages along the North Eastern coast of Italy. Each village is built into the mountains, which literally run straight into the ocean. There's little beaches and cliff diving, surrounded on all sides by these rustic towns rising in a sea of green over your head.

I met up with my friend Erin, and we spent Saturday in Vernazza, my favorite of the villages. It was all of one cobblestone road leading straight into the sea, with a small harbor and lots of giant rocks to dive off of, and lined on either side with little shops that sold jewelry and tourist trinkets. After bumming around and eating a lot of food, we went back to La Spezza on the last train (which we almost missed!), and caught a cab ride to our hotel. The hotel employees were slightly deceptive on the phone, leading us to believe that they were near La Spezza. In truth, the hotel was situated in a village at the very top of the mountain between La Spezza and Vernazza, and the cab ride cost us around 30 euro.

I swear to fuck the driver was methed up, too. He was hauling ass, passing cars at every opportunity around curves, and doing it all headbanging to eurotrance. I was buzzed, and started laughing at the insanity of it all, and he flipped on the dome light, turned around, and dead-eye stared at me, asking, "problem?" I shook my head frantically, hoping that the faster I put him at his ease, the sooner he'd turn his attention back to the road we were still driving down.

Our hotel was actually really neat, though, and was built into an old monastary. The room was in the top of one of the towers, and looked a lot like a treehouse, with big windows built into the roof that opened up to constellations that were all in the wrong places in the sky above. We drank from a bottle of Absolute I bought at the only liquor store that sold vodka in the whole of Cinque Terre and listened to the people in the hotel resturaunt below telling stories to each other in Italian.

The next morning I learned why a hotel built into an old monastary can shed its novelty in so much preservation as they rang the old bells at sunrise, and then again every half hour for the rest of the morning. Shower, breakfast, and three really week espressos later, I was drop-dead tired and passing out sporadically on the train ride back to the last village in le Cinque Terre. We planned on hiking, but with the sun burning down at over 100 degrees, we opted to just use the train and beach hop instead. About halfway through the day we split an Adderral and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on a resturaunt balconey talking about out fucked up relationship problems and making plans to hang out again before returning to the land of trucks and heavy drinking.

After a day of sun and swimming, we almost missed our train back to the central station (again) to get back to Rome and Florence, respectively. On the train I watched the countryside evolve from mountains into sloping hills, forests, and plains, writing in my journal and drafting out thought bubbles for story ideas. Later, I walked around the train, and ended up sitting with an Italian woman who tolerated me using my dictionary to have a real conversation with her. She was sitting with some of my classmates, so they had me translate for them so they could ask her questions about Italy. It was pretty fun, because in the midst of our conversation, she was making fun of them and telling me ways to pick up girls with really easy phrases that would get past their anti-tourist guard.

After getting home I discovered all of my food gone and the water heater not working. Had a nice sit down with the two new roomates who arrived right before I got home, who have very quickly become my favorites, Guillmo and Leo. They're both from Honduras, but live in Austin now. We stayed up until two and joked around about traveling abroad, and they quickly endeared themselves to me when they asked me where the good clubs were. Telling them I didn't know, Guillmo said, "I go to raves back home, I just want to find somewhere to dance."

Finally, some fellow conspirators! We agreed to exhaust all of our available resources in an effort to find some kind of fun evening activities. Despite what some commentors on here have complained about (I'm e-looking at you, Shawn), I'm sucking up plenty of history, art, and culture, but fuck me if I can't find a place to have fun that isn't rife with drunkass Americans and shitty music.

My mom is pitching the idea of sending my brother to meet me here when my program ends and taking him around Italy, then using his Spanish to get us through Spain. I'm tempted, and I know the two of us could have an awesome time sneaking off to Amsterdam and Greece for more euro-typico adventures. It would, however, overlap my New York trip, and I'd miss out on getting to see Ed and Diana again, as well as going to the Philly pre-burning man compression party. I told her I'd think about it for a week and see how comfortable I'm feeling in my new digs.

I finally have my pictures on my laptop, so I'm just waiting for them to turn on the wireless at LDM so I can upload them and start filling this blog out a little with more than words. Like I said before, I miss everyone terribly.

-Sean

When we find that a picture of ourself in someone else's place has been moved, does it mean they love us less?

Friday

2008-06-27T06:05:00.000-07:00

I've been in the computer lab for the last two hours trying to plan out my weekend. It's becoming increasingly frustrating, trying to find a place to stay in la spezia. At this point I'm ready to say fuck it and find a discoteca to go to tonight.

And I need to go out. I haven't been able to stay up past 10 for the last three nights, and the lonely apartment is starting to get to me. My roomates moved in yesterday, a Portland guy named Alec and two guys from Illinois, Eben and Jimmy. Nice enough guys, so far we get along rather well.

I bought a card reader for my camera, and I can now power up my laptop. Things are happening! The mini-ipod boombox I brought has been a lifesaver with the apartment, and I love gellato. Gellato is like the national anti-depressant of Italy.

Homesick?

Have some gellato.

Too hot outside?

Ice cold gellato.

Want some gellato?

If I have to tell you...

Just scored a hostel for tomorrow night, staying with my friend Erin in La Spazza tomorrow and Sunday and hiking through Cinque Terre, a seaside/mountainous area with paths connecting five villiages. I'm pretty excited, since this is the first time I'm getting out of Rome. Going to do a discoteca surf tonight and see if I can't get into some trouble before I have to get on the train tomorrow.

I'm missing my boys terribly, I had a dream last night with Beep in it. He was seranading a very small castle with operatic meows on a beach. He was the same size, but the castle was tiny, and the sun was setting in the background. My dreams have been insane here, probably because I haven't managed an entire night of sleep once yet. I have to leave my windows open to deal with the 85 degree evenings (since I have no AC) and at around 5:30 in the morning these birds wake up that make the most horrific sounds I've ever heard. I warned my roomates on their first night here, and the next morning Eben came into the kitchen cursing at the birds and throwing clothespins from our drying rack at them.

Okay, I've been sitting in this computer lab for 3 hours now writing down addresses and scheduling the hostel and train ticket. I'm out.

-Sean

Call me!!!

2008-06-27T03:45:00.000-07:00

It's 2 AM, you're wasted, and all you can think is, "I wonder what Sean's doing RIGHT NOW." Well now you can know with this handy-dandy cell phone number that I have in Italy, as some of you already know, because I've called you.

011 39 355 7879380

That's the complete number, 011 being the international code you punch in to call across the sea, 39 being the prefix. If you actually do get the wild hair to call me (which would be wildly entertaining for me), you should probably get a phone card. There are plenty of companies who you can get them from online really easily, for example, http://www.phonecardsmile.com/

Just remember that I'm 7 hours ahead of central time zone, meaning I'm usually asleep between 6 PM and 2 AM your time, though that varies. I can call you guys, but it's .39 euro a minute for me.

Also, I have more regular internet access now, through my school. Hurray.

-Sean

Ode to the Italian Keyboard

2008-06-27T02:26:00.000-07:00

How I loathe thee, let me count the ways...But not in conjunctions, for all they gain me is cobbled-together words, and that only works in german.

Consider this my first inebriated internet session. I finally had wine in Italy, to celebrate actually getting my cell phone and a card reader for my camera. That, and the waitress talked me into it. She obligingly allowed me to speak in my atrocious Italian for ordering and asking questions.

No, I dont have pictures up yet. I would have to have my computer charged to do that, and I spent all day looking for a power converter with no fucking luck. The melted one is still sitting back in my hotel room, smelling like burnt plastic and the shattered engineering prowess of Brookstones employees.Last night I had dinner with Erin (the girl going to Florence) again, and walked around the Spanish steps for a while listening to people talk in a bouquette of languages. We made plans to meet up in Florence, ate gellato, and made out in front of her hotel. Some drunk 20 year told us we should fuck inside, and I told her to "piss off unless she wanted to watch." She flipped me off and I let her know I had no problem backhanding a stupid, drunk, American bitch.I meant it, too.

Nothing has made me hate Americans more than being in a foreign country overpopulated with them in the age range of 19-23. They are loud, obnoxious, and I almost felt compelled to choke out this one kid who was storming around via nazionale with his shirt off, slapping his chest and screaming at his friend in a drunken rage.

Va bene, Im being kicked out of the internet point now, theyre closing down.More tomorrow, if I can find a fucking charger.

-Sean

FIVE MINUTES!!!

2008-06-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

Ive got five minutes left on a computer card in the hotel. The computer, if you cant tell, doesnt have an apostrophe key. Italian.

I cant really get much out in the time I have left to type, so Ill just summarize the main points.

There are a lot of stupid American who fight in the streets in Italy.

Many of them are girls.

Theres more beautiful art and sculptures here than you could ever take pictures of.

I skipped the sponsored trip to the vatican today in favor of sleeping, and allowing myself more than the one hour tour they would have provided me with through API (company I paid to be here).

I want to get my computer charged and my cell phone.

I move into my apartment tomorrow with five other guys.

Yeah.

-sean

Holy fucking shit

2008-06-22T08:10:00.000-07:00

I just set a wall socket in our hotel room on fire, and completely fucked my new brookstone step-down power converter. One of the hotel roomates had one plugged in to another socket, and apparently two converters on the same resistor can have too much draw, etc, math, physics, and burned sand.

Long story short, I fucked some shit up.

I'm afraid to call the hotel operator and tell them, because I'm worried they're going to charge us for damages or something. This thing was seriously burning, sizzling, popping, nasty fumes coming off of it, the whole recipe for an electrical fire and dead tourists.

Thankfully I didn't just plug my laptop in and let it charge. Upside. Now I can't charge my laptop, though. Downside. I'm using my remaining power to copy down the addresses of all the discotecs in the city, and the number of the cute girl in the Florence LDM program that I met on the bus this morning.

Because it wouldn't really be an international trip worth talking about unless I got kicked out of a hotel,

-Sean

Mi primo giorno a Roma (My first day in Rome)

2008-06-22T06:45:00.000-07:00

I haven’t actually slept since Friday morning, when I scraped four hours from 6 AM to 10 AM. Nothing makes sleeping harder than a tiny beam of light seeping through the crack between your curtain and the wall that magically always points at your eyes. For some reason that makes me think of the scene in the Hobbit (animated movie) when they’re all waiting for the moonlight to reveal the hole where the key goes in the dwarf mountain.

Annnnyyywwwaay...

I’m well beyond delirious punchy Sean now, and starting to slip into baffled and cranky Sean. I’m starting to feel really fucking haggard, and look even worse. I called my parents from the piazza, not realizing that it was 5 in the morning there, not even realizing that it was only 11 here. The light hits this place differently from planetary precession, so the shadows don’t look right to me. Longer? Shorter? I have no idea.

I’ve been trying to get by without using English at all, and it’s a slow start. I’m trying to be diligent about remembering words I regularly use and forget easily, and write down phrases that come to mind that I either learned or want to figure out. I’ve also got a file open just for dirty talking.

Italy is beautiful, the people are tolerant and at ease with themselves. They have the dignified air of a culture in recognition of its dependence on the tourist market, but stop themselves short of divesting anything less than Italian stoicism and pride at their work and day-to-day. Also, they're hot. From what I've seen so far, the sexy scales are actually skewed on the male side. Lots of sexy guys with perfectly groomed, toned, tanned, clothed bodies, and a few smatterings of cute girls in the girly stores.

Time really does move slower here, and nobody seems to care about a looming or soon-approaching anything. I asked about a mini-sm cable for my camera at an Italian-equivalent mall music store, and the employee just shrugged and said, “Nothing will be open today because of the festa, but you can get one during the week some time.” When I asked him where I could find it, he told me "across the piazza," which in Italy can mean pretty much any-fucking-where. The whole city is comprised of strada's, via's, and piazza's (a piazza is basically a stone courtyard with sculptures and lined on all sides with shops). Then he tried to sell me another memory card, assuming mine was full. Relaxed opportunism at its finest, like a really fat cat that decides to grace a crippled fly that just happened to fall near its paw with a few playful taps.

I can see how everyone tells stories about a friend they have who never came back. I’ve only been here a few hours and I already wish I was a local, happily shouldering the naiveté and euros of the millions of tourists who flow through Rome every year. The locals are immediately discernable in the fray of multi-cultural fucknuts like myself who walk around taking pictures of buildings, novel storefronts, and statues, with oversized street maps nearly blowing out of their hands and guiding them like a cartographic pied piper blindly into the streets. Amazingly, every incident I've seen like this (four, in the half a day I've been here) has been saved by the supreme skill of Italian drivers, who can somehow make their vehicles phase through solid rock, or shrink inward when squeezing through some tiny via and dodging some retarded aussie in a wifebeater. Maybe they slather their cars in olive oil and suntan lotion.

I bought an audio book of a popular Italian comedian to listen to when I’m walking around, in hopes that it will help me develop my ear more keenly to Italian phonetics, and a copy of the second book in the Hitchiker’s “trilogy” in Italian. I haven’t read the English version in at least four years, so it will be fun rediscovering the ingenious wit of Douglas Adams in a language that probably had to adapt itself to be funny around his unique narrative comedy. I even managed to have an exchange for more than two sentences with the woman working the counter, informing her that I didn’t know where to replace the book I had been eyeing before I’d happened on Adams. Tiny little proud moments like that are what will keep me going when I’m in a loud club and fail miserably and repeatedly to pick up any girls.

Something else I love about Italy: Familial responsibility. Since my arrival I have not been subjected to one screaming baby that wasn’t excused immediately, or any impetuous, fat, screaming children who have a mother casually ignoring them with text messages and television. People are actually present when they are in proximity to one-another here, probably because they don’t see the point of taking up space next to a familiar sentient being when all they’re doing is trying to ignore it while communicating with other sentient beings through an invisible medium.

On the note of proximity, something else culturally distinct from Americans that I’ve already begun to enjoy, Italians don’t mind closeness. Even now I’m sitting in a little café eating a club sandwich (with eggs and some really thick, soft cheese… my intestinal jury is still deliberating the verdict) at the end of three small tables stacked against each other on one wall of the café, and a man and his two sons came and sat down right next to me without any discomfort or readable emotions. He smiled at me at one point and offered “buon giorno,” then returned to his food. His sons both ate quietly and are now playing a card game, both of them probably around 8 and 10 years old.

I’m about to go back out into the heat and walk back to my hotel, where I can now check into my room and probably peruse the net for a bit before losing consciousness into the twitch-ridden hayride of my body and brain reclaiming the nutrients they need to survive. Being a Texan has already played in my favor in acclimatization, I’ve been able to hike around the whole city and not even need to find shade. That, and apparently Italians find Texans fascinating, probably because overseas we’re still residing within the echoes of Dallas (the show), oil rigs, horses, the Alamo, and George Bush. I want to find a screen printer somewhere in town and have a shirt printed that says:

“Mi dispiace, sono un stupido Americano. Prometto non provaró portare democrazia ecco.”

I’m sorry, I am a stupid American. I promise I won’t try to bring democracy here.

Goodbye

2008-06-21T09:59:00.000-07:00

Echoing in it somewhere.

I'm at 10,000 feet and climbing, and the plane is languidly banking through the sky, a big metal whale coarsing its body into the ocean, insinuating itself into space and time...

I'm probably just really high. Hour 26 with no sleep and just four hours of sleep before that, Jack Bauer doesn't have shit on me. This is very probably the most beautiful scenic departure from DFW I've ever witnessed. The special cookie I chomped when I was in line at security is settling in nicely with the sleep deprivation, caffeine, and adderall.

A golden lake is unfolding underneath me, welling up from the sprawl of Dallas like blood pooling out o f a stomach wound. Goodbye... echoing in it somewhere is the feelings, the heart ache and terminality I am leaving behind.

Everyone I spent time with in the last few weeks encouraged me with such profound energy and positivity about this, and they're really the only reason I'm here. I've felt nothing but detachment and numbness from the succession of relationships ending, life stopping, and things I've become attached to slipping away.

I'm here now because the only the that makes sense in this chaos is the constancy of a path insisting itself upon me. The universe is talking to me, as it does to all of us, but it's doing it very loudly and dramatically, with lots of exclamation points and powerpoint presentations. In a very short time everything condensed itself into one focus, collapsing the walls around me and forcing me to look to Italy for answers.

A long time ago a very big tree told me I should listen, learn, and grow. Grow like only a tree knows how to grow, through everything. Of course, I was on mushrooms at the time, but it was a huge fucking tree. It's harder to ignore talking things when they're the size of your consciousness. Anyway, I've been having these flashes, like 2 second hallucinations, overlaid on what I'm seeing and experiencing in a moment. It's like putting on 3D glasses when you're just looking at normal things, there's an opaque form laying over the solid one. Sometimes I see places I've been, other times they're unfamiliar.

...I'm fairly certain I'm just rambling now. You can gather what I'm getting at. Stuff is happening. Overarching plans. Cosmic chess. Stellar scrabble.

THINGS I FORGOT

My memory foam pillow
A 1/4" to 1/8" jack adapter for my new headphones
My circadian rhythm
How to speak Italian
Dove sono

I've just got to remain conscious for another three hours to board the plane from Newark to Rome, then I'm going to turn my brain off on the plane with a whole bunch of Ambien. I'll be arriving tomorrow morning in Italy, so hopefully this will give me a head start on getting my sleep schedule regulated. Or maybe I'll just be exhausted and cranky.

** Crimping can sometimes refer to a kind of fold used in Origami. **

-Sean