In Middletown...nothing new

Marissa, Minitruck II (the truck), Minitruck III (the cat) and I made it home in three days. 2900 miles in 3 days is a lot of driving. We got pulled over for speeding every day of our trip. The weather was perfect, traffic was light, the truck ran great. It went incredibly smoothly. I wouldn't want to do it again. I didn't write any profiles on interesting people we encountered on our drive home, because it turns out that there are no interesting people in middle-America. Nope. Just a bunch of bland cookie cutter picket fence white bread dick and janes. It is good to be back in a state where the people are weird. Coastal states have all the characters. It was another culture shock coming back though. We went out in New Haven, and all the people there looked like they belonged on the MTV show Jersey Shore to me. I've got to admit, I almost miss the ski bums, at least they dress with some color.

Marissa and I are all settled in to Brohouse East in Middletown, and we've once again begun the frustrating job search process. It's going...well? I'm going to cheat a little today, and spend the day watching Wildboyz and finishing up nerd novel.

It is nice to have cable TV again.

Goodbye.

As I finish up my last days of work and begin the frustrating packing process, I question the fate of this blog. I mean, look at the title. Can I in good conscience continue my rambling blog about my year abroad in Oregon, if i'm no longer in Oregon? Perhaps not.

We've had a good run though, haven't we?

With all the grace of a baby hippopotamus Bend, Oregon has thundered into a secure place in my heart. Its breathtaking views and wrenching beauty have never ceased to move me. I'm no Thoreau, but when looking at the mountains makes me smile every morning on the way to work, I know i'm in a special place. I've poked a lot of fun at the local population, but honestly all their quirks and oddities add to their charm.

I have a friend here who has repeatedly expressed to me that she has no hobbies. Well darling, you're living in the wrong place. For all its culture, Bend is far too isolated for someone who doesn't thrive on exploring the great outdoors. No matter how many bars and restaurants and theaters open up downtown, Bend will always be a small town in the middle of nowhere. That's why we live here. Go play on the mountain.. Bike the trails. Hike the desert. Paddle the river. Do something positively dirty. It'll keep you young.

Bend, Oregon: fountain of youth.

Thank you for all that you've given me. Hopefully I've returned the favor.

During the my drive home to Connecticut I will take the time to post a couple entertaining portraits of strange people I meet along the way, so this blog will survive at least that long. When I do get back East, I plan on actively publishing more of my stories, including the much anticipated Nerd Novel I've been working on since I moved here, so keep an eye on this page for exciting links and updates about my progress. That's all I guess.

I love you.
- Max Tyson, King of America

Garage Sale

Come to my garage sale today. 61527 milo avenue.

It...leaves the desert?

'Tis true. I am leaving Bend. Going back to CT. My year abroad has come to an end. I'm...sorry.

BUT I NEED TO ACTUALLY MAKE MONEY, which is a papery green substance still found in relative abundance on the sunrise coast. Maybe someday i'll come back, when Bend is once again part of Oregon, and isn't just the northernmost city in California, and consequently subject to all of California's financial woes.

When that happens, call me.

On a related note, all my junk is for sale. Here is a partial list: http://bend.craigslist.org/gms/1468639926.html

On the Kharma

Kharma is a dirty pirate hooker. I spent so much time complaining that nobody from back home ever came out here to visit a Max Tyson in the desert, that when some people actually did come, I was on my way out on vacation myself. Heading back to CT.

Right at the end of last month LaStinky and Luke made a pit stop in Bend during their roadtrip from CT to Santa Barbara. I was both surprised and impressed that they made that detour. Look at a map. You'll be impressed too. They couldn't stay long, since Miss Marissa, Bre, Andy, and I were preparing for our own trip, via aeroplane, to the sunrise coast, but in the short time they were here, a lot of fun got done.

We drank beers, shot guns, mountain biked, hiked, explored caves, rock climbed, drank more beers, ate treats, and fried our brains at Velvet drinking Bubble Troubles and watching "Onslaught", a truly disturbing visual jump cut sequence of horrifying gore and more horrifying 80's porn, set to music. Imagine GirlTalk, but with movie clips. Movie clips that are gross.

Wednesday morning, Oct. 28th. Lastinky and Mr. Luke Marlow return to the road, and Marissa and I headed for the Redmond Airport. You know what happened next America.

(Note: If you don't know what happened next, don't fret. I'll tell you soon.)

Minitruck III

My new cat makes me want to curb stomp bambi. Marissa Kay works at the humane society animal shelter, so it was only a matter of time before she broke down and brought some of the chinese restaurant surplus home. I've got to hand it to her, she did last almost 5 months. Her explanation to me for why we NEEDED this cat was something along the lines of "He's been at the shelter as long as I have, and he hates everybody and is so unpleasant nobody would ever adopt him, but I have a special bond with him!"

My response was of course "Baby girl, you had me at -he hates everybody." What self respecting American male doesn't want a large, mangy, ancient, preferably one-eyed Tom cat wandering around his property periodically killing racoons, coyotes, and small children? I sure did.

UNFORTUNATELY Marissa Kay is a liar. The damn cat is young, healthy, well-groomed and worst of all super friendly. Like all creatures great and small, he instantly realized that I disliked him, and consequently decided that I was his new best friend. The beast follows me around the house, and refuses to sleep anywhere except lying on my face. Throughout the night he keeps everyone awake by wandering the house purring at a volume somewhere between jet fighter take off and marilyn manson concert. As we speak he's perched on my shoulder like a retarded hairy parrot. He steals my food and stinks up the house. He rubs his poopy butt all over my things. He rubs his poopy butt all over me. He flings kitty litter everywhere when he takes a dump, which he does with alarming frequency. Note: His pooties smell BAD, and he farts LOUD.

The hell beasts' only redeeming quality is that I named him Minitruck III. Even though his name is already Fargo. I pray that a Condor bird swoops into our dining room and takes him away to his rocky eyrie to chew up and regurgitate.

PS I'm on vacation and i'm going to CT soon!
PPS I'm finally done w/CH19 of Nerd Novel.
PPPS I'm fairly certain my halloween costume is going to get me arrested. Just so you know.

On the Space

Would Vampires survive in Outer Space?

Red Hot Beef and Bean Burritos

A couple weekends ago we succeeded in our quest to over-indulge in alcoholic treats. Drew especially. If you have the facebook, I suggest stalking Miss Kay's photo albums and enjoying the one labelled "Drew's Downfall". Don't look at the other albums though. They're sinful.

Long story short the silly child thought he could keep up with me in the whiskey consumption arena. Oh he kept up. And then threw up. And then passed out. I spent the rest of my night removing various articles of clothing and dancing under the disco ball in the dining room to Daft Punk. Business as usual.

Last weekend was good too! Marissa and I met up with some of my friends at Velvet, a bar downtown, conveniently owned by my boss. He's an older guy, probably in his 40's now, and he has two little girls, so whenever he wants to do something naughty, he goes to his bar to do it. This past weekend it was watching Team America: World Police.

Velvet is a trendy place, full of well-dressed beautiful people, so I was tickled pink to be sitting with the owner and my raucous group of friends watching a shitty/horribly innappropriate puppet movie and consuming gobs of free food and drink. I think everybody forgot to pace themselves. Mostly because Miss Kay invited everyone (EVERYONE.) back to our place to play beerpong, and they actually came. I lost at beerpong. Yeah, whatever. Shut up. You go home now.

It updates the blog

A few weekends ago: Labor Day. Max Tyson and Marissa Kay saddled up Minitruck II and went to Coos Bay on the Oregon Coast for a weekend camping trip. It rained. We laughed at seals. Stupid Seals. They're like loud squeeky brown sea turds. We walked on some trails. We watched a movie in a movie theatre. We drove far out of our way to eat "the best pizza ever" in Coquille, Oregon.

It tasted like microwaved Digiorno. I can't really blame them though, I don't think Oregon has ever even seen an Italian, or even a Greek person, or anyone with any known history of making good pizza, and the cuisine has suffered accordingly. The most color i've seen in this state over the past year was contained in a freckle. The girl must have forgotten her Aryan Nation Brand Sunblock that day. (Aryan Nation Brand Sunblock! Blanket your skin in a thousand year Reich of protection!)

A couple weekends ago: Nothing noteworthy occured at this time.

Last weekend: Max Tyson had to return to Connecticut for a family tragedy. Other than that the weekend was nice. That is all I'm going to say about that.

Present day: Drew is back in school, I'm suffering through my job, and Marissa chopped all her hair off. We've decided its high time that we all drink alcoholic beverages until our bodies betray us and we explosively project vomit and feces everywhere. Therefore, we are having a party this Saturday night. You're invited.

I have a headache and you can lick my poopstained underwear.

I'll tell you about my life soon though, I promise. It's got jokes in it.

Wednesday

I had the day off yesterday. Didn't do much. Cleaned the house. Took a break from nerd novel. Made up random video clips instead. Like this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0fiWpe_DsY

On the other Friend/Why you may hate me cont.

Where was I? I think I was telling you about how I was the person who went for a long ride with Molly and Jim, Marissa's stepdad, along the cascade lakes highway last wednesday. It was pretty. And there was a waitress at the Cultus Lake Resort where we ate lunch. She was pretty. And quite forward. Without saying a word she made it quite clear that she would not be adverse to a roll in the hay with a certain young gentleman. Now, as you can imagine, this placed me in an awkward position, seeing as how I was sitting across from my girlfriend's stepdad, and next to one of my girlfriend's best friends at the time, and my girlfriend was not in attendance. I am all for some harmless flirting with a pretty girl, but not in such a judgmental atmosphere. I politefully declined the invitation. On the way home we made the mistake of turning onto south century drive, which is under construction, and ended being 18 miles of ragged wet gravel. When you're on a motorcycle, this is a big deal.

I'm bored with this story. Flashforward to the more recent past. Marissa, Madison, and Molly took off to the coast for the weekend, so I haven't spoken to any of them in a few days. Last I heard their campsite was full, so they were sleeping in a Wal-mart parking lot. nana.

Since I was suddenly free from the onerous burden of a girlfriend for an entire weekend I decided to finnnnnally have some fun. This is where you have my permission to hate me. Friday night after work found me wandering around the old mill in ripped jeans, rolled up capri style, and flip flops, drinking whiskey from a flask and red wine from a nalgene bottle, listening to an outdoor ween (wean?) concert and taking photographs of the sunset colored clouds. What have I become? Upset by this painful introspection I left Drew ogling some ladies at the Greg's Grill fire pit and bicycled home. Yes, I rode a bicycle too.

I redeemed myself slightly after work saturday night. Nick and I met Raszler the BeDaszler at Fox's billiard lounge for some cheap beers and cheaper pool. (It was free, the girl forgot to clock us in on our table). Fox's is not a hippy friendly place. It's somewhat trendy, mostly normal, and an all around a good time. I highly recommend it. On the way home Nick became enraged by a gigantic, muraled, biodiesel spewing hippy bus chugging its way through downtown. Where the beatniks mildly irritate me through their laziness, they throw Nick into a fit. As an outdoor education instructor Nick knows first hand about how the Rainbow People, as he calls them, come into a community and destroy the local wilderness, trashing public land and giving nothing back. His rants were about as colorful as the painted bus he was hurling vulgarities at. It all sounded quite bleak to me.

Today is Sunday, so I don't need to do anything. My plans include nerd noveling and hugification procedures at the weight lifting facility. Without having my young lady in the house I've run out of food and clean clothes. I'll keep you posted.

On the other Friend/Why you may hate me

The past week or so has been exceedingly hectic America. I have been slammed at work; the seasonal nature of our product results in violent fluctuations in business. Understandably there is far less motorcycle selling/fixing going on in say December than there is now in August. At least in this hemisphere. Marissa has been a crabby appleton, having slightly over-extended herself, through no fault of her own, by having both friends and family visit Bend at the same time, all competing equally for her time and affection. As the stoic, non-complaining, gentlemanly, and all around wonderous boyfriend, it has fallen to me to entertain her guests while she is otherwise engaged. In the past few days I have gone out to dinner with her stepdad and his mother, and spent some quality bonding time with her friend Molly, a truly lovely and interesting young woman.

Molly's days have been full of beer drinking, white water rafting, long motorcycle rides through the mountains, and all around good fun. All she had to do to come here was get fired from her job and spend her life savings on a plane ticket. Hint America. This could be you too.

Right now i'm getting ready to hit the pool hall with Nick, but I will update you with curious stories and entertaining anecdotes from my week when I return. I know. I'm excited too.

On the Friend

Marissa Kay had her first friend from CT visit us last weekend, so in the ultimate popularity friendship adventure fun-factor joy contest the score is now solidly 1-0 Marissa, considering the fact that she's been in Oregon 3 months and has already had a friend visit (and another scheduled to fly in next week), and I've been here almost a year and only my sisters and mom have visited, and that's just because they didn't have to pay for the plane tickets.

You dissappoint me. Daily.

We had to make the drive out to Portland after work on Saturday to pick up Marissa's friend, (who's last name is actually Friend) which instantly made me hate him, but then I realized we were picking him up from a mathemagician convention, which instantly made me like him. After fighting with his GPS for a short time we finally escaped from Portland, a well known den of evil, and hit the road back to our little slice of paradise in the high desert.

On sunday the Maximus wrote some nerd novel while Miss Kay and AJ went hiking, and then we wandered downtown for a beer at the brew pub and some people watching, and we finished our evening with a bike ride to the depot for some rock climbing, and cold beers at bro-manor. Against my better judgment I was coerced into joining Marissa and Madison and AJ on an ill-advised nighttime trek to Paulina lake in search of alleged hot springs. We found the lake, but after hiking several miles in the dark, we never found any hot springs. No one bothered to research the trip. If we had, we surely would have realized the springs are IN the lake. We drove home defeated.

Monday I worked. The roomates floated the river. Then we played beer pong for a bit. I excused myself early to go to bed, since I knew I had to work once again the next morning. The others did not go to bed. They had friends over. They drank. In fact I believe they drank 1 million beers. So many beers that at some point later in the evening Miss Marissa got out of bed and wandered through the entire house, out the garage and into the back yard, where she proceeded to pee everywhere. Oh and she was stark naked. And there were people awake in the back yard. Perfect. There's nothing like a dishevelled, belligerent, nude girlfriend terrifying the neighbors to make one's night at brohouse complete.

It's all good in the hood.

I learned something four days ago.

On the Weather

It's hot out.

It's the type of hot where your body automatically shuts down seven of your ten most important internal organs, and you hallucinate like you're packing a horseshoe lip of salvia. The hallucination is always that you're rocking back and forth slowly in a walnut and beechwood rocking chair on the veranda of a southern plantation sipping a tom collins and saying things like "it's hot today" and "It's going to be hot tomorrow" while your bosoms heave magnificently. In this hallucination you're a woman. It's that hot.

On top of the heat, there's lightning today. So much heat and so much lightning that although I do be safely inside the house blogging on the "I will write this blog...in Oregon" blog with your esteemed selves, my nuts have drooped and dragged behind me on their endless quest for relief to such a sweaty rank degree that they've been accidently shut out in the front yard where lightning near misses are singeing my pubies as we speak.

I'm very aroused.

I have 24 mosquito bites.

On the Fests

Working my way to the police tape barrier I elbowed another hippie in the face, the satisfying crunch of bone disintegrating sending a pleasant shock up my arm. Stomping a too slow pair of skinny jean wearing, long haired emo wienie boys I carved myself and my friends a spot at the front of the crowd. We were here to watch the bicycle races.

Over the past week Central Oregon has played host to the Cascade Cycling Classic, a multi-stage pro bike race that during the last several years has drawn the biggest names in form fitting shorts and sore grundles, including everyone's favorite enuch, Lance Armstrong. Last night was the final race of the series, a high speed criterium oval race around the main downtown block. As the final race, with the shortest track, the biggest crowds and the most desperate racers this race promised to have the highest potential for carnage, therefore being a must-see event for the vast majority of the Bend population.

As soon as Miss Kay, Nickmate and I had established our post on the inside edge of the last turn in the oval before the finish line the spotters whistles began blowing shrilly, announcing the arrival of the pedaling horde. Vanguarded by a referee astride a flashing BMW motorcycle they began wizzing around the turn, the collective hiss of a thousand bike tires running over the pavement at speeds above 30mph sounded like nothing so much as the mother of all bee swarms, or perhaps a locust horde of apocalyptic proportions.

Eagerly I watched the tightly packed mass hurtle around the turn, the flashing colors of the crowd making me dizzy. Yet I dared not look away. Right when my hopes began to fade it happened. The best possible occurence occurred. With a twitch and a shimmy one of the central riders bikes wobbled, and went down. At the speeds they were riding, packed as tightly together as they were on the turn, his fall was unavoidably catastrophic.

Oh the violence! Bikes by the untold dozens flew through the air, the shriek of mangled carbon fiber and steel mixing with the sound of bones snapping like stale bread. Tightly dressed bodies skidded along poorly maintained central Oregonian asphault, shedding skin faster than a python special on the national geographic. Unlike the snake show, this skin did not fall off to reveal shiny fresh scales, just pulped muscles and shredded tendons and guts and black stuff. Clapping my hands hard enough to sting I laughed until tears streamed from my eyes, and I might have actually pooped myself a little.

The only thing better than seeing one skinny hippie bicycle rider eat shit is seeing an entire column of them do it, while their adoring hippie fans wail and moan and tear their dreadlocked hair out by the roots. It was a perfect night in Bend.

Or it would have been if that had actually happened. Instead what happened is we battled our way through the smelly patchouli-oiled white bread west-side bend-elites to see the promised carnage, only to watch several successful, very non violent laps by the bikers, whereupon we grew bored and fought our way down the sidewalk to Sidelines sports bar, where we enjoyed a few cold ones and some greasy fried food. Choosing to avoid the crowds upon exiting the bar Marissa and I bombed out to the old mill in our gasoline powered, smog producing motorvehicle to watch a talkie in the theatre. We saw the new Johnny Depp gangster flick. It was alright.

"Utter" is a funny word. As in "The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks justice". Not as in "Damn that cow has some sweet utters." Because those are actually udders. Savvy?

I've been trying to utter things more often in my daily life. It's far more satisfying than simply saying them.

On Patches the Friendship Raft

Today: I got my first (legal) paycheck for more than 1000 dollars for one pay period since I left CT. Hooray for commission. I also got a brand new free 8G IPod nano in the mail, courtesy of Harley Davidson Corporate. On a related note, does anyone want an 8 gig IPod nano?

Yesterday: I worked all day, and then drove around down for 2 hours looking for a KFC, because steveo called me with an order for thighs and mashed potatos. Then I fell asleep watching Tropic Thunder. It wasn't any good.

Wednesday: Woke up so very early. Day off. Why?

His name is Patches. Patches the Friendship Raft. And we were going to ride him down the Northern Umpqua. Patches isn't much to look at, a 12 foot red inflatable, with a liberal smattering of blue patches and camel snot green glue. The rear crossmember simply doesn't exist anymore, and in its place is a heavily duct taped sheet of plywood. Where there is usually a metal frame to keep the boat stiff and rigid, there is simply nothing at all. When Drew first brought it home for us to see, after finding it sitting sad and alone in someone's front yard, it was love at first sight. This was to be its maiden voyage with its new family.

Drewmate's friend Jess, a standard Drewmate friend in that he's in his 30's, unemployed, and drives a 1984 biodiesel converted chevy truck offered to bring us, so he rolled into brohouse around 10am. We loaded up Patches next to his fancy raft (fancy in that it's self bailing. Ohh, and it holds air) and hit the road. The ride down to the Umpqua really is beautiful, closely mirroring the trip down 97 south and 138 west toward Crater Lake, just staying on this side of the mountains between here and Medford. After a harrowing 3 hours sitting in the back of Jess's hippie monstrosity, stuck between a smelly dog and a smellier girlfriend, I finally got a chance to stretch my legs at the Umpqua river. Leaving Drew, Marissa and I to inflate the rafts, Jess took off for the take out point to collect his sister and friend Woody. We were going to do a 15 mile stretch of the river, chock full of class 3 rapids, with a few 4's thrown in for flavor.

When Jess got back, Drew fell in love. With Jess's sister. In poor Drewmate's defense, at 25, and a student, who has evidently been actively travelling the globe for years now, she is an interesting subject. She's not bad looking either. For reasons I still can't fathom, Drew somehow convinced her to join Marissa, Hank, himself, and me in Patches, rather than staying in Jess's much more reliable, maneuverable, and comfortable fancy raft. It proved to be a long day, full of interminable stretches of boredom and frantic duct taping/raft pumping, interspersed by periodic near death experiences and uncontrollable caterwaulling shooting the rapids.

It really became clear that Patches the Friendship Raft was doomed when Hank abandonded ship in favor of Jess's fancy raft at the first possible instant. Like any good captain, Drew resolved to stick with his vessel, and if it should collapse, and sink, killing us all, so be it.

It didn't sink. But it does leak air dramatically, and floated the rapids more like a sloppy wet noodle than an actual boat. Fun.

After a long long day of paddling, and a long drive home I was kept awake all night by the soreness in my legs, back, and shoulders. I like days off.

Seatsmobile

They came. With their glassy, hate filled eyes, and their sneering grumbling mouths they came. With their impossible demands and their judging souls they came. With their voracious appetites, and unquenchable nagging they came! Like spiders floating on a silken thread they flew here. Like Hyenas gathered at the kill they stay.

My mommy and my sisters are visiting. I'd actually been looking forward to the double x chromosome's arrival for a while. I do so love Big Momma and Cierra after all. The Giant is alright too I guess. Unfortunately, they arrived at a time most inopportune. Steveo, in a fit of excitement about their pending visit, embarked on an adventurous rumble, which sadly culminated in a stupendous stumble, a vehicular fumble, indeed, a motorcycle bumble.

During the weekly tuesday night MOB inc poker run, he ran his bike into another rider, causing him to join the most illustrious club, known best as "those who've been down". I myself am an honored member.

This particular crash resulted in his left foot being turned to jelly, and most of his skin to abandon ship, choosing instead a gypsy life as the flaky white stuff inhabiting the pavement cracks of a fifty foot strip along highway 20. Being the manly man that he is, when he came to, he hobbled into the bar for a stiff drink, oblivious to the fact that the flesh of his toes had peeled back from his bones like a bundle of ripe bananas, and that his boot was filling to mid calf with blood. A disturbing squelching sound and greyish complexion finally convinced his friends to get him to the hospital. Where he stayed for the next three days in surgery. Seats.

Unfortunately for him, he's on crutches with a cast to his thigh now. Unfortunately for me, he can't do any of the things he had planned with the womenfolk during their stay, leaving me to entertain them. I'd be happy to do it. I had fun things planned anyway. But for the past 3 weeks I have had a horribly painful ear infection/migraine. Darn.

So while I work all day to pay the bills, they wander around town shopping, and laze around the house playing board games. When I come home, they steal my minitruck to hit the downtown party scene, and I lie in bed alternately stabbing my ear with whatever happens to be within reach, and cursing eloquently at everyone I know. Even you.



I wish Steveo would give me some of his meds. That shit looks delicious.

It updates the blog

Currently working on ch. 17 of Nerd Novel.

9 days

It has been 9 days since we last communicated. The most hurtful thing about it is that nobody even noticed. Well, I noticed. And it's been tearing me apart on my inside place. The past week has been busy though! I got bromoted at work, I've been doing a lot of rock climbing and mountain biking, and its been warm enough that i've been down at the river or at the pool most days enjoying the hot mommies and paddling around. Added to all that is all my mandatory cartoon watching, and you've got yourself a very full schedule. I'm happy.

I love you.

ps I'm actively shopping for a motorsceickle, so if you know of any good deals, hook a brother up.

On the summertime

Hey. Come closer. Let me tell this to you.

On the day that was not today but was attached to today and was in the past, several factors combined to create a situation involving both friends and fun. I'm talking about a BBQ mother trucker!

I had the day off. The sun was shining. It was pay day. Marissa kay is visiting. You knowwww we went to the store where you can buy grapes and loaded up on BBQ fixings. Then we went home, and I made elk burgers, and Nick helped me make moose steaks, and we made pork chops and hamburgers for the unadventurous. Then lots of people came over and we ate until our eyes went glassy and our ears bled. Then I lay on the hammock, and both trampolines. (we have two. balllllin) Then we drank 1 million beers. Then Nick amazed everyone with his olympic grade gymnastic floor routines. Then I taught the Bendites how to play flip cup. Then I lost at flip cup. Then I tried to teach the Bendites how to play thumper. Then they didn't get it. Then I went to bed in a grumpy huff. Then there was a dance party I guess.

This morning I was awakened from my slumber at 7:30 by a cellphone call from a guy looking to buy my cruiser bicycle. Forced into motion by the opportunity to make a quick buck, I got out of bed and spent my wait until he arrived cleaning the party filth out of the house and garage. At this time I snuck into Drew's room to turn off the tv, since it had been screaming on the static channel all night, something he was completely unaware of, being in a greasy meat and booze induced man coma.

After concluding another successful craigslist inspired business transaction, I made some breakfast time treats and ran to the Harley dealership to grab a bike for the day. My original plan was to run down to Crater Lake with miss Marissa Kay, but it turns out that the northern route i'm familiar with is closed until mid-june due to the snow cover still blocking the higher elevations. I didn't want to take the southern route, since I fear change, so instead we made the quick run out to Smith Rock State Park, a world class rock climbing area just north of Redmond, for some hiking and sightseeing. It was gorgeous. And my legs are now so very tired. Trevor is out to dinner with our friend emily, Nick is next door smoking the sticky with Todd, and Drewmate and Marissa are downtown doing some yoga. I was invited to all these things, but I couldn't go. Cartoons are on.

On Appearances

It is a sad fact that it doesn't really matter if you wear a suit and tie and nice shoes, people will still look at you like you're a psychopath if you happen to have a mohawk and tattoos on the side of your head. On a somewhat related note, maybe I shouldn't have shaved my hair into a mohawk and gotten my skull tattooed a few days before an important job interview.
Live and learn.

Regardless, life is good out here on the Best Coast, Marissa Kay is due to arrive in a matter of days, because she's coming to visit for an indefinite amount of time, because she is a true friend. So take that fake friends who have never visited here once. You're stupid heads. Life is also good because I purchased a 9 dollar hammock from Wal-Mart, and have discovered that I very much enjoy the act of hammocking (it's a verb, look it up). At least, I like it if the wind doesnt rise and start me a-swinging, 'cause then I get scared and covered from eyebrows to toenails in vomit. It's my vomit.

Yesterday I got home after a long day of work with big plans to hammock the shit out of said device, but instead found Drewmate, and Trevor the shed-dweller (did I tell you Trevor moved into our shed? aka the guest cottage? If I didn't, remind me, i'll tell you about that later) were out in the back yard, a very leaf and debris free back yard might I add, although still covered in Hank poos, he's like a faucet of dung, playing some catch with the football so I of course had to join.

It was fun. And feeling all manly and testosteronified afterward, I did some research online and discovered that Bend has a Semi-Pro football team, the High Desert Lightning. I will try out.

I have nothing to say today

I really don't.

On the parties

They began wednesday, Drewmate's birthday day with some good friends and fun. And beers. And Whiskey. It went downhill steadily from there.

Friday night our other roomate Nick procured us a keg of Red Chair from the Deschutes Brewery, which is a lightish flavorful beer. Really a sipping beer, not a quaffing beer. But since quaffing was scheduled, and we do so try to stick to schedule, quaffing was employed as our hydrationification procedure. In honor of Drew's special day, Trevor and I went ahead and invited actual females to our house, since the man of the hour himself has a penchant for creating parties of the processed meat log fest variety.

I'm not squeezing your 'roids here, babes in brohouse are about as common as an esquilax in July.
So the party went down. Here are the things that occured-
1. Beerpong was played with fancy beer.
2. Babes came over
3. Dance party
4. Trevor took his clothes off
5. More dance party
6. Max Tyson goes to bed (3am)
7. Max Tyson is awoken to give Drew a mullet haircut
8. Max Tyson goes back to bed (5am)
9. Max Tyson awakens 2 hours later to work 13 hours straight at Harley Davidson for minimum wage.

Life is good.

On the roomates

They do try. The roomates. That are mine. My roomates. It is the haphazard, indiscriminate, unsystematic, arbitrary way in which they try that a young gentleman such as myself must call into question.

Take the lawn for instance. For the past few weeks, we've been putting a small amount of effort into prepping the yard, cleaning it up for summer growth and beauty. I've done my fair share of raking and bagging to be sure, I enjoy yardwork to a certain degree, and would do the majority of it happily if I had more free time.
My kindhearted Bendite stoner roomates also enjoy doing yardwork, in that they like being outside and communing with nature, and thinking about how nice it would be to have a well groomed lawn and vegetable garden and hanging marihuana cigarette plants and maybe a llama because hey, who doesn't think llamas are funny. This leads them to wander outside, trailing clouds of white smoke faintly reminiscent of the character pigpen from the peanuts cartoon, and begin plugging away until invariably they lose interest halfway through the job.

These inconsistent efforts have resulted in our garden being partially raked and planted with nothing, our grass partially watered and partially raked, with piles of dead leaves and plant detritus/hank poop creating randomly placed Hopi burial mounds all over the yard. (Hopi because you better hopi you never step on one since its 9/10ths dog turd). Instead of finishing the raking job by bagging up their scrapings or at least wheelbarrowing them all to the rubbish pile behind our shed, those gentle natives became confused with their responsibilities and moved straight to mowing, resulting in our grass being mowed...kind of. Sqwiggly lines now trace across our property with no rhyme or reason apparent from ground level, sometimes avoiding the poo mounds, sometimes running right through them, the mower guided by an invisible force of inertia only apparent to those whose minds have been over-exposed to the noxious fumes generated by burning that most stickiest of the icky.

Standing on my back patio in uffish thought, I can only assume that they have created a quarter acre tapestry of art which while invisible to the unaided eye, reveals itself like the great Nazca desert lines to those icarus-ish ascended beings who have taken to the heavens, or at the very least to our shed's rooftop. Tomorrow is another day however. Maybe this time I will help.

Max: Goodnight jokes!

Jokes: Goodnight.

You're going to like this one.

I got to leave work a little early today, because if I didn't they would have to pay me overtime for the week, and they just did not want to be the ones that would give me the extra money. That's fine, I called the athletic club and signed up for an extra rock wall shift tonight. They pay me more there anyway.

As I was leaving Harley the bossman asked me to take one of the VRod motorcycles home for the evening to put some miles on it and break it in so we can rent it out. Being the helpful gentleman that I am, I agreed to take the brand new 20 thousand dollar drag bike home for the evening. I planned on getting up early tomorrow and riding for a while before work. Great. Grand. Good times.

Plans have changed. The bike didn't quite get broken in, just broken. A 70 year old lady in a Jeep Cherokee decided to make an illegal lane change downdown and hit me on my way to the athletic club. We were on Colorado Ave at a place where it is one way, with two travel lanes. I was in the left lane looking good and feeling good. The old lady was in the right lane looking old and feeling old. We were just tootling along, minding our own business, until she realized that she needed to make a left turn. Halfway through the intersection she wanted to turn at. From the right lane. With me in the way.

This is the part where her decision making process differs from mine. Where I would have 1) been in the correct lane, 2) remembered when to turn BEFORE the turn, and 3) LOOKED before I slammed through several lanes of busy traffic SHE decided she was making that turn damn it, and nothing was going to stand in her way, not common sense, not generally recognized laws of the road, nor even a handsome young gentleman astride a brilliant blue motorcycle.

Old lady hit a Max Tyson. Crushed my exhaust pipes, pushed me around like a tsunami of senility, ripped the front end off her Jeep. She did those things. I shredded the cherokee gnar on my drag bike, bounced around like a meth head at a daft punk concert, and got out of it without dropping the bike, or getting seriously injured. Cause i'm the man. Oh, and i'm invincible. We already knew that.

It could have been worse. The cops that came were motorcycle cops, and they cited the lady for driving like a crazy person, hitting a Max Tyson, being old and senile, and still having studded tires on her truck. I got out of there with a slightly banged up, but drivable bike, 20 minutes late for work at the gym, and her insurance information so that she can buy Cascade Harley Davidson some sweet new pipes for their rental VROD. Seats.

Nothing

I got up a little early this morning so that I would have time before work to go to Rite-aid and pick up the photos I had left there to be developed, but I lost all my extra time by taking a gigantic dump before I left the house. By the cold moons of Jupiter it was big. So big that I took a picture on my phone. As soon as I learn how to upload my phone pictures to the interweb, I will show it off to you.

In any case, I went to Rite-aid after my poo and got the photos, so I was a little late for work. Whatever. I work 8:30 to 6:30 every day. Except the days that I work at the athletic club, then I work until 9pm. That's a lot of working. Especially because Tuesdays and Thursdays I have to teach dance for two hours in the evening on top of that. I'm okay with this because 1) dancing is fun and 2) I have a crush on my partner. She's a bit of a cutie.

So, the purpose of my ramblings for the day are as follows: I worked all day, and then finally got home and was looking forward to uploading my photos to the interweb to show off my new place (and sell some stuff on craigslist), and Rite-aid had given me the wrong photo CD. Instead of pictures of my house and my treasures, I have pictures from some small mexican child's birthday party.

I might just post those instead.

Grilled rabbit and hard boiled eggs. Get it?

We cleaned out the garage last night and had a 4 person dance party until 3:30am, and that is in no way awkward.

I took pictures of my new place a few days ago, hopefully I'll get those posted here and on the facebook soon for your viewing pleasure.

Envy me.

Mit wie hast du gesprochen?

Schlampen.

Since pay day fell on the weekend this past week, I was the one that was lucky because I was the one that is the person that received his thing that is a paycheck early. So obviously Saturday night my roomate Nick and I hit the town. We started with a few beers at JCs, where we were met by my friend Melissa from work and her girlfriend Hallie, who was visiting from Medford for the weekend (I've been there, they have a red lobster) (There are no red lobsters here in the desert) (Probably for the best).

Hallie is a cutie. After JCs we wandered to 28, which is a coffee shop during the day and then a bouncing hot spot bar for old people in the evening, where we met up with Bre and her new boyfriend Justin, and his father John. (ie. Old person) This place proved to be an entertaining diversion for a time, as there was a groovy jam jazz band playing, and really funny old people dancing very very poorly. Favorites of the night included small skinny grey haired man in purple turtleneck, and chubby old man in beret.

After 28, we split up, with plans to reconvene later. Bre and Justin went off too look for Drama-friends, Melissa and Hallie went to collect our buddy Curtis, and Nick and I went to the brew pub where he works for some cheap/free beers. At the brewery I engaged a converted vegetarian in congratulatory conversation, welcoming her back to the correct side of the food chain, and made bedroom eyes at a super sexy little thing named Chloe. (Cleo?) I don't remember, but she was foxy. Bre eventually found us and dragged us across the street, where he little brother's "punk" band was playing a show.

Musically, they were pretty tight, if a little bland, but my rage was piqued by their neo-emo, orange county, long hair and tight pants, girly man look. I will never understand such things. Why wouldn't every man want to look like a viking? What do they have against being awesome? In any case it was funny seeing tyler screaming and keytaring his little heart out while eleventeen year olds threw him their training bras in between crying in the bathroom because they just got their first periods and tampons hurt so much.

After suffering through 1.3 songs Nick and I bid Bre and Justin good night and enlisted the services of Minitruck II in bringing us to Timbers East aka redneck bar aka ghetto bar aka fight, because redneck and ghetto just don't mix well bar. While there, Curtis and Melissa played a little pool, I scammed on Medford Hallie and Nick gazed around in wide eyed wonder, having never seen a redneck ghetto fight bar. Then we went home. Then I slept for a couple hours. Then I went to work at the gym in the morning. There I was hung over. Then I napped. Then I finished nerd novel Ch. 14. Those are the things that I did.

Forgiveness treats

I.am.sorry. At least, that's what I would say.... IF I WERE SORRY!!

I'm not sorry. I've been very busy trying to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, but do you care? Nope. Of course not. You just demand demand demand, pawing for my words with your greasy little monkey paws, completely oblivious to the costs, both physical and mental, that I am subjected to in order to keep you supplied with witty anecdotes and engaging life stories.

Now that I have that off my chest, here come the engaging life stories.
Work sucks. Well, thats not engaging. It's still too cold for me to uncrate our rental bikes and start prepping them by riding many hundreds of miles whenever I want, so basically i'm reduced to doing heavy labor for minimum wage. With my super sweet college degree. I did at least officially apply to move into sales, which, if successful would land me some uberappreciated commission money. Yesterday I had to take a surpise day off from work to switch my summer tires and wheels for the studded winter tires I had on minitruck, which I was crabby about because the day before I had spent 400 dollars tuning up the naughty little ride cause she was becoming undeniably disobedient.

It all turned out pretty well though because after I slept in a bit, I switched the tires and wheels, and I gave her a quick wash, which i'm sure she appreciated. Then I continued my reign of achievement by cleaning the entire house, doing laundry, raking the front lawn, doing some bidness in town, chatting with babes I ran in to, and cooking a delicious mooseloaf dinner with green beans, pasta and rice.

Today, lurking in the harley shop sucked once again but (at least there is a but) after work was swing dancing class, which is a lot of fun. Because i'm the teacher. It's also nice that the actual professional I partner with is kind of a babe, not the least because she's 1) a dancer, and 2) a mommy. I asked her out for drinks and she said she couldn't tonight, buuuut she invited me to her place next wednesday. Scandalous, I know.

Thats whats up.

RIP old friend

Whatever soulless Chinese conglomerate that makes Johnnsons Baby Shampoo is a liar. Their "no more tears formula" did make me cry. Now that it's gone.

It is a sad day in the desert my friend, a sad, sad day. The 3.5 oz. bottle of sweet golden hair nectar that I purchased on my first day in Bend and made reference to in an earlier post (Note: citations needed) so long ago has run out. I stood witness to its passing.

Since this was an unexpected loss (I had come to believe the tiny bottle to be an endless well of liquified Johnnsons, whoever they are - sans tears of course) and money is tight at the broment, mostly due to all of my friends being worse liars than the godless chinamen, and not helping me with my plane ticket last weekend, I had not budgeted for such extravagances as hygene products. I do not anticipate being able to work it into next months budget either, leaving me both a cleanliness predicament, and an open time slot in my morning routine historically reserved for shampooing, rinsing, and repeating as necessary. Note: very rarely necessary.

Fear not America, being the modern gentleman that I am, I was able to adapt accordingly. To fill the time slot, I resolve to scratch heartily around my nether region for a period of no less than 3 minutes each morning. As for the hair, I shaved it all off.

The next time you happen to be in an international airport, sit for a time. People watch. You'll be surprised who you find. The ghetto woman. The post-ghetto woman. The burnt out groupie. The burnt out groupie's burnt out son. The amusingly small indian man. The asian clan. The obese single woman on a business trip. The obese single woman on a vacation. The obese married woman and her obese family (except the husband, who in this case is almost always painfully skinny) (Does she eat all the treats? Or does he have a crippling meth addiction?) Father time. Note: He is the one with the huge beard. The hippie. Note: medium beard. The post-hippie. Note: medium beard/receding hairline. The really hot black girl. Who knows I'm looking at her. She'll get over it.

I know you're curious, America. With your puzzled frown and your third degree. You're thinking, now what is that Max Tyson up to? Note: Preceding statement, while completely mental, is still expressed with an english accent. Why? I don't know, it's your mind.

But the story. I can help. I can tell you my newest tale. We could go there, you and I. I bet you would like that. Oh it's so close. You can almost taste it, you know, with your nose. Here it is: I am the one in the Charlotte, North Carolina airport. C- terminal. Gate 4. I'm waiting to board my flight to Hartford/Springfield/Windsor Locks (Why is windsor locks always included in this list for Bradley intl.? Why?) Last week, I received a summons from Domino and the Bro's to roll back to CT to party it up. My presence was requested. I could not dissappoint. Using all my formidable powers of persuasion, I was able to get Saturday and Tuesday off from work at Harley. As for my shifts sunday and monday at the climbing gym, well, I just won't be showing up. With the last of my moneys, including but not limited to next months rent, car payments, insurance, child support, gambling fund, treats fund, motorcycle fund, and bribery fund I bought an hugely overpirced plane ticket, and after work last night began my quest. So here I be. A little tired. A little ragged. A little sore. And probably a little creepy to hot black chick who is just now switching to a different seat. I'm on my way to the CT.

I can't believe she didn't get over it.

It puts the lotion on the skin

I'm toeing the line of financial ruination. Using the last of my money bits I bought a plane ticket to Connecticut instead of paying next months rent and car payments and insurance and child support. I'm hoping that upon my arrival my friends will be so overcome with happiness at my triumphant return to be with them that they will donate generously to the Max fund to tide me over on my bills until I receive another paycheck.

Knowing them, they'll probably just stand by and laugh as I shame spiral to the poor house. Well guess what you bastards, if i'm going down i'm bringing you with me, and I'll get Falcone, you know he's got all those chemicals and shit, he can do long term damage.

But now for the IMPORTANT NEWS (Newsnewsnewsnewsnewsnews....)
Blockbusterrrrr, in townnnnnn, is selling used DVDs for 2 dollars each! I went craaaaAAAAAaaazy!

I bought 4.

It appears the yard wolves have grown up.

Are we finally finished with the cold dead winters?

1. No. The cold dead winters continue, even though it was in the 50's today and while I was out in the parking lot at Harley uncrating some new bikes I was sporting a tshirt and a raging mega-huge boner for the warm weather.

Since today was the first day a lot of people took their bikes out since last season, we had a huge amount of whiny assholes clogging up the shop demanding we fix all the broken bits and pieces their bikes accumulated over a winter of heavy abuse and improper winterization. It would appear that they all stored their bikes at the same facility, I imagine someplace like "crazy eddies econobox storage shack" whos motto as you well know is "we break your shit." Either way, I got a ten dollar tip for washing some dudes bike. Bonus. ( I spent it already, I splurged and ate dinner today)

2. We don't really have yard wolves, just a yard Hank, and a massive herd of wild mule deer, who enjoy tapping my window with their slimy deer snouts and nibbling all of our carefully cultivated vegetation. (we don't cultivate shit) Most of the deer look pretty juvenile, although they are all fat and healthy and lustrously pelted. I guess the suburban life agrees with them. Who knew. There is one good sized buck, and a big old methusela grandma doe who has a pronounced limp, but no visibly broken bones, so maybe she's just got the ancient deer arthritis. Yesterday Nick and I were watching the yard deer wander around and do yard deer things, and gesturing to the slow old biddie he proclaimed his desire to sneak attack her and kill her with his teeth. Which is of course the very same thing I was thinking at that moment.

HUGE PARTY AT TREVORS

Supposedly. Drew insisted. Of course when we got there, there was nobody there except Trevor, who was sitting in his bedroom in his underwear. I wasn't upset. Far from it. The journey had always been more important than the destination for me. Mostly because we had fueled up for our trip with various cheap whiskeys and then hit the road, not in minitruck II, but astride hilarity mobiles, I.e. super sweet cruiser bicycles. Which were incredibly comfortable going to Trevor's since this journey is 96 percent downhill. Coming back was a much more...invigorating affair. Partly because it was freezing outside. Partly because we had more whiskey. Partly because I was attacked by two Geese. Partly because my bike has no lights and it was the middle of the night. Mostly because the uphill trip nearly gave me an anuerysm.

Either way, I had fun. It was a welcome departure from my newly full schedule, which has me working every day and going to bed before eleven almost every night. Such is life.

If I am able to save some cash money with my new hours, I hope to both save some for my eventual return to Bropalace at castle broburg, back in Bro-adise, ie the huge house we might rent back in CT, and I also want to start a motorcycle side project, ideally an old 1970s honda cruiser turned into a custom stripped cafe racer. That is the thing I wish to do.

no title

Big Mac hamburgers are 2 for 3 dollars the retail girls call me the "cabana boy" I drove a forklift into the garage door I got to ride a buell 1125r my elbow hurts real bad I'm teaching Drew some guitar talk about the blind leading the blind I found a pass to Mt. Bachelor progress is slow on nerd novel my left eyeball itches

Farewell Fortress of Solitude

I did it. I moved into town. No longer will I be able to accurately call myself a desert hermit, as I am now a townie in all respects. My new house has a fenced in back yard with a shed and a trampoline and a dog. The dog's name is Hank, and he has an interesting hobby of forcefully collecting blankets and rugs from around the house, which he then hoards jealously in what can only be called a harem, as he is seldom seen trotting from room to room without one clamped victoriously in his jaws, which he will periodically stop and hump enthusiastically. As I was moving myself in today he sauntered into my room, undoubtably in search of new girlfriends of the quilted variety, and disappointed with my available selection of threadbare rags he began circling my legs with one of his current flings clamped securely in his teeth and trailing behind him, where it wrapped around my ankles in a constrictive entanglement, as if he were threatening me to do better next time with my choice of thread-count and overall blanket humpability.
My new room is hilarious, having obviously been the lair of the previous owner's son before they moved out, as it has a flannel patterned wall paper and cowboy themed border. I think I will keep it up, as it will undoubtably throw any lucky young lady I happen to bring home into a lusty abandon. At the moment my furniture consists of a metal shelf in the closet and a standing floor lamp which might work if it had lightbulbs. Tomorrow I hope to add a bed or other slumber device alongside a small dresser in which my underwears and other unmentionables may reside.
At the moment I am virtually alone in the house, as my two new roomates Drew and Nick were asleep by 8:30pm. I did not anticipate that.
Nor did I anticipate the fact that the house does not have cable TV. Surely it is the only house in America to actually have had to act upon the plethora of commercials warning viewers of the switch from an analog signal to all digital broadcast television, as everyone else recieved a cable or satellite subscription some time in the mid-90's. It is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the Sunday night line up on MTV, adult swim on cartoon network, and all the other stellar programming available on cable television. Surely I shall miss watching underdressed skanks with obscenely fake breasts competing to see who can be the first to snort a line of coke off of Brett Michaels wiener.
As I have only just begun recuperating from my marathon drive home from Jackson, Wyoming; and I have a lot to do tomorrow before climbing work at 5pm, I bid you adieu America. Especially because I begin my Harley Davidson employment tuesday morning. We shall meet again.

Adventurous Maximus

I'll admit it. I'm in Jackson, Wyoming right now. Last night after work I had a sit down with Minitruck II, and she said she was up for it, so I started the 11 hour drive.
Note: There's nothing creepier than driving through the high desert and Oregon mountains in the middle of the night, alone, in a thick fog. I didn't like that.

What I did like, was getting to Boise, Idaho around 3am and parking at a highway rest-stop and sleeping in the back of my truck for a few hours. Surprisingly comfortable. And Comforting. I woke up by 6am and rocked the drive through Idaho down I-84/I-86/I-15/rt-26/rt-31/rt-33/rt-22 into Jackson Hole. You know you're in Idaho when the billboards read simply "buy hashbrowns" and "potato museum next exit". Coming into Wyoming was pretty haggard moving through the mountain pass, but it was totally worth it when I got into jackson hole and met with bry and kennedy and ali and kyle and jordan in the bar at the grand teton village resort. They didn't know I was coming. They were pleasantly surprised. gotta go play now, catch up later, lovechu

The 467/469 experience

Someday when I write my memoirs, what happened at UCONN will be a major part of them, and what happened sophmore year in the Charter Oak Suites with living with 5 of my best friends will be a huge part of that. Mostly because we usually did silly things like this- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WC1EhLvJ4LI

On hygiene

This is a travel sized bottle of Johnson's baby shampoo. It is small. It is the no more tears formula. The day I moved out here, back in september, I bought a bottle just like this at a gas station. It is the only shampoo I have used in the past 6 months. I still have a little left.

My hair looks great.

Kharma

Good things.
1- I begin working full time at Harley Davidson March 3rd. My work week is 9-6, tuesday-saturday.
2- I switched my climbing gym schedule to just sunday and monday, so I can keep both jobs.
3- I'm moving into bro-house downtown March 1st. It's cheaper and more convenient than Fortress of Solitude, and there will be less drama than dramahouse (0bviously), but its in the same neighborhood as dramahouse, so we can visit each other.
4- One of the benefits of working at Harley is I can borrow any of the rental bikes whenever I feel like it. For free. I also get paid to put miles on brand new bikes.
5- I finished Part 2 of the Nerd Novel, and am now moving into part 3.
6- I read the art of war, so now i'm even more devious.
7- Today while I was checking the mail, three navy f-16 fighter planes buzzed the fortress, circled around in the desert and buzzed me again closer. It was awesome and I popped a mega-huge boner.
8- I look great.


I've got to make some dinner and then head to work (climbing). Trevor and I switched up some routes and holds and created some new problems i'm looking forward to attempting. After my shift i'm heading to Drew's for some beerpong and maybe going downtown for some show at some divebar. I just don't know.
I love you.

On bad meat

Afflicted with a powerful case of the itis last night, I was unable to summon the motivation and discipline necessary to cook a dinnertime treat, so I took a chance on some burgers I found in the back of the fridge. I did not bother to do the arithmetic required to find how old they actually were, instead placing my trust in the Gods to protect my innocent belly from the depredations of dangerous germies and bacterium.

The Gods forsook me. In the middle of the night I awoke, a sweaty dizzy mess, and promptly began projectile vomiting off the side of my bed. Luckily there is a garbage can there, or else I would have been forced to call my mommy to fly out and clean up my carpet for me. After my oral purge ended I stumbled to the bathroom, where I proceeded to poop everywheres. At no time during these occurences was I upset. I had clearly brought this upon myself.

The meat hadn't even tasted quite right, but since it didnt taste terrible I completed my feasting. The truth is, had it tasted terrible, I still would have completed my feasting, but I probably would have slept in the bathroom afterwards, in anticipation of the forthcoming explosive expulsions. You live and learn I always say.


On a completely unrelated note, during the day yesterday I drove past a hilariously crappy station wagon. Its coloration was a mixture of aquamarine and rust, and one window was broken out and crudely covered by a garbage bag and duct tape. On the remnants of the rear bumper there was a sticker. It read "Don't let the car fool you, my treasure is in heaven"

Man, are they going to be pissed.

2009 Goals

I have compiled here a list of goals. Important things that I MUST do before the end of 2009. If I fail... the consequences will be dire. Specifically, if I fail to complete any number of the following goals in the time allotted Slim Shadage and I will embark upon our great swim. (As you know, our chosen method of self induced death is to go down to the atlantic ocean and simply begin swimming) Many people set goals for themselves, and then fail to complete them and are able to live with the gnawing guilt. I am not most people. If I fail I am willing both to die and to force one of my best friends to die. That is determination.

2009 life goals.

1. Publish my first nerd novel
2. Produce a full length feature film
- incorporate countless stunts
3. Produce a pilot for a television show
4. Buy two new motorcycles (stunt one of them)
5. Skydive alone
6. Get a job I don't hate (that pays well) (I like my garbage jobs now) (but i'm poor)
7. Save money for the bar/ brew my first delicious beer
8. Do standup
9. Do a demolition derby
10. Convince my boys to DO WHAT THEY WANT

That is it for now. There are other things I wish to do, but i'm not willing to kill myself for not doing them this year.

On Long Hair

Everybody here has it. Long hair. Guys and girls, grown men, little boys. Everybody. Which confuses me greatly because haircuts here are a sinfully pleasant experience. For 12 dollars you get coffee and cookies, a handsome trim, a close shave with a straight edge razor and warm lather, a warm towel on your neck, and a head massage with some sort of silk oil afterwards. All this while a buxom lass is pressing her boobies against your back, arms and chest while she works.

Cut and shave. Boobs. head massage. 12 dollars. Amazing.

In Connecticut I was paying a one-eyed balding man with thick forearms twenty dollars to hack at my scalp with rusty sheep shears, and yet everyone back there maintains a much cleaner hairstyle. Why?

Superbrawl Weekend

It all began on the dim, dated, undoutably misty, nearly mythological 31st of January, 2009. It was the thing that began. The thing that began was the weekend. I don't exactly remember what I did on friday, besides work, so I assume it was nothing special. If you, the reader, were with me on this day, and it was indeed spectacular then please forgive me for my lapse in memory.

On Saturday I had work in the morning, which was enjoyably busy, and then I went home and wrestled for a short period with CH.10 of the Nerd Novel, which as you well know has been frustratingly difficult to finish. (If you did not know that, now you do. And you should pay better attention, shame on you) In the evening I went over to Trevor's place in town for some competitive drinking and jam music sessioning and standing around a small, uncontrolled fire in the backyard while his friend Nathan vomited all over it. Pretty enjoyable.

Sunday morning I again had work until noon, and then napped for a little before the Super Bowl festivities began. Not being a fan of the Cardinals or the Steelers (are anyone?) I was more focused on fun than football watching, so I went to my buddy Drew's house (note: a potential third housing option, rather than fortress of solitude, or Drama/babe house) for some pool and beer pong and eating various grilled meats, and bro-ing out. At halftime I ran downtown to the bar to meet with the drama/babe house girls who looked delicious as usual, and as usual bored me withing 13 seconds of interacting with them. Returning to Drew's place for the rest of the game we played a massive 42 cup beer pong tournament late into the evening. After gorging myself on broken tortilla chips and guacamole dip I returned to the fortress of solitude, where I enjoyed a massive vomit fest in the bathroom. Pretty enjoyable.

Monday I lurked on the couch all day, fighting once again with Ch. 10 and somehow snapping the large tendon on the top of my right big toe like a cheddar cheese baked snack cracker in the mouth of that freak Jaws from the old James Bond movie. Unenjoyable.

Musing of a nutriment nature

I wish I could say that I awoke this morning charged and motivated, positively brimming with derring-do and jillepsorius abandon, but that would be the thing that is untrue. As is the fashion of most humanity residing at this latitudinal and longitudinous axis I found myself awakened by the too-bright glare of an unforgiving winter sun, reflecting off of the snow outside, through my feeble drapery, and into my ill-prepared retinas. Justifiably upset by this unprovoked optical assault I burrowed deeper into my personal example of the primitive nest fashionable with local barbarian tribesmen in this part of the world. My anthropological research has discovered these roosts are called "beds", a deliciously quaint if altogether illogical nocturnal arrangment.

In time ravenous hunger drove from me my sweet hermit dreams and I was once again forced to resurface and brave the painful brightness of the daytime world. Driven by primal urges I enjoyed a little me time in my bathroom/office before completing my morning ablutions and endeavoring to create a provisional breakfast treat. Congratulating myself on my ability to pour both grain-based cereal flakes and milk of bovine origination into a singular vessel I crunched on frosted goodness for a period whilst enjoying the clever wrenchings of TLC's luminary series Junkyard Wars upon my television set's screen.

Upon completion of this momentary divertissement I stepped outside to feed grizzly bear his morning num nums. Fear that the sun's merciless rays would conspire to scorch my porcelain shell ushered me back indoors, where I returned to my horizontal nighttime habitation, literature in hand. Hours passed.

My book reading complete I now contemplate the interior shelving of my refrigerator, and the items contained thereupon in hopes that one shall strike my fancy as a nutricious and scrumtrulescent lunchtime delicacy. Even if a certain victual does not, I am satisfied knowing that I wasted your precious time by writing about how I didn't do shit all morning. And you read it. Jackass.

official e-vite

Dear America,
I hereby extend the olive-branch of friendship in an open invititation to visit me here. Whether I remain in the Fortress of Solitude, or make the move downtown into Babe/Drama house I very much wish you would join me. I just got a new job you see, working for Harley-Davidson, so alongside my continued nighttime rock climbing instruction I will be able to pay my bills up front and not be living off my savings. This means I have just extended my stay here indefinitely. Well not indefinitely, just until I finish the nerd novel and am ready to return to east coast civilization. But that will surely be several months from now. So save your pennies boys and girls, put your money where your mouths are and come visit a Max Tyson. You Knowwwww i'd visit you. (and i'm just as poor, so that's no excuse.)

Do you love me? Could you learn to love me?

There is snow outside.

This weekend I worked and chilled and partied and drank and played in the snow. Now about the important things.

- The people in the 5 hr energy shot commercials on TV sound like they're high on coke and pcp. Is it actually that good?
- Sometimes when I'm enjoying my social networking via facebook on the interweb, somebody pops up in my news feed that I haven't seen since highschool or early college and ruins it for everybody. This occurs when that person has allowed themselves to become grotesquely fat over an obnoxiously short period of time. Usually I really want to write on their facebook wall at this point and say "What the hell happened to you, you're disgusting. I mean really? Its only been a couple of years. You used to be hot. Now look at you. You're lumpy and smelly and sweat cottage cheese. How hard is it too eat a salad, switch to lite beer, and jog around the block once in a while?" but I don't say those things because then they'd bitch and whine and nobody enjoys a fatty complainer. (note to self-conscious readers: I'm not talking about people that have thickened out a bit, what with the stress of school and work and our sedentary lifestyles that is bound to happen, and besides I like curves on a girl and a belly on my boys. Its the ones that have turned into diabetic cattle that have earned my derision.)
- Comedians that aren't funny: Carlos Mencia, Kat Williams, that guy that does the thing with puppets
- My all meat diet experiment continues, but has made my farts smell really bad.

Good day America.

New Office

It turns out my bathroom receives the best wireless signal. I think you know where this is going.

Male seeking female: intimacy and light housekeeping

Good evening America. How are you? I am well. Evidently we have a new president now. I'm not impressed. I am sure Mr. Obama is a perfect gentleman, and certainly the lesser of two evils (Sarah Palin in the White House? Good God.) but this all becomes moot since I continue to plot the revolution in my desert hideaway. After my swift and efficient coupe, a new world power will rise from the ashes, that being of course my benevolent dictatorship. Max Tyson, King of America at your service. I'll totally have a statue made somewhere.

To comment on the present and very recent past a bit, today was sunny again, although a little chilly. I woke up early and worked on Nerd Novel, and then left the Apt to get some fresh air and sunshine. The truth is America, I have not done my dishes in a long time. So long that I actually don't have one piece of kitchenware left to use. I do keep my shelf stocked with paper plates and plastic utensils however, so the lack of formal dining implements is only distressing in so much as the pile of uncleaned stuff has begun to smell. Real Bad.

Avoiding the problem like a proper American, I went to the bank and then back to the Harley Dealership for another meeting that I had scheduled in my head and not told them about. I feel they were pleasantly surprised with my unannounced conference. Afterward I came back home, and at the cost of seared nostrils lurked in my fortress watching standup on comedy central until work. At work I met a former senator of the USA and got scammed on a little by mom-babes. I then ran a few miles and did a leg workout, anything to keep me out and away from the steaming pile of crusty dishes waiting for me back home. If you leave unwashed dishes for long enough, they go through a natural evolutionary process which is rather fascinating to behold. At the moment mine have achieved basic motor abilities which allow them to move on their own and, I fear, plot horrible things while I sleep.

It looks like I am going to have to bite the bullet America. There is only one logical next step that must be taken, no matter how unpleasant it is to think about. I have to get a girlfriend.

What? Its not like I'm going to clean them. I don't have a vagina.

Cold in the Desert

Its cold in the desert. It would appear our record-setting stretch of warm weather has come to an end. A heavy fog came in overnight, along with sub-freezing temperatures. Driving to work this morning everything had a glossy coat of silver frost, which created a strange monochromatic dream world in the thick fog. Since I got back from my shift, I have succumbed to a lunch-induced itis and now lounge on the couch coated in peanut butter drippings and queso cheese salsa wearing a too-small tshirt and undies that should have been retired long ago. Truly I am garbage. I hope that in time my self loathing will overcome my lethargy and I will depart the fortress of solitude to run some errands and follow up on some job applications I have submitted. The monetary situation has grown bleak. If I do not find gainful employment full time soon, I will be unable to last past march or maybe april in keeping up with my bills. Should this be the case, I would most likely return to my beloved Connecticut. Unless a new adventure comes to mind of course. Drums. Drums in the deep.

Note: The title "The Holy Babble" had tickled my fancy as a potential monicker for what has until now been dubbed the nerd novel but unfortunately I discovered that a book by that name already exists. Now I need a new idea. Discuss.

South to NorCal

The sun woke me up before my alarm. It tends to do that. After a long shower and potty break I ate a small bowl of generic brand cereal O's and then woke minitruck 2 from her subterreanean slumber. (She is parked in the lowest garage now because the Road runner and the chopper have claimed the upper garages. Sure it hurts her feelings, but she hides it well.) Together we ran south down 97 through the deschutes national forest. A short distance outside of bend this brings you past cinder cone volcano territory and lava flow. The largest town on this route for a good distance is La Pine, which boasts a hefty population cerca 1500 people. The road reminds me of the old rt.66 in the south, with small towns existing only by the grace of the roadway. They have changed little in decades, creating small time-capsules in the vast tract of forest. Past La Pine and Sunriver and hilarious little nooks and crannies like Gilchrist, Crescent and Chemult. Oregon roadways are unceasingly frustrating because they are well made, usually straight, and often empty yet the speed limit never exceeds 55 mph and police lurk everywhere to make sure nobody would dare travel like they have somewhere to be and want to be there relatively soon. 97 is one of the worst, since it is often 4 lanes, and when it isn't the center lane is rarely solid yet everyone still drives 50 and seems happy about it.



Therefore it was a much needed breathe of fresh air to turn off onto 138, which is arrow straight for about 20 milespassing through the mountains next to crater lake and winema national forest. There was nobody else on the road except me and towering walls of snow on each side meant that no police were hiding waiting to ensnare me as I sped. The roadway itself was clear, thanks to week of inordinantly warm and clear weather central Oregon has been enjoying, but on each side it was deep and dense. Instead of the lumpy humped piling caused by snowplows that I am accustomed to the snow was cleanly cut, as if by an enormous DOT wielded samuri sword, showing the true depth so be significantly higher than the roof of my truck. It was not until I turned off of 138 onto 230 that I saw the monster responsible for such a clean cut. Imagine homedepot variety suburban snow blower America. Now imagine it in prison working out in the yard for 10 years hocked up on steroids that have been muled in by conjugal visitors hiding syringes up their bum holes. That is what I saw. Ten feet tall and farting fire it ate into the snow bank like a jersey girl eats coke clearing the worst of natures fury swiftly and easily.



Past this snowgobbler and through the other side of the pass I entered old growth forest reminiscent of the majestic redwoods in Cali or the great Fangorn in middle earth. The venerable pines were thick and proud towering hundreds of feet into the air. The air was still and calm, resonating with the peace that can only be found when alone in the oldest forests in the middle of winter. My route took me into the Rogue river valley, and then to the river itself which was deep and swift with snowmelt. It was a mesmerizing teal color I've never seen before. All along the river the road was hilly and curvy and made me wish it was summer, I was on a motorcycle, and that plow trucks weren't dropping golf ball sized volcanic gravel for no apparent reason other than to bombard innocent passerby's windshields. The sleepy towns like Shady Cove I passed through made me smile, until a dreary fog took over and followed me all the way to Medford. I think the fog might have been apologetic in nature, as it allowed me to see the vast beauty of the mountains, rivers, and forests and then covered the "human improved" areas with their wal-mart super centers and drive through fast food restaurants. In a red lobster parking lot I met Rob and Scotty and received 3 coolers full of elk, moose and fish. Deliciousssss.

My drive home took 3 hours. It takes oregonians 5. I win.

Tuesday

The day was warm. As is my wont I began the morning with a naked telephone chat on my deck with Mr. Cino, about middle schoolers and dildos mostly. After this invigorating foray into the spoke word I quaffed a cool jug of badger milk and went to the fitness center. While there I lifted weights until my intestines threatened to explode out of my scrotum. When faced with the choice between leaving to run some errands and continue working out at the cost of having my insides smeared all over the nautilus hugification instrumentation, I chose the road. First I went to BMC to ask uncle Greg if he had some coolers I could borrow. He was not in.

Miffed by this betrayal, I then went to the Harley-Davidson dealership down the street and applied for a job. Take that BMC. Then I went home and ate lunch. It was a bread and cheese sandwhich. After Lunch I worked until dinner, and got a little bit of climbing in for myself. While working, most of the climbers were relatively experienced people my age, but I did get a few of the young ones in, most notably a little guy named Max and his sister Rachel. There is nothing very special about the kids besides that he has the best name ever, but their mommy is an interesting subject. She has always been very friendly with me, and I assumed it was simply because she was a nice lady. (pretty too) Well, it turns out that daddy is not in the picture and I think nice mom has actually been flirting with me. I am kind of into it. I'm kidding, i'm really into it. After work dinner was a hot dog roll I found with some peanut butter and raisins. I need a better paying job. Now I am looking for coolers again. Tomorrow I'm rolling south to Medford to meet up with Scotty and Rob. Theyre in the state to fish steelhead, and they were kind enough to bring up my elk meat, so I don't have to pay for shipping. Its a bit of a haul to Medford, but it will be cool to see the guys, and I'll have my sweet sweet dead elk mommy carcass all the sooner.

Other than that ch.7 of nerd novel is done, nothing else is new. I love you.

Queermo Sensuals

I knew things were bad America, but I had no idea how bad. I just saw a music video from a "Rock band" called The Academy Is. I'm not sure what the academy is, but it surely isnt rock and roll. As these anorexic looking tweeny boppers strutted around whining about love and how chocolate sooths their menstruation in jeans tight enough to show off the string from their tampons and the fact that they have never ever grown a pube I died a little inside. The 80's were bad enough with Glam rock and Hair metal turning men into question marks, but at least the music was fun and funny and at times wonderfully hard core with topics like whores and boobs and drugs and parties. These guys simply make me want to do violence, and I've never been inclined to beat women before.

Our parents created Rock in the 60's and perfected it in the 70's. Our older brothers almost ruined it in the 80's. We brought it back in the 90's and early 2000's. Was it dirty and simple? sure. But at least the men looked like men, and sometimes the women did too. This current generation however, has sunk to a new and unforseen low. Emo, goth, nu-rock, pop-rock whatever it is, tell it I hate it. Will this be the youth of America's legacy? I hope not. Tell all these bands to get off the stage, produce some hormones, grow a beard and some nut, buy clothing from the mens department and when they get back so help them they'd better actually rock. No more whining. No more love songs. Learn to play your instruments, lift some weights, eat some red meat, shoot some guns and be a man. Preferably a hilariously ugly one. Its Rock and Roll for Gods sake, not ballet.

Rockers still allowed to do their thing:
Zakk Wylde (aka the greatest rocker of all time)
Glenn Danzig
Henry Rollins
M. Shadow
You see what these men have in common? Theyre men. That's my only requirement.

Updaten

I realize that I have not been keeping you updated on my day to day drudgery of existence. Accept my apologies and allow me to remedy the situation. After the California/Arizona/New Mexico/Colorado trip I flew to Connecticut for Christmas. Big Momma got me socks. Cino got me a 2008 babe calendar. Heavily used. The Bossman beat me in a milk drinking competition. I saw a few of you. The ones I didn't, shame on you. I returned home to Bendover Oregon all too soon, and got back into the rock-climbing/nerd noveling/job search swing of things. I was invited to an interview with an internet marketing company called Audettemedia. The next day I was called back to meet the owners. I think the interviews went well. I was handsome at least. Hopefully something will come of these meetings, I could do worse for a 9-5er.

In recent days I have been drinking too often, too early and too long in a feeble attempt to quell the unease and frustration I feel. Only now do I realize what the problem is. Oregonians are happier than they have any right to be. They're all overly content and peaceful, accepting a lower pay grade than they are qualified for because they like the lifestyle and the area among other things. In the America I know noone would settle for such nonsense. Instead they will happily slit their competitions throats for a perceived step upwards. I miss that.

Zombies

If zombies were real, the east coast would be way more screwed than us here. I'm just saying. Unless of course they orginated from somewhere in asia, like most horrible terror infections. Then I suppose California would be doomed. But lets face it, Cali is doomed anyway. Oregon though, I have a good feeling about Oregon. Relative isolation, tall mountains, lots of guns. Yeah. Fear of zombies doesn't keep me up at night. You on the east coast though...maybe you should start thinking about it. Better to be safe than the rotting undead I always say.

Zombies definitely got the short end of the stick in the undead lottery. They smell weird. They aren't sexy. To most people. They maintain a community college education at best. I guess it would be liberating to not have to think about things ever. Like how to survive zombie assaults. Even so, no thank you my ravenous shambling friend.

Vampires though, they're doing alright. They get to dress up nice, party all night and seduce the unwary. I've known a few people like that, they were always a fun time. I think I would miss the sunshine though, if only because i've always been an aficionado of bikini clad beach babes. Plus what if a vampire caught herpes or Hep V (a virulent vampire infection)? An eternity of shame and embarassment? nahh. You can keep your bat rabies vampirism.

So who wins this monstrous showdown? I submit, and feel free to disagree, that werewolves are the most kick ass. Though technically not undead like the zombie or the dracula, they still fit into that illustrious horror niche. They get to hang out in the sunshine, although they might want to think about a heavy waxing regime prior to hitting the beach. They get super human strength and longevity. And once in a while they have a free ticket to flip out and tear shit up with no regard to manners or self restraint. Not since the Irish invented beer in 1927 has man known such freedom. So if some crazy wolf beast decides to nibble on my tender manskins, I probably wouldn't be too put out. I'm just saying.