It's like: this american life, unicorns & rainbows

Chapter One

By dusty (January 30, 2010)

For the purpose of this article, we are going to pretend to believe in a gentleman named Henry. Henry is pretty good at mathematics. He knows how to solve very complex problems in his head. Most guys are not quite as good at mathematics as old Henry here.

Henry smokes about a pack of cigarettes a day. Usually he buys Marlboro Lights, but he will smoke a Camel Light if need be. He gets carded every now and then. You see, Henry looks rather young. He tried to grow a beard a few months ago, but it looked somewhat patchy, so he shaved it off. He uses a Gillette Mach 3 for shaving, by the way. You might be interested to know that he actually got that Mach 3 for free in the mail on his 18th birthday. I guess the folks at Gillette thought that Henry was a grown man now and would need to be shaving regularly. Anyway, Henry likes mathematics.

One day in Math class, Henry was daydreaming as usual. I have no idea what he was daydreaming about, probably a girl he saw earlier that day. Named Judy, I’d imagine. Henry thought about Judy a lot. Well not a lot, I guess; he just saw her for the first time that day. But already, he’d thought about her a lot. Oh, I forgot to mention the weather: it was a cold day in January. For point of reference, we’ll just say that about 15 inches of snow were packed on the ground.

Henry was not aware of this, of course, but he was about to meet someone.

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It's like: the hunger, this american life, unicorns & rainbows

three deaf and soon-to-be-dead astronauts are circling our planet in sun-drenched silence

By dusty (May 2, 2008)

I love a well-manicured lawn more than most things. If I were to compile a list of things I loved, a well-manicured lawn would be very close to the top — sandwiched between the likes of music, It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia, the 2008 Arizona Diamondbacks, myself, neon colors and so on.

Earth’s emerald-green, pantyless pubic region; a beautiful taste of forbidden fruit, such a lawn demands my respect and calls out to me in sun-soaked song. Its short, freshly-trimmed blades glistening in the summer heat, gently waving in the gentle breeze — as if posing for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue or a Creed music video. Its perfection so unmatched in matters of perfection, it quietly makes its way into paintings and photographs and our perceptions of idealistic-utopian beauty.

I want to marry such a lawn — to frolic with it, and eat ice cream sundaes and go to a drive-in movie. (Maybe afterwards we could neck in the backseat of my Chevy at Lookout Point.) And every time I see this lawn — this ravishing slew of bugs and dirt and seeds and grass and dogshit — every time I see it, a pang of lust drives its lusty spear straight through my lusting body, reminding me that no girl will ever be as unequivocally amazing as a fucking lawn.

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It's like: this american life, unicorns & rainbows

a rather large event unfolding in a terrifically hysterical manner

By dusty (April 8, 2008)

Tonight I asked Alan what to write about (I had been thinking about Sunny Delight). To which he replied “how alan is going to get people to buy what he composes on fl studio”.

“wtf is the fl studio,” said I (because when you are talking on the internet, abbreviations such as “wtf” are absolutely necessary).

He informed me, and instead of telling you what it is I am just going to regale you with tales of my childhood.

My childhood was amazing in every way. There were times when I played in the sandbox, and there were times when I rode my bicycle down the hill in front of my house. There were times when I went sledding and times when I went swimming. Times when I drew with markers on my privates and times when I got my mouth washed out with soap. There were times when I had 3 “girlfriends” and times when I built treehouses and forts and sandcastles. I had dogs and I hated some foods (and loved others). What I am saying is that my childhood was pretty much exactly the same as every other little boy’s childhood ever. (This of course does not take into account the lives of crackbabies and retards and the abused and the poor and the ugly and the dead.)

The lesson in all of this is that remembrance is an ugly beast, but a beast that can be tamed. (For example, that time when my parents left me all alone in my house as a tiny boy while they test-drove a new car and planned their ultimate escape from me — it was just a dream, apparently.)

So remember that the good times are the AIDS of the remembrance beast. It does not want you to remember them, and when you do, it cries a little (but just a little).

But that’s good enough for me. If remembering a snowfort means I am inherently giving the mental finger to some quantum asshole guardian of the past, then I’ll just pretend my entire childhood was spent living in one.

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It's like: feelings (ew), this american life, unicorns & rainbows

the tumbleweeds of life’s highway and tom sawyer’s eventual self-realization

By dusty (March 12, 2008)

The weather is amazing today. The weather also was amazing today. Also, the weather inside of me is amazing: a breezy wind of happiness and joy has swept away the cold, tumultuous thunderclouds of fear and angst. The PMS is gone, and with that, I digress:When I was a kid (I still am), I loved days like today. I walked around. And then I drove around. (And then there was car accident which forced me to drive 2mph and it took me roughly 40 minutes to go three exits on the freeway and I humbly and silently cursed the world around me.) But then I was able to go 65 again and I was happy at the world again.

And the world is happy with me, too, I think. A lot has happened in the past year and a half, and the world has been around to lend me some cash and have picnics with me and skip underneath the sun on the beach to the tune of The Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”. Except for the weekends it goes away on a coke bender and I get pissed at it and threaten to put it in rehab and kick its ass and ruin all of my friendships, it’s been a pretty damn good friend to me. And that makes me even more happy than I already am (which is very happy).

Item #2: SALE! SALE! SALE!
I put my ex’s engagement ring on Craigslist the other day, and one particularly resourceful young man offered to trade me a 9mm for it (perhaps with the intention I was going to use it to kill my ex). I didn’t do the trade, though. Not only because I don’t care enough about my ex to kill her anymore, but also because I prefer the comfort that a wad of cold, hard cash gives me. It is so much more fulfilling than a loaded gun. And although I respect John Lennon’s opinion (in a world sans-Yoko), I prefer to think happiness is a warm $795 OBO.

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It's like: feelings (ew), this american life, unicorns & rainbows

a vaccination for genetic mutation; the trials and tribulations of one man’s quest for love

By dusty (March 7, 2008)

Today I am happy. Sort of. I think.

I went to the vet to get tested for PMS this morning, which thankfully seems to have gone dormant in my blood stream. (The vet said testing my blood was the only way to check for the virus since I wasn’t crying during the appointment.) It is a confusing disease, but one that I believe I am cured of!

However, and this is hopefully only temporary, I can still feel the aftereffects in my system. These “feelings” are still inside of me — how do I make them stop? I tried doubling my daily iron intake but have not noticed any positive results so far. I cannot imagine living a life full of post-traumatic PMS flashbacks.

And thus, heed this cautionary tale and be SAFE, dear reader — Lord knows, this could happen to you, too.

Item #2: The Hunger
My hunger is rising like the boiling mercury in a Phoenician thermometer. It cannot be quelled: it is just there, pestering me with its waves of nausea and insidious annoyance. This is no metaphor, either. What I am talking about is food. My hunger is for food, not some kind of allegorical life lesson. I want to eat. I want to devour a cow. I would eat a baby. I would eat my own baby. I am hungry. So hungry, that I am going to order some food.

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