Wednesday, December 31, 2008

New Year's Resolutions

I normally don't do New Year's Resolutions, but this year I'm going to. Here is a list of my sincere hopes for what I'd like to change in 2009.

1. Lose 10 pounds - This was actually something I intended to do by my birthday, but apparently it's hard to go from 195 lbs to 185 lbs when you drink lots of beer.
2. Drink less - I am going to try to drink less alcohol. Nobody die or get married.
3. Get accepted into the MA in Publishing program at Portland State - This isn't technically a resolution, but I think writing it down in a blog will give me better odds. Maybe I'll italicize it using HTML so God will see it.
4. Have better, cleaner stuff - Like from Ikea or Samsung. Something like that.
5. Try not to say too many snarky things about stuff I think is stupid. Like the band Journey. - I think this alienates people (who like stupid things).
6. Try not to bitch about "The Economy" or "Politics" too much. - Because they are abstractions and thinking about them brings my body negative physiological effects. It's not fair. "Politics" and "The Economy" can't think, "BRYAN COFFELT" and then get sweaty and tense, so why should I?
7. Tone down my exploration of social media and the Internet in general - This will be hard, but I think it will be good for me. I think the Internet gives people anxiety and could lower human life expectancies.
8. Eat more vegetables and vegan-type foods - I don't want to be a vegan, but I like eating some vegan foods. I need to have more days where I just eat fruits and vegetables. I need to eat less canned soup and less chips and salsa.
9. Try not to think of human existence as a flash in an infinite amount of non-existence - This is something that I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about sometimes. Maybe I should get some Ambien or something.
10. Try not to project my own life out to its end - This is something that I don't mean to do but end up doing in the winter. I daydream a lot and end up creating fast forward projections of all the different ways my life could go before it ultimately ends. It's disgusting. Maybe I should get some Ativan or something.
11. Try to say "douchebag" and "fuck" less. Or quieter. - Saying "douchebag" out loud is starting to make me physically tired. Maybe it's because there are so many douchebags in the world.

I think that's enough for now. Maybe I'll come up with more before tomorrow.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Damn Cold In Portland

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Books I Bought Yesterday

Yesterday at Powell's I bought:

The Battlefield Where The Moon Says I Love You - Frank Stanford
The Anger Scale - Katie Degentesh
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy - Tao Lin
Annoying Diabetic Bitch - Sharon Mesmer

I think my friends all have copies of these books that I could borrow, but being around a decent indie/small press section worked me into a frenzy. My friend Kurt said I had a "book boner."

I wanted to buy My Vocabulary Did This To Me, but they don't have it.

Powell's has a section for Mud Luscious Press. P. H. Madore bought a copy of Brandi Wells' Patience and sent it to me. I liked it. Here is a picture from my phone of the Mud Luscious Press display:

Multimedia message on TwitPic

I like Portland, I want to move here.

There are little kids saying, "Daddy, look at that man in the sleeping bag, what is he doing? Hahahahaha." Uncomfortable.

I'm going to try to meet up with Kegan and Melissa for some coffee or something today. It's not snowing anymore. But the snow isn't going anywhere, it's 20 degrees. But it makes the city look really ornate but somehow subdued. I feel like a tourist who is trying not to look like a tourist.

Today I want to go back to Powell's and then maybe to Reading Frenzy or something. If you are in Portland and you want to hang out or something, my phone # is 541.646.0900. Send me a text message. Don't call it because I don't answer if I don't recognize the #.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Generic End Of The Year Music Post, 2009
























Here are my favorite albums of 2008 with a seeqpod playlist of my favorite song from each album.

I think these are some of the strongest albums of the year:

Fleet Foxes - S/T
Fleet Foxes - Sun Giant EP
Vampire Weekend - S/T
No Age - Nouns
Portishead - Third
Frightened Rabbit - Midnight Organ Fight
TV on the Radio - Dear Science,
The Mountain Goats - Heretic Pride
WHY? - Alopecia
The Cool Kids - Bake Sale
Los Campesinos - We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
Los Campesinos - Hold on Now, Youngster...
Deerhunter - Microcastle / Weird Era Cont.
Connor Oberst - S/T
Department of Eagles - In Ear Park
Atlas Sound - Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!
Chad VanGaalen - Soft Airplane


SeeqPod - Playable Search

I Get To Have A Week Of Vacation: Whiny, Self-Indulgent Post

Tomorrow I will leave my cube for a week. I am going on a trip with Kelsey, Kurt, and Karen to Eugene, OR for a night and then to Portland, OR for 3 nights. I will probably spend almost the entire time walking around or buying books and coffees and probably some beers. I am going to walk around the PSU campus and hopefully try to avoid doing tourist things or looking like a tourist because I plan to live there soon. I'm applying to the MA in Writing: Publishing program this winter. If I get accepted, I'll start in the summer.

After we get back from Portland, Karen and I are driving down to Oroville, CA with our parents to visit family. I am excited to hang out with Mike Young while I'm down there. He will also be coming up to Ashland, OR after 1/1/09 to hang out up here with the Ashland crew.

I need to get away from my daily routine, because I feel my seasonal "hyper-awareness-of-my-mortality-and-ultimately-what-I-perceive-to-be-my-failures" setting in. It's not S.A.D., it's more like F!U!C!K!E!D!

I have this fantasy that I won't check my email at all during my "vacation," and that I won't obsess over my Google Reader or my Twitter or my Flickr or any of those things that were designed to bring human beings together but are ultimately thin and alienating simulations of reality that in recent years have started to devour us (me).

Right now I'm listening to Lykke Li. I really like this song: Lykke Li - I'm Good I'm Gone. I would call it "ominous Swede pop." Or maybe "insistent Swede pop." My lower back feels a little weird right now. I also feel kind of full even though I didn't have a big lunch. I had a big breakfast burrito at like 8 a.m. but it's now almost 4 p.m.

I forced myself to download some upbeat music the other night. I downloaded a bunch of hip-hop and Diplo remixes. The mood and music of this entire year has been full of melancholy and sometimes dread. Actually a lot of dread. And fragility. Whenever things start to go to shit, it's hard for me not to consider the tenuous bridge between my "consciousness" and that other thing, whatever it might be. Something, maybe. Maybe not.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Really, HTMLGIANT?

What I thought was a worthwhile endeavor is turning into a TMZ-like cluster fuck.

"BOOBS FRIDAY? Oh wait, that’s my ass. Post nice shit about my ass. I fucking love you guys. I’m not a dude. Barry and Jereme –say nice things about my ass."

On Tony O'Neill: "That’s hot, right? Dude puts it in the back door (there’s also nice pussy eating references..yeah)! My kind of guy. And has an English accent? And writes poetry and has a real book deal? Anyway, Tony, if you are out there, do you know the saying, “show me a beautiful woman and I’ll show you a man sick of fucking her”? If you are sufffering from this common phenomen, come on over and get yourself some strange!"

"i did not enjoy reading THE MYTH OF SISYPHUS but i will not say anything else because if Camus finds out he will blog in a mean way about me and htmlgiant will fire me and spit on me all at once (that’s how htmlgiant fires people at meetings, a group spitting)."

How is any of this shit useful? Right now it seems like they have way too many contributors and very few of them have a filter. That kind of shit is what your personal blog is for. Don't subject the rest of us who subscribe to HTMLGIANT's feed to your boring personal observations on whether you want to fuck an author or not. It's a waste of physical energy for you and a waste of physical energy for me. Here's what you should do when you feel like writing something stupid like that on HTMLGIANT: go masturbate.

I don't expect HTMLGIANT to be some kind of high brow publication, but it would be nice to have some way to separate the actually useful stuff (of which there is plenty) from the bullshit that people have been putting up in abundance lately. Shun inclusivity in favor of actually creating worthwhile content. Make some "editorial decisions." Have some "standards."

Having said that, I'm excited to be a part of the HTMLGIANT Secret Santa extravaganza, and I frequently find interesting things on there (e.g. it's nice to know when a journal's submissions are open).

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Vote For Mike Young's Essay On Nerve.com

I am campaigning for Mike Young.

His essay is in the top 25 essays on Nerve.com

Help him win a printer or a t-shirt. Vote for his essay. It's called "It Ain't Me, Babe."

I want him to win a printer or a t-shirt. The t-shirt depicts a unicorn fucking another unicorn against a rainbow backdrop. That might be a better prize than a printer.

Anyway. Go vote for Mike.

Just remember, a vote for Steve Almond is a vote against Condoleeza Rice, and we all love Condi. Like we love candy. Humanist fighting candy. Like Good n' Plenties, or something.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Glossolalia Supernova

Glossolalia Supernova

This whole thing is all cornflakes and all the time with the supper, the absurdity, the ringing in your ears. Conking out in the middle of an assembly, who do you think you are? Woodgrain? A desperado? Multiplication tables? The three holes and the one mile for your tablespoon to roam with the Formica blonds with their fake hellos. I hope I'm not a demon --

What do you say about a black lightning bug? A Swiss army waddle? It comes in jingles like a "Rome," like Fed Ex'd. High side is to the dunes, in turn to the waves. Remember the raccoons turned to rainbows? Gummy, Florence tasted like his name. Get to tomorrow, to the bargain salt water taffy bin or the gun range? You'll be squeamish if we ever end up in court, acrylic.

Don't force me to the stereo. Turn up the fence's juice. They're not pets, nothing is. Lightning is killed by hands of thunder and breakfast won't make itself. I don't do "margarine" anymore, though I do like me some backwards guitar.

All taxed and I need real butter. Some figaro!! shit. Land O' Lakes, maybe. Or something to approximate what decathletes inject. From the hills. Terry Gross on fire. It's calling, again. They're both calling both exhuming Froot Loops and dogging in parking lots in front of a Subway, in front of a Foot Locker. The ghost of a child star raging on Britney's Swarovski plated mic. Stage fright.

Keep you honest. Don't bump me. Transferring data. New offramps leading to a thousand ice cream men and putt putt. Take it to the mirror store, something's fishy. Iraq desert on I-5 corridor -- lifting "my trombone to the searing twilight." "An athletic contest usually limited to men" involving Houghton Mifflin and the American Heritage Dictionary, all rights reserved.

Some pilates, an arsonist, and 14,000 instructors all teaching awareness of the jugular. Promoting the hibernation of the lymph system and categorically denying reindeer parity and a free audio pronunciation. Kellogg's Frosted nightwalkers and polaroids of your new bangs. That asshole in the mall is who I ought to become. A sturdty Gap manager, a race horce enthusiast. Bilingual, like the tag on your t-shirt. "Para limpiar."

No, too sudsy, too Beyonce. More about Europe, less about the 12 notes. More about shoplifting shopgirls and less about cockrings. Just a dusting of gel and do you know what -- she has fake tits. Mylar balloons filled with Snack Pack pudding. Oh please, she's so 503c.

I'm talking about solid white albacore from just off the coast and a hoodie *with* drawstrings, and baroque piano to protest uranium mines. Farewell to you, oh Mississippi Guitar Quartet, you were so red, blue, mauve, and static. Floral print Bud Selig pumping diesel. Fumes. Fractals, foul balls --

How did these get here?! Save the interrobang you pilates, you second-hand yoga. Do that doy-yoing thing again with your tongue.

Why


Didn't anyone tell me that Chelsea Martin's website was so cool?

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Monday, December 1, 2008

2008 Stock Market Crash

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