There are these moments...

This is my hand. I can move it. Blood pulses through its veins. The sun is still high in the sky, and I, Antonius Block…am playing chess with Death.

Status Update

...is currently reliving sick days from high school with blaring speakers and imaginary guitar solos courtesy of Green Day: Rock Band.

If I only had that microphone.

We' re gonna need a new word for this

FASCINATING+TERRIFYING=TOGETHER AT LAST

So the one thing (that I'll admit) which disturbed me throughout the late eighties at my folks' house now shares a room with me for the weekend.

The only question left is: do I kill it with kindness, or with the rusting jagged dagger of Dimbala?

Survey says: trusty rusty.

Technically contradictory

I've upgraded Old Bessy to a 1080p display. Breaking it in with Kill Bill v.1.

Simultaneously stunning and distracting all at once. Essentially I can ingest QT's style as if it were shot with a hand held camera...so I'm in film school, but I'm watching content as if the faculty were my classmates.

Next up: a double-feature of There Will Be Blood & No Country. I cannot wait.

Tastes like Ditka.

"Spend an evening with Mike Ditka as he recounts his purchase of a winery, simply because he could.

Highlights include 'How to remove merlot from a windbreaker' and 'Making your wife deal with your moustache.'"

Sleepy Matt is Verbose. Fancy. (moreso)

Okay. Still haven't slept and I don't want to elaborate on my return. I would like to pull things in a different direction, so here's this.

I learned last night that I can identify - without prior exposure and sans musical cues - the movie Hair when it's on TV. I can do this when in fact it appears to be nothing like what I had assumed Hair would be. I had no idea Milos Forman directed it. Initially I thought it was the opening to Midnight Cowboy. Or Hoosiers. But then I saw some kid sporting a colored vest with a mane and simply said,

"If this is Hair I am going to be very upset."

...not twenty seconds later Aquarius - the song they probably play in hell - kicks in.

Scott had a good laugh and we proceeded to watch it for another ten minutes. I cannot begin to explain the plot. Please do not bother telling me.

Sigh No More

Earliest of mornings waking up in VT*, leaving the hotel amidst the same dim light as our arrival last night.

Gorgeous hues in the sky towards the airport ease my sleep-deprived haze: sublimely deep shades of indigo cover me and my brother as hints of the impending morning peek through.

The hotel was a good idea, brief or no. A fitting final gift to Scott in the form of his first uninterrupted night's sleep in months.

As for me, I couldn't catch a wink. And when I finally did it culminated in cheat dreams of me tossing and turning in my bed. Maybe it was the forced early sleep coupled with the time difference. Maybe it was worries of making the morning's flights. Or maybe it was the club sandwich. Whichever, I'm currently sputtering along from terminal lines to window seats on a crummy four-ish hour nap. All is okay though; I am fascinated with the body's ability to cope.

Not ready for full reflection on my travels just yet. Gotta get my mind reconfigured first. For now I'll close this mid-flight draft with the song in my head this dark and lovely morning (see title).

*by VT I of course mean VA. Again, I was tired. Get off my back.

Parting gifts

I MADE THIS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Chapter 5: IN WHICH I do more harm than good

It's past my vacation hosts' bedtime so I've been perusing the internet quietly for about an hour. (full disclosure)

After a while faint whimpers break the silence, coming from their 2 1/2 year-old's room. It quickly escalates to full-on crying and so I figure "Hey, I'm his cool uncle. Why not be the cool brother who takes care of things and lets everyone else continue sleeping?"
Really I should have listened to the brief reasoning of my common sense suggesting "Yeah, you're only the cool uncle in the daytime. By nighttime you're simply NOT MOM OR DAD WHO ARE YOU WHY ARE YOU HERE OMG MY NIGHTMARE HAS BECOME REALITY NOW THE CLOWNS CAN EAT ME manifested into one terrifying silhouette" because that's what it felt like the moment I selected curtain #1.


If you read this, Scott, I'm sorry for likely tripling your workload in calming him down. Lesson learned.

Benefit from my mistakes.

Stopped by a specialty spirits store yesterday near the end of my outing, seeking something unique to enjoy around sundown. The two I settled upon were: a.) an Ommegang brew that appeared deliciously dark and b.) a banana bread flavored ale.
Yep.

Unfortunately both proved nearly undrinkable. The Ommegang was the surprise as it was essentially a syrupy soda fountain pull coupled with a heavy porter. Super sweet, super dark. I wasn't looking for something as 'mild' as a Guinness but I certainly wasn't expecting that. Holy hell.

As for the banana bread brew, WOW. Just wow.
Now, I stared at that bottle for a long while before buying, knowing full well that while I love bananas there's nary another nana-flavored item I enjoy. Regardless, being a featured item I thought I'd give it a go...well this stuff nearly had me swearing off the damned fruit for life; the flavor was ridiculously potent, like mixing a wheat beer with a full bottle of pure banana extract. "This must be what hate tastes like!" Kind of like that, yeah.

I'm telling you, I barely finished them.

If I were that regular

...I'd have no need for public restrooms.

Moral: Be Friendly, Wear Conversation Starters.

I'm a bit late in updating but surely you understand. We were having pizza.


So Raleigh. Although it's likely an unfair comparison it was pretty similar to visiting Sacramento (minus the flashy lights & inability to ever truly appear 'clean'). Appropriately, there were quite a few memorial statues near the one I posed in below so reflections were had. Downtown was more or less deserted, save for a clever panhandler; the hobo BBS' must be aglow with this new tip: pretend you're just ending a phone call as potential donations approach. While it did appear less desperate, that illusion faded once we circled the block not seven minutes later to the same bit. Variety, folks. Not just the spice of life, but a valuable asset in New Age Begging.

True to form Scott had already located the best record store in the city so we hit that up right after. Awkward high school kid behind the counter: check. Solid indie tunes on the speakers: check. Incredibly tiny 'stage' identified solely by the appearance of a mic stand and amp in the only space available: check.
My brother, he's good.

After two trance-inducing folk-rock songs played the quiet was suddenly muscled out by an aggressive, Misfits-esque baritone announcing "I'm gonna f***....EVERYSINGLEONEOFYOURFRIENDS" which immediately cut to silence and the clatter of busy hands hitting eject whilst stammering for a replacement CD. And while everyone got a good under-the-breath laugh out of that, I really wanted to hear where the rest of that song was headed.

Then came the dinner hour. Next door housed an inconspicuous little bar that provided friendly service and surprisingly great food (apple butter + bacon = joy). Even had complimentary coffee - how hospitably southern, eh?

The concert didn't start until ten but the doors opened at eight so we headed over with the promise of free pool. Eventually they opened up and we ambled in only to find a serious lack of tables and cues; free pool was apparently cleared out to make room for the show. So there we were, two hours early for a concert in an unfamiliar city with no plans to get sauced. In a bar that didn't allow reentry. Calls were made, bad jokes likely told. Plenty of "this is going to be good!" uttered between silences.

Having donned his "I've Been To Duluth" tee that morning, Scott saved us on requesting an obvious track while locking in a knowing nod to the band (and really - short of acting as identification for a stumbled-upon corpse - provided the most practical use of a novelty shirt I've ever seen).
What it also achieved was introducing us to a tie-dyed redhead who exclaimed that he had also, in fact, been to Duluth. Named Johnny, he originated on the Iron Range and relocated to Alaska for employment (peace corps?). Now Johnny 'tours' with the band. Sounds about right.
Eventually he pointed out that there was a second floor to the bar which, it turns out, housed the missing pool tables. We immediately challenged him to a game & lost right quick. He was friendly enough and had broken our boredom so I grabbed a round of drinks. The show finally started and Johnny headed to the floor to get a good spot (not very difficult as it turned out).

Honestly I was a little wary that we'd be in for a lackluster show considering the small-ish crowd and random locale. Luckily I was wrong and now firmly believe that Trampled By Turtles are incapable of playing a bad show; their live energy creates a cycle that demands the audience meet their enthusiasm which in turn feeds the performance. Just beautiful.

Midway through the set Johnny appears with a complimentary drink in a TbT cozy which they weren't even selling at the table. NICE.

The show lasted for about an hour and a half, and they did play "Duluth" to my surprise. I was grateful and moved.

We wound up getting back to Kill Devil Hills at 3:30 in the morning, with me sleeping most of the ride back. Scott probably got only two hours of sleep that night. I am told that it would have been similar had we not gone (he has a six-month-old, see) but I felt bad all the same.

All for now. I have a project to start which I promise to show you later. Gonna be awesome.