dephex.organ

2008-05-27T17:14:00.002-05:00

What can I say about 2008 that hasn't already been said? Thus far, it has been a year of healing, self-evaluation, and all sorts of other gay cocksuckery.

Here's some pictures of my band's first and last show as a two-piece: Full Gospel Gun Show charms the pants off of Checkpoint Charlie. Thanks, Kirk. You're my boy. Even if you did steal my spicy meat pie idea.

I'm going to Italy at the end of this week. Unfortunately, I don't know when I'll return. All I'm taking with me is a suitcase, my passport, my credit cards, my laptop, an unlocked RAZR handset, sunglasses, a new wardrobe from Kenneth Cole, a camera, a money belt, my iPhone, running shoes, rubber underpants, a Rambo knife, a pup tent, a portable toilet, and a small English-Italian dictionary. This does mean that I will miss the Ladytron show on June 6th. I will also not be able to continue resenting all you other smug fucks that have already been to Italy. Send me your address if you would like a postcard!

2008-04-02T11:08:00.002-05:00

Seriously, what is the deal with women getting married and then hyphenating their last names? I know it is a controversial issue, but how confusing is that going to get after a few generations? I prefer the idea of a couple selecting a new last name together to continue their life together. I know an Indian couple that did that. So instead of "Gandangaran-Toke," they became "Sandilya." Awesome.

Speaking of awesome, someone tried to break into my apartment Sunday afternoon. While I was there. Sleeping in my bed three feet away from the window he was crawling through. What ensued might be the most badass thing I have ever done. Since he couldn't see me through the blackout shade, I stood up and kicked his head, causing him to fall back out the window into the alley. He got up, CLOSED THE WINDOW, and ran. I ran out my front door to catch him as he came out the alley, but apparently he found another escape route. Something tells me I haven't seen the last of this goon.

2008-03-04T10:27:00.003-06:00

Things that can make me happy on a Monday:

1. Four new Nine Inch Nails records being released spontaeneously on the internet for free in one day.

2. Discovering that I really like the band Killing Joke. If I still went to 80's Night, I would have to demand that they played "Love Like Blood" on repeat.

3. Finding out that we have acquired a new practice space in the same building as the old one, less than a week after getting kicked out. Also, the band we are sharing with is also a three piece guitar/cello/drums.

4. Doing Uttanasana in yoga class and realizing that I could put my palms on the ground comfortably.

5. Realizing that I am going to fail spectacularly in the facial hair growing contest I entered during a bout of drunkedness on Friday night, and being OK with that.

5. A violent pounding rain to help me fall asleep. (This entry would be 10x more interesting if I took out the word "rain")

2007-12-27T14:46:00.000-06:00

My Slow Descent Into Alcoholism

I've always had an appreciation for good booze. I wouldn't call myself an aficionado, but I might toss around terms like "enthusiast" or "frequent drinker" or "lush." Let's just say that I like the sauce, but always within the confines of health, relationships, budget, and sobriety. (Pfft)

Anyway, I feel as though I've graduated to a new stage of alcohol appreciation in my "discovery" of single-malt Scotch whisky. Generally eschewed by those of my generation as being overly pungent, expensive, and "just plain nasty," this product has captured my nose, taste buds, heart, liver, wallet. As a close conspirator recently related during a late-night Scotch heist gone awry, "Damn, son. This shit just got real."

There is a wealth of information about the creation, geography, bottling, and appreciation of decent Scotch available on this World Wide Web. After a few months of doing "field research," I've come up with a short list of four "must try" bottlings that I've found are available in finer drinking establishments:

1. The Macallan 12 Year (Speyside) - This is the one that I recommend for novices, and also happens to be my favorite readily available malt. Smooth, fruity, spicy, and delicious.

2. Lagavulin 16 Year (Islay) - It's like a campfire in your mouth. Smoky and sweet. The Laphroig 10 Year is a good approximation if this isn't on the shelf.

3. Glenmorangie 10 Year (Highlands) - The way I remember that I like this is by thinking, "Orangy? I like oranges. Hey now." Sure enough, it's got a nice orange/tangerine nose and taste.

4. Johnny Walker Black (Blended) - Because it's pretty good and I'm not ballin' hard enough to shell out $60 a glass for the Blue Label.

2007-12-26T10:04:00.000-06:00

Merry Christmas! I wish I could be there to say it in person to you, friends. Or better yet, I could leave you a cryptic letter that I wrote with my left hand so that you wouldn't recognize my handwriting. Then, while you were reading the letter, wondering who the hell would write something so disturbing, I would jump out of my hiding place in your pantry dressed as a Christmas elf, but with my ski mask over my face so you wouldn't recognize me. It would be so funny! You'd probably pass out from excitement, so I would take the opportunity to wrap you up like a big present, except I wouldn't have enough wrapping paper, so I would use garbage bags and duct tape. Then I would drive you out to the woods in the trunk of my car and unwrap you, except I would leave the blindfold on. Then I would start singing "Silent Night" in a low, gravely voice.

Wouldn't that be the best gift ever?

2007-12-22T10:10:00.000-06:00

Cpt. Gaylord Battles Prehistoric Sea Monsters

Captain Trey Gaylord was doing some undercover work in a fraternity house in Alabama. He'd been accepted as one of their own, and was working as a "secret weapon" bouncer in the bar/BBQ restaurant on the first floor of the house where all of the new pledges had to work. Turns out that the small college town where this frat house was located was about to be flattened by the nearby weapons testing facility of super-villain Elliot Fister (played by Bill Nighy). After surviving the blast, Trey climbed out of the rubble to find a few survivors needing leadership. Mounting a resistant force made up of resourceful frat guys, hot college chicks wearing tight wifebeaters stained with barbecue sauce, and scrappy punk kinds who kept the witty banter alive, Trey tracked Fister to his secret lair on the coast of Trinidad. Fister, having successfully demonstrated the sheer destructive capability of his new weapon, was hosting a yacht party on the deck of his huge, advanced hovercraft. All of the major evil forces in the world were invited, and despite the obviously nefarious overtones, they seemed to be having a generally nice time.

The group of ragtag heroes, led by Gaylord, stole into Fister's lair through the hovercraft docking bay on the side of the rocky cliff where the lair was located. After disabling the entire destructive capability of Fister's, the heroes started trying to sneak onto the hovercraft and snag some of the free snacks and food. Their presence detected by the hypervigilant hosting abilities of Fister, the heroes started fighting with the rest of the party and certainly seemed to be doing better than you would think. The most resourceful of the frat guys, Skippy, and Trey made their way to dispatch Fister. Just as victory was at hand, Fister activated a new, experimental weapon that turned everyone on the boat into human-sized dinosaur. It was pretty random of who got turned into what, and what color they were and stuff. A few minutes later, just as everyone was getting used to the idea that they were going to be dinosaur from now on, Fister declares that the hovercraft is also a plane, and starts firing off the jet engines and taking off into the stormy night. Everyone is like, "Oh, crap, dinosaurs aren't the best at holding onto moving planes, especially in the driving rain." Also, they can still talk. Predictably, they all start sliding off the plane into the raging water, presumably to drown.

Gaylord, however, has luckily been transformed into a Pterodactyl, and is particularly well suited to be holding onto this plane, and could fly if he needed to let go. Skippy has also been transformed into a dinosaur with good forearm strength and manages to hang onto the speeding boat/plane, but doesn't have flying ability and has a strange crest thing that looks like a head of curly hair. Thinking everyone has been long dead, Fister lands the plane at his lair and finds the remaining heroes ready to do battle. Knowing he couldn't fight two talking dinosaurs, he reverses the transformation. He kills Skippy in hand-to-hand combat. Now Trey can hold his own with the best martial artists in the world, but Fister produces a bow and arrow, which he quickly demonstrates he is very proficient at firing. Trey jumps into a limousine/party boat which is docked at the lair and crouches down in the back and rolls up all the windows, which are heavily tinted. Fister knows he is in there, and just walks around the limo gloating, and firing an arrow into the limo every now and then. One of the arrows hits the seat right in between Trey's legs and he's like "Damn. This shit just got real."

Grabbing an antique double barrel shotgun that is mounted on the back of the limo, Trey rolls down one of the windows just as Fister fires arrows into the barrels of the shotgun, keeping it from firing. Before he can reload, Trey gouges Fister's eyes with the barrel of the gun, making him scream painfully. Taking this as a good opportunity, Trey jumps out of the limo and starts vigorously rubbing the neck and shoulders of Fister. This relaxes the villain so intensely that he pretty much gives up and is just like, "Oh, god. Just keep doing that. Right there. Fuuuuuuucck..."

The End

I just woke up from this dream. For real.

2007-12-06T15:09:00.001-06:00

They seemed to have changed the air freshener scent in the men's restroom here at the office. Now it smells like "Holiday Spice," which is reminiscent of cinnamon. I much prefer this to the previous scent, which I would have called "Rotting Chicken."

2007-12-04T09:56:00.000-06:00

Some things that I have pondered lately:

Yesterday, my fortune cookie at Five Happiness read, "If you think you're too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito." These words ring so true, for me especially.

Every time I walk into my bathroom, my cat follows me in and jumps into the bathtub, crying. She does this, I think, for no reason at all.

If for some reason you got into a fight with a ten year old kid who has a triple black belt in karate, even if he was able to defend against your intial assault, I'm doubtful that he could do any damage to you after that and you'd just both be like, "Now what?"

2007-11-26T14:45:00.000-06:00

Trey's 27th Birthday Wishlist

Well, it's that time of year again, when we celebrate the circle of life, and the 27th consecutive year that I haven't died a tragic death. This year also marks my "Golden Birthday," which means that I turn 27 on the 27th and someone urinates on me. Although this designation is about as useful as a buckle on a pilgrim's hat, I like things that make me seem more special than I really am. For those of you who have yet to purchase me anything for my birthday, here is my list of gifts that I am expecting to receive. I will cross them out as I receive them. Thusly:

1. Digital SLR camera - What man doesn't have a high-end camera these days? I need a good camera to capture all those special moments in high-resolution digital format.
2. High Definition Camcorder - This should have a very good night-vision setting. I need a good camcorder to capture all of those special low-light moments in a high definition format.
3. Raymond Douillet piece - I would prefer one of the larger oil paintings, but if you're on a budget, anything will do.
4. Case of 2005 Paraduxx - Like my mom always says, "If you can't give someone a thoughtful present, enough booze will make them forget you are a bad friend."
5. ~~Handjob - I mean, it's not my favorite, but they're great last minute gifts.~~
6. A good hug, with both arms, around my waist - It's all I really want.

2007-11-26T09:59:00.000-06:00

What a sick, sad world we live in where most bartenders don't know how to make a decent martini, yet they charge you $9 for it and put in the same effort required for a rum and coke. I don't blame the bartenders. They are simply doing the wishes of those who give them money. Nay, it is the fault of those ordering these "whatevertini" abominations. Genpop has been coldly and persistenly raping the good name of the martini since James Bond first sidled his smug self up to a casino bar and asked for vodka where gin should be! I'm not going to post a how-to, but here are some pointers to correct common mistakes:

1. A martini is always made with good gin. I prefer Bombay Sapphire or Tanqueray. No vodka.
2. A martini is always "up." There should be no need for rocks because it's served ice cold. The mixing of the drink with ice should provide enough dilution to take the edge off the alcohol. The glasses should be pre-chilled with ice-water before you start mixing.
3. If possible, use whole cubes of ice with no small pieces. This will prevent overdilution. Also, the gin should be poured into the shaker after the ice, but not over the ice, again to prevent overdilution.
4. Some prefer to shake, but a gentle swirling motion does just fine. The shaker should be too cold to handle, so use a dry cloth. Swirl until the cloth freezes to the side of the shaker.
5. The amount of vermouth is a matter of taste, but it should be very little. About 1/2 jigger is enough if you are making two martinis in the same shaker. If someone asks for "dry," then cut down the vermouth. For example, you can put the vermouth in the glass before pouring the drink, coat the glass by swirling, and dumping out the excess.
6. Olive juice is also a matter of taste, but it should also be added after the drink is poured, if at all. If someone asks for "dirty" then I use about a half jigger of juice and a little more vermouth.
7. Don't order a martini in a busy bar unless you like phlegm in your martini.

2007-11-20T10:43:00.000-06:00

So before the events of last night transpired, I made one of my Ultimate Sandwiches©, which at this time I will describe in detail so that the rest of the world can bask in my sandwich artisanry. I may be an unmotivated chef, but my skills with deli meat and miscellaneous condiments and garnishes are unrivaled. Behold:

The Xanadu
2 Slices of Fresh Rosemary Sourdough
1/4 Lb of Herb Roasted Turkey Breast
1/2 Ripe Avacado, Mashed with Gourmet Olive Oil
1 Chunk of Bucherondine Cheese
Peppadews, Raisins, Miracle Whip, Grey Poupon

Heat the bread in the oven until it is warm and starting to brown. Spread mayo and Grey Poupon on opposing slices. Add 1 layer of Raisins to mayo side and 1 layer of Peppadews to Grey Poupon side. Add 1 layer of turkey to each side. Spread avacado mash on one side and put cheese chunks on top. Slap the sides together, cut in half, and enjoy.

And by enjoy, I mean "Enjoy the sexual arousal that comes from putting such an amazing creation in your mouth."

2007-11-20T03:05:00.000-06:00

What a strange sequence of events that led me tonight to decide to have a quiet night working at home, to having tea with a friend at a coffee shop, to drinking wine with beautiful friends & strangers at a house in the Irish Channel, to participating in a spontaneous disco dance party 'til the wee hours. Life can be so confusing and lovely.

Oh, and I bought a plane ticket to Rome.

2007-11-12T20:01:00.000-06:00

I took a yoga class this evening. I figured that I pretty much rule at every aspect of life on this planet, so it was time to tackle an art from another world. When the instructor asked me my goals for attending the class, I answered "To acheive ultimate physical and spiritual perfection." Everyone else in the class laughed, I'm assuming because they were nervous that someone so determined was in their presence.

I then proceeded to get my ass kicked by this class. My understanding was that yoga was about relaxing and breathing and finding your inner spirit or some similar mumbo jumbo. Wrong. Yoga is about testing the limits of your pain threshold. Yoga is about finding the places in your body where your ligaments are comfortably stiff and tearing them mercilessly. Yoga is burning restribution for abusing my body with a sedentary job. Yoga flame. I should have known from Street Fighter 2. Yoga is hell.

I loved it.

Granted, the room full of spandex-clad middle-aged women didn't hurt.

Also, the instructor kept coaxing us to "peer into our third eye" which I thought was a pretty badass thing to say. This is a new stage of life for me. I think I'm going to retreat into my thoughts for a couple months of intense yogic study. When I emerge you will be stunned by my new found flexibility, spiritual centeredness, and supernatural ability to fire balls of flame from my palms.

Watch out.

2007-11-08T13:20:00.000-06:00

I don't like eating out with groups of people. It stresses me out. I eat out often so I feel that if a group I am with creates a situation in a restaurant or doesn't tip well or otherwise fucks up then I will be associated with that incident and the secret underground network of service industry employees will somehow sabotage every future meal.

The Ten Commandments of Eating Out With Trey In A Non-Romantic Setting

10. Unless it is a special occasion, limit dining parties to six or less. If it is a special occasion and you want to invite more than eight people, don't invite me, because I won't come.

9. If you invite people to a restaurant for a specific time, make sure you are there on time. This is pretty much a general rule of life, but I don't want to leave anything out.

8. Don't invite a bunch of people to a restaurant for your birthday unless you arrange to pay the tab ahead of time. If your friends want to buy you dinner they will plan it for you. If they don't, either they don't want to buy you dinner or they don't like you.

7. If you are invited to the aforementioned birthday dinner, you will be expected to pay a fraction of the birthday person's tab.

6. If you are having a special occasion with more than six people, make a reservation or call ahead to warn the restaurant.

5. If there is a negligible difference between what you ordered and what others ordered, an even split is always easiest. Exception: If you order some extravagant dish that costs twice as much as what most people are ordering, you need to make a concerted effort to contribute more to the bill. If you are ordering lots of drinks this applies as well.

4. If it is a group of more than four, bring cash.

3. If you are the one that meticulously adds up everything you ordered so you can write the exact amount of the items you ordered on the receipt, don't forget to use your excellent accounting skills to include the appetizers you ordered for the table and the tax.

2. If you are the dude who takes everyone's cash (including tips) so you can put everything on your card, you better tip 20% on the full amount. I will check.

1. Don't intentionally order more than you can eat so that you can take home leftovers.

A transgression of any of these rules will result in me not eating with you (a grim fate indeed) or a violent beatdown.

2007-09-24T13:18:00.000-05:00

The Interpol/Liars show last night was AWWWWESSSOOOOMMMEEE! (emphasis mine) The show was supposed to be at a new HOB venue in the Warehouse district called "The Sugar Mill," which is the same location as the woefully underused Tipitinas "Ruins." The outdoor venue proved unsuitable for the wet weather, so the show was moved to the regular House of Blues location. It didn't strike me until a few songs into their set that it really was quite a treat that it was moved. After all, I saw them play on the same stage no less than 5 years ago, which predated their atmospheric popularity by a couple years. Back in the days of Twiropa yore, they sold out the big room and sounded horrible. Last night was intimate, tight, not overcrowded, and sounded fantastic.

The surprise of the evening for me was how much I enjoyed Liars. Let me back up a little. I was obsessed with their first album, but they didn't make it to NOLA for a show until shortly after their second came out. It was widely regarded as one of the most overcrowded shows ever to grace the now departed Mermaid Lounge. They played nothing from the first album and generally just made noise for an hour and a half. Maybe I was just in a bad mood, but I was disappointed at the time, and wrote them off as victims of their own creativity and hype. That was a mistake. I never listened to 2006's Drum's Not Dead, and I ignored their latest album entirely. Last night changed everything. The whole schtick where a band puts an extra floor tom and snare drum with the snares thrown off on stage and plays a tom-heavy beat during one or two songs has always seemed a little trite to me, but on further reflection, every time I've seen it done it has been incredible. I shall wax nostalgic about the time when Mexico 1910 asked me to do the same thing at their final Mermaid Lounge show, which escalated to the point where nearly everyone in attendance had grabbed a drum stick, piece of wood, or anything else they could get their hands on, and banged the shit out of anything in sight for about 10 minutes straight. My point is, people love a good beat more than anything else, and when it comes to percussion, more isn't always better, but it sure is fun. It made me smile during the entire performance last night, and has got me listening to the last two Liars records right now with the same big smile.

2007-09-12T16:07:00.000-05:00

I went to the beach last weekend and had a great time. I even remembered to put on sunblock this time, which increased my enjoyment of my time there by an estimated 500%. I forgot to put sublock on my right earlobe, though, and I'm pretty sure that it's about to fall off. People have been giving me shit about it, like it's going to drop into their food or something. I'm just like, "Chill, bitches. Some earflesh would probably do you some good."

On Sunday afternoon I was doing what I do best on the beach: Lookin' sexy with my shirt off. I happened to also be holding a lukewarm Negra Modelo, wearing sunglasses, and listening to a smooth 80's station on this little boombox device we had. All of a sudden, Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" starts playing and I am freaking out. Everyone knows that I can't listen to that song sitting down.

You might be wondering what happened next. I'll tell you. I grabbed that boombox and started pointing at people in the rhythm of the music. Everyone I pointed to snapped into formation as I started running down the beach, boombox planted on my shoulder. Before I knew it, a bunch of smoking hot girls were running down the beach with me, the sunset framing our every move. It was so incredible that people were cheering for us as we ran. The fun lasted until the end of the song. Then we had to walk back to where we were sitting which was a little embarassing.

2007-08-28T17:09:00.000-05:00

Viking

I am a viking.
My rugged Norwegian features are striking.
Think about that hard before you go hiking.
I'm all over those hills, daily and nightly,
Pillaging and plundering, making things unsightly.
Sailing would be a bad idea for you at this time.
I'm gonna take my death vessel and commit a hate crime
I got my loincloth, don't need no pants,
Got a horned helmet for scarin' infants.
Will it ever stop? Yo, I don't know.
Turn off the lights, and I'll be blown away by your advanced technology.
I am a viking.

2007-08-28T07:41:00.000-05:00

I don't blink an eye when spending $10-$15 on two fingers of good whiskey. I appreciate the quality and I recognize that I am imbibing something to be savored, and I truly enjoy it, making the cost a factor I am willing to bear. Contrast this with the fact that this morning, for the second time in recent history, I ate eggs that were "less than fresh" before working out and paid the price in bile. Granted, I usually don't do vigorous exercise in New Orleans summer heat after drinking any grade of whiskey, but I think I have learned a lesson. Thusly, next time I go to the grocery sto', rather than eyeing the single-malts and 30-years and fermented-with-the-sweat-of-a-virgin's-brow top-shelf crap, I'm gonna buy a new carton of fucking eggs.

In other words, whiskey ages better than eggs. Or maybe I should just do shots before long bike rides.

On repeat: Ghastly City Sleep

2007-08-25T11:02:00.000-05:00

DAVID LYNCH STOOPS TO COMMERCIALS

SCENE: Smallish suburban bedroom, unnervingly tidy. It is completely quiet.

Out of nowhere, a frenzied man bursts through one of the interior walls, landing inside the room in a pile of broken sheetrock. He is apparently in excruciating pain, grasping at his head, and screaming through clenched teeth. LIke a madman, he whips his head around the room, suddenly focused. His bloodshot eyes focus on his nightstand. Zooming in closer, we see a bottle of pain killers. He leaps over his bed, grabs the bottle, and has gotten the top off almost before he lands. Spilling pills everywhere, he slams the bottle against his agape mouth, swallowing the product. Seconds later, the screaming stops and the man is fast asleep on the bed. Fade to black with Aleve logo.
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SCENE: Looking into a spotless suburban kitchen from another room, with a high, level point of view. Sound of scraping metal to screen left.

We do a flat vertical pan from high to low, revealing the parquet floor is stained with a large puddle of blood. Stay on this shot for about 10 seconds. Scraping sound stops. From screen left, a listless old woman (grandmotherly) trudges across the screen, pushing a Swiffer Wet Jet in front of her through the puddle. As she walks out of frame, we see she has tracked blood across the floor with her orthopedic shoes, despite the fact that the Swiffer has left a spotless shine where it passed. A large white horse follows behind her. Pan back up to original position. Fade to black.
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SCENE: Suburban kitchen, morning.

Comfortable looking suburban housewife, smiling gloriously as she lovingly prepares a tray of breakfast food in slow motion. Incredibly soothing music with angelic female vocals is the only audio. As her husband enters, she turns toward him and glows, figuratively and literally. She excitedly brings over the tray of food as he sits at the breakfast table, also smiling, but in a creepy, unnerving way. The music fades out quickly. Suddenly, his eyes fixate on his tray of food, his face turns dark red, and his whole body starts to visibly shake. Zoom in on his hand scrambling for his fork, clenching it tightly. The housewife panics as she realizes she forgot something very important. Hurrying to the cabinet, she opens it to find the bottle of Aunt Jemima's syrup. She hands it to her husband who instantly calms, but is exhausted from the exertion. He pops open the red top, tips back his head and squeezes the entire bottle into his mouth as syrup runs out of his mouth onto his previously spotless suit, shirt, and tie. The couple look at each other lovingly and smile as the camera pulls back. The angelic music starts up again as the scene fades to white.

2007-08-22T10:30:00.000-05:00

I'm taking some time out of my busy schedule to give you an update on me. Update time. I'm on a break from the production of my independent homage to the film "Reservoir Dogs." This version is identical to the original movie in plot and dialog, with the small exception that every gun is replaced with a banana, and instead of shooting each other, people just slip on banana peels. Guns just weren't in the budget. I find without all the violence, people can really focus on the real message that I feel that the movie was supposed to deliver: Always tip your waitress. I did, however, keep the scene where the dude gets his ear cut off. It is very graphic. But then it's back to guys in suits slippin' on bananas!

Speaking of slippery situations, I've been pretty good about staying out of prison the last few months. I did go to California last month. That was fun. Wait, no, it was amazing. San Francisco changed everything.

Speaking of amazing, listen to some music that I had a major part in creating. Behold: The Divine Wind (name subject to change). I am playing lead drums. We are recording the vocals soon, at which point I will let you know.

2007-08-08T15:06:00.000-05:00

People always say that you should "rock out with your cock out," but in practice it is not really as well received as you would think. Ah, well. Lesson learned.

2007-07-10T15:47:00.000-05:00

Please vote for the bike I should buy...add a comment to cast your vote:

Update: I ended up buying #1, the Jeremy. I frickin' love it. If I stand it up on it's back wheel, it is exactly as tall as I am. That's how long this sucker is. If anyone wants to cruise, just let me know.

2007-07-08T10:54:00.000-05:00

I've probably redesigned this site ten times since this current design went up, back in freaking 2002.

Here is a quick retrospective of some of the finished and unfinished projects that never made it to the public side:

Relapse (2001) - Requires audio. I was listening to Zao and I thought the end of this one song was just perfect for the really dramatic splash screen that I was envisioning. Looking back on it now, I am really proud of how well I merged the audio with the "interface," despite my middling Flash skills.

Urbanism (2000) - Just a design that was around for a while that I really liked. It was inspired by a little flash ditty that I made...

Cube Factory - I was really into pixel design at the time, especially the isometric stuff. I envisioned this as being a merging of clean lines and organic movement, made possible with tasteful Flash. Obviously that never happened, but this slice of shit did.

Dead Flag Blues (2000) - I'm not entirely sure, but I think I was depressed. I was really proud of this design. It had many "easter eggs" hidden around in there, but all have been removed or don't work anymore. I really tried to get a little mosquito to fly around all the little panels as animated GIFs, finally landing on the man's shoulder, but it was working really erratically, so I took it out.

Atlas Foundry (2000) - I made this as a splashy page before I left for San Francisco. I think it may have had something to do with me falling in love with someone and her being wholly uninterested. The interface was intentionally useless, but I was really enjoying that feeling at the time.

Bleep (2000) - I don't know WTF this was. I remember I had this stubborn intention to make that little stick figure guy a signature element to all of my designs, but I think even at the time I realized how lame it was. Oh well. Oh fucking well. That spinning "X" was pretty cool.

I'm gonna finish this later...

2007-06-21T13:40:00.000-05:00

Speaking of poetry, here is one I am "working on," although as you will see, it is pretty much done.

Vampire

I am a vampire, alright.
I come to you in the night.
Watch your neck or I will bite.
You can try garlic, or that crucifix,
Or wooden stakes that look like dicks,
Trust me on this one, they won't help you much.
I mean, they might, but don't count on it.
I am a vampire.

2007-06-19T10:08:00.000-05:00

Today is National Make An Embarassing Admission Day. In the grand, humble spirit of things, I'll jump right into mine.

Once this girl broke my heart* and I wrote down the lyrics to A Perfect Circle song on looseleaf and told her it was a poem I wrote that expressed my feelings towards her. Luckily, she figured out the whole thing after APC got popular (who would have guessed), and they started playing the song on the radio. I learned my lesson well, and now I write my own crappy, maudlin poems.

* That sounds so dramatic. Let's just say she made me pretty emo for a while.