Dang it All
Trials and Travails of a 20-something
Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.
- H. G. Wells (1866-1946)

Music playing right now: 50 Cent - In Da Club


I left Newman at around 9:30 last night. Not incredibly late, but the parking lot was pretty bare. Rupert just happened to be parked next to one of the other 10 or 12 cars still left. I ambled towards him, absently munching the pizza I'd stolen from the Vantage office. As I neared, I noticed that the green neon next to Rupert was moving. But I couldn't see a driver or anyone inside. The car just rocked back and forth, like some huge wind machine was gusting into its side panels.

I finished up my pepperoni slice and fished my mammoth bundle of keys out of my pocket. As I put hand to lock, I heard some strange moaning noise emanating from the cracks in the car door behind me. Out of curiosity, I glanced inside the neon. My virgin eyes were accosted without warning by the sweaty act of two people snogging, boffing, doing the nasty in the car next to mine.

I stood there for a second or two in shock. Luckily, I was snapped out by the girl in the car who came to my aid by staring right at me, hitting her partner (doing his best to smother her with his body), and pointing at me. Her moans changed to shouts of alarm. "Ryan! Ryan!" I did what any normal person would have done in that situation. I dropped my keys.

I bent over to pick them up as fast as I could, bracing my butt against their car door in case this Ryan felt like getting out to bash my prying eyes in with his naked fist. Luckily, he must have either been too embarassed or too caught up in what he was doing. I slinked into my car as fast as possible and beat rubber leaving. I wonder what came of that guy.

Happy Birthday to Me:


My birthday present to me. (Damn I look scrawny)

Monday, April 26, 2004

If women didn't exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.
- Aristotle Onassis

Music playing right now: NIN - Closer


Tomorrow's word of the day is: Apricot. Please attempt to use it as many times as possible in conversation. My personal goal is 25.

***

My parents want to get rid of me. I'm convinced of it. They have begun a new obsession. This one titled: "Get Dan to enroll in a summer english program abroad." I come home and find printouts from random colleges about their summer programs in England, Scotland, Prague... My dad has even provided me with drafts of emails I could write to professors at these colleges asking about their particular program.

It seems like a great idea. Get to go visit Europe for a month or two, get some college credit, and leave Kansas. But it's my parents reasoning behind this obsession that has me confused. Apparently they think I need to nurture more friendships with good Christian english majors. And the best way they can think of doing this is sending me on an academic excursion with people from colleges I don't attend to places overseas. I'm not sure if I should be depressed or amused. How sad is it when your parents think you need more friends?

Friday, April 23, 2004

A woman who we need and makes us suffer elicits from us a whole gamut of feelings far more profound and more vital than does a man of genius who interests us.
- Marcel Proust
Music playing right now: Joni Mitchell - A Case of You


I'm blank. If writing is masturbating without the mess, than I'm temporarily impotent.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

In lieu of actually writing something tonight, I am instead providing a piece of avant-garde high art.

Head on Keyboard
by Dan Golden

76ytttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttthg


Tuesday, April 20, 2004

We all enter this world in the same way: naked; screaming; soaked in blood. But if you live your life right, that kind of thing doesn't have to stop there.
- Dana Gould

Music playing right now: The Vestibules - Bulbous Bouffant


The Yin

I locked my keys in my car tonight. The fifth time in two months. It's starting to become a habit. I've even begun patting my pocket as soon as I shut the door, just to make sure the keys are still in there. Obviously, this accomplishes nothing, except telling me even sooner that I fucked up yet again.

A girl came up to me after my three hour long class tonight and asked me if she could touch my hair. I thought it was a bit strange, but I figured 'what the hell' and said yes. She promptly stuck her fingers in and chimpanzee-fished something out. "Whew. Thanks," she said. "There's been a bit of lint in there all night and it's really been bothering me." Pert Plus lets me down yet again.

The Yang

On the plus side, putting aside the lint for the moment, I looked damn sexy tonight.

Monday, April 19, 2004

Sometimes I amaze myself with my own sarcasm. My brother, cleaning out in preparation for moving, came upon a card signed by a group of his friends. It was full of encouraging thoughts for some reason, telling him what a great guy he is. Then I found my addition. It read, "Friends are like stars plucked from heaven and held in God's pinky." This was followed by a particularly girlish smiley face.

Cynicism is a blast.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

Never mistake motion for action.
- Ernest Hemingway

Music playing right now: The Bee Gees - Stayin' Alive


It was 11:53 today when I decided the time had come to start my day. Laziness has started to wreak an alarming hold on my will. I glanced down at burgeoning belly and realized something had to be done. I tumbled my turgid tummy out of the sheets and took a shower. I resolved that today was going to be a day for exercise, fitness, dieting, a new start.

So I spent the day lounging on the couch, listening to Corky and The Juice Pigs, watching golf, dozing, and eating an entire package of Chewy Chocolate Chips Ahoy (tm). If willpower and I were ever neighbors, there is now a huge privacy fence and three doberman guard dogs between us.

Saturday, April 17, 2004

I'm not sure what the limit is on keeping chinese food in your refrigerator, but I do know this. It's somewhere under 8 days for sesame chicken.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

The gods too are fond of a joke.
- Aristotle

Music playing right now: Dee Dee and Her Panchos - Pancho


Rain dancers, eat my dust.

I woke up late this morning. Probably because I woke up early, turned off my alarm, and went back to bed. But once I finally threw my legs off the side of my bed, it was too late to make it to latin class. So I took my time getting dressed, ate a leisurely breakfast/lunch, and figured I'd get to work a bit early. No harm in making a few extra bucks.

I opened up Rupert's door, got inside, turned him on, and found he was winking at me. There was a little orange caricature of a gaspump blinking on and off on his dashboard. So I amended my travel schedule to include a layover at a gas station. The two of us arrived, me singing and Rupert panting, and I proceeded to fill his tank with the end result of three hours of work delivering TVs. When I finished, the pump beeped to attract my notice. Would I like a carwash? Only one more hour of TV delivery going into BP's pocket...

I took a glance at Rupert's exterior. Dirt was everywhere. I tried to remember the last time I'd washed him. I'd been depending on the rain to keep him clean. The clouds were letting me down. So I punched the little yes button and rolled on over to the entrance of the carwash, put Rupert in neutral, and sat back. Halfway through the cycle I discovered my mistake.

When buying a used car it is important to determine whether or not the potential candidate leaks. I had not performed this particular test on Rupert and found out today that, in fact, he does leak. And quite a lot. But only on my side.

The high pressure washer came bearing down on us like an elemental water demon. Rupert's failing door seal stood no chance. The few places where it still held firm acted like a thumb on a garden hose. Water sprayed all over me. If not for the fact that I hit the horn in my haste to escape the watery death, I'm quite certain the patrons of the grocery store two blocks away would have heard my curses.

Everything was soaked. The steering wheel dripped soapy liquid on my thighs. The upholstered seat beneath me was reduced to squishy padding. It was like sharing a mattress with a compulsive bed wetter. As I neared the exit of this sprinkler mayhem, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then another neon sign came on. I realized with a sinking feeling that I had opted for the 'deluxe' wash. Tri-colored foam came seeping in the paths previously cleared by torrential floodwaters.

My seat was still damp when I got out of work 5 hours later. In the future, I will probably avoid using automatic carwashes. It seems that Rupert is a little too delicate for those insensitivities. At least he'll smell better now. This should get rid of the last vestiges of that skunk.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

If you live to the age of a hundred, you have it made because very very few people die past the age of a hundred.
- George Burns

Music playing right now: Ceili Rain - Life is a Polka


My grandmother went home today. She flew in from Denver to spend Easter with us and give us the latest gossip on everyone from her church. Everytime I see her, she just gets older. I remember when I was a kid, her condominium was an amazing place, full of the souvenirs from a thousand trips around the world. My grandfather was a pilot in the air force and her rooms are filled with relics from Japan, Iran, and all the countries in between. Even now, since retiring a decade ago, she spends most of her time planning her next trip to some far away locale. Australia was last, Nova Scotia is next.

And yet, despite the amazing collection of photo albums, commemorative spoons, and postcards, she has surprisingly few stories that can actually keep a persons interest. I think there is something genetically inherent about growing old that renders any tale immediately dull. Or maybe I'm just an ungrateful upstart punk.

The Question of the Day:
What's your most memorable experience from 1995?

Monday, April 12, 2004

Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armour and attacked a hot fudge sunday.
- Kurt Vonnegut

Music playing right now: Indigo Girls - Romeo and Juliet


A while back, Carly told me to write her a story. So I opened up my handy dandy phone book, picked out 4 names and a couple of occupations, and this is how it turned out. It's no Pension Grillparzner, but it ain't too horrendous.

Saturday, April 10, 2004

Writing is easy. All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.
- Gene Fowler

Music playing right now: Dashboard Confessional - Again I Go Unnoticed


For ___ (wouldn't you like to know)


80 Days Would Not Suffice

If your body were a map
I’d become a world traveler,

my fingers tracing the path
from Jakarta to Ankara,
momentarily leaping your Andaman Sea
before returning to wash themselves
in your salty brine.

My palms would discover
your Tibetan plain,
resting at any of a thousand places
(Zhalun? Paryang? Xainza?)
where boiling rivers bubble just beneath,
steaming the air above.

Intrepid explorers, my thighs
would grip the Tierra del Fuego,
where the sun never sets
and the mountains themselves quake
at my intrusion.

My lips would follow the Lualaba
from Kisangani to Kolwezi,
braving the rapids and folded valleys
to reach your own,
to taste the humid air and Congolese rain.

But you are not my atlas
and I am not your cartographer.
You already have a Magellan
on your ship and I am only
first mate.

Thursday, April 08, 2004

I think my inner child is an adolescent girl. And today she has PMS. Up until about 4:00 today I was in a great mood. Since then I've just gone down down down. Mood swings suck little shriveled cock.

My homage to Sarah B.:



photo courtesy of the good people over at the sexy hushpuppy

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

overheard tonight:

"Boycott shampoo. We want real poo!"

I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to.
- Elvis Presley

Music playing right now: Cake - Italian Leather Sofa


The Short Version

Nellie McKay kicks my scrawny white ass. Go buy her cd.


The Long Version

I’ve always had a fondness for female singer/songwriters. Call it a weakness. Joan Jett, Alanis, Bjork, Fiona, even Joni Mitchell. So when I heard my first song by Nellie McKay, I knew I had to have her cd. An accomplished songwriter at the tender age of 19, McKay manages to fold her lyrics around riffling piano accompaniment with natural ease. But don’t let the effortlessness of her music fool you into complacence. McKay is out to change the world.

Her two-disc release “Get Away From Me”, also her first, showcases the singer’s wide variety of talents as she tackles idioms that range from rap to jazz to gleeful big band. For example, the first cd opens with “David,” a carefree combination of swing, calypso, and brit-pop. It goes from there straight into a jazz single that could easily be mistaken for Diana Krall. And following those two is “Sari,” a song that resembles what I would imagine would happen if you forced Eminem and Kylie Minogue to collaborate. But good.

Throughout both cds, McKay takes on issues that vary from teenage heartbreak to scud missile attacks to pet deaths to vivisections. But all with a light tone and a particular fondness to throw in the f word just when you’re least expecting it. With lyrics that successfully tread the fine line between lecture and lampoon, McKay’s songs are catchy, smart, and simply reek of indie stardom.

So if you’ve got a few extra bucks left over from your monthly allowance, give Nellie McKay a try. She deserves it and you’ll be on your way to becoming your own elitist indie music connoisseur. And isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? As Nellie herself said, "I think it's such a shame when people are taken surprise by fame. I think they should just quit then, and leave the playing field open for me. Because I really want it."

Monday, April 05, 2004

If you can count your money, you don't have a billion dollars.
- J. Paul Getty

Music playing right now: Everclear - Now That Its Over


I finally did my taxes today. Once again, I'm faced with the same question I have every year. Where the hell did all of that money go?

--------

Besides being a TV store, my place of employment also doubles as the headquarters for PortaAd, a side business that consists of renting portable signs out all over Wichita. The guy who normally tows these signs all over called in sick today, so that meant that I got to be the lucky guy wrestling oversized marquees over sidewalks and weighing them down with broken sandbags.

Coincidentally, the truck that's normally used was also out of commision, so I was entrusted with the keys to my bosses truck and set loose upon the city. Naturally, I did what any person in my situation would do. I rooted through his entire cd collection. That man has the worst taste in music that I have yet encountered in the state of Kansas. It was almost so bad that it became enjoyable.

I spent the day listening to Sandi Patty, Michael W. Smith, innumerable Bond themes (he's a registered member of the International Pierce Brosnan Fan Club), a really bad version of the Phantom of the Opera, and Yanni. But undoubtedly the best moment was when I put in an unmarked cd and found Stryper's classic "To Hell With the Devil." Made my day.

Sunday, April 04, 2004

Today consisted of the following:

Church
Lunch
Turn on golf, take 4 hour nap
Church
2 hour dinner at Chilis.

Is my life exciting or what?

Saturday, April 03, 2004

Is there anything more embarassing than being one of four guys renting Spice World on a Friday night at 10:30?

Why yes. Having to go back and work in the same video store the next morning and face the four semi-attractive girls who laughed at you all the way out the door the night before. Boy, do I envy my brother.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

April Fools. haha. gotcha.

Seriously now, somebody send me some champagne.


About Me

My wife thinks I'm awesome. Counter

Days since Dan entered into wedded bliss:




::Required Reading::
My beautiful wife
The Slot
A Capital Idea
Nashua
Dave
eegah, eliot!
Practicing Myrtle
Headsuptheblog
Obscure Store
The Plug
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Davezilla


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