the pitts.

October 31, 2006

congrats… i wish you two all the best.

today is a shit day.

October 26, 2006

yesterday was above average.  kicked the shit outta of a policy test (“in the absence of policy, a free market economy will set it’s own equalibrium…”), got some very cool feedback on my musical efforts, and went to a bar and ran into some old friends.


today is a shit day because the good feelings of yesterday inclined me to drink too much.  it’s rainy and grey outside, and  to quote an actual conversation from earlier, “i genuinely feel like rolled-up dog shit. “


because of my overload of work and school, i never really go out anymore.  anybody that knows me can tell you, that mostly this is just an excuse ’cause i really don’t enjoy going out much.  call it me getting old, call it the same 52 people i’m tired of seeing. 

last night, peppered in amoung these 52 were a few people i hadn’t seen a while… and sweet, fuck-all it’s amazing what happens to people.  

most notably, i ran into this hot chick i had a class with before the war.  of course, i was into her back then and there was some dialog between us but really i had my head and attention too many different places at the time, because this was right before i left so i gave a really nice, sincere goodbye over the phone and that was it.  in all honesty, for me this was a “wonder what would have happened if” situation that i often revisited over in the sandbox when i wasn’t pointing guns at people.  [maybe then too; i didn’t much like to think about what i was doing while i was doing it.] 

anyways, this chick still looks just hot as she did “back in the day” and after the intial

“hey, aren’t you brandon?” she says to me,

“you were in the war right?” and before i can say “yeah” she says

with a realizing, almost panicked look

“i’m sorry i never wrote you.”

i say that it’s amazing what happens to people, because before she was never someone would’ve faked guilt.

i'll have a full korea trip post sometime later in the day, maybe the week…

still recovering…

March 2, 2006

…had a little too much birthday fun.

thanks to everyone for their birthday wishes;
unfortunately, i might have taken them too seriously.

i stole this from george fan.
here’s this, a la george fan

thought it was funny.

it’s been kinda of a slow night; i got home from work around 4, went immediately to sleep, woke up at 7ish with cole standing on my head.

went to ben’s for a while, informed him that pj [army buddy of ours] had gifted him his ticket to the coldplayers for this monday.

he was estatic, and then went back to his online play date. so, i stole a couple of books from him:

the hottest state, by ethan hawke [i really enjoyed ash wednesday, so i figure this one will be good as well] and
how we are hungry, by dave eggers, whom ben swears by.

so anyways, like i said, slow night so i just ended up

a slow night indeed


here’s to…

January 3, 2006

the bloglander of the week:


she sent me a couple of Christmas presents and i am throughly enjoying them…

although, i’m probably enjoying one more than the other [the book is still proudly displayed on my coffee table], the “our lady peace” is rocked on a daily basis.

much love T.

here’s the most disgusting thing i’ve seen all day.

Image Hosted by

this brings shame to all chuck’s everywhere.
speaking of chuck’s, where are you?


December 19, 2005

the other day i was Christmas-ing in best buy with ben, just playing call of duty 2 for the new x-box 360, when strangely i was drawn to look over my shoulder.

i say “strangely” because there was no real tangible cause for me to look in this direction,

something “willed” me.

so, while i was slaying Nazi germans

[ironic if you buy into the Canadian concept that i’m the new Nazi, the Nazi 5.1, because of my service in Iraq.]

and virtually practicing my skills of “international murdering”

[because once again, that’s what i am, an internationally murdering Nazi]

there was a large plasma screen TV with

richard ashcroft
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the coldplayers

playing “bittersweet symphony”. this is simply my favorite song ever and
as far as things in my little world go, this is tops. this is almost as big as the verve getting back together, which, will probably never happen. damn that nick mccabe.

all of this was nearly enough for me to forget about that fucking guy ‘gunsforsale’ on matt’s site complaining that he’s “so sick of American war Vet’s being called hero’s when really they’re just international murderers” and then went on to compare us to Nazi’s…the whole thing just makes me sick. when you say “war hero” to me, i think of the dead. i think of the guys who never got married, never had kids, never rode a motorcycle, never had their 20th birthday and are being called Nazi’s.

so, here’s blanket statement for the whole world: if you actively compare the United States to Nazi Germany you’re the same as a suicide bomber…completely negative and self-deluded. you help nothing. you speculate borrowed ideas in attempt at punditry, which you think prognosticates truth, but you accomplish little more than spreading defeatism. you breed the same kind of hate that the bombers do.

in your mind, prison’s in eastern Europe where torture may or may not have happened, you imagine them to be concentration camps. i’ve seen the comments out there; in the same paragraph where you compare George Bush to Hitler for visiting Boy Scouts [which every American President has done since the 50’s] you make vague and acidic references to the prisoner of war camps as “American concentration camps”.

i’m sick of this shit. the Iraq war has it’s problems, they’re all right out in the open for everyone to see, and i’m not defending it. i fought in it and i’m telling you, in my best, most formulated, thought out opinion, our reasons for going weren’t valid. we should have never gone in without the rest of world backing us. BUT. you’re either part of the problem or part of the solution. that kind of negativity doesn’t help anything. it doesn’t even make you look smart, or more informed than everyone else. it clearly defines you as part of the problem.

you can disagree with Bush and the war all you want to, i know i do, but the only way you can help is to be truly informed and quit buying into sensationalistic bullshit. that goes for both sides. if you want to help, quit watching so much reality TV and actually do some research. quit bandwagoning. get involved, write your elected officals.

do something besides bitching, pointing fingers, name-calling.


December 7, 2005

dude, it might snow today. we never get snow this early.

-brett [from middle california a.k.a. oregon south] call me.

ben, you still haven’t given me some very important paperwork.

ciavarro, keep your drinking skills sharp; cause when you face me, you’re gonna have to cash in a few miracles just to get an honorable mention here in the south.

pitt and the outlaw, congrats.

gracie, whatev. you’re mad at boys.

sunshine, when is your Q&A day?

leck, how ya been? haven’t spoken to you in a while.

steve smooth, ditto above.

gwen, yeah, i know–school sucks–just try to get through it.

susan natalie, why do you want to be an actress? vanity?

chuck, you’re one of the funniest people alive. i hope i’m never your enemy.

Apoc/mike, we should have a beer and talk about writing.

mikey[closet emo], you never did give me some info about Nintendo emulators, i’d really like to get a hold of one. also, start dating girls.

matt good, thanks for the music. beautiful midnight was one of about ten cd’s i had for the most part of the war. sort of like a “if-you-were-ever-stranded-on-a-desert-island” scenerio; i could only bring a limited amount of stuff.


December 5, 2005

[insert comment here]

last day of november

November 30, 2005

here’s a little of what i’ve been doing this month.

It was only after 5 hours of driving that I met Sarah-joon. You see, when I get like this, I always go for a drive, and not of your Sunday afternoon vareity. More like, police report, missing persons kind of a drive. This time I ended up in St. Louis; it was Saturday, and somehow I got it into my head that I could catch a Cards game. Sarah-joon was all mascara and blue eye shadow at the gas station where her parent’s BMW had stopped working. Raven-haired, crystal blue-eyed, slightly confused, terrified, and totally intoxicating; she was the reason I pulled into the gas station, having a half tank left.

Lets just say, for a moment, that I couldn’t make eye contact with her when she first spoke to me. Had that been the case, it would’ve only been to watch her speak. To watch her full, bee-stung lips release the question, “…do you have a cell phone?” Then, of course, had I not been able to stare directly back at her, I would have missed her eyes: as big as silver dollars, but unsure of me, captivating in the fearful way they analyzed me, and unknowingly looked right through me. I was instantly obsessed with her.

Sarah-joon was 20, but in the most 17ish of all ways. I told her she wasn’t nearly cynical enough to be 20, which was a lie, a baiting lie that I used to get her to talk more about herself at dinner, no more than an hour after I’d met her. She said she was 20, and believe me she was plenty cynical, and when the waiter came around to ask what we wanted, she said she wanted a beer, heiniken, and her fake ID said she was twenty-five.

I said I’d have the same, myself being newly 21 and the two and a half day stubble on my face making me look 25. I wanted to smoke a cigerette but I wasn’t sure if she smoked–she was just out. What self respecting 20 year old with a fake ID that said 25 wouldn’t smoke?
I asked her what she was doing here, where she was from, even though as a red-blooded man I’d done a completely worthless full inspection of the car, and seen her Michigan plates. With each question she squirmed, got a little more distant, but then realized she was giving herself away and would look at me dead on, smiling slightly, daring me to question her lies. She said she was in college, had come home for the weekend. I think she was a runaway. Not a serious one though. Just leaving long enough to see who’d notice.

I told her that I was here for a Cardinals game but really just came for the drive; I’d been in a mood as of late and couldn’t cope otherwise. And there, in that resturant, a pizzeria with the circle style booths, she leaned into me, one hand grabbing the lapel of my brown leather jacket, the other touching my face, and kissed me. I don’t know why it happened, and really, I question the events of my life up to this point had it not happened, but, maybe in between bites of our chicken salads with Italian dressing, or in one of those classic hand brushing moments while simultaneously reaching for napkins that are so thematic in 80’s movies that just seemed to keep happening to us, we realized that not only did we both love Coldplay and Jack Kerouac, that both of us were reveling in these same moments, and everything was wonderful and new. Despite everything, I was still jealous that once, she’d met Chuck Palahniuk at the airport.

At this point, I thought again of the road. How on the drive up here, the grey sky and the light rain on my windshield made me worry if my worn tires would hold the road if I sped. I thought about how my windshield wipers were stuck on the medium setting and worked too well or not well enough. I thought about how much I was sick of college, and how my writing classes didn’t seem to be going so well. I thought about how much I missed my Mother. Sarah-joon had excused herself to use the restroom, she walked fast and awkwardly, her motor skills just taking into effect the four Heinekens she’d drank, but still with a grace that made her misunderstood to most and provocatively perfect to me.

I slinked back in our circle booth, taking a long drag off my camel light, head cocked to the side, sort of smiling, sort of smirking, wondering how I’d come to be so happy in a day that started off in such way, I didn‘t feel anything.

She came back from the restroom with a patience restored in her walk, smiling coyly. I immediately made eye contact with her, couldn’t help but to, she was already staring at me, analyzing me. Sarah-joon, in her remarkable doubt, would later admit that she half-way expected me not to be there when she came back. I could agree with that reasoning. Every curious moment of seamless bliss I’d come across before always had a biting way of being everything but. No matter what, though, you never stopped looking for them. Somewhere inside, all that cynicsm had a way of softening for these perfect and regrettable moments, which, are probably the purest, most decent ways of being a hypocrite.