Boo conservative talk radio, hooray sleep (hopefully)

I don't listen to talk radio.

That's blasphemous in the world of journalism, but I generally regard talk radio as agendized garbage that influences people through propaganda and ridicule rather than open discussion.

That, and it's mostly boring, which is the same reason I don't listen to NPR either (oh snap, now I really am destined for journalism purgatory (oh wait, Reno is journalism purgatory)).

I was reminded a few minutes ago why I dislike talk radio so much.

I was at the Sagebrush office doing homework (who'd have though, right?) and left maybe 30 minutes ago. It's about 20 degrees outside and, needless to say, the Land Yacht doesn't exactly have the best heating system in the world. As a result, I spent the ride home with my hands in my coat sleeve on the wheel.

Unfortunately that meant I had to listen to some conservative tool named Mike Gallagher spout off about Ted Kennedy's recent endorsement of Barack Obama.

He spent about five minutes talking about all the tragedies that the Kennedys have suffered, and they are no doubt considerable.

What was Gallagher's explanation for all the tragedy?

He told a story about how Joe Kennedy made a deal with the devil to get JFK, his son, elected president. The story went that Joe told the devil he could do whatever with the rest of his family as long as JFK reached the White House.

Mr. Gallagher tried to laugh it off, but made it clear that the tragedies were too great to be coincidence.

Really? I mean, really? Who the hell says that kind of thing?

It's the kind of crazy, evangelical crap that really makes me think the religious right is literally fucking batty beyond the point of reason and sanity.

I'm going to bed now...although I'm sort of afraid to fall asleep for fear that my nightmares will be haunted by Mike Gallagher wielding his microphone of irrationality.

Maybe I'll listen to some NPR to calm me down a little.

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The new fad diet craze/the latest example of why I'm an idiot

Everybody goes through a hard alcohol phase, then they either learn moderation or move on. Or they become alcoholics, but that's not the point of this story.

I had my Hard A phase during my freshman year, when I went nutty with tequila, Jack Daniels, and vodka. I usually ended the night leaning over the fence at my friend Alex's house projectile vomiting into an old lady's yard while my cousin's boyfriend stood next to me making sure I didn't lose my pants and start running around the block in my underwear (which has been known to happen).

Needless to say, I quickly learned that a permanent state of drunkenness made college a little bit hard (although honestly, not that hard) and I moved on to beer.

Now I still love the occasional screw driver, 7 and 7, or, my favorite, Jack and Pepsi, but I love beer. LOVE BEER. In all my searching for signs of the divinity, the existence of beer stands as the lone concrete symbol that suggests the affirmative.

I enjoy beer. It makes me happy. I've created a bunch of great memories with beer, though I don't quite remember them all with crystal clarity. In short, I've been happy with my relationship with beer.

So, then, I have no idea why I decided to revisit my Hard A days on Friday.

For some reason known only in the dank, desolate nether regions of my subconscious I decided it would be a brilliant idea to play beer pong with vodka.

This was a stupid idea for several reasons, most of which are pretty self-evident to anyone with any kind of common sense. But the biggest reason is that I'm really good at beer pong. I have this weird thing where I start playing and then don't lose for several games.

So a shot of vodka a cup was bad enough for one game, but fast forward two hours and about five more games and I was fucked three sheets to Friday (I just made that up, and no, I don't know what it means either).

I'm not sure how much vodka it takes to simulate the effects of cocaine, but I'm pretty sure I honestly understand what it's like to be Lindsay Lohan now.

I know what you're all waiting for right about now - some great story or punchline that wraps up my evening's story in a hilarious anecdote. That's how these things typically work, and I'd love to be able to deliver.

Thing is, I don't really remember much after beer pong. Except leaning on my fence throwing up into an old ladies yard at 2 in the morning.

I'm pretty sure I had my pants on, though!

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Why I love my mama

My mom puts up with a lot of shit.

Aside from being the sweetest person in the world, she's also remained (mostly) silent during my college career as I've written a weekly column about substance abuse and now this blog. I'm also what you older folks might call a "devious little bastard" (in a good-natured way, of course) when I go home, and she takes my mischief pretty well.

Coming from a town of 1,300, I was always extremely close with my family. Yes, I'm trying to say that I'm a mama's boy (but I'll cut you if you think I'm soft!). But since I started doing summer internships and working at the newspaper, I've seen my parents probably five times a year. This is hard for my mom, but she still makes sacrifices to make sure everything works out for me.

Like I said, she and my dad also read my blog, and here's part of an email she sent me today:

"I read your blog about the first day of the last semester and I wanted to cry. I remember your little black and white coat standing at the elementary school door for kindergarten. Time did fly.......... I feel like crying today when all those memories flash past me. My sentiment towards Lincster is directly linked to our morning trek here (my mom got a job as secretary at the elementary school when I was in second grade so we could go to work together), our vacations and sporting events shared. Dad hugged me when I was sobbing after you left and he told me the Lincster promised to continue to take care of you. I hope so..."

My mom is the most sensitive, caring person I've ever known. Whenever I'm going through one of my morose or dickish phases (which has been fairly frequently lately), I try to remember that I have her sensitivity and caring in me, too. That usually makes me feel better.

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Look what I can do

Nothing exciting happened today.

I woke up early for an interview with someone claiming a UNR faculty member falsified her Phd., then I went to class, jogged, watched a basketball game for work, and played racquetball. You know, the normal.

Now I'm exhausted after spending a few hours with Alex the Bastard, and I don't really have anything exciting to say. I did learn something today, so check out the video. Be warned, though, it's not that exciting.

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The end has come (well it's near anyway)

So begins the last leg of my winding journey through 19 years of education, irresponsibility, hard work, friends, procrastination, and heavy drinking. Sometimes I even studied, but only when there was absolutely nothing else to do.

Welcome to the Garrett Hylton Farewell Tour ’08: The Drive for Five.
I officially kicked the tour off (I’ll split all the damn infinitives I want) today with my last first day of classes. Ever.

Every year for pretty much my whole life I’ve stumbled into an unknown classroom wondering about the quality of the class and the other students (in other words, the prospects for study group nookie).

It’s like opening presents on Christmas morning, only with way more stress and no return policy.

I love the first day of class. It’s when you find out what kind of professor you’ve signed up for and whether the class you’ve been waiting two years to take will actually be fun or just a pain in the ass. It’s the day when all of a sudden you could be sitting in a classroom with three friends you haven’t seen since the dorm parties your freshman year or with a bunch of football players (translation: easy A).

But none of this will never happen again. I’ll never know the sweet embrace of a new semester’s anticipation.

My last first day was pretty uneventful.

Other than the 40 page monstrosity I have to finish (and start) in the next month, I’m not too worried about this semester.

Yesterday I went to my Flash class, where I’ll be learning how to use, well, Flash (It’s the program used to create all those cool internet graphics that people love). Learning Flash will be like learning a new language in one semester, but it’s fun and will really help me in the future no matter what I do (at the very least I’ll have the most user-interactive blog on blogspot).

Today I had my advanced nonfiction writing class (boring) and my J.R.R. Tolkien class.
And yes, taking a Tolkien class does make me a nerd, but you should have already known that (I have two blogs for L. Ron Hubbard’s sake). Deal with it.
So this semester is shaping up to be a lot less stressful than last semester, but I still can’t help feeling a little sad and nostalgic.

I realize that a last first day of class isn’t that big of a deal. Thing is, I think there’s going to be a lot of this thing going on over the next couple months.

For better or worse, I’m going to be doing just about everything this semester for the final time, and that’s a little surreal right now.

I remember driving down McCarran back to the dorms on warm spring mornings when I was a freshman, looking at the “N” hill, seeing the campus in the distance, and being excited about my new home. I remember waking up on random couches and thinking I had forever to enjoy this new, glorious lifestyle.

At that point, graduation was a vague, blurry concept that loomed far in the distance – five years seemed like an eternity.

Now I’m just about there.

People keep telling me how excited I should be, but I’m not. The life-changing experience that I thought was life is ending, and I have precious little time to enjoy the hangouts and habits I’ve spent five years carving out with the best people I could have met.

It’s a little sad.

At the same time, I’m not all that stressed about it. Of all the things that are turning my hair grey at the moment, the end of college life doesn’t really bother me.

It’s really sort of surprising actually, because I’ve been getting angsty about pretty much everything lately.

I think this is easier because I don’t have a say in it. College life is ending whether I want it to or not. Even if I stayed in school, it wouldn’t be the same. Most of my friends are already gone, I have more responsibility, and getting drunk at Sig Ep no longer has the same appeal.

I used to walk around campus and recognize pretty much everyone. I used to leave for class five minutes earlier than usual because I’d inevitably run into somebody I wanted to talk to (that’s actually not true, I’d usually just be an extra five minutes late). Now I hardly recognize anybody and half the students look like they should still be in high school.

So the college life as I know it is over no matter what. And I’m OK with that as long as I enjoy the time I have left and make a few more memories I can use to (un)impress bosses down the road.

Now I just have to figure out all the other bullshit.

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings"

Line of the Day: "I shall take the ring," he said. "Though I do not know the way."

From the iPod: "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy

Movie: There Will Be Blood (91)

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Welcome to Garrettland

Aside from being generally kickass, I moonlight as Senior Editor/sports writer/resident facemelter for the Nevada Sagebrush, the student newspaper at the University of Nevada, Reno.

We come out every Tuesday morning, and Sunday and Monday are the big office days where we put everything together and sexy it up for our readers (or just fuck it up, depending). Tonight is our first night back in production after winter break, which is generally a bad thing.

For the most part, I hate the fucking place. It sucks out a little more of my soul with each passing Monday. The Sagebrush steals anywhere from 30-60 hours of my life every week, of which I enjoy about 30 minutes.

I have nothing left to gain from the place, and I haven't for quite a while. I've done three internships, including one as a Pulliam Fellow at the Arizona Republic, and I'm interning this summer or fall at the Miami Herald.

The thing is none of that would have happened without the Sagebrush. I worked really hard there my first two years and got some really good teaching that has helped me develop into the burgeoning young writer I am today (that's good or bad, depending on who you ask).

So, when I was deciding whether or not to come back last spring, an unexplainable and unfortunate sense of obligation compelled me to return and I've been miserable ever since. I thought that I could give something back by helping train the younger kids, but I should have realized that I'm not that good of a person.

Getting back to tonight, though, we are inaugurating our new office in the Joe, UNR's brand new student union. This part of the job kicks a lot of ass. We used to reside in two rundown suites of an old university apartment building that had neither parking nor a direct vein to the heart of the campus.

At the Joe we have brand new equipment with a server that doesn't crash, and the building is amazing. Apart from looking beautiful, it also has a movie theatre, a two-story bookstore, a Port of Subs, Baja Fresh, and Starbucks, and there are lavish study areas on every floor.

Oh, but it gets better. Because we work into the wee hours of the morning, the senior staffers at the Brush all have 24-hour access to the Joe. They were going to quarantine us to our third floor office and the immediately surrounding areas, but the planned blockade didn't meet fire code. So I have full run of the building whenever I want.

Therefore, I'm claiming the second floor as my own and creating a utopic nation-state that belongs to me. I'm dubbing it Garrettland.

I'm currently looking out onto Virginia Street from a comfy couch on the stairs (which I actually spent 10 hours on last semester writing a final essay for one of my classes) enjoying the quiet, peaceful serenity of my own land. All the other Brushers are up slaving away in the office, while I'm trying to decide whether I should build a fort to fend off any impending invasion (the logistics of 3-D foreign policy are confusing).

Anyway, as much as I hate my job, I can't express enough how awesome it is to have somewhere I can go to get actual work done (and by work I mean updating this thing and checking my facebook every few minutes). This is probably the coolest thing that's happened since my old editor completely freaked out after I pretended to urinate into a bottle and drink it (gotta love green tea).

So, to make a few declarations.

In Garrettland:
1. Pants are optional
2. Drugs and gay marriage are legal.
3. Piracy is legal (but only the swashbuckling kind).
4. Public testimonies of religion are rewarded with kicks to the groin (keep it to yourself dammit).
5. The official slogan is "Thundercats are go."
6. The national anthem is "Deeper Underground" by Jamiroquai (slightly edging out Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer")

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien

Line of the day: "There on the hill-brow she stood beckoning to them: her hair was flying loose, and as it caught the sun it shone and shimmered. A light like the glint of water on dewy grass flashed from under feet as she danced."

From the iPod: "Lucy in the sky with diamonds" by the Beatles

Latest Movie "Cloverfield" (63)

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I think I have a problem (and this one doesn't always involve alchohol)

So I'm sitting courtside at Lawlor Events Center watching Boise State demolish the Nevada men's basketball team in what has to be the most embarrassing athletic display since I played volleyball at a BBQ last spring, and I've just been struck by a troubling realization - I don't care.

Not even a little bit. I'm trying to stay attentive and get absorbed into the action, but I couldn't give less of a shit, not even if my future ability to procreate were on the line (OK, maybe then).

I'm beginning to think that I don't really like sports anymore, at lesat not as much as when I would spend hours watching them on TV and memorizing boggling amounts of useful numbers.

Given my current career path, that creates a wee bit of a dilemma.

I'm thinking that it's probably going to be hard writing about balls for the rest of my life if I'm no longer interested in how they're used (too dirty?).

Part of me thinks that this is probably easily explained. I've been doing basically the same thing for more than three years now, and I got the hang of it long it ago. I don't do well when things cease to be hard, so maybe I'm just burnt out and ready for a new challenge.

All of my favorite teams (the Oakland Raiders, Chicago Bulls and White Sox, Newcastle United, and Nevada's football and basketball teams) suck right now, too, which could also be contributing.

But I used to watch sports pretty much every day for the sake of watching them, not because it was my job or because my favorite team was playing. So far I've watched about 3.25 NFL playoff games, which is easily an all-time low.

It could also be that most people on campus know who I am (this has more to do with me being around for so long than being good at what I do (I am good though, I swear)) and think whenever they see me at a bar or party that sports are all I ever think about, and therefore all I ever want to talk about.

I hate that nobody cares about what I have to say about, well, anything other than how the Wolf Pack. Actually that's not entirely true. People also talk to me about alcohol (which remains one of my favorite subjects) and I always appreciate the free drinks.

Really, though, I think those are just excuses or small contributers.

At this point in my life I'm just more interested in politics, music, movies, and people in general than I am with the outcome of a game.

This has actually been eating at me for awhile, but I think I know now that there's not much I can do about it. And it really doesn't matter anyway.

I want to be a writer, I do know that, but I never wanted to be a sports writer for 40 years. I want to write books or features for magazines or do everything, like Chuck Klosterman does.

I guess now it's just a matter of having the courage to make it happen when the opportunity comes.

Not that I particularly care, but here's my rundown of tomorrow's NFL action:

New York Giants over Green Bay
I don't care who wins this game, but it has nothing to do with apathy - I just really like both teams. It also doesn't matter because all this game decides is the Super Bowl loser.

At any rate, both story lines are good. On the one hand, you have the aging Brett Favre returning to his former greatness after looking on the brink of retirement for so many years. Then you've got the Lesser Manning leading his team after taking so much ridicule for simply not being Peyton.

I've got to say that I really like Brett Favre. As just about everybody who follows sports knows, he's a tough player who has made a career of standing in the pocket and taking hits to deliver the football. But from the perspective of somebody in the media, I also respect him as a person for doing the same thing off the field.

Like everybody else in the world, Favre has flaws. Rather than spinning the issues, however, Favre has taken responsibility and dealt with them. His painkiller addiction is the perfect example. I think that kind of personality is why his teammates respect him so much. I've never seen a team play as hard for their quarterback as the Packers do for Favre.

I think the Giants match up well with the Packers, especially if they can get Brandon Jacobs going on the ground, so I think the game will be close. My heart wants the Packers to win, but I have a hunch about the Giants winning.

New England over San Diego:

I really want the Chargers to win.

Part of that is because my family and some of my friends are Chargers fans.

Mostly though, I fucking hate Tom Brady and the Patriots. I've despised them ever since Brady "didn't" fumble against my beloved Raiders in the divisional playoffs back in '02.

For God's sake, the man was a backup at Michigan and now he's on the cover of GQ and dating super models. It's enough to make me want to spew clam chowder all over myself after a night of getting wicked drunk.

The problem is I don't think the Chargers will win. Aside from New England's tremendous talent, the Patriots come ready to play every single week. It's pretty amazing actually. They're stacked at every position and I just don't see them losing at home, especially against a team starting a quarterback more emo than the dude from Dashboard Confessionals (seriously, Philip Rivers always looks likes he's on the verge of bursting into a rage of post-pubescent angst).

Unlike most analysts, though, I actually think it's a pretty interesting matchup. Chargers cornerback Antonio Cromartie is an athletic freak, so I'm looking forward to him going against Randy Moss. The Chargers secondary should hold it's own. I also like the Chargers combo of Shaun Phillips and Shawne Merriman coming off the edge in pass rush situations. If they can get after Tom Brady with consistency, the Chargers might hang around.

Even then, Ladanian Tomlinson will need to have a huge day for the Chargers to get to the Super Bowl. I'm thinking 150 on the ground and multiple scores. I said at the beginning of the season that the Chargers had as much talent as any team in the league, but coach Norv Turner would cock it up by doing what he's done his entire career.

I guess we'll see tomorrow, although I think Patriots are too much.

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It tastes like caucus up in here/I'm officially a hot piece of ass now (take your pick)

Alright, I’m a Democrat. There I said it - happy?

After spending five years committed to nonpartisanship, I finally embraced my liberal tendencies today and registered democrat so I could Caucus for Obama.

This was my first caucus, so I was excited to take part in the process and get a piece of some political activism. In the end, I really just learned the literal meaning of Obama’s campaign slogan – “Stand for change.”

I went with my friend’s girlfriend and her dad – who are Hillary supporters – and we showed up at McQueen High 30 minutes early figuring there would be a huge line. There actually weren’t that many people there, and McQueen was the biggest precinct in Reno with 10 delegates. The Reno Gazette-Journal said the Democrats set a new state caucus record with 116,000 people, but turns out I could have slept for another hour or so and been fine.

Anyway, I had to switch my registration, then spent about an hour standing in the corner of the gym with rest of Obama’s Army. The Edwards and Hillary groups were on the other side standing next to each other, so I couldn’t get a good read on who was winning.

The organizers finally took the vote after about an hour, and Obama won by about 13 people. Hillary still took Nevada 51 to 45 percent, but Obama closed the gap considerably over the last month or so. Super Tuesday should be interesting.

While I’m happy with my newfound partisanship, it also has some negative implications.

First, I’ve been a pretty committed nonpartisan for some time, despite a liberal belief system, and one of my friends has given me a lot of crap about not being democrat. She’s overseas at the moment, so I’m hoping she doesn’t read this.

If so – you win (yet again).

That's not the only problem. Turning democrat also makes me officially gay in my homeland of Elko County.

It wouldn’t be enough in and of itself, but it’s my third strike. My favorite color is pink and I don’t like guns, so turning democrat just sealed the deal.

And technically, I'm not gay because that's incorrect terminology. A large portion of Northeastern Nevada still refers to homosexuals as "The/Them gays" (depends on dialect and region. The Gays is almost always associated with the civilized redneck tribes inhabiting the city of Elko and it's nearby townships. Except Carlin) . So for accuracy's sake, I'm now officially on of "the gays".

I’m actually not gay – I like women a great deal – but at least now I have an excuse for not voting for Hillary over Obama.

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Free Fallin' - and hating it

I hate cover bands. A lot.

I mean who in hell decided one day that it’d be super cool to grab an acoustic guitar, act like a rock star, then butcher the all-time classics of rock?

Or better yet, who in the hell decided that Hillary Clinton needed one of these acts to prep her crowd when she spoke in Reno earlier today?

If I wanted to hear some douche bag Duncan Sheik look-alike jam out to music that made other people famous, I’d go to Brew Brothers where I could at least get drunk and cavort with women of the desperate variety.

Yet there was Bits and Pieces, a hack duo from Reno, earlier tonight at the Grand Sierra Resort getting me “ready” for HRC’s speech.

As I sat and listened to them massacre the immortal brilliance of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, I couldn’t help but think they were trying to turn me Republican one butchered bar at a time.

Of course I doubt I’ll be abandoning my sense of humanity and decency anytime soon, so my boy Huck won’t be getting my support at the ballot box.

Anyway, today was a big day for politics in Nevada (and for me). The state’s moved-up caucus actually matters this go round, so both major Democratic candidates were in town today to stir up support for tomorrow’s “vote”.

I decided I wanted to hear both Barack Obama and the aforementioned HRC, so I rolled my ass out of bed at 7:00 a.m. to go watch Barry do his thing at the Virginia Street Gym (where, coincidentally, I’ve also covered volleyball games).

Obama was done by about 11 a.m., which gave me enough time for a quick jog before heading to an editorial board meeting at the paper’s new office in the Joe. Then I headed straight downtown to catch Hillary speak.

You have to understand, my desire to see both candidates wasn’t out of any need for assistance in making up my mind. I just understand that I’ll be voting for one or the other in about 11 months.

That said, I've had a serious man-crush on Barack Obama since before I had a beard, but I thought I'd hit both candidates up to make sure I'm making the best choice.

Turns out I was right (as usual).

After giving both a fair shake, I still like Obama a lot more.

First let me explain that I think Hillary Clinton would make a fine candidate, too.

Some of my lady friends have accused me of not wanting to vote for Hillary Clinton because she’s a woman, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I have no problem with a female running the show. From what I’ve seen of marriage, that’s pretty much how the world works anyway (and ladies, it’s probably for the best).

I have a lot of respect for HRC and think she would be a great candidate. I’d have no reservations voting for her in November.

People try to make a big issue out of the candidates’ varying levels of experience, and for the most part I think it’s a load of shit. I don’t really get how being a senator or a governor does, or does not, qualify someone to lead the nation. The presidency is a completely different job altogether, and I think a person’s character and personality has a lot more to do with whether they’re capable of being a great leader.

I will say, though, that HRC has the kind of experience that no other candidate can offer – she’s already spent eight years in the White House. Consider the significant role that the First Spouse plays in decision-making on top of that, and Hillary would have 16 years of White House experience to draw from.

Even if she’s not the kind of dynamic candidate capable of catalyzing all-encompassing change, she understands the stability and rationale required to make good decisions as president. That’s more than GW can claim.

Either way, the election would have serious, and wonderful, civil rights implications.

Plus, I’d be really stoked about the Darrell Hammond as Slick Willy skits returning Saturday Night Live to its former and proper glory.

Both candidates also say virtually the same things - they want to take tax cuts away from the top 3 percent and give them to working class Americans, prevent the ongoing home foreclosure epidemic, provide quality health care for everyone who needs it, bolster the education system and provide affordable college education to everyone who qualifies, free America from the tyranny of oil, take better care of our veterans, and get out of Iraq and win the war on terror in Afghanistan.

The only difference, then, is in the way they say it, and this is where Hillary fails me. Actually, that’s probably not fair. HRC is a good speaker.

Barack Obama inspires me.

He has passion, energy, and excitement in his voice that no other candidate can match.

Obama says more with less words and he addresses the issues important to his campaign directly and without skirting the issue.

And he’s certainly a powerful speaker.

Say what you will about the insignificance of public speaking, an area that Obama clearly dominates, but it’s part of the job.

More importantly, though, I love Obama’s vision for the future.

I’ve noticed that most of the candidates talk about change in the context of them being elected president. Obama talks about change in the context of what has to be done to fix this country.

He doesn’t speak to democrats or republicans, he speaks to uniting all of America’s people (if we already agree on 90 percent of things, why should we let the remaining 10 keep us from communicating). That’s probably why he fairs so well in the crossover vote.

He also doesn't want to hand out money, he talks about giving every kid who qualifies money for college, but stipulates they have to perform public service to keep it.

So yeah, I’m drinking the kool-aid. I haven’t had faith in a politician in a long time, but I like how Obama makes honesty an important. I also think he’s experienced enough of the world firsthand to understand the troubles of the impoverished.

Most importantly, though, Obama is the only candidate that can fix America’s status internationally.

GW has done significant damage to America’s stance as the world’s leader. He’s alienated both our allies and the people we’re supposedly trying to liberate in the Middle East.

It’s going to take a dynamic personality to fix those problems. Obama is a compassionate, honest man who is steadfast and self-aware of his values, but he’s also open-minded enough to approach situations from multiple perspectives.

There’s not another candidate with his potential to fix America.

Obama is criticized for being too idealistic and naive, but when has anything in this world ever been created or accomplished without idealism and hope?

At the very least, he’s restored my passion in American politics. So I’m taking the hope monger.

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Frost

Line of the day: I have been one acquainted with the night
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

From the iPod: "I want to hold your hand" the Beatles

Latest movie: P.S., I Love you

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And to address an argument I keep having with my mother, I still don’t think military service (the kind John McCain boasts) makes a damn bit of difference in the effectiveness of a president. I agree that our soldiers make a huge sacrifice to our country that’s worthy of tremendous respect, but the military isn’t the only kind of public service that matters.

Obama skipped getting a job on Wall Street after graduating from Harvard so he could do community work in Chicago. Clinton used her law degree to help abused and neglected children and she has a long record of committed public service to people in need. In my mind, that kind of service is no worse than serving in the military.

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I think I have a problem

In commemoration of my surviving another year, me and some friends (the few who are still around) went out Saturday night to celebrate. We started at Imperial and worked our way to Rumbullions.

After several beers and 7-and-7s, both the guys who were still with me were hammered. I was almost - ALMOST - starting to fill dizzy.

Part of this phenomenon is no doubt genetic conditioning. I've noticed that Northeastern Nevadans are comparatively better drinkers than pretty much everybody in world, with exception to the Germans. I'm also of German descent.

Apparently the towering shadow of the Ruby Mountains is a breeding ground for world class drinking. Maybe it's the altitude drinking, maybe it's the general superiority and bad-assedness of the people who grow there, or maybe it's the Bailey's in the baby formula.

But something tells me that a bigger part of it is the prominent role alcohol has played in the last four-plus years of my life. Methinks I have a bit of a drinking problem.

As a result, I think I'm going to stray from my traditional decision-making process and do something constructive. Instead of drinking all 100 drafts at the Breakaway in one semester, as I originally planned to do, I think I'm going to focus on getting in better shape. It doesn't quite wreak of the same glorious, epic-inducing stench of the century club, but it's probably the better personal decision.

Here's saying I'll probably be drinking my fair share of beer, too.

Reading: The Lord of the Rings (damn it's a long-ass book)

From the iPod: "Soul To Squeeze" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Latest Movie: "Juno"

Quote: "Yous a dick...and I love it."

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The land yacht

I finally got back to Reno on Saturday, but not before enduring a week of delays and a bit of trouble en route.

As most of you probably know, I got in an accident on the way home for break and my Dodge is totaled. So I've got a new (old) transport while I figure out what I'm going to do in the future. Just like Elton John has been flaunting the same fashion sense for the last thirty years, I'm rocking the vintage - 1990 Lincoln Towncar vintage.

Sounds cool, doesn't it? Well it's not.

The seats are torn, the paint is faded and starting to rust, and sometimes it dies while idling at stop lights.

If this were 1992 and I was 63 years old, I'd be rolling ass right about now (albeit of the geriatric variety). But because I'm not willing to wear old-dude shades (the big black ones that wrap around the head) and a bucket hat, the only thing that would save this car is a hydraulics system and chrome rims with golden eagles in the middle.

As it stands now, I'm probably not going to be pulling much of anything in the rundown crapper I'm driving around in (although I think I have the kind of charming personality to pull it off).

Up until I started prepping it for the journey to Reno, the car hadn't been driven in about three years - which I'm going to assume is the primary reason for the haggard appearance. My dad and I replaced the filters and did some basic maintenance on the engine (and by that I mean my dad did all the work while I watched), and the car fired right up.

Aside from basic upkeep issues, the car also suffered from a high velocity collision with a golf ball, surely a byproduct of living next to a golf course, so the windshield needed replaced. That was a problem. Wells has two houses of ill repute to service 1,300 citizens, but it doesn't have a bookstore, a mall, a movie theater, or, of great importance in this instance, a glass replacement establishment.

That meant a 50-mile trip to Elko, which created a second problem - the windshield wipers didn't work because of the tremendously cracked windshield, so I had to wait for the snow to stop to make the trip. I had originally planned to be in Reno on Wednesday, but I couldn't even get to Elko until Friday.

I got out of Wells on Saturday, and I thought I was finally in the clear. Turns out the car's starter relay was also bad, but unfortunately I didn't find that out until Lovelock. I stopped to get gas, went in to use the restroom, then came back out to find that my car wouldn't start. I had to pay a mechanic $75 to come out to the gas station, touch a wrench to both ends of the relay to jump my car, and offer "dude, don't shut the car off" as a solution.

Actually, though, the situation isn't all that bad.

In a lot of ways, I grew up in the Lincster. My friends and I spent countless hours in the backseat marauding to all parts of Nevada for Little League baseball and PAL basketball games (there are still cleat stains in the back), it's the car we drove to Seattle so I could watch my hero Frank Thomas play baseball (I now realize that professional athletes make horrible role models), and it's the car my mom drove me to school in everyday.

I went to both my proms in the damn thing, too.

My mom is even more sentimental about the rust bucket than I am, which is the only reason it's even around to begin with. My dad wanted to sell it or scrap it long ago, but my mom couldn't bear to part with such a relic of my youth.

It's not pretty, but it'll work until I find something new.

The good news is that I'm getting $7,000 for my old car, so hopefully I'll be in something a bit nicer/sexier/more reliable soon. Here are some photos of my poor car (the wreck dented every panel but my trunk).

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I'm back

Sorry for the absence.

I wrote a couple posts this week, but I didn't get around to posting them because I've been busy getting my fitness on this week, and my trainer/brosef Alex is a torturous, diabolical asshole. I've spent most of the week laying either on the floor of his apartment begging for sweet, merciful death or in my bed sore and exhausted. I also have this 40 page thesis thing that's due in a little over a month, so I've been plugging away at that.

Anyway, I'll be posting about the stuff that happened this week soon.

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Beard update

Overall

As you can see, my beard is almost back, completing what pundits refer to as an "overwhelming explosion of sexual energy" (or, as I call it, my face). Ladies, I know what you're thinking. "I (want/wish I knew what it's like) to wake up next to that every morning."

If you're lucky, maybe you'll find out someday.






As for the technical side of beard growth...

The Goatee

My goatee, which was the reason for shaving in the first place, came back thick and strong. It actually looked like a mustache for awhile, but the rest of the face ensemble is starting to catch. One peculiarity, though, is that my mustache doesn't quite connect with the rest of the goatee. As the white circles show, I have small, hairless patches next to my lip. Weird.

The Lower Left Beard (Masculinas Hairumus...Leftus)

The coat is pretty consistent and I'm happy with the way the beard is responding to the shave. While it's recovered quite quickly, you'll notice there still some patchiness in the area of the white circle. Just like Rome wasn't built in a day, it takes time for the perfect beard to finally present itself.

The Upper Left Beard (The Plains of Surprise)

Aside from the weird patches that prevent my mustache from joining the United States of Garrett's Beard, I also have struggled in the past to grow full beard facial hair. So I was quite surprised to see the first shadow of manhood's greatest pleasure sprouting on the fields of my cheek. So now I have a difficult decision to make - grow out a full beard or trim it back as usual. I actually sort of like the cleaner, well-kept beard, so I think it's coming off.

The Lower Right Beard (The River of Hair)

It's said that - like each man has his own spirit - every beard has a personality of its own, a set of features that distinguishes each mane from all others. My beard chooses to express its individuality with a line of hair growth that cuts diagonally across my lower right beard with the majesty of the raging rivers of old. A gypsy beard reader once read the lines of my beard river, and all its mighty tributaries, and predicts that the Chicago Cubs shall never win the World Series as long as it remains on my face.

The Upper Right Beard

This is mostly the same as the other side. It's getting shaved, but thanks for reading about my beard. No, I have no idea why I'm not smiling in any of the photos. And yes, I really like pirates. Alot.

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, "Beggining Flash Game Programming for Dummies"

Line of the Day: N/A (Unfortunately the book is on the table downstairs and I don't feel like going to get it)

From the iPod: "You'll Think of Me" by Keith Urban

Latest Movie: "Superbad" (Hits painfully close to home. Whenever I watch it, all I can think about is Kyle and I going through high school and the first two years of college)

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BREAKING NEWS: I'll be back on Friday (maybe)

Due to circumstances beyond my control, my return to Reno, originally planned for today, had to be delayed until Friday.

As some of you (and by you, I mean the four people who read this (including my mom)) may know, I was in a car crash on the way home for break and the ole Dodge is no longer with us.

Unfortunately, the car I'm bringing back (which will be unveiled tomorrow) has a broken windshield from a high velocity impact with a golf ball. And Wells isn't Mac compatible, let alone thriving with business, so the car has to travel 50 miles to Elko to replace the windshield. But I can't use the winshield wipers at the moment, so I can't leave until it stops snowing.

This probably doesn't matter all that much to most of you, but I promised a few people that we'd be lying in a gutter outside JJ's Pie Co. right about now, so I thought I'd give an explanation for why that's not the case (or at least why I'm not there to keep them company).

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Father time knock, knock, knocking on Garrett's door (of music compilations and feeling old)

Age started catching up with my yesterday.

Now I feel the terrible discomfort and oncoming brittleness of experience and the weariness of time.

I happened to turn 23 yesterday, but that really wasn't the reason. Considering that the average college student doesn't move away from home until 28 years old, 23 is the new 13.

It's also not due to my growing susceptibility to the pains of alcohol abuse. Where in my younger days I managed to drink myself silly mostly unscathed, now anything over five beers is going to be painful.

But that's not it either - mostly I figure my newfound haggardness is well earned. Plus, Excedrine Migraine is the hangover wonder cure that nobody seems to know about (You're welcome Ty, Brian, Scott, Teal, and Dad).

Actually, I'm even cool with 75 percent of the people I went to high school with being married or having kids. Whatever makes them happy.

No, I fear my new sense of oldness (Not technically a word, you say? Whatever, I do what I want) is much more serious. It appears my generation has finally fallen victim to the Crappy Rock Compiliation CD.

You know what I'm talking about, those horrible mix CD's meant to make a quick buck by stirring up a sense of teen nostalgia in the aging masses trying to relive a bit of their youth. And I'm not talking the NOW collections or the countless dance compilations with fairly recent hits. I'm talking the horrible, not sold in stores, only aired during daytime television compilations.

As an insolent youth, I made fun of the damn things. I'd usually give my dad the old "Holy Crap, Dad, do you believe in miracles? Because now you can get CCR, the Beegees, Joe Cocker, and Cream on the same disc, and you don't even have to hold one of those crappy tape recorders up to a fuzzy radio anymore."

So I was flipping through the channels yesterday when I noticed the screaming face of Chester Bennington screaming into a microphone, which was followed by the brooding, bald head of Aaron Lews, which was followed by the mug of dork-lord Rivers Cuomo. It was like getting stabbed in the heart.

Apparently some dick decided it would be cool to go through my high school CD collection and put together some crappy mix for the benefit of jobless, daytime TV watchers everywhere.

There were some terrible bands on this thing. Sum 41, Linkin Park, Staind, Fuel, Eve 6, Collective Soul, and Korn were there (I'm absolving the Stone Temple Pilots, the Foo Fighters, and Weezer from the rest of the crap on the album). Basically the album was one Hootie and the Blowfish song short of being the worst collection of music in the history of rhythmic sound.

The problem is that the CD might as well have been called "The Soundtrack to Garrett Hylton's Life." That's right, I listened to all that crap in high school, which reminded me of exactly how uncool I was back in the day.

I'd like to think of my current music taste as refined and eclectic - I listen to everything from AFI to Rise Against to Jack's Mannequin to Led Zep and the Stones to The Clash to Daft Punk and Seal (and CCR, Joe Cocker and Cream, as it were).

But not so long ago I was supporter of what I like to call Erectile Dysfunction Rock. Being reminded of that makes me fill the need to use a cane to get around.

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, "Beggining Flash Game Programming for Dummies"

Line: "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be so eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends." (Gandalf, the raddest fucking wizard in the history of fantasy literature)

From the iPod: "Bittersweet Symphony" by the Verve (some things never change)

Latest Movie: "Donnie Darko" (better when I was in high school, but still good)

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Saved...sort of (The don't wear pink in Northeastern Nevada epilogue)

My cousin Amanda and best friend Kyle (they're doing it) rescued me from my purgatory of boredom yesterday.

In honor of me turning 23, which officially happens Tuesday, Amanda picked me up in Wells and took me back with her to Elko for a celebration. Bless her, because I was starting to get batty and my mom's eyeliner was starting to look like a fun way to spend 25 minutes.

Anyway, Elko's not exactly the most happening place in the world, but there are enough bars to make things work (plus, the company was good).

The only problem was that I forgot my surroundings. You see, Elko County might be the reddest county in all of America (lets just say the gun-to-computer ratio still errs on the side of violent). This isn't a bad thing necessarily, because there are a lot of really good, caring people where I grew up, but they aren't always the most open-minded.

So wearing my favorite color, which happens to be pink, wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

We had just watched a football game at a bar when the waitress changed the telivision to figure skating. In all my years of watching sports at bars (two, to be exact), I had never seen the dreaded football to figuring skating switch.

Doing my best to be a smart ass, I said "Triple axle, triple axle" (with about as much enthusiasm as James Gandolfini at a fitness convention) as some Oksana Baiul lookalike glided down the ice. Kyle laughed. Amanda laughed.

The rest of the bar, which consisted of a few cowboys sitting next to us, heard my comment (apparently my voice carries), saw my pink shirt, went dead silent, and proceeded to stare at me for about ten seconds, at which point I realized my mistake.

After a few minutes of good-natured badgering, we spent the rest of the night joking around with them (turns out one of them is an expert of the pirhouette). The highlight came at the end of the night when, after exchanging good-byes with out newfound friends, one of the guys (with a hot spouse) came up and said "Hey, I'm just trying to get my wife drunk so I don't have to have sex with her tonight."

And that's why I'm against marriage.

Currently Reading: "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, "Beggining Flash Game Programming for Dummies"

Line: "I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

From the iPod: "Strawberry Fields Forever" by The Beatles

Latest Movie: "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" (Do I even need to say anything)

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God I love this town

I haven't worn pants in four days.

I don't especially have anything against pants, I just don't really like wearing them (most of you are probably more aware of that fact than you ever cared to be).

And I don't have to wear pants, you see, because I don't have a car to leave the house. Even if I wanted to, there's not exactly much to do in Wells anyway, and most of my friends are already gone, so it's not like I really have a reason to leave. So I haven't, not since New Year's.

Actually, I haven't even gone outside except for about an hour and a half yesterday (I was wearing shorts) when I decided I was going to build a Guest House Ice Cave to stay in for a few nights. I gave up because it was cold.

Other than that I'm just laying around my parent's house watching old episodes of Family Guy and Scrubs and wondering if my dad would get mad if I put in a 20 foot firepole in our living room to slide down from my room (and to keep up my strippercise, of course).

I'm just spending another day living the dream in Wells, Nevada.

Currently Reading: "A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway, "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R Tolkien

Line: "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

From the iPod: "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven

Latest movie: MASH (classic)

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Passing the new year in Wells

It's just after midnight and I'm sitting in my bedroom watching Dick Clark's show.

I spent the night celebrating my aunt's birthday, which was fun up until midnight when everyone went to bed.

I passed the actual New Year stone sober with no random (but hopefully cute) female to make out with. I intended to do something about that (more the sober thing than the female thing) when I got back from my aunt's house, but the bars were pretty much closed too.

Lamest New Year ever? Affirmative.

So here my New Year's resolution - never spend another New Year's Eve sober. Ever.

Currently Reading: "A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway, "Don't Make Me Think" by Steve Krug

Line of the Day: "All thinking men are atheists."

From the iPod: "Millennium" by Robbie Williams

Latest Movie: "Knocked Up" (hits a little close to home)

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