angel face.

Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes I click on that little "next blog" icon found on most Blogger hosted pages. And sometimes, not very often, but sometimes I am pleasanty suprised by what I find. In the past the little link has lead me to some of my current must reads, inspiration for posts, and most recently, it has lead me to tears ... tears of joy and humanity.

This is the face of an angel:

Although I am quite pressed for time this morning on account of a wedding later in the day and an unruly client, I am only able to pass on what I've had the chance to assertain:

1. mom of 39 children [most of whom seem to have been rescued from abusive pasts].
   
2. lives in an expansive house whilst raising said children.
3. freuent references to peter pan.
   
4. quiet advocate for healthy adoption.

In my snap judgement, Cindy is one of the good guys. My heart swells for humans like her. I cannot wait to learn more.

beer goggles.

The morning after a booze filled night I can usually count on having a skinny day. And by skinny day I mean that in spite of the bags under my eyes and the overwhelming odor of booze eminating from my pores, I can don any article of clothing in my closet(even the little red nautilus T-shirt that I got for $1 but makes my chest look like a million bucks) and look like I actually USE my gym membership .

Fortunate as I am, my best friend (and registered drinking buddy) is a proud member of the medical community and a regular at drug company funded dinner parties which are shamelessly disguised as "Continuing Ed. Lectures". Point is: she knows stuff about medicine, and what she doesn't know she learns while eating $130 meals at the city's best eateries.

Resulantly, she passes on information that she thinks I may find useful; information that makes us feel both normal and passive to the ways of the human body (i.e.: increased amounts of testosterone are to blame for premature hair loss--yeah that's right, I'm a fucking testosterone FACTORY!). In a recent "course", she came into possession of the knowledge that alcohol works in some fancy-pants chemical reaction that actually blocks the production of some other chemical that makes you retain water. Blah. The point here is that when you're hitting the can every five minutes next Friday night, know that you are excreting all of your body's H2O reserves and not the six Bud Lights that you consumed while whatching Paula Adbul self-destruct on Idol.

This little chemical reaction is the reason for the aforementioned "skinny day". And we, here at the brain*of*brian, have developed this easy to use reason to drink (if you're ever in a bind for an excuse to drink on a random post-season-finale Wednesday night!):

"I have got to fit into those pants tomorrow if I ever hope to get that raise/job/piece-of-ass that I've been angling for. I better help things along by getting rid off all of that extra water this old bod is carting around. Who wants a shot?!"

You're welcome.

Drink for happiness. Drink for health. And, goddamn it, drink to get into your skinny jeans!

thinking chair.

While some thinkers claim that their best ideas and theories are hatched on the porcelain throne, but today I realized that my thinking chair is located behind the wheel of my 2005 Chevy Aveo. Perhaps it is because I spend at least forty hours a week in this chair. Perhaps it's because I am easily distracted from the mundane task that is my morning commute. Or perhaps, it is because of the thought provoking chaos coming from my satellite radio in the form of Howard Stern and company.

While others question Stern's relevance, a few million people are in on what is really happening from 6am to 11am in Studio 69: a compelling, live-action, no-holds barred broadcast of a fish tank containing every imaginable variety of crazy. This is sociology at it's rawest and finest.

It can be argued that Howard's only talent is exploiting social lepers such as Eric The Midget or Sioban (the tranny female in search of a man to punch her new, post-op v-card). Such an argument is transparently baseless and most likely the product of someone who has hear only two or three cumulative hours of the show. The true genius of Howard is his ability to attract such nuts and present them in a non-threatening and entertaining fashion.

Let's face it: the crazies flock to Stern like Drag Queens to a clearance sale at the local Wigs-R-Us.

Crazies like Elegant Elliot Offen; any fan of Howard Stern is already all too familiar with Elegant and his audacious, auspicious, outlandish antics.

I am addicted to listening to anything Elegant has to say, which this morning on my commute was nothing short of vile and obscene. Without going into detail, Elegant is a verbose character whose talent is over-embellishment all aspects of his [severely warped] reality. He cuts up any of his offenders with adjectives delivered in triplicate; and this Crazy is QUICK. Offen has the quickest, albeit misdirected, misquoted, and misogynistic, wit of any comedian in the spotlight. Although at times obnoxious, I still cannot bring myself to change the dial of my Sirius.

This morning, while Elegant was off on a rant about his dramatic 3 million dollar heist, I found myself in the middle of a revelation: Shouldn't I be a sociologist?

I can't get enough of reality TV. I can sit in a coffee shop people-watching for six hours. I gladly pay airline ticket prices just to sit in a terminal and observe human interaction. Damn it, I should be getting paid for this!

...I need to modify the resume.

as an aside:

Dear Hot-man-driving-the-blue-BMW-on-the-190N-this-morning-about-8:45,

I am the dude you were checking out in the silver Aveo. And yes, I will have your babies.

Sincerely,
your future ex-husband.

gaying it up.

At the request of a recent visitor, I'm fixing the "you're blog doesn't look gay" problem:

Anymore hang-ups?

what i think: people in planes

As I sit here listening to the new People in Planes disc, I'm motivated to present all/both of my faithful readers with the inaugural installment of My Opinion of the new [insert band name here] Album. (Worry not, I'm sure this new regular feature will go the way of "read this now". In other words, don't get attached.)

My Opinion of the new People in Planes Album:
As Far as the Eye Can See...

It is my opinion that a band should look like the music they create. For example: Iggy Pop looks like Iggy Pop music as much as Britney Spears looks like Britney Spears music.

With the recent surge in pop flavored punk, this tried and true look/sound rule has been blurred, bastardized, and neglected. I can't even express in words how disappointed I was to find a photo of four pretty boy lads on the inside cover of the latest Hard-Fi disc. While the Hard-Fi boys don't produce music that necessitates moshing, their sound is much less polished and wholesome as their camera ready good looks (listen and buy some Hard-Fi stuff here).

In just the opposite fashion [pun intended], I was pleased (to the point of jumping up and down) when I opened As Far as the Eye Can See... and found a fold out shot of five pikeys who've been seemingly dragged, just in time for their major label debut's photoshoot, from a) post bender sleep or b) a seedy bar on Londons south side .

The honesty of the picture is found in their umkept faces, seventies porn star hair/ mustaches, and in the cigarette smoke curling around their heads; an honesty that is matched ten-fold by the noise found on the disc which it accompanies.

Peter Roberts, the quintets wordsmith, provides a haunting script to accompany a sound that rivals all current Birt-pop mainstays. Roberts, however relinqueshes fronman duties to PIP's second in command, childhood friend Gareth Jones. And Jones does not dissapoint.

Emotions ranging from betrayal and vengance to alltruism and romance are delivered inside elegantly simple lyrics. On For Miles Around (Scratch to Void) Jones confesses his distrust: "I have issues/With good news/I don't trust/Them or you"; reaching a frustrating conclusion that no one expects anything more than his heartbreak: "Why is no one that bothered?/Zilch to do/For miles around/No one buit you."

With lyrics like "I don't want you to try and save me" (If You Talk Too Much), PIP proclaim that they are setting their own rules, but later owning up to the truth that they are but a machine. Penny paints a short and succinct self-defaming portrait of the author as a professional emotional barrier builder: "You're evidence/Of how an electric fence/ Is a breakthrough/In self defense/I'm a machine/ But I'm a funny colour."

Adding to the paunch and human honesty found in Robert's lyrics is a band which is not afriad of bare sounds and not too punk for a synthesizer hooks. And PIP do make brilliant use of Ian Russel's keyboard talents; With deft fingers not heard since Supertramp and 70's porn, Russel, who was added to PIP's roster on a suggestion by Eye's producer Sam Williams, leaves the role of keyboard-as-backup-to-the-lead-guitar to the pop princesses of top forty radio.

Although laden with parenthetical song titles, AFATECS... is a stand out album. The boys in People in Planes back up their punk boy rock look with music that matches, haunting lyrics, and talent to keep them aflight for some time. This is, in my opinion, a MUST hear. (buy AFATECS...)

new work.

Burried in the first twenty or so pages of just about every magazine on the newstand is a regular feature titled something along the lines of "In the Numbers". The gist of the "article" is to offer a series of facts in statistical form. One can only assume that the intent of such a piece lies in one or more of the following:

1)to sparking conversation in akward social settings,
2)to reveal inadequecies and falts in humanity forcing a call to social action,
3)to fuel the ever-deteriorating attention span of America, and/or
4)to maintain an undefeated Trival Pursuit record.

If memory serves, it was in an instalment of Details that I first read the statistic that the average college graduate will change jobs at least once every two to five years. The underlying message here had something to do with a decrease in employee loyalty. I'm sure this directly relates to the aforementioned attention span issue, but does not, however relate to the intent of this post.

I'm switching careers.

Not so much that I'm switching, but trying to find something that concentrates my interests and talents. All of the elements that I love about my current job are diluted and lost in the muck of administrative details.

I love being in front of people, advocating rights and services, educating people, planting seeds that will grow into a healthy skepticism, and leading a team of passionate and dedicated professionals.

Wow. How is that for a shotgun resume?

So for what it's worth, if there are any readers that are searching for a team leader that is dedicated to expanding tolerance and educating the public on GLBT and HIV issues, shoot me an email and I'll get my resume right out to you.

Or... I could do record reviews for a living. In my outsider's opinion, those guys have the sweetest gig. They sit around listening to advance copies of the latest ear candy and then get paid to put thier opinions into 200 words or less.

More to come....

the killer.

Date conversation that will not result in a second date:

I've only ever killed three people.

Before you pass judgement on me, and you will pass judgement on me, let me get a few things out in the open. Let's just say I'm evening the playing field:

1. You eat meat. In a fair world meat eaters should be called what they truly are: killers. Whether or not they died at your hands, the cattle that will eventually make it's way to your backyard BBQ in the form of ground chuck was, at one time, a living breathing mamal -- A mamal that was slaughtered for your enjoyment. See? Killing for enjoyment. In my opinion, you're already way lower on the moral aptitude scale than I, but I am getting ahead of myself.
2. Those shoes? What are those shoes made of? Skin. They are made of skin. Can't say that I am wearing the epidermis of any of my victims on my feet. And don't try to feed me the line about leathers' being the by-product of your meat eating follies, because I refuse to get into the whole "chicken or the egg" debate as it relates to murder.
3. Unless you're one of the recently converted Anti-Bush constituants, you probably supported efforts to find weapons of mass distruction. The truth here is that until a few weeks ago 78% of this country "approved" the way Bush et. al. were doing things. It's a shot in the dark, but I'll take my chances on saying that a good you are/were in that majority. Relating this to murder: guilty by association, my friend. Unless you are blind, Catholic, or a blind faith Catholic, you should have been noticing the death occurring in our names; Well, at least the names of the Bush/War supporters. I say this makes you a murderer.

I could go on.

But the fact here is that I've only ever killed three people.

And the good news is that only one is sueing me.