Articles by lucas

Not many memories of my childhood are clear, but of the few, I can always remember Royals games broadcast on AM radio, Denny Mathews and Fred White, with producer-engineer Don Free (I don’t know how to spell his name, I just always heard it). There was no more peaceful, thank you god for making this earth feeling than to sit in the little room Katie and I shared at the north end of the trailer house, scents of hashbrowns and random dead cow cooking in the muggy bright kitchen floating in, window open, screen up, holding the antenna to the frame to get a good signal.

the royals lost alot back then. it got even worse these last few years, but this year it’s starting to look up. Still, there’s no attachment to the players like before…my imagination is dimmed by the pictures and video and sportscenter highlights (and lowlights). I remember thinking about how Bob Hamelin must be the biggest stud ever, like a left-handed GI Joe. the first time I saw a picture, I was so let down. massive 70’s wirerimmed glasses, cheeks that seemed to house pancakes, and a gut like the Babe himself. pretty comical how i pictured my heros, so perfect. it seems now that the role models i look too are quite the opposite, chronically flawed in some way or another, perfectly human.

but zach Greinke is about to put the mariners away to go 3-0 on the season. Brian Bannister won his 3rd game of the season yesterday…

I like my AM radio.

There are few things I want to do at 4 am. The majority of that minority of activities revolve around the recharging of the body, but I’ve been having horrible nightmares and I can’t tell if they’re real or not. Isn’t that a sign that things in your life need a bit of a change, when nightmares and reallife are indistinguishable. Anyway, in my dream I was in Oberlin, Kansas (site of the last Indian raid) and my pickup box was destroyed, as well as my toolbox being stolen. I awoke with murder on my mind.

I wanted to blog last night, but couldn’t login. I am able to know, so I can share those valuable tidbits I was so excited to put to press…

I would be a horrible ninja. Not good at all. Not just because I have bad balance, but I like guns and bluejeans, not knives and pajamas. I really like ninjas though, especially the name…ninja. badass. that should be included in a band name, like Noize Ninjas…I guess it’d be a good name for a rap group.

Other professions/proper nouns I would be unsuccessful at…woman. Would not make a good woman. Way too butch. I barely pass grooming standards for men, and lets face it - the bar is set pretty low.

I am almost done writing the lyrics for a new song called Patience. It’s in the category of what I call my “real songs”, which means it has minor chords in it (B minor - suck it!!) real words describing real feelings (touches me, it does…right there) and….hold it, hold it…it has a bridge. No, I’m not kidding, it does. Seriously. And let me tell you, that makes it a pain in arse to sing, but I do it because I care.

I read online from some hocus-pocus Barney songwriter that the first step to writing a song is to find a 1 to 5 word phrase, saying, etc for a title, and then to build a song around it. And this retard also said that good music isn’t written from what you know or have experienced, it comes from what you imagine or see in your mind. I think the idea follows the tradition of naming children at birth and then watching them grow into the name. See, it does make sense….if my folks had named me following my exploits of youth and decided that my label should reflect my actions, I would have been called Dammit. Also a good name to work in for a band…String Ninja, Dammit Cowboy. Sounds a bit esoteric. oh well.

I’m backing off my drinking. Way back. Went to the bar last night and drank somewhere in the area of 13 gallons of water to wash down 1 beer. I’d like to see my abs again someday before physiology deems it a no-go.

 Surf Ninjas…Dammit…that one’s taken.

I have my own website, but I’m not smart enough to run it yet. someday soon. In the meantime, I like that Mr. T takes the heat for my opinions, if there is any.

OH! My first (possibly only) compliment of ‘08. Last night, so bored and wanting to just hang out with me, I went to rent a movie. Approached the counter, didn’t say a word. Girl behind counter asks for my ID, I flip open wallet. She looks at it, nonchalantly starts typing in her computer, and says “Only person to ever write for the Collegian that I could stand reading”. What made me happy was that her appearance was nothing like the readership I “supposedly” wrote to  - bleached blonde hair to match her skin, piercings and tatoos galore. I was pumped. I like the weirdos. They make great friends.

 I think my hamburger and hashbrowns have settled. to the rec I go.

Charlie Wilson’s War….

good flick.

You thought that was all I planned to say?

It was, so this is unplanned, and should merit accordingly.

From a cinematic standpoint, this reel is the equivalent of a Lincoln Town Car. Classy, with plenty of angles and a comfortable feel, and absent the gratuitous widescapes and moving sound scores we would be subject to if Angelina Jolie had been cast. Well done and not overdone. Excellent job.

Tom Hanks has never been a favorite of mine, and I can’t put my finger on why but I believe it has something to do with him not being able to put a finger on the character he assumes. Somehow I can never believe fully his performance, yet as Charlie Wilson his character was not so extreme that my pre-bias took hold. Just as the camera-play went, so did Hanks performance: thankfully lacking the extremes of reticent monologues and over-the-top charades that makes for great quotes but ruins the context.

On to the part I do enjoy - Philip Seymour Hoffman has become my favorite actor as of late, and he was perfectly cast in the CW’sW. Hoffman play Gust, an underwhelming-looking CIA agent who seems to be a matchmaker, the guy who puts together the pieces to make the puzzle. Picture Gust as the second baseman who bats in front of the homerun hitter, stealing signs, pulling the hidden ball trick, flustering the baserunners with comments about their wives promiscuity. He plays the part perfectly.

Julia Roberts is in the movie too. I don’t find that too important, so that’s all I’ll say.

In t-minus 15 minutes I will be firmly seated in Willard Hall, trudging through my final final of the semester. I am currently doing all I can to delay the inevitably of failure i.e. blogging.

In roughly 2 hours, Lance Staggenborg and I will have declared war upon our livers. Battleground: TW’s bar. Casualties: shots and kegs. We invite allies of any creed.

Sayonnarra

your homie, Maddy

word on the street is we did a satisfactory job at RC McGraws this Saturday. The whole shindig was a solid set up - plenty of drink, gold-plated chicken strips, beautiful ladies…it was as though Busta and Colonel Sanders teamed up for a music video. I’ve purchased a larger stocking this year - hopefully Santa drops a Martin in it. If not, I’ll introduce lyme-laden ticks into the reindeer population. I don’t mind playing dirty.

All hail unsecured wi-fi.

We walked in the door and saw well-worked posters from Budweiser heralding the Dec. 1 show of “Aaron Traffas”. No Lucas Maddy mentioned…this is Aaron’s website, so it’s only fair I’m excited to play tonite - I believe a fair contingent of Norton-rooted folks may be in the audience, big shout out to Tim Sprigg for promising to come up and play “Battlefield” a break-up, get back together song he and I wrote over Thanksgiving break. The Christmas tree is up and the fireplace is lit…

lock and load.

I sit, dripping wet, attempting to conjure wisdom and philosophy. Aaron, Diane and I leave for Hays, America in 10 minutes, and I just got out of the shower. Haven’t packed a bag, loaded the big fiddle…but I did watch Boston Legal. As a songwriter, I take joy in passing along nuggets that inspire.

At the end of season 2 a cancer-afflicted former love affair returns, unannounced, seemingly cured. He proposes to the apple of his eye, candidly. He had left her before, apparently to die in peace and alone, so as not to subject her to his suffering.

I’m a big fan of people doing great things because they’re living, not because they’re dying. Bonus points to the BL.

I’m out, gotta do my makeup. Roadies will be here soon.

Maddy

Good song by Cake.

I’m not cool like everyone else - don’t have my own website. Might look at that…don’t have much wisdom to espouse though.

Here’s my entry…never had a place to post this where millions would see it…oh yeah.

I’ve a body scraped and scarred through the toil of many years. And I’ve a face of weathered lines, eroded by frightened tears. I cried for all who suffered life and pledged to free them from their strife. Though average I have been superb and conquered all my fears. And still stand I on Bedloe Isle to greet and persevere, as those who pass under my torch face a new frontier.

My sister Justice, lacking sight, still judges all in black and white. But over my shoulder, as I face East, I see you all from most to least. And so do those who bore your folks, who came here with the highest hopes, ambition, bravery, courage too: they see what has become of you. A fatter nation day by day who works to find the easy way and shame the work of yesterday it took to slowly cultivate the land, which we now desecrate. You burn the flag for which I stand without fear of reprimand, and then claim rights to pornography and for your recourse come to me? You say I give you liberty allowing you this ease to sleaze; but when the twins behind me fell you told me I could go to hell for “profiling” those I don’t know well and searching caves in hopes to quell a thirst for blood for just a spell. But somehow it seems quite unfair when you say you don’t really care, it’s now become my cross to bear. And from the right they pull so hard to proceed with harsh and cruel regard but on my left they soon discard my face that has become so scarred after countrymen were charred and marred because we had let down our guard. Who came on ships, under my gaze, would see you now with hearts ablaze. The sons, of those who left before beliefs forced them to fight a war, are hence sent forth from friendly shore to settle someone else’s score but in their homes some are ignored and others yet are much abhorred which leaves them not but to implore to justify their awful chore.

And if you favor this terrorist bout do you do anymore than pout and pathetically piss and moan about injustice as you tout the ways of the peaceful and the most devout, which get the benefit of the doubt even as they kill, without emotion other than to shout “America must be taken out!”

Surely something can be done: cloudy skies but hide the sun and in the past things were more fun and no one bothered anyone. Right?

My thoughts have become quite uncertain – did not we fear the Iron Curtain? And in Desert Storm we fought Saddam; before that it was Vietnam. And Korea, battles in the sea, preceded by monstrosities in Germany. And the tearful duty of the Enola Gay. And when this paper you have read will it be used to make a bed with just my words to pad your head?