Stupids

I've come to the conclusion, after reading an article in Reader's Digest, that famous people were never meant to talk. They should just walk around being beautiful - but being silently beautiful - because the majority of them need to go back to kindergarten and learn how to be nice, they need to go back to high school and remember what it was like to be a normal, hormonal teenager, and they need to go back to college and actually go to class this time.

A picture of Jennifer Garner, smiling sweetly with a slightly tilted head (the Sear's pose) is posted next to her quote:
"It's not a bad thing, is it, to be strong in some ways and fragile and vulnerable in others?"
Yes, Jennifer, it's a very bad thing... naughty naughty girl! You must either be completely strong and robotic and iron-fisted or delicate and emotionaly fragile like a wilted honeydew colored chrysanthamum.

Lance Armstrong, famous athlete (duh,) said this in The London Times:
"When I was sick, I didn't want to die. When I race, I don't want to lose. Dying and losing, it's the same thing." *Sigh... wow. I don't think I'll ever get to that point in athletics... although most of you can attest to the fact that even though sometimes when I don't jump as high as I could on the trampoline, I don't ever EVER let it win! I get right back on that thing and whip it. I WILL NEVER FAIL!

Anyway...

This extremely deep, thought-provoking quote was from Matthew Perry:
"While this door is closing, another door is opening. It's our job to go find that door." I don't mean to be overly cynical folks, but haven't a million parents said that to their kids for as long as the earth has been in existence? I bet even before they had doors, people were saying it. I can picture young indian mother Wanatikitichi telling her depressed daughter, "When another hut falls over because we didn't make it right, another one will be made... right this time... and it won't fall over... hopefully."
Or what about, "While this door is closing, the back door is opening, because this door opening causes a suction in the house and opens the back door." I can picture my dad saying that.

Anyway, the question is, do celebrities think that these things are so original or so profound just becuause THEY thought them? and it should be RE-quoted and printed in the Reader's Digest? Whatever.

I'll end with this quote from Dolly Parton:
"It costs a lot of money to look this cheap."
We can all learn a lesson in self-value from this one.

This is Amy: I tweaked this picture a little to make it a little trippier. Doesn't she have cool eyes? 

This is me pretending to dj... I have to admit I look pretty much like the coolest dj ever. 

We be Trip'in

Greetings all of my favorite people, the people who take a few moments out of their lives to read my blog. Kudos to you all, if you have a blog, I read it too. Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!


-- -- -- Trip'in --- --- ---


The are seven of us.

We weren't always together. I guess you would have to say we found each other. A couple of us were friends in groups of twos or threes and over time we joined to form Seven. What a seven it is.

It's gotten to the point beyond casual. You know yourself, you can be just exactly who you want to be with your close family, you can be as weird or as quiet or as loud as you want and they won't think any less of you. That's a good feeling; knowing that you don't have to second-guess a random outburst or thoughtless gesture; knowing that you won't be judged or critiqued on what you look like or how you come across or anything like that. Know when you wake up in the morning no one will look at you and say, "yuck".

But it's beyond that - it's past that point with us. It's to the point past stereotypical "close friendship". It's to the point where, even if I tried to stay away from these people, I couldn't - I love them all, I'm drawn to them. And I know that no matter where life will take us all, whether it be closer together or far away from each other, I will forever be connected to them.

There are times when I think about that; the moment that will cause a lasting impression to be melted into my mind: Someone leaves. Another moves far away forever... Another moves the opposite direction...Another takes a job in Europe or some other far off place...Another, another, another...and there we all are - all apart. I dread that moment.

I don't know if it will happen like that, maybe it won't. But life is mysterious and confusing who can really tell? I know in one way or another life will lead us apart, but like I said before, life lived apart will still be together, because we are The Seven.

Let me move on. I don't mean to be emotional (which I am) or over the top (which I am) or even unnecessarily pessimistic (which I sometimes....dang) and I don't want this blog to be really "inside joke-ish" so let me move on to more entertaining things; for, let's be honest here, the only reason you come here is to laugh!... so I'll try not to disappoint you.

***Names have been changed in the following story to protect identities***

I went on a road trip a little while ago. There were only six of us Seven there. We missed dear Gretta terribly. Actually her name will be Lorally for this story... no, Laura... yeah, I like that better. Laura. We missed Laura terribly.

7:30AM Saturday
My alarm clock (my cell phone) goes off. It's buzzing and chiming and all I want to do is jump off my tall bed, pick it up and then smash it to bits on the floor (Groundhog Day anyone??) Stupid thing. I peel myself out of bed and roll to the bathroom where I almost fall asleep while soaping up. (Don't you hate that term 'soaping up'? It sounds like a really old-school book depicting people who used to bathe once a week (Saturday nights) in metal washbins.) Anyway, I didn't fall asleep, so I got on out of the shower and threw on some clothes. Then I tried to eat something, but "eating" and "before 9AM" don't go too well together for me, soI ended up consuming the amount of calories equal to a glass of water.

8:02AM
Nusheema's car pulls up. I walk outside looking like I used to look when I went to highschool... disheveled hair, rumpled clothes, puffy eyes. All I could think of was getting into that car and soothing my soul to the soft sounds of Delilah. Ahhhh... I opened the door. "Let me see you 1, 2 step! I love it when you 1, 2 step!" Whoa. B96 greets me with a bump...sensory overload.

8:30AM
There are Four of us now, pulling up outside Amber's house. No, I don't like that name.. how about Angel... yeah, that's better. No......... Amy. yeah, Amy. We pulled up outside Amy's house, jumped in her car and started our journey.

9:15AM
Miguel and I have some seriously close time. The back seat of a Mitsubishi (that sounds like some sort of sushi) Lancer is not what one might call Extra Super Deluxe Roomy, so we got to know each other reeeeal well. But it all works out, because Miquel is the brother I never had, and to him I'm the... uhhh, weird cousin he never had. (Oh, man!) Anyway, we like being together so even those reeeeally close moments suited us just fine.

11:00AM
Rest stop. You know the type, the shady trucker rest stops... a building consisting of two bathrooms and a lot of fat truckers. Sometimes there's a family from Montana... the dad is shouting at the two little kids to "go potty" and then get into the SUV. Oh, and there's always one of those really quiet caretaker people rustling around in the background, peeking out from behind a bush or cleaning a window here or there.

While we were stopping, Mike picked up an "18 Wheeler Singles" magazine which, before then, I never knew existed. Let me tell you, we had a good laugh over that paper. I brought it home to show my family (who were pretty creeped out by it too) but I don't think they ever read the one entitled "Sexy Grandma seeks sexy Grandpa" (that's not a joke, I have it at my house.) But enough of that...... yuck yuck yuck. (PS. If I'm ever old, single, a hick, and a trucker, remind me never to put an ad in "18 Wheel Singles" OK? Tell me to go marry my fuselage. Thanks.)

12:30PM
We arrive in Moorhead and are greeted by our dear friend, Junip. We quickly go up to her dorm room and chill out...she has a nice dorm (with nice amenities too!) along with the picture perfect college campus. Cool. We play ping pong, watch TV and then do a mini tour of the school. Then we head out to dinner.

7:03PM
Try to imagine your favorite food. Try to imagine your least favorite body part. Now combine the two and you'll feel almost like Junip did at dinner. She found something SICK in her desert. It's so rude that I can't write it on this blog because this blog is rated PG13 and not R. Anyway, we had a good laugh over it and it ended up well because we now have another ridiculous memory tucked away.

8:15PM
The sign is green, very plain and in white letters reads: "Motel 75". We pull in and join the two other cars in the massive parking lot (the two cars were probably the owner's and only employee's cars). Walking in, we stomp the snow off our shoes and sacrifice Junip to the creepy man at the front desk. He is about 20, has a bowl cut, a scraggly makeshift beard and shifty, puffy red eyes. He looks up and says, "How many rusty knives---errrr, rooms, did you want?"

*It actually ended up being a nice hotel. Junip threw a little towel into the toilet for some reason...she's sometimes a bit freaky...but other than that, no damage was done to the hotel.

10:37PM
We all stared, breathless, as the Fear Factor host continued, "All you have to do is eat these crusty maggot larvae, swim through that pirranah infested nuclear waste, climb that 7,000ft electrical tower (surging with 4 kilowatts of power) and then simply paraglide down to this 3-ft target that is on this spinning jetty, meticulously balanced over the Pacific Ocean... Ready?"

That show is insane.

3AM

The doornob slowly spins with a creek. My eyes flutter open and my heart skips a beat. Someone is coming into my room. I try not to let my quivering nerves show through my typically-hotel valour blankets. A figure, dressed in black, moves farther into the room. The moon beams dance on the floor, hidden momentarily by the moving window shades. A beam of dim white light reaches his face. It's none other than the 20-year-old crust factory who was manning the front desk when we checked in. I lay still, completely still, watching him move slowly. He bent down over our luggage and began rummaging through it. He stood up quickly, something in his hand flashed dully, moonlight reflecting off of it. I heard the crunch of a wrapper and craned my neck off my pillow to see what he was doing. What...? Was he... no! It couldn't be..... yes! He was! He was eating a granola bar! He walked briskly but quietly to the door and closed it softly behind him. My heart slowed and my mind churned. I laid awake until 4AM, my only conclusion being his sheer hunger and need for nutrients forced him to our room because we were the only people in the hotel! I went to sleep feeling pity for him. Poor kid. They must not have too much food 'round these parts. (***This section of the story has been partially changed due to boring content, i.e. sleeping***)

8:27AM
"Boys..." The voice was faint at first as I began to be pulled from the warm weightlessness of sleep. "Boys..." The voice was a little louder now and more earnest. I was almost awake. "BOYS!!!!!" A punching fist met my thigh made sure I was good and awake. Amy stood by us, smiling sweetly. "My mom called... we have to go....... NOW."

We argued (obviously) about leaving, but in the end figured we should leave or either, A) Amy would punch us and pinch us to death, or B) her mom would invent timetravel, morph into our room, rescue her baby, and then destroy us for our foolish insolence. (Her mom can be known to go to great extremes to protect her young.)

11:58AM
I'm standing at the pop refill machine at a McDonalds, filling up my cup and smelling dirty cat litter. "Does anyone else smell that?" A man next to me gives me a side-look and continues to fill up his cup. No one smelled it. I know there wasn't an option for filling your cup up with the new pop sensation "KittyKittySoda" so I concluded I must be going crazy. That is possible, I suppose.

1:10PM
I walk up to my front door and it swings open. My dad holds it open and then walks downstairs with barely a "hello". Hmm... I walk upstairs, my arms loaded with piles of stuff and I quickly find an empty spot in the living room to unload.
"Why are you home?..." Huh? It's so good to be home, isn't it? "I mean, we thought you were coming home later than this!" my mom looks at me inquisitively. I just shrug, "I'm home early."
We were gone for about 30 hours. It was a quick trip, but really enjoyable. It's amazing how many funny things can happen to a group of friends in such a short timespan! I love being with my friends, experiencing so many random and hilarious things. I look forward to summer when we'll camp (via indoor plumbing, heated pool, and complementary breakfast lunch and dinner,) when we'll stay up late laughing (9PM and I'm gone folks) and do the other random things we do like bike riding, bowling and terrorizing peticular adults.

This was long and took too much editing. I'm tired.

Talk to you all soon,
Jeremy.

Poems.

Wandering (Jeremy Dahlen 2005)

My mind wanders all day,
stopping here and there to think.

My eyes wander here and there,
stopping only to blink.

My heart wanders all around,
pausing when it sees,

Someone there who stops for it,
and listens to it's pleas.



Let's See (Jeremy Dahlen, 2005)

I look up to see,
something vast.

I never can tell the height, or depth,
Of the sky.

I can see the clouds that roam,
I can see the dust that blows.

I can see the floating bird,
or the diving hawk.

I can only see so much,
And I think I'm missing
more than I'm seeing.



Question (Jeremy Dahlen, 2005)

If I stop and wonder what I do,
I find myself just mad.

If I never stop and never think,
I always wish I had.

If I stop a little,
And think a little,
It would all be good.

But I wonder if I'll ever do,
All I know I should.



Books (Jeremy Dahlen, 2005)

It's sometimes vague and sometimes not,
for poetry is fickle,

When writing rhymes or you're forced to rhyme,
You must use words like "pickle".

So I don't know if I don't prefer,
A song or letter rhymless,

For rhymless works of art and word,
are sometimes viewed as timeless.

But writing is rarely good or bad,
it's somewhere in between,

And people whine and people gripe,
And sometimes school kids scream:

"I have to write a paper!"
"I have to write a book!"
"I have to go to class now!"
"My prof gave me 'the look!'"

But writer's young and writer's old,
don't think of that as bad,

For words and books and poems,
Lent you thoughts you never had.

What I Wouldn't Want to Be.

Winter strikes with brutal vengeance once again. It's mildly cold outside, we all anticipate a white Christmas, and then WAMMO - the temp drops to negative 5 and I start to think about tires.

The sound of car tires rolling on fresh snow has an very recognizable sound to it. It's kind of a long, drawn-out crunch that eventually fades as the car gains speed. For some reason in the winter I think about my car's tires. How hard and cold they are when I first start driving. They have been sitting all night it negative temperatures and have probably learned a slight imperfection of non-roundness. As they move , of course, they warm up and eventually run smoothly but sometimes I think about those cold, hard tires and how much... you guessed it, I would not want to be a tire.

There are plenty of things I wouldn't want to be: a woman, for instance. Women's bodies are so complex and confusing (along with their emotions) that it makes me crazy knowing them sometimes. I certainly would not know how to deal with being one... Luckily, I don't have to worry about that.

But there are other things I would never want to be. Inanimate objects, most the time. You've already heard one - a tire. But there are others... I think about obvious ones (underwear, toilet paper, syringes;) but there are less commonly thought of ones that occasionally mingle in my mind. Like a stick of deodorant. I would never ever want to be a stick of deodorant. Can you imagine being shoved into a warm armpit and then thinly applied to skin? The mere thought sickens me.

I also would not want to be the cold ceramic outside of a precipitous toilet. There's a little twist one this one, because I guess I wouldn't mind being the outside of a toilet as long as I was in a warm climate - but in the colder areas of the country, toilets "sweat" as I've heard it called, and I cannot imagine being cold and dewey and drippy 24/7.

I would not want to be a butt. Staring through the vastness of enclosed darkness, with only short, bright spurts of time to breath. Eww.

I would never want to be a pore on the face of a pubating teenager. I would live of life of an oily cavern - filled with toxins and too-much poorly placed make up (for the girls). I would never feel the fresh cool touch of water (if I was a boy). Overall, I would want to be scraped off (which eventually would happen due to the fact that bodies shed skin). I sure would not want to be a pore.

I probably would not want to be a pool filter. But I would want to be one of those signs BY a pool that says: "Welcome to our OOL - as you can see, there is no "P" in it - let's keep it that way."

I wouldn't want to be a shoe. I can picture it now - my face leaving and then hitting the ground with each step....ahhh...AGHH!....ahh....AGHH!... A pebble sticks in of the corner of my mouth and a wad of gum greets my nostril. Oh, and with my luck, I would be the shoe of a smoker and would always be putting out cigarette butts with my forehead. Boy that would sure beat all.

I wouldn't want to be you reading this article. You are probably wondering who deals my crack or if my dealer stopped dealing it. You are probably wondering why you are even on this site, when you could be doing something worthwhile, like breathing or eating of looking at something. So get out of here and do something worthwhile - but check back in a couple days; I hear that it's pretty dang uncomfortable to be a silk slip.

Quote of the week:

Quote of the week:

"Ever notice that people who are late are often much jollier than the people that have to wait for them?"