tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56962042011-04-21T19:13:34.446-05:00It's a mod mod mod mod worldA bi-daily diary by Austin's most notorious hipsterRhysnoreply@blogger.comBlogger551100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1089872252042162262004-07-21T00:50:00.000-05:002004-07-21T17:59:35.026-05:00I had my court trial on Friday for bumping a car and not leaving a note nearly a year and a half ago. For those of you out of the loop, a quick summary:
During SXSW 2003, Professor $1.50 wanted someone to drive her downtown in her car, so she wouldn't have to park and walk to Emo's in her heels. I had a music wristband too, so after dropping off the Prof, I searched fruitlessly for a spot, Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1086464267368984482004-06-05T14:37:00.000-05:002004-06-05T14:37:47.366-05:00Last night was perhaps the best night of my life. I did my first real cooking (as opposed to vegetable chopping) at Casa de Luz, making the corn bread. Wayo, the owner of Casa de Luz - if such a thing is possible - never gets seconds. But last night he got seconds on the cornbread and nothing but the cornbread. I defy anyone to prove that they ever got more satisfaction from anything they've Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1085858369580809362004-05-29T14:19:00.000-05:002004-05-29T14:19:29.580-05:00Last night, one of the volunteers at Casa - an older man who is trying to get a job there - asked me what I had been up to (and yes, he ended on a preposition so I feel obliged to do so here). Until he broke the silence, my mind had been awash in images and ideas and fascinating concepts, but of course my mind went dead the moment he spoke. So I robotically mumbled a few of the latest Rhys Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1084656362947761952004-05-15T14:10:00.000-05:002004-05-15T17:00:33.740-05:00So I'm rockin' the Pokemon T-shirt today (props to the Nicoolster!), a gaudy, bright red celebration of pop-culture irony that for some reason acts as a truth serum on everyone who sees it. "You there! You look like a man I can trust! Let me tell you what's been on my mind!" I've heard some pretty appalling confessions from people of all walks of life today (you name a gender, it's represented),Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1084393405613769472004-05-12T15:23:00.000-05:002004-05-12T15:23:25.613-05:00Somehow I can't escape so-called friends who see me as an all too stoic foil that needs to be humiliated and corrupted.
My Daily Texan friends got me first when they took it upon themselves to adultify my roller skating, showbiz pizza, cartoon watching 21st birthday party. And in fact, Carrie seemed downright disappointed when she learned that she and Joshua were not responsible for the first Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1082858692141895812004-04-24T21:04:00.000-05:002004-04-24T21:16:38.403-05:00I apologize. I've got the post birthday blues, exasperated by a niacin flush hangover, a sink full of dishes to clean, a dead cop to bury, flowers that need watering, and a dog that needs walking. Keep your expectations low.
Of all the wonderful people who dropped by my party last night (10+!!), only one was a complete stranger. Which is odd, since I overwhelmed Friendster's bulletin boards Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1081996349261854252004-04-14T19:34:00.000-05:002004-04-14T21:35:20.560-05:00See, it pays to check this blog every day.
I met death and beat him at chess today. It was at the corner of MLK and Pearl. ... No, no, I can't blog about something real. My brain is putting up barricades that don't seem to be there when I'm biking around, thinking. I'm trying, fans, but my mod synapsi aren't firing anymore. It's the florescent lights. Or maybe my new obsessions are pushing out Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1079454548478894562004-03-16T10:29:00.000-06:002004-03-16T10:32:10.920-06:00With the discovery of a new planet in our solar system, the folly of sending another robot to Mars became even more obvious. The outcome of all those billions of dollars? This finding: "There are no people on Mars." Well, I could have told NASA that. Point of fact, I did. But maybe NASA is too busy rocketing Legos into space to read emails that start off, "You idiots."
But now NASA is screwed. Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1078966281505051462004-03-10T18:51:00.000-06:002004-03-11T08:58:53.246-06:00One week after my mom's DWI persecution that ended with an unjust, hysterical "GUILTY!" (alas, the madness of crowds), I have a trial of the century of my own. Unlike my mom, however, I am representing myself. And I will win.
Exactly one year ago, after driving Carrie Anne downtown in her car for SXSW, I bumped a parked car and was ticketed for "failure to comply with duty when striking an Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-107766943824104332004-02-24T17:27:00.000-06:002004-02-24T20:38:59.233-06:00As a young one, I had a horrified fascination with Space Ace and Dragon's Lair, video games that jostled the complacent arcade world in the 1980s with their shocking new laser disc technology. Space Ace and Dragon's Lair looked and sounded exactly like Disney cartoons (in fact, that's basically what they were), a radical departure from the pixels and blips with which we'd grown so comfortably Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1077659101014041752004-02-24T15:38:00.001-06:002004-02-24T15:48:48.873-06:00Nope, sorry, I'm not going to update this blog until everyone has read my last entry IN FULL. That goes for all of you! Ooooh, I have so many great stories to tell. There's the mini high school reunion I had last weekend, the Oscar Slater controversy that is about to boil over, and man, the prophetic dream I had last night... and more! But you obviously don't care, or you wouldn't have given up Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1077067992035697002004-02-17T19:33:00.000-06:002004-02-22T20:46:44.233-06:00Ah, shut yer gaping maw. Bee products are vegan, and I don’t care what any a’ you hive huggers have to say. Especially Action for Animals, which last year held a farcical, thankfully symbolic, trial against Burt of “Burt’s Bees” fame.
The mock trial took place in a forest in Wimberly, next to a tree with a beehive, purportedly so the bees could see themselves vindicated. Brazos Price (at this Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1076561964393665512004-02-11T22:59:00.000-06:002004-02-11T23:01:39.403-06:00Elephant, Gus Van Sant's brilliant documentary about a real life school shooting, should be required viewing for all fetuses in the womb. And not because it's so good, though it certainly has its moments. I just think it's a good idea to get people acquainted with watching movies before they're born, because believe me, they're going to have to get used to watching movies eventually.Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1075931555901610792004-02-04T15:39:00.000-06:002004-02-04T17:02:19.390-06:00I leave Oldies for a month, a single month, positive that nothing would ever change in the rusty time capsule that is Austin’s only direct link to the past, its most fearless conduit for the best hits from the sixties and seventies. And what do I come back to on Monday? A cowardly, shiny, technologically savvy new world.
After a mere two fortnights, Oldies HQ now boasts a phone call editing Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1075501755128551382004-01-30T16:29:00.000-06:002004-01-30T16:42:53.373-06:00While going through my old computer files today, I discovered a short story I wrote called "Before Emily Arrived," about my friend Emily visiting her sister Camille, who was teaching English in Japan. It was the first in a three part epic series I wrote about Emily's misadventures in the so-called Dark Continent.
At least, I assume I wrote it. I hardly recognized it at all when I found it, and Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1075248685296156312004-01-27T18:11:00.000-06:002004-01-27T18:47:25.983-06:00It's Miles's birthday today, and I haven't mailed him any presents yet. I doubt he's surprised. Last year I was over 10 months late with his birthday presents! I'll do better this time, Miles -- you'll get 'em by Halloween, I swear!
For now, though, the best present I can offer is to besmirch the reputation of my blog, and the Internet in general, by writing something relatively nostalgic and Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1075142186860535562004-01-26T11:28:00.000-06:002004-01-26T12:51:09.750-06:00My last day selling books at the University Co-Op was fraught with the usual nostalgia and remorse that characterizes all last days.
Oh, if only I had smiled at the customers more, and joked around a little bit -- the time we spent together would have been so much lovlier! Would it have killed me to dash off a few sparklers like, "Advanced Neurology, huh? That looks like a quick read!" Or "Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1074663687784026152004-01-20T23:41:00.000-06:002004-01-21T01:11:57.966-06:00I finally accepted a few truisms about my life: I’m down and out. My time has passed. My glory days? Gone. It’s Skid Row for me, now and forever. It’s time to stop dreaming, and do the inevitable: hand myself on a platter to the new world order - corporate America. So, I got a weeklong temp job at the University Co-Op. I have reached an absolute bottom.
Joe worked there last semester, but when Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1073939918524220932004-01-12T14:38:00.000-06:002004-01-12T14:45:52.543-06:00Someone made a spoof of my blog. I just discovered it, but it's been going on for a couple of months now. I won't link to it -- it doesn't deserve that honor. I know, merely acknowledging its existence gives the fiendish spoofer some satisfaction. But I cannot let this crime persist without comment.
The cretin calls himself "Mr. Sloth," and his blog is titled, "Mod, Moulder, and Modest," Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1073514464857044432004-01-07T16:27:00.000-06:002004-01-08T13:06:40.123-06:00In 1996, The Dallas Observer published a fascinating feature on Harry M. T. Presten, the "Dorothy Parker of Garland," the man with the golden fingers, the director of Dallas film disasters like Honeymoon Terror, and my screenwriting mentor since I was 16.
The next week, Harry wrote them an angry letter, complaining that the article was preoccupied with his sexual orientation. But how could it Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1072944948793414422004-01-01T02:15:00.000-06:002004-01-01T19:56:35.623-06:00So I returned to Dallas, the land of oil, viciously competing vegetarian chinese food restaurants, shi'tzus that wake you up at 6 a.m., and old gay racist screenwriting instructors.
I'm just visiting, folks.
Despite the surprising proliferation of vegan food in Dallas and its suburbs, I've fallen for the line that Austin is the only tolerable city in Texas. The old saw in a nutshell: Houston isRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1071524937690505542003-12-15T14:30:00.000-06:002003-12-17T15:56:21.013-06:00Metaphorically, The Jim Carroll Band's "People Who Died" is a passionate, painful song about losing those closest to you. In actuality, though, "People Who Died" is about a sick, cold war obsessed maniac (Jim Carroll) slaughtering all of his friends during a bad LSD trip, and later refusing to take responsibility:
Sly was a commie, so I shot him in the head
I poisoned Bobby on the night that heRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1071258585161873732003-12-12T12:26:00.000-06:002003-12-12T14:27:37.483-06:00I feel like Sisyphus, that Greek myth who was condemned for eternity to hold the sun on his shoulders and run circles around the earth, and when the sun got too hot, he would have to scream "hot potato!," drop the sun, count to 100, and start all over again (this is what is actually happening when the sun appears to "set").
I know you're all finishing with classes and are sick of learning and Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1071028105883843962003-12-09T20:27:00.000-06:002003-12-09T22:11:59.340-06:00I apologize for not blogging yesterday. GSD&M so thoroughly dehumanized me yesterday that I lost all memory of ever being a person. I only vaguely remembered having a blog, and even then I thought it was called "Daily Rants and Ramblings from the Other Side." In my delusional state, I thought my blog was mostly about how girls only like nice guys like me as friends and always fall in love with Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1070837709616280422003-12-07T15:53:00.000-06:002003-12-08T10:13:22.513-06:00Last night at the Oldies Toys for Tots Sock Hop, I got a taste for what it was like to live in the 1950s.
First, a short history lesson. Rock and roll was born with the invention of the electric guitar in the late 1940s. The year 1950 saw the debut of Elvis, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, The Sex Pistols, The Who, Chubby Checker, Pink Floyd, James Dean, Led Zepplin, Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1069876434470157762003-11-26T13:53:00.000-06:002003-11-26T14:11:17.686-06:00Be careful what you wish for, Dallas-haters. You might just get it.
Now, I'm the first to admit that a long time ago I was once one of those snobby Austin residents who insist that Austin is the only Texas city worth living in. And, quite frankly, I still am. In fact, I'll go even further and imply that parents who raise their kids anywhere in Texas (save perhaps Austin) are commiting the most Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1068771765959020642003-11-13T18:20:00.000-06:002003-11-13T19:04:23.860-06:00For the past couple of years, I've harbored suspicions that acting may not be my one true calling. And this last week proved it. I'm just not fragile enough.
I recently got cast in a short film about a kid who goes crazy and shoots up his school. Fortunately for me, the 18 year old auteur behind this project hadn't heard of Gus Van Sant's recent feature length movie about a kid who goes crazy Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1066694081681410632003-10-20T18:48:00.001-05:002003-10-21T11:42:25.910-05:00This is part two2II of "The Man Behind the Fiery Curtain. Or, Four Austin Hipsters Venture Into the Bowels of Virtual Hell." If you haven't even skimmed Part I, don't dare read a word of this before you do. Cheat, and I'll see YOU in Virtual Hell! Bwaaaahaaaaaahahahahahaha!
Alors.
Joe and I had both seen Hell House--a brilliant documentary about a Pentecostal house of modern horrors in Dallas-Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1066598252546212372003-10-19T13:30:00.000-05:002003-10-20T12:21:54.390-05:00Saturday was Member Appreciation Day (MAD) at Wheatsville. As a business of some sort, Wheatsville can only show its appreciation in the form of consumable goods. Since it already offers those every day, on member appreciation day, everything is free. Anyone familiar with the tragedy of the commons knows all too well the chaos and destruction that should result from that poor policy decision. In Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1066513780054252122003-10-18T15:33:00.000-05:002003-10-18T16:53:19.053-05:00You know what I hate? Pet Peeves. I can't stand 'em! You should either hate everything or love everything. You can't have it both ways! "Oh, I only hate SOME things." Come on! And then people come up with a cutesy list of those selected things they hate. "Here are my pet peeves: cats, traffic, and bicyclers. I think I'm leaving some stuff out, but that's what really bugs me right now. What about Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1065827633309848682003-10-10T18:13:00.000-05:002003-10-10T18:20:13.943-05:00I have never worked at a restaurant. Perhaps this is because grizzled food workers always warn me that those who work in commercial kitchens become so disgusted by the realities of restaurant food preparation, they will never want to eat out again. I should have paid heed. After volunteering as a vegetable cutter at Casa De Luz today, I fear I am the latest grizzled casualty.
For those of you Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1065657921805807102003-10-08T17:48:00.000-05:002003-10-08T19:10:14.836-05:00Today, five different people (who asked not to be identified) separately asked me, “Hey, Rhys! Why did you vote for Schwarzenegger? You and he are so different!” This question is, regrettably, fraught with fallacious undertones. Why do you assume that I don’t have enough in common with Schwarzenegger to vote for him? Are you saying that I’m scrawny? If you are, why don’t you say it to my face?! IRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1065319845430019582003-10-04T21:10:00.000-05:002003-10-04T21:10:45.410-05:00In a recent post, I posed a question that was so rhetorical, it just begged to be answered. Hey, Doc, now that I’ve cured Restless Legs Syndrome… will I ever dance again? It looked grim. Now that I had my legs under control, dancing would be a matter of choice, not necessity. Dancing is considered by most to be a self-destructive, irrational act. If I actually stopped and considered what I was Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1064940988850730942003-09-30T11:56:00.000-05:002003-09-30T11:56:28.183-05:00Last night I saw Capturing the Friedmans, the one documentary released in American theatres this year. Last year, America’s one documentary was Bowling for Columbine, and the year before that, it was Real Cancun. Sometimes I wonder why so few documentaries get distribution. Could it be because America is so fake and corporate that we just can’t relate to movies about real people? No.
Ninety Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1064869372790552462003-09-29T14:49:00.000-05:002003-09-29T16:08:35.426-05:00In my last post, I tantalized you with the possibility of hearing more about Restless Legs syndrome, and the unintended benefits it had. Unfortunately, I seem to have cured it with a tonic so effective that I have wiped out not only Restless Legs Syndrome, but also any sympathy for the me of the past that was afflicted with this sleep-robbing malady.
There's nothing I love more than laughing atRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1064420286671205562003-09-24T10:29:00.000-05:002003-09-24T17:37:15.046-05:00And I thought *YOU* were a freak! Would you believe that *I*, the most devastatingly nihilistic hipster in Austin, have a... syndrome? Yeah, I bet you think I'm yet another Asperger Syndrome horror story. You probably also think that half your friends have Asperger's, don't you? Asperger's is one of those insidious syndromes with symptoms so universal that you can put anyone who is even slightly Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1064376264348504182003-09-23T22:44:00.000-05:002003-09-23T23:18:52.566-05:00I wish I had some spelt right now. Dude!
Man, I am so tired, I could eat a bed! Man!
Today I ate lunch and went to Royal and made dinner. Yum!Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1064178364056462032003-09-21T15:02:00.000-05:002003-09-21T16:11:03.426-05:00I was just about ready to swear off friendship all together. Can you believe it? Chillin', hanging out, dissin' on the stoop, talking the walk, jivin' the hive-five, oogling the images, hearin' the noize... I was going to throw it all away, just so I could have more time for writing. But somehow, Joe talked me into seeing Once Upon a Time in Mexico with him, Brooke, David, and Brazos.
After Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1063916590548486492003-09-18T14:32:00.000-05:002003-09-18T15:23:10.493-05:00You thought this blog was abandoned, didn't you? And admit it: the thought gave you mixed feelings. "Rhys!!" you exclaim. "How did you know?! It's like you are inside of my head, watching my most intimate thoughts!" Yep, that's right... I am O'Brien to your Winston. My brain contains your brain, and I know every thought you're ever going to think before you think it yourself.
When I apparently Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062885393089730712003-09-06T16:56:00.000-05:002003-09-07T15:27:56.346-05:00Today I went to Book People, mainly to remind myself that I am in Austin -- the most happeningest, weirdest, live musicest city in America. At least, according to our very own Austin City Council, made up of some of the stodgiest, blandest, most conformist, normalest, most regressivistic, xenophobicest, homophobicest, racistest, heterophobicest, most inconsiderate dullards in our fair city. WhichRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062718146906573082003-09-04T18:29:00.000-05:002003-09-06T14:24:11.383-05:00Last night I saw All the Real Girls, the latest cinematic bore by fellow Richardson-ite David Gordon Green. It may not surprise my readers that I loathe a filmmaker who grew up in a suburb of Dallas, particularly the suburb that stunted my own creative abilities for so long. So allow me to clarify my comment about all art from Dallas being insufferable. Without question this is true in all cases.Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062631961067196792003-09-03T18:32:00.000-05:002003-09-04T14:45:52.906-05:00Now that the main aspect of my identity is that I blog, I have started reading other blogs. I may never have met the men and women behind these blogs, but these are my people. As a fellow blogger, I can relate. Their problems are my problems. Their heartaches are my heartaches. Their devastating mood swings are my devastating mood swings. Their suicidal contemplations are my suicidal Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062533309872656612003-09-02T15:08:00.000-05:002003-09-03T16:08:36.800-05:00After the North East Blackout 2003, thousands of newspapers across the country sullied their front pages with apocalyptic headlines exclaiming that billions of dollars went down the drain (or down the tube, according to Knight Ridder) because of lost productivity due to the blackout. And yet, every year, because of some Quixote-esque malcontents foolishly parading in the streets like ignorant Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062366079973766012003-08-31T16:41:00.000-05:002003-08-31T16:41:20.036-05:00Today i visited Joe at The University Co-Op, where the threat of homelessness and hunger has forced him to work for the next couple of days. There's a football game today, so the place was packed with UT students, most of which already had Longhorn T-shirts, but still needed burnt orange Longhorn hats, earrings, shorts, wedding rings, gloves, sunglasses, boxers, coats, soap, socks, shoe laces, Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1062313771123470162003-08-31T02:09:00.000-05:002003-08-31T02:09:31.163-05:00Wake up, America! Your teenage girls are out of control!! It has recently come to my attention that teenage girls these days are doing "laughing gas," making out with sinister boys of different races, experimenting with tobacco, cutting themselves just to feel anything at all, and disobeying their parent (if they are good enough to have even one parent. Often, they are so bad that God kills both Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061932703514991852003-08-26T16:18:00.000-05:002003-08-26T16:19:15.630-05:00Here are the results from my Scientology Personality Test, calculated by L. Ron Hubbard himself. 100 is the best and -100 is the worst:
Stable: 94
Happy: 56
Composed rather than nervous: 94
Certainty: 54
Active: 70
Aggressive rather than inhibited: 93
Responsible: -32
Correct Estimation of Self/Critical: -36
Appreciative or Lack of Accord: -46
Communication Level: 2
Before I started the Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061930649042936802003-08-26T15:44:00.000-05:002003-08-26T15:44:09.070-05:00Who wants to read the press release for Stuck in Delaware? ONLY ONE PERSON?! Well, that's good enough for me:
The creators of Who is Jim Holt? – the musical play that rocked Fronterafest 2003 – now bring you Stuck in Delaware, a live musical sitcom with monthly installments that will revolutionize, if not utterly destroy, live theatre.
The special hour-long pilot episode of Stuck in Delaware Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061924455524180582003-08-26T14:00:00.000-05:002003-08-26T14:00:55.556-05:00The best part of the new I-Macs that UT got for their computer labs is that the apple symbol on the computers is a mirror, so that I can stare intently at my adorably pensive visage as I write fawning tracts in my ever more self-worshipful blog. Actually, I've decided to tone down the self-worship in these pages by a smidge. But never fear, the self-obsession will stay in tact. The new direction Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061569599944903912003-08-22T11:26:00.000-05:002003-08-22T11:26:39.973-05:00"Rhys, you flaunt the laws of physics like they were some pathetically outdated city ordinance. You look younger every year. I would think that you age backwards like Merlin, except that you never lose your stunningly handsome adult edge. It's as if you are gleefully breakdancing to "Sexy Boy" on top of Father Time's head, while doing a partial birth abortion on the New Year's Baby. You take napsRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061486129748839762003-08-21T12:15:00.000-05:002003-08-21T12:15:29.763-05:00Don't you hate it when you start a blog after you've already done it all? What's left to write about? I would talk about my outfit, but I change so many times every day that I wouldn't know where to begin. I could gossip, but I know you don't want to hear about other people when you come to my blog. Discussing the weather is out of the question. It's too controversial.
Jim Holt has an article Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061396587228066302003-08-20T11:23:00.000-05:002003-08-20T11:23:07.266-05:00You have spoken. In response to my post yesterday, 70 percent of my readers pointed out that I could never be a fashion model, because I am too intelligent. The other 30 percent didn't respond. Point taken. My only other option for making money is to start a business, so today Joe and I are starting a bumper sticker and T-shirt company.
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Rhys, your dad startedRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061323568594146802003-08-19T15:06:00.000-05:002003-08-19T15:06:08.630-05:00It's time to tighten the ol' belt. And not just because I'm slated to star in the next Mary Sledd hipster photography exhibit. Yep, you guessed it, GSD&M decided I was redundant. This is my last week there. I feel like Einstein, when everyone said that his M = C2 theorem was bunk. Or Bob Dylan, when everyone said that Like a Rolling Stone would never hear the light of day.
I have to admit that Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061305964926662542003-08-19T10:12:00.000-05:002003-08-19T10:12:44.980-05:00Thought of the day: If you really think about it, hypocrisy is everywhere.
Today I ran into someone who was cursing God. She was waving her fist in the air and blaming God for everything that was wrong with her, from her propensity for colds to her chronic ezcema. She even gave God a ribbing for making her chip her tooth as a child. I thought for sure she was going to pull out a gun, point it atRhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061238603625010892003-08-18T15:30:00.000-05:002003-08-18T15:30:03.580-05:00Here is a list of my friends:
Ebert, Joe, Erica, Sara, Carrie, Nicky, Wren, Mira, Greg, Jon, Julian, Michael, Peter, Jason, Thomas, Elizabeth, Suzannah, Tommy, Henry, Courtney, Forrest, Kristin, Timothy, Mom, Brazos, Dad, Silky, Jennifer, Miles, Chris, Nathan, God, Emily, Camille, Alex, Bluejay, Lindsay, Justin, Bryan, Bob, Britte, Jesse, Seth, Brooke, Casey, Lauren, Kim, Nick, Steven, Chalo, Rhysnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696204.post-1061228643595345662003-08-18T12:44:00.000-05:002003-08-18T12:44:03.490-05:00I know what you're all thinking -- it's about time Rhys started a Web blog! Two things were holding me back. One is that before now, I was not self-aware enough to write a diary. I experienced life as does a camera, observing without thinking, thinking without remembering, remembering without responding. How could I write a diary if I was always too "in the moment" to even realize my own Rhysnoreply@blogger.com