i like cold showers in the summer heat

hello, reger.

hello, fate.

how are you today?

i'm fine. what are you doing here?

it's time. time for your destiny.

my destiny?

yes. you have to leave right now.

leave?

yes. it is time for your destiny. you have to leave and begin your journey.

i can't leave. all my stuff is here. my friends are here. the woman i love is here. my life is here.

no, it's time to go. none of that stuff matters. this is your destiny.

i can't leave. on a whim? from some voice in my head? no, i'm staying here. i like it here. i'm not leaving.

you can say that if you want.

i'll do it if i want.

someday you will have no choice. someday you will have to follow fate. someday you will have to complete your destiny.

not today.

destiny is inevitable.



could you just up and do what you thought you had to do? what fate told you had to be done? could you really do it at gutcheck time? could your destiny pull you away from the shelter of a life you have built up around yourself? could you wander the earth like cain in kung fu?

i don't know if i would listen or not.

vh1 insomniac music theatre

i didn't switch my sleep schedule yesterday to daywalker time. i was still on graveyard shift time, so i ended up staying up most of the night last night even though i didn't have to work.

to pass the time i decided to check out what pop culture i'm missing out on, so for two hours this morning i watched vh1--seeing if i was still hip or not. apparently, i'm not.

to better understand me as a person, here are some of my thoughts on music today.

i don't even think that any of the people in metallica's st. anger video had ever spent any time in san quentin. that video sucked. that song sucked. all the new metallica sucks. not even in the their-older-shit-is-so-much-better kind of suck. it just sucks. as in kenny-g suck

it may hurt my social standing to admit so, but i like uncle kracker's music.

thalia is like gloria estafen's younger, hotter sister.

maroon 5 came on and did a decent song. my question, is where the hell did these guys come from? and who decided that they actually sounded different enough from the 5000 other bands that sound exactly like them to warrant a record deal?

it is a good thing that beyonce has one of the best bodies in music. cuz she can't act worth a damn. putting aside even the horror that was her performance in austin powers, she couldn't even act well in the scenes she had with jay-z. i've seen coma patients with more convincing emotion.

i just completely spaced out for an entire ashanti video. i even managed to go get a glass of water during it. i don't remember anything.

celine dion got a new hairstyle. she's still got a pretty good body for being like what? 40? 50? and canadian? but her hair cut has to go. i want her hair style from when she was good wholesome celine. the titanic celine. she looks like a cancer patient.

now, santana does all these songs with all these different singers. i want to know what happens when they go on tour. does santana just bounce around the country stopping in on concerts of people he's worked with and performing with them for that night. or is santana that cool that he gets to tell the other people when and where to be for shows? it's gotta be the latter. he is santana.

so kid a and amnesiac were kind of weird--they were still good. but the new radiohead is fantastic. i was a little wary at first, cuz it took me a while to get into amnesiac and i didn't know what direction they were going with in this new one. but i definately enjoy the overall sound of the album, and the political statements that they are not-so-subtlely tossing in there for us stupid yanks are a nice little treat.

ever since she came out, i always thought she was ridiciously hot. but in this new song and video, jewel looks and sounds hotter than ever before. i can't use "most beautiful in the world" (that title is already taken), but i will apply the label sultry to jewel. and she can yodel!

i usually don't pay attention to commercials that much. i hate almost every commercial out there. except for the beer ones. those are hilarious. and the sobe radio ads, but if you're looking for a blanket statement, i hate commercials, is a good one. but i just may buy rasta jamz.

there were only a couple times during my viewing that i felt as though i was little too out of touch with what the kids were listening to today. the first was when blue man group and gavin rossdale of i'm-sleeping-with-gwen-stefani fame did a song together for the terminator 3 soundtrack. it was good, but the whole time i was thinking, "man, it's 5:10 in the morning and i'm watching the blue man group do a song with gavin rossdale of i'm-sleeping-with-gwen-stefani fame and i can't wait to blog about it." i am such a loser.

i thought liz phair was like this 50 year old brunette that was making a comeback career. turns out she's a much younger blonde girl that makes decent music.

madonna's die another day caused two emotions to well up. one, disgust. at how terrible that movie is and how the james bond lineage is deteriorating. second, curiousity. how many kids do you have to have and how old do they have to be before you can be considered a milf? cuz i don't remember.

the lead singer from goo goo dolls is going to look exactly like rod stewart does today in like 20 years. mark my words. vegas already has a line on this.

i heard avril lavigne give an interview one time. and i was thinking, what is this? she sounds like a teenager! then i realized, she is a teenager. i really hate it when celebrities shatter my unrealistic image of them by acting like themselves.

this is an old question, but it is still unanswered: why don't british bands sound british when they sing?

gwen stefani could be wearing month old dog carcasses and she would still look good. just throwing that one out there.

the second time i felt like i was out of touch with the current crowd was also the time that i felt glad that i don't really like a lot of the music that is popular today. busta rhymes does a song with mariah carey. now, nothing wrong with busta's music. i like his style. but to colaborate with mariah carey? the girl that went from sweet, sweet girl next door mariah carey to strumpet mariah carey? she's just a whore now. at least that's what her image conveys to me, and you know, maybe i'm reading it wrong and she's trying to come across as a feminist for the 21st century, i don't know. but maybe she should look into a new stylist if that's what she is going for.

after that song, i knew they had to play a good one next to get me to stay. they started a new show and put the new beyonce song back on. and while i wouldn't mind the eye candy, the volume was still at an audible level, so i got up and hit the power button.

they reminded me at least a half dozen times in two hours, but i'll only tell you once: 200 greatest pop culture icons countdown premieres july 21

i am so lost

denny's.
is.
fantastic.

leave some change behind. she was a bitch, i don't care. everybody's good enough for some change. some fucking cha-a-a-a-nge.

been listening to the new harry potter book at work, but my boss is switching back to days next week, so now i'm actually going to have to read the book to find out what happens
and then go back and read the first four.
i was fine with just watching the movies. but, noooooo, i had to get sucked into this thing called literature.

if it weren't the drugs, he would be a master of the english language. that's roughly a quote that appears in the preface of naked lunch by william s burroughs. a very strange book. very real and powerful imagery that doesn't make much sense the first time you go over it. i'm going to have to re-read this one to fully understand it, but i can see why it had an obscenity trial and why people talk about it. it's not even a novel, it's more of a collection of imagery. intense-sometimes frightening--imagery. burroughs does not sugarcoat heroin addiction one bit. the visuals sucked me in and made my brain work overtime to ingest and digest all the words that kept following along the page like some disconjointed cohesive rant. not make sense, well, neither does he. but at the same time i'm kept with an overall impression of how that world functions and survives on junk. a fantastic read i recommend to people so inclined to enjoy a book of that nature.

federal appeals court ruled that self-published souces (like this one and all blogs) cannot be held responsible for libel. ala the king tony, nothing in here is true, and--legally--it doesn't have to be!

donald rumsfeld is actually used to be a cross dresser, but he didn't get a role in chicago when in high school. that influenced his life for evermore.

the fact that ever since we invented machines there have been books, movies, tv shows about them taking over and killing us, makes me think that they already have control over us and are using those works as propaganda films to make us think that it really couldn't happen, when, in fact, it already is really happening.

i own 16 planes, a 1935 ford roadster, the cleveland cavaliers, every dvd in existence and a lifetime supply of idiocy.

delaware is way cooler than any state that i have ever visited.

worcester is in the lead for the 2084 summer games.

i am cool.

a gurg is the leader of the giants

so i think i have my conspiracy theory hippie coworker thinking i am, in fact, a republican--not that there is anything wrong with that.

the other night we got to talking about "the chip." you know the one. the one they put in your hand and it's your driver's license, bank account, medical records, blockbuster rentals, basically your entire identity.

i told him i was all for it.

that riled him up. he went off about how the agents in charge would use it as a control method to take away our freedoms. he said i have no value of freedom and that i'm power hungry. it was an interesting conversation. the whole time that he was ranting about whatever doomsday would emerge from everyone getting the chip, only one image kept popping into my head.

i sit my grandkids on my lap to hear another story about the dark times.
"my friend bobby said that you guys had something called 'money' in the old days."
"oh yes, before lord cheney and supreme chancellor rumsfield took charge and protected us from foriegn and domestic terrorists, we had to go into stores and hand people pieces of paper with pictures and words on it in order to get good and services. it was called currency"
"you actually handed them paper?" little christopher john III would ask.
"oh yes," i would respond with a hearty chuckle.
"you sure did some funny stuff when you were younger, grandpa."
"it wasn't all weird and bad. there were some good things about the old days." i would say, a bit misty-eyed about my younger years. but then i would catch a glimpse of the camera in the corner of my den. the one recording every action and word for the department of patriotism.
"but that was before the democrats were outlawed as a terrorist group supporting osama bin hussien, " i add just to keep my ass out of "reconditioning school"

my coworker did not like it that i was so gungho about the whole chip in my hand thing. i just kept spouting off about the convience of it all. not having to carry a wallet around. never fumbling for my price chopper advantage card again. i told him it would be nice. i said it would be easier to catch criminals, buy stuff, rent library books, etc. he complained that people would use that information to damage you. i said people could get that info now if they wanted to. he responded with "for someone that usually talks like a leftist, you have some weird ideas, chris."

yes, i do, man. yes, i do.

honey farms is for the man on the go

i got a little pamphlet from the people at axe the other day in a magazine i get. it had some juicy tidbits about how to deal with the woman. this i find to be the most amusing, and--as such--would like to share it with you, the loyal reader.

how to remove a hickey

an axe user may find in certain intimate encounters, the female tends to mark her territory by inflicting a contusion or "hickey." such hickeys, or love blisters, must be removed as soon as possible if the user plans to "start fresh" with another female (women will not be receptive to a young man with a hickey. those who do pursue him are likely seeking to initiate a hickey turf war, which could leave the user with severe yellow, blue and purple bruises and possible internal bleeding.).

you may find it necessary to interact with another female before the hickey has completely faded. in this case, you will need a thr (temporary hickey rationalization). here are some options:

(a) tell her your grandmother loves to pince you on the cheek, but the poor woman has osteoporosis--and because she's now a foot shorter, your neck is as high as she can get.

(b) all hickeys resemble a small country. if, for example, yours resembles denmark, explain to her that it's a temporary tatoo of denmark.

(c) in a selfless act to protest the abuse of elephants, you dove in front of a man who was shooting a tranquilizer dart at a baby elephant. you took the dart in your neck, but the elephant got away. be vague about where and when this happened.

note: do not wear a turtleneck. the damage to your social standing will outweigh any benefits of covering the hickey.

the steps:

1. chill a spoon or fork until it's freezing to the touch.

2. apply utensil to affected area. gently rub it on the bruise at 30-minute intervals until discoloration fades.

3. perform a complete self-inspection. you may have more hickeys than you realize.

i don't know how you do it

jennifer connelly is sitting on the beach next to me. this is somewhat of a surpise. we have a picnic spread out and i'm eating a delicious chicken salad sandwich.
it's a very warm day and the green surf is crashing quite loudly. she stands up and motions me to follow her. she starts walking away, and this is when i notice she's compeletly naked. i, of course, follow her. i look at my surroundings (mainly cuz i don't want jennifer to notice i'm staring at her ass) and notice that the sky is a pale green and the clouds are a bright red.
"why is the sky looking weird?"
she laughs heartily, "the sky looks exactly how you want it to look, silly."
i had no argument for that--the sky did look pretty cool.
we finally get to this building, looks like a gargae, and she opens the door. she points for me to go inside. it's completely black. i hesistate and she pushes me through.
now i'm in a tuxedo at this really, really expensive looking party. i don't quite know why i'm here, but i'll mingle.
the party sucks, everyone is speaking gibberish, i'm the youngest by about 40 years and there is no beer, so i leave.
once i exit out the door i'm in my high school hallway. not very surprised, i figure i'll go check out my locker. but before i get there, mrs. mcdonald sees me and hands me a pink slip (summons to a teacher or the office).
"chris reger! what are you doing out in the hallway?"
"um, i'm in study hall right now and was just getting more work from my locker" (blatant lie, i have no idea what i'm doing)
"alright. just don't screw around in the hallways, i know what you're up to."
"well, that makes one of us."
"what?"
"nothing"
"you're to head to the office."
so i go downstairs to the office, but when i'm about 10 meters from the door, the power goes out and several ninjas show up brandishing katanas, nunchucks, crossbows, crazy shit. they be doing indian burns, yo.
they soon surronded me. i knew i had no choice. it was to the death. it's always to the death with ninjas.
one after another they attacked me, but i remembered there is no spoon, and i whooped them back to the stone age.
after adjusting my necktie, i walked outside and stood on the front steps and looked at the gorgeous sky. it was a pale white with blue clouds racing by. green and yellow birds chasing insects crossed my field of vision.
"perfect"

i awoke and the clock said 10:30. i went back to sleep for another 4 1/2 hours.

howard stern is a genius

some days i want more adventure.
other days i've had enough adventure.
some days i want more explosions. jerry bruckheimer style.
other days i just want to sit around with my boys.
my life is not exciting enough.
but there's too much excitement most of the time.

depending on my mood and the weather (in my mind, not the blowing winds), i feel like i've never done anything "cool." why haven't i dared to be great?
but there have been times when i have been the greatest this world has ever seen. and will ever see.
i've ruled the world and been a slave to mankind.
i've always wanted to go on a grand adventure.
my life is very much a grandeous adventure.

how do you shake the feeling that you haven't lived up to your potential?
just stop and say, "fuck it. i'm going to do everything."
you could, but then the fear comes. the little voice in your head saying that you haven't done anything good yet, so why try to press the issue.
i like it when the voice says, "reger, look back on your life. you've done a helluva lot. influenced dozens of people. played integral parts in many people's personal dramas. you've risen to the occasion and persevered through it all. go kick some ass."
i like that voice.
but i don't hear it enough.
and who's fault is that? probably 100% mine.
it's hard shutting down the fear voice and then only listening to the courage voice.

i like the courage voice.

i don't like the fear voice, but he says things in such a nice, subtle way to make him almost believable.

my life is fantastic. it may not be where i imagined it 6, 7 years ago, but it's where it is now. and that's what i have to deal with.
i've had many grand adventures. i've played some great games. i've done more than a lot of people. i may have not seen a lot of the world geographically, but i've seen a lot of the world spiritually.

i may never completely silence the fear, but i can make the courage scream so loud that the fear is nothing but the quiet buzz of a computer fan. something you live with and have gotten used to, and doesn't bother you when you're trying to sleep--which is fear's prime time.

my courage will wake me up with it's screams of "CHARGE!"
my courage will get me through the day with it's war cry of "REGER'S COMING! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!"
my courage will lull me to sleep with bard-like tales of my exploits, and as i drift to dreamland, my subconscious thoughts will coalesce into fantasties of my next adventure.

which i will go on.