Marc
Somehow I think I knew that Zach was going to have a reaction to the (unwarranted) jabs I took at him. I laughed this morning when I read it. If you knew us in real life, you'd wonder how we get along so well, cause half the time we talk it's arguing about who did what, and when, and where, but most importantly -- how. We always argue about the how.
I'll tell you why I like Zach:
(1) He's honest. Not too many people where their convictions on the insides of their sleeves and are able to back them up with thoughtful, intelligent information, spewed out not half-heartedly and inadequately (like me), but in precise order and with feeling, and convincingly (like Zach). I admire him for it. I get drunk and ramble on until I offend someone. He stays sober for the most part (nowadays, and this is not another jab, Zach was at the head of the pack back in the day, showing me the ropes ... I admit it), and will talk your ear off if you stumble upon the right subject. Even if it's something you don't necessarily agree with, you'll usually end up saying something along the lines of, "Well, I guess he's got a point." I'm not kidding. He's that good. No steam up your ass here, fella.
(2) He knows way more about music and bands and books than I ever will. Half of the stuff I'm into now is because his dumbass would play shit at night, or read shit and leave it lying around, and it subconsciously seeped into my world, and here I am, a proud finisher of DFW's Infinite Jest, an Elliott Smith fanatic, with the new ...and you will know album tucked safely away on my hard drive, and not afraid to tell everyone that I love three of Bruce Springsteen's earliest albums. The music part is the scariest, because he doesn't know how to play any musical instrument for shit, but he's got this weird talent, where he's able to kind of pick out little melodies that are somehow interesting and excrutiatingly simple. Not only that, but we have this song (kind of) that we wrote together in early 1999, on acoustic guitars, with only one part really, but it's good. Not call your mom good, more like The Get Up Kids Four Minute Mile good, where you were suprised to find that you liked something that sounded so simple so much. But that liking didn't stick really. Except for this song, which we both still like and play on occasion.
(3) He keeps me out of the clouds by busting my chops. Damn straight. I go a bit overboard sometimes. Or most times. Depends on how well you know me, and how comfortable I feel spewing completely random thoughts at you. But Zach's always there to tell me to shut up if I'm not being funny, or if I'm just being downright annoying. I guess you could say that Matt and Scott and Rick and Luke are the same ... yeah. You could say that. That's the classic line up, btw, minus, of course one Dan one John and one Larry. That's so classic us.
Now, I'll tell you what I did last night, to refute this charge -- Plus, didn't I do five 40's?!?!?! If I can't hold my own, and don't know how to have a good time, How did I do that?!?!?!?! -- which I didn't see until this morning, but it's so fitting that it's there, on the screen, because I too drank five 40s, last night, at Sean and Kenzo's house. For no reason, too. I was just sitting around last night at about 8pm, watching The Matrix on TNT for the second night in a row, and I tell Matt that I think we should try and do the five 40s thing tonight. Once we got to the liquor store, Matt had to decline, for obvious monetary concerns. It's cheaper to get a twelve pack that it is to five 40s, but I'd already told some people I was going to do it, so I had to. I bought three off the bat, and sat at the guys' apartment, waiting for a party to materialize, and the next thing I know it's 12:35am, and I've only got one 40 left in the fridge, courtesy of Sean for the cause. So I go to the gas station, and pick up one more, just in case I might be able to finish. And I head back to Sean's, where time keeps passing, and suddenly I'm sitting on the couch, and almost everyone's gone, except for Kenzo, Sean, myself, and this girl that always sticks around way too late, and talks too much, but she's nice enough, and easier to handle when you're drunk as hell. Which I was, cause I finished my 40 somewhere around 4:00am, and took off with her, back to my apartment, where everyone was asleep, but I was wasted, and she kept saying she heard that I wrote, and wanted to read something of mine, so I printed it off for her, but the printer cartridge ran out on the last page, and she grabs Infinite Jest off the bookshelf, and says she wants to borrow it, and I keep telling her to fuck off, cause there's no way in hell she's going to borrow that fucker. It's like The Bible, an analogy I was working on last night, before I saw what Zach wrote again this afternoon. You don't borrow the Bible. You buy the Bible. So we start wrestling, over Infinite Jest, and she punches me a few times in the forehead, and headbutts me square across the bridge of my nose, and bites my upper lip. This girl's fucking feisty. I keep telling her to fuck off, and finally she takes her shit and leaves, and I'm relieved, but really, incredibly drunk. Beyond drunk. I don't remember falling asleep.
But I do remember waking up to the Nap Defeating Roommate watching cartoons at 10:00am, and I'm on the couch, and I feel like hell. I've got a small couple of bumps on my forehead, and a noticeable bruise on my nose, and a stiff upper lip. And now it's 4:29pm, exactly, and I still feel like shit. But I'll be damned if I'm not in The Five 40s Club. I'll be damned straight to hell.
Somehow I think I knew that Zach was going to have a reaction to the (unwarranted) jabs I took at him. I laughed this morning when I read it. If you knew us in real life, you'd wonder how we get along so well, cause half the time we talk it's arguing about who did what, and when, and where, but most importantly -- how. We always argue about the how.
I'll tell you why I like Zach:
(1) He's honest. Not too many people where their convictions on the insides of their sleeves and are able to back them up with thoughtful, intelligent information, spewed out not half-heartedly and inadequately (like me), but in precise order and with feeling, and convincingly (like Zach). I admire him for it. I get drunk and ramble on until I offend someone. He stays sober for the most part (nowadays, and this is not another jab, Zach was at the head of the pack back in the day, showing me the ropes ... I admit it), and will talk your ear off if you stumble upon the right subject. Even if it's something you don't necessarily agree with, you'll usually end up saying something along the lines of, "Well, I guess he's got a point." I'm not kidding. He's that good. No steam up your ass here, fella.
(2) He knows way more about music and bands and books than I ever will. Half of the stuff I'm into now is because his dumbass would play shit at night, or read shit and leave it lying around, and it subconsciously seeped into my world, and here I am, a proud finisher of DFW's Infinite Jest, an Elliott Smith fanatic, with the new ...and you will know album tucked safely away on my hard drive, and not afraid to tell everyone that I love three of Bruce Springsteen's earliest albums. The music part is the scariest, because he doesn't know how to play any musical instrument for shit, but he's got this weird talent, where he's able to kind of pick out little melodies that are somehow interesting and excrutiatingly simple. Not only that, but we have this song (kind of) that we wrote together in early 1999, on acoustic guitars, with only one part really, but it's good. Not call your mom good, more like The Get Up Kids Four Minute Mile good, where you were suprised to find that you liked something that sounded so simple so much. But that liking didn't stick really. Except for this song, which we both still like and play on occasion.
(3) He keeps me out of the clouds by busting my chops. Damn straight. I go a bit overboard sometimes. Or most times. Depends on how well you know me, and how comfortable I feel spewing completely random thoughts at you. But Zach's always there to tell me to shut up if I'm not being funny, or if I'm just being downright annoying. I guess you could say that Matt and Scott and Rick and Luke are the same ... yeah. You could say that. That's the classic line up, btw, minus, of course one Dan one John and one Larry. That's so classic us.
Now, I'll tell you what I did last night, to refute this charge -- Plus, didn't I do five 40's?!?!?! If I can't hold my own, and don't know how to have a good time, How did I do that?!?!?!?! -- which I didn't see until this morning, but it's so fitting that it's there, on the screen, because I too drank five 40s, last night, at Sean and Kenzo's house. For no reason, too. I was just sitting around last night at about 8pm, watching The Matrix on TNT for the second night in a row, and I tell Matt that I think we should try and do the five 40s thing tonight. Once we got to the liquor store, Matt had to decline, for obvious monetary concerns. It's cheaper to get a twelve pack that it is to five 40s, but I'd already told some people I was going to do it, so I had to. I bought three off the bat, and sat at the guys' apartment, waiting for a party to materialize, and the next thing I know it's 12:35am, and I've only got one 40 left in the fridge, courtesy of Sean for the cause. So I go to the gas station, and pick up one more, just in case I might be able to finish. And I head back to Sean's, where time keeps passing, and suddenly I'm sitting on the couch, and almost everyone's gone, except for Kenzo, Sean, myself, and this girl that always sticks around way too late, and talks too much, but she's nice enough, and easier to handle when you're drunk as hell. Which I was, cause I finished my 40 somewhere around 4:00am, and took off with her, back to my apartment, where everyone was asleep, but I was wasted, and she kept saying she heard that I wrote, and wanted to read something of mine, so I printed it off for her, but the printer cartridge ran out on the last page, and she grabs Infinite Jest off the bookshelf, and says she wants to borrow it, and I keep telling her to fuck off, cause there's no way in hell she's going to borrow that fucker. It's like The Bible, an analogy I was working on last night, before I saw what Zach wrote again this afternoon. You don't borrow the Bible. You buy the Bible. So we start wrestling, over Infinite Jest, and she punches me a few times in the forehead, and headbutts me square across the bridge of my nose, and bites my upper lip. This girl's fucking feisty. I keep telling her to fuck off, and finally she takes her shit and leaves, and I'm relieved, but really, incredibly drunk. Beyond drunk. I don't remember falling asleep.
But I do remember waking up to the Nap Defeating Roommate watching cartoons at 10:00am, and I'm on the couch, and I feel like hell. I've got a small couple of bumps on my forehead, and a noticeable bruise on my nose, and a stiff upper lip. And now it's 4:29pm, exactly, and I still feel like shit. But I'll be damned if I'm not in The Five 40s Club. I'll be damned straight to hell.
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