The Pristine Green

In celebration of our charming new abode, I have started a demo tape. The tape is named after, inspired by, dedicated to, recorded in, and fully representative of the new dwelling. Named after its membrane, the Pristine Green Demo Tape has deemed "The Devil's Armada" its first fruit. In order to give it a little taste click here or here. You can even click here if you want. Much like I am sharing the fruits of the Pristine Green Demo Tape, Whitney and I would also like to share the actual Pristine Green itself with whomever is within the sound of my cyber-voice. If you've read this, or are reading this, or plan on reading this, or have been told about this by someone who read this, consider yourself invited to visit Northern California and find shelter, diet dr. pepper, warmth, big muffins, and love within the walls of the Pristine Green.

2 Minute Warning

At the risk of losing all of my readership I will attempt to submit a blog entry that doesn't solely orbit around jumping pictures. The other risk, besides the fact that there will be no picture of airborne humans, is that the title sounds like an off-task classroom creation of a kindergartner. But I have to tell this story.

The other day I was fulfilling, no, magnifying my calling as the service co-chair in the Berkeley University ward by driving home from the service project to 'renew the zoo', a project to help upkeep the San Francisco zoo. I was taking a group home from the zoo when I encountered a '2 minute warning.' For those of you that watch football, a 2 minute warning is when play is halted with 2 minutes left in the game in order to warn the teams that there are only 2 minutes left in the game. Well, a 2 minute warning in this situation is a sudden pang that permeates your stomach region, warning you that explosive diarrhea will follow in 2 minutes. I learned this bodily alarm while eating things I shouldn't have in Thailand. Normally it's not that big of a deal because you just walk to the nearest bathroom and explode. But in this case I was still 30 minutes from home. I was confident that I could fend off the explosion until I got home. I was right, but it wasn't easy. There were a few times where I felt as if I'd fallen in the gall of bitterness and flames and would die if I didn't just let the cows out then and there.

I finally made it through the tunnel to the island (where one of the instances of near-breakdown occurred), and pulled up to my apartment complex. As I pulled up the the apartment complex I didn't have the patience to drive around the streets of Alameda looking for a spot barely long enough for my car, that I'd have to shimmy into for another 3 minutes, while the battle of the century is coming to fruition in my innards. I promptly decided to park directly in front of my apartment in the 'No Parking' zone, which I would find out later would be a catalyst to my demise.

I quickly parked and barely made it to the bathroom in time to unload similar to the fashion that Lloyd (Jim Carrey) did in the Aspen cabin in the film Dumb and Dumber. While I was recovering from the initial pressure-load and preparing for after-shocks, I heard Cruella Deville's voice in my apartment, searching for me in a frenzy. I found out a few minutes later it wasn't Cruella Deville, but her even more evil cousin, my land lady! And she was furious that there was a car parked in her sacred 'No Parking' zone. In order to display her disapproval she yelled in my face constantly, not allowing me to explain myself. Finally, after trying to butt in and tell my side of the story for what seemed like a whole lifetime of eating my land lady's spit/comeuppance, I figured out the only way to get through to her. I yelled at the top of my lungs, "I HAD EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA!!!" Needless to say, a silence came over my landlady that probably hadn't been seen since she last went to a funeral. I could tell for a split second that she felt bad for yelling at me, but only for a split second. I was already a little embarrassed having confessed my irregular bowel movements in a astronomically loud voice when I realized that at least 2 of my neighbors heard what I had just so shamelessly spilled all over the Taylor St. apartment complex.

Jumping Pictures Part II

I thought I was going to blog about "cool" things like ambient rock n' roll shows, fresher than fresh CD albums, epic weekend adventures, and insightful philosophies on life. But instead I just want to publish jumping picture after jumping picture after jumping picture. So instead of being a poser and forcing cool posts, I will succumb to the urge and post another jumping picture entitled, "Engaged in Leaping."





I can't let the 4th of July pass without at least putting my two cents in about why it's the greatest holiday in any of the human cultures (trust me, I've studied every holiday of every culture). As a matter of fact, it's the best anything I can think of. Here's a textual montage of why I love the 4th of July; naming, beholding, nosing fireworks; tasting, savoring, barbecuing viscid meats of all sorts; laughing, sauntering, bonding with your blood and kin; delving, slurping, enjoying dripping, sweet watermelon with a bobby-soxer adorned in a patriotic ensemble that matches your own.

Indecisiveness

I've led an exceptionally healthy life. It's not because of my diet, my exercise regiment, or my occasional lapse in memory to wash my hands after using the restroom (very occasional, ask Scott Leslie about that problem, he knows about it first "hand".) I've conjured up a hypothesis explaining why I've been endowed with such well-being. It's called "The Plague of Indecisiveness."

As trivial as the plague of indecisiveness may sound, it is a detrimental disease that can alter your lifestyle, impair your happiness, and rot the very purpose of your existence. If you know me past a casual acquaintance, or have done anything with me beyond exchanging a passing glance, you know that I'm the text book case of indecisiveness. I attempt to wait until an utter revelation before I decide on anything. Not everyone receives revelation like the subject in the following photo.

I hope one day to be cured from the bug of indecisiveness, but that day is not today. Even though I can't have all of you help me choose what to do with the rest of my life, what to wear tomorrow, or what colors to have at my wedding, I can have you help me decide what songs Long Live Sun will continue to develop and which ones they will throw away. I'm going to be posting new demos at www.myspace.com/longlivesun, and I wouldn't mind a little feedback on which ones to continue to develop. I know, I know, you're probably thinking, "who cares, why should we help you when we don't even listen to your music normally." But I beg you, I need your help. Indecisiveness consumes me!

Jumping Pictures

Today I am here to confess. I need to get something off of my chest that has been weighing me down like those Dr. Martens with the thick soles used to. I am obsessed with jumping pictures. It's an obsession that started when I witnessed the epic collection of photos from Anna Gordon and Shannon Mehner's trip to London entitled "Soaring Through London."

I'm not really sure why I love jumping pictures so much. I just knew that I loved them when I noticed that all pictures that didn't contain an airborne human became extremely inferior and boring to me. I have conjured up a few hypotheses as to why I like jumping pictures. I won't bore you with the bulk of them, but the main reason is that I am possibly one of the least photogenic people west of the Mississippi River (due to my double chin and other reasons I won't get into). The jumping picture plants either an awe, a smile, or a perplexity that diverts the viewer's attention from the ability to be photogenic of the subject, to the wonderment of the photograph.


Now, less talk, more pictures.



I wouldn't have been this happy if I would have known I was only half done with my hike.

You can only achieve this diamond shape jump right after engagement.


Jumping for joy that I'm with my favorite girl in the world.

The three muskateers, airborne.

Now just try and deny the fact that jumping pictures don't "rise" above the rest, that they aren't a step "above" the rest, and that they aren't still "soaring" through your mind right now. I rest my case.