You can be a well know punk rock artist, but never a celebrity. An underground legend, but never famous, and never-ever rich!

Can't sleep so I blogged...

Youngest baby mamma...with half her hair done.

.Nope, this won’t embarrass her. She's posted this pic herself on Facebook.

And here's a pic I took from my cell phone. It's a Chicago Police officer watching me watch him watch me take a picture of him. He pulled away moments after the picture with a paranoid look in his eyes. Odd...I was the one parked illegally! Besides, I love the C.P.D.! Best outfit in the U.S.A. I was taking the picture because it just looked natural

 

Here's a life size replica of the Transformer Bumblebee from the Chicago Auto Show. My oldest son and I stood in front of this thing for 30 minutes and did nothing more then gaze at it. We imagine it came to life. Though...I'm sure my son thought it would fight the Decepticons hiding in his lunch that he refused to eat...I was more interested in the mechanical and technological means to make such a monstrosity take place...and I wondered if it would have a bumper to bumper warranty.

Scary picture I found randomly in Photobucket...

Another scary picture I found randomly in photobucket...

Let's discuss emo for a second...okay that's was all. 

Fooling Oneself Into Love...

http://www.secretasylum.com/ has a new sub-forum under the Group Therapy: Member Hosted Forums Catagory titled:

Love/Hate: Standing along the high electrified fence, you kneel down and pick a dandelion and start to pull off it's petals: they love me? They hate me? They love me? They hate me? Geez...if only you knew how your multiple personalities REALLY felt about you!

I posted its first post "Fooling Oneself Into Love." I decided to blog it as it may help those individuals having trouble with love after realizing their significant other isn't what they presumed them to be! Read on...

At the time that I'm writing this post, I'm 35 years old, and I've fallen in love more times than the number of women I've dated. Yes it sounds odd, but it's true.

I'm one of those oddities that can fall in love with a beauty as she walks toward me, and my heart will break as she walks on bye. You're probably smirking a little and correcting me by thinking, or mumbling through pursed lips "That's nothing more than attraction."

I'm familiar with the laws of attraction and that isn't what I'm referring to. I literally fall in love at the batting of a femmes eyes. It's not a beneficial characteristic; it's a curse. I'm fortunate enough to be engaged at the moment thus avoiding the roller coaster ride my romantic life takes when single.

With that said, let's get to the cream filling in this Twinkie... I think it's safe to assume that at one point or another all of us have projected our wishful desires unto the face of another. We meet someone; date them; ignore their flaws; and begin to view them as the romantic partner we're looking and hoping for instead of the romantic partner they're capable of.

I'm notorious for this. I meet a woman and imagine she will laugh at all my jokes (and she will at first); we will have endless conversations together (and we do...for the first month, then the conversation becomes one sided and dominated by her, leaving me to nod in compliance, grunting "uh huh" every few seconds, and day dreaming about giant asteroids hurdling toward the Earth); and she isn't a head case (until a few months pass, her drinking problem surfaces, and she insists on therapy where I'll learn everything is my fault, including her drug and alcohol dependency that started 10 years before I even met her).

Thank God I don't have to deal with that now. I am happy in love, and I have a solid partner. But... I have been through this in the past, and so have many others. Why do we project false images on people we date? Don't we realize the folly and the inevitable collapse that awaits us?

I know this one guy...

He went through a period of solitary after a break-up in 2007 with his significant other who was also his 2nd baby’s mama.

Months of depression living alone in his apartment led him to seek a new lover. His first night out...he saw her, errr…will explain this part later, read on.

Standing on a busy street corner on Chicago’s North Side, was a chocolate princess: curves in all the right places; good black girl hair; and was dressed for the club... an Amish club if such a place existed. She was dressed appropriately for the weather, but had an attractive wardrobe; not too flashy; with a turtleneck.

He watched her from the window of a local greasy spoon restaurant. (I'd like to add that our friend here has a creepy serial killer look about him. In reality, he's a really good dude, but he's just genetically creepy. Not ugly by any means, just creepy) He had a friend accompanying him who talked our guy into approaching the beauty and after a few stabs at our guys ego, he caved in and walked across the street to go "get him some a that!"

His heart was pounding, nerves where electrified, and you could tell he was rehearsing his introduction with each foot step. Just under a yard from her, they locked eyes; he smiled; she looked terrified...and literally turned around and ran away.

I sh-t you not. She ran like a horde of zombies were coming after her. To make things worse, there were others at that corner with her (they were outside in front of a club) and it was blatantly obvious that he was approaching her in an attempt to romance her up. He froze and everyone’s eyebrows rose with eyes widening in their sockets; uncomfortably and anxiously grinning, they stared him down. He just stood there.

His friend came to the rescue and literally pulled him away from the scene (laughing hysterically) and they went on a pub crawl. In the wee hours of the morning, inebriated, and jovial, the pair of lush buddies found their way back to the same greasy spoon to sober up on sh-tty coffee and nachos.

Still buzzing, they ventured into the night and there she was again. This time she just stared at him with a curiosity in her eyes. He took a deep breath, raised his arms and exposed his palms and said "Hi" with a humiliated "you just made me look like a f-ckin moron" chuckle.

You could tell she was pleased when her full red lips twisted into a seductive and amused smile, and had a hesitant yet curious twinkle in her eyes.

He approached her and after a short introduction (and disclaimer that he wasn't trying to tie her up and eat her later) the flawless flirtation began. It was so successful that his wingman strolled off and soon after…her laughter drown out anyone’s hope of ease dropping. Until the big laugh!

I'm not sure what caused it... all I know is that he our guys humor was in its prime form and she couldn't restrain her responses any longer (side note: her laugh was loud but controlled and sweet, almost too sweet) and she lifted her head to the sky, protected her stomach with an open hand and laughed loud, hearty, and deep; very deep; extremely deep; too deep for a female.

And all that had eyes could see our guys smile fade, and his eyebrows flatten as a look of bewilderment and intrigue took control of his face. It wasn't so much the laugh as we've all heard the female octaves drop from soprano to baritone -add anger. It was what he saw...on her neck...where an Adams apple shouldn't be!

Immediately becoming uncomfortable he went straight for the kill (not literally, but figuratively) and asked "di-ahhh-did, ummm...do you have, uhhh...are you a guy?"

Now...before we continue, let's review. Man sees girl at a distance. Man approaches girl; girl flees. Man gets drunk almost to the point of poisoning and sees girl again. Man approaches girl...in the dark....while senses are hampered by alcohol...and as he speaks with girl, he begins to sober. Girl has an Adams apple.

Okay... so after he asked her about her sex, “Are you a guy?”and she says "No, but I use to be," one of her hands is now supporting her, ummm... his, ummm....their lower back and the other is waving their index finger in the air "hold up" she says with a sass "why you tripping for? What you doin here if you aint into this?"

This is when our guy realizes his wingman is across the street laughing. He also realizes that's it's been some years since he was in this part of town, then he realizes that the thumping club she’s been standing in front of is "Berlin," Chicago’s gay and transvestite club (imagine the Rocky Horror Picture Show on steroids).

He explains that he's not gay and that she is the most beautiful dude he's ever seen (he obviously didn't know what else to say since he didn't have his copy of "Homo Etiquette For Dummies" handy) and he looked as if he was puckering his butt cheeks so much he'd fart out of his mouth…because everything he had just said was pretty much sh-t!

After making peace with her/him after offending her/him unintentionally, He then asks why she/he ran from him in the first place. She/He said matter-of-factly "I thought use was a cop. You look like da police, and I ain't standing here just to looking pretty...hunnn…you got money?" He stepped back with hands up in the air, palms facing her, frantically nodding a refusal and stuttering “I-I’m ahhh..I’m not gay! She/He laughed it off, turned around and shook her/his rump as she/he walked away. She/He was a prostidude.

The moral to this story...know where all the gay bars are and avoid talking to anyone standing in front of it unless you're into that sort of thing.

Oh wait a second... That's not why I posted this. The real moral here is projecting your wants on another human being without acknowledging and excepting the reality of who they are (in this case a gay guy hooker who had a sex change into a tranny) will lead you down the road to no-no-ville.

A whole lotta nuthin...

Nothing I’m about to say is going to surprise you: Lithopedian’s 4 track unreleased Ep is now a 10 track unreleased Lp; The I.F.U.’s Ep has changed its course “yet again” and I haven’t the slightest idea when it’s due for release; the SecretCog project is beyond collecting dust…it’s now similar to that cat looking building in the Egyptian desert; and did I mention that I won 80 billion dollars in a Pacman tournament? No! Well…that’s because I didn’t! Nope…I’m still doing what it is I do when I’m not here, there, or at that other place. ~sighs~

So I found this picture in my desktops picture files and I haven't the slightest idea how it got there. I thought that maybe it's an eclipse...but it kinda looks like the global economy; a blackhole in the middle of a black background with some pretty little lights trying to keep your attention away from the fact that it's really just a whole lotta nothing here to see. Yup...it's our economy alright!

Lithopedian Inching Toward Completion...

We're at it again...
"N" and I tracked vocals to two songs this past Sunday. However, we are far from complete on this project.




This pic to the right is a screen shot of the studioware that we use: Cakewalks Sonar 8 Producer.



Recording's come a long way from the days when a band would mic a room and have at it.

The best part... We aren't spending 2k a day in a studio!

The release date is about as elusive as a ghost, but I'll let you know when more of this project is completed.

Stamps, Heather the Boy Hater, and a Chicken...

"I had to purchase 10 stamps to mail some letters." How’s that sentence sound to you? It’s simple to understand right? It appears to be a simple task right?

Sure…but, maybe you’re in your local Walmart and you’ve waiting in line for twenty minutes to purchase stamps. Sure…maybe there‘s some ignorant shoppers wandering about. Sure…the old lady greeting customers smells like she needs her diaper changed. Sure…you’re just having one of those “I don’t really wanna be in f –ckin Walmart buying stamps right now,” kinda days.


But hey… after twenty minutes of standing in a line behind stinky-Bob and his dripping arm pits, or standing in front of Shana nay whom you’re pretty positive is a tranny, after she says hello provocatively in a deep male voice… it’s finally your turn. Yup…it’s your turn to stand in front of the register while Heather yaps on the phone to whoever the f-ck she’s yapping too. And they’re talking about boys. And she’s crying. And you’re a boy. And she notices this. And now she’s glaring at you…because you’re a boy (errr…in my case a man, but she really was talking about boys). Long story short… they don’t have any stamps.

So if you’re me, and you’re not, but just pretend that you are for a moment, which means you need to think all paranoid, like the whole world is caving in on you… So, if you’re me, you’d think she was holding back the goods all because you’re a boy! Which she’s not, but you’re a paranoid a-shole who asks for miserable, under paid managers at Walmart so you can ask where the f-cking stamps are because you’ve been standing in line for twenty f-ckin minutes and you feel entitled to them!

Then the manager informs you that not only do they not have any stamps, but they’ve never carried any. Then Heather Scoffs at you; gnarls her lips; and evil-eyes you. Oh…and do you remember my comment about paranoia, and the whole world being out to get you? Well…everyone really is starring at you as you walk out the front door trying to save face and look cool, but really you look like you’re squeezing you’re a-s cheeks so tight your head is gonna pop off! And you’re blushing. And your lips are trembling while you hold back tears of humiliation (this last parts all you Bro… I tend to strut like George Jefferson, and never cry like I have two daddies…Rambo, and Chuck Norris!…hell yeah!).

So there you are. Afraid that your significant other is gonna think you’re an idiot. You wise up and do what you’ve should’ve done in the first place; go to your local Post Office.



















[Maybe if every f-ck up was this valuable, I'd be a bazillionare by now]


On way to the Post Office; you’re cut off by one of those Smart Cars; flipped off by a homeless person for no apparent reason (but hey…at least he was smiling when he did it…him and his two teeth); and as you pull into the parking lot you’re stopped by an elderly women walking past…very, very slowly, thus causing the rear of your vehicle to hang out on the street blocking traffic. Now the whole city is honking at you for not running her over so they can get to where ever it is they need to get to.

Once inside, you check your P.O. Box on the slim chance that you’ll have thousands of fan letters pouring onto the floor. And they’re all from beautiful women. And they’re all sending you money, and cookies and pictures of them while they bake you the cookies. But no; it’s empty. It’s empty because people that write fan letters don’t listen to your music. It’s empty because you just got the d-mn box a couple of months ago for a new project no one even knows you’re in! -sighs-


So you close the empty box and head over to the front desk. The buildings empty except for the post woman…and you. As you approach the station she glares at you and points to the sign that reads [please wait your turn here]. So you wait. And you wait; still waiting. While you’re waiting might I add that YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE IN THE MOTHER F-CKIN POST OFFICE! And you wait some more. And she calls on you “Next.”

Now she’s smiling at you and she smells kind of familiar, but not old Walmart lady in soiled diapers familiar, and not clinically insane postal lady familiar, but kind of a cross between cheese, and baby powder. So you ask to buy some stamps, and she tells you they don’t have any.

The Post Office of the United States of America does not have any stamps. “Well go f-ck myself,” you blurt. “Excuse me,” she replies. You sigh, turn around, and with all of the attitude of a 5 year old girl, you walk out. And you’re not walking like George Jefferson, but more like that 5 year old girl after mommy told her she can’t have the new Breast Implant Barbie.

End note…A Post Office out of stamps is like a KFC out of chicken. It’s just not supposed to happen.

-Cog












[I don't know who made this pic, but It would be a better explanation then anything the Post Office could come up with]

www.lithopedian.com

UPDATE: We've made a little headway recently and we released a track from 2007 called "Thief Of Silence." It's our creepiest song to date. The best description I can offer is... think of every vicious horror movie you've ever viewed. Are you imagining it? Yeah...good. Now imagine that your in the film and the villian is giving a spoken word performance to an audience of zombies. That's a pretty dead-on description.

The Ep and Lp aren't completed yet, but we've created a new MySpace account at: www.myspace.com/officiallithopedian as well as establishing it's own web site here at: http://www.lithopedian.com/

Pay us a visit, and get involved before the albums are released! And remember... "Shhh..."