moving on up! to the Queen City! we finally got a piece of the piiiiiiiiieeeeeeee!ps i will now be growing shaggy hair and a trashy 'stache. holla

welcome to mobert and friends. this is the part of the blog where you meet the people i meet. lets begin.

this is julia. julia is from jersey and hates it. she told me so. specifically she didnt like the fact that the majority of guys in the state are not zach braff in garden state types but more short joe pesci lookalikes with bad hair and too much cologne.

i grin and say what a surprise, but not before i introduce myself.

hi. smirk.

hello there. i like your blazer.

you would, it matches your shirt.

it does. now thats got to mean something.

yeah, it means you and i look awful good together.

smirk. smirk.

insert game over celebration here.

her friend is trying to hand her a cell phone, circa nineteen eighty seven. she has just used it to get the digits of one of my roommates. yeah, he would get wingman props for that, save for the fact that the phone mysteriously malfunctioned somewhere between typing on the keypad and unzipping the handbag. this caused julia's friend to be upset because her phone didnt work, and this cause my roommate to be upset cuz, well, he had to continue duff duty. hey its a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it.

so it was getting late that night, and julia, being the good, not as drunk as the others friend, decided to get her duff home before she fell and broke something. as she grabbed me and gave me a big goodnight hug, she slipped something into my back pocket, then whispered something in my ear.

maybe we can look good together again sometime.

all id have to do is show up babe. all id have to do is show up.

i have a lot of free time on my hands these days. i live with my parents, so i dont really have to do anything while im at home. which also means i dont really do anything while im at home. blogging is about the most exercise in a day, and a curious box of cheez its on my desk tells me even thats not doing much good. its too hot, i say, its too sunny. or as the case was a few days ago, its pouring rain and flooding too hard to go outside mom. so im just gonna chill inside with a nice tall glass of orange juice and watch the americans wish they could hang with the best footballers in the world over in germany.

in case you havent noticed, the last few posts of mine have been stuff from the archives, not new material. old shit. you know, like from two thousand four and shit. theyre not even the best ones from the old shit, but i tried to pick relevant ones. mr redick going to jail is obviously not old shit, and heres a new, even better take on his ordeal then even mine. again, bottoms up to that.

this chillin out at home stuff isnt too bad. im gonna have to get used to it too, seeing as how The Man decided to only suspend my license for sixty days. lotta help that punk ass piece of shit lawyer was. he shows up late, said all of two sentences at my hearing, and wants to charge me an arm and leg for no results. sorry buddy, it doesnt work like that. i know, i work in retail.

predictions for the weekend:
italy 1, usa 2
canes 2, oilers 4 game 6
lefty wins us open
cane 5, oilers 2 game 7

holla holla holla.

it must be difficult being jonathan clay redick. its almost makes you feel bad for the kid. my carolina degree would never let me do such an atrocious thing, but i do have to say seeing his mugshot all over espn this morning did make me ponder the difficulties of young jj's life.

how could he have it that bad, you say? 2006 player of the year, surefire lottery pick at this month's nba draft, a degree from one of the top schools in the country, the dude's got it made right?

i mean, for the last four years, youve had a whole entire state worth of fans cheering and backing you every step of the way. with every three pointer, with every free throw, everyone in new jersey celebrates like they just won a free weekend at a timeshare in seaside. sean may doesnt even have that kind of fanbase, and he actually has a championship ring.

jj redick has to be the biggest sports star in durham. also the most recognizable, as in a six five white kid from virginia in a town of five nothing black folks from north carolina. anyone who sees him know who he is, what he does, read his poetry, and how much money hes about to make.

even the cops.

and all these folks, who are all big fans of jj are so thankful for everything that hes done for them. scoring all those points, winning all those ncaa championships, beating north carolina at cameron on senior day, all these wonderful, wonderful things.

so when an underpaid, overworked durham police officer pulled over young jj at one oclock in the morning for pulling a uturn to avoid a checkpoint, youd think that that officer, knowing jj's storied career and understanding what hes done for dook university and the durham community, might have cut him a little slack. so what if he had a few beers that night, hes a star! a hero even! all he had to do was look the other way just this once, and no one would have even known. it would have been a small favor to one of the greatest college basketball players of all time. sure, it would have been easy, but you are forgetting one thing.

even jj redick's fans hate him.

bottoms up to that.

if you come here looking for enlightenment, then surely you must be disappointed.

on a daily basis.

likewise for spirtual nirvana, world peace, and truth.

because frankly, i have no idea what the truth is.

i dont know if i can handle the truth.

because alot of my days are filled with motions without emotions and routine of the worst kind. class food sleep blog class food sleep class sleep food blog sleep.

or something like that.

the ancient story of the phoenix talked about how, after 100 years, this bird would set itself on fire and burn itself into a pile of ashes. and from that same smoldering pile of ashes a brand new bird would come out and do it all over again.

whenever i heard the story i always wondered how he made it to a hundred in the first place.

cuz if get to hang around as long as montgomery burns, then theres gotta be a few decades in there somewhere where shit just wasnt going right. where life was boring and routine and completely without emotion. and then id want to cash in my little burning to ashes routine a few years early, just to get a fresh start if nothing else.

but i think there should be some catches on the whole fire thing. a few simple things, just to make sure when you come back youll know it was all worth it. around the world of emotions in 80 days.

you have to have a really really good day. its has to be 80 and sunny so all the pretty girls are out with little skirts and dresses. and it has to make you feel really good.

then, you have to see one of you friends get hurt. right in front of you. not fatally, but enough for him to writhe around on the ground in pain and scream fuck fuck fuck a whole bunch of times. he has to go to the hospital and you have to wonder if hes ok for a couple of days.

then you have to have the most boring week of your life.

then you have to hear about that girl, that girl that makes your tummy tingle, with another guy. a guy you know. a guy that lives down the street or down the hall. you have to regret ever falling for her and you have lay in bed without food or showering and listen to boyz II men 'end of the road' on loop for three days straight.

and when you come out of your lovesick coma, you have to take a shower and go out with two of your closest friends for a wild night on the town. go someplace where the beer is cheap and flows like wine and theres good loud music. cuz its only in a place like this where good times are born.

and the last thing you have to do is at the end of the night, when its time to go, you look your friends in the eye and tell them you could never have made it through any of this without them. you have to tell them you are leaving and not coming back. not to any of this at least.

and they both understand, because you did make it through.

cuz even though youre leaving behind all the bad things, there are still alot of good things in those ashes too. some of them are good ashes.

and when its finally time, youll turn away and walk down the street alone for the last time. back to your place for the last time. back in your bed for the last time. back of your eyelids for the last time.

and then you wake up and its a brand new day.

the call came in from headquarters at around 4:30 in the pee em. the golden amp cackled and sparked to life. saturdays tend to be busy, but we were having a down day. the call was the first of the day. with the volume knob turned up to eleven, charlie's voice rang clear and true. the sidekick and i listened closely, the growing urgency apparent on our faces.

shit mobert, did you hear what he just said.

pretty heavy shit, tmobile. you up for it?

shit man, lets fucking do this shit man.

we took the orders from hq and got ready. the sidekick loaded up the grungemobile, our very own 1980's chevy conversion van, with three marshall amps and a few stratocasters.

and both les pauls. just in case.

the sidekick hoped behind the wheel and drove us off in a frenzied hurry. ran a few stop lights and scared a few old people on the way.

and when we pulled up to the mall, no one moved. no one made a sound. the vermin saw me and they knew who i was and they were scared shitless.

teenyboppers. everywhere. at least two dozen. maybe more. they all stared right at me. made no attempt to hide it. there were whispers from the food court and hushed nods from the gap.

fuck, there he goes. fuck, thats him. fuck, thats the one they talk about.

thats the daysleeper.

i brushed my hair out of my face and lit a cigarette. the guitar stuck out a bit from underneath my jacket. the braver ones gathered all around me, some crouched, some snarling and some with their claws out. the sunlight glinted off my weapon of rock and roll and they hissed at the sight.

the first one lunged at me from behind, blaring lindsey lohan out of an iShit mini. it was wielding two ryan cabrera cds and swung both of them at me like knives. in an instant, i turned and threw my jacket aside, gripped my six stringed weapon and swung for the fences. the teenybopper screeched at the force of the blow and exploded in mid air, falling to the ground in a pile of smoldering ashes.

at that very moment, all hell broke loose.

the teenyboppers jumped over tables and threw chairs aside to get to me. they came from every direction. lunging leaping lashing, i judo chopped and samurai hi yaahed all over their punk asses. swinging and slashing away as one by one each beast fell, most of them with a ashlee simpson you make me wanna lala scream. with the six stringed wonder in my hands, i was unstoppable. the enemy was laid to waste in a matter of minutes.

as the smoke cleared pink shirts with flipped up collars and big bugg eyed sunglasses were scattered about among the ashes. the hordes and hordes of demonized mtv youth that invaded the mall were reduced to little more than cat litter. the last one ran off with a whimper into the haze of smoke hanging around the food court. i took one long last drag from the cig, threw it down in the ashes and stomped it out. with a clenched face i cracked a dry smile, proud of my handywork's mayhem. the survivor would go tell all its friends, no doubt. todays fight was done, but there would me more. plenty more.

i flicked my cigarette butt into the ashes. welcome to the jungle, bitches.

dear the game of baseball,

i think you are great.

exceptionally amazing, even.

nothing could be finer than you.

only a sport as great as yourself would have so many loyal fans and have so many people talk about you so much.

only the greatest athletes in the world play you. take for examples such finely tuned athletic machines like david wells, pudge rodriguez, man-ram, jason giambi, and last but not least, the retired john kruk. pulling off so many incredible things on the field, like catching and throwing a ball, i can see why people would easily pay money to see these guys play you, baseball.

and hell, president bush, the greatest president of all time, used to own part of a team that played you.

really though, why else would so many people watch so much of you all the time?

like a game every single day? sometimes two?

because the thing is, during the long hot summer months, there are so many other things in the sports world that sports fans could be watching.

like hot dog eating contests

and bicycle crashing. i mean racing.

and poker!

but the fact that you manage to overpower all those massively popular sports with their massively loyal fanbases is truly astounding. an accomplishment for the ages.

its almost as if people have nothing better to watch.

oh, but your genius doesnt stop there, baseball. everyone knows that you are so much incredibly longer than other sports leagues at over 180 games a regular season, almost all of those games are played during the national football leagues's offseason. a hugely popular television sport on weekends when people watch tv like the nfl isnt any competition at all, cuz you dont play games during its season.

what a genius plan! only you could come up with something like that, baseball!

and when the nfl season does start, you just have a knack for getting those playoff games going. cuz nothing makes the anchors at espn cream their drawers like the playoffs. who cares about the start of nfl, nba, nhl and college basketball seasons when your playoffs are on?!?!

and after avoiding all those other wannabe sports during the offseason, you are still so great that news guys will even talk about all the training you do in the spring, before the next season of you even starts. during march fucking madness, no less.

and then, when your season finally does start, people dont even talk about the nba playoffs, or the nhl playoffs, or the finals, or the championships, cuz who wants to watch those when sports fans can watch the first fifty meaningless games of your season?

your front office is legendary. you never let the players union push you around on anything, like salary caps, trade deals, contract restructuring, or substance testing. and you handle player discipline in such a timely manner. whenever a player appeals a suspension, your administration always always reviews it within the next few months. and meanwhile, suspended players can even play in the all star game, if they so choose, because suspended players have rights too. no other sport has administrators that are as compassionate and as understanding as yours, baseball.

you know what, when you take a step back, and look at all the great things you accomplish, its truly awe-inspiring how you manage to have so many fans, baseball.

keep up the good work.

love,
mobert.

i went out to the bars last night. actually just one bar, the one bar called hes not here. on tuesday nights its the place to be because no one else has cheap beer on tuesday nights.

i met up with a girl i know there. it happened to be her bday, the big one niner, so i decided to buy her underage ass jaeger shots all damn night. we had a few large cups of really cheap beer in between as well. her indian friend and designated driver for the night was really cool. i taught them both how to play darts because if im a bad ass mutha fuckah at anything, its throwing darts at a dartboard. those things are dangerous around drunk people though. you better watch out, you might poke your eye out with one of those things.

i dont use pickup lines. ever. the easiest way to meet people (read: pretty little girls) is to be completely honest, even when you are trying to pick them up or get the digits or show them your newly washed sheets within hours of meeting them. im no casanova, so boys, stop emailing me asking about how to get pretty girls to notice you. a magician never gives away his secrets, and im not telling you the double secret magic failsafe lines that always always get the ladies acting like they think you are and interesting human being.

if i did have any advice for the hopeless and romantically lost, it would go a little sumthin like this:

-stop wearing the same thing everyone else it wearing. its like camoflauge. it makes you blend in with the crowd, and you dont want that.

-stop saying the same thing everyone else is saying. the hottest of the opposite sex dont care about how many beers you can drink or about how you got soooooooo tanked last night that you puked all over your room. keep your bodily fluids to yourself.

-stop thinking the same thing everyone else is thinking. if youre in a meat market bar/club/nightspot, everyone is thinking the same thing. if you have a different mindset (read: not trying to fuck the nearest thing with two legs) people will notice. ask what shes drinking, ask her if she knows this song, ask her why her friend is being so drunk and making an ass of herself.

those tips come with a money back guarentee, haters. dont be mad at me just cuz my only bad habit is coming home with more numbers and goodbye smooches than you do.

cat wasnt hanging out with any of her friends though. the frat boy sitting next to her nursing his booze could barely keep his head up. the picnic table could carry on a conversation better than he could.

shes working over the summer. some kinda internship where you get coffee and answer phones, but you get to write it down on your resume and it looks good. she hates it, just like she hated blade runner when we watched it in film class. i said whatever you luv you some harrison ford.

she said no, i like edward norton.

i said me too and she smiled.

game. over.

seacrest out.

if i told you to pack up you shit and move tonight, how many boxes would it take?

i told him four probably, plus that big ass duffle bag in my closet and my computer bag. its not an easy thing, packing up the last twelve months of your life and whisking it away to a far off land like it never happened.

or like its even over.

my far away land is my parents house, a whole fortyfive minutes of bumpertobumperrushhour traffic away from chapel hill. it seems useless at best, these few weeks between leaving and leaving again.

its probably best to use these weeks for quiet reflection. to look back on things that ive done and things i cannot change.

thats a load of bullshit if ive ever heard one, he said. the real life forrest gump can come up with better lines than that, jackass. what is this, not another teen movie eighteen and a half?

hurr hurr very funny. its the truth dumbass.

i dont like talking about myself. its not that i dont have an ego bigger than this room, but it seems to me that self importance is the worst of virtues. the bastard stepchild of arrogance and ignorance, or something like that. if i had a lot of fun this year, thats for me to know, not for me to gloat about on some sleazy bathroom wall called the blogosphere.

yeah, i stayed up many, many nights and made some memories

yeah i rolled out

yeah there were tears i knew id cry.

no matter though. it all just goes in the bank. the bank of good judgement. filled with files and files of experiences and endless boxes full of lessons learned. anyone with any sense about them wants to have the biggest good judgement bank on this side of the mississippi. alas, they would strive for it. they would make it a life goal. they would consider the great accumulation of all that life will teach you the greatest accomplishment of all.

but you dont want to hear about any of that. right?

he looked at me and gave me his little smirk.

of course not, you dumbass.

then he got up and started for the door.

oh, and one other thing. pay for lunch.