Hi,

I've been living in Athens for about a month now. It's my favorite place that I've lived so far. Everything is warm- the days, the nights, the people, the colors- and it's almost like jumping in a time machine to ten years ago. Moving south is one of those things that makes you think about how big America is and how strange it is that someplace so different could be in the same country, which is one of those things that makes you feel old for thinking about it. We don't have the internet or a tv, which is about as nice and as annoying as you can imagine. I'm at the library. My job is easy and somewhat fun, which is new. We've made some friends.

back to reality:

ten pm rolled around last night, which meant it was time for me to leave work for the evening. Michele, a coworker of mine, was due to leave at the same time and since it was fairly cold and she lives close-ish, I told her I would give her a ride home in my automobile. It was her last day as a CVS slave so I figured this was only appropriate.

we got to the car and I hopped into the captain's seat. She was standing next to the other door so I unlocked it for her, but for whatever reason she wasn't opening it; I looked around to figure out why and there beside her was a dude in a hooded sweatshirt looking like a sketchy motherfucker. I thought she was about to get raped and shot, but before I could do anything (scream like a bitch and drive away?) I hear her say "What are you doing here?????" Then the guy gets down on one knee and busts out this giant ring and says "Will you marry me?"

The girl flips out. "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!! etc etc" I get out of the car and walk around to where they are- she just keeps freaking the fuck out while the guy gives me this giant shit-eating grin the whole time (which was good, because I half-expected him to think I was trying to boink his girlfriend). She remembered i was there and said "Well I guess I don't need a ride home...." and so I gave them a thumbs up and left them to their engagement. The most impressive part is how well he surprised her- the guy doesn't even live in mass. and she had no idea that he was even coming into town, let alone fixing to wed her.

badass.


(side note: it's impressive that I don't have the attention span to remember what tense I'm writing in at any given time. Nor do I have the wherewithal to correct the discrepancies)

hello friends,

in lieu of a prepared statement, today i will be taking audience questions and crafting responses that hopefully live up to my normal standard of eloquence. without further ado...


Mr. Griffin, everyone knows you're a diehard football fan. What are your thoughts on the outcome of the Super Bowl?

Ah, you waste no time going straight for the jugular. The super bowl was, for me, as devastating as you all probably assume. As Brady's last desperate heave fell incomplete there was nothing i could do but avert my eyes to the ceiling; i managed to maintain my composure until Eli Manning was receiving his MVP trophy, at which point I frantically punched the TV until it turned off. As far as the game goes, I don't really have any insight that hasn't already been hashed and rehashed a million times by everyone else- the Giants pass rush made our Pro Bowl blockers look like the offensive line of some division 3 college team; Brady was either hurt or just rattled by the constant attacks and couldn't get in a rhythm; the hitherto impeccable Belicheck made a number of questionable 4th down calls and inexplicably stuck with the cold-weather, conservative game plan despite the game being played in a dome in motherfucking Arizona; the defense- which we all thought would be the question mark- played a mostly excellent game but ultimately gave the Giants the opportunity to score that final touchdown (Asante Samuel's dropped interception, then letting Eli break like 38 tackles, then letting Tyree make that ridiculous catch). All in all, the Patriots looked flat and tired for 95% of the game- the Giants simply wanted it more. The most tragic part for me is that I had plenty of worries going into this game- the pass rush, Brandon Jacobs/Ahman Bradshaw, and all the intangibles that pointed to an historical upset- but I had complete faith that the coaching staff would make sure that the Patriots would have the focus and discipline to finish the job. When it's all said and done, it's awfully hard to argue that the pressure of going 19-0 didn't get to them. To get so close to perfection and fail must be devastating- it's going to take an awfully lot of motivation for them to bounce right back next season. Go Red Sox I guess.


How's your "music career" going? (Snicker)

Actually, my skeptical little friend, it's going pretty swimmingly. If you'd really like to hear exactly why, ask Tanner. He'd be more than happy to tell you. I prefer the element of surprise.


How's the apartment situation?

It's amazing that you guys seem to know just the right questions to ask! As dismaying as it is, I have to admit that things in 1626 #30 have been better. Our little two bedroom hovel is currently home to 6 people, which makes for something of a space problem; that wouldn't be so bad if we were all Tyson chickens, but human nature seems to dictate that when so many people are constantly so close to each other, there's bound to be friction. Without naming names, there seems to be somewhat of a division amongst the inhabitants and there's a bit of a Cold War going on between the rival tribes. Luckily for me, I've been spending my nights elsewhere so I haven't been privy to most of the snippiness. Hooray for girlfriends.

Speaking of girlfriends, how is that going?


It's going fantastically. Better than ever before. We're already pregnant with our third child (ed. note: that's not actually true). You should all be writhing with envy at the bliss of my romantic life.


How's your career in retail?

Good. I'm constantly moving up the ladder, by which I mean I'm being more productive and being rewarded- not with a raise, mind you, but the occasional $5 CVS coupon for "doing a great job." Yep.


What are the 5 albums I should be listening to right now?

Hm. Depends on what you like, I guess. If you're the kind of person that digs really well-written semi-concept albums approached in a deceptively straightforward manner, I'd go with "Black Sheep Boy" by Okkervil River. If you like clever dancey music, it's gotta be "Sounds of Silver" by LCD Soundsystem. If you're a musician, smoke good pot and have a solid attention span, it's almost necessary that you listen to "Coquelicot Asleep at the Poppies: A Variety of Whimsical Verse" by Of Montreal until you have a working understanding of the entire album. It takes a bit but it's worth it. Trust me.

Ummmmm. If you're on acid, will be on acid, or have been on acid, i'd highly suggest the Apples in Stereo's "Her Wallpaper Reverie." I'd highly suggest it anyway, but the acid really helps.

Finally, if you're a fucking toolbag and you don't have Abbey Road, please join the human race and procure a copy ASAP. I mean, c'mon.


(ed. note: yes, we realize this response is the epitome of pretentious hipster douchebaggery. You don't need to point it out).


Ok, last question?

Imagine I haven't really talked to you or spent time with you since last year or so. Are you any different?


Oh good good, I'm so glad you asked. Yes. The time between about June 07 and now has been a period of drastic revamping, a la Kevin Barnes on that chemicals song: "I spent the winter with my nose buried in a book/while trying to restructure my character/cos it had become vile to its creator." The AJ Griffin you all knew and loved is still alive and well, but if I'm right- and i really think i am this time!- the AJ Griffin you all knew and sort of hated has mostly gone the way of the car alarm- every now and then it pops up and annoys the fuck out of you, but as time goes on you see less and less of it.
(ed. note: we have no idea if they're actually phasing out car alarms, but if they aren't they fucking should.)

I'm gonna let my PR guy answer this one for you, as I don't want to come off as a braggart.

The previous version of AJ Griffin (v. 3.0) was at times- ok, most of the time- a giant, open infection of misery that oozed the pus of whatever his current "issue" was all over anyone that would listen. AJGv.4.0 handles these bugs twofold: A) By having the brainpower to not get so broken up about stupid fucking shit, and B) In the rare circumstances of raw malaise, not boring those around him with the sordid details. In this new upgrade, everybody wins.

AJGv.3.0 had a tendency, as many of you have noted, to be somewhat of an arrogant, condescending and altogether megalomaniacal piece of pure asshole. While the calm/cool/collected AJGv.4.0 can occasionally still come off as an asshole, we here at AJG Corp. are confident that this is no longer the product of raging hubris. AJGv.4.0 has accepted that he is none of the following things we once thought: A) The smartest person to ever live, B) the best writer you know, or C) a personal gift from God to the world of music. While AJGv.4.0 retains the necessary ego to be confident and easygoing, it's significantly reduced and is programmed to rarely-if ever- rear its ugly head. If you come in contact with the updated AJG and you think he's being traditionally obstinate, please realize that it's probably just a byproduct of his outwardly nonplussed demeanor.

Finally, AJGv4.0 respects you. v.3.0 might have found you stupid, boring, annoying, pretentious, melodramatic or simply distasteful, but The Andrew James Griffin Version 4.0 has learned that everyone has something worthy of his respect, and approaches each person with an open mind and heart. (ed. note: I know that sounds like some kind of spiritual pamphlet, but he really means this shit. I'm not kidding.)

All in all, my friends, the next time you see or talk to Mr. Griffin, please try to at least partially shed your notions of his crusty reputation. Mr. Griffin and all of us here at AJG Corp. have worked hard and been through a lot of shitty times to bring you the person you see before you today- the least you can do is to try and give AJGv.4.0 a fair chance.

Ok folks. Thanks for your time, thanks for your questions, and thanks for reading. I hope you all have a great Presidents' Day.

Much Love
King James the Renewed.




(ed. note: has there ever been a post on this website that so finely combines pretentiousness, egomania and smugness into one cohesive package? I really think you'd be hard pressed to find a better example of the definitive "tool" anywhere in the world, let alone on livejournal. I'd just like to tell you all that I'm sorry I had to be a part of this, but I just started here and they don't exactly give newbies the prime assignments. I need a drink.)

before I start writing anything at all, it should be mentioned that Ms. Lindsey Jane Hadddadddd is arguably the light of my life. Were I to be honest, that sentence would be a preface to anything I wrote or said.




do you guys know what I did today? I did absolutely fucking nothing. I woke up bright and early, 630 or so, which is something that important and enterprising people do. And I came home, ate two donuts, dicked around on the internet for an hour so and then sat my fat ass on the couch. Turned on Madden 06 and played until, like, 2. Seriously. Smoked pot. Wacked off in the shower, went to the bank, ate shitty food. Watched TV.

That is it. I am a louse. A dirty wretch of a human being that doesn't deserve the classy appearance I get from my sweaters. If I hadn't just done the world a favor and shaved off my hobo-beard, I'd just start wearing sweatpants and give up entirely.


At first the waking up early thing was working out swimmingly because after I had my coffee and wound myself up a bit I would go in my room and record things and do actual, productive things. Now the other people have returned to my room so I can't much go in there and sing my lungs out at 830 AM. So I do nothing and it becomes the addictive pattern of "why do something when could easily do nothing?" Again: I am a louse.



Everyone I talk to from out-of-state asks me if I'm super-duper excited for that football game that's going on this Sunday. I guess I am but for some reason it's not quite as exciting as it was when I was younger. I think maybe everything in life just sucks slightly more with every second of age that one gains until you're old and nothing is fun at all. Since the majority of elderly people do not commit suicide, we have to assume that some kind of epiphany occurs that keeps life worthwhile. Or they're just too lazy. "Or senile," says the peanut gallery. Philosophical waxing aside, I do think that Pats will win. I'm not as confident as perhaps i "should" be, but there's nobody in this world that I trust more than the New England Patriots.


since I have absolutely nothing to say, and i'm ignoring the aforementioned lovely lady, i am done. adieu, adieu. to you. and you. and you.


:-*

every morning i wake up, she's gone, and there's a note that says "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore." Then I go to work and let people tell me I look like hell and I throw up some and by the time i'm out of there, ten thirty or so, chances are I'm riding in her car or she's walking to my house and then we're in my room, careful not to touch each other at first. We take some drugs and lie down and ask each other what we're thinking and both of us lie the entire time because I'm thinking that maybe I love her and she's feeling guilty about everything and thinks I don't realize it. First our legs touch or maybe our feet, and then maybe my hand is on her thigh, and then maybe she runs her hands through my hair and maybe I do the same. Her skin is soft. That's where the cycle ends and repeats itself, every time; my eyes drop out and as I lay sleeping she puts on her jacket and her scarf and slides out the door and every time she does this it's the last time we'll ever see each other.

sometimes it kills me and sometimes it doesn't. sometimes I wake up and throw my telephone across the room and watch it break into pieces when it hits the wall, and sometimes I just turn on the television and laugh about Full House. usually by the time I have to leave and face the public, though, something wells up beneath my face and twists it into some picture of dissatisfaction, so when I show up to my job I look like a walking hangover. Most of them tell me to smile, but the ones with a knack for unintentional irony always look at me with a sideways little grin and say "wow, you must have had a really good night last night." I haven't lost my sense of humor but I can't find the will to lie so I split into what I'm told is a "sad smile" and I say "no, not at all." I smoke cigarettes with my manager and he asks me if I'm ok every day because he has some idea what's going on. I don't tell him about her, really- I tell him about the other side of things, how Chris and Josh and Ren won't talk to me anymore and it's my own fault so I can't really complain. We go back inside and every time there's a billion things to get done and we separate and he forgets but I don't, I guess. I take my pills and I feel a little better even though the pharmacist says I have holes in my stomach. That might half explain the throwing up. I fall prey to stereotypes and I look at the photos people are making with their lovers wrapped in arms and hands I feel sad like I should because our life is not a movie or maybe. Sometimes pretty girls come to my desk and they linger while they wait for their shit and I talk to them, and sometimes I get The Feeling That Maybe if I tried I could see them again or something sometime outside of this building maybe over a cup of hot liquid or the some other pretense but it makes me feel sick to think about it. It shouldn't.

Then it's 10 and I'm spilling chemicals on myself for a while and then it's time to leave. I leave early every day and maybe that's why I'm poor. Door. Sidewalk. Cigarette. Train. Girl. Phone. Buzz. Home. Bed. Drugs. Couch. Sleep. Leave. Rinse and repeat. Today is her birthday and mine is in 6 days and I could really give a fuck.

So a while ago, maybe a month, I stayed up all night. Such is my wont. Anyway, the "next" day I had the day off and decided to waste away in the local cafe (such is also my wont). Being of somewhat unsound mind, I brought my computer along and set about to do some writing; I don't remember the specifics, but I remember that my topic had something to do with TV and its effect on the world. Creative. Anyhow, I was in need of some input from other people, and since I was strung out from fatigue and starvation and whatnot, I conjured up the boldness to talk to the rather pretty girl sitting near me. This was a good idea, because she was A) apparently willing to speak with me and B) quite smart and worth talking to in any situation.

The both of us spent a long time in there, with her reading some book while I sporadically interrupted her to ask stupid questions about the psychological impact of Full House. Eventually I got tired of writing- as i always do- and asked her if she wouldn't be interested in playing a game of Scrabble. She agreed. We played. She destroyed me; for someone who's allegedly good with words, I sure suck at word-related games. After the beatdown was complete, I decided to leave, gathered my stuff, and left her a note that said something like:

"[insert my phone number here] Feel free to send socially-damning text messages anytime. Or don't, and let this very strange day live exist in its weirdness. It's up to you."

(note: it was a bit more cleverly worded than that, but it still managed to be creepy, pretentious and retarded at the same time. You get the drift).


Anyway, I was excited. Not only had I left my house, but I'd managed to speak to a raucous babe AND give her my phone number. Even though I knew I'd come across as somewhat psychotic, I thought that our conversations were interesting enough that she might take up the offer- after all, she'd had plenty of opportunities to not talk to me- didn't her willingness to stick around mean she'd probably contact me again?


Um, not so much. I kept a sliver of hope for 2 days or so and gave up. Part of me wondered if she'd managed to not see the note, but since I'm a realist I assumed that, as usual, I'd made a bit of an ass of myself. By about a week or so I'd forgotten all about the girl called Sarah that I played Scrabble with, and life went on in its standard, depressing way.

Fast forward to, well, today. My phone buzzes in my pocket in that special way that says "someone is sending you a text message! It's probably your mom!" Imagine my surprise, then, when I found an unknown number saying that "your scrabble scorecard just made it on to my wall."

What?

I don't really understand why this happened. By my logic, if this girl had any desire to contact me, she would have done so more swiftly after the original run-in. I can't for the life of me figure out how she could be silent for a month, but still be intrigued enough that she would say hello after all that time. What does that mean? That she went into a coma immediately after seeing me and just woke up? That she spent that day in a dissociative state and her psychologist just uncovered the memory? That's she's really coked up and wants to talk to someone? I have no idea.

I mean, obviously she found the little note thing somewhere and it reminded her- but why even bother? If she wasn't going to speak to me then, why now? Can I make my confusion on this any clearer?


She also lives in New York. That only adds to the weirdness, since her living there negates any "she didn't want to imply that she wanted to date me" theories toward the mystery.


whatever.

I went back about two years and read through all my gayjournal entries (yes, I live a thrilling life), and while most of them were shitty and kind of embarrassing, the sports-related posts were definitely the most fun to re-read. So without further ado:

Starting with the good news: Los New England Patriots. In case you haven't noticed (which I'm guessing most of you haven't, since you're all kind of faggy and don't enjoy professional sports) , the Pats have won their first 6 games by an average of 23 points a piece. There are lots of things to say about this:

A) Until last week, there were a few people chirping that while the Flying Elvii had handily defeated every team they'd faced, those were all shit teams that didn't really mean anything. Say no more. After handily defeating the up-to-that-point undefeated Cowboys without playing to their max potential, I think it's safe to say that the Patriots aren't as lucky as some people would have liked to have thought. In a game where their ground attack was depleted, the starting tight end left with injury, and Tom Brady was inexplicably missing passes, New England managed to score almost 50 and beat "America's Team" by 3 touchdowns.

B) Speaking of America's Team- the Patriots certainly couldn't qualify for that title at this point. It's been kind of strange for me; as a Red Sox fan, I've spent my whole life hating the most successful, perennially awesome dynasty that always ends up on top and seems to have absolutely no integrity (the Yankees, duh). It's painfully easy to argue now that the Pats are the Yankees of the NFL- they have the "clutch guy that everyone loves and dates models" (Brady/Jeter), the high profile star everyone loves to hate (Moss/A-Rod), the wildly revered head coach (Bellicheck/Torre) and they've been a contender for about 7 years now. Adding to their Bad Dog status is the little "SpyGate/CameraGate/WhateverGate" controversy that happened, when the Pats were caught taping the Jets defensive signals in week one.

Bring on the hatred. Ever since the Patriots got caught- and, should be noted, paid the price- and had the audacity to keep winning, Brady and Co. have gone from being "the scrappy team that we love to watch" to "the team we all hate and would love to see in a plane crash."

(This is in terms of the media; regular folks outside New England have probably been tired of the Patriots since at least the 2nd super bowl)

It doesn't help that the Patriots have responded to the controversy so well. If the folks in Bristol wanted to make the SpyGate issue have a big effect- which they did, judging by the unrelenting blow-up of the story- they greatly miscalculated their approach. Everyone knows that the Pats play their best when they have a chip on their collective shoulder; giving them a reason to be mad only added fuel to the fire. Like Bill Simmons wrote a few days ago, the Patriots are defining the "fuck you" attitude of football. Leading by at least two scores in the final minutes of the game, the Pats always continue to drive down the field and punch in a final score, rather than just taking a knee- it's like watching me play Madden 2006 on "Pro" level. To a non-fan, it's easy to see why the Patriots are so easy to loathe; to a superfan like me, it's one of the most enjoyable things to pop up on my TV every week. I may be young, but not so much that I don't enjoy the Bledsoe suckfest that was the New England Patriots for the first years of my life, and three Super Bowls doesn't lessen the joy of seeing my team kick the ass of everyone that gets in its way. Unlike every other sport, a football blowout in your team's favor is still fun to watch, and having a reason to keep watching the last 5 minutes just as great.

Other people can point to the video scandal and the scoreboard running and spit with disgust, but let's think about it for a second. After Mangini ratted out Bellicheck- yeah, I said it- the Patriots quietly complied to the commissioner's demands and guess what- Mr. Goodell reviewed everything and ruled that "no competative advantage was gained." In a league that obviously values parity - salary caps, anyone?- it seems hard to believe there's some kind of conspiracy to keep the Pats on top; ergo, why don't we believe the Comish when he says that? I've actually had an Eagles fan tell me that in light of the spying thing, he believes the Eagles are the rightful winners of their super bowl match- Donovan Mcnabb's panic attacks notwithstanding. Come on, people. Everyone knows that stealing signals is an integral part of sports and everyone does it. Bellicheck let his ego get the best of him against his old protege, and he paid the price for it- end of story. It's not like anyone thinks the 1-5 Jet would have won the game otherwise.

As far as the excessive beat-downs go: why not? To a player standing on the losing sidelines, the last minute "fuck you" touchdowns are probably infuriating, but shouldn't we as fans be thrilled about this? It might sound blasphemous, but the things that interest us the most about sports isn't the actual 60 minute game on the field- it's the stories and the general idea behind everything. This is why games like the Ravens-Giants Super Bowl are boring to most of the audience; without a suitable backstory or some kind of emotion attached, it doesn't matter how good or bad the teams are. Take N.L. playoffs the year. Nobody who watched these games was watching because these were the best teams playing- we watched because the Cubs and Phillies can't win anything, because the Diamondbacks are so young and star-less, and because the Rockies haven't lost a game since we thought the Falcons could contend. We want emotions and rivalries from our sports teams. When players downplay rivalries, we cringe; the times when it's painfully obvious that sports are no more than a business, we create stories to avoid thinking about it. So why, why is it bad to see the Patriots approaching every game with an absolute thirst for blood? Call me naive, but I like the idea of a team that's playing to demolish its opponents because they care about something beyond the dollar signs. Why win by 14 when you can win by 21? It's human nature to want to win as soundly as possible, and it's the human nature of sports that attracts us in the first place. And if it means that every team wants to beat the Patriots with a fiery passion, that's all the better- what could be more interesting?




And now to slightly-less good news: the Red Sox. We knew going into the playoffs that there were a few question marks, namely: Dice-K, JD Drew, Pedroia in cold weather, Wakefield, Gagne, and pretty much the entire 6-9 part of the order. The easy handling of the Angels boosted our hopes for a few days, but now that we're playing a well-matched team, those very question marks we had going in are making their presence known. The Dice Man and Wake are both good pitchers, certainly, but on a stage where one big inning is so crucial, neither one can be fully counted on to deliver. With Matsusaka it's the walks and his strange strategy of having 34223483 different pitches; with Wake it's more the nature of the beast in that he throws a knuckleball, which probably holds a record for being the quickest pitch to go from dazzling to frightening (see: Aaron Boone. I called that one back then and felt awful about it). As far as Mr. Drew....when he started hitting a bit towards the end, we tried to convince ourselves that he was coming into form. Eh. I was watching game 3 at a pizza place on my break from work when J.D. came up with 2 on and no out; I was this close to betting the girl next to me a dollar that he would ground into a double play or strike out looking. Luckily I didn't; he hit a tailor made double play ball to the first baseman, who promptly booted the play and fell on his ass.  And in regards to the bottom half of the lineup: let's just say I haven't been overly shocked to see Jake Westbrook and Paul Byrd look like Cy Young candidates against this team right now.

So here's the interesting thing: we're down 3-1, playing in a hostile environment against a team that has mostly dominated us, and for some reason I'm not writing in agony. There are two reasons, for this, I think:

A) Referencing Mr. Simmons again, ever since the Red Sox finally won the damn thing in 2004, we're in somewhat of a grace period now. The one-round exit to the White Sox in 05 and last year's meltdown definitely hurt, but it was the same kind of hurt that Paris Hilton feels when she gets arrested: sure, it sucks, but once you do your time and get over it, you've still got the cushion of being a multi-billionare with no responsibilities. In our case, we comfort our losses with the knowledge that we finally broke the "curse," we finally evened out the Yankee rivalry, and we managed to do so while maintaining a little bit of integrity with our lineup (Drew, Renteria, Crisp, Dice K, gagne not included). If/when the Sox blow this series, it will genuinely suck, but I won't face nearly the same damage I did when Aaron Boone destroyed my soul 4 years ago. Besides- I still have the Patriots.

B) I'm loathe to say this, really, but I couldn't think of a better time to be down 3-1. Tito got some flack for pitching Wakefield over Beckett in game 4- and based on the outcome, there's some validity to that- but there's nobody I want going for me more than Beckett and Schilling in the following must-win games. If Becket can keep his magic at the Jake in game 5, and Schilling can feed of the Fenway crowd in game 6, we're heading to game seven, in Boston. After watching the dramatic comeback in the 04 ALCS, just getting to a 7th game seems like the hard part. Dice-K would, of course, be the starter for that game- despite the recent struggles, I have to hold some hope that the $103 million wonder could rise up and have one of his flashes of brilliance; I also have to think that Jake Westbrook can't possible be that good twice in a row. Either way, in a game seven situation there's no holding back, and if the Red Sox have to call on some emergency arms from the bullpen you know they'll do it. As long is the series doesn't rely on Eric Gagne.

All in all, I'm significantly less panicked than I reasonably should be. The opiate of a world series doesn't just dull the pain of subsequent losses- after the wild ride that was 2004, I've been unfairly programmed to think that these things can happen. Post '04, Red Sox fans still have hope that we can overcome the daunting situations and rise to glory. Maybe the World Series win was just the beginning of a new draught, in which the gods of destiny give us back some of our optimism, only to watch it crumble over the next 90 years. Maybe there's no such thing as fate, and the Red Sox simply win when they play well and lose when they don't. Either way, I'll still be listening on Thursday night with the notion that Beckett and the boys can still pull this one out. Send in the clowns.




That does it for our sports report. Join us later, in the winter, when we discuss sports I couldn't care less about. Adieu.

i used to hate pepper. now i love pepper!

why yes, the magic "edit" tool. seems i can't joke around, be a little jolly, without some will-wishers wishing me well. phooey on all of you for being so nice.

it's 3:30 and here's my problem: Tanner's in his bed- naturally- and the new girl who hangs out with us is sleeping in my bed. that's fine, i let her, but the problem is Tony seems to have taken up residence on the couch, AKA the place that I usually sleep. What am I supposed to do- sleep in tony's bed? I'm not sure how that would go over. I guess I can list this under the many disadvantages to being the last one awake.

it's been a strange week in which i haven't slept nearly enough, or at least not at the write hours, but it's soon to be over. CVS will be taking me back under its evil wing, and I will be forced to regulate my life once again. While I'll miss playing Grand Theft Auto for four hours a day, it will be nice to kind of have, er, money again.


i've had the sex drive of a dead tree lately, which has been nice. girls get bent out of shape because guys are all horny and whatnot, but they don't seem to understand that it's hard to help, and that it annoys us too. Me, anyway. It's nice to not have my brain controlled by the desire to fuck everything that moves. Let's hope it keeps up.


In other news, my band is apparently good, or so I'm told. The show with the apples was a raving success, despite our fucking up a bit much, and now we rest with the confidence that aproximately 14 people think we're groovy. At least some of them are "important."


I have no idea what the show on my TV is right now, but I know it's on "noggin" or whatever, and it seems to feature a lot of scantily clad lesbians. What kind of kids programming is this?


Well I suppose it's time to take some benadryl with my Trader Joe's Night Time Tea and find a place to collapse...I hope no one reads this as it's boring.

king james

hey hey let's talk about hurt.

bye bye little buddy.

Current Mood: nauseated

so i go into work sunday, punch in, and since it's sunday I head straight for the basement. sundays are "push" days and that means that you scan a bunch of overstocked shit and the little gun thing tells you how many of that item to put on the shelf upstairs. and you do it. Painful as this may sound, it means not dealing with customers, not wearing a cvs shirt, and sometimes drinking beer with your supervisor.

anyway, I go down and Josh, the normal sunday-push-supervisor-guy is not there, but i assert my need to be there and get to work. yada yada yada...josh isn't there so i listen to my headphones and do my thing. All the sudden, I stand up from my crouching position and OUCHY WA-WA, my back is in some serious hurt. being a mysoginist , i find the nearest female and say "you're a girl...do you have any tylenol or something?" She says no but goes to get some from the pharmacy. i swallow them and get back to the job at hand.


unfortunately, tylenol is not helping me. in fact, i'm worse. pretty soon i can't really move. since every part of my job involves some sort of standing/lifting etc, i'm sent home. yahoo.

the next day is not better. in fact, i wake up and think "there is no way i can work today" (which is something i often think, but this time i actually meant it). i call and talk to the manager and soon it's a matter of workman's comp and doctors and notes and stuff. i'm told that if i want to go to a doctor i can, but i'm ambivalent and leave it at that.

wiser people then talk to me, and say what effectively amounts to "get your ass to the E.R., it's the only way you'll get any compensation from this." So I walk the painful half mile or whatever to the hospital (talk about lucky placement). It's a  quagmire and it takes me about 40 minutes to even find the fucking e.r. (which seems kind of bad, if you think about it).

after convincing everyone in the hospital that I'm retarded because I have to ask so many questions, having never been an ER patient without someone else bringing me there, i fill out my form and wait.  If you havent' spend a lot of time in an ER waiting room, try to stay that way. it's not a great place. one pretty girl was sitting there crying...one man was yelling and going from extreme asshole to suicidal wreck from minute to minute....one girl came in and sat down without me noticing, until she suddenly started wailing, hyperventilating, and collapsing. she looked about 17 years old. some people surmirsed that that was just a clever way of getting service quicker. i doubt it.

anyway, after about 3 hours i'm seen, i'm told that my back is sprained, i'm given a note to excuse my day of absence, and told to make an appointment with "occupational health" for the next day. the doctor whips out her prescription pad and i get excited, but to my dismay there are no percocets or vicodins in my future....she says "ok i'm going to give you motrin" (oh yeeha!)  and valium.

Valium? I thought that was for people with social anxiety. apparently it's also a muscle relaxer.

anyway, i spent monday-tonight (thursday) enjoying myself, because look at it this way: my prescription was to lie around, do nothing, and take valium. not exactly the worst possible fate, and it's all paid for. I might even get paid for the days i missed. sweetness.


anyway, that's my boring story of the week. bye bye livejournal.

sweet mother of jesus

can someone please explain to me how it took me this long in life to learn that Comet, the dog on full house, is a FEMALE capable of having puppies? what the fuck?

am i the only one who believes A) comet is a masculine name and B) that dog just looks manly

c'mon!

hello livejournal.

what's up?


i'll tell you what's up with me: not much. Actually, I suppose if you think about it a lot is "up," but it doesn't really seem much like it. It seems like i don't do anything but watch tv and go to work. but we have a new roomate named tony morse, who sleeps less than we do and cleans things and lets me eat his soup if i ask. that's nice. Tanner just wants to spend all his time in maine with the new-re-found love, which is understandable. hillary wants to move out so she can live with her gay friend with the pool (for the record, she refers to him as her "gay friend" too so i'm not like, sexually profiling or anything. fuckers). I told my boss that I would be leaving CVS on july 7th and not returning to massachussetts until mid august. apparently this man loves me, because he made it clear that I could easily have my job back. goodie.


it's funny that he loves me so much, because he really shouldn't. Yesterday I brought 4 beers to work with me and drank them in the basement with one of my coworkers. I don't wear my cvs shirt. I undercharge people if i think they're getting ripped off (which they are- a lot). i open the "must remain closed" back door so i can smoke cigarettes. i tell my supervisors to go fuck themselves.

apparently these are the qualities of someone who is "a success at CVS" (you can get a button that says that...i'm not kidding).


so on july 7th i'll be quitting CVS and subsequently spending my last week with the lovely lady friend...and then on the 12th, she will move far far away and i will cease to see her. I will most likely cease to find joy in life. To make things better, shortly after this i'll be trekking back to maine for a spell before heading to athens- nothing compounds depression like moving to a place that makes you depressed just to be there.

not to mention sort of living with my parents again. Don't get me wrong, my parents are pretty cool shit, but no one likes to move BACK in when they've lived on their own for a while. shit. no more free milkshakes...no more alcohol abuse...no more noise complaints from the downstairs neighbors.  at least for a month.


in other news, Tanner and I (mostly tanner, but the cool parts come from me, ja) have written the coolest song of all time. I think. We've played it so much from midnight last night to now (1:45 pm) that it's kind of hard to tell if it's any good at this point. Maybe it's the lack of sleep.


my mouth is dry.


i saw the excorcist for the first time yesterday. I thought it was pretty good, for a scary movie. scary movies are generally made for stupid people, and we all know i am not stupid people.


tanner has been recording/messing up/rerecording for like 2 hours. it's quite an impressive run he's on.


isn't this kind of thing easier to read when i use small paragraphs like this? aren't you going to find it hard to go back to huge sprawling blocks of text? I thought so.


man, i'm really boring. sorry.

so i finally got a hold of Mike Turner, the big cheese who's in charge of running athens popfest. i was really just looking for a comfirmation that no, it wasn't a joke, yes we were really supposed to play, but this was even better:

(backstory- remember how we went to the Apples in Stereo concert and met Robert Schneider, the frontman of the band AND the guy who singlehandedly recorded/produced the neutral milk hotel records, in addition to other sparkling gems...jeff mangum's best amigo...etc etc)

"Yeah, I was just calling to confirm everything and, y'know, see what's up. Because I mean, it was kind of a surprise."
"Yeah, well, the deal is...Robert Schneider is planning on curating one of the shows...and we haven't announced it yet because some of the headliners he wanted haven't confirmed yet...but you guys were on his list, and i saw it and was like 'oh yea, they sent us their demo so we have all their info and stuff' and so that's what happened."
"...oh."


needless to say, tanner and i spent a good half an hour giggling and hopping around because ROBERT FUCKING SCHNEIDER was the one who put us on the list for popfest. Shiiiiiiiiit.

a few months ago i read about the annual Athens Popfest, and I said "wow, I need to save up some money and go to this, as it features many of my favorite bands and would be a charming and worthwhile experience" (these were probably not my exact words, since no one talks like that. you get the drift). i learned about this event because i was browsing the website of Happy Happy Birthday to Me records, to whom we were sending a demo that day.

On saturday, I received a message from Mike Turner of HHBTM, inviting our band to PLAY at athens popfest 2007. the words "holy shit" probably escaped my mouth.

we'll see how this turns out, eh?

hey everyone, loyal readers, new friends, faithful enemies. it's certainly been a while, hasn't it? luckily for you and me and everyone we know, the most recent addition to my life is the presence of the internet (and, on a less pertinent note, cable tv) in my apartment. Thus, I will be able to regenerate my connections to this trashjournal, and also all the people i only talk to in the online environment.

i know what you're thinking right now, reader. you're wondering what the hell is up with AJ Griffin. You haven't seen me in a while, you haven't talked to me in a while; all you know is that i moved to the city and that I have a shitty job, and you stay awake at night with your eyeballs rolling into the back of your head, consumed with curiosity and worry at my situation. don't worry, i'm here for what is turning into the bi-monthly update, or something like that. you can sleep easy tonight.

so i still have my shitty job, but it's getting less shitty. not surprisingly, the turnover rate at CVS seems to hover around 3428234823%, which means people are constantly leaving and more people are being constantly groomed to take their jobs. As anyone who has a job knows, once you cease being "the new guy," your working experience becomes significantly better. I spend a lot less time wearing a stupid blue CVS shirt and ringing people up, and more time avoiding customers or, depending on the day, wearing a fancy labcoat and developing creepy pictures. the job must not be TOO terrible anymore, because i just worked a whopping 12 days in a row and did not kill myself or even pretend to be sick any of the days. Mucho dinero para mi.

speaking of creepy pictures, i had yet to encounter any pornographic or questionable images in my photo lab career...until the other night . All the sudden, every other role of film was filled with pictures of people grabbing their balls and groping their dicks....now everytime Angel Alvarez comes in to get more pictures developed, i can't help but think about the fact that he has a huge dong. This is unpleasant.

to the people who are constantly fretting that I'm wasting myself away at such a pointless and pathetic job: chill. I don't plan on making a career of CVS/pharmacy. although i wouldn't mind working long enough to get the health insurance and all the other benefits some people get.


the not-working time is mostly spent with the girlfriend. she's nice, and i like to spend time with her- as a matter of fact, i've told a few people that this is really the most healthy/happy/mature relationship i think i've ever been in. the only thing to complain about is her inevitable leaving for fucking motherfucking fucking chicago, at which point i will cease to be a happy person glowing with love, and will become some kind of japanese monster that blows fire from its bowels. Not looking forward to that. All that aside, though, things are going pretty spanking in AJ's love life.


as far as the living situation.....everyone knows that roomates can be taxing, but for the most part things go pretty smoothly. i pay all the bills and rarely get compensated, tanner eats my food, and it seems like hillary is never home except for the occasional opportunity to come in and complain about cleanliness, but on the whole we rarely fight and everyone's pretty happy. except that hillary broke our coffee pot...there's going to be some hell to pay for that. bitch.


mostly now, i'm busy enjoying not having to watch soap operas on TV anymore, and not having to schlepp 4 stops down the road to use the internet. it's like they say- you take that shit for granted until you don't have it.


i realize that this is just like the kind of thing i always hate reading on here, the "let me write down a bunch of shit no one cares about" post, but i can't say i feel too bad about it.

Current Mood: bouncy

i was sitting on the train, gazing out the window, and a motley looking pair of dudes was walking on the sidewalk. for some reason this caused me to wonder if i were prejudiced because of the way they were dressed and the way they walked, because my immediate assumption was that they were criminals. While I was pondering this though, a swarm of police officers ran at them from all directions and tackled both. they were duly arrested, rather violently, while everybody on the street watched. it made me feel sort of strange.

i don't have jackshit to say, but john lennon would argue that that is ok. because of a kelloggs commercial, of course.

last night some chinese people printed some photos on the do-it-yourself kiosk thing, and when they came to pay they wanted to make it very clear to me that there were some pictures over there that weren't theres. I was curious as to why they were so concerned about this, so i went to investigate....turns out, there was a nice glossy 5x7 print of a rather ugly dude wearing a wig and posing provocatively in lingerie... my job is great.

by "great" i mean "not very great," although doing the photo thing is a lot better than doing the gayass cashier thing..."do you have a CVS card? do you have a cvs card? do you have a cvs card? am i a robot trapped in space?"

i am glad though, that unlike maine, some of the people working the shit jobs in boston are people like me who are just passing time until something better (hopefully) comes along. i can associate very well with 75% of the people there...even if some of it is just because i am a male and thus a pig.

i just wrote a long thing about black people compared to white people which was not racist at all, but then i realized that if i even mention the word "black" on here i get killed by everyone. see, i'm getting smarter.



kevin barnes, you are so sad and so sexual at the same time. i find it hard to digest sometimes.

first of all i've decided i like that 'subject' and if you were wondering the next interobang album will be, until further notice, operating under the working title of "Troy wants to know"

anyway in response to the query:

the new songs are...new. its far too soon to really speak about anything to speak about because we remain in the prenatal, fetal stage....it is still legal to kill this album in california...ifwhen something does get made, it will be possibly more melodic than some stuff that's happened in the past....with lots of chord changes that tickle your hearts and spines instead giving you an erection, ja? theres also a theme floating around that deals a lot with fantasy and maturity and a girl called rosemary....anyhow, don't worry- there will still be noise and disgustage, but it will flitter and flutter through lilting and wilting songs that bloom and decay like a highspeed video of the life of a dragontrap flower.

but yes, the song 'hole' is by far the most pop that has ever come out of my head.