Saturday, September 10, 2011

A Blank Slate

Hear sound of ringing phone. Check time. 10:02. Far too early to answer. Silence it. Resume sleep.

Open eyes again. See Jon's face. Hey. Hey. Where's Eliot? I dunno. Close eyes.

Raised voice saying Lemme just check to see if either of my roommates are masturbating. Not. Awake now though. Vision blurry. Eyes crusty. Shouldn't wear contacts to bed. Bah.

Hello girls. Good thing I wore clothes to bed last night or this might have been awkward, eh? Get up. Get undressed for the shower anyway. Lulz.

Shower partyyyyyy. Talk about who it would be weirdest to have a picture of watching you take a dump. Deep. #rultalk

Get dressed. Watch Dr. Who.

Wish Eliot luck. Say goodbye to girls. Watch Star Trek. Eat. Do homework while watching Star Trek. Watch Battlestar Galactica.

Stare at screen for hours. So uninspired. Hope something comes to me soon.



Conor - Just Give Me A Second

What do you want? What else do you want?

I want to improve. I want to get better at one of the handful of things I really care about. I want to work at something and sense some kind of positive change as a direct result of my effort.

I want a piano in my room. It will probably go  where my bed currently is. My piano teacher told me I shouldn't put it against an outside wall. He probably knows what he's talking about, so, yeah, I'll go with that.

I want to get a chance to catch my breath. Things have been moving pretty quickly this year for me, and I wish I could spend a day in bed and let myself wrap my head around everything. This promised day might be tomorrow.

I want to finish watching the Wire. My friend Madison( whose name is misleading and it would be totally understandable if you thought he didn't have a penis based on his name alone, but alas) knocked out 3 episodes of Season 3 tonight. We'll see if we can keep it going at this rate. I hope so.

I want to get the finished recordings of Distraction, the new Band Practice EP. They should be in any day now. As soon as I have them I'll be that much happier.

I want to be healthy, self-motivated and an individual.

I want to write a song that I'm really, really proud of. A song that surprises me when it comes out. A song that I barely recognize as my own, a song I can be detached from. I want other people to like it, too.

I want to be an astronaut. Who plays baseball. Professionally.

I want to know another language very fluently. That would be super cool.

I want to get back that ability I previously had where I can get up early in the morning and do homework. I want to know where that ability has been for the past couple of weeks, and if it misses me as much as I miss it.

I want to see you. It's been a while!

I want people to take my apologies more sincerely. I may apologize too often, but I mean it. I'm being sincere.

I want to settle down and start a family with Lemonade. Lemonade, if you're reading this, I mean it, and you're delicious. I'm ready to stop wandering, I'm done with those other drinks. I'm ready for you and I.

I want to know how to dance and cook.

I want to be an expert on something. Anything, really.

I want to know all the words to every verse of Monster.

I want to spend a day with someone, and get to know as much about them as I can.

I want go to bed.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

I Hope They At Least Spell My Name Right When I Die

by Brendan Cavanagh

Another week at Classic Brian has now come and gone, and each of the preceding six writers have offered up their individual, unique methods of preserving either their name or body for eternity. So far, I've seen mentions of self-immolation, bareback elephant-riding, and Jason Statham-inspired, adrenaline-fueled exponentiation. I tip my hat to my fellow Classic Brian writers, and I hope whether or not they adhere to the plans they've blogged about, they one day achieve their desired immortality.

As for me, cross-generational, international fame is not really my cup of tea. While it would certainly be nice to attain some sort of prosperity or prestige, doing so is not my foremost ambition. Rather, I have a few central goals: to inspire students through teaching English, to start a close-knit family and maybe write on the side. I'm in no hurry to complete these tasks; instead I will enjoy the thrill of pursuit of their completion. Of course, there are myriad other little things I want to do here and there, which will fit intermittently into the overall journey.

I figure as long as I remain passionate about the people and things I care about, as long as I remain humble and decent to others throughout my life, I will have made a difference. As a teacher, I hope to inspire younger generations to embrace the emotional and intellectual fulfillment of obtaining a proper education and seeking out Wisdom and Knowledge. As a family man, I want to be revered and respected for my actions and interactions with family members and hopefully serve as a model for how my progeny's families should function. By traveling and being exposed to numerous distinct cultures, I plan to develop a better understanding of the human condition, which hopefully makes me a better person and a superior writer. If my writing- including blog posts, essays and poems- has the capacity to influence another individual in a positive fashion, then I will have done my job.

Essentially, I do not desire any sort of fame or legendary status. If I achieve immortality, that's great! I just hope it arises out of affability towards others and a genuine passion for what I do.

A fitting representation of how I feel can be found in one of the closing scenes of Greg Mottola's low-key, 2009 coming-of-age film, Adventureland. In this scene, the protagonist, James, and his colleague / friend from the amusement park, Joel, discuss nominal immortality (beginning at 2:40):

Let it be noted that this clip is in Spanish (my bad), but I'm going to leave it up anyway.

Joel: What's the point of being a writer or an artist anyway? Herman Melville wrote fuckin' Moby Dick, he was so poor and forgot by the time he died that in his obituary they called him Henry Melville. You know, like why bother? They're just going to forget our fuckin' names anyway. I heard Em went back to New York.
James Brennan: I wish it didn't end like that, I should've - I don't know.
James Brennan: Your Herman Melville story that - that's bullshit.
Joel: It's true, they called him Henry.
James Brennan: No, I mean, he wrote a seven-hundred page allegorical novel about the whaling industry. I think he was a pretty passionate guy, Joel. I hope they call me Henry when I die, too.
Joel: One can only hope.

as long as i know that the ones who are close to me care about me enough to remember my name i am set. they better at least spell it right. There's no "u" or "b" in Cavanagh.

Rememberance to the tenth power = immortality

Damn, I guess I am gonna die.

There's gotta be that one great beautiful dark twisted death out there that is just the perfect way to crystallize your corpse in the minds of millions worldwide. Fuck that, billions worldwide. Way to fucking go, this guy.

But, since that idea's taken, (not, you know, the feeling of smoldering yourself and boiling, melting, oh my God that sounds awful) I'll have to come up with something else.

You know who's really memorable? Forrest Gump. I mean, shit, if I had met Gump during one of his numerous (mis)adventures, I would definitely not forget the guy. In a day and age where celebrities die every day and become distant memories within weeks, you have to make contact with people in order to cement yourself in their memory.

And as good of a name as Eliot Sill is, I need something legendary. I'm thinking Kirken Waltsh. That's good. It sounds like a thing, and less of a name. You guys will all Kirken Waltsh one day. Middle name? C-something. Kirken C. Waltsh. 

I'm gonna meet a ton of people. And I'm gonna kick all their asses, not literally, but in a that-guy-just-blew-my-mind type of way.

Step one: Become a teacher.

You know how every one has that one teacher they will absolutely never forget? That's gonna be me. I'm gonna teach English, a subject every one has to take, and I'm going to be the best thing that's hit words since the semi-colon. First off, I'll speak completely in rhyme, and hire TA's to pencil-beat or beatbox (for advanced level TA's) all class long, with my main points summarized in refrains that, picture it, by the end of the lecture the whole class is singing as my army of hype men. Yes. That'll be hard to forget.

Oh, and screw not cussing. This teacher's new-school.

This is a limited time offer to America's youth. I've only got between four and six years to blow getting my name out there before the task has been completed and I quit fucking teaching. The seeds of my face have been planted in the youth. They will tell their parents, their friends, and their children about Mr. Waltsh. My network of knownness will grow, spreading across the body of the country like blood from a gunwound. Have I lost you yet? Good. Follow, follow.

Step two: Own land, and lord it.

This could take anywhere from two to 20 years, depending on how long I feel like running with it. I want a lot of places owned by me, rented out to people. I will stress the lord moreso than the land, trying to paint a picture of myself as a high-society official. Speaking of which, I will implement a genius nugget of landowning policy: 50 bucks off your monthly rent if you hang a portrait of me somewhere in your home. If you're too egotistical to save this money, fine, pay me. Discounts go up, depending on where you place the portrait, for instance, if I walk into your apartment and see my stoic face staring back at me with some tastefully dramatic lighting drawing proper respectful attention to me, then bam, it's like: what are you going to spend your fresh $200 on?

I get real close with my tenants. After all, they have to think I'm living room portrait worthy. I build a real sense of community with my giant, nicely kept playplace in the middle of my complex, coupled with a bar (which is severely cheap; I do not need to profit monetarily from this, prestige is my currency).

Step three: Invent a new facial expression.

Yes, this is where my plot turns from golden to platinum. I will be everywhere wearing this thing. Eye-contacting as many passersby as is manageable.

When I master this, you will walk by me, and be
struck by someone with depression, hope and
a Nike swoosh for a mouth.
Was he laughing, yawning or eating an imaginary triple-cheeseburger?

 Why did that guy look like a mixture of a bird and an
old lady?

This, when mastered, will look unquestionably like there
is a black hole somewhere below the back of my brain
that I am using everything I've got to prevent from sucking
my entire body into.

Okay so this is really hard ... but I've worked up a few prototypes. I have, basically, all my spare time from graduation until I'm done landlording to master these. Just giving you some ideas. 

These interactions will be merely milliseconds in length, and will be enough to bury the image of my face deep in the unconsciouses of millions. But when recalled, they'll remember me, in a deja vu sort of way and think: "where have I seen that face before?"

Step four: Mass produce t-shirts of me.
On the front, nothing. On the back? As big as can allow, me, giving the face, and throwing a fierce thumbs-up. Underneath it in excited, Dr. Tinycat font text: "WALTSH HAS YOUR BACK;"

Yeah, the semi-colon is vital here. Peculiarity, memorability, fueled by originality. Sometimes originality is trying to put a square peg in no hole at all, but just letting it lie there and saying "that's where my peg is, you see?"

I will peddle these shirts, give them out for free, whatever. They will be plentiful and they will be worn, people will see the face, people will recognize the face, people will recognize their landlord, their teacher. I am growing, in populus, and in longevity.

Step five: Make small talk with the President at a very opportune time.

Big speech, millions watching, I charge the stage, with an undeniable smile. The President, definitely male by this point, is calm, he knows I mean no harm.

Me: "Hey, you're doing great!"
He: "Ha, well, thank you, can I help you?"
Me: "Yeah, you should really give this a look."
(Hands item)
He: "What's this?"
Me: "I just finished that book, it's really good, but I think you'd like it more."
He: "No reason I can't give it a look."
Me: "Exactly. Dinner later?"
He: "Busy."
Me: "Fair. Security?"
He: "I can call."
Me: "That'd be great."

Step six: Run for City Clerk somewhere...

...and spend billions on the campaign. Where is all this money coming from? Most, at this point from campaign funders, but also I will have money from landowning, and t-shirt sales. Also donations. I will be wealthy. I just will.

Anyway, my campaign will rival the President's. Only I will be running for City Clerk. Which isn't capitalized, but I will bring status to the office to the point of capitalization. I will tour the country, telling people across America to "really pressure the citizens of Peosta, Iowa, to vote me for City Clerk."

If the other guy gets a vote I swear to fucking god.

Step seven: Offer an infamous commencement speech

My popularity will be high by this point, and I must clinch status atop society by telling college kids what their future holds. 

Probably University of Illinois. I will start this speech by complaining about my toothache. How after all the preparation I put into the speech I have this stupid bloody toothache. This whining goes on for twelve minutes, and includes lots of sighing, some groaning, one minute of fighting an urge to cry. I may have this toothache, I suppose, but I am planning on this being a lie. Just when things are getting unbearable, and action is an instant from being taken, I spring into freestyle rap. I leap off the stage over to my drum set, microphone in hand, and rap to my own beat about how life is like a toothache, and so forth. 

By the end, the crowd can't fucking believe shit. I have solved all of their futures. All of their futures rhyme and flow magnificently. This makes CNN. Kirken Waltsh would be knighted if we lived in England. Hell, I might go over there and ask — worth a shot, right?

Step eight: Go overseas with the sole purpose of throwing kickass parties

I will sell everything I have, reputation stolid in America, and move to Europe.

I will throw the biggest, most lavish, most inclusive, and crunkest parties on the planet. Kirken Waltsh; party extraordinaire. Everyone's invited. Everyone's doing substances. Everyone's having the time of their lives. Party's status as a word will be put in jeopardy, as they will start referring to these large gatherings — and large gatherings everywhere — as Waltshes. Like a Waltz, but not so pretentious.

These will be my glory years.

Step nine: Advertise

I come back to America. Ready to rake in the millions.

A la The Most Interesting in the World, I will have advertise a sensible product. Maybe Coca-Cola, maybe Foster's beer, maybe Hardee's, maybe Tommy Hilfiger clothing. I will be on televisions everywhere, or computers by that point, if that's how life is then. 

Step ten: End it like no one else

My death, shall be boring. But, as usual, I will make the situation more interesting. Famous last words, ones that fit the moment. I shall have none of that, but what I will have is some milk, please. As I lay on my death bed, I will ask that I be placed in a tub and given milk to drink. All the milk I can ask for. I shall drink this creamy white utterance down like it is the kingdom of heaven itself, and go out completing the milk gallon challenge. I die before I throw up. Or I die, then throw up, but that doesn't count. Because I'm dead. My last words will be, "milk is how I'm going to die." And I bet NO ONE has exited on that line before.

It's all about being different.

Life isn't like a box of chocolates. It's like a box of pinless grenades. No matter what you pick, you and those around you are going to die. But it's not what you get, it's in what situation you choose to open the box.

--Eliot Sill

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Immortal Larson (That's what they call me)

It seems to me that the best way tl thrust yourslf into the forefront of the public's mind is to become some great or terrible leader. Obama, King George, Winston Churchill, Mufasa, etc. These people were well known when they were alive for having all the responsibility in the world and are still remembered after their death (I'm assuming Obama) for how they handled that power. As a true and proud American citizen (I've never been out of the country so I'm not actually sure anything else exists) I'm pretty sure the President of the United States is the most important person you could possibly be. Therefore, to reach my goal of immortality I will first get elected as your President.

Honestly. this part doesn't seem too hard. I know people spend millions of dollars every election just to lose in the end but I really do think I would have a good chance with the American people. First of all, in the TV age, looks are everything. I'm obviously gorgeous, so most people will vote for me just based on this. If you recall, the last time we had a semi attractive girl run for President (Sarah Palin) she made an ass of herself. Therefore my next campaign strategy is to not say anything retarded. For example, I do believe in dinosaurs and global warming. Other than that all I really need is a catch phrase (think "Yes We Can" only even more inspirational and concise) and I'm golden.

I know what you're thinking, just becoming President isn't such a big deal. There are plenty of President's I know little to nothing about (Rutherford B. Hayes for example). I know. I've thought about this. Becoming President is obviously not enough in itself. I also need to do something with that Presidency.

Here's my next plan: When I am President I will do my best to one up every president I can possibly think of with any sort of real reputation or infamy. I will sleep with absolutely every worker in the White House that is willing and then give all my press conference regarding the incidents in cryptic riddles. I will hire people to stalk, bug and control (if possible) all of my political rivals but be sure to leave video recordings of me telling the, to do so in code. I will cut down every apple tree in the nation and then lie about it. I will instigate a war between the East Coast and the West Coast and then break every law and commandment to end said war. And lastly, I will have an affair with Megan Fox in a blonde wig.

After all of these actions there is not a doubt in my mind that I will be assassinated. Being assassinated in the prime of my life will only add to my legend. If for some nonsenssical reason, no one succeeds in killing me, I will certainly be impeached and then fired (resigning is for quitters) and will therefore go down in history as the first female President and the first President to ever be fired (this will probably also ensure that no other women ever get elected President).

As you can see I will have become the most imfamous politician to ever have lived. I will instantly become a household name and I will remain that way forever. People will study me and my motives for years to come. Springfield will be transformed from a Lincoln town into a Larson town. I WILL LIVE ON FOREVER.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Nick - Immortality

Classic Brian has been adhering to a theme this week: immortality. But I'm not here to play into Robert and Conor's petty game of who gets remembered harder; I'm here to explain that they've been doing it all wrong.

You see, so far we've accepted the premise that immortality means being remembered for a pretty long time. Well, I don't care how I'm remembered, because I'll be dead. No, I'm afraid the trick to real immortality is not dying.

And I have a plan to do this. There are no magic tricks to keep yourself alive forever. No secret potions. On the contrary, all you really need is math.

I'm going to make sure that I never have a moment of weakness in which to die. Simply put, I'm going to do something more extreme every day absolutely forever.

How, you might ask, can I possibly expect this to keep me from dying? While my plan may at first seem naive, it is in fact brilliant.

You see, after so many days, I'm going to be in the big leagues of extreme. I'll be doing stuff so intense and bad ass that I can't just die after doing it. Nobody climbs Mount Everest and then just dies of old age immediately afterward.

Plus, if I continue doing more awesome things each day, eventually one of the only awesome things left to do will be to become immortal.

Finally, one last reason that I will never die is that once I begin graphing my life as an exponential growth curve, I will never be able to die because exponential growth curves don't end, they just continue. Exponentially.

So in conclusion, have fun being dead. You dumb motherfuckers.


Sunday, September 4, 2011

Robert - Autumn Mix

To whom it may concern, primarily Eliot and Lauren:

My autumn mix is coming. Construction has begun, and soon, there will be only one season left.