LaughingGooner

Journalism Student peddling his work to what he perceives as the masses.

Mine plus Others

— @cexycescy on Twitter.

Needle to Skin. Ink. Clear Mind. 

Feb 21

President Obama promises the NSA will not spy on his friends, but not you. Allies of the Obama administration can breathe easy after he announced American security agencies will not eavesdrop on his close friends. He did not however clarify who is allowed to sit at the popular table and not worry about their lunch conversations being monitored. It is clear that the American public is sitting somewhere near the back with the unpopular crowd. The President rejected the need for court permission for National Security Letters. Which give the FBI power to extract information from businesses about its customers without the public’s knowledge. American’s should not be afraid of their government spying on them, but Obama does little to squash that fear.

Feb 07

Portraits of Madelyne Contri by Miles Herbert

Feb 07

As we pulled up to the pump at the gas station; she hastily unbuckled her seat-belt and jumped out of the car before we had come to a complete stop. “I got it”, she called behind her. Bridget is my best friend. We had been driving for hours, making our way through the snow, wind, and -20 degree temperatures. The wind was pushing our car all over the highway, but Bridget was more than happy to endure the 25 mph winds than sit next to me and hear one more of my questions. The previous three hours she avoided me with skull crushingly loud pop songs blaring through the car radio. Hearing the same Maroon 5 song over and over again suited her ears more than anything I was offering.

“Everyone remembers their first time drinking… What about your first time.. you know?”. I looked over at her sheepishly. Bridget doesn’t like to talk, but she is a great communicator. As I turned toward the passenger seat her face dropped, her eyes rolled, and she reached to turn the radio even louder before crossing her arms across her chest.

“I remember the first time I met you”, she said half looking out the window. I laughed and remained quiet. Letting my silence ask her to tell me more. Bridget turned toward me, unfolded her arms, and turned the radio down just enough to be heard. “ You were just as annoying as you are now” she said. With the first smile that came across her face all day.

 

Feb 07

Cloud Nothings - I’m Not Part Of Me

The catchiest, grungiest punk rock you will find in the Midwest and beyond. 

Jan 29

posthawk:

Annie Hall (1977)

May 03

Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I’m in a card game. Then I’m in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a “before” in a Charles Atlas “before and after” ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy — he ain’t so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I’m in Omaha. It’s so cold there, by this time I’m robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain’t much to look at, but who’s built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything’s going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

Jan 31

6 Word Story

Needle to Skin. Ink. Clear Mind. 

Obama Calms the Wrong Peoples Fear of Government Surveillance

President Obama promises the NSA will not spy on his friends, but not you. Allies of the Obama administration can breathe easy after he announced American security agencies will not eavesdrop on his close friends. He did not however clarify who is allowed to sit at the popular table and not worry about their lunch conversations being monitored. It is clear that the American public is sitting somewhere near the back with the unpopular crowd. The President rejected the need for court permission for National Security Letters. Which give the FBI power to extract information from businesses about its customers without the public’s knowledge. American’s should not be afraid of their government spying on them, but Obama does little to squash that fear.

LaughingGooner

Posted on Friday February 7th 2014 at 04:41pm. Its tags are listed below.

Portraits of Madelyne Contri by Miles Herbert

Not Her First Time

Posted on Friday February 7th 2014 at 04:15pm. Its tags are listed below.

Not Her First Time

As we pulled up to the pump at the gas station; she hastily unbuckled her seat-belt and jumped out of the car before we had come to a complete stop. “I got it”, she called behind her. Bridget is my best friend. We had been driving for hours, making our way through the snow, wind, and -20 degree temperatures. The wind was pushing our car all over the highway, but Bridget was more than happy to endure the 25 mph winds than sit next to me and hear one more of my questions. The previous three hours she avoided me with skull crushingly loud pop songs blaring through the car radio. Hearing the same Maroon 5 song over and over again suited her ears more than anything I was offering.

“Everyone remembers their first time drinking… What about your first time.. you know?”. I looked over at her sheepishly. Bridget doesn’t like to talk, but she is a great communicator. As I turned toward the passenger seat her face dropped, her eyes rolled, and she reached to turn the radio even louder before crossing her arms across her chest.

“I remember the first time I met you”, she said half looking out the window. I laughed and remained quiet. Letting my silence ask her to tell me more. Bridget turned toward me, unfolded her arms, and turned the radio down just enough to be heard. “ You were just as annoying as you are now” she said. With the first smile that came across her face all day.

 

LaughingGooner

Posted on Wednesday January 29th 2014 at 06:17pm. Its tags are listed below.

Cloud Nothings - I’m Not Part Of Me

The catchiest, grungiest punk rock you will find in the Midwest and beyond. 

posthawk:

Annie Hall (1977)

The early days of MTV were all about epic narratives and the dazzle of rapid fire cuts, but the more my life and average workday starts to look like something out of Minority Report— constant clicks from browser tab to browser tab; imploring IMs and Gchats and email prompts— I have noticed a shift in what I consider to be a good music video. I still want to escape, but escaping looks different now. Maybe this is why a lot of my favorite videos from the past couple of years— Robyn’s “Call Your Girlfriend”, Grimes’ “Oblivion”, Tyler the Creator’s “Yonkers”, Zebra Katz’ “Ima Read”, Beach House’s “Wishes”, Kanye West’s “Power”, Jessie Ware’s “Wildest Moments”, and of course Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies”— feel either suspended in slow motion or brazenly low-concept. Slow and simple becomes rebellious in a world that’s anything but.
Lindsay Zoladz considers the past, present, and future of the music video in her latest Ordinary Machines column. (via pitchfork)
We need music criticism because people like writing it and people like reading it. It’s as simple as that. Why do we need blogs about World of Warcraft? Why do we need people who want to talk about knitting? There’s a number of things that, if you’re outside of that culture, it seems strange or unnecessary. If you’re in it, though, it feels very necessary. They give meaning to life, they make you happy, they give you something to do.
Author Devon Powers makes a case for music writing in her conversation with Eric Harvey about her book Writing the Record: The Village Voice and the Birth of Rock Criticism. (via pitchfork)
Writers are, in a way, very powerful indeed. They write the script for the reality film. Kerouac opened a million coffee bars and sold a million pairs of Levis to both sexes. Woodstock rises from his pages. Now if writers could get together into a real tight union, we’d have the world right by the words. We could write our own universes, and they would be as real as a coffee bar or a pair of Levis or a prom in the Jazz Age. Writers could take over the reality studio. So they must not be allowed to find out that they can make it happen. Kerouac understood long before I did. ‘Life is a dream,’ he said.
William S. Burroughs in Remembering Jack Kerouac (1985)
One of the problems with the idea that America needs a ‘Conversation On Race’ is that it presumes that ‘America’ has something intelligent to say about race. All you need do is look at how American history is taught in this country to realize that that is basically impossible.

Bob Dylan… On how he chose his career.

Posted on Thursday January 31st 2013 at 07:01pm. Its tags are listed below.

Bob Dylan… On how he chose his career.

Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I’m in a card game. Then I’m in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a “before” in a Charles Atlas “before and after” ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy — he ain’t so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I’m in Omaha. It’s so cold there, by this time I’m robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain’t much to look at, but who’s built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything’s going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

When public schools are judged by how much art and music they have, by how many science experiments their students perform, by how much time they leave for recess and play, and by how much food they grow rather than how many tests they administer, then I will be confident that we are preparing our students for a future where they will be creative participants and makers of history rather than obedient drones for the ruling economic elite.
Mark Naison, Fordham professor and social justice activist  (via annavonderheide)
You’re not really an adult at all. You’re just a tall child holding a beer, having a conversation you don’t understand.
Dylan Moran (via liamdryden)