French Toooast

born to lose, destined to fail.

2011-11-20T18:07:00.003-05:00

as many of you know, my smokin' hawt wife accepted a job at the famed, historic Young Life's Frontier Ranch a while back. in fact, we moved to the quaint burgh of Buena Vista, CO almost 1 year ago to the day. this scenic town boasts a veritable wal-mart's load of opportunities for the budding adventurer, including mountain biking, backcountry skiing, mountaineering, and blowing some crap up in the woods. i immediately fell in love with the place... then spent 4 months on a friend's couch in a kind of career purgatory where "the view" suddenly becomes a concrete daily engagement and cultivating one's obesity becomes a kind of sick, legitimate hobby. jobs were about as abundant as unicorns named "robbie" who dressed like wizards.

then a friend of mine started a construction company.

then i remembered that my dad dabbles in woodwork like monet dabbled in water lillies... like the LAPD dabbles in beating people... like gary busey dabbles in being freakin' weird. my hope was that i somehow genetically inherited these mad skillz.

"i can do this," i thought. "the heavy end of the hammer hits things and saws are sharp and stuff." i considered starting my own competing company but decided that i'd be humble for a change.

my first day of work brought forth the realization that everything on a job site is heavy, sharp, awkward, and capable of killing me in some way. you'd think that after so long working with wood and tools that i'd be calloused/intelligent enough to avoid injuring myself or at least not destroying 50% of everything we build. you'd be wrong. so wrong.

here's a rundown of my last week at Snicklefritz* Construction (name changed to protect our stellar reputation):

monday: while installing hardwood floors, my co-worker MC somehow seamlessly married a "our boss drooled a lot as a child" joke with a poop joke. i wept from laughing. i simultaneously decided that this is a great time to pound this piece of hardwood flush with my hammer. i now am missing 1/4 of my middle finger on my left hand and there's a 6 inch wide puddle of blood beneath the floor boards.
still monday: same circumstances. mangled my left index finger.
tuesday: set a circular saw down next to me with the blade still spinning. reached for a board right next to the blade. yelped and shot blood all over the bathroom we were framing. minor flesh wound. major emotional reaction. the crying subisded 3 hours later.
wednesday: snow day. took a company field trip to the BLM land adjacent to Buena Vista. blew up a deer carcass. our fearless leader got so excited that he had to run behind some bushes and drop trow lest he poop himself. miraculously avoided hurting myself or destroying anything... probably because we didn't actually work.
thursday: dropped a 30 foot extension ladder onto a glass jar. shards of glass were later found in my tool bags, my pants, and the horse stalls. praying that seabiscuit never goes shoeless in our barn.
friday: almost fell off the roof while painting the barn. reached too far to paint the trim. laid on the roof after the panic attack subsided while mumbling "pound cake" over and over again. apparently i'm convinced that "pound cake" is a cussword.

after a respectable high school and college career, 3 years of professional ministry, and a year spent at one of the most celebrated mountaineering shops in the country, i now don't trust myself to do more than carry lumber and hold ladders for the people who do the real work. i look at job openings at subway and think, "i'm. not. qualified."

the good news? country music songs now make sense.

ear candy:
"behold the hurricane", by the horrible crowes

watch:
more jackass... appreciate stupidity as an art form.

read:
anything by jim harrison

Uuuuuuuuuuhhhh yeah.

2011-05-26T18:48:00.000-04:00

THIS is what I'm currently paid for... among other things.

Mt. Columbia - 14073 Feet, None of Them Friendly

2011-04-30T12:53:00.010-04:00

Living in the Rocky Mountains is an exercise in peer pressure. At first the scenery is so majestic that all you want to do is paint landscapes, write poetry, and talk about feelings. But eventually, you can feel the massive peaks looking down on you like it's your freshman year and the seniors are about to gently dip your head in the locker room toilet if you refuse to do what they say.

"Hey freshman. Climb this big effing hill or you'll never make varsity."

"Uh... ok," I say as my voice cracks, I hitch up my parachute pants, and sweat for no reason.

Saturday, April 9 was my second attempt at climbing one of Colorado's 14,000 foot peaks. My dear bro-brah Jason Fruh was to drive up to Buena Vista from Denver on Friday night and then we would climb and ski Mount Columbia in the morning. In my mind, I pictured us steadily climbing up a freshly powdered avalanche chute to the summit, where we would take pictures, celebrate how awesome we were, and then descend the mountain on our skis, carving perfect turns that would render us heavily sponsored and widely celebrated by the time we returned to our car. We'd be back home in time for a hero's lunch of Hot Pockets and RC Cola.

We woke up at about 4:30, which I enjoyed about as much as that colonoscopy video they showed us in my biology class. We packed the car, somehow convinced the dog that he was better off staying home and chewing on our TV remote, and said goodbye to my adorable, confused, and bleary-eyed wife.

We'd be taking the North Cottonwood Trail into Horn Fork Basin and then climbing the southwest couloir to the summit ridge. On paper, this route is pretty straightforward, and the whole trail is like 5 inches long with a bunch of squiggly lines in between. Please. I've been training for a marathon, I've seen pictures of Everest, and I've seen Vertical Limit like 4 times. Give me a challenge. I was almost praying for an avalanche so I could hurl myself across a crevasse and dig into the vertical wall of ice on the other side using only my ice axe and my Bear Grylls knife.

The North Cottonwood Trailhead starts at about 9,860 feet, but due to snow on the road we parked in a lot about a mile and 400 feet below the trailhead. No big deal... I'm all man. As we were putting on our ski boots, I realized I would be wearing these things all day. My ski boots are comfortable like Crystal Pepsi was a good idea. "Hey, how far is this trip?" I casually asked Fruh. "Uh... with the extra mile to the trailhead, I'd say about 15 miles round trip."

I glazed over.

I could suddenly hear my flannel sheets screaming for me to come home and go back to bed. Maybe I left the oven on or something... even though I haven't used the oven in like 3 weeks. Maybe my dog is throwing a rager at my house and I need to go regulate before someone lights my couch on fire. Either way, this is starting to seem like a BAD IDEA.

We attach climbing skins to the bottom of our skis and start schlepping. The snow is spotty for the first 3/4 of a mile, so we have to remove our skis and boot it about every 100 yards. Finally we hit the official trailhead and the snow fills in. I can't even see Columbia, but I know it's there to my right side, thinking that it's better than me. So we skin... and skin... and then we skin some more. The trail only rises about 1000 feet over the first 4 miles, so for a long time it feels like I'm skinning across Kansas instead of making a 14er approach. At about 11,000 feet the trail opens up into Horn Fork Basin and Columbia stands off to our right, looking especially angry. I can see spin drift coming off of the summit ridge even though it's calm and warm in the valley. Fruh shows me the couloir we'll be climbing. It's a steep wall of snow that shoots straight up the mountain. My neck hurts from looking at it.

"The Evergreen has breakfast specials if you get there before 8," I say, still looking at the mountain.

"It must have been hard when they cut you from the cheerleading squad," he replies.

I hang my head in shame. We climb.

The snow is bulletproof and icy in spots, and after about 500 vertical feet my skins lose their grip and we're forced to boot it. I duct tape my skis to my pack because I can't afford a $4.95 ski strap and we hike. Around 12,000 feet I have to stop every 30 steps to catch my breath. At 12,500, I forget what it's like to not feel pain. At 13,000 I can't remember what bread tastes like. At 13,500 things start getting dramatic and we say things like, "I don't care if I die on this mountain. We're summiting." At 13,700 we hit the summit ridge and I realize we have 3/4 of a mile to traverse along the ridgeline to the summit. Crap. The wind is gusting around 50mph. We're getting pelted with little chunks of ice. My cheeks feel like frostbite. I can't see any of the surrounding mountains. Fortunately Fruh can't hear me crying and yelling for my mom because of the wind.

Over one last rise, we reach the summit. Fruh taps the summit boulder with his trekking pole and retires to the side of the mountain that seems to be less windy. I collapse into a nook in the rock and eat a peanut butter sandwich while sobbing. I want to urinate but the wind keeps shifting directions and I'm pretty sure I'm too tired to dodge my own pee. We take two joyless summit photos and start the descent.

The snow is crusty and my legs feel like jell-o. My skis are unruly and keep trying to cross or separate at the worst possible moments, like when Fruh is taking a picture or I'm nuking toward a large rock outcropping. I'm reduced to pizza/french fry mode.

We reach the bottom of the couloir and realize we still have a relatively flat four mile slog until we get to the car. My Hot Pocket fantasies are replaced by the instinct to survive. I start to wonder what my backpack tastes like. I tell Fruh to eat me if I die first. He refuses. I'm slightly offended.

We get to the car at 4pm, 11 hours after we set out. My feet are bleeding and one of my toenails decided it wasn't worth it and turned black. Weak. When I weighed myself later that night after dinner, I had lost 6 pounds.

I'm seriously reevaluating my choice of hobbies. Nude beekeeping seems to be safer and less stressful.

Woof Woof. What's that girl? Timmy's addicted to meth and is chasing cars on the highway? WOOF!

2011-04-02T13:55:00.004-04:00

At the present time, I am without a few of the luxurious comforts that I typically enjoy. I have a car, but it smokes like a European and threatens to explode like a molotov cocktail every time I turn the key. I do not have internet access at my house. I have a television that weighs more than Snooki and shares the same warm orange glow... and also does not provide me with any channels.

I have books, chores, cooking, my forest fire of a wife...

...and the freakin' dog.

Guster came to us on a cold November evening, a small ball of nappy black fur with a slight tremble and a touch of what I perceived to be autism. He would often shimmy his way into a corner nose-first and stay there, seemingly convinced that if all he could see was the corner, the corner was all that existed. I loved him immediately, not only for his audacious theories on relative existence, but also because he was soft and I could snuggle him. I would fantasize about the days when he would climb mountains with me, effortlessly carrying a pack full of mountaineering gear and staring purposefully off to the horizon from the tops of great spires. We would reach the summit together, sit on a rock to enjoy the view, and he would sip expensive burbon while I read the diaries of John Muir. Just as we would silently share a knowing glance at one another and begin our descent, my fantasy would be shattered by a retching noise and the reality that Guster had just puked on my flip flops and was now debating whether or not this pile of vomit constituted another meal.

As he has aged, we have noted some stranged neuroses that surface from time to time in our beloved dog. He insists upon accompanying us into the bathroom. Regardless of our intended purpose for being there, he must come. It draws him. The several times I've denied him access to my biological necessities, he has retaliated by destroying something that is of value to us. The remote for our DVD player is now a twisted fray of plastic and wire. The battery cover for my cell phone is marred and pock-marked like a 14 year old boy. The leg of our only nice chair has been whittled to a shaky hourglass shape. And, inevitably, when we do come out of the bathroom, he is laying by the door, staring at us and wagging his tail as if to say, "Cross me again, ***hole. See what happens." I cower in fear.

He also smuggles foreign objects into the house following his routine bathroom breaks... and by foreign objects I mean massive nuggets of deer crap. Buena Vista is flooded with lazy, ambitionless mule deer. Along with causing car accidents, peeping into windows, and refusing to get jobs, they also poop on every square foot of this town... without exaggeration. Guster has decided that these deposits are delicious treasures that must be brought into our house and savored. Chandler has dubbed him "The Poop Smuggler". I have dubbed him shameless and undignified.

For all his faults, he is a pretty good dog. We haven't summited a peak together yet, but when we do, I like to imagine he'll pull out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, pour himself a glass, look off into the distance, nod, and then spit out the massive deer turd he's been chewing on for the last 3 hours.

"Good dog", I'll say. "Good dog."

Grip On:
Bayside's new album.

Stop What You're Doing and Watch:
some Mad Men. Then smoke a cigarette and put some bear grease in your hair. It's such a gas!

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To:
Jeremiah Dulaney. Tornado survivor. Loving father. Doting husband. Waterboarder of house cats.

them duke boys...

2011-03-22T15:07:00.002-04:00

as a high school senior, my life up to that point had been marked by small rebellions. i was, by reputation, a good kid. however, on most friday nights, you could often find me choking down a warm beer that had been thoughtfully stashed under a rock by my hapless best friend some three months earlier in a vain attempt to establish myself as a "man's man" or "ben the party guy" or at least just straight. i indulged in the occasional cigar, but never forgot to strip off any unnecessary clothing beforehand and shower myself in adidas cologne afterwards lest my parents assume that i was smoking meth and driving bulldozers into elementary schools during my leisure time. options for true deviant behavior were limited in my small town. one could either drink even warmer and lower quality beer at the local beagle club with the farmer kids; urinate in, on, or off of interesting pieces of architecture; or hang out in someone's basement watching such cinematic classics as "dude, where's my car" or "tomcats".

none of these options satisfied my growing urge to push the boundaries of what was considered acceptable behavior in such a puritan culture.

then, one night, i went possum stompin.

the rules are simple:
1. find a possum
2. stomp the possum
3. rejoice

a few basic things are required in order to be properly prepared for a jovial evening of possum stompin. good sturdy boots are a must, as possums who are being stomped have a nasty habit of biting and thrashing when a 160 pound high school senior is standing on their nuts. a four wheel drive truck is desirable and allows the stompers to tear through corn fields and back yards hollerin' nonsense in southern accents... because why not. also, anything carhartt enhances the experience, because somehow it just feels right. cyclists wear spandex, basketball players wear mesh, pedophiles wear their polo shirts tucked in and buttoned to the top, and possum stompers wear carhartt. if anyoneone can grow a mustache, bonus points are administered.

accessories are allowed, so long as they are homemade. for example, a shovel handle with a circular saw blade attached to the business end can enhance an evening of possum stompin tenfold. so can moonshine, but only if it is stored in an old gatorade bottle and a tsunami of curse words and "yeehaws" flow forth after each hesitant sip.

my tenure as a possum stomper was short-lived, as i quickly realized i was neither southern nor mentally retarded. i don't regret the experience all that much, but i do still shiver occasionally when i see a marmot or a small deer in the yard of our apartment complex and my first instinct is to run outside screaming quotes from dukes of hazzard and flailing my arms wildly.

The birth of our savior... celebrated with grenades.

2010-12-01T15:43:00.005-05:00

let's say you're a terrorist. maybe you decide that it's a good idea to hold a skyscraper hostage/take over an airport/require an absurd ransom for some cheeky mischief that you've concocted. let's say the stakes are high, but so is the reward, and the plan is so flawless that nothing could possibly go wrong.

now let's say you decide to decide to do all this on a holiday... possibly a major holiday... just for funsies, let's say it's time to ruin christmas. let's make a statement about american consumerism. let's remind the world just who is really in control (clearly it's pointy-faced shady gentlemen with eastern european accents). let's pick a holiday that is all about love and comfort and joy and shake things up a bit... inject a little sass.

now let's say that somehow, by some strange coincidence, john freakin' mcclane is within 300 miles of your objective:

holy crap.

call your henchmen and cancel.

pretend you have a cold or diarrhea or something.

it's not worth it.

because you know that within 120 minutes he'll be in a wifebeater, bleeding profusely from multiple bullet holes, spouting spaghetti western cliches laced with profanity, and he'll be pissed.

your day just got ruined.

i do hereby proclaim that die hard and die hard 2 are the greatest christmas movies of all time. jimmy stewart can be folksy, likeable, and serial killer-ish all he wants. the grinch can steal christmas and nuke whoville. charlie brown can buy the stupidest tree ever, light it on fire, and beat linus with it. bruce willis will simply light a cigarette, squint at you, and reduce you all to a steaming pile of who-hash.

game over. make some hot chocolate. put on that wal-mart christmas sweater with the cross-stitched rudolf on it. melt into your couch while john mcclane celebrates the season by blowing up terrorists.

God bless us... everyone.

get noise-punched in your ear hole by:
"mystery of the brain", by a great big pile of leaves

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
guster, my new puppy. he craps on the floor, i just cuddle him harder.

Killer Got the Wrath... the wrath of the nunchucks yo.

2010-10-31T15:02:00.002-04:00

I apologize for the gap in posts, my friends, but I have just recently awoken from a six month cotton candy bender which left me partially naked, covered in pink processed sugar, and lost in the middle of a Branson Missouri strip mall. It's not a good story, so I'm not going to write about it, but for your own satchel of wisdom let me just say that donkeys do not cope well with the rigors of a paintball reenactment of Gettysburg.

I will be writing again shortly, and here are a few topics that I've been noodling over:

- The experience of being shirtless at a country music festival
- That time I almost died on a glacier and then cried in front of a man with a beard
- Accessory dogs and their possible nutritional value... specifically in lunch meat form
- The cultural impact of Wes Broadhurst's "All I Do is Blob" video, seen here:

- Pittsburgh cuisine, and its similarities to narcotics, candy corn, and The O.C.
- My adventures as a mountaineering shop employee, and my complete loss of faith in humanity as a result
- Our impending move to Buena Vista and Chandler's budding career as a Frontier Ranch chef... and my budding career as an unemployed full time blogger
- Little Debbie snack cakes vs. Hostess snack cakes: The Final Showdown
- That time I thought I neutered myself on my mountain bike
- The classic truckin' movie Joyride and its impact on my ability to apprectiate any other cinema
- Punk rock as the Good Lord's favored form of music (speculation)
- Steve Kelly's new record label (www.sinkingshiprecords.com) and my hopes that he'll sign me based solely on my heartfelt rendition of "Land Down Under" by Men At Work

More to come, most likely as I settle into a daily routine of macaroni and cheese, The View, and pantslessness as an unemployed house-husband in Buena Vista. Cannot wait to catch up on Days of Our Lives.

Listen To: "Coffee and Cigarettes" by Jimmy Eat World

Watch: Dawn of the Dead... it's zombie season.

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To: Courtney Cox, Dad, Anthony Barlich, Sarah Wygant, and everyone else who yelled at me for not writing.

and bro... it was on.

2010-04-25T20:00:00.003-04:00

dawn broke cold and clear that morning, quickly melting the frost that had accumulated overnight on the railing outside our apartment. as the sun broke the horizon, i immediately rolled over and continued my dream about iggy pop and turkey gravy. several hours later, i extracted myself from my cocoon of blankets, pillows, warmth, and pringle crumbs in order to embark on an epic journey that i had been planning for like, a day or something. this fateful day, i was to lace up my hiking boots and scale the sunnyside trail on the northern side of the the roaring fork valley, overlooking the town of aspen. my route had been recommended by a number of young soccer moms who informed me that, "the trail's like totally dry and stuff, but it's kind of hard because you have to go up hill. i powerwalk it a lot". perfect. it sounded technical and foreboding, since many of the moms needed waterproof shoes to do it. however, being an eagle scout, an employee of one of the premiere mountaineering shops in the country, the proud recipient of an adventure programming degree, a snappy dresser, and an experienced climber and backpacker, i was confident that i could complete the climb in a scant 3 hours, leaving me plenty of time to go home and take a nap and watch the pirates lose.

dumb.

by seriously overestimating my manliness, i decided to do the route in reverse. i would take the hunter creek trail up through the valley to the right of the mountain and summit from the north side. mistake #1. i scaled the hunter creek trail in about 45 minutes, jumping from boulder to boulder next to the roaring stream and patting myself on the back for being freakin' awesome. at this point, i had no idea where the sunnyside loop started. fortunately, a group of stately gentlemen in sweatpants approached me from the north. we chatted a bit about the weather, the trail, healthcare reform, and the absurdity of tourists, and afterwards i subtly asked the chap with the british accent where the sunnyside trail started. he pointed me to a notch on the horizon that i could barely see and warned me that it was, "quite far". knowing that nothing in england is "quite far" by american standards, i promptly scoffed, all but waving the american flag, and convinced him that i was a freakin' man and could handle it. i walked away chanting "scoreboard!" all the way, reminding him of our conquest of britain in the revolutionary war and our heroic nazi-spanking in WWII.

stupid.

i took a left at the sign that read "sunnyside trail".

bush. league.

i quickly realized that no one had been on this trail for several months, as there were no human footprints or signposts to mark the way. thus, i broke trail in waist-deep snow for the next 3 miles. straight uphill. frequently i reached for my water... and each time remembered that i brought no water because i'm a freakin' man who needs no water.

moron.

for the entire hike on the backside of the mountain, i post-holed up to my waist on every single step, hoping that each turn in the trail would render a clearing or some kind of marking to give me effing hope. i received nothing of the sort. in the end, i resorted to taking the trail that went straight up the mountain so that i would at least be able to get my bearings at some point.

the trail to the top of the mountain spat me out at a radio tower that i had seen from the opposite side of the valley. finally, i recognized the area, and i could see aspen from where i stood at the tower. unfortunately, the trail i was on straight up ended. knowing that at the bottom of this huge pile of crap i was standing on there was food and water and fruit roll-ups, i decided to just head straight downhill.

idiot.

as soon as i started my descent, completely trail-less, i noticed that the area had taken on a certain funk. it smelled like zoo and deer piss. as i looked up from my clumsy trot downhill, i came face to face with a bull elk. backed by an entire herd of other pissed off elk. my only weapon was a cell phone and an attitude of human superiority... neither of which would have fared well against razor sharp 5 foot tall antlers. quick as a flash, i pooped myself. the elk responded by trotting downhill. i responded by feeling guilty for ruining my hiking pants.

2 hours later, i stumbled onto a paved road, surrounded by multi-million dollar homes and landscaped roadsides. as i deliriously trudged down the lane, a truck pulled up next to me. the same polite brit who pointed me toward the trail was staring at me from the cab of his truck, dumbstruck that i had actually made it through this frozen and elk piss-soaked hell. he gave me a ride down the mountain to a grocery store where i bought a fruit roll-up and some water. as i sat outside the store, crying a little bit and trying to convince myself somehow that i was still a man, i stared up at the mountain that had so recently tried to kill me.

...and all i could think about was how bad the pirates suck.

listen to:
a wilhelm scream. shed a tear for punk gone by.

watch:
the pacific.

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
anthony barlich. 1;48 in the nashville half. mozzeltov.

korn dude!

2010-04-08T15:26:00.004-04:00

my friends, let's delve into that which drives us... inspires us... causes us to pause each day and thank the good Lord for each precious breath. let us dwell on these beautiful pearls, these sparks of life that perpetually call us to truly live - moreso than the blood in our veins or the beating of our hearts. let's rest in a glorious ray of sunshine and bask in the grandeur of the things we hold dear.

friends, let us talk about crappy music.

of the roughly 70 days i've skied this year, i would say that 65 of those days have been spent on the mountain by myself. sad? sure. but these days of solitude have allowed me the chance to reconnect with my soul. and it seems that my soul craves horrible, horrible music. did i shred the gnar whilst cranking the joshua tree into my helmet-phones? did i shsush down spar gulch with the sounds of johnny cash caterwauling in my ear? did i throw jumps that should have left my body a sack of shattered bones and shame while basking in the audile jubilee that is mineral? no, my friends. here, for your reading pleasure, is my finalized skiing playlist as of my last day on ajax, the day of our Lord, April 8, 2010.

Korn, "Freak On A Leash" - Oom Da Da Oom Da Da EeeeMA. i remember the first time i heard korn on the vollyeball bus in 9th grade (couresty of jeremiah dulaney - my perpetual source of all things corrupting). it truly made me feel like a freak on a leash, and i've jet to purge the sweet, sweet sound of that rattling bass from my system.

Lady Gaga, "Pokerface" - No excuse for this one. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Fuel, "Shimmer" - i wrecked kyle taylor's car to this song in college. while it does give me flashbacks of shattered glass and buckling metal, i can't quit this song. brokeback style, i just keep coming back. i wish i could quit this song.

Cartel, "Honestly" - this song hurts my friggin' teeth. there is very little about this cut to separate it from any 'nsync hit or aaron carter jam... but holy crap it's tasty.

Senses Fail, "Bite To Break Skin" - so angry. irrationally angry. cannibalism never sounded so cool... and romantic.

SR-71, "Right Now" - remember this one? neither did i... until i came across an obscure article mentioning the lead singer. the opening riff rockets me straight back to junior year of high school... and my voice cracks uncontrollably. i was a late bloomer.

System of a Down, "Chop Suey" - i'm pretty sure this song caused seizures and impotency when it came out in 2001. still makes me go cross-eyed.

Staind... pretty much every song ever - again, thank you jeremiah for ruining my life.

Ke$ha, "Tik Tok" - yeah... i'm a moron.

Trust Company, "The Downfall" - this song totally sucked even when it became an alternative rock hit back in like 2002. it is, however, melodic and undeniably tasty when you're dodging grommits and old men in uni-suits on the slopes. also, when you totally tomahawk into a mogul while listening to this song, "The Downfall" takes on a whole new meaning. curiously appropriate when you're spitting out your teeth and digging snow out of your crack.

Quarashi, "Stick 'Em Up" - icelandic rap-metal. sucks as bad as it sounds. one more time, thanks jeremiah.

Indigo Girls, "Closer To Fine" - while i'm ashamed that i like this song, chandler is actually going to see them live in a few weeks. in preparation, she's cut her hair like a dude and wears boots all the time. even still, she's hot like a forest fire.

The Glee Soundtrack, "Don't Stop Believin'" - i do hereby forfeit my man card.

this, of course, is not the entire list, but i fear that any more disclosure would render me totally friendless. now that the season is over, i can finally return to my usual playlist of Hall & Oates and Slipknot.

just for old time's sake, listen to:
"Watch The Sky", by Something Corporate

watch some:
baseball. allow your faith in america to be restored.

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
matt case. thanks for still reading this thing.

I Saw Mommy Crippling Santa Claus

2009-12-16T12:41:00.001-05:00

Mind? Blown.

Merry Christmas.

Holy crap this is awesome.

2009-10-20T17:29:00.002-04:00

My home town finally gets the national cred it deserves:

Emo Flashback #4

2009-10-18T15:08:00.002-04:00

"It's For The Best", by Straylight Run. Courtesy of Cliff Wright... you sexy, v-necked monster.

Emo Flashback #3

2009-10-16T11:28:00.003-04:00

Holy crap. There's enough emo in this song to fertilize a football field. Enough emo to choke a mule. It's like a bad high school diary. Like candy corn, it rots my teeth... but I can't stop consuming it.

"Sell All My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven" by Saves the Day

This song makes me think of:
Nate Hall and chorus my senior year at Rocky Grove. It's a miracle I didn't get beat up more often.

Emo Flashback #2

2009-10-15T13:45:00.002-04:00

Even if you hate the music, appreciate the recreation of quite possibly the greatest dude film of all time. We are the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.

Emo Flashback

2009-10-14T14:10:00.003-04:00

Much like a 'Nam flashback, you'll probably want to put away anything sharp before you induce.

"Konstantine", by Something Corporate. Comment if you cried like a little girl or threw up on your keyboard.

Aspen... The City of Brotherly Love... and Spandex.

2009-10-07T12:49:00.004-04:00

For a little over two weeks now, the Chandler and I have resided in one of the most expensive zip codes in the continental United States. The 81611 is a veritable cornucopia of culture, class, and style... none of which the lady and I can afford.

We arrived in Aspen and immediately stayed with Kyle and Sarah Taylor for half of our first week. Kyle and I went to college together, and it was our morning ritual for me to show up at his house, freak out because we were 20 minutes late for class, drink some coffee, realize that we weren't going to make it to class that day, then watch some Homestar Runner and eat some deer meat. Classic. I was, of course, all a-twitter to see the Taylors - especially the new one, Lilah (the new nugget... fresh out the oven), but at the same time a bit apprehensive due to the fact that Sarah had barely left the hospital when Chandler and I began to occupy the guest room. All in all, the experience was like a great 4 night long sleepover, and Kyle and I got to do an ample amount of cuddling. Victory.

Chandler and I then moved all of our 7 possessions into our new apartment over on Waters Avenue (3 blocks from the gondola... punk rock) and began our life of extreme poverty. Remember in Willy Wonka where the entire family eats, sleeps, and withers away in one small room? That's our new place... only smaller. It's about the size of a college dorm room, complete with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a corner to huddle and cry in. I once read a book about climbing Everest where the author amounts the experience to little more than spending 90% of your time huddled in a small tent staring at your tent-mate listening to their dandruff hit their sleeping bag and 10% of your time dying slowly due to the altitude. Sometimes it feels like that.

...then the rest of the time, I walk outside and mountains tower over me everywhere I look, and I know that in less than 2 months I'll be screaming uncontrollably down the side of those mountains on a pair of secondhand skis with an insane smile on my face with my wife 1000 feet above me trying to think of single, attractive men that she can date after my funeral... and suddenly Aspen is pretty awesome.

I have no job. We have no car. But holy crap the mountains are pretty.

Listen to:
The new Mae... and think of the ocean... you emo s.o.b.

Watch:
How I Met Your Mother

Hip Hop Gangster Shout Out To:
Everyone who we were going to visit on our whirlwind road trip before Shelby Woo betrayed us all by exploding outside of Denver.

Crap.

2009-09-17T12:43:00.003-04:00

It was a good week. Lots of driving, lots of friends, lots of flat boring portions of these United States.

But now the road trip is over. A call last night informed us that Shelby Woo the Subaru is dead. Done. Gone to a better place. Kicked the proverbial bucket. Was sent to a nice farm in the country where she can run and play all day long with other Subaru's. The amount it would take to fix her is roughly 75% more than what we originally paid for her... a month and a half ago.

So now we're crashing with Chandler's step aunt and uncle in Denver, trying to figure out what happens with our lives now. No money. No jobs. No home. No clippers to shave this burly man-beard I cultivated for the road trip.

But in the midst of the despair, there is a light that never goes out (freakin' A the Smiths!). I can see the Rocky Mountains from the window next to me, there's a Chipotle less than a mile away, and I happen to have $10 in my pocket. The Good Lord's taken care of us so far, and I've always wanted to go dumpster diving.

Things. Just. Got. Interesting.

The Illest of Hip Hop Gangster Shoutouts To:
Lila Jeanne Taylor, born yesterday to Kyle and Sarah. Welcome to Thunderdome little nugget.

Day 7 and 8 OR I'm Pretty Sure I'd Rather Shower With A Live Badger Than Watch Sex and the City

2009-09-16T15:30:00.003-04:00

Chicago... the city of lights. We rolled into the home of the pizza made in deep dishes around 10 o'clock on Sunday night and immediately hit up a TGI Fridays for some local fare and flair. Danny, the peppy bartender, was all aghast and atwitter that two globetrotters such as ourselves we right here... right now... sitting at his bar... eating hamburgers... mulling over how bad the Bears suck. Afterward we met Tasha at her place and crashed on a nest of couch cushions, somehow rendering the best night of sleep we've had in weeks.

A recipe for a full day in Chicago:

1 Tasha Bruinsma... so dutch

1 giant mirror bean in the middle of a city park

3 big effing bowls of soup from the Soup Box

7 to 8 miles of walking around slack-jawed because the buildings are all big and stuff

2 deep (so deep!) dish pizzas with Lucia

1 nap

Shake, consume, try not to hurl from the overload of wicked BA-edness

It seemed to be a good idea at the time that we drive through the night to Denver. It just made sense. Until we started driving. And driving. And refilling the gas tank. And driving. And holy crap more driving. 17 hours later, some witch doctor somewhere too a voodoo doll of Shelby Woo the Subaru, allowed a rabid shiatsu to gnaw on it, then flushed it down a truck stop toilet. Check engine light went on. Oil started leaking. Serpentine belt decided to go for a field trip to the back of the engine block. 90 miles from Denver, when all this went down, my blood pressure shot through the roof. Quick as a flash, Chandler sang some Lady Gaga, put her feet up on the dash, and took a nap.

Shelby made it, and is in the shop right now turning her head and coughing. Pray that she makes it out alright.

Day 9 - Denver. So dank!

Day 5 and 6 OR All You Need Is Love... and Stomp The Yard

2009-09-13T16:55:00.004-04:00

Spending a day with the Murphy's was a lot like hanging out with Bear Grylls while eating chocolate pudding and tussling with a puppy while Bear talks about getting enough protein and the dangers of glaciers. Holy crap it was awesome.

A strapping breakfast of potato pancakes and ham'n'cheese casserole? Check.

Crushing a third grader at ping pong? Yessir.

Copious amounts of time spent in the miniature van? Oyez oyez.

Skyline Chili? Magically delicious.

Beans? Indeed.

Nickelback? Eff that.

Frolf? You bet your mom.

Chuch? Amen.

The day was extremely well-rounded like a young Rosie O'Donnel. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and look forward to seeing the Murphy's again at least before Cooper gets his first tattoo (5 years or less).

After a raucous church service (could be the first time those two words were used in the same sentence without a qualifier) my shorty and I drove to meet mom and dad in Friendship, IN for the National Muzzleloading Rifle Association's championship shoot. This is what I grew the beard for.

And now, to give an eyewitness account to the goings-on of this glorious day, here, for the first time ever, is GUEST BLOGGER CHANDLER WYGANT:

Well, I hadn't planned on blogging during the trip, because we all know ben is infinitely more entertaining, but I thought you should here about Friendship, Indiana from me, because to ben its like coming home, but I got to see it all with fresh little naive eyes. I'll do my best to give you a full picture of the last 24 hours...

Ever been to a Penn State football tailgate? The NMLRA shoots are a lot like that, except they last for a full week, everyone has guns, the campers were all made before 1975, the sheriff drives around town in a green john deer golf cart, and they're all republicans. or white supremicists. or both? I imagine the NMLRA is a lot like the NRA except that they are purists.. you'll find no modern weaponry here, my friend. just a lot of loose gunpowder.

We arrived Saturday night to an entire valley smelling of sulfur and gun powder, with bonfires and rednecks of all ages everywhere. Most everything was shut down by that point, except for a few peddlars selling assortments of old guns, hunting knives and hand-blown glass marijuana parafanalia out of old sheep sheds. There was a loud barn dance, for the late-nighters of the group. No one was really dancing, but there was more cheap beer and more flasks than I saw the whole time i was college. Ninety percent of the guys were wearing cutoff t-shirts and boots. I felt like I'd stepped into another world, the one that exists only in cheesy country songs about the backwoods or the south or northern michigan, the kind of world that i, in my suburban popped collar and pearls world, idealize when I blast jason aldean with vail in my car, but didn't believe actually existed.

This morning, things just got even better. As I waited in line for a hot shower (bonus! didn't expect that), The sound of gunshots erupted promptly at 7:30, starting off the competitions. There are roughly 15-20 shooting ranges in the Friendship valley, including one for the kids. with real guns. This is where my husband spent his childhood summers. The one we started off at was a skeet range where you rotate from station to station, much like around the world in basketball, and shoot at either one or two clay pigeons at a time, depending on your preference. Ben and his dad held down the fort, while his mom and I proudly cheered them on. Then his dad taught me how to load the gun and let me get a few shots in. I didn't hit anything. I'm not sure I understand how to aim. That and I'm left-eye dominate, which is apparently a problem while trying to shoot a right-handed gun. But I gave it my best and looked pretty good holding a gun, i think. So i got that going for me.

After that we wandered over to what they call the primitive ranges, where everyone is dressed as pioneers or native americans, and they all sleep in makeshift teepees. Here, people, who may actually think its still 16 or 17 or 1840, sell all kinds of colonialesque stuff, like you could buy in Williamsburg. Then at the shooting range, they aim at posters of British soldiers instead of bulls eyes. priceless.

This pretty much concluded our short stay in Friendship, but the memories will live on forever, I assure you. Until next time, here's my husband back.

Friendship was wicked awesome. Things burned. Things exploded. Things got cut in half by primitive weapons. The Lord smiled on this patch of Indiana wilderness.

Day 7 - Chicagolandfieldvilledom. Deep. Dish. Pizza.

Day 4 OR Where The Crap Did We Put The Gold Bond?

2009-09-12T08:32:00.007-04:00

It's become somewhat of a tradition to see the Kessick children right after they're born... fresh out the oven, if you will. We rolled into Hudson OH yesterday and were immediately received by a chubby little nugget by the name of Charis Kessick. Here's Chandler getting her maternal instinct on with the proud momma:

Meanwhile, Kess and I got our man on and moved furniture:

...and just for fun, here's a picture of me holding a dead rattlesnake on a tray:

After these assorted shenanigans, we crossed the expanse of OH (the heart of it all). It was Chandler's first time in the midwest and she could barely contain her excitement, at one point even shouting, "I have to pee soon. Do you know where we put the granola?" with glee.

Last night we played poker with the Murphy's at their friend's place in Mason OH. Murph was my area director in college, as well as my foosball and raquetball foe, and an all around mench of a dude. I ended up netting 4.50 in the poker game on a big hand toward the end of the contest. I promptly took a shirtless victory lap around the house screaming cursewords triumphantly.

Day 5 - A day out in the 'Nati.

Day 3 OR Pete Wygant's Milkshake Brings All The Kids To Shop Class

2009-09-11T13:36:00.002-04:00

A pro's and con's list of Brad Schmitt's house:

Pro - It's in State College... like a nugget of gold in a pile of poop nuggets, the SC stands out amongst the rest of PA's college towns.

Con - It's not decorated at all. Like seriously... totally un-decorated. I may not be gay, but I know a decor disaster when I see it. It's bleak like a padded cell.

Pro - Brad's big effing tv. Man vs. Wild never looked so good. I could practically smell Bear Grylls... and he smelled like conquest.

Con - Seriously... there's nothing on the walls. At all. Not even smudge marks. Or scuffs.

Pro - His guest beds are wicked comfortable. I slept like a dead person would sleep if they weren't dead and took a lot of nyquil.

Con - I'm serious. There's nothing on the walls. I've seen padded cells with more pizazz.

All sterility aside, staying with Brad was awesome. Kudos for getting the exact same program assignment 3 years running dude (shafted!). The wife and I ambled around the SC for a few hours, bought Chandy Cane some Mountain Hardware pants at Ap House (homegirl rocks the granola look), ate some Panera, and busted out of there Shawshank style. Chandler went to the bathroom at a rest stop where a senile gentleman had just pissed on the seat of the women's restroom (classic!).

Two hours later we rolled into Franklin PA. As I opened the door of my car, mom and dad's chocolate lab Tess (short for Woodland's Lacka Testicles... dead serious. Way to go dad) jumped into the car and sat in Chandy's Pants' lap. The result - I'm totally getting a dog. She melted like a fudgesicle on a cheap college dorm hot plate. We ate chicken and dumplings that my mom made from scratch and I helped my dad with the construction of his new garage. Afterwards we went for a walk. Then Norman Rockwell painted us and we were filmed for a Country Time Lemonade commercial. It was freakin' awesome... and then the Steelers won, which was awesomer.

Day 4 - Hudson OH to see the Kessicks and the new nugget and onto the 'Nati to see the Murphy clan.

Day 1 + 2

2009-09-10T10:35:00.004-04:00

Every time I hit the brakes, an avalanche of crap descended upon my head. Shelby Woo the Subaru looked like an obese woman after a solid 2 hour session at the Ponderosa buffet - perilously stuffed, lurching forward only in protest, threatening to vomit its contents at the slightest jolt. We left the home of tax-free shopping at about 6:30 on Tuesday night after an 11 hour cleaning blitz on our home... which was comprised mostly of me lying on the floor complaining about cleaning while Chandler actually cleaned.

Three hours of speed limit driving later, we arrived in Fredericksburg, VA to see our homeslices Laura and Cliff Wright. Cliff is the YL area director in FXBG and looks dirty sexy in a v-neck t-shirt with all his burly chest hair erupting from the neck line (you can't defeat the chest hair... you can only hope to contain it). The first evening was spent at a fine dining establishment where the women discussed relationships, makeup, and daytime television while the men discussed how much it sucked to sit in the corner of the booth because the confined space did not allow your dice to roll (it confined your Olsen twins... it really cramped your Hardy boys - it was no mystery).

The next day we took a field trip to Lake Anna where we met a kindly old man named "T" or "Tea" or "Tee" who showed us around his lake house. From there, we proceeded to drive to Chipotle via backroads, revealing Virignia's true colors (a random goat on a porch eating a rose bush, more confederate flags than you could shake a stick at, pretty flowers, lots of cows). Our lunch at Chipotle was nothing short of ecstasy... a cornucopia of meats and cheeses and trans fats spilling out of the edges of a burrito bowl like an overflowing bath tub full of chocolate pudding and puppies. Glee.

We said our tearful (and for Cliff and I, vaguely fruity) goodbyes and headed toward State College... only to crawl along I-270 in a cuss word-filled jaunt through northern Virginia. I imagine hell being a lot like NVa, only with Nickelback on every radio station and Kathy Lee Gifford riding in the passenger seat.

We got to State College. We hung out with Robbie Howard, Sarah Lucas, Brad Schmitt, and Courtney Cox. We acted like college kids again. We rushed Kappa Sig. We stuffed a phone booth. We wore college sweaters. We gave it the old college try. And it was awesome.

Day 3 - Franklin... the land of unemployment and homemade jams and jellies. Punk rock.

you're wrong. it's stomp the yard.

2009-09-03T14:12:00.003-04:00

fall's back baby. like a classic rock band reunion tour that miraculously doesn't suck, fall returns with an unprecedented gusto and a fist full of awesome to smack us all around with. thank you sir, may i have another. seriously kids, fall injects a heaping pile of punk rock into our lives the way wilford brimley shoots genius into otherwise mediocre films (i.e. - ewoks: the battle for endor). spec-freakin'-tacular. fall, if it wanted to, could have saved disco. it could have made indiana jones and the kingdom of the crystal skull into a movie that didn't make me want to drive my car off a bridge holding a live puma. it could make black licorice actually taste good. it could probably cure prostate cancer if it felt like it. instead, fall makes just about everything else better.

i.e.:

starbucks. it's impossible not to feel gay when ordering anything at starbucks. try to feel like a man while ording a venti nonfat iced vanilla chai latte (i just started singing a song from rent while typing that). can't be done. slap a little fall on it though: pumpkin spice latte. bam. i don't care if you paint my car rainbow now, just hook me up with an i.v. of this crack-infused coffee drink and put a little wham on the stereo. wake me up before you go go!

weather. don't get me wrong, i love basting in a marinade of my own sweat and filth from the moment i step out of the shower till the moment i get back in as much as the next guy. 95 degrees/95% humidity isn't all that bad if you're the kind of dude who loves to lose 5 pounds just by walking outside to get the paper. that, however, is not how fall rolls. slap a little fall on it though: sunny with a high of 73. bam. bust out that hoodie and just leave those shorts on, mister. you're a master of fashion and as comfortable as a baby buried neck deep in puppies.

television. shark week was a month ago and i just came down off of that high. now i'm searching for something to fill that shark week on discovery channel-shaped void in my life. i've seen every episode of m.a.s.h. i can't handle all the shows about loggers and truckers that history and discovery are shoving down my throat. oh where, oh where is my quality television programming? what's that? slap a little fall on it? BAM. THE NEW SEASON OF MAN VS. WILD. hallelujah, my friends. just last night i watched this thoroughbred of a human being pimp smack the chihuahua desert in Texas like it wasn't no thing. last week he manhandled vietnam like it was nineteen seventy... uh... oh wait... we lost that war. um... man vs. wild totally rules.

sports. football. the world series. the return of hockey. thank you fall. thank you. thank you. thank you.

beer. yeah, i said it. i live one mile from the arguably the most cutting-edge craft brewery in the united states and i've come to appreciate their vast array of delicious fermented beverages. each has its own distinct characteristics coupled with subtle hints of flavors that guarantee set one's palate waltzing. slap a little fall on it? dogfish head punkin ale. bam. spicy. sweet. hoppy. smooth. euphoric. like autumn in a bottle. like finding a 20 in your winter jacket. like square dancing with gary coleman in a top hat on a mississippi river boat. beautiful.

ah yes my friends. celebrate with me, if you will, this season of seasons. because before we know if, we'll all be freezing our respective 'nads off.

listen to:
"gold country" by chuck ragan. makes me want to go prospectin' or shoot someone over a claim or respect a woman (like my momma taught me).

watch:
man vs. wild. can't say it enough.

can't stop checking out:
my 97 subaru outback. her name's shelby woo, and she's as sexy as the day is long. woo, you do your thang, girl!

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
dan and kc irvin. assignment wasn't the same without L.P. and the dominator.

PREPARE TO GET WYGANT-ED

2009-09-01T13:51:00.002-04:00

strike up the freakin' nerd-infused brass band, kids! it's the semi-finalized wygant world tour itinerary:

Sept 8 - Fredericksburg, VA for some Laura and Cliff Wright

9 - State College, PA to Brad that Schmitt

10 - Franklin, PA for the Katie monster, mommy and daddy

11 - Hudson, OH to take the Kessicks to lunch, and onto Toledo, OH for Dan and KC Irvin

12 - The 'Nati, OH to church ourselves at Vineyard and visit the Murphy Clan

13, 14 - Chicago, IL for Tasha for her possum impression, Barlich for his beard, and Lucia for his sass

15, 16, 17 - Denver to visit the Sawyers and the Tis experience

18, 19, 20 - Aspen, CO... the promised land to visit the Taylors (and possibly the new Taylor nugget... prayerfully named Chauncy)

21 - Arches Natl' Park, UT to camp 'n'at

22, 23 - Salt Lake City/Park City to see Donnie and Kim and to pass out on Allie's couch (dibs on spooning with the dog)

24, 25 - Emmett, ID for the Sebastians and to get the full Idaho experience

26, 27, 28 - Seaside, OR... because holy crap we love the Wolff's

29 - Redwood Natl' Park, CA to camp 'n'at

30, Oct. 1 - Yosemite Natl' Park, CA to camp 'n'at

2 - Great Basin Natl' Park, NV to camp 'n'at

3 - Grand Junction, CO because I haven't seen Mikie Harmeling in like 6 friggin' years

4 - Boulder, CO because what's life without a little Swalsh in it?

5 - Lincoln, NE to crash with an Uncle that Chandler barely even knows

6 - Chicago, IL the sequel!

7 - Home to watch Katie get her wedding on

October 13th - Roll into Aspen, shave, shower, beg for jobs.

get your tickets now. prep yourself for a vicious mosh pit and probably some raucous crowd surfing. who knows, maybe we'll get fired quick and go out for an encore in february.

hatin' on:
P90X: The Proof. no crap this stuff works, tony. just pitch it like a normal tv spokesperson: snort some coke, tuck in your shirt, and get a crowd that is easily thrown into disbelief.

Livin' High On The Hog

2009-08-25T12:18:00.002-04:00

what has 2 thumbs, disproportionate limbs, and no job? this guy. unemployment is, for lack of a better adjective, totally freakin' awesome. up to this point, unemployment has always been coupled with a negative stigma, a sort of condescending sneer down the nose at the jobless and pathetic. now that i have joined the proud ranks of 40 drinking underwear porch sitters, i can see the appeal. oh the freedom, my friends. the pure unadulterated freedom.

spend all day in my underwear? heck yes.

channel surf until my thumbs hurt and my brain is screaming for anything substantial to wrap itself around? sure.

beer at 9AM? now that's just sad. i'm jobless, not dan kalbach (zing!)

chuckle at my wife while she heads off in the morning to make a living? yes... at least until she gets pissed and hits me with an indian burn.

sleep in until 10? psssh... make it 11 and we've got a deal.

live off of the fat of society while my fellow man toils all day in the unforgiving sun? GOD. BLESS. AMERICA.

seriously kids, what could be better? this world is my big expensive oyster that i cannot afford, but i'm still gonna suckle the teet of this prosperous country until the river runs dry. the only thing that could make these 2 weeks of irresponsibility better is an encore of shark week on discovery channel, a venti nonfat iced vanilla chai latte, and a nice chocolate lab puppy. gourmet.

chandler and i leave on the 8th for our whirlwind american tour. we'll be living out of the car and crashing couches all across this land of the free and home of the morbidly obese, until october 13 when we settle down in sunny aspen. here's the hit list in order by our intended stops:

- brad "the answer" schmitt in state college.
- mom "glasses" and dad "the flannel" wygant in franklin, pa.
- the kessick family in husdon, oh
- dan "LP" and KC "the dominator" irvin in toledo, oh.
- the murphy's in the big 'nati (murph, you still owe me $8... or a trip to chipotle)
- tasha "the possum" bruinsma, steve "double down" lucia, and anthony "burns" barlich in chi-town
- the don and sarah in denver, plus a dash of swalsh in boulder
- backpacking with the tis family in aspen
- to aspen, to hit up the church and beg for a job in our future utopian mountain town
- to salt lake to see allie "shortstack" hemphill
- idaho... somewhere in the lower egypt portion of idaho to see the sebastians
- portland/seaside to cuddle with ian and katie wolff
- yosemite to camp and flip el cap the bird (and to fulfill a lifelong dream... to climb a bit of el cap in the nude... the whiteness of my no no zone will shine like a beacon to those below)
- lots of driving back across the country. no pants in nebraska. it's a rule. i can't break the rule. you can't fight city hall... it's too strong.
- atlanta for the inlaws family, seth "the beard" kelly, and kyle "the leg" belcher
- asheville to blend in with the hippies
- fredericksburg for a little bit o' laura and cliff wright... tasty
- home to pa to watch the little sister get hitched and watch the uncles kill hoards of pesky brain cells.

if you'd like to be added to the list, please comment... but make sure it's in king james english so that it keeps me entertained.

is possessing my goat as of late:
anything by alexi murdoch

reading:
mostly road signs and warning labels

how was:
inglourious basterds. dan... your opinion?

Program Videos

2009-08-16T20:51:00.001-04:00

Wes Broadhurst got game.

OLE!

2009-08-02T15:11:00.002-04:00

My boy Josh made this for our program assignment at Rockbridge this month:

Dude's like Rainman with a camcorder... only without the K-Mart and compulsive gambling.

I'm Not Mad, I'm Just Disappointed.

2009-07-31T10:55:00.003-04:00

Overnight, this became my new favorite website:

www.artofmanliness.com

It's like having a second dad... one that looks a lot like Tom Selleck.

2009-07-30T18:48:00.003-04:00

"...Squints went on to marry Wendy Peffercorn."

I haven't been beaten up since junior high. Figured I was due.

The Hardest Part About Rollerblading....

2009-07-28T10:08:00.003-04:00

Ok kids, here's the tentative plan for the Wygant World Tour 2009ish:

Depart Rehoboth Beach Delaware September 9 at approximately 10am.

Return to Rehoboth Beach Delaware at approximatly 11am because Chandler forgot something.

Baltimore

Franklin, PA

Hudson, OH

Cincinnati, OH

Toledo, OH

Chicago

Denver

Boulder/Fort Collins, CO

Salt Lake City/Park City

The Middle of Freakin' Nowhere Idaho

Portland

Crescent City, CA (Redwood Natl' Park)

San Francisco

Yosemite

Flagstaff, AZ (Lost Canyon)

Atlanta

Asheville, NC

Fredericksburg, VA

Franklin, PA on October 9th.

If you'd like to add a destination, a couch, a campground, a tourist attraction, or the world's largest ball of twine, please comment.

Jammin':
"Snowbirds and Townies", by Hit the Lights

Readin':
"Choke", by Chuck Palahniuk

Watchin':
Bite Me with Dr. Mike

Arts and Crafts... F

2009-07-04T23:47:00.005-04:00

As of late, my preferred workspace has taken the form of a particularly inviting patch of floor just in front of my love seat, facing the tv, and adjacent to the large window in my living room. My little nook of productivity has become encircled by a perimeter of popcorn bags, camp forms, computer cables, cd's, and, for some reason, baseball cards. I am the ruler of this 6x6 patch of berber carpet, the master of my domain, the king of my castle.

As glorious as it may seem to have a cubicle that all but requires a dress code of underwear, five o'clock shadow, and ranch dressing stains, there are certain limitations. For instance, I have to hurdle a couch when nature calls (or screams, depending on how much Crystal Light I pound during Man vs. Wild). If I settle in for a 5 hour stretch or longer, the berber starts to feel like steel wool mixed with real wool and I get a nasty rash. And finally, with 19 channels of HBO and an assortment of smoked meats in the fridge, I don't get out much.

So, for the 947 of my facebook friends who I haven't spoken with lately, here's the latest in Wygant news:

Chandler is pregnant.

J.K. I think...

But seriously kids, the big news around the Wygant townhouse lately is that we're moving in September. Here are the specs:

Where: Colorado. Aspen, specifically.
When: September-ish. Chandler has to work through labor day weekend, then we're both unemployed.
Still working for Young Life: No, taking a breather. Getting involved in a church, then hopefully coming back with a vengeance in a year or two.
Can I come sleep on your floor: Assuming that we'll have a floor for you to sleep on, yes. We'd be pissed if you didn't visit us.
Is Chandler really pregnant: Probably not. I honestly think it's impossible after all the years of baseball, bike riding, and ball tags I've taken from the YL dudes over the years. I'm probably a mule.

Tasty New Jams:
"The Hazards of Love" by the Decemberists and "Reach For The Sun" by The Dangerous Summer

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To:
Rob Gerstenberger, financial guru.

"It's... I'm gonna do all the grocery shopping for the White House myself."

2009-04-29T12:05:00.006-04:00

I remember the first time I met Kyle Taylor. As I arrived to a meeting of fellow college students with the intention of eating some free food and throwing a smattering of game at assorted comely lasses, a scruffy yet handsome sasquatch of a man approached me from the guacamole bowl. "What's up dude, I'm Kyle," he said with a toothy grin and a hint of mischief in his voice. As I shook his meaty man-hand, he proceeded to thwack me in the 'nads with his left hand, never breaking eye contact. "Welcome!" he said as I so rudely coughed up one of my boys on his shoes... Those shoes. I was transfixed by this perplexing Picasso-esque set of footwear. They closely resembled the type of kicks I could imagine a young Jesus Christ sporting... a sandal that securely wrapped the entire foot with a strap material that looked like it was stolen from a passed out wookie's t-shirt after a long night at Bonnaroo. I chuckled a bit in the midst of the pain. "What the crap are those?", I asked. "These are Chacos, boss", he replied whilst double-dipping a chip in the guac, "God's gift to feet."

Chicks diggit.

Thus began an awkward love affair... not with Kyle (I'm married... to a girl), but to this particular brand of sandal. I was hesitant at first. My traditionally punk rock roots forbade such an eccentric footwear. The webbing and black rubber sole would have clashed tragically with my torn jeans and black t-shirts. As my college years progressed, however, I found that I could no longer resist the call of the Jerusalem cruisers. So, with fear and trembling, I bought my first pair of Chacos on sale for $50.

Immediately I was thrust into a world of magic and adventure. Within the first two weeks of donning these kicks I grew a patchy granola beard, much to the dismay of everyone around me. Showering became optional, as did laundering my haggard Dickies and homemade flannel shirts. I habitually completed my sentences with the word "bro" or some mutation of the word "dude" (i.e. duder, dudestein, duuoouude, dudeness, or dud) and started sizing up buildings, bridges, and road signs by their climbability. Despite my minimal experience in rock climbing, I would pause during my daily stroll to class in front of the art building on the Penn State campus, size up the assortment of pillars and seams between the bricks, spit into a nearby bush and mutter, "I'd handle that dude".

I've since toned down my pursuit of the backcountry granola brah stereotype. But still, every time I strap up those webbing and rubber monsters, my 3 chest hairs grow an extra millimeter, my voice deepens an octave, my hair tangles into a bed-headed train wreck, and I glare at the nearest stone structure... spit... and mutter, "I could send that brah".

Big Ups To:
NYC. Nice 'burgh. Props to Steve, Bjorn, Blake, Eric, Mandy, Derek, that dude who showed me a picture of his Ducati for no reason, assorted cab drivers, the subway system, street meat, schmearing, and all the good folks at Sacred Tattoo.

Listen To Some:
Northstar, "For Members Only Acoustic"

Still Awesome:
Puppies.

I've Been Given Permission to Dance if I Want To, Even If It Means Leaving My Friends Behind

2009-04-23T18:21:00.005-04:00

OYEZ OYEZ MY FRIENDS! I have ascended the veritable pinnacle of consumer bliss, and good gravy on a Honda hatchback is the view spectacular. When prehistoric man constructed a system in which monetary units could be exchanged for goods and services, he no doubt awoke one night in his dimly-lit cave exclaiming, "HOLY CRAP I CAN'T WAIT TILL SOMEONE INVENTS THE SCOTTS 16" ELITE PUSH REEL MOWER!"

CUE THE FREAKING CHORUS OF ANGELS:

I know, right? I swear this little hunk of Chinese steel glowed when I opened the box (some assembly required). I wept openly as I gently screwed the hefty carriage bolts into the perfectly molded plastic wing nuts, wondering all the while if this is what God felt like when He so beautifully crafted the first Pop Tart. Empowered, enlightened, enveloped by a heavenly aura of excited sweat and packing peanuts, I stormed out of my house into a driving rainstorm followed closely by Mia, our canine house guest who happens to be the great-great-great grand daughter of one of Hitler's bitches. Determined to wield my new instrument of lawn and garden nad-kickery in spite of the inclement weather, I quickly chose a patch of particularly unruly yard-fro and proceeded to TEAR. IT. UP.

...until the second pass when I hit a gargantuan dog turd.

Day? Ruined.

Big ups to:
Marty Krider. You do your thang, girl.

Diggin' on:
Steve Kelly's newest ear candy, This Is A Standoff.

Confession:
I hate classic rock.

that was intense... really intense.

2009-04-05T01:37:00.002-04:00

the updated life goal list -

STUFF TO GIT DONE BEFORE I BITE IT:

- get my $8 from murph
- legitimize the manskirt phenomenon
- climb 5.11 naked
- set myself on fire for program
- ride an irish wolfhound through a crowd of people while wearing a toga and carrying an american flag
- figure out exactly who shot the deputy
- sport nappy dreads and homemade clothing
- live with nate scott, tom burkholder, and danny rose again
- be truly homeless for awhile
- play this song on guitar
- own a dog named guster
- finish a public speech by lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag, pointing with it between my fingers, and exhaling to emphasize my final point
- get that chevy camaro crashing into an american flag whilst being lifted by an eagle carrying a "these colors don't run" banner tattoo on my back that i've always wanted
- punch a member of nickelback
- watch every zombie movie ever made
- get a book published
- be the posterboy for something... preferably honey graham o's or some kind of firearm company
- meet tupac shakur... i assume he's hiding somewhere in canada
- disrespect the state of texas just a little bit
- kill a wolverine with my bare hands. how hard could it be?

big ups to:
the sawyer family, the tis's's's, crooked creek ranch, the taylor's, and the letter 7.

listen to some:
john butler trio... while sitting in a lawn chair... wearing jorts

giddy as steve feather at a harry potter release party about:
getting a puppy/the impending summer here at the beach/watching 'away we go' in june

"o' canada" is meant to be sung with a tone of exasperation

2009-03-09T16:23:00.002-04:00

try as i might, i cannot give up punk rock. i lay awake at night shivering and sweating, hallucinating spiders and gnomes running across the foot of my bed, all the while just dying to hear one speeding, politically-fueled anthem to angry youth whilst pumping my defiant fist in the air. i dream of pittsburgh, of smoke-filled bars, of chuck taylors and plain black t-shirts, of spikes and chains and mohawks, of compilation cd's and crappy cars with band bumper stickers.

today... i got my fix - Propaghandi's new album, "Supporting Caste". it kicks like a rabid wildebeast in a cocaine kiddie pool. ferocious. looking for a great gift for your grandma's birthday? looking for a soundtrack to your nephew's bar mitzvah? looking for a few songs to entertain the kids on a long car ride?

this is not the album. proceed with caution. propaghandi will melt your ears off, cuss out your mom and then set fire to your cat.

mad props once again to:
mr. steve kelly

not sure how i feel about:
watchmen

still can't grow:
a mustache

WHAAAT???

2009-03-06T15:00:00.002-05:00

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FREAKING KIDDING ME.

Holy crap. Does anyone else know about this?

Gruney. A truly stand up dude. One of the funniest kids I've ever met. Never play him at Halo.

vince says i'll say "wow" every time.

2009-03-06T11:48:00.001-05:00

for wes and evan... from the ol' poetry blog:

the wind whistled in my ears as my mind, overwhelmed by the sudden change in trajectory,
screamed a terrifying yet strangely matter-of-fact monotone:
"we're going down"
i awkwardly tried to reposition myself so as to absorb the impact on my side, thus shielding the more sensitive, albeit non-vital parts of my earthly body.
i couldn't help but wonder in the infinite moment before my awkwardly stiff figure hit the ground how i'd come to such an unfortunate demise.
only a moment ago, i was flooded by a freedom that i had never known, pulsing through my veins like an electrical current, coupled with the satisfaction that comes from a smattering of awed on-lookers and a very acute awareness of my place amongst the cosmos. i was met with a breath-taking view, shocked by the beauty offered forth by my surroundings.
dignified. purposeful. wise. accomplished.

...and then there came a jolt, and a sense that somehow i was being betrayed by these forces of nature that i had only recently conquered, and i pitched forward from the summit.

as the hard ground brought forth a flood of pain and disorientation, i couldn't help but feel indignant, unable to believe that a world declared to be "good" could feel so inherently "bad". i was deeply wronged by the laws of gravity and bitterly betrayed by my own physiology.

and still, i mustered the will to rise, to assess the damage, and to continue the chore of breathing.

... only to resume the climb, trying not to fall off the freaking monkey bars again.

2009-02-05T10:07:00.001-05:00

Play it again, Ben...

someone make sure the government runs good.

2009-02-03T14:07:00.005-05:00

my stance on smoking hasn't changed much over the years. i don't feel like i've been manipulated by either side of the debate, as much as either side may like to think they've swayed my opinion. no, another snarky commercial featuring amateur actors, corny animation, and a shocking statistics just won't convince me that tobacco is the anti-Christ. and no matter how much fun it looks like that rich, white, razor thin couple are having while enjoying those newports, you probably won't see me burning a pack a day on my yacht.

to be sure, cigarettes are bad for you. they make your 5 bedroom house in the 'burbs smell like the trailer park just outside of tidioute, pennsylvania. they cost almost enough to require a bank loan, and they're a product that you will ultimately burn. after a few years, they'll probably even kill you.

however... one fact about cigarettes is pretty undeniable:

given the right situation, with the proper timing and technique, cigarettes make you look totally freaking cool.

for example:

james freakin' dean.

guilty as charged... with the stories.

2009-01-29T17:40:00.008-05:00

i don't get excited about a lot of things. certainly there are times when my outward countenance would suggest that i'm all a-twitter inside, but the harsh reality remains that ben's ocean of emotion is usually about as smooth and glassy as josh lucas' dome:

... like buttuh.

maybe it's the substantial level of mellow i was able to maintain as a student of recreation parks and tourism management (outdoor option! pass that granola, brotherman!). maybe it was the perpetual contact buzz i maintained in 2002 by co-inhabiting a 12X12 hot box courtesy of my freshman roommate (wake and bake johnny... wake and bake). maybe it's that one class i took senior year in which i actually had to hug a tree (fer real). i just don't allow myself to get all jazzed up about a lot of nonsense and whatnot.

UNTIL NOW.

what's got your fresh cotton batman mansy panties in a twist, ben?

oh nothing... just...

THIS:

HOLY CRAP! DID ANYONE ELSE HUM THE NATIONAL ANTHEM JUST NOW???

this, my painstakingly manicured and thoroughly house-trained male friends, is the SOG navy seal knife. like any good father, my own dear old man decided that i should own the muhammad ali of knives. this suave s.o.b. is designed to dismantle terrorist-harboring third world villages, dig latrines amidst rocket fire and a hailstorm of ninja throwing stars, and to declaw live maneating grizzly bears... all while blindfolded and naked. it actually says on the box that you're not allowed to operate this high-tech, state of the art piece of nad-kickery without a fistful of redman stuffed in your maw. i mounted this sucker on my dresser top right next to my john wayne shrine and i swear the painting started to cry... straight bourbon.

since my dear old dad shipped me this little shard of america i've been sweating pure testosterone. i now shave with it daily, with my mustache alone rendering enough loose hair to create a life-size wookie. yesterday, as i bench pressed a clydesdale, i noticed that my pecs were not only enormous, they were also lactating premium grade gasoline. by sheer man-willpower i can turn on my cable-less television and every channel will feature either roadhouse, predator, or big trouble in little china.

and everything i eat tastes like steak.

"how can i too scale this jagged mountain of masculine awesomeness?", you might ask.

STEP ONE: get a haircut alice. you look like my sister.
STEP TWO: reduce your diet to a daily 2500 calorie intake of beef jerky and moonshine.
STEP THREE: listen to nothing but johnny cash. period.
STEP FOUR: buy, steal, or fashion this knife out of the scrap metal from an enemy fighter jet or the bone of an orca whale that you've personally killed with your bare hands.

then come find me. i'll be on the summit of everest in nothing but american flag boxers and an ac/dc tshirt smoking a cigar and roasting the yeti i just killed.

2008-12-22T02:11:00.002-05:00

BAM!

READ THIS

I GRADUATED TWO YEARS AGO AND I STILL MAKE IT INTO THE STUDENT NEWSPAPER.

STILL. GOT. IT.

mad props to natalie for the write up.

woo you do your thang, girl!

2008-12-16T16:19:00.004-05:00

here's the new whip:

artemis veronica fairweather wygant.

she's the sassy one who's always playing by her own rules.

victory lap

2008-12-12T12:25:00.002-05:00

that's right, take another look at it. appreciate the surgically parted abomination that rests upon dan akroyd's head. note the already slightly haggard appearance of kim basinger despite the fact that her career should have been peaking at this point in history. take it aaaall in... glorious, is it not?

hamthorpe.

2008-11-30T23:32:00.004-05:00

most of my daily interactions amount to nothing more than mind-numbing small talk. i take full responsibility for these sad little games of relational catch, and i apologize for the lack of depth or passion in our exchanges. so, to combat this superficial car salesman mentality, here are some of my deepest darkest secrets:

- i think cyndi lauper is hot. good lord she's hot. she shaved checkmarks into the side of her head and i've seen less eccentric circus clowns. i don't care. cyndi lauper is hot. i'm not even going to try to understand it, i'm just going to accept the fact that i'm different, embrace my individuality, and youtube time after time for the rest of the afternoon. holy crap she's hot.
- i didn't vote this year. i wanted to, but i would have had to fill out an absentee ballot and that's like five minutes of paperwork that i just couldn't handle. had i voted, i would have written in david hasselhoff... just for funsies.
- on friday morning, i shot a duck in the head from 20 feet with what might as well have been an elephant gun. i predict that it will be delicious.
- my best friend and i cheated on several social studies and science tests in the 5th grade. worse than that, we're certain that our teachers knew we were doing it. they never said a thing. we never confessed. i still can't locate switzerland on a world map.
- i've never been able to sit through an entire james bond movie. i find them about as exciting as spice racks or dental floss or wall paper.
- i find the recession kind of exciting. the prospect of another great depression could prove to be a ray of hope for a pathetically materialistic culture. i fondly imagine what it would be like to lose everything i have and be forced to scrounge for the necessities. bring it on. eat more possum.
- much of the bible still confuses me.
- i used to moon trailer parks for fun. we'd lay on the horn and drive by at 5 mph with 3 of us hanging out the windows. i sincerely apologize to the residents of the shady maple trailer park. no one should have to see that.
- i peed myself during a little league game one time, leaving a small puddle right next to third base. a few innings later, someone slid into that base. i felt no remorse, because i believed that my punishment had already come in the form of severely chapped legs and a sense of paralyzing shame.

seen twilight?
would you get the same movie if you put the lost boys, harry potter, and the notebook in a blender?

shunned from AP's top 100 movies of all time?
this little gem:

pain don't hurt.

2008-11-17T12:16:00.003-05:00

here's some stuff i want to know:

- would It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia be better off without danny devito? does anyone else think he was added to the cast because they could have him, not necessarily because they should have him? i don't think he necessarily detracts from the brilliance of the show, but i feel as though his contribution to the show is superfluous. is less more in this instance?
- what moves you? i'm sure we can all come up with the obligatory and cliche answers, but what is it about our existence that compels you to look forward to another day?
- let's say you die and ascend into heaven. it turns out that heaven is, in fact, accurately depicted by the cheesy pastel christian artwork and kindergarten folklore that we're all familiar with. people are actually playing harps, wearing comfortable white bathrobes, walking amongst white clouds, and wearing identical content/blank smiles. you are welcomed by Peter and he gives you a choice. you can remain here in heaven or you are given the option to relocate yourself to "the other place" which Peter assures you is not hell... simply an alternative to heaven. he cannot give you the details about the other place, but he does tell you that 20% of people who are admitted into heaven choose the alternative. he gives you 15 minutes to choose. which option do you pick?
- reflexively, how does your mind react when someone mentions rob bell? positively or negatively? why? and has your opinion of him ever changed? why?
- when you go golfing, do you buy tees or just use the longest broken ones you can find on the tee blocks?
- think nickelback sucks? me too.
- in your mind, which judd apatow movie is the best? was your decision based on the level of humor, the quality of the film-making, your ability to relate to the characters or situations, or some other element?
- you are forced at gunpoint to listen to one band and one band only for the rest of your life. from here on out, the only music you will ever hear will be played by this band. furthermore, you must pick one of these three bands: green day, alice in chains, or staind. first of all, welcome to hell. second, which did you pick and why?
- think about the greatest thing that you ever done in your life. now, think about the worst thing that you have ever done in your life. think about what motivated you to do the former. think about what motivated you to do the latter. how similar are those motives? what made the difference?
- listen to npr on a regular basis? what possessed you to start? were you excited about the content or just sick of the garbage on the rest of the fm?
- when was the last time you hugged a stranger? someone you knew, but not that well? someone that wasn't a close friend or family member? did you throw in a little sniff just to make things awkward?

confession:
i stole 2 of these from the book chuck klosterman IV. i highly recommend it.

confession:
i really liked the legend of bagger vance.

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
dan kalbach. since soft bombing is doing so well, has my painting of the robots with horse hearts increased in value?

today's debate: is it wrong to be strong? you be the judge.

2008-11-02T17:53:00.003-05:00

for six weeks now my right hand and wrist have been covered by a sleeve of stiff, odorous, vile itchiness that masquerades as a cast. i shower with food lion bags covering my hand, making the already ridiculous reflection of my naked body all the more absurd... and sad. i cry tears of anger and frustration every morning as i struggle to open my chewable vitamins. friday morning at breakfast, a 70 year old man cut my ham into small, manageable chunks because he felt sorry for me.

robbed of my ability to participate in most physical activities or hobbies that require hands, i've spent the last month and a half repeating the same basic daily routine:

- wake up
- shower
- curse facebook for consuming my life
- work on stuff
- eat some stuff
- go to the high school
- do stuff with or around kids
- eat some stuff
- do more stuff with kids/my wife
- watch 2 hours of 30 rock/heroes/the office/sunny
- pass out
- yell at my wife in my sleep for withholding licorice from the talking marmot in the top hat at the foot of my bed.

i miss my right duke ("sir reginold hollowbottoms", is his boxing name). i miss the high fives. the handshakes. the gang signs. writing. air guitar. being able to apply deodorant to my left armpit.

tomorrow afternoon, this thing comes off. the plaster gets sawed. the filthy gauze gets torn asunder. the pins get yanked from my thumb and wrist. the lotion goes on the skin. the ben wygant takes a victory lap around the office, does his best defiant braveheart freedom scream, then heads to physical therapy to squeeze a stress ball for 45 minutes ("that'll be $400 please").

then, tuesday morning, i'm totally pulling up my pants all by myself. handle it!

i miss my altoona kids:
- "dude, you gotta get back on the horse."
- "no dude, i'm chris reeves-ing it."

confession:
i went to a rotary meeting friday morning. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.

doesn't suck at all:
30 rock. mmm... you look like a baby.

the pecan sandys

2008-10-22T12:45:00.002-04:00

if you're reading this, you're probably someone with whom i've spent some good quality time. you've been a good friend, i'm sure. we've probably made some jokes, talked about life or death or God or nature or how bad the pirates suck, maybe we've changed each other in some way through our time together. i don't call you enough and you never gave back that big trouble in little china dvd that you borrowed from me. i probably don't live near you any more and you're probably still laughing because i live in delaware now.

that being said, i promise you that i wonder how you're doing and what your life is like now and if we'll ever get to go fishing, golfing, foosballing, skiing, climbing, streaking, beans-ing, small boat sailing, clay shooting, pumpkin smashing, or cow paintballing again.

so, in an effort to stimulate your emotions so as to render a phone call or email or care package filled with fun dip, here's a song that we like:

now stop crying and let's hug it out.

2008-09-26T09:17:00.002-04:00

update: i just had surgery on my hand last night. apparently it was broken... and then some. now i'm on percoset and i think the unicorn in my bathtub is trying to kill me.

fun fact:
this post took nearly 45 minutes for me to type.

haHA!!! NOT TO SCALE!!!

2008-09-23T10:06:00.000-04:00

this just in:
last night, i get a call from the hospital. it's a nurse... and i'm pretty sure it's name was alex. was alex a dude? a lady? you ever talk to someone on the phone and just know somehow that the person on the other end has a mustache? that happened. and yet, there was a twinge of femininity... somehow foundational, but so faint that it could almost be discredited. my gut told me it was a woman, but then i "heard" the mustache. i was baffled, and thus, couldn't concentrate. i was focusing so hard on the subtleties of her diction that i hardly followed the conversation. it sounded something like, "sir? (bristle bristle) sir? are you still there? (bristle bristle)" "...sounds like tom selleck... but... russian swimmer? hormone therapy? oh... yeah, i'm still here... alex...is? ...ander?"

then i remembered that i live in rehoboth beach and it all made sense. apparently they looked at the x-rays of my thumb again and they're pretty sure it's fractured further down the wrist. my manhood restored, i went and got myself a fresca and some cinnamon gum and watched the O.C. on soapnet.

watch:
sports night. the entire series. curse the networks for canceling the tv equivalent of the sistine chapel.

the field hockey coach said i might have a shot at varsity this year

2008-09-22T14:00:00.001-04:00

i went to the hospital last night. on sunday, i decided to cruise up and down the street outside of a friend's house on a long board that could have very well been on the titanic. as i kicked, pushed, kicked, pushed, kicked pushed, kicked, pushed... coasted, something went horribly, horribly wrong. the traitorous board suddenly stopped and reversed direction, leaving me with no other option but to pitch myself forward like an elderly person failing to maneuver a steep set of stairs ("fiddlesticks!" i screamed). as i hit the ground, i made a comical attempt to tuck in my flailing limbs and roll as layers of skin on my knee, hip, and hands were left yards behind me. as i came to a stop, my options for a response to this feat of moron gymnastics became clear to me: i could a). cry, because it hurt like a mother and it was pretty embarrassing; or b). laugh, because if people think i'm stoned or drunk at least i'd have an excuse. i opted for a combination of the two, something like a teary-eyed beavis sitting on the ground staring at his bloody hands trying to remember where he left the funions. as i collected myself and started assessing the damage, i noticed that my right thumb just wouldn't behave. a sort of grinding, popping sensation ensued as i slid the bone in and out of the joint closest to the wrist with a look of amused bewilderment on my face. "whoa", says i.

fast foward to last night. the wayward thumb has swollen to the size of a bloated corn dog and i can no longer zip up my pants, brush my teeth, turn on my car, shake hands at church, or threaten the noisy neighbor kids with a shaking of the closed fist. at campaigners, as chandler gives a riveting lesson on the power of Christ and our need for raw, honest faith, i sit staring at my newly obese dominant hand. chandler has been coaxing me into getting x-rays for the past 24 hours, and, because i'm a dude and i don't get many chances to act like it, i refuse. but then, as my gaze drifts from my boo boo to the nappy 70's style carpet, i begin to imagine what life will be like with a johnny tremain-style right hand. will i be able to suck at climbing still? could i still hit a volleyball over the net 3% of the time with a crippled wing? what if i can't suck at guitar any more? what about bowling? this thing could heal the wrong way and suddenly i'm like verbal from the usual suspects only with half the IQ and none of the friends.

so i go to the hospital, watch some "cold case" on cbs as i wait for my x-rays, and get hit on by a 60 year old snowboarding nurse person who claims that she made a copy of my driver's license to look at when she needs a good laugh. the doctor comes in, tells me i've probably just stretched or tore some ligaments, and that a nurse will wrap my thumb and send me home. now, i've had like 2 weeks of medical training in college, so i speak doc a bit and can easily interpret his diagnosis as something like, "you are a pathetic sissy girl person who has limited tolerance for discomfort and i am irritated that these last 20 minutes of my life have been spent humoring your sad little cries for attention. i drink heavily because of people like you." they wrap my thumb with an ace bandage and i shuffle out the door, hanging my head in shame as that sad music from charlie brown plays in the background. i go home, desperate to fix a car or chop down a tree or something because... holy crap... i just went to the emergency room for a sprain.

ear candy:
"teardrop" by the flash hawk parlor ensemble

eye candy:
the new season of sunny. leave your dignity at the door.

hip hop gangster shout out to:
emily hall. you're getting married. tell me, emily, how your life is treating you.

EVERYbody eat some SHRIMP!!!

2008-08-26T15:58:00.000-04:00

how deep does the rabbit hole go? a question i have often asked when reading the Bible, discussing the finer aspects of life with a close friend, pondering the limitless genius of tom jones, or dispensing nugget after nugget of delicious pez. it's also a famous line from the original matrix movie... the one that didn't quite suck. also a reference to a famous scene in the glorified acid trip, alice in wonderland. so i did some research. the rabbit hole is a couple feet deep, max. that's it. who are these morons who assumed that rabbits have access to other dimensions or levels of consciousness? a rabbit's sole purpose in life is making more rabbits and then dying. it seems that they couldn't care less about time travel, peeling back layers of reality to expose the underlying ultimate truth of our existence, or exploring never-before-seen realms of creativity. they just do it all the time and then get eaten by badgers. that's hardly paradigm-breaking. kid rock has been doing that for years...

...unless that is the subliminal message within the rabbit hole question. the simplicity of reproducing and then perpetuating the food chain or tossing yourself willy-nilly in front of a slow moving ford taurus as a means of enlightenment. are the rabbits telling us something? are our lives too cluttered and fast-paced to fully understand the reality of the human condition? if we just spent a day digging a hole and lining it with our own hair would we finally understand what this whole existence is all about?

maybe there's a middle ground. a switzerland. maybe the priceless gift of conscious, abstract thought was never meant to replace our base needs for quiet, for love, for simple joys. maybe complicating our lives and confusing ourselves with obligation after empty obligation doesn't make our lives "more fully lived"... it just distracts us from what's really important. like pez. and puppies. and chandler. and "it's always sunny in philadelphia". and calling nate scott once in a while. and snuggling with danny rose. and riding a bike through the back roads of rehoboth even though it hurts my groin. and running. and clouds. and colorado. and framing the picture of the big cat tim obrien's pimped out golf cart. and listening to the decemberists. and the pictures of dan and kc irvin's hooched up dog. and talking to Jesus.

"Be still and know that I am God." - God (NIV translation of the bible)

"shut up and watch a sunset, ben. you're not important enough to be this stressed." (Ben Wygant translation of the bible)

ear candy:
"we both go down together", by colin meloy

has anybody seen:
pineapple express yet? and how has your life changed as a result?

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
bob durstock. i know bob durstock.

"he's the most evil mexican i've ever met." - josh, mid-opera.

2008-08-03T17:05:00.001-04:00

status update:
i'm at rockbridge YL camp doing program for jr. high kids till august 16th. the good? i get to blow a lot of stuff up and shoot blake schmitt (dressed as a giant penguin) with a 12 gauge. the bad? kids totally didn't get the joke about clubbing baby seals. more on this later.

hit:
"the crane wife part 3" by the decemberists. tasty.

watch:
the dark knight. again. keep coming back for more.

shoutout to:
everyone whose picture is up on the walton's lobby wall for past assignment teams. nice to be part of the legacy.

Smells Like Children In Here.

2008-07-21T12:43:00.000-04:00

Burly. So burly.

I Eat Because I'm Sad, and I'm Sad Because I Eat

2008-07-21T12:02:00.000-04:00

I suck at P90X.

The White Flag Hands in the Air Voluntary Submission

2008-07-18T12:59:00.000-04:00

Status Update:

I live in Delaware now.

My cell phone is the size of a small lap top.

A sentence uttered last night from my own traitorous mouth: "Man... Alison Krauss is kind of awesome."

I shave regularly.

I looked at the Rehoboth Beach Rotary website last night... because I was curious.

I'm a horrible horrible sell-out monster.

The tradeoff? I get to live 10 minutes from Danny Rose and I can surf every morning.

Lose your soul, gain a Danny Rose.

For the love of all things holy, listen to:
Nizlopi. Lots of it.

In honor of the man I used to be, listen to:
Strung Out's "Twisted by Design" album

TiVo:
The new season of Man Vs. Wild and all of Shark Week for me.

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To:
Jeeves and his new blog. You make the rest of us amateurs look like clown shoes, my friend.

Getting Old, Going Soft

2008-07-04T14:23:00.000-04:00

Love you Dad.

"please do not throw your cigarette butts in the urinal. it makes them soggy and hard to light."

2008-06-30T17:39:00.000-04:00

chandler's camry has been leaking oil for a good month now. instead of immediately fixing the problem, we handled things the old fashioned way - we kept putting oil in and pretended that we couldn't smell the engine burning. things got serious when several ducks crawled gasping and puking out of the oil puddle in front of our house and the epa got pissed. so i called my dad and asked him to walk me through what was wrong with her car. my dad is a freaking genius. there are give or take 5 or 6 million movies where an air traffic controller has to tell some tool how to land a 747 over a cell phone because the pilot got brained by a terrorist, suicidal passenger, or a clumsy flight attendant. my dad is the air traffic controller of sensible mid-compact import cars. his knowledge of car mechanics is uncanny, supernatural even. he's like the horse whisperer (murph's favorite movie). the man has the gift.

me: my car is sick dad.
dad: pop the hood. what's it look like?
me: flat and black with some scratches on it.
dad: the engine moron, not the hood.
me: it's got oil all over it.
dad: hold the cell phone up to the engine.
me: (obeys)
dad: shhhh... easy now. it's ok. i know you've been abused. those people made you do bad things, but you're not a bad car. we're going to take care of you. now where does it hurt? where did the bad man touch you?
me: (crying) in a bad place!
dad: (mutters something about adoption) you blew the third head gasket from the front on the left side of the engine. it's part number 382849A at NAPA.
me: did you just speak in latin? my boss says young life staff aren't allowed to perform exorcisms. you'll have to call a priest.
dad: hurry up and fix it. it's leaking on the catalytic converter. you keep driving it with the leak and your car could catch fire.
me: aye aye cap'n.

then i drove it to rehoboth beach and back, waiting for the moment when the car explodes and i streak down I-70 like some japanese comet. she's in the shop now, exponentially draining my bank account and my chances at ever owning that segway i've always wanted.

this man is the walrus (coo coo kachoo):
bruce campbell. three evil dead movies and a slew of kickin' old spice commercials and i've got a new man crush.

movie that was awesome if you don't care about acting, character development, plot, cinematography, quality graphics and costume design, or anything that makes a movie good:
return of the living dead

still on the fence about:
- the election
- reese's puffs cereal
- scarlett johansen
- professional wrestling
- shetland ponies
- calvinism/armenianism

Thank you and goodnight.

2008-06-29T15:41:00.001-04:00

In 16 days I'll no longer live in Altoona Pennsylvania. In 16 days my home will no longer be in the state where I grew up, and I'll be moving to a place that is completely unfamiliar to me. The mountains that have surrounded me since birth will be replaced by flat farmland bordered by the Atlantic. Once again, I'll be saying goodbye to friends that I haven't known for very long, but friends who have deeply impacted me nonetheless, friends who have held me up when I couldn't keep going, friends who laughed with me and at me in times of stress, friends who gave me hope when I couldn't find any on my own. Once again I'll be trading comfort, familiarity, and security for uncertainty. I don't know if people will like me. I don't know if it will ever feel like home. I don't know if I can do the job that I'm being asked to do. I don't know if I'll be able to just be myself. I don't know whether I'll do well or just let everyone down.

This town, in many ways and on many levels, almost killed me. And now it's hard to leave. It's hard to let go of kids who wouldn't even look at me in my first year at the high school and now won't leave my house. It's hard to leave the first house Chandler and I ever lived in together, the place where we learned how to be married. It's hard to leave a town that took so much from us but somehow forced us to grow and change.

Cheers, Altoona.

Update on the Wygants:

2008-06-26T11:26:00.001-04:00

CHANDLER MIGHT BE PREGNANT!

No, I'm not serious. To procreate at this point in my life would be foolish, since the majority of my time would be spent competing with the child for Chandler's attention:

Little Chauncy: (craps himself) Wah.
Chandler: Uh Oh... did my little man just poop himself? Time for a diaper change!
Me: Grrrrrauagh! (crapping myself) haHA! YES! Is that all you got ya lumpy little nerf ball? You think you can win with that pathetic excuse for a diaper fill? I AM THE ALPHA MALE!!! WHOOOOO!!! (takes a victory lap).

So no, the wife is not pregnant, but to avoid the usual mid-summer boredom, I'm telling everyone she is and waiting to see who sends us presents. Little Chauncy will want lots of Nutella and several puppies.

And we're registered at Target.

Listen To:
The War. They do not suck.

Watch:
In Bruges. It also does not suck.

Bring Back:
Rice Crispies with marshmallows. Not Rice Crispies Treats cereal. I'm talking about actual little pink and orange marshmallows within the normal Rice Crispies. They were awesome, and then you took them from me. There's a Marshmallow Rice Crispies shaped hole inside of all of us.

2008-06-05T14:07:00.001-04:00

Oi Oi Oi (cont.)

2008-06-04T11:01:00.000-04:00

- mike dorsey. mike was on work crew when i was an intern at windy gap. periodically mike would bring his guitar down to the swing when i was launching petrified children off of a platform into a boiling blue void of potential death or paralysis. we'd sing some emo songs in between evil guffaws as girl after high school girl peed themselves and cursed the day that i was conceived. mike and i are kindred spirits in the sense that we both have developed an unquenchable chipotle dependency. you don't know what addiction is until you've rolled a gargantuan chicken burrito on the back of a strip joint toilet on your mother's birthday.
- nate hall. seen below in the "best buds" video. senior year of high school, nate borrowed less than jake's "borders and boundaries" album from me. when he offered to return it, i told him to hang onto it until i decided that we were on the verge of losing touch with one another. then, i'd call him out of nowhere and demand the cd back so that we could hang out and be friends again. still haven't gotten the cd back, so contractually we're still tight. nate was also the official winner of the sexy man beard race. no one else even came close.
- tom freaking yost. the mayor of state college. one time allie and i spent 5 hours putting tommy's hair into dreads. the result was a nappy forest of despair that would make the predator question his manliness and bob marley exclaim, "now dat's takin' it too far, mon."
- coach sheffer. my vball coach from high school. most of my friday nights in high school were spent throwing rocks at coach's cats, eating tacos on his front porch, or feeding plastic to his rabbits in the pen behind the garage. then coach would come home and we'd eat his food for a few hours and corrupt his children.

... more to come.

Some day, when I grow up...

2008-06-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

...I want to be this man:

I'm proud to say I knew ye when, Nate.

This Week In Awesome:
Caffeinated water from Propel. It's about freaking time.

Random Hip Hop Gangster Shout Out To:
All my homeboys from Boy Scouts. Sheatz, Mihleder, Weave, Reagle Squared, Sally, Rupe, etc. Keep it trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent fellas. Scouts honor, suckuhs!

Listen To:
"Take Me Home Tonight", by Eddie Money. Really loud. In your car. With the windows down. On a crowded street. Just you try not feeling awesome.

The Universe Has an Attitude

2008-06-02T17:28:00.000-04:00

"I'm sending to you Delaware, Ben. Mwahahahaha!"

-Yaweh

oi oi oi.

2008-05-02T20:29:00.000-04:00

lately i've been thinking about what makes ben wygant ben wygant. call it an identity crisis. call it shameless self-infatuation. call it a quarter life crisis. call it a poorly executed and mildy embarassing john mayer reference. whatever it is, it's kind of eating at me, like i imagine the ebola virus would if i had been unfortunate enough to get monkey-bit in the last few months. the conclusion that i've come to recently is that my friends hone my character. they were each a part of my formation. every one of them in some way has contributed to the development of my identity. large parts of who we are seems to be small pieces of the people we call friends.

in honor of these dear people, here is a very very short list of people that i haven't seen/talked to/credit-carded/awkwardly sniffed/hugged for way too long/elaborately high-fived/cuddled with/ball-tapped/sang to/sang with/laughed with or at/shared a milk shake with in a long time:

- katie grace wygant. the younger sister. in every high school girl i work with, i see katie. therefore, i must restrain myself from killing their respective boyfriends. katie's cooler than i will ever be and has more balls than i could ever hope for. she once smoked a cigarette while single-handedly fileting a live polar bear.
- sarah wygant. the older sister. funny like snl in the 70's. bulletproof liver. once went shot for shot with ted kennedy and john daily. they now address her as "your highness".
- nate scott. one time nate and i ran a marathon together. with a 3 miles left to go, nate gets a cramp and tells me to keep going. he falls roughly a half mile behind. at mile 25 nate streaks past me screaming, "if i slow down i won't make it!!!! yyyyeaaauuuugggghhhhrrrrr!!!!" i sputter something that sounded like, "pblbiarrrah....", shuffle the next mile point six, and drool all over my t-shirt.
- tommy burkholder. tommy is my staple "person of Christ" club talk story dude. tommy and i roomed together in college. tommy played world of warcraft. tons of warcraft. sometimes tommy would walk to class. that's the most i saw tommy move for about 2 years. then i went skiing with tommy. immediately tommy busts a 540 off of the tabletop at tussey mountain. flawless. i begin to consider joining tommy's warcraft guild so that i too might be freaking awesome.
- danny rose. one time i almost blew up a tanker truck while riding in danny's car. and yet danny still talks to me. i put about 20,000 miles on danny's ultima in college. and yet danny still talks to me. every paper danny wrote from his sophomore year on took him twice as long as it should have because i would sit behind him on his bed and bust his balls for trying so hard in school. and yet danny still talks to me. on several hundred occasions, danny would wake up in the middle of the night with me lying next to him with a menacing look on my face followed by 5 minutes of intensive, brutal, relentless tickling... sometimes ending in a bloody nose. and yet danny still talks to me. danny helped me create "the london bridge". and yet danny still talks to me.
- tasha bruinsma. tasha sometimes pretended to be a dinosaur when life got too serious at windy gap. sometimes she would follow me around at an awkwardly close distance for no reason. tasha looks like a possum. look at tasha's hands... they're strong hands.
- garrett mccandless. one time garrett smoked 24 cigarettes at once. we peed from the top of nearly every bridge in venango county. he's going to be a doctor. he has agreed to perform all of my prostate exams for the rest of my life. he is required to come up with new jokes every time he does it.
- sean michael murphy. murph is responsible, in large part, for teaching me how to follow Jesus. he's also responsible for the disappearing thumb trick that i do when club talks get awkward. he also owes me $8 because paul mccartney does indeed play the drums.
- bjorn trowery. anyone who witnesses a conversation between bjorn and i for the first time automatically assumes that we're either, a). high, b). insane, c). 4 years old, d). european, or e). hitting on each other using an obscure african click language. only c is true.
- anthony barlich. barlich and i lifted together a lot. he taught me how to grow facial hair. we have deep life assessment conversations and then hug it out like straight up heterosexual men should.
- steve feather. i met steve when we were in 6th grade. he was wearing a jason kidd jersey. he was pastier and nerdier than i was, so we found a common bond in the hopelessness of knowing that we'd never be cool. then, for the next 10 years, girls repeatedly ruined our lives by existing. now at 24, i'm married and steve is engaged. and we're still not cool.
- evan story. together, evan and i explored the hippie/liberal/northern side of following Jesus (meaning we refused to wear seersucker to church). i had the priviledge and honor of helping to write evan's college entrance essay. he now attends the university of tennessee and makes billy graham look like clown shoes.
- sarah walsh. swalsh is sweeter than chocolate covered chocolate wrapped in chocolate and delivered by a chocolate lab. she is responsible for introducing me to the 3rd greatest love of my life, chic-fil-a. some day, swalsh, the wife, me, and a bunch of other people on this list will live in a big house and play a lot of frisbee golf together. in colorado. next to a chic-fil-a.
- kyle taylor. kyle and i compressed a lifetime of friendship into the past 5 years. i wrecked his car, cemented myself to his front porch, crossed the country with him, refused to wear pants in nebraska with him, climbed rocks with him, saved his wife from certain death, went to philly in the middle of the night just for a cheesesteak with him, and watched waaaaaaay too much homestar runner with him. kyle is the reason i have a recreation, parks and tourism management degree from penn state. he is also the reason i am now late to everything.
- karl fisher. my first experience with karl was taking a handful of jr. high kids to rockbridge for young life camp after my freshman year of college. like clockwork, each day we'd run to our cabin and destroy adjoining bathroom stalls while karl read out loud from the john eldredge classic, "wild at heart". now i work for young life and can't read "wild at heart" without reading it with karl's voice in my head.
- allison andrea antonia hemphill. half pint. my sidekick all through college. never have i met someone so small who can simultaneously absorb and dish out so much sass. junior year we used her for her dorm washing machine. we ate all her food. i stole 99% of her pistachios. her nickname is lady boxington. i still can't stand the way she says "dad" and "basketball". her dog humped me awake one time when i was sleeping in her living room.
- dong kim. my roommate sophomore year. one time a half naked chick got in bed with him for no reason at 4am on a tuesday night. he was terrified. she was hammered. i was rolling on the floor crying tears of elation. i'm pretty sure he still has nighmares. he's going to be a doctor too. since my prostate is already reserved for garrett, dong can have all of my ingrown toenails.
- steve kelly. sensitive steve. pretty much taught me how to play guitar, interact with attractive strangers, create fun nicknames for sexual activities, and get sensitive while listening to reggie and the full effect's "megan 2k2". the combination of steve kelly, dong kim, ben wygant, jon rys, and chicken finger wraps is deadly.

to be continued...

i'll have me some of them there french fried puh-tay-ters. mmhmm.

2008-04-29T19:38:00.000-04:00

i went backpacking this past weekend. for me, backpacking renders epiphanies like senior prom renders poor life decisions, like snuggling with danny rose renders joy, like listening to nickelback renders sterility and mullets. here's the list:

- the world i live in is too freaking loud. i tried to sleep on my first night in the woods and the silence was oppressive. it sounded like white noise coming out of a marshall amp on crack. a gunshot now and then, maybe the sound of an el camino burning out on my block, possibly a few screams from a heroin addict running from a police dog and i would have slept like the dead.
- subconsciously, i'm still afraid of the dark. i woke up a few times clutching my swiss army knife and threatening to disembowel the zombies that were trying to eat my wife. turns out, chandler just had to pee. now she puts socks on my hands and slips me a few mickeys when i go to bed.
- my parents rock. i thought about this a lot whilst walking the trail. whether i was predicting the the severity of the impending storm, tying knots, making bombs out of pencil lead and snack packs, stalking possums, or starting a fire, i kept thinking about how great it was to be raised in the western PA equivalent of rural appalachia (sans inbreeding... i think). the 'rent taught me a lot about life, love, and skinning mushrats. mad props, mom and dad.
- the wife looks hot in a backpack, hiking boots and a doo-rag. actually, she'd probably look hot in a space suit or a moo moo, but she looked especially hot in the granola hippie garb. she is a forest fire.
- none of the crap that i worry about really matters. 12 kids show up to club? i'm a vegetable. car explodes? i hide under the bed and cry. i'm rebuked for one of the several million stupid and selfish things i do every day? you can find me at the nearest high bridge, preparing to do the world a favor. the clarity that one achieves by concerning themself only about which leaf to wipe with and how much crystal light to put in the purified iodine water can be staggering. the worst that can happen is death, and according to the bible, that will be like crawling out of an outhouse and into an olypmic-sized pool full of ecto-cooler, cotton candy, independent films, and lab puppies.

on another note, i think a kid might have broken my finger tonight at volleyball practice. coincidently, it was the same kid that i tattooed at an AM practice earlier this year (see previous post entitled "i play one mean guitar, and i can bench press a car"). kharma? i don't think so. if kharma really existed i'd be married to a 700 pound woman named gerty and i'd live in... oh crap.

give some love to:
matt allender. burn state college to the ground, brother... then swipe me at the dining commons.

currently watching:
scrubs. lots of it. praying that the good Lord will give me the sass and intellect to talk like dr. cox.

still cranking the:
rise against "siren song of the counter culture" album. i listen to this cd and i want to protest something... anything. so i come home and picket in front of my house until chandler makes me some buckwheat pancakes. the man is strong, but united as one, we can all get some pancakes. raise a fist!

awesome:
buckwheat pancakes.

quote more:
sling blade.

i think the word "raucus" is awesome.

2008-04-19T18:27:00.000-04:00

i just had a lengthy conversation with a good friend about the impending apocalypse. apparently quite a few of the prophecies regarding "the big finale" have been or are in the process of being fulfilled (theoretically). this is a mixed bag. the pros of the situation include the relief that comes from never having to concern myelf with saving for retirement (totally buying lottery tickets for everyone i know), not having to clean out my car (betty's getting haggard and smells like feet and riccotta cheese, but now there just doesn't seem to be a point), and celebrating my 80th birthday with Jesus (He'll finally get me that Ronco Food Dehydrator, guaranteed). the cons are... everyone dying.

that being said, here are some of the things that i'll miss about existence:

sunsets, front porches, puppies, thunderstorms, young life, lilacs, guns, king crab legs, poetry, cigars, jack kerouac novels, iced animal crackers, duck hunting, volleyball, hibiscus tea, hay fields, mountains, man vs. wild, golf and kamikaze golf carting, that picture of tommy burkholder and danny rose holding hands, murph's blog, fat tire, the american west, chick-fil-a, dogwood trees, cliff dangling/rock climbing, habachi grills, my collection of OC dvd's, the deli, punk rock shows, cliff jumping, the appalachian trail, philly cheese steaks, the juggernaut video, skiing at alta and the canyons, pinstripe suits, river otters, mountain biking, pine forests, sleeping in, hang 'em high - rockets on halo, pirates baseball, the atlantic, history channel documentaries, running in cook forest, farm fresh cajun krab dip, the last of the mohicans soundtrack, chuck klosterman novels, warm humid nights, the caribbean, the state of colorado, ultimate frisbee, two mile run county park, dunkin donuts, white water rivers, raquetball, jeeps, chipotle burritos, woodchuck, the end of the mini wheats box, chaco sandals, watching people surf, harmonica jams, tattoos, the soul patch, possums, the continent of africa, stand up comedy, life as a house/beautiful girls/swingers/garden state/into the wild/the shawshank redemption, the violin, the smell of gunpowder, grilled marinated tuna steak, marathon and marathon training, roofing, a little softshoe now and then, sun dresses on the lady, sermon podcasts from mosaic and mars hill, this american life on npr, flying, betty, stouffer's macaroni and cheese, mr. T, walrus mustaches, little tree air fresheners, third eye blind, backpacking, guitar jams by campfires, the pennsylvania state university, little league baseball, a solid hot dog, smoky mountains national park, and wilford brimley.

working on the kyle taylor stigmata

2008-04-17T23:04:00.000-04:00

i'm about to go buildering. twenty minutes from now i will be in downtown altoona walking around with a large square pad on my back (kind of like a black maxi) looking for buildings that scream, "ascend me... ascend me all night long". i will bleed. i will fall. i will get frustrated and kick solid brick walls. i will most likely be scolded by the police, possibly even arrested. i will walk home at about 2 in the morning covered with chalk, blood, sweat, and dirt. and it will be awesome.

not quite as awesome as real rock climbing, but this is what it's come to. i never realized how much i relied on the outdoors to keep me sane until i moved into a city and stopped hugging trees (instead, i now sit on my porch and scold the jr. high kids on the street for not having jobs). i feel like one of those tigers they steal from the wild for the zoo. "sorry we kidnapped you from that lush green forest that was full of food and chicks and unsuspecting villagers. here's a fake tree and a bathtub, though. enjoy." this is what buildering feels like.

for now, i'll make the most out of that hamster wheel.

listen to more:
barry white and slipknot

eat more:
panda

shout out to:
jed eby, who's about to get his marry on.

3

2008-04-10T23:27:00.009-04:00

i apologize to those of you who are expecting a dale earnhart post (gone to race in a better place).

this post will at last dispell the notion that ben wygant is a skinny dude. this is me laying to rest all of the ghandi jokes, the offhanded comments from my father - "yer too skinny, boy" ("i consider you my third daughter", i read between the lines), and the looks of confused revulsion from the tailors at men's wearhouse ("these measurements can't be right... what kind of monster are you?" - tony the tailor). i'm 6'3". i tip the scales at a beefy 185. according to my college health professor, this is an average weight for a man of my height. due to my abnormally long appendages (i guarantee that this sentence will eventually render a joke from nate scott), my weight is distributed over a large area.

despite knowing for a fact that my weight is perectly healthy, i still have insecurities about my stature. why?

BECAUSE THIS HAS HAPPENED THREE TIMES IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS:

that's right 3 toilet seats. 2 in my own house, 1 in my parent's house. i'm just sitting there tearing up some crosswords and then BAM, i'm fishing myself out of the toilet bowl.

i eat because i'm sad and i'm sad because i eat.

jam it:
"point me toward the morning", by the matches.

confessional:
the seeds are my favorite part of the popcorn bag. this pisses off my dentist something fierce.

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
the viruses/spyware on my computer. can't even tell you how much i appreciate those 15 popups per minute, fellas.

2008-04-03T11:50:00.000-04:00

Still Love This Song/Video

Angry. Fun. Innocent. Like a rabid chipmunk.

Today's Confession:
Two Mile Run County Park kept losing their old wooden trailhead signs throughout the park between the years of 1998 and 2004. Guilty. I worked at the park, and dubbed this era "The Reign of Terror."

Random Quote That's Getting Me Through My Day:
"I just gambled and lost." - Tommy Burkholder, March 2005, after sharting himself whilst playing cards in Park City on spring break.

Hip Hop Shoutout To:
Keebler E.L.Fudge Cookies. Rock my world, Wendel. Rock it.

Possums Can Have Up To 50 teeth and 17 Nipples.

2008-04-01T13:33:00.000-04:00

Ben's 5 Greatest Moments In Pansy Emo Kid Punk Rock Music Jams:

5. The little "woo!" in the breakdown from Brand New's "Logan to Government". A convenient little pause for you to either toss the Fender Strat over your shoulder, hitch up your skin tight girl jeans, or cry a little bit because your girlfriend sounded a little distant on the phone last night. Life is pain.

4. The intro to "Carousel" by Blink 182. I hear this intro, my testosterone surges, I punch the nearest kitten.

3. "The truth is you could slit my throat, and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt." From Taking Back Sunday's "You're So Last Summer". I don't even like the song. And if a girl slit my throat, I'd probably just gurgle a little bit as she took her purse back. Then I'd go towards the light. But the line defines the genre, and kids who toss the hair out of their eyes everywhere quote this in their IM profiles. I felt obligated.

2. The entire Say Anything song "Admit It!". This man is angry. This man has a mental illness. This man was probably off his medication when he wrote this song. Hats off to you, Max Bemis. If the straight jacket fits, wear it. Such an angry song. It's like Alanis Morisette's "You Ought to Know"... if Alanis got all hopped up on testosterone, suffered from 'roid rage, and didn't even try to sing... just ranted into a microphone until the producer got pissed, ripped off his headphones, and went outside to smoke a cigarette. "How did I go from the Jonas Brothers album to this?", the producer says.

1. That one time I watched a kid crowd surf right off the edge of the pit and fall onto a metal railing at Warped Tour. Classic.

Today's Confession:
I watched "Dirty Dancing" almost daily until I was 6 years old. Parental screening of the children's media consumption? For hippies and liberals. Don't tell my 6 year old what he can and can't watch. This is America.

I Dig:
The fact that Obama ate a hot dog and went bowling in Altoona. Wow. I half expected him to unzip his pants after a large breakfast and drink some Natty Ice before driving the kids to school in the morning. "Look at me! I can relate to the middle class!", Obama says.

... dangit Barack. I wish I could quit you.

Hip Hop Gangster Shout Out To:
Matt Ford. You're from Texas. You're a fireman. You cook a mean flank steak. You're the man my dad wishes I could be.

Seriously guys. Where are the cameras?

2008-03-24T23:38:00.000-04:00

Still waiting for someone to let me in on the joke. I married this woman about a year ago:

It doesn't make any freakin' sense. Look at her. Look at me. She looks like she just stepped out of a Roxy surfwear ad. I look like I just molested a border collie between games of D&D (it's not a game, it's a lifestyle). This girl could have married someone awesome... like a rich banker or a musician or that guy in Colorado that cut off his own arm with a pocket knife. She settled for a fugly ministry guy with buck teeth and bad tattoos.

Either God really loves me, or Chandler pissed Him off somehow and she's being taught a lesson. Either way, Ben's the big winner in the casino tonight.

Consume:
"Someone Like You", by Safetysuit. A tip of the fedora to Vail for the recommendation.

Eat More:
Manatee.

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To:
Anthony Barlich. God bless those chinstraps.

sit down for this one.

2008-03-12T14:39:00.000-04:00

hit play. close your eyes. listen. allow your faith in music to be restored.

the illest of props to steve kelly for the recommendation.

i play one mean guitar, and i can bench press a car

2008-03-11T23:27:00.001-04:00

i don't particularly enjoy patting myself on the back. statistically speaking, i totally suck at 99.9% of everything in the world (ex. - break dancing, paper football, taking pain like a man, basketball, basket weaving, any kind of weaving, not listening to atrocious amounts of staind, etc). i did the math. however, every now and then, i pull off something so freakin' awesome that i can't help but wonder what i did for the good Lord to allow me to rule so hard for that brief moment. things like this happen about once every decade, and they appear like magnificent bolts of lightning within my otherwise dismal wasteland of self-esteem.

that being said, please forgive the revolting level of arrogance i will now unleash upon you:

this morning, at approximately 6:45, i reached a pinnacle of athletic prowess. as many of you know, i play volleyball. i also coach volleyball. the perks of this casual volunteer position are many. most notably, i am allowed to play against the high school kids now and again, thus venting my assorted daily frustrations by hitting a volleyball really freakin hard. several months ago, i actually broke a kid's finger just by hitting the ball at him. i felt really bad... until i found out that he would be ok within a week or two. then i strutted. a lot.

so, once in a while, when the stars align, i can hit a ball pretty hard.

fast forward to this morning:

6:45 AM.

morning volleyball practice.

i'm tired. i'm stiff. i can barely speak from all the screaming at YL club the night before.

the head coach asks me to join in on the 6 on 6 game already in progress.

i take the outside position.

our back row passes the ball to the setter. he then sets the ball to me on the outside.

i am stiff. my approach is rusty. nevertheless, i jump hard and into the ball.

i crush it.

the ball tattoos the opposing middle hitter. he is standing approximately 6 feet from the net.

it hits him in the chest. hard.

he falls down.

the ball flies off into a far corner of the gym. the other team cannot recover.

i land. i stare in disbelief. i have just destroyed a 6'5" middle hitter with one spike. unheard of.

i go home. i go back to bed. i smile in my sleep.

"ben, you knocked a kid down with a ball. a 16 year old kid. you're 24. this incident should be filed in the sad and pathetic category."

i agree. but crushing someone with a volleyball and knocking him down is the equivalent of hitting a grand slam and walking to first base. it's like winning the kentucky derby sitting backwards on your horse whilst drinking a latte and waving at the competition. it's like sinking a hole in one in golf and nonchalantly high fiving bob barker on your way to the cup. it is the apex of the sport. it is hardcore. it is pure manliness. i have seen the top of the mountain, and it is good.

with that, my own horn has officially been tooted.

and now, i return to the familiar realm of paralyzing self doubt and crippling self consciousness. it's good to be home.

rock out to some:
city and colour. again. this album has yet to return my goat.

watching:
season 2 of rome. it's like gladiator on crack.

random hip hop gangster shoutout to:
steve feather. you're engaged. you're buying a house. you're pasty. and i love you.

no sir, i don't like it.

2008-03-04T13:37:00.000-05:00

several things you will never see me do:

- turn the channel when man vs. wild is on
- turn the channel when hannah montana is on
- claim to be a real man (see hannah montana comment above)
- eat relish
- willingly listen to hip hop
- drop LSD in my eyelid
- praise nickelback
- utter nickelback's name without spitting immediately afterward
- set foot in delaware
- clip my cell phone to my waist
- tuck in a t-shirt
- willingly watch a james bond movie
- figure out why danny rose is so sexy
- finish the NY times crossword without raising both arms and taking a victory lap
- use the word "belly" without cringing
- drink merlot with mexican food
- finishing a killer joke without acquiring some high fives and a few "am i right???"s
- sit through a PG-13 horror movie again
- say the word "stroganoff" without giggling
- screen a phone call from vin diesel
- stop calling anyone and everyone dude
- stop aspiring to be "the dude"
- refuse a solid nickname, like T-Bone or The Enforcer
- play volleyball without trying to hurt someone
- get a killer clown tattoo
- beat murph at raquetball without informing the press
- send murph $8
- not laugh at serious insane clown posse fans
- not be ashamed of being a staind fan
- stop listening to staind
- be the first on my street to shovel the walk
- party like a rock star
- refuse to hang out
- own a mini van that doesn't have spinnahs and tinted windows
- stop quoting the juggernaut cartoon

git it:
"carolina", by andrew kinney and ben gibbard

watch:
the darjeeling limited

random hip hop gangster shout out to:
the soon-to-be doctor garrett mccandless. saving my prostate for you buddy.

yeah dude... handle it.

2008-02-26T14:29:00.000-05:00

normally, i don't consider myself too high maintenance. in terms of vanity, i'm well aware that i am not a fetching dude and that no amount of designer clothing, exercise, or tanning will change that fact. in a materialistic sense, most days i pray for a good house fire so that i won't have to clean around all of my useless and unnecessary crap (why do i own 3 cake platters?). emotionally, i tend to lean toward the numb and distant side of the spectrum, rendering my needy-ness level somewhere between slaterock and a cactus. that being said, i have discovered that my happiness tends to hinge on several key factors:

A). my wife doesn't hate me.
B). i know for a fact that somewhere in the world somebody is watching big trouble in little china
C). i'm not vomiting.
D). it's not january or february.

for these two months, i may as well not leave my house, open my windows, get on the internet, or watch tv. sportscenter features nothing but the NBA and nascar(about as fun for me as a rusty fish hook to the face); weather wise, pennsylvania aspires to be either siberia or the UK (either furiously cold or cheeky and depressed); and the sun apparently decides to call it quits for 8 weeks. yes december is cold, but there's christmas, kwanzaa, and tacky holiday sweaters. march sucks at the beginning, but at least there's hope toward the end (St. Patty's Day... short people in green top hats). all you get in january and february is new years day (which is kind of like watching Star Wars Episode 1 - lots of hype resulting in total crap) and valentine's day (saint valentine himself probably spent february 14th watching 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' while hitting himself in the face with a shoe).

the bad news? according to the weather channel, altoona will look suspiciously like the frozen tundra for the next two weeks. the good news? march starts in 3 days. and i'll be wearing shorts and sandals (with socks). take that, nature.

epiphany:
this post was really depressing. my bad.

other epiphany:
about 7 years ago i watched "wild things" and i saw kevin bacon naked. i can't take that back. i can't unwatch that movie. i have to live with the fact that i've seen kevin bacon naked. he doesn't even know who i am. terribly upsetting.

listen to:
"sleeping sickness" by City and Colour. cry a little bit.

read:
"the irresistible revolution" again. stop taking showers.

random hip hop gangster shoutout to:
Jim Rome. you're angry and abusive but i love you and i've got nowhere else to go.

oh baby you... you got what i need

2008-02-11T23:47:00.000-05:00

valentine's day got you stumped? want an original gift for that special someone in your life? got her flowers last year? chocolates the year before? a teddy bear for that time you ran over her cat? want something that screams "i love you" like a mack truck to the face?

look no further:

+

=

guaranteed.

best quote this week:
"anyone who gets in a cage with untamed chimps has enough balls to win my kudos."
-josh cunningham

currently making fun of:
herpes commercials

greatest name for a movie ever:
"midnight meat train"

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
anyone who goes to see "midnight meat train"

hit this

2008-01-28T10:47:00.000-05:00

props to josh for reccommending this.

Sean Michael Murphy Owes Me $8

2008-01-23T17:30:00.000-05:00

From the Paul McCartney Wikipedia page:

"Like McCartney before it, McCartney played every instrument on the 1980 release McCartney II, with an emphasis on synthesisers instead of guitars.[95][96]"

Paul McCartney plays the drums. And the crowd goes wild.

the greatest gift of all...

2007-12-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

where will i be on december 26th?

right here, baby. aliens vs. predator requiem. who's coming with me?

it was good while it lasted.

2007-12-11T00:24:00.000-05:00

tomorrow evening, i will be saying a bittersweet goodbye to someone dear to my heart. we've come a long way together, and life just won't be the same after we part, but i have to move on. i just don't want to make this any harder than it has to be. a nice clean break. i feel as though bringing my wife will only complicate matters, and so i leaver her behind to say goodbye in cleveland ("the new miami"). the journey will be a right of passage. every man must grow, and in doing so, leave certain relationships in the past.

here's how i picture the conversation:

me: hey baby
her: hey you
me: listen... we can't keep doing this any more
her: what do you mean?
me: this. all this. it's just not working for me.
her: it's because i'm old now, isn't it? you want something young and pretty don't you? you're just getting bored with me. it's because i'm fat.
me: no baby it's not like that. you're amazing. you're just not for me any more. i'm a different person. i can't keep going like this. it's too much.
her: you have been a bit lackluster lately. i can't say i've been impressed by your performance as of late. a tad contrived.
me: i know. and i'm sorry. remember when we first started together? we were so young. so naive. you were so edgy and hip. my soul cried out for you and you answered the call. we were two lonely strangers and we complimented each other perfectly.
her: you were so cute that first time... in your brown sketchers. you were so awkward.
me: and you were just so dark and mysterious. and you smelled like cigarettes and sweaty gym socks.
her: that was a great night. i remember when you got kicked in the face. the look of shock and embarassment was priceless.
me: my first time. so strange. so wonderful.
her: well, we'll always have the parking lot of the knights of columbus building.
me: yeah... i'll never forget you. keep on... keep on truckin'.
her: shhhhh... just go...

...and i saunter into the sunset. i'll miss our little rendezvous. the sweat. the excitement. the mystery. the blood.

so, with this last punk show, i say goodbye to an entire genre. gone are my moshing days, the colored hair, the chains, the chuck taylors. it's not punk rock, it's me... it's my thing. the genre is going places that i can't go.

and i simply can't fit into the pants any more:

no sir. this is where i draw the line.

rock it out to:
anything by chuck ragan

favorite quote from the yl winter weekend:
me: "you gotta get back on the horse man."
kid: "no dude... i'm chris reevesing it."

consume:

2007-12-05T14:30:00.000-05:00

the video reminds me of the 70's when my hair was long and i sprinkled acid on my cheerios. the song? fan-freakin-tastic.

call me a patriot, if you must.

2007-11-30T16:14:00.001-05:00

the masses have been flooding my blog comments with question after question regarding my political affiliation and voting strategies (strategii?) for the upcoming presidential primaries. "which way do you swing, young man? liberal? conservative? apathetic? will you be hip and young and vote for the obama, ben? will you, being a rabid law and order fan, give old fred thompson the nod? will you don your birkenstocks and hemp jewelery and high five david kucinich (my goofy little munchkin)? will you deny every instinct within you that screams out 'beneath the poorly maintained human skin suit she wears, she's actually the alien from the predator movies and will eat all of america's children and puppies!!!' and vote for mrs. clinton?"

so, to lay the rumors and willy-nilly skuttlebutt (couldn't wait to put that in a sentence) to rest, i officially announce my horse for the 2008 presidential election:

SMARTWOOL EXPEDITION TREKKING SOCKS.

that's right. i've been wearing these socks for the last 4 days straight. no smell. no swampfoot. absolutely no discomfort. these socks overcome adversity like macgyver on crack. wear them to play basketball? 3 extra inches on your vertical. hiking? feels like a thousand tiny fairies gently blowing on your toes. linoleum sock skating? i busted a triple toe loop in my kitchen five minutes ago. navy seals don't wear these socks. these socks wear navy seals.

political experience is unneccesary when you rock this much face. simply place these socks in oval office and watch your favorite topics for argumentation be laid to rest.

abortion: a thing of the past. every child conceived within president smartwool's reign will possess the durability and sheer hardcore face-stomping awesomeness of carl weathers from the moment of conception. no one messes with smartwool fetuses.

the economy: immediately whipped into shape. president smartwool will simply cast a warning glance in the economy's general direction, slowly begin to remove his thick leather belt, and watch as the economy obediantly does as it's told. "yes sir", the economy says.

legalization of marijuana and other mind altering chemicals: still not happening, because under president smartwool's rule, no one is in need of a chemical high. magical rainbows, frolicking leprechauns, and shining white unicorns are no longer hallucinations, they're freakin real man.

the list goes on. go ahead, vote for another candidate. just don't come crying to me when your politician of choice turns out to be more worthless than my underwear.

SMARTWOOL IN '08.

today in awesome:
iced animal crackers. pink. sweet. euphoric.

strong book:
"fear and loathing in las vegas", by hunter s. thompson (no to be confused with fred... although i have no doubt that fred chased the dragon a bit back in his glory days).

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
bjorn trowery. it's high time we watched some nascar, listened to some nickelback, and zipped up our ducks.

hit this.

2007-11-29T14:33:00.001-05:00

Jose Gonzalez. Splendid.

that must be nigel with the brie!

2007-11-27T15:58:00.000-05:00

my shorty and i spent thanksgiving in atlanta this year. i took it upon myself to muster up several epiphanies during my respite... about my life, the lives of my friends, and the world around me. they are as follows:

1. Suburbs - Still Terrifying.

oyez oyez! the american dream is alive, well, and sprawling itself across the nation like an armani-clad drunken roommate, vomiting suv's and mcmansions across the gently rolling bedspread of the american wilderness (metaphors on roids!). where else can one find such conformity, such a lack of genuine communication between human beings, such seclusion from the outside world, such adherance to ridiculous unspoken social dogma? WHERE?!

... oh yes. prison.

2. Chandler's Family - Totally Rad.

the children are adorable. the parents are witty and sarcastic. the uncles are relentless in their quests for uncomfortable conversations and situations. the grandparents are salty and wise. the cousins chirp the mini-van tires at every intersection. the wife... still smokin' hot, still blind to the fact that she's married to a complete tool. golden.

3. The South - Still Hasn't Risen Again.

the south has many admirable qualities: agreeable climate, superb pork barbeque, a waffle house within 9-iron distance of anywhere, mark twain, bonnets, friendly atmosphere, swalsh, and justin matthews. however, as i cross the mason dixon line, the soundtrack to deliverance plays repeatedly in my narrow little mind. i chuckle and emit a good-natured gasp of paternal exasperation at the 3 good old boys sitting in the next row of the plane who drink 6 miller lite's apiece on an hour long flight. i giggle as i pass home after home proudly displaying both the confederate flag and the american flag (kind of like enjoying a quarter pounder while swearing up and down that you're hardcore vegan). i smirk when backwoods locals cast a wary eye upon hearing my "northern accent" (annunciation). i twitter when silence falls across the room and men remove their hats when a toby keith song comes on the radio.

we won. and i'm totally not letting it go.

4. Tenative Game Plan for Life - Aimlessly Move West.

this has always been plan b for ben wygant. buy a van, snag the wife, face north and real subtle like turn left. when all other plans prove to be fruitless or when no other option presents itself, we steal a chrystler town & country and hit 80 west. if this particular life aspiration does not suit your tastes or if you'd like to protect chandler from a life of dreadlocks, spamburgers, and no ambition, please send your appeal to:

Get A Real Job Ben
c/o Ben Wygant
1619 21st Ave.
Altoona, PA 16601

letters of encouragement, lab puppies, pictures of danny rose naked on a bicycle, financial advice, financial help, and lucrative job offers only, please.

the clock is ticking people. save the chandler.

5. Shoot Me If I Ever Wear My BlueTooth Again.

enough said.

6. I Like Taylor Swift.

chandler says that means i'm probably going to hell.

new jam:
anything by jose gonzalez

show that still gets my goat:
the oc

hip hop gangster shout out to:
steve kelly. apparently mom's thinking about adopting you. dibs on the top bunk, bro!

jonesing for a nice fluffy face fro to accent my saskatchewan waterfall.

2007-11-02T20:08:00.000-04:00

no shave november is here. the time has come for those of us who would normally be ashamed of the patchy five o'clock shadows that menacingly perch on our upper lips to stand proud with a fire in our belly and loudly proclaim, "it ain't pretty and it makes me look like a child molester, but it's still technically a beard... huzzah!" yes indeed. once again, children will point and laugh, mothers will clutch their bosoms and gasp in horror, old men will shake fists, middle aged men will cast a wary eye, young men will remove their hats with tears in their eyes, and young ladies will swoon (mostly from the smell of knockoff cologne and the sight of a wanna-be wookie trying to spit some game in their general direction). this time of year can cloud a young man's judgement. suddenly all things flannel are considered tasteful. mini-trucks are cool again. 80's hairbands start to sound "pretty effin awesome, dudes." the non-stop face stroking in hopes of expediting hair growth leads to facial breakouts... of burly, a**-whooping rad-ness. voices drop several octaves. misty slim cigarettes are quickly replaced by copenhagen... and uncontrollable vomiting.

oh yes, it's a celebration of all things man. those who are blessed enough to grow the grizzly adams look upon their whispy peers and offer fatherly support and even a few dutch rubs. youngsters dream of the day when they too can look like awkward homeless people. the middle aged may not understand, the elderly may be offended, the opposite sex may be repulsed... it matters not. these precious 31 days are for us, and us alone. wear 'em proudly, boys. it'll all be over too soon.

me? i'll be rocking the throatee until the month ends or i get fired - whichever comes first. REVOLUTION!

beard-rocking bands of the month:
iron and wine
the clarks
mewithoutYou
matisyahu
alabama

beard-friendly safe haven countries:
canada
russia
mexico
switzerland
israel
amish communities

tuck in that shirt, slacker.

2007-10-09T14:22:00.000-04:00

it's native american summer, everybody. i like it when it's this warm in october. typically means that my morning ritual of stepping onto my back porch in my underoos in the morning to make a tinkle and say hello to the rabbits isn't hindered by frost and the inconvenience of donning a parka (tough to pee in a knee length parka... always a gamble). also, it makes cross country a bit more enjoyable. it seems that the older I get, and the colder I get, the closer I get to succumbing to the pressure that is placed on me to run in spandex. who's pushing you to oppress your olsen twins in such a restrictive material, t-bone (my nickname for myself)? glad you asked.

it's THE MAN, of course. yes, it's true. as i age THE MAN gently whispers lies in my ear about what is practical and what is socially acceptable. THE MAN thinks that spandex is a reasonable choice when the weather gets cold. THE MAN rationalizes that the appalling sight of a man encased in black cling wrap is negligable when the tender warmth provided by a nice pair of man-hose is considered. also, THE MAN wants me to wear shorter shorts when i run in the summer. "short shorts won't restrict your leg movements, t-bone, and besides, your thighs aren't that white... go ahead and rock those daisy dukes," whispers THE MAN. lies.

THE MAN also weasels his way into my work life. "you better shave and wear a pair of dockers to the school, t-bone," hisses THE MAN. "those kids will never respect you if you don't wear pleats. everyone knows that christians wear pleats." i rarely sag my pants any more. why? you guessed it- THE MAN convinced me that pulling my pants up is more comfortable and more respectable. THE MAN tells me to ignore the fact that i haven't felt cool or even confident since ought five due to the position of my pants on my butt (see my second post ever for more info). THE MAN wants me to censor everything i say, suck up to people i don't really like, abandon my spontaneous nature, dress like an adult, and ultimately tone down every aspect of my personality that makes me stand out as an individual... every characteristic that makes me me.

struggle as i may, THE MAN is strong. the saggy pants are already gone. the shorts are getting shorter. the conversations are getting more formal and uptight. what's next? shaving the soul patch? meticulously covering the tattoos? parting my hair? sweater vests? games nights with other married couples? conversations about home improvement and investing?

this is a cry for help.

song that was stuck in my head for 16 straight miles of running on sunday:
"rock star" by nickelback

closest i've ever come to suicide:
when nickelback was stuck in my head for 16 straight miles of running on sunday

song they play on repeat in hell"
"rock star" by nickelback

1st sign of the apocalypse (i pray):
nickelback has sold nearly 25 million records worldwide

hip hop gangster shoutout to:
jeremiah. you certainly do have a purty mouth.

...anything bought, sold, or processed.

2007-10-04T10:14:00.000-04:00

about once a week, almost like clockwork, i have the same conversation with a man that i truly respect and admire. the exchange goes as follows:

me: how're you sir
dude: well. how's chandler?
me: good
dude: ben, when are you going to get a real job? no offense.
me (with quite a bit of offense taken): whenever i'm drafted by the steelers. i've always wanted to be an astronaut, too.
dude: your wife won't love you if you don't make any money, ben.
me: i always knew she was using me for my car.

i was able to brush it off the first 17 times. lately though, it's got me thinking. what if i had a job that boosted my wife and i above the poverty line? what if i actually had a full weekend off? what if i could stop working at 5 every night? if i were not in young life, what would i be?

- in the military. loving kids and shooting people are kind of opposite ends of the spectrum, but man did i love band of brothers. also, i'm a follower. i suck at leading. leading seems to be all i do. all i want to do is look snazzy in a uniform, salute some old dude, and go do what he says.
- ski bum. doesn't quite hurdle me over the poverty line, but at least my weekends are free. i'd grow a gnarly beard, let my english deteriorate drastically, and eat grilled cheese for every meal. chandler could come too.
- english teacher. dad (who is a teacher) always swore that if i became a teacher he'd disown me. now that i've become a youth ministry worker, he's probably cussing himself out. i think i'd be good at forcing kids to read books that they should enjoy but won't because it's forced upon them. my first reading assignment? war and peace. followed by the stand by stephen king. followed by every ridiculously thick book i can find (moby dick, the bible, the new oxford book of american verse, the boxcar children, the dictionary, etc.). then cackle as kids complain and cry on report card day. take that, adolescents! payback time.
- museum curator. i like dinosaurs.
- youth pastor. same thing, right? wrong. dead wrong. when you tell people you're a youth pastor, they don't make you explain what you do, then ask you how you can get paid for that.
- park ranger. kind of boring, but i get a gun. young life won't give me a gun.
- freelance cat euthenizer. any time, any where. just say the word.

best use of 30 minutes of your time:
watching "it's always sunny in philadelphia" on fx

new jam:
"boy with a coin", by iron and wine

free weekend?:
go to franklin. attend applefest. buy some crafts. thank me later.

hip hop gangster shout out to:
my cousin wade. flick that emo hair out of your eye, cupcake!

Mom... I just want you to know... I love you and this is not your fault.

2007-09-13T17:46:00.000-04:00

I have no flag.

No bretheren to march with me.

I have no sect of society that is reserved for my kind.

I cannot be defined or identified by an outward characteristic.

I have no pride.

I have no community to speak of.

The guilt is too much for us all to bear.

We all hang our heads in shame.

All of us bear this burden alone.

There is no movement within my country to guarantee my rights.

There is no revolution in sight.

Politicians over look me.

Adults misunderstand me.

Youth mock me.

Peers will not accept me.

Conservatives will not tolerate me.

Liberals will not respect me.

The media refuses to acknowledge my existence.

I am an outcast.

I am a reject of the society that created me.

And I cannot live with my secret any longer.

...I'm a Staind fan.

And I'm sorry.

Today in Awesome...

2007-08-04T19:33:00.000-04:00

I jumped off of an 80 foot cliff. Into some water. And I've been strutting ever since.

"You're a powderkeg! KaBOOM!"

shave the whales

2007-07-31T16:59:00.001-04:00

it has come to my attention in these past few weeks that nature has developed a bit of an "attitude". maybe it could be the news coverage of natural disasters that occur all over the world in given week. it could be the ridiculous amount of shark attacks i've seen on the discovery channel this week. it's probably the the hoodlum gang of rabbits that has invaded my backyard, who take it upon themselves to commit countless acts of sexual perversion in broad daylight. unacceptable.

so, in an attempt to put nature in her rightful place, here are some of the things i plan to do to reestablish mankind's spot at the top of the totem pole. take this, you old bag:

- bite a shark on the face. you punks have been gnawing on surfers for years. surfers? really? you couldn't have chosen a more peaceful, fun-loving group of hippies to molest. why not chew on some terrorists? or some communists? or michael mcdonald? it's payback time.
- litter my backyard with rat poison, rusty razor blades, land mines, and dog poop. my yard is not a brothel, flopsy.
- open a chain of restaurants serving only panda burgers. we've been babying you for years, panda. we practically beg you to "get tender" with each other so that your numbers will increase. we raise money so that you'll have better places to live. we give you handouts like you're some kind of fuzzy homeless person. well not any more. from here on out, it's tough love all the way. sack up or prepare to be served with a deli pickle.
- drive around in the largest suv i can find... while towing another large suv that is constantly idling. take that, atmosphere.
- whittle down an entire giant redwood tree into a single baseball bat.
- use said baseball bat to bust a baby seal's kneecaps.
- drink at least a 6-pack of pop every week. refuse to recycle the aluminum. throw away the plastic rings without cutting them first. laugh menacingly as river otters across the country shudder in trepidation.
- play duck - duck - goose with actual ducks and actual geese.
- oil spills? child's play. i'm dumping hundreds of thousands of gallons of grapefruit juice into the oceans. the taste? vile. the vitamin c? causes canker sores. the result? an ocean full of wretching, seriously irritated sea creatures. no prisoners!

highlight of my year:
shark week on discovery channel

bane of my young life career:
shark week on discovery channel

whole reason for my purchase of a 32" flat screen tv:
shark week on discovery channel

projected name of my firstborn child:
shark week on discovery channel chauncey wygant

I Can Feel This Narcolepsy Slide, Slide Into Another Nightmare

2007-07-20T18:24:00.000-04:00

In college the typical reponse to the question "Where's Ben?" would include the phrases "taking a freaking nap... again", a reference to my general geographic location (i.e. the couch, his bed, the yard, on top of the dryer, next to the trash shute, the bathtub, that bench in the park, his car, the library, you're standing on him, etc.), and a sassy comment expressing disbelief that I had ever been conscious long enough to attend a class, drive a car on the interstate, eat a full meal, or participate in a conversation lasting longer than 3 sarcastic comments. Thus, my napping schedule became a source of pride. If my math is correct, I believe that Nate Scott (former housemate, homeboy, and all around mench) walked through our apartment door only 3 times during our entire year of living together to find me awake and alert (9/23/04 12:37PM: passed out on the couch, farted myself awake just as he walked in; 12/3/04 10:16AM: passed out on the couch, awoke with a start at the realization that Bob Barker was on; 4/23/05 1:48PM: passed out on the couch, realized Nate was about to walk in, pantsed myself and giggled as the blinding white light from my backside rendered a scream of horror). But alas, my life as a husband, full-time ministry... guy, volleyball coach, cross country coach, and crotchety old dude has seriously intruded on my youthful ambitions of unconscious bliss. Though my schedule is now filled with many other agreeable activities (ultimate frisbee, Man vs. Wild, being tender with wife, church, cliff jumping, building forts in the back yard, cock fighting, etc.), napping has fallen by the wayside.

So, in honor of those days of old, today was officially dubbed "Too Lazy to Get Out of Bed/Properly Name this Day" Day. The hours from 6AM to 6PM included only 5 hours of waking activities. One hour was devoted to bible study with the children, 2 hours for eating pizza in a swanky pizza joint with the children, and 2 hours for playing frisbee golf with the children. These days are rare, but ever so sweet.

And it's just nice to know that I've still got it.

Current Jam:
Currant Jam... bwahahahaha!

Other Jam(s):
"Car Crash", by Matt Nathanson
"Narcolepsy", by Third Eye Blind

Prospects for David Beckham's First Day of US Soccer:
Shattered Kneecap and Lots of Crying

Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout:
Jeremiah Dulaney. Accept the teaching job at Penn Cambria. We can paintball cows together again.

Risky... But Nice.

2007-07-19T11:37:00.000-04:00

Ben's top 10 ways to die:

10. Gunshot wound to the chest, rendered by intruding on a hip hop gangster rap video dressed like Flava Flav but speaking only in Shakespearean english.
9. Mauled by a cougar.
8. Stab wound to the face, courtesy of Dakota Fanning.
7. Drowning in a giant bowl of oatmeal with Wilford Brimley.
6. Shot with a crossbow in a Deadliest Game style hunt on a tropical island, the hunters including Vin Diesel, John Wayne, Corey Feldman, Chuck Norris, and Kathy Lee Gifford.
5. Choking on my own burly facial hair.
4. Bench pressing a semi.
3. Gingivitis.
2. Sledding down the north face of Everest in only sunglasses, a beanie, and a scarf.
1. Buried under an avalanche of puppies.

New Jam:
"Heaven Runs on Oil", by Nightmare of You

Ballin' TV Show:
Dead Like Me

Other Ballin' TV Show That My Mom Wouldn't Approve Of:
Deadwood

Hip Hop Gagster Shoutout To:
Danny Rose... You're blonde, you're sassy, you're almost married... almost.

she's a laaaaady!!

2007-06-05T18:34:00.001-04:00

how awesome is the discovery channel show "man vs wild"?

too awesome. an unforseen level of awesome that scientists have yet to calculate with the world's most powerful supercomputers.

why this obscene pinnacle of awesomeness, you ask?

every week i get to watch a british man metaphorically pimpsmack mother nature and tell her to make him a sandwich. and every week she abides. it's an abusive relationship. neither party leaves unscathed. but it's a beautiful dance when it's all said and done. you know they love each other. he hits her because he loves her and for once i believe it. and i know that she says to herself that one day she's going to kill that wifebeating pig, but for right now, she just loves him too much. the dance continues. the british man eats a live snake. mother nature gives him beaver fever and he pukes and poops all night. i sit in my living room waiting for my head to explode because what i'm seeing is too awesome to comprehend.

so carry on, man vs. wild, so i might continue my voyeuristic obsession.

jam that's got my goat this week:
"couches in alleys", by ben gibbard

book that i'd like to discuss with Jesus:
"on the road", by jack kerouac

book that i'd rather Jesus not know i read (but was still thoroughly enjoyable):
"sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs", by chuck klosterman

random hip hop gangster shoutout to:
sarah wygant. get back to work.

Breakout Artist of the Year:

2007-05-18T00:12:00.000-04:00

Sign my band:

www.myspace.com/oswaldandstevietubesocks

Featuring the Grammy Nominated song "Chauncey the Magic Yard Gnome".

Roll That Beautiful Bean Footage.

2007-04-26T12:31:00.000-04:00

i'm 23 years old. in no way am i ready for a mid-life crisis. i imagine that anyone who works in an office or a store or a meat processing plant at my age probably feels like the young buck. they probably swagger into work like they own the place, keeping their sunglasses on a little too long, stroking that fresh goatee, wearing that edgy new suit, maybe even rocking the chuck taylors, feeling wicked cool because everyone around them is 40 pounds overweight and balding. that's gotta make you feel young.

i work with kids, which makes me feel like i should be planning my funeral and talking about "the time i have left". i feel like i'm at about the age where "egdy" means i shotgun my Ensure and crush up and snort my Geritol. i'm 23, but these kids make me feel like my prime has come and gone, pausing only to flip me the bird. here's why:

- there is not a single kid in all of altoona high school who knows about the adam sandler talking goat. that album has been quoted more than kennedy's innaugural speech and the gettsyburg address combined. "you guys going to the, ah, ragoo festival?"... nothing but blank stares.
- me: i think i'm going to try to go to the Ben Folds concert on friday
high school junior: is that like a band or something?
- i remember when trix came in uniform little multicolored balls and they tasted so much better. kids think i'm on crack when i mention this.
- i think their music sucks. it's cliche and uninspired and shallow... and it's totally copied off of the music that i listened to in high school. cartel is a crappy popular band right now who stole all of their guitar progressions from the starting line... a crappy pop-punk band that i listened to... your music sucks, but my music sucked first.
- i use the phrase "kids these days..." at least 468 times in a 24 hour time period, usually finishing the sentence with, "...suck", or "...smoke so much weed, you'd think they'd be more laid back", or "...have no respect for the comic genious of will sasso".
- i'm married. they're not. and they won't let it go.
- they constantly ask me, "what was it like when you were in high school?" then i put my reading glasses low on my nose, sit down in a rocker very slowly, button up my mr. rogers sweater, and spin a tales of Giga Pets, Blink 182, and life without Andy Samberg.

tunes:
"indian lover", by lakes
"please come home", by dustin kensrue

book:
"the irresistable revolution", by shane claiborne

hip hop gangster shoutout:
anne frank. keep it cool, anne.

Blatant Proof that America is Crumbling Like Every Great Civilization in the History of the World:

2007-04-12T13:51:00.000-04:00

it's rainy and cold in altoona. days like this, i either get fiesty or depressed. today... i choose fiesty.

i think the only thing worse than the weather in my current location would be hydrochloric acid falling on my bare skin as i'm standing front row at a nickelback concert... in delaware. yes, chad kroger, i'm sure you do love my pants around my feet, but i'm not a big fan of your cheesy 4 chord mom-rock and your gravelly faux-hardcore voice that somehow sounds like it emminated from a pile of eddie veder's crap. if bands were food, pearl jam would be a chipotle burrito. you would be those crappy marshmallow-ish circus peanuts.

something like 8,000 children starve to death every single day. americans could feed a child consistent, healthy meals for the rest of their lives with their spare pocket change. and yet thousands upon thousands of americans went out and bought the newest nickelback album. "yes ben, but their music is catchy. it gets stuck in my head!" so do brain tumors and head lice. if you're going to spend $12 dollars on music, buy something that isn't the lyrical equivalent of a dr. suess book.

come on, america. you're not even trying to act like you've got any kind of integrity any more. you're the fat, lazy, pothead older brother that east asian countries are starting to culturally mimmick. let's set a good example. nickelback is not a good example.

Whatt're you gonna do with your life, son??? Live it, sir... hard.

2007-04-07T19:31:00.000-04:00

about this time of year, i start getting antsy. my house feels like a coffin (could be the massive piles of my crap lying everywhere, giving me a claustrophobic fit everytime i walk downstairs) and whatever town i'm living in feels too small and too boring. i could probably live in times square in a cardboard box and feel like there wasn't enough going on (living off of stewed pigeon and making every attempt to get on TRL every day). i know it's wierd, but this time of year, i start jonesing for the extremities of the social scale- either i want to throw all my crap in my car, grab the wife, and go live at a secluded rock climbing face in west virginia (living off of stewed chipmunk and making every attempt to get on Ecstacy (5.11b) every day) OR i want to throw all my crap in my car, grab the wife, and go live in downtown pittsburgh, denver, charlotte, or asheville. i'm just not satisfied.

"ben. you live in altoona. no one blames you for wanting to leave."

true. but this happens every year, several times a year. it happened last year when i lived in state college, the mecca of the late teen, early 20's universe. you can't drunkenly fall off of a wildly bucking sidewalk without falling into a large party or loud concert or LGTBA rally. it was always interesting.
it happened when i lived in franklin, which wasn't the most exciting place to live, but i pretty much owned the place, so it wasn't hard to keep busy. there were railroad tunnels to run through, bridges urinated off of, small animals to be shot, road signs to be stolen, miscellaneous properties to be trespassed upon, cows to be paintballed, and an infinite amount of objects to be blown up. the to-do list was never ending. still, i wanted to get out.

so this year, instead of going elsewhere to satisfy my wanderlust, i'll be hiking the mean streets of altoona. i'll hold a one-man party for myself on my front porch, complete with fergie ferg. i'll load up my car, drive around for 20 minutes, then camp in my back yard (it's scary. the rabbit that lives back there is freakin huge). if i get bored, i'll just find myself a random drug dealer on the street, violently hug them, then run away before i can be shot or contract hepititis. i'll repeat as necessary.

in other news, i'm pondering the strange phenomenon known as the "post marriage 'space'". in short, my friends stopped calling me to hang out. yes, the wife and i do get tender with each other quite often, but that doesn't mean we're dropping our friends now. we're not in a little self-obsessed bubble where we get pissed when the people we love want to talk to us. actually, we're jonesing for some social interaction (you can only watch the OC so many times before you start wanting to live out the story lines... i get to be seth). guys, chandler knows she has to share me. the fine print on the marriage license was a mile long. take advantage (danny rose- i have a notebook of new techniques i'm looking forward to testing. the london bridge was only the beginning).

music:
"a sweater poorly knit", by mewithoutYou

addiction:
espn radio, particularly rome

random hip hop gangster shoutout to:
katie wygant. mad props on the new lip ring.

Surprise! Another List.

2007-04-03T00:43:00.000-04:00

Some of the coolest things I was given because I chose to marry a smokin' hot babe:

- Slammin' blender
- 2 knife sets (using one to play Vietnam in the back yard).
- A banana hammock (literally... a hammock that holds bananas. perverts.)
- The Ferarri of toaster ovens (0 to toast in 3 minutes).
- Enough glasses to open my own bar (Ben's Altoona Beer 'n' Nat).
- Sex advice from my dad (hilarious).
- Anne Frank (Dan... you know what I mean).
- Coffee Maker (undoubetly designed by NASA... every once in a while it beeps and I get a satellite image of Russia).
- A copy of "The Legend of Bagger Vance" (All of the South with none of the Nascar).
- 17 videos from Dulaney documenting my drug store purchases ($48???... holy crap).
- A wife (Bonus!)

Song:
"These Are the Nights", by Making April

Show:
The O.C. Season 3

Quote:
"JJJYEEEEAHHH SUCKUHS!!!"

Random Hip Hop Gangster Shoutout To:
Brian Von Bloch. You truly are a real jazz man.

You're Like My Best Friend Ever... Seriously... I Mean It

2007-03-31T23:47:00.000-04:00

Go to www.thislife.org. Stream any one of the episodes of the radio show. Spend the next 24 hours marveling at how freakin' awesome this is. Take a nap. Drink some coffee. Find me. Thank me profusely for simultaneously wasting a day of your life and introducing you to something just as/more addicting than crack, puppies, the OC, and snapping bubble wrap combined.

Repeat as necessary.

Spring Peepers. Score.

2007-03-28T17:59:00.000-04:00

It's warm outside. I just got married. There's baseball on the TV. I can't stop listening to Pearl Jam. I try to eat every meal outside. I'm re-watching the OC... 3 entire seasons on DVD (man-crush on Adam Brody). I'm thinking about actually washing my car. I saw lightning the other day. I'm jonesing for a serious game of beans. Lent is almost over (congrats, Dulaney). Volleyball is in full swing. I have this curious desire to run naked through a field of daffodils.

It's spring. Finally. Shalom!