Calming Down: A Timeless Classic

I was out with some friends after work this past Friday.

I paid for a few songs on the jukebox.

The list included:
George Clinton’s Atomic Dog
Queen’s Fat Bottom Girls
AC/DC’s Back in Black
Janis Joplin’s Me & Bobby McGee
Neil Diamond’s Soolaimon

I asked one of my friends if he’d ever listened to Neil Diamond on vinyl. He responded, “There are two kinds of people in this world, those that listen to Neil Diamond and those that don’t.”

Dang it.

That’s all he had to say.

Well, the rest of the night headed where you’d expect my Friday nights to go. But today, the next day, as I thought about it, just because you (I) listen to Neil on vinyl doesn’t make it any cooler (yeah it does). So, I figured it was time to shape up. I figured it was time to become . . . a real person (it might be able to pull off without a wife, kids, and a mortgage . . . we’ll see).

I have changed personas many a time. From “Ron” the acid-washed, cut-off jean short, Adidas Gazelle wearing, long haired wild man to “Aaron James” the self-righteous, sock-less penny loafer, Nantucket Reds® donning dandy.

Appearance doesn’t make a person, but it can channel certain expectations.

Expect a different (better) philosophy (person) by Thanksgiving 2007.

an old dog learning new tricks,
ajh

p.s. I wrote this in a bath towel, just a bath towel . . . wink.

Candy and Cigarettes

Prologue

When I get in bed each night I always start off lying on my back until I’m done thinking and then I roll over to my side when I’m ready to go to sleep. I have a lot of pillows on my bed to remind myself that I sleep alone.

Act I

I was lying in bed the other night and asked myself if I would rather be well like or well respected. The condition was that you could only be one or the other. You couldn’t have both.

Act II

I figure people liked me now and people liked the me before, so I came to the conclusion that I was well liked. You (I) always want what you can’t (don’t) have.

Act III

But I decided that I would rather be well respected, so I’ve got a lot of work to do. So in the mean time I’m going to (keep) act(ing) like an idiot.

Epilogue

Sometimes I feel like the only thing I got out of college was a low self-esteem and a lot of unnecessary bruises.

.

.

.

theatrically,

ajh

Sweet Pete Coors

*I wrote this song during my first senior year in college. The TIMES were fast . . . so for the sake of the Hammond Institution, don’t judge me. (remind me of right and wrong) Also, I think I had Mono at the time so I had a lot of time on my hands. I know the guys at the pit remember this tune, so I hope you get a good laugh.*

Monday, September 26, 2005

Capo on 2nd fret
F -------C----------------- G --- Am
Oh, Pete Coors you bring us fresh mountain tastes
Oh, Pete Coors you bring us the taste of the Rockies
Oh, sweet Pete you bring us fine brewskis
The advertised coldest beer in the world

I like a fresh Coors Light every now and then
They always fill me up to the very brim
Oh, Coors Light I like that silver bullet
Look, Coors Light I love seeing nature
On the landscape of a tin can
That bold red and cursive lettering
Coors Light your snow capped peaks looking lustfully
Coors Light you kick all the other light beers in the shorts

So once again I cry out for you sweet Pete
Don’t give up on your fresh brewed beer
I love the taste of the Rockies, Sweet Pete Coors
You taught us fresh taste can only come from a fresh place
Sweet Pete Coors, I have loved the land of milk and honey
Where the beer flows like wine, That’s Colorado, U.S.A.
Silver is such a good look with a Rocky Mountain
Backdrop in the sky

I like to look at Coors Light cans and sing about Sweet Pete Coors,
I want to be taken away
To that special place Pete Coors of Rocky Mountain bliss
Sweet Pete, your tastes are supple in my mouth
Sweet Pete your taste is a driving force in my life
I wonder if you’ve got a magic dragon
You must if you can brew beer this good
Show me your magic dragon Pete Coors

Copyright © 2005 Aaron J. Hammond. All Rights Reserved.

Learning Not to Cry

A couple of weeks ago, I was in a wedding in Lawrenceville, GA (Atlanta burbs) and me and a bunch of the college buds were waiting to get into a restaurant (and bar, I assure you), when I saw one of my hipster friends wearing some interesting shoes.

I said, “hey man, what shoes are those, some kind of Japanese footies?”

He said they were essentially the same thing as Topsiders®. Naturally I took immediate offense.

I said, “whoa, whoa, whoa, man.”

He said every time someone purchases a pair of Toms®, a pair of shoes is donated to a (poor) kid in Ecuador.

Obviously, I felt I had to defend my ever-growing nihilistic world views.

I proclaimed (in bad taste), “well, when I buy a pair of Nike’s, I keep an 11-year-old kid in Southeast Asia employed for an entire year.” (think about it)

Everyone laughed; but when the dust settled I kind of felt sad because it was (might have been) the truth.

americanly,
ajh

Indoctrination (my blue eyes are now brown)

*DISCLAIMER*: This is not a typical polished blog post. I usually start out in this kind of format and then somehow tie it (my thoughts) all together. One of my friends saw this work in progress when I accidentally left it up on my computer. At first I was at little embarrassed and frustrated (I don’t want people to know what I’m thinking); I had almost felt like my soul had been exposed, but then I figured, what the heck. I’m all about extremes, so enjoy.

The other day I caught myself trying to figure out how long it was going to take until I bought my first Audi or Volvo; and then I was like, HOLY CRAP. What just happened? There are so many things that my seventeen year old self would be beating me up for right now.

I’m not sure if it started when I bought my first pair of Nantucket Reds® my junior year of college (my 2nd junior year that is) or if it started much earlier. It could have been a combination of things. It could have been my violent reaction to several self discoveries during my 3rd year of college or just my unquenched appetite for (self) destruction (THE appetites).

Growing up in a perfect world is mentally taxing . . . . Well, it turns out after a few bronsons; I was able to figure everything out. I know where all the angst came from, two words: REBOUND DATE.

I know this is a very scatter post but I’m trying to figure out myself just as much as you are. Look, I’ve got a heart; I’m just trying to find it.

Brian Wilson by Bare Naked Ladies

I’m into Daft Punk’s Harder Faster Stronger song.

Being alive is absolutely crazy.

My dad used to tell me that life was hard enough when things were going well. Man, I never really understood what that meant until now. On the surface I still live in a perfect world, well almost, and life is still a constant challenge.

Before I die, I would like someone to seriously mistake me for the Great Gatsby.

The funny thing is, is that you’d think I’d be more refined with all of the etiquette books I read.

I’ve found out that I’m a very selfish person. I take but rarely give back. I always enjoy interrupting others when they are speaking. I want my opinions (about my experiences), my thoughts, and my life heard. Even now, ultimately I want you to read my blog because I want people to know.

I guess subconsciously I just want attention. Maybe it was because I was one of 6 kids.

This coming from the guy who is perpetually single (and knows it), people like that guy (this guy) because all of the wild scenes, the stories; people like having that friend because they know that someone is doing something more stupid than themselves. They can feel better about themselves. Fortunately enough for me, I have people like Briteny Spears, Paris Hilton, and Lindsay Lohan (assing it up all the time) to make me feel better about myself. You know the thought of, “well, at least I wear underwear (sometimes).”

Men (mankind) search for someone to love them who doesn’t have to, I guess it’s just part of the human condition.

embarrassingly,
ajh

p.s. some things are just better left unspoken

Scotch Is Never An Attribute

… so that’s what she said and we all had a good laugh. Anyway, we were all hanging out in the field yesterday and a car full of Florida girls pulled up. Obviously they were all total foxes, well because they are from Florida (naturally). Well, one girl was from Huntsville, Alabama but there was nothing wrong with her either. The three Florida girls all went to Tampa Catholic (bonus) and they listened to my crappy stories all afternoon.

I think I asked them where they were from (there heritage that is) and, of course, I interrupted them with a “well it probably doesn’t matter anyway because my people probably raped and pillage your people for thousands of years.” (talk about a good icebreaker)

They listened. That’s all I wanted. They listened to me talk about how I was in charge and how I was running the show. They listened to me talk about the only time I’ve seen my dad cry and the listened to me talk about how I was the black sheep of the family. And (of course), I was dressed like a retard. I had on plaid pants (rolled up to my knees), a monogrammed oxford shirt, and a silly orange hat. I looked like Pee Wee Herman in a staring role as the Easter bunny. And right after we…

crazily,
ajh

p.s. I’m back.

Kindred Spirits

I saw her today. She didn’t recognize me. It was only after she passed me that I convinced myself that it wasn’t her. Immediately a sense of fear or panic (whichever description you prefer) fell upon me. After I calmed myself, I turned around to get one last look. It had to be her (at least from the waste down), but I guess if it was her, I really didn’t recognize her either. But what I could gather from the conversation in my mind was that there was no possible way that she would be walking right there, right then. I thought about how sad it would make me if (by chance) I was walking in Manhattan (several years from now), and we past each other, that we wouldn’t recognize each other (think “Butterfly Effect”).

I thought that it was because of the way I looked, or maybe it was just some interpersonal aura that I was projecting. I mean, I had been listening to radio that was unbecoming of me. You know, those stations with “The Mix” as there name; the kind of stations that play Amy Grant and Seal, the kind of station that airs the nationally syndicated “Delilah” program.

Star-crossed was the only thing that came to mind. It wasn’t predestined to be in this lifetime; at least that’s what I persuaded myself to believe (for I am a fatalist.). What a shame, all of my emotion (unbridled passion), contained in that instant could have been shared for a lifetime (well that’s what the movies tell me anyway).

The fear, the wonder, the confusion, the familiarity, the hope, the simple appreciation of that moment was beautiful. Surely God had smiled upon me. I finally knew what I was capable of.

patiently,
ajh

Results Not Typical

About ME:

Classic Beauty
European Mutt
Clinically Overweight
Hambone Express
Brown as a Berry
Iron Horse
Fat Seven Year Old
We Wear Yellow Gold
Free Market Capitalist
Slave to THE Appetites

Living your life as if it were a movie is a horrible way to live, but it makes for a good story.

typically,
ajh

p.s. i was listening to Damien Rice when I wrote this. go figure

This Is Why I'm Not Dating Anyone (amongst other reasons)

talking about a wedding.

Brant: So, are you the best man?
Garret: Well, close to it.
Me: So that means no.

viciously,
ajh

p.s. sorry about the title, I forgot I gave up self-loathing for Lent

From My Soul To Yours

Click on the picture to the left for full effect. It was my little brother's gift to my mom this Christmas (2006). I almost died. I didn't stop laughing. I've never seen the word "back cracks" written (in real life).

gregariously,

ajh