Best of 2010 Part 1...

January 17, 2010
So We Grow...
20 i'm shaking this is where it begins keep them in your sight don't let them go get your head down drive drive drive find your breath too deep you're choking you're fading don't you dare this is where we get stronger not fade 21 and 22 745 more more more don't let this slip don't let them get away it's beautiful right so beautiful you want to cry good for you let's go life on that road life on that road you have 28 minutes to go 4.2 and Boston is yours head down fight fight harder harder dig it out you have no choice 23 24 gone 14 minutes for 2.2 you have a shot if you die for it you have to move you have to drive 25 in 640 you got it if you can take down 1.2 miles in 720 that's a 620 clip my body just failed breathe stop easy stop easy not today not possible you've had it that was too much easy easy easy dimitri dimitrov is running next to me saying just enjoy please just enjoy I have to this one is going to hurt and bad I can feel it it already does this one is going to be bad this one was so beautiful easy enjoy it breathe enjoy it you earned your life today son you earned your life today breathe no apologies. 3:14:57.

March 11, 2010
Durban…
I keep on telling him, keep on trying to explain my life, how he couldn't understand it and he usually says something like what's there to understand. Then, ditch your fucking crutches. Then, all you are these days are crutches, and weak. Then, writing bitch posts about fucking gingerbread houses and our book that you're trying to sell to New York. Then, fuck New York, they'll never understand us anyway. Then, that's not what this is about. Then, I thought this wasn't about that - or didn't need to be about that - that one would always happen without the other - that nothing is contingent and if you say it is, then you are finished my friend and not only that but that I might not want you as a friend anymore because you used to be so immune to traps - so immune. I usually take a breath and say nothing or say something like Mid May, over and over but for whatever reason, it's never good enough for him, as if I expected it to be - as if he expects me to leave tomorrow, say something like I'm on my way John, see you in Bangkok. I still have a couple ends to tie up in life or so I tell myself. No, I do. The point, I keep telling him is that someone has to sell this book - and he sure as hell isn't going to do it. Someone has got to give us weight, relevance. That's on me, and I keep trying to explain this and he doesn't seem to care, and there's really nothing I can do about that except tell him that my calendar is circled.

Our time will come again. It's approaching. Love you, brother, now leave me the fuck alone for a month. I'm trying to make you famous.

March 16, 2010
Opie…
There's a mix that I can make of Modest Mouse - all Modest Mouse that feels what I'm feeling now. Boys are raw - I'm dealing with a severe imbalance right now and things are swinging. The music is roaring on my head and I was going through, always going through when I stopped and let myself come to an understanding that I am fucked this minute, just fucked and I can sit here and watch it and feel it watching me or I could take a drive or pretend like I could go to sleep - or write something down - admitting that I have nothing to communicate to - that I don't have the skills to communicate myself to anything but myself. Watch me feel love. Watch me push. Fucking hard. Watch me spit. Fucking spit. I am dirty. I am filthy. I am a motherfucker. Durban is coming after me. This marathon is coming after me. The life I've been bleeding for is at my door and I either won't open up or it won't ring my bell. I can't understand faces but my own. This is how it happens - a rush, all at once, swirling all fucking around me until I cave or my back snaps. I want to put my teeth into this bloody world and it's making me wait. It's making me wait and nothing is making me wait. I am a coward and fearless. Losing my shit. Never seen things so clear. Ever. I am ready to accept everything these statements imply.

March 20, 2010
# 7 Los Angeles
Alarm is set for 3 in the morning. I've got a back up. Have to get north of Sunset to meet my ride before 4. I should get to Dodger stadium by 530, extremely early for the 724 race. I'll lay on the ground and think about times when things have been tough, or when things are going to be tough. Time will fly. I'll line up, minutes before that gun and I'll kneel to the ground, because I do this thing that started a few marathons ago where I take my hand and push it into the ground, twist my knuckles into the pavement until they bleed a little bit, until I can feel that burn and sting before I pull back, before I feel the hurt of sweat covering those fresh parts of my hand for the next 3 hours, because that's how I've found I need to do business. I have never needed a marathon as much as I need this one tomorrow.

April 04, 2010
Let's Rant Quick For Now, Shall We?
I was riding my bike to the Grove yesterday, to the Rosetta Stone kiosk, because I want to learn Thai, because I don't know how long I'm going to be in Bangkok and beyond and I felt like I couldn't understand the colors and sounds of the world around me. In Los Angeles. Not anymore. I felt like, and I feel like what is coming for me is going to take my circuits and tie them fresh and raw. It's a scary and adrenal thought, leaving behind this form of comfort I've found, that I will always find, that I have to continue to battle off for the rest of my life. Bangkok is going to be hot, sweltering, and its culture is going to smash me at a thousand miles per hour. It fucking better. And if it doesn't, then it better know that I am coming to smash it. I want to get messy, lost, buried. I want to get in over my head, so far over my head and handle it. Then get over my head and handle it, and handle it, and handle it. Forever until it's no longer what I need, until I need to move off to something new, somewhere new, where the colors and sounds of Thailand go beyond understanding. Might take a while.

April 16, 2010
I Feel Like I Need To Stop Blogging...
Matt Vaughn, congratulations though, you made a movie that is going to do really well this weekend. You made a movie that people in my theater cheered for at least 3 times. IMDB loves you. Rotten Tomatoes loves you. You made a movie that this country is going to love because your heroine is 11 and says words like cunt and douche and fuck - and they'll think it's edgy and fresh and awesome. And then they'll go home and jerk off to Kim Kardashian and buy the latest Ke$ha single and I'll be on a flight to Thailand, waving goodbye.

April 18, 2010
Coachella, We're Just Gonna Play This One Through...
Bridges started to form between us at some point, and because of that I started to worry she would think I was trying to be the one thing I didn't want to be...and I think she started to worry that her kindness might be leading me on. At some point, one of us closed up...closing the other one. I bitch a lot on here about damage sustained over the years and I have to guess that this Girl could tell some of the same stories and tout the very same wealth of pained emotion. I have a feeling. So now when I see her I'm kind but curt and evasive because I'm trying to be courteous and not drive us any further apart, which is naturally driving us further apart. And still, we're both going absolutely out of our way to put ourselves in the same places at the same times, I think because we share a common faith for the ideal that we can and should know each other well for the rest of our lives. That's what I'm talking about. That's what I'm after. It doesn't take me long to realize that about someone when someone turns me. Last night, I stayed at this party until sometime after or around 4 and at some point, maybe on the drive home, I realized my situation's fatal flaw. I fuck women. Clearly I can't be trusted to mean these noble things I'm saying. Clearly all I can be is cunning and eventually damaging and potentially regrettable. Even though I never made a single play, even though I never had any intention of making a play, this thing between her and I that I was going to so carefully preserve is about to be gone. I'm not here to force and I'm not going to fight and I'm not going to repair. Maybe that's passive and maybe that's cowardly too but I just don't have the time or especially the desire to be convincing to anyone but myself. You're either on or you're off and I give a fuck but honestly...I can't. So I don't.

This Won't Be Up Long...

Never seen Em use so much of a guide track before. Or a full guide track. Probably sick. But that's not why this is going up.

Wait for it...

And So I Take Back From This Year, Everything I've Done And Said That Was Cynical...

The Return Of The Return Of Stefon!

Paul McCartney took the stage 4 times. 4 times! Special night. 3rd time up, he breaks into this Beatles/Lennon mash and I swear I could feel it in the crowd, this collective gasp like, "holy shit that's Paul McCartney and I'm here and I'm watching this and he's asking me to sing along." I'll bet they'd call it a special night too. Watch Paul Rudd's face at the goodbyes, brother could barely contain himself. Nowhere online, that third performance...like it never happened...

Thank You 30 Rock...

I came home tonight, tired from a long day and DVR loaded with 3 things - The Office, 30 Rock and Scrooged. The first two are Christmas episodes, which I'm a total sucker for, and they were both excellent. The third is perhaps the greatest Christmas movie of all time. I'm through the first two, just finishing 30 Rock - treated to both the consistently renewed realization of Tiny Fey's staggering beauty, and what was hands down, the greatest show closing musical montage I've ever seen.

Buckley in West Wing got nothing on this...

What A Morning...

One of my favorite things about the end of the year is the recap - music, lit, film, progress, love, loss...it's all very nostalgic and what can I say, I'm one nostalgic guy. I spent most of the morning reading through Longform's top 5 interviews of the year. Right now only through Christian Bale and Bill Murray because I'm Hollywood slut, but will make it through the rest. Clearly fascinating because otherwise, why would I be writing about it, but also because one of those two says something exactly like, "And Chris Farley was just phenomenal. Beverly Hills Ninja will always remain one of my tops. I have watched that movie. One time I sat down and watched it two nights in a row, and cried with laughter both times. The guy just was a phenomenon, and is missed dearly in my household."


And I probably wouldn't be writing if it was who you thought it to be...

Back In 2000, When We Thought The World Was Going To End...

I was making a playlist this morning, thinking of a certain song, which made me think of this video. Last time I went on YouTube, nothing was there, almost miraculously I thought. Today, it was...

Thank You Again, Finally, Edgar Wright...

Found inspiration is such a rare commodity...

Christmas...

I feel like I have mono, on the fringe of being sick...but hopefully not really. I think it just takes a while to recover from racing for 11 hours straight. Today, two bands who move me incredibly both released Christmas videos. Tonight, AMC is in the middle of a play Scrooged every night for 4 nights stretch. The world is trying to tell me December is a good month to just be happy.

I've decided I'm going to allow it.

The Ironman...

I don't know what I'm feeling right now - tired, broken-hearted, defeated, victorious. It's a mix of a lot of things. I came to the island with a finish time of 10 hours burned into my head, with the grand goal of making it to Kona on my first try. Last year, same race, my age group, 10:30 would have done it. I was on the second lap of my bike, on pace for a 5:15 split, not willing myself that I was okay and strong and steady, but actually okay and strong and steady. I could see my transition into the run ahead, sure I could hold a 3:30 and get invited to Hawaii for the race of all races.

There was a noise coming from my bike, the chain grinding against the frame. I looked down to see that my cranks were somehow coming loose, knowing it was a progressive thing, wondering if I could make it through the last lap without something falling off. 5 miles into the 3rd lap, because of the friction, my chain began to slip to the smaller wheel. I hopped off twice to fix it but the same thing kept happening. It was only another 5 miles before I found a service station, got things tight and back to business. All things considered, I still managed a strong third lap, though I did lose 17 minutes off my pace. Still, I don't think it broke me in any way. I knew the 3:30 marathon could still bring me in around 10:20.

First four miles of the run, I felt good, like I was shot out and on my feet and moving around a 730. By six, I felt as sick as I've ever felt, threw up, felt better, got back into an 8 minute pace, determined to hold steady the rest of the way. Slowly, it started to slip. But something else began to occur to me. The run was broken up into 3 eight mile loops, so I could see everyone running ahead of me - there were a few. Hundred. I thought about it only briefly at the time because brutal pain is an attention seeker, and just kept moving my feet until mile 21, when I knew that if I was going to come in under 11 hours, I would have to chop 2 minutes off my per mile pace and make no stops. Like a ship desperately fleeing attackers in the movies on an open sea, I threw overboard all the flasks and pills and shit I had left in my pockets and tossed my bottle to the side of the road. I took a deep breath. The Killers' "Human" started playing on someone's loud speaker. I laughed. Then, I suffered like I've never suffered in my life before I came in at 10:59:20. That was beautiful.

Later last night, I read the qualifying times for men 25-29 was 9 hours flat. 90 minutes faster than last year, same course. I still don't know how to explain that. It made me feel humbled, and naive, in absolute awe for the strength that was out on the course. And sitting here right now, body in pieces, I feel thunderstruck. At times, hours earlier, I could see myself placing in my division...and in reality, I was getting obliterated, fucking destroyed. That's really something to deal with - I'll never forget it. Today, I've been asking myself how I'm not buried by all of this...or how I can possibly be thinking of all the new ideas I have for training, to shave me down, to toughen me up, to quicken my step. It's all I can think about. And I'm not trying to put a bow on this post. I'm not amateur. I am incredibly happy and proud of what happened yesterday but also somewhat humiliated, and devastated, and that's what I'm locking onto - because I have somehow trained my body to lock onto and love and obsess in the things that make me stronger in this world, that keep me in a constant state of evolution...even if the result of those things appear to destroy me. Right now my body is saying rest up, enjoy December, have some cocktails and let those endless other dreams flourish.

Then...come January, come hungry.

Ironman Cozumel - 0 Days To Race...

Ironman Cozumel - 1 Day To Race...

Time to start getting quiet.

Ironman Cozumel - 2 Days To Race...

It wasn't too long ago that I was talking on here about my competition, about how when I line up on Sunday, there are going to be about a dozen guys who have a shot, really have a shot in 25-29 of getting to Kona. Yesterday, I was talking about the camaraderie between athletes, and felt so much of it today...but then something else happened. I was walking to the convention center to register when I crossed paths with these two guys, two Americans walking ahead of me. Pretty soon we were lost together and talking up life, the journey here and everything in between. They were both named Brian, from Los Angeles but the beach town Hermosa. They were friendly as hell, and if I see them Sunday after the race, we'll probably get drinks together and talk about the day's pretty bleed. Sunday. After the race. Today, the more we walked together, and talked, the more apparent it became - they're here to do exactly what I'm here to do. And no one said it. We didn't talk about times, or ages, or ambitions. We didn't have to. I could feel it in them. They could feel it in me. At some point, the build became too much and we parted ways on my desires to fix the screws in my seatpost. I saluted them, fearful, wondering like hell what they're made of. They saluted me, probably fearful of my calves, wondering like hell what I'm made of. We shall see.

Ironman Cozumel - 3 Days To Race...

Today and last night, it was my job to get here. Everything but my camera made it in 1 piece so I'm switching video to iPhone for a couple days. I walked the streets, tried to get some sun. Tonight, it's my job to get ten hours of sleep since I'm on the three I got last night from LA to Houston. Right now I'm watching Jurassic Park in Spanish. The raptor is about to eat Newman and I need to go out and eat carbs, lots of carbs.

This Is Going To Be Very Good...

I'm sitting in LAX, biting internet off something or someone, listening to the Daft Punk soundtrack from the film. Art inspires art, that's all I can think of as I'm listening to this murderously bizarre and charging album. It's exceptional. It's inspiring. Haunting. And something like this...I don't believe it could occur without a source to be reckoned with, and that makes me happy, and anticipatory...and I like that.

Jet Plane Comin'...

Ready to enter that time warp. So recently back home. So soon on the road again.

At Least My Apartment Is Clean...

There's an SNL marathon and that feels right. Anne Hathaway is on tonight. Saw her last night in Love And Other Drugs. Her body is very good naked and moaning. Good actress. Big eyes. I'm a mess because it's cold and raining and the world is hanging and the race I'm leaving for on Tuesday is a far, far distance away. I won't be better, not really until after it's over and I'm back here, another night thinking about how comforting Saturday Night Live is - how often I write about it, where exactly that all came from and why. Last night I went out thinking someone was going to find their way to my bed, and so I cleaned this place. I thought I was going to find someone to move gently through or not, to exact my poetry upon...or realize my mistake before falling far, far short. The lines in the cleaned carpet have dispersed, but I know they were there, and not too long ago, and for what reason. At some point, I was drifting through a bar, not because I'm telling myself okay time to drift, but because it's all I know how to do, because I'm never a calculated lost, only lost. At some point I was talking to a guy, a good friend actually, who spent the majority of the conversation telling me how terrible it was that people his whole life were trying to dictate his sexuality - before he tried to tell me I could never know mine unless I left myself open - to things - to him - to the possibility of him, essentially - before he became static, despised blind deaf selfish and incredible - before the depressing downgrade began to kick in and I was drifting again, constantly drifting. At some point I was talking to a girl about music, a pretty girl and finely equipped and lovable who was asking me if she could come back to my bed and see my clean carpets and dishes and bathroom, asking me if I would want to have my way with her before I was acting thick, like it went over my head or that I didn't hear it quite right before minutes later she offered herself again, along with her pretty friend, as a pair, seriously, as if to up the ante, before I talked about a friend I had to catch up with across the room before leaving, and that I would be back, always back. Steps away I could feel their rejection, their soon to begin accusations of my homosexuality, as often happens because I don't put my dick in things for the sake of, to battle themselves down, their confusion and potential hurt because I ridiculously give everyone credit of the sensitivity I suffer while dealing with the weight of my lately hopeless pursuits, the potential that they may for a long time be hopeless pursuits, which at this point isn't as heavy as it is expected.

Conspiring...

December 31, 2010...

Like them...

Meaning...

It's as good as done.

Emma Watson...

Doing to millions what NatPort did to me.

The Beatles...

There are times to hold steady and brick-headed in this world and then there are times to let go. I don't know exactly what The Beatles longstanding fight with iTunes was all about, though I suspect if I started throwing around bloated words like pride, bastardization and expectation, someone would say something like say no more you got it right there.

I have never been a MONSTER Beatles fan - and yes, I'm using caps to explain. Once. There have always been about 20 songs lurking around my iTunes that I had swiped over the years, nowhere near the amount I should have had. My Old Man once told me you were either Beatles or Stones. He was Stones, so I became Stones. I always loved The Beatles, but they were more in my periphery. To so many people, they were and still are the be-all-end-all, and I can absolutely accept that.

Anyway, the reason I sat down and started writing this is because I've already plucked a few songs since they became available on iTunes yesterday, fucking remarkable songs, songs I feel like I should have always had on my journey or behind my pen...all of this time. I'm starting to see Beatles songs creep up and move across the iTunes top 200, handfuls and handfuls of them. I'm looking at some of the songs they're standing next to and for some reason, this morning, I'm breathing easier. Without getting too caught up in my perception of youth's narrow vision and emotion/how 75% of the songs we're buying and playing and #1'ing are disposable shit at best, made because people need to get drunk and get high and get fucking, yo, The Beatles are giving me breath.

Say no more.