untitled

so this is writers block?

i've never really been required to maintain a high level of creativity in my spare time before, so i've clearly never had to deal with it. nor do i know how to get rid of it...
it's kind of weird. i decided to start this blog to enable myself to be creative on a semi regular basis, instead of letting my brain turn to mashed potatoes by watching tv and doing other mindless shit. i've even started teaching myself to play guitar around that time to help get the creative juices flowing.
it, clearly, proved to be an effective tool, as i came out of the gate quickly and was able to keep a steady pace. i felt inspired all the time.

however, over the past few weeks, i've felt nothing.
i've been busy with work, life and recently spent a week house sitting (where i had no wireless internet...which was brutal. i felt so distant and uncomfortable - it was weird. but, anyways...)
long story short - i feel uninspired. distracted, perhaps?
there doesn't seem like there's anything worth talking about or drawing attention to.
maybe it's because of all the rain and shitty weather? maybe i'm depressed? maybe i'm in love?
who knows...

i'll be back soon, don't worry.
until then, my friends...

<3 booya.xo

random song at the moment: you're ever so inviting - underoath


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what's the deal with old people?

so, i'm on the elevator in my apartment building just now and a nice old lady gets on.

she, of course, mentions how hot it is today...(old people love talking about the weather. it's science)
i say "i know! isn't it great?!"
she says "no! give me winter anyday"
shocked, all i manage to say is "oh wow, really?!"
she confirms her statement and i exit the elevator, baffled.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

HOW COULD THIS BE?!

WINTER OVER SUMMER?!
OLD PEOPLE LOVE BEING HOT!!!

HOW COULD SOMEONE PREFER WINTER?!

my mind is blown.

if you've ever been in my apartment during the winter months, you know what i'm talking about.
it's absurd.

i don't even have my heat on when it's -40 outside because the oldies have their thermostats cranked to the max...and it's STILL too hot! i've got fans going, windows open...yeah...ridiculous.

you'd figure they'd be in their glory during the summer.
i was almost certain old people kept their heat on in the summer to maximize the heat potential, because they love it so much.

guess i was wrong?

ok, let's recap:
old people love heat when it's cold, and cold when it's hot, but they want it to be cold so they can be hot?

i guess i'll never understand...

back to the drawing board.


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red bull and vodka

dear tom gaglardi,

welcome to winnipeg.
keep up the good work.

love, my liver.xo


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extra virgin olive

happy belated mother's day

dear cleveland,

your baseball team sucks.

your football team sucks too.

good thing you've got lebron and the cavs.

edit: 05.18.10 - apparently your basketball team sucks too? dagger. better luck next year!

hold the mayo

may the 4th be with you

sooooo...apparently it's international star wars day?


really?



really??



somebody told me about it today at work, and it was legitamately so ridiculous and unbelievable, i had to google it for proof.

[granted, you can't believe everything you read on the internet (except this blog. everything is 100% factual. guaranteed), but i investigated none-the-less]

so, apparently, may 4th is also called "luke skywalker day"?
what a heaping pile of retarded.


why is it that nerds have nothing better to do than play video games, blog, watch tv/movies, not bathe, surf the internet, and make up ridiculous shit to satisfy their nerdiness?

wait...blogging isn't nerdy is it?

fuck.

whatever.

check out conan o'brien's old friend, triumph the comedy insult dog, rip some star wars nerds to shreds...

enjoy,


nerds.

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summertime rhyme

it's raining outside

the water makes me run and hide

i don't want to ruin my hair

for a snack i think i'll eat a pear

it's crisp and sweet

quite the delectable treat

now i'm sleepy and watching tv

quick like a butterfly and sting like a bee

the batteries in my remote don't work anymore.

hee haw

this kind of idiocy makes me want to punch women and children.

spoilers barely belong on regular, everyday cars.

what makes you think that spoilers make your truck more awesome?

if i told you eating glass would make you better looking, would you believe me too?

...because it does. you should try it.

fucking donkeys.

i was driving to work today and saw a certified donkey rolling around in a big truck with a stupid, gaudy spoiler.

i hope somebody slashed his tires.

enjoy your spaghetti.

a e i o u and sometimes y

shy, my, by, try, sky, why.

my sister says melk.

she's an idiot.

pretty sure she ate paint chips as a child.

dave matthews band

so much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to saaayy...

so little time.

thank you for your patience.

i'll be back soon <3

30's the new 20

happy 30th birthday, post-it notes.

you barely look a day over 18.

you must have very good genes.

remind me to wish you happy birthday next year.

dr. huckstable

i saw bill cosby live, back in 2004.

it was one of the coolest experiences of my life.

i told somebody about it earlier tonight - which reminded me of the awesomeness. so, i've decided that sharing this clip with all of you is the most ideal idea.

my fondest memory of the show was, without a doubt, his dentist bit.

i literally couldn't breath, i was laughing so hard.

it felt like i was being tickled......and the person tickling me wouldn't stop - but more awesome.

here's a clip from 1983 of him doing the very same bit that i saw him do 21 years later.

the video version is funny, but it's truely something else to see it live.

enjoy.

rest in beats

r.i.p. guru

this seems like a good time for a mass tribute...

can you find the random 6 degrees of separation among them?

big l

j dilla

baatin

big pun

o.d.b.

hmm...not sure where i should even begin?

well, big l was a member of d.i.t.c., which, fat joe, was also a member and fat joe and big pun were terror squad labelmates. big l's track, 'put it on' was produced by j dilla. j dilla was an original member of the group, slum village, in which baatin was also a member. dj premier, who was in the group, gang starr, with guru, produced big l's track, 'ebonics'. and, well, the super random, far fetched 6th degree, o.d.b...he was a member of the wu-tang clan, and raekwon, a current member, has sampled 3 of dilla's beats on his latest album...follow that? me neither. crazy innit?

the great debate

cast your vote.

or die!

cuz diddy said so.

i love bottled water

happy earth day, hippies.

as seen on tv

i really feel like this needs no introduction...

your welcome.

ps. god bless snl

me first and the gimme gimmes

is the greatest cover band in the history of the league.

but here are some fun bbc 1 live lounge covers for you to enjoy:

example covers ke$ha

asher roth covers black eyed peas

more asher, because i think he's neat.

hugs! hugs! hugs! hugs!

friendship! friendship! friendship! friendship!

it's better to be safe than sorry

you wouldn't want to fuck up the most important day of your life, would you?

you're welcome.

black cargo pants

john mayer, battle studies tour memoirs

these blogs are making me thirsty

thirsty for music!

i just spilled my gatorade.

everywhere.

itunes shuffle 10?

ok.

147) lovin' it - little brother

148) cazual drinking - classified

149) burn - mobb deep

150) so ghetto - jay z

151) phony rappers - a tribe called quest

152) killing time - no use for a name

153) we've had enough - alkaline trio

154) yesterday's feelings - the used

155) nothing better - the postal service

156) ey yey yey - the afterbeat

bonus) jefferson airplane - relient k

bounty, the quicker picker upper.

glow in the dark bikini

well, friends...

summer is fast approaching, and without a doubt, you're all very much looking forward to getting your tan on.

i know i am.

i'm paler than robert pattinson right now.

that being said, please do us all a favour, and mind your tan lines.

there's nothing worse than a haggard farmer tan...

is that mike watson??

you get the point...

see you at the beach.

magnetic, like refrigerator poetry

it's pretty cool when you google someone in your family, and this is what you find:

poems by: my cousin, david bruzina

(i just call him boku)

read his bio belowww...

distance

When I see my friends in a different field,
I wave to them and they wave back,
but what we shout is so strange to hear,
the wind seems to carry the import of our words
to someone somewhere else.

We’re left grinning and waving, then—
because we have companions who, impatient,
want to go on with the walk and conversation—
we have to go on, almost without choosing to,
almost without noticing

this thing we’re lightly driven to do.
We look back—at whom we saw and let walk on
in a field in the evening with different companions,
remembering (as if seeing old neighborhoods
beneath their changes): someone

we once knew remaining and remaining, no matter
how long we walk and how often we look
back—until whoever’s walking with us stops
and demands we catch up, physically and in thought,
and, because that’s what we owe, we do.

poem with frogs

In a room with windows in each of four walls, a young man props his feet on the table.
The apple trees rattle.
The wind moves in waves past the garden
where okra and lettuce lie bent and bruised from the rain.

Where tomatoes and melons lie rotting.
Where the man lies rotting with wasps in his eyes.
Where nothing lies.

In a room with windows in each of four walls, a young man lies sprawled on a blanket, dreaming of frogs.
He bathes at night in a pond by a slippery elm, singing,
take them take me home foggy home froggy home.

The room has windows in two of four walls.
There are no crickets. No one sings.
Frogs troop through the fields riding the backs of iron turtles.
The apple trees snap in the high wind, split and lie down.

There is no room. No one is sleeping.
The apple trees lie like weeds in the yard.
A man sits with his hand on a calendar, turning the pages.
There is no pond.

He stands on the threshold watching the rain. There is no roof.
The crickets are singing.
The crickets are quiet.
The crickets have huge eyes.

He patches the roof and sleeps beneath it,
plants a field of melons by the pond.

There are no frogs.
He sits in a field of rain where turtles rust, says they will be waiting they
will wait forever by the river’s mud.

There are no turtles.

In a room without windows, a man sits with his thumbs in his eyes, says
I remember ribbons of dust.

There is no rain.

Says we will be found with flowers tucked behind our ears.

Says I still remember another spring
the slow wring of cast iron tears
bells in the morning seeking the blind
among tin thimbles of frost left on the hills
and trash piles burning in their little
hollows among the pines.

There were no pines.
There is no man.
The crickets remember nothing.

the division

Because I was the paper boy,
I knew when everyone was
and wasn’t in town.

I stole for fun and for the small
heavy objects I could tell
wouldn’t be missed for a long while.

The looking in ticking rooms,
the discrete rummaging
in strangers’ closets and garages

in the early mornings
of the neighborhood
I kept for myself.

I gave my girlfriends cameras.
I gave my father power tools.
I gave my mother a stained glass watch.

chomp

Escaped from God’s hidden zoo,
hunger takes up residence in you,
nibbling your patience, siphoning pride,
enjoying the warm wet conditions inside.

You tried to stop it (but were too slow).
You shouted for God (as if God didn’t know).
Now, you unclench and allow it to slither and shudder.
You feed it like a cow feeds its own udder.

If God had wanted his hunger back,
he needed to have split it from its snack
before I grew so fond of His pet
and it grew fond of me in secret.

Now, however, we’re a single creature,
neither it nor I, no student, no teacher.
Apologies, Boss, if there’s been a miscue.
There’s nothing left in this house to rescue.

q&a

q&a

source: fishousepoems.org.

"David Bruzina Ph.D. - In 2006, he held a postdoctoral fellowship at Ohio University having completed his PhD in American Literature and Creative Writing there the previous year. He also holds an MA in Philosophy from Virginia Tech, an MFA in Poetry from UNC-Greensboro and a BA in English, Philosophy and Sociology from Macalester College. From 2001-2004, he directed the Gathering Place Writing Project, which involved clients of Athens County (Ohio) Mental Health Services in the local literary community. In the summers, he continues to teach in, and direct, the "Area II" Critical Thinking and Intellectual History division of the North Carolina Governor's School (West).

A dedicated generalist with interests ranging from Southern fiction and contemporary poetry to literary theory and the history of philosophy, Dr. Bruzina enjoys exploring the relationships between literary or theoretical texts and first person extracurricular experiences.

Dr. Bruzina's poems have appeared in a number of journals, including StorySouth, Cultural Logic, From the Fishouse, Third Coast and the Greensboro Review. He has recently finished his first book manuscript and hopes it will appear in print soon. His short review (of USCA faculty member) Roy Seeger's first book The Boy Whose Hands Were Birds is forthcoming from the International Poetry Review."

source: university of south carolina aiken, faculty website.

i love my family.