Could I get a little less 7k on the claves?
I am Ryan M. Benton. It is an honor to present my very first Great Moments in Internet History posting. Many thanks to the ever so handsome, wildly talented, and especially good-smelling Burton Parker for inviting me to grace his and his fantastic wife, Lora’s blog/rant/story site.
Like any original written work, I should hope to become at least a tiny bit inspired before I let my hands go to town, typing whatever it is they see fit to type. Nobody likes to read a bunch of long-winded, slaphappy, illogical jargon that they can’t relate to. I shall do my utmost to remain a viable, entertaining contributor to GMIH’s already sterling reputation.
Today is Sunday, January 15th, 2006, 2143 hours, which means there is now 83.8% more sand in the bottom of today’s hourglass than there was when I started this shift. Let me bring you up to speed: I work as a police/fire/ambulace dispatcher for the City of Emporia, Kansas. People call me when they have emergencies, and they call me when they have non-emergencies as well. Somtimes people call me just so they can remind themselves that they are still alive. Somehow another human voice at the end of a phone line is exactly what they need at that moment. That is, the moment before they blow their brains out with a sawed-off shotgun.
Facts. I love ’em. For instance- I do not enjoy peanut butter cookies, shepard’s pie, or Wal-Mart. In fact, I hate Wal-Mart. I do not shop at Wal-Mart, as I believe that corporation stands for everything unholy and wrong with the world today. Flimsy, plastic crap, all put together, piece by piece, by a starving 14 year old Indonesian boy will not find its way under my Christmas tree this year. Not because I’m not planning on having a Christmas tree (they demand too much of my house’s moisture, needed much more by my piano’s sound board, and my nasal passages)- but because I believe the 14-year-old slave shouldn’t be encouraged to continue making any more useless shit more, purely for the joy of the American Cheapskate.
Boy I really got off my train of thought. You see? You see why I shouldn’t be allowed to blog? It’s mindless, bird-brained ranting. Nobody needs it.
Facts. Oh yes, now I remember. Facts. I started to talk about facts. I love ’em. Here’s one: I’m feeling giddy right now. I’m feeling giddy about something happening in my life. There’s a band. A band that I play drums for. We’re called Gil. We just finished recording our first full-length cd at Black Lodge Recording in Eudora, Kansas. The record will be called “Honesty Without Fear.”
Our singer, Matt Kosinski, has a refridgerator. The refridgerator, which is called The Kelvinator, has a logo on the front of it, bearing its name. It looks a lot like a hood ornament from the 1950’s, all chrome and badass. Next to the logo, there is a sort of badge with another design in it. The badge says “Honesty Without Fear” in small print. We think this is absolutely hysterical- a refridgerator with a badge. It’s really a badass. We wanted our record to seem equally badassed. It should be out in a couple months. In the meantime, you can keep up with us at www.myspace.com/gil At least until our real website is finished.
The radio in the building just started playing Johnny Hates Jazz’s ”Shattered Dreams,” which I find to be awesome
I have a two and a half old year daughter named Amira. She is without a doubt one of the smartest people I know. Maybe too smart. At the tender age of 4 months, it became obvious to her parents that she possessed a very strong sense of rhythm. Turning on a danceable record, such as, say, Hot Hot Heat’s Make Up the Breakdown, gave us quite a thrill during those early months. She would hear the first few notes of “Talk to Me, Dance With Me,” and the next thing we know, she’s swaying back and forth, pretty much in perfect time. A drummer’s proudest moment, for sure.
I find myself to be wholly uninteresting right now. If I have just wasted your time by keeping your attention up to this point, please, just bill me for these past few minutes that you’ll never get back.
goodnight,
r.