Best Laid Plans

I had so many dreams.

Three months ago, I sat at the precipice of summer with a head full of ambitious plans and a handful of melted peanut M&Ms.

Now here we are, undeniably in September. It's pretty much as hot as summer, but it's just not cute anymore.

But now that I'm firmly planted in whatever phase it is that traditionally comes after denial, I'm ready to come to terms with a few of the things I set out to do and never accomplished.

1. Organize the promo CDs that are threatening to overrun my desk and my very soul.

That picture doesn't even come close to depicting the gravity of the situation. Those stacks are just the ones I had to move to find my camera. That's about a two-day haul when you're an editor at AP. I know what you're saying. "What are you bitching about, you meep? I'd kill to get that many free CDs." Yeah. I was once like you. But imagine being in an enclosed room with no windows or doors that just kept constantly filling with cotton candy. In theory, that sounds like the best time any human has ever had ever. But after a while, as the cotton candy begins to fill all of your orifices, you really kinda get over cotton candy. (Although this whole scenario still sounds a little delicious to me. I can't stay mad at cotton candy. Not even in flimsy metaphors.)

2. Start a band with any or all of the following: Jesse Lacey, Chino Moreno, either of the Breckenridges from Thrice, my friend Artie or this guy.

I figured what with all these side projects running rampant like United Nations and Two Tongues and the apparent 6-band minimum it takes to be in music these days, it'd be pretty easy to unwittingly stumble into a supergroup or seven. Granted, I don't play any instrument especially well (or, in most cases, at all). Still, back in May, I fully planned to be famous as shit by now. Sadly, the only place I get recognized is at the $5 pizza place I visit on a semi-daily basis.

3. Properly install my air conditioner.

I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure window air conditioners aren't supposed to gingerly rest upon your dad's 1987 stereo speaker and a baseball card album. (Don't believe me? Click me.) Now I'm about three weeks from needing to take it down. Luckily, all it'll take to disconnect is a gentle breeze.

4. Not recognize Tom DeLonge at Warped Tour and accidentally talk bad about pop-punk in front of him.

Wait. I actually did that one. Check.

(He's a lot more rotund than he used to be.)

5. Figure out how to use my camera.

Seriously. That's a picture of shoes. There wasn't exactly a lot of action going on in that shot. It took me 42 tries just to get it this in focus.

6. Stop wrapping up blogs in predictable, self-referential ways.

Sadly, I don't think this one will ever get accomplished.