Pregnant seconds of awkward.

So, aside from wondering what music editor Scott Heisel's biggest turn-ons are (for the record: banjo music with high-pitched vocals, Frisbee competitions and those Six Flags commercials with that dancing, old man), the one question I'm asked most is, "What does your desk look like?"

And I told both of those people, "You know that scene in Event Horizon when the ship is going through the seventh level of hell and everyone starts ripping their faces off and pulling their eyeballs out in a sort of orgy of chaos and unholiness?"
And they both said, "Um...yeah."
And then I said, "It's actually a lot more like the scene in Jurassic Park when Newman from Seinfeld gets his jeep stuck in the mud and he slides down the hill and forgets which way the docks are."

And then there's typically a few pregnant seconds of awkward.
And then I usually walk away.

But since I had to spend a bunch of my holiday weekend at my desk and far from the scent of potato salad and freedom, I figured I'd take a minute to give you guys a tour of the place I call "the place I sit."

Here it is:

















A few things of note in this photo:

A: My desktop photo is of Jenna Fischer (from the Office and my most depraved dreams) in that scene from Blades Of Glory where she seduces Will Ferrell. I became very, very enraged when I learned that Scott Heisel (from the first line of this very blog) at one point had begun to use the same photo as his desktop. I realize that Jenna Fischer is not my girlfriend and (unless she reads some of my poetry, of course) she never will be. But I don't want Heisel gawking at her all day. So we settled it the way men do: I fell to the floor and held my breath until I lost the part of my brain that allows me to finish senten

B: Yeah, that's a V8. My much-maligned eating practices have been scrutinized for as long as I've had eating practices. I typically eat one meal per day. Six days a week, that meal is a whole pizza from the place next door. I also smoke way more than a normal human being should be able to and I haven't exercised since 1998. Since it's been brought to my attention that I'm a grown-ass man, I decided to attempt to live past the age of 32. Still, I haven't opened this V8 yet. It's mostly there to remind me of my own mortality.

C: This is a desk lamp that I bought the week I started at AP. I've never turned it on. I think that's a metaphor for something.

D: That's a poster for the Thrice/Circa Survive show that I never got to see. The tour didn't come anywhere near Cleveland. It's cool. It's not like those are two of my favorite bands or anything. It's not like I designed my own T-shirt that said, "I am the image of the invisible" on the front and "Class of 2000 4-EVER" on the back with bedazzling and dreams. I stole this poster from St. Andrew's Hall during the Detroit stop of the AP Tour. I also stole six rolls of toilet paper. (It's a long, disturbing story.)

E: It's difficult to see, but that's an Andy Van Slyke baseball card. Before you say it: Yes, I am, in fact, still a grown-ass man. But growing up in Pittsburgh, the former Pirates center fielder was famous for running into walls to catch fly balls, and I myself ran into several walls accidentally. Lately, I've taken to collecting all Van Slyke's cards because they remind me of a time before credit card bills, girl problems and comprehension of the words "mid," "life" or "crisis."

So obviously, this blog has gone on for far too long. If you've made it this far, you, my friend, are a true patriot. Stay tuned next week, when I consider opening up one of my desk drawers for you.

By the way, none of this has to do with the fact that I'm currently searching my desk for my notes from an interview with Shaant from Cute Is What We Aim For.
Certainly not.

Don't listen to what I say. Lie to me about my outfit.

So apparently that photo--the one I wondered about in my first blog--actually is of me.
I was effing shocked.
You know how sometimes you leave a voicemail for a friend and then hear it played for you later and you could swear that someone replaced your normal speaking voice with that of someone who owns every season of How I Met Your Mother on DVD?
That's a lot like how I feel about that picture.

Perhaps I'm making too much out of this.
But, in all honesty, if I wasn't making a big deal out of this, it would be misleading you about the contents of blogs to come.

So it's a little after midnight here and I just finished working on a few pieces for the next issue--namely scouting out products for an upcoming Gig Bag section and transcribing interviews for In The Studio. (I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to tell you who those interviews were with, but I'm almost certain I can tell you that I wish I would've asked the lead singer of one of the bands more about his new haircut. And by "more," I mean "anything.") I can also tell you that one of the other bands I talked to are my favorite band from Seattle who don't have either of the words "Sound" or "Garden" in their name. (Please visit your local library for more on Soundgarden, grunge and the sad effect of emotional paralysis that the mid-'90s apparently had on my musical tastes. For more on the mid-'90s, please download Jawbox's For Your Own Special Sweetheart immediately.)

You may have caught a little piece of information in that rambling mass of text above--yes, I wrapped up those pieces I was working on around midnight. If you think being a music writer and/or editor is a glamorous job, well, it is. It's a hell of a lot more glamorous than any of my former occupations (which included transporting produce, writing obituaries and being paid $4 a week to reassure the kindly lady next door that her dead cat was very much alive). But the thing about my occupation is that it's one of those ones that don't really end when you punch out. I've said this before, but being a writer is actually a lot like having a sociology paper that you've barely looked at due the next day--every day.

It's a particularly rough week in the AP office, though, since all of the editors are scrambling to get their sections in before Friday's deadline while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on this year's Warped Tour program. (For those who were unaware, the same folks who make AP also make the program you'll be thumbing through on your respective Warped date.)

But for that very reason, I've gotta leave you now.
If I don't catch at least one segment of Baseball Tonight on ESPN, I'm gonna be no use to anyone.

By the way, send some comments my way, kid. You know those girls who post MySpace bulletins soliciting for comments on her new photos and her new, ridiculous outfit? That's kind of what I'm doing here. Except I just want you to tell me you're out there. You don't have to lie to me about my outfit.

Blogs apparently pay by the letter.

First off, I'm not entirely certain that the photo to the right is actually me.
Yeah, that's my hoodie and my general aura of malaise, but I distinctly remember having a chin and, to a lesser extent, I don't remember ever having red hair. (I also don't remember most of seventh grade thanks to a bottle rocket and one strap of velcro I wish I'd never fastened to my ear.)

I chalk this up to the fact that I'm either unable to or unwilling to take a good picture. I also chalk this up to the fact that I never look the same in photographs twice. (Refer to: Table 1.2 below.)

Anyway, you're not here for eye candy.
If you were, you'd be at Jason Pettigrew's blog.
And if you were there, you wouldn't be elbow-deep in egocentrism right now.

But since you're here, a solid four paragraphs in, you're either:

A) Looking for the website of North Carolina Creedmoor County commissioner Tim Karan
B) Someone who ran into me on the AP Tour and I owe you money, cigarettes and/or (in one instance) a miniature schnauzer
C) My mom
D) Really, really, really, really, really not into writing your report on Bulgarian economical reform


I can only hope you fall into one of the last two categories.

Right.
You're probably wondering what it is that qualifies me to write on this blog.
Well, I work at AP and I've got a computer. Those were really the two prerequisites our New Media department simply wouldn't budge on.

I'm associate editor, which means my name pops up in a couple different sections of the magazine and website. If you're in an unsigned band, I'm the guy who's gonna listen to your demo. If you answer the AP Poll, I'm the guy who reads your answer and pulls out 73 percent of the swearing. Am I renaissance man? I really can't say. But yes. I also can recite Pi to four places.

Look, I gotta run.
(Not literally. I jogged up three steps today and had to set up a base camp for a few hours. I killed a goat for sustenance. To be fair, that goat had been antagonizing me for weeks.)

But I wanna hear from you.
Here are a few things I like. Feel free to let me know your thoughts on any/all:

• Major League Baseball
• Lost
• Thrice
• Double Stuf Oreos
• Jenna Fischer (from The Office)
• Bullet points

Go!



Table 1.2
These photographs were taken of me a mere six hours apart. The differences are subtle, but many.)