Drew Danburry has a new website!

Every once in a while, you might notice if you're paying any attention, a musician comes along that speaks from his or her heart with such profound insight and passion that his or her music lifts you to a higher place.

Drew Danburry is one of those select few. I consider it a true honor to have met and spoken with him several times.

He is on tour right now playing guitar and singing from his heart. Go catch a show. (myspace.com/drewdanburry for tour dates)

It is my pleasure to introduce you to his wonderful world of sound.

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Drew Danburry's new website:

www.drewdanburry.com

There are free songs. Go!

Procrastination is not the enemy.

I wrote my last post exactly one month ago. In the last month I have decided that it's not better to write nothing at all instead of writing all of the papers that were due.

I usually procrastinate writing papers (like I'm doing right now) by writing about my feelings or some other bullshit on this blog or taking a walk around BU to try and clear my head.

When I refrain from doing these things, an anxiety builds up in the back of my mind and the paper doesn't get written. Right now, I have a page and a half complete on an eight-page paper that was due this morning. I'll lose some points for sending it in late tomorrow morning, but I'll finish it nevertheless.

But the problem is not the papers. There will always be papers (or whatever the equivalent is in my post-college career). The real problem is that I'm not satisfied with my life choices. There's something unspeakable that burns in my soul and makes me yearn for greater things than what I'm supposed to want. I don't give a shit about your fast cars and beautiful homes. I don't care about getting a job or making money or paying off my student loans. I have no motivation to write this paper. Not because I'm lazy, but because it really doesn't matter what I have to say about Elizabeth Bowen's wartime short stories. Even if these stories are of interest to me, that's all they are: something interesting.

All I want to do is listen to one of my favorite albums and watch the river flow. I want to have deep conversations with whoever will sit and listen and discuss things with me. I want to play guitar--by myself because no one else appreciates it--and sing my fucking heart out. But I sit here and write these stupid papers about other people's stories when I should be creating my own.

Can I get a witness?

Summer is for Fucking (Part 2)

As the days get longer, classes get harder to care about, and my mind wanders to the world outside the windows. Everybody is making plans for the summer and counting the days until classes end and fun begins.

But I, for one, did not particularly enjoy last summer. A summer I spent scanning parking tickets and collecting money at a hospital parking lot right down the street from my childhood home was the last thing I expected to be doing with those four months of glorious weather and a reprieve from the dreariness of winter and classes.

So this summer, I have plans:

• Maybe I'll turn this blog into something that I'd actually want to read rather than just a catalogue of my meandering thoughts.
• I want to write a collection of short stories. I want anyone who reads this list to tell me three things that you want me to include in a story and I will do my fucking damnedest to produce something entertaining for you.
• I want to go on a road trip. Somewhere. Anywhere.
• I want to record an EP or something with the greatest fucking band anywhere near BU, The Clap.
• I want to see somebody in a crowded room staring back at me, lulling me into a trance with her eyes--or his eyes? Maybe an Otis Redding song will be playing. Maybe the night will turn into morning. The sun will probably rise. I'll make breakfast. 
• I want to accomplish something.
• I want to love somebody.
• I want suggestions from everyone on how to spend my summer.

Let's hope that this summer I don't get fucked like last year. 

Cheers to those of you who have somebody to spend the summer with. Cherish them.

~MC

P.S. Professors.

St. Patrick's Day, or Why Irish People Party Better Than Everybody Else

Imagine a band of fiddlers, mandolin pluckers, pipe corps, and Bono playing a song about the countryside. Imagine you're inside an authentic Irish pub, downing a pint with Denis Leary. Now sit back and enjoy my list of reasons why Irish people party better than everybody else.

Reason # 1: Pints of Guinness make you strong.

Reason # 2: Blonde hair, blue eyes, green shirts.

Reason # 3: Drinking in the day.

Reason # 4: Bastards on parade.

Reason # 5: Whiskey.

Reason # 6: Everyone else is pretending to be Irish and with good reason.

Reason # 7: The Dropkick Murphys.

Reason # 8: Green beer.

Reason # 9: Even a good Catholic boy doesn't have to feel guilty on this, the feast day of the patron saint of Ireland, New York, Boston, Nigeria (why?), engineers, and against snakes. Those slithering bastards.

Reason # 10: Everyone eats corned beef AND cabbage, two equally repulsive foods, and pretends to really be enjoying it.

The Golden Reason: Um, hello, Leprechauns.

Spring Brake? (Part 2)

This one might take me a few more words.

I stayed up until 5 AM the morning before going home. The previous night involved Chinese food, bears, a few bottles of wine, a beautiful woman, multi-colored dreadlocks, and a loaded handgun. I won't go into detail.

I woke up a few hours later and hurriedly packed in order to make an early bus back to New York. I didn't make the early bus. I did, however, return in time to see the Dropkick Murphys play at the Roseland Ballroom. There was this chick band called Civet. The lead singer screams a bit (she's clearly been hurt before).

Before that, I was refused service at a New York City pizza joint--the day I got back. I ate at McDonald's. Life is not fair.

Later, I was handed a garbage bag full of condoms, a pair of handcuffs, and a vibrator. Life is so not fair. This story also involves a white rat, a chest tattoo, and a trip to Australia. It's probably better if I just leave it at that.

I got a haircut and the guy  at the salon asked me for my cell phone number. I gave it to him--somewhat reluctantly and confusedly. He then explained that he wasn't asking me on a date but sometimes he has extra tickets to Red Sox games. If none of his friends can come, he said he'll give me a call. He's 55 and he and his wife have been good friends with my mom for twenty years. I felt awkward so I made some joke about NPR. He then told me about liberal conspiracies and how I'd be a conservative once I had a mortgage and kids. He's probably right. I'd drop my morals and convictions in a minute if it would make my life any easier. I'm a hypocrite. But my hair is beautiful and silky soft.

Later that night, when my friend and I were walking out of a pool hall, we saw a Petco across the street. We went in, of course, and my friend bought a black and white rat and named her Mary the Rat. This is why I hang out with him. Things are always interesting.

Other activities included collecting several dozen white rocks at some private beach and visiting my 82-year-old grandma in Queens in between writing papers and writing songs.

Now I'm back in Boston and Spring Broke--I told you about the puns.

~MC

Spring Brake AKA The Bad Puns Continue...

Time to chill out.

Turn off all of the bullshit. Turn on the TV.

Stop. Take some time to think. Figure out what's important to you.

Music. Family. Food.

Silence. Enjoy it.

My spring break so far, in less than 50 words.

More Later...

~Mc

S'no Day AKA More Bad Puns

Boston University cancelled class today. Therefore, today did not happen.

I was so fucking excited that I finally had a snow day again that I commemorated the occasion by watching a lot of TV and taking a lengthy nap. Being in college allows me to invent new ways to waste my life each and every day of my hapless existence.

My sister wrote a 9-page short story. I ate some chicken and curly fries that I found in my room.

My dad enjoyed his snow day in beautiful, scenic New Hamphire. I literally watched the Charles River thaw.

Kids in the area had snowball fights and built igloos. I decided against taking a shower.

I watched the second season of Seinfeld. It was the highlight of an entirely blissful period of time in which I would normally listen to other people tell me how to live my life and why the way I am currently doing it is wrong. 

I managed to summon the energy to walk down the hall of my dorm only to watch Jon and Kate Plus 8 and Sex and the City with Andrea. I think I'm a Miranda.

Andrea studied for her Italian midterm tomorrow. I made inane comments and philosophized about the mental well being of poor Jon (he hates himself).

Snow days are fucking awesome. Not because they allow you to finally accomplish all of those things you've been too busy to do but because they allow you to procrastinate those activities without guilt or shame.

I raise my glass to everyone else who enjoyed this snow day American-style (fat, lazy, and in front of the television).

'Til next time,

~The one and only

P.S. 35 days until Jesus comes back. I hope he brings food. Yeahhh!!!

ReLENTless AKA I like bad puns...

I am a Catholic. 

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. It was the first Ash Wednesday in as long as I can remember that I did not receive ashes. I didn't forget either. I was reminded by my sister via text message that I should get them and I saw people with them on their foreheads walking around all day. 

I even had an opportunity to receive them when I came out of Beijing Cafe last night around 10:20 and saw the lights on across the street in Marsh Chapel. My friend Kara and I walked up to the doors and peered inside at all of the people attending mass. She said to me, "We could stay. It's up to you." I declined, so instead we went to Crispy Crepes for dessert.

On the way there, we discussed fate vs. pre-destination and other matters pertaining to faith and religion.

"I'm not sure what I believe anymore, but I've always gotten ashes" I said.

She replied, "Well, what do they mean?"

I couldn't answer that. I mustered up something nonsensical about Jesus spending time in the desert and the palms from Palm Sunday being used to make the ashes and just blurted it out. I also told her that I wasn't giving anything up for Lent.

What would I give up? 

-Being awesome? Not possible.

-My old ace in the hole, soda? Already given up for health reasons.

-Women? Yeah, right.

-Alcohol? See above.

-Junk food? What does that really even accomplish? I love junk food. It's delicious.

I'm sure there's something that I could give up for Lent if I really thought hard about it, but I just don't care as much as I did when I was a kid and my teachers and my mom told me to give something up. Maybe I don't have as much faith anymore. Or maybe I never did; it was just obedience to adults and once I was old enough to make my own decisions, I gave up my religion.

In the end, just to satisfy Kara--who didn't like my previous post (I know, how could anyone NOT like that? I was just thinking the same thing.)--I have decided to give up fiddling with the flukes of modern technology and trying to learn how to salsa dance.

Umm, you're welcome, Kara.

~Mike

P.S. 39 days 'til Jesus gets back, Woot Woot!!!

Top Ten Reasons You Shouldn't Go To College

10. Getting a job is overrated.

9. $200,000 - 4 years.

8. You'll stay up all night writing inane things on your blog that no one reads.

7. By senior year, you will be an alcoholic and a smoker.

6. High school girls are easier.

5. Your roommate will be a douchebag.

4. Prison food is better.

3. You'll major in Disappointment with a minor in The Art of Bullshitting.

2. Facebook will take up most of your time, with short breaks for eating and sleeping through class. (It's not as fun as it sounds.)

And the number one reason why you should never, under any circumstances go to college is... (drumroll)

...

...

1. You will learn enough to realize all of the above and eventually drop out anyway.

Thanks for watching, folks. Get home safe.

It's the End of the World As We Know It

Plane crashes in the Hudson. Everyone lives. Miracle.

Plane crashes into a house in Buffalo. Everyone dies. Tragedy.

Fires ravage Australia. Thousands die.

I say, "Apocalypse."

Ever seen the movie Armageddon? Yeah, well shit ain't goin' down like that. If an enormous meteor is hurtling towards the Earth at breakneck speeds, some oil tycoon isn't going to land on it, drill into the center and set off a nuclear bomb, saving us all just in time.

It's just gonna end. Game over. No survivors.

I, for one, would love to die in the apocalypse. If there is an afterlife--just humor me, atheists--then you get to tell everybody out there how it all went down. You get to know everything that human history has to offer. Sweet.

This ship is sinking. We're all going down.

In the end, we're all gonna drown.

Sink or swim. The hour is here.

But never fear, the end is near. 

Sleep is for Lovers

Sleep is overrated. So is love. Love is trouble. Love is cruelty. Love is pain.

Love is like cancer. It doesn't stop growing until it kills you. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm trying a new thing. It's supposed to be cathartic. My own personal Europa.

As a writer, I'm supposed to be the one creating and manipulating through words and images, yet these words seem to have more control over me than I do over them.

By the way, Europa exists only in my head. It's this idealistic vision of the way my life would be if I left school and moved to Europe, at least for a little while anyway. Maybe it's all just fleeting. 

Joey says life is meaningless. Maybe, but we're all human (or are we dancer?). So I search for meaning amidst the emptiness, unlike Camus over there. Because without hope, I have nothing. Maybe I have nothing anyway. 

A tree fell in a forest. There was no one there to hear it. It made a loud fucking sound.

Maybe now I can go to sleep.

~Mike

P.S. I promise you that the next post will be funny and lighthearted...and maybe a little irreverent. SPOILER ALERT!!! There will be midgets and breasts and maybe a little drug use. Dammit, that sounds like the plot of In Bruges. Originality, too, is overrated. 

Restless Legs Syndrome.

Have you ever seen an ad for some bullshit medical problem on TV and been like 'I have that'?

Well, I have.

It's called Restless Legs Syndrome and it affects those who thirst and hunger for something more out of their lives. Of course, the doctors want you to think that medicine can cure it, but doctors just want to make money off of some drug that is only good for getting you addicted to something new. Yeah, like I fucking need that.

This is what Wikipedia has to say on the subject:

"Any type of inactivity involving sitting or lying—reading a book, a plane ride, watching TV or a movie, taking a nap—can trigger the sensations and urge to move. This depends on several factors: the severity of the person’s RLS, the degree of restfulness, the duration of the inactivity, etc."

It sounds like somebody just needs some goddamn exercise. Never mind the fact that we live in a society that stresses the hell out of us every single day of our godforsaken lives. Aghh, it drives me crazy!!!

I need a stiff drink and someone to punch in the mouth. Oh, and if you "actually" have that and are offended by this, you can fuck right off because I have no goddamn sympathy for anyone who is coaxed in to believing this crap. Where is Denis Leary when you really need him?

~Michael Fucking Carlos  

1.20.09 - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning...

Well, the day is finally here. Bush has left office. In his place stands a man with a whole helluva lot of work to do and a microscopic environment in which to go about his business. Can Obama do it?

As a college student, I felt a strong emotional rush come over me on November 4th. It was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my life. This man stood in front of the entire world on that night and accepted its challenge to save it. It was very hard to avoid feeling a sense of pride on that day--to know that in some small way I was a part of this.

Pride.

Two things of importance happened over the last 24 hours. Irish rock band U2 premiered their new single, "Get On Your Boots." As an avid fan of the group, I eagerly awaited its arrival by listening online to Rte Radio 2fm in Ireland, which played the song on the air at 3:10 AM Eastern Standard Time. A jolt of joy ran through my bloodstream as I repeatedly listened to the hypnotic rhythms and wonderfully unfamiliar melodies of the sixth track off of the band's forthcoming album, No Line on the Horizon. With the naivete of hopeful youth, I gaze out my window at the peaceful calm of the Charles River, and I see with my eyes and feel in my heart no line on the horizon.

The second thing that happened was the fact that when I awoke this morning, I did not have any classes in observance of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. What a magnificent day that we all too often take for granted as just another Monday without any school. Well not today. I went about my business as usual: reading for class tomorrow, having lunch with my sister, dinner with good friends, but something was different. Something intangible was following me all day. It was like I was walking with a ghost.

Now nothing of any particular significance happened to me today, but I was overcome by pride and felt joyful at my very existence on this planet. In my excitement over the new single, I listened to almost every song in U2's canon. When I got to "Pride (In the Name of Love)," tears welled up in my eyes. The opening guitar riff that is absolutely timeless and heroic coupled with the most perfect lyrics.

One man come in the name of love

One man come and go

One man come here to justify

One man to overthrow

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

One man caught on a barbed wire fence

One man he resist

One man washed up on an empty beach

One man betrayed with a kiss

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

Early morning, April four

Shot rings out in the Memphis sky

Free at last, they took your life

They could not take your pride

What else is there to say?