Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Elvis Presley (January 8, 1935 – August 16, 1977)



Elvis Presley died at age 42 of a heart attack/alleged drug overdose.
In 1994, the autopsy into Presley's death was re-opened. Coroner Dr. Joseph Davis declared: "There is nothing in any of the data that supports a death from drugs [i.e. drug overdose]. In fact, everything points to a sudden, violent heart attack." However, there is little doubt that polypharmacy/Combined Drug Intoxication caused his premature death.
The song "Hound Dog" was originally performed by Big Mama Thorton.

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Marilyn Monroe (June 1, 1926 – August 5, 1962)



Marilyn Monore committed suicide by barbiturate overdose at age 32.
The Misfits was the final movie of both Marilyn Monroe and Clark Gable. Gable died eleven days after filming, while Monroe died over a year later.

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James Dean (February 8, 1931 – September 30, 1955)



James Dean was killed at age 24 in a car crash.
At the 1955 Academy Awards, he received a posthumous Best Actor in a Leading Role Academy Award nomination for this his role in East of Eden, the first official posthumous acting nomination in Academy Awards history. At the 1956 Academy Awards, Dean received his second posthumous Best Actor Academy Award nomination for his role in Giant.

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Humphrey Bogart (December 25, 1899 - January 14, 1957)



Humphrey Bogart died of throat cancer at age 57 after a lifetime of heavy smoking and drinking. He weighed only 80 pounds at the time of his death.
His alleged last words: "I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis."

Did you know?

[TCM] binge

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof (1958)
Abe Lincoln In Illinois (1940)
Escape to Witch Mountain (1975)
Return From Witch Mountain (1978)
Bedknobs And Broomsticks (1971)
Yentl (1983)
Scrooge (1970)
In The Good Old Summertime (1949)
Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944)
Last Time I Saw Paris, The (1954)
Thrill Of A Romance (1945)
Man Who Came To Dinner, The (1942)
Meet Me In St. Louis (1944)
Shop Around The Corner, The (1940)
Cheaters, The (1945)
Casablanca (1942)
True Grit (1969)
Indiscreet (1958)
Sabrina (1954)

Paris, je t'aime (2006)

Baby Mama (2008)

that's it, so far.
gotta love winter break.

in which greg attempts to keep himself awake all night in order to "study"

I have this remarkable talent, you see...

...many try all of their lives to attain it...

I have this uncanny ability to:

1) attract foot fetishists to my blog

2) overexpose photographs

3) use picknik to make my shitty photos look decent

4) look good.

This last one is for Tanji,
whom I'm sure will supply me
with plenty of sassy commentary for it.

Sincerely, Greg

P.S. You don't ever get rude with my friends. I don't care who you think you are, nor who you know you are. I don't care if you are the most powerful man in the world, or just some kid who is studying English and living off mommy and daddy. I don't care if they are rude to you, because you should know that I will put them in their place. You don't ever get rude with my friends. You ask requests politely. You also treat them politely and with respect, knowing we would do your ass the same courtesy. Remember: politeness goes a long way, and that Karma is a bitch and a half.

contemplations on living too fast.

sitting partially undressed
in my $130 used tuxedo,
I ponder on the occurrences of this weekend.
I see dimly lit rooms
where crowds, of the beginning and end
of hip at SLU,
wash down their fears about the paths they have chosen.
I see skylines that twinkle like glitter
glued to a black construction paper sky.
My liver begins to hurt.
I see the consequences of just one evening.
The consequences of crying for a long lost grandmother
the conSEQUENCEs of depriving my body of proper exercise and nutrients
the CONseqences that are wrapped up in a chilled body that claims "8o proof."
Then I see a late morning beginning in the evening.
Where I ache and dream of being home;
safety is in the warmth of love.
I understand the importance of nothing
and the certainty that it's something.
I feel like I'm alone in a high walled room
in the fetal position squeezing a pillow
in a reclining chair.
Then I realize that's not what I feel like
but what I felt like.
It's hard to say no to a beast.
Beasts come and go.
They disguise themselves in specially marked
and highly commercialized
imagery.
You feel like this could be it.
No more fool's gold,
only to realize that, in about twelve hours,
it's just a fool's God.
&you are stupid for even thinking that it could be so simple.
That all your problems are still existing,
you are falling only faster into a ditch that you created
from your once upon a times
and your so-called happily ever afters.

I think of the pain of Love.
I think "Love is a losing game"
in the humblest way possible.
That no matter how much you get hurt,
no matter what pains you attempt to numb,
no matter how deep the scar is
and how much iodine is poured onto it,
you will live to tell the tale,
and live to yet again love.
Because we are all blind and crippled
and safety is the warmth of Love.
Love is losing game,
because it's like a battery.
It's the exact same thing as saying Life is a Losing Game.
cuz guess what?
As daunting as an idea as it is...
it's true.
no one makes it out alive.
so is the same with love.
but that doesn't mean that it's an ending chapter.
Everything is always a prologue to something better.
No one reads books just for the prologue.

Then the colors change and the mood is midnight blue,
like the font color I have to use since my ink cartidge ran out.
I feel like everyone is a damned fool,
and that I'm done with all the bullshit and the falsehood of companionship.
I'm tired of being treated like shit,
when I only want to do what's right
and what's best for all.

I judge too much.
I drink too much.
I smoke little, but too much.
I hate too much.
I judge too much.
I embody the bitchassness of America too much
I breath air I'm not worthy of drinking.
I think thoughts I can't even claim.
I worry about all the petty shit in my life
when there are people dying of hunger
STARVING FOR THE CHANCE TO LIVE
CRAVING A SENSE OF HOME THAT NEVER EXISTED
BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE A FAMILY
ONLY DISEASE
AND HOPE THAT ONE DAY ALL THE CoRRUPTION WILL BE RESOLVED.
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I BELIEVE IN GOD.
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I MUST KEEP A SANE MIND
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I MUST SAVOR WHAT HAS BEEN PLACED BEFORE ME
AND KEEP THE BEASTS AT BAY.
THE BEAST WHICH I HAVE LET LOOSE TO CAUSE HAVOC.
I MUST STOP BEING SO SELFISH,
BECAUSE NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS
I KNOW WHAT IS IN MY HEART,
and I want to change the frescoes painted there.


I love too little.
I enjoy even less.
I will clean my wounds,
and refurbish what is so badly wounded
by the things I've been lured to.

Don't forget a gift receipt

This holiday season, give her something she'll actually use (?)

Wtf.

Not Your Granny's Knitting

the roar of the cream-of-wheat, the smell of the crowd

7:45 AM. I woke up this morning to the siren of my all-in-one iPod dock/ alarm clock. I swiftly and sluggishly dropped myself to the ground out of my bunked bed. The alarm gets louder and louder to the point where it is absolutely unbearable. The sound scares me, so every morning I wake up in a panic to turn it off. This morning I decided the bed was too high to climb back into. Half asleep, I rolled into pajama pants and a "Missouri State" hoodie. Normally I am against wearing spirit wear from school other than yours. There is something rude about it. However, it was too fucking early for me to really give a shit. I grabbed my ID and left the room before having second thoughts about staying awake. By the time I was at the elevator, I was awake. I pressed the "down" button and looked out the twelfth story window. The ground was covered with powdered sugar snow.
Gries breakfast is warm, like the sun on a summer morning. The service is sloppy, though. I usually get anything with liquid consistency on a plate by itself. This morning I decided to just get my eggs and pancakes on the same plate. The server placed the pancakes hastily on the plate, smothered them in copious amounts of syrup, and then placed my eggs in a lake of syrup. My food took up a quarter of the plate.... why? My will to be annoyed does not kick in until 9 PM, so I just walked away unfazed. I got a bowl of cream-of-wheat. I asked for brown sugar & raisins and only received brown sugar. Then I got my OJ and sat down. The plate of food was forgettable, but the cream-of-wheat was welcoming.
Cream-of-Wheat, with its marketing aimed to African-Americans, is my new favorite breakfast food. It's texture awakens your brain, enticing you to wonder how it is processed. The taste is so bland w/o the help of sugars. C-o-Dub's warmth is so inviting, I could eat bowl after bowl.
My second plate of food was biscuits and gravy with bacon on the side. The bacon was beautiful. It was crispy and red. It dripped with grease. After taking a bite, however, I realized that beauty is only skin deep... or muscle deep.
I went back to my room, a cup of coffee in hand; watched the news, put on warm clothes, and went to class. En route to Music Theory I, I pass numerous statues. Normally, they seem to boast supreme health. Today, they looked sad. All of them were hunched over and holding themselves, as if cold. Their gazes seemed empty, and they were covered in snow. I thought, "They should eat some Cream-of-Wheat."