You can't sweat out . . .

Archive for August, 2009|Monthly archive page

Cast Spells does just that. I like witchcraft

In Jesse, the Rippers, and their contemporaries on August 28, 2009 at 10:31 am

The tall and epically gorgeous lead singer of AGU recently turned me on to a solo project that does just that.  Anyone who has read JSF knows my affinity for the band Maps & Atlases, but the lead singer Dave Davison is absolutely dominating while recording under the name Cast Spells.  So go on, click away, and let the sweet sounds of Davison whisk you away to a magical wonderland.   (Also, click through for the rare chance to listen to someone who actually makes having his first name be the dervived from his last name cool.  Such a risky move by the Davison parental units, but he makes it work).

If you ask nicely, there are two bonus tracks available: the incredible “American Quilts” and “War Story Heroes.”  Just email johnstamosfever@gmail.com and before you know it, including myspace, you’ll have access to 5 gems while we anxiously await Cast Spells’ first EP to drop.

Dave Davison: Aggressive naming by the Davison clan, but with his skills his middle name can be David

Dave Davison: Aggressive naming by the Davison clan, but with his skills his middle name can be David

“Christopher Mosher is the best email writer in the history of western civilization” – Bill Walton

In Just absolutely dominating people on August 25, 2009 at 9:51 pm

For all the lol’s that get thrown around like little hot potatoes, it is very rare indeed that I actually laugh at loud at anything I read.  Ok, maybe a couple times a day at wwtdd, but what are you going to do?  That guy’s hilarious.  In fact, I kind of modeled the captions of my facebook album of a hiking trip this summer in his style.  But didn’t realize it until after writing it and subsequently felt kind of cheap.  But also funny.

But enough about me- some people in my life know how to write to cause an lol.  Every so often, when an epic, unfortunate situation warrants it, Mosher will unleash a stream of thought in the form of an email, bursting with description, to his roommates.  Last winter it was the tale of his infamous mouse execution escapades.  Today Jack-o-Matic and I were lucky enough to receive one today about a far less violent but perhaps less sanitary, the shit in our couch:

today, i cleaned out the couch.  no, not just underneath the cushions, as i have done many times before, but in the recessed nether-regions, where few have dared tread before.  you know what im talking about–those deep cavities that are notorious for swallowing pocket change and remote controllers.  my main intention was to find quarters to do my laundry.  but when it came down to it, it was boredom, a desire for cleanliness, and a morbid sense of curiosity that helped me peresevere. i put a plastic bag over my hand and went to town.  and now, for the first time ever, i bring you…. SHIT THAT WAS IN OUR COUCH.

obviously, dust.  not just regular dust that you find on the mantle. i’m talking dust ontop of dust, tangled up in more dust, caked in a layer of dust.  hairs tangled up in dust.  dust with pizza crumbs mixed in.  dust from the 1990s.  plain dust.  dark dust.  light dust.  dust from different states.  and the hair.  blonde, brunette, red, black, and gray.  long hair, black people’s hair, hair from buzzcuts, doll hair and animal hair.  food crumbs, chunks of food that i’ve never seen before, pieces of gum, and gummy bears.  then it started to get weird.  i found a subscription flyer for playboy, two guitar picks, a triple a battery, a receipt from keyfood for $69.33, approximately $8.46 in assorted change, 12 golf pencils, six bottle caps, a red pen, three black pens, two blue pens, a mint lifesaver in plastic wrapping, the corner of what seems to be a package of fruit snacks (in the shapes of hammerhead sharks and treasure chests), a single women’s earring with three salmon colored rocks, the nub of a red crayon, a nail (the wall kind, not the finger kind), a hair clip, lots of feathers and sand, a used band-aid, a ripped piece of page 100 (of what seems to be some type of workbook), and a single leaf.”

– Chris Mosher, an American Poet.  1983-

It’s about freaking time

In Come on! on August 15, 2009 at 6:00 pm

On this eve of the one month anniversary of my last post, I would like to issue an apology to everyone who has checked in for new outbreaks of the Fever and come away with nary an infection.  This is unfortunate and is being remedied now. I would like to give a special, deep, sorrowful apology to one Mr. Carlos Cervantes.

Instead of writing about something stupid I see on TV or a random epic event, I need you to focus on something far more disturbing: The fact that it seems that the memory of me is fatter than the actual me.

Over the past few years, I have been told it looks like I have lost weight at least an average of once a month.  I have essentially stayed the same weight, with a few pound variance on both sides of my average weight (for those of you who don’t know me I come from Brussels, and I am 6’4”- full of muscles).

What this leads me to believe is for some unfortunate reason, when the memory of me gets stored in a person’s head, it adds on some pounds.   I don’t even want to consider how many pounds a camera adds to me if the average person gets 15.

On a non-related note, ninjas are awesome.