all i want for christmas is dragon voice recognition software

… but i just checked the tracking and the thing won’t get here till freaking Monday. Yes, i ordered it, God help me. Paypal was flush with cash and I saw the commercial and the commercial got to me. I said let’s do it, Jer. Let’s order it and then you’ll just be able to speak your dreams and visions into existence just like the Lord, rather than having to close your eyes and tilt your head aback and hammer away at the keyboard without looking at the screen to hope get the spontaneity down the way it needs to in order for all the millions of people reading this to see into your true nature, your true genius.

I know there are plenty of pitfalls, or plenty of reasons why it totally might not work, but again, the cash was there and I felt like it was worth the risk. Because i have had whole novels lost to me in the shower, you know? Seriously. so many things just disappear because I’m not at a desk when it comes to me. Well, wait, Dragon isn’t necessarily going to be able to help me with that, but I’m imagining being able to just sit there in the chair and wait for inspiration to come to me — maybe I’ll kick back and watch the opening to House of Cards and see what happens, see what that sirs up, and just start talking. the major thing I’m worried about is being nervous about it. i mean, I’ve tried talking into a dictaphone before and it hasn’t worked, but i feel like this will be different. And it will be. With the recorder going, you have to worry about the dead air, imagine yourself having to listen back to it and being embarrassed at the sound of your voice and stuff, and that throws you off… and having to touch the button and time up the starts and stops and stuff throws you off. But with this, it just types what you say. i just watched a YouTube video of it, some dude with a hardcore southern accent, and it seemed to work fine. The other weird thing is going to be trying to find alone time so I won’t be self-conscious talking about secret Jer things out loud. I know it won’t always be there. I know I’ll probably have to keep working my fingers even though i don’t want to. And that’s one of the appealing things about it. Because I’m beginning to hate typing and such. But i felt like this was worth it, to see how it could affect my writing, to see if it could revolutionize things. Blogging too, of course. What if i t can? I’m so pumped. But i knew i needed to write about it now, move my fingers about it–about anything–right now, not totally succumb to the Christmas laziness, and man it’s here and it’s here hard. All i want to do is YouTube Matlock and tweet screencaps of Conrad and Morgan Girard and Kari Lizer and stuff. It’s so weird… why do i want to do that? Oh well.

bleacher report superfan

Bleacher Report was this content farm punchline for forever, a sports blog pyramid scheme that you’d finally have to explain to your dad if you wanted to liberate your inbox from Subject: Fwd>>>Top Ten Google Image results for Auburn Football emails. And it pretty much still is in a lot of ways. (And in a lot of ways, hey that’s fine, more search engine power to you, Featured Writer #7,683, “Reads” ahoy. It’s really only annoying when I see Featured Writer #7683’s 400 Hottest Oregon Cheerleaderz slideshow make Google News results when TWER regularly breaks real stories that receive national attention but is repeatedly rejected from consideration. I’ve revealed too much.) But they’ve tried to make the leap into actual, not just perceived legitimacy in the past year or so by standing up for themselves in comment threads (Lordy, forgot how many there were) paying real people real money for real things, people like Justin. I was of course super pumped for him (cause the money is actually great… they were bought by CNN or something I think he said and are just sitting on mountains of internet cash, like that Jessie Pinkman “Money Money Money” party scene) and he’s been doing great from what I can tell. And he asked me be the Auburn half of this Iron Bowl Q&A thing (Our Auburn fan is Jeremy Henderson. Henderson is the editor of The War Eagle Reader and serves the community <<YES! YOU’RE WELCOME!>> as a local historian <<YES! HOUSEL WHO?!>>and authority on all things Auburn <<YES!>>and Auburn fandom) they posted today. Turned in the answers super-quick super-late last night. Kind of pleased with myself on a couple of them. Which is sad, but whatever.


I think about my family and how I should be working even harder to provide for them. Cam makes me want to be a better man. He’s an inspiration.

They needed a picture and I sent a couple that I knew would go with the tone and they said yes, it would go with the tone, and they went with “the one where you’re looking into the camera,” Justin said, “and not off of it like a pretween selfie.”

Exclusive content:


He interviewed me for something about the 2010 Iron Bowl, too. Probably running tomorrow. Beat Bama.

vhs valhalla

The Incredible Story Of Marion Stokes, Who Single-Handedly Taped 35 Years Of TV News

I recently had the Santa talk with Sadie, which is a post for another time (she threatened to kill me in my sleep, ha ha ha #1992nbcminiseriesworstfearnightmareLOL) I’m sure will never come. But it’s weird watching the magic drain from your child’s eyes, magic you put there, your magic. She’s fine of course, and the different kind of magic is in her eyes now and focused on Phoebe, making sure Christmas never dies and such. And it makes me reflect on my own history with Christmas, which used to be such a huge deal for me, I mean, huge, pre-Santa, post-Santa (if there is such a thing). And I think I’m beginning to get back that do-nothing joy of Christmas morning a bit, though nothing like my own childhood of course, which is totally impossible. But if there was one thing that could get me there, I mean right back there, as there as you can get, maybe even further—that clock-less miracle moment stretched to an infinity of no school and nothing but pure toy pleasure (a new Nintendo and 10 games and a snow day and pizza and your mom napping and 2 p.m. forever) it would be stumbling all “sure ma’am, I’ll help you with that, and hey, Merry Christmas… oh wow, those a lot of boxes, you’re getting rid of them?” onto effing 35 VHS years worth of local news. I mean, holy Lord. Of course I’d actually need some fantasy computer digitizing presents for Christmas. And I’d need to start a blog where I somehow didn’t care about what anyone thought about what I thought about anything, but you let me worry about that part, heavenly daydream Santa. You put me in VHS Valhalla and I’ll find a way to get over myself.


Why am I this way? Why is that such a turn on (9. slang  a person or thing that causes emotional or sexual arousal)? I remember reading some Christian angel warfare novel (non-Peretti) when I was 14 or something and the main character first person angel’s name was Recorder and I remember really identifying with Recorder. I mean, you should see my room, my office, and I’m told I’m officially like, in the one percent of individual Carbonite users in terms of storage, most of it photos of strangers — or at least photos. And home movies. And writings and screen caps and scans, and I guess I should just stop thinking about it. That’s who I am. And the woman in this story, according to her kids, was just religiously committed to recording and keeping the local news not (solely?) because she was some OCD case, but because she was straight up convinced that what she was doing had worth beyond making her feel good, that it would be used one day, needed one day, vital one day. Which is totally how I feel. Which I know is hoarderrific, I guess, judging from the psychologists on the hoarder shows — I mean, that’s what you do, hold onto it because you think you’re going to need it. And I do that, but only stuff with sentimental value, and only because then I think I can make art with it—a constellation of reference points to connect. Some sort of wonderful novel based entirely on the freshman year folder in the closet i never use, stuff like that. I mean, i actually have plans to write a novel entirely about a church trip based only the cinematographically nauseating video i took of the trip. I think it’d be awesome. And going back to the news stuff… because, yeah, of course it was news. Because there’s something about that local TV news. There’s a vibe to it. I think I actually wanted to be a meteorologist growing up, like Jerry Tracy. It was awesome to keep up with who was new, who was leaving, who was moving to a new station, who was–oh man, is that Mike Royer?–getting baptized, bragging to people that my mom froze or helped freeze or whatever Janet Hall’s bra when they were both in high school together… a few years back I even wanted to write a novel about the local Birmingham news market or whatever… and oh MAN if only that woman lived in Birmingham, I could TOTALLY do it! DO YOU KNOW HOW AWESOME THAT WOULD BE? I WOULD BE THE FATHER OF ENTIRE NEW LITERARY FORM.

God bless you, Marion Stokes.

composer, vocals

Apparently I have an profile, whatever that is. Grid so hard!

Screen Shot 2013-11-14 at 8.31.19 PM

Did Joey and the gang actually credit me as “recording manager”? I know they had it down as being recorded at the Bo Jackson House, which is what I called our place on Gidden Street for the three shows we had there (still hard to believe). But we had actually just moved to Sanders Street and so Bo was empty and perfect for a studio, or would have been had there been running water, which there should have been, but the water works, no friend to the Auburn music scene, had turned it off a few days early and locked the meter thing in the yard. So my duties as recording manager consisted of letting them in the house and popping the lock with bolt cutters (which I’d gotten quite good at by then) and letting them crank the heat however much they needed. They needed it a lot. The world was frozen. The night before, we’d all caravan’ed back to Auburn from a joint Haints / Auburn Bikini show in Birmingham at The Nick of all places (I think the Haints played, too — maybe they all just met us there or something) in pouring down ice at maybe 40 mph. It took four hours. Gas stations didn’t have power. It’s a big memory for Jennie and I, the whole weekend. Still talk about it.

Anyway, glad they did if they did (which yeah I think they did and which they obviously must have) because man, I’m listening to it again and that album is great. Joey Barrier hittin’ on all cylinders. It’s on Spotify.

july update


Blame them.

I haven’t been July’in around, no, I’ve been busy, I think. But it’s been a while since I’ve posted something, for a bunch of reasons. The biggest one right now is that I’m working on a book — not that one, another one… what I hope will be the Coven to my streaking Northwestern. I always try to play my cards close to my vest (that’s the expression, right?) when it comes to projects and such because I’m always thinking someone is going to come steal it (please don’t steal it), but I’ll tell you: It’s a book on Auburn’s 1913 football season. Which was a hundred years ago and fascinating. Hoping to get it done super quick before the season and Amazon it and start some super quick Amazon book career to keep us flush with pizza money until I write the big one, and then the next big one, and the one after that. Then I’ll probably die (but not really).

I’ll of course totally start another blog when its ready (please pray for me, pray that I can get actually get it ready) in order to promote it and such, but I’ll try to keep you updated here in the meantime, on it (the book), and everything else. I still have that series of Things I’ve Done Or Accomplished Or Whatever In The Past Couple Of Years And Wish I Had Blogged About series to work on, and I’m reading a lot (narrative non-fictionish stuff, total inundation) in my attempts to be a writer (like, three books in maybe a month or so — probably hasn’t happened since the Hardy Boy summer of ’89). And they’re good books. People blog about good books they’re read. Anyway, that’s what’s going on.

vine whine

My first real attempt at a Vine video. And it worked. But never posted to Twitter. Which means I can’t find the URL thing to let me embed it or link to. And the Vine app for Android doesn’t have a “share” option thing to click or hold down or check or anything to try to to tweet it again or whatever. I’ve looked. God’s looked. It’s not there. It’s madness.

But I dig the footage too much (for some reason) to keep it from the world. So here it is, Sadie razoring through Haley Center a couple of Saturdays back, with total disregard for whatever the Quiet Zone is. Just keep hitting replay.


Things I’ve Done Or Accomplished Or Whatever In The Past Couple Of Years And Wish I Had Blogged About. First in a series: Misspelled acknowledgement in credits of “You Don’t Know Bo.”

One of the producers had me thinking they might actually interview me back when they started working on it (“you’re one of the only people who seems to be doing Bo research [Bo-ology] these days’). Didn’t happen. But when I interviewed the director for TWER before it aired and mentioned my big Bo story, he was like “that was YOU?” Said it inspired his approach. So that was cool. Before that it was that “Roll Tide / War Eagle” documentary, and then the Auburn’s Defining Moments DVD.

credentialed is a state of mine


Part of a Van Emst media member halo today. (apparently made the story, cousin just texted me).  I was invited on the AU Tailgating 2.0 tour. They’re revamping things, opening up more space, etc. Talked with Todd (fellow Vestavia Rebel, though he’s forgotten everything about the place), Jay Jacobs, beat dudes, Athletic Dept. bigwigs, sat next to Andy Burcham on the bus since we’re old pals. Lots of “Love what you do” from most everyone I talked to, some people just straight up coming up to me to say so. Felt special. I may be losing my “credentialed is a state of my mind” stweet cred, but I’m gaining free lunches and $100 Under Armour sunglasses.

yeah, i like you

dandy warhols

Remember hearing the name way back when and always being jealous of whoever thought of such a great punny but hip band name like that, until I realized I didn’t have a band or at the time really any way to be in a band that I could have named The Dandy Warhols, and so then I just felt quietly happy for them, whoever they were. And now I see that the idea in my mind of who they were pretty much matches what they seem to be, seem to have been. Yeah, for the most part.

I remember spending the night at Brad’s one night back when I occasionally spent the night at Brad’s like we were in high school or something (it was fun) and seeing the video for the heroin song and obviously being disgusted to the point of intrigue by the video (but now, after just seeing it again for the first time in 13 or something years so digging it I’d put it in a time capsule) but really liking the actual music, so much that it stuck in my head all the way to whenever the file sharing days came along and I… you know… but just for a little while… long enough to we’ll say acquire that song (because you start trying to remember all the stuck in your head songs when you’re acquiring). That’s when my first mental image of them took shape, as in like, their official portrait for the cool museum: That they were mainstream enough for an MTV or whatever video, but hip enough (even if a little lame–leather pants and a tank top and Cure hair are pretty much unacceptable, wacky 1997 video or not) to keep Lugsole-era Brad from skipping over a blurb about them in Alt. Press or something and to maybe include in a mix tape, and to consider them legit contributors to the definition of some sub-genre-ish movement he could work into a conversation with some drummer in a bigger band he respected who Lugsole might open for at American Beat. And then somehow later (maybe through that commercial, but I don’t rightly remember it) I heard and acquired (legally, I think) “Bohemian Like You,” and man, the songs, i.e., these two songs, are just kind of great, musically, lyrically, like, to the point where, like, if this is power-pop, I could see myself becoming a power-pop nerd or something (I’d probably be a pretty good one, ’cause I’ve always dug the stuff that makes me think ‘this is power-pop’) if power pop nerd is something that exists, and if I had time, and a hole in my life to fill. Or whenever I write the chapter covering the early Roaring Zeros.

Oh, and after looking around and wasting the last hour or so, I totally have a Google Image crush on Zia McCabe (I feel so Bohemian like you), who in their turn of the century prime pretty much looks and even just feels exactly like a 1997 Kathleen-Ailecia cocktail (60/40) in every way good and imaginable, as in I’ll totally probably trace her for a character in that novel I’ll write one day (see “chapter covering the early Roaring Zeros”).

Writing 633 words about The Dandy Warhols wasn’t what I came in here to do (it was actually–get this– to post a flyer for a Lungfish show at American Beat I found the other day). But I’ve been Spotifying the songs (actually listened to, like, a million of them while I was writing outside last night until three in the morning, which was fun) and the search form was calling and since I think I’ve finally learned how to blog, just blog, I decided to go for it. Embracing myself. Getting out there. Feels pretty dandy.