Tag Archives: mike brown

Cool Runnings (Quite Possibly the Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Written)

So I had to do this focus group, right? It’s all about snowmobiles and why I’d want one, which clearly means I had to stretch the truth. I mean, what would I do with a snowmobile? I have no truck to transport it, no money to buy it, and absolutely zero interest in owning one in the first place. Nonetheless, there was a fifty dollar prize for whoever made the most creative piece (which I crushed by the way), and I figured I’d just mess around with it and see what came out. It’s terrible, utterly terrible, but it does have some moments. Here are the three questions I had to answer:

1) WHAT YOU THINK YOU WILL LOVE MOST ABOUT YOUR VEHICLE

Be it a snowmobile, personal watercraft, all-terrain vehicle, side-by-side vehicle, motorcycle, 3-wheel roadster or boat, we know you are contemplating ownership of one. Please let us know what you think you will LOVE most about it? Ultimately, what is the appeal? Why do you want one of these vehicles? Please show us through a few images.

2) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR NEW VEHICLE?

What do you envision doing with this power sports vehicle? Where will you go? With whom will you be? What activities will take place?

3) HOW DO YOU THINK YOU WILL FEEL?

Think about when you actually have this vehicle. Think about doing with it what you referred to on the prior page. How do you think it will feel? Please tell us about what you think it will mean to you to own it, use it, drive, ride it. What will you get out of it? Perhaps think about how you might complete the sentence – “Driving/riding my new vehicle will make me feel ____________.”

What is life like without it? How do you feel about not owning one today?

Here’s my response…………………………………………………………………………………………..

COOL RUNNINGS

Chapter 1

Since the dawn of time, snowmobiles (a.k.a. Chariots of the Arctic) have given humans quick access to areas that might otherwise take what feels like forever to get to. Not only are they insanely awesome to ride, they provide riders with a command of the elements that transcends them from the world of mere mortals to the realm of the Gods.

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They are fast, sleek, no nonsense machines that can be used in a variety of ingenious ways. For some, they are purely recreational; for others, necessary for survival in isolated communities. Carl Eliason, who is considered the inventor of the snowmobile, found  the machines to be ideal for hunting. “With this machine, I was able to turn the tables on my hunting comrades–as long as there was snow on the ground. While they hoofed it on foot, I would ride and get to our destination in the woods an hour ahead of them!” Although the machines can be loud enough to alert potential game of a hunter’s presence, the ability to move with relative ease through the snow is simply too advantageous to ignore.

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However, since I do not hunt, none of that applies to me. The real reason I would love my new snowmobile is similar why bikers love their motorcycles–they provide an avenue for going where no man has gone before, an enhancement of liberty as I continue my quest for discovering true freedom.

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True freedom and picking up chicks.

Chapter 2

Of course, there might be more to life than finding true freedom and meeting women. Possibly. For me, having fun with my friends brings color to my life, and having a snowmobile would allow us to color outside of the lines. I cannot say for certain where we go, as I envision me and my two best friends traveling through parts unknown, following our hearts into territories that would otherwise remain foreign to us. I can see it now; blizzards, bears, our own self-doubts–these would no longer be obstacles for us. If anything, they would provide us with unique moments to reminisce about once we got back to the lodge. A sense of comradery can be found through such experiences. I have no doubt that Mike Brown, Jon Larsen and I would become better friends because of our snowmobiles.

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I would also want to look like the polar version of Ayrton Senna, a Formula One race car driver who tragically passed before his time. I would coordinate my outfit to match my snowmobile with his image in mind, dressing all in red except for my signature yellow helmet. That way there would be no question who was lapping the other snowmobilers.

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Chapter 3

Obviously my snowmobile would make me feel awesome. Why wouldn’t it? Everything I’ve described rules so hard that I can’t imagine feeling anything less that fulfilled. True, eventually I would have to return to civilization and resume my day-to-day existence, but knowing that I now have the ability to feel that level of coolness–both figuratively and literally– would give me something to look forward to. Although the general drudgery of work would still be unavoidable, I’d know that soon I’d be flying across the snow.

Both figuratively and literally.

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Now that I think about it, life without my snowmobile totally sucks. Am I wasting my life? Why am I here right now, sitting in this room, when I could be out on the backwoods trails, the crisp wind chilling my face as my all-powerful machine warms my heart? Human beings are both blessed and cursed with our ability to conceptualize, and whereas thinking about my snowmobile while I sit in a cubicle is something I’d love, sitting in my cubicle thinking about how I don’t have a snowmobile is completely crushing. Life is already hard without having to realize that you don’t have a snowmobile, and with that in mind, is there really any question of why I want one in the first place? No, there isn’t.

I want a snowmobile.

I need a snowmobile.

And as God as my witness, I will have a snowmobile.

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Note: I chose these photos because they reflect exactly what I think when the word snowmobile comes to mind. Outside of Aryton Senna, all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Christmas Eve 2010 | Me and Mike Brown Discuss Girls

162958_1753572049270_6966341_nChristmas really sucks sometimes. Like, really sucks, and for a whole slew of reasons. Maybe you didn’t get whatever present you wanted or maybe you’re stuck dealing with some bitchy family members. Maybe you’re just alone and suicidal, again. The reasons are generally very personal, but there’s no denying the holiday can be tricky at times.

In 2010, Mike Brown and I were pissed off to all hell. Not only did we not have any clue what we were doing with our lives, but a friend of ours who had been hit by a car and was in lying in a coma in critical condition. The latter was the particular catalyst for setting us off on our path of destruction, and the former purely flamed the fire. But when it really comes down to it, the whole thing was about girls.

Earlier that summer, I’d driven across the country from New Orleans to Salt Lake City with the sole intention of laying it all out on a line for a girl, who promptly rejected me. I really should have taken that into consideration after the first time I’d done that, leaving San Francisco for the same girl with the same result. Clearly I’m either a slow learner or a glutton for punishment. I really liked that girl, and the whole thing was making me completely unhinged.

Mike Brown on the other hand, he was dealing with a complete lush who tended to be coked up out of her mind most of the time. She’d been calling and yelling at him all night, and Mike had had enough. We drank whiskey and discussed all these bullshit things that were making us angry and frustrated, and I vaguely remember asking Mike, “What the fuck are we supposed to do about any of it?”
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Mike said something and punched the fridge. I punched the fridge too, so Mike kicked it and dented in the door. This caused me to throw a plate on the ground. Mike thought that was a great idea and smashed a plate that we’d always hated. That’s when I pulled out the hammers. What followed was 45 plus minutes of me somehow filming us as we held a drunken conversation about women and life, shattering all of our dishes with hammers in the process.

If you watch all the videos, you get an idea for the level of communication that Mike and I have between each other. Sure, we might be hammering the handle off our frying pan, but we’re also talking honestly about how we feel. For instance, at one point I ask Mike what he’s looking for a girl, and he didn’t hesitate to say the truth. “Awesome boobs. Awesome boobs and that’s pretty much it. I’ve tried to look for everything else and I can’t find it,” he said. “So what else is there than awesome boobs?”

Later I filmed him getting dumped by the girl in question. Looking back, it’s pretty weird that I felt comfortable keeping the camera on him in awkward silence as some girl explains why they’re done over the phone. I’m glad I did it though, because the last line he says after she hangs up is priceless. We were completely out of control, and somehow acting reasonable because of it.

After about an hour of mayhem, our downstairs neighbor came up to check on us, worried that someone had broken into our place and was breaking our legs with baseball bats. We let him know that no, we were fine, and yes, we could see why the noise of us smashing everything with hammers could be disconcerting at 3:30 AM. Since we no longer could use our preferred instrument of destruction, we moved on to fireworks. Those worked pretty well for the moment, but once we were out, we were out, and by that I mean I have no idea what happened until I woke up the next morning.

Now, at that period in time, waking up with no memory of the night before was uncomfortably common enough to be kind of comfortable due to it’s constancy. I didn’t think anything of it, except that there did seem to be an unexpected amount of glass in bed with me. I looked up from where I was laying and stared into the kitchen.

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Ah…

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Yes…

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Fuck.

Fuck indeed. The floor was glittering with glass like the rejects from a tinsel factory. Thankfully I was still wearing my shoes, so gingerly I got up, stepped over my sweater that now had giant holes burned through it from an errant fireball, and took a look around the kitchen. The burn marks on the walls looked fairly manageable, and I figured, hey, fuck those dishes anyway, we can replace them. The fridge was pretty fucked up, but I mean, of course it was. Oh and hey, there’s still a little whiskey left! Better get to this before Mike gets up. Fuck it.

After I realized I’d videotaped the whole thing for god knows what reason, I cut up a few choice moments and threw them up on Youtube. All of our friends thought we did this shit all of the time, and really wanted to come by some night and help us smash all of our things. We thought about trying to charge people for the experience but decided that anyone who would actually be willing to pay wasn’t the type of person we wanted in our house. Instead we simply enjoyed not having to wash dishes. (This of course refers mostly to me; Mike Brown never washed dishes). Either way, Mike’s wounds healed and we didn’t get evicted out of our apartment, and Christmas otherwise passed without incident. Like Morrissey says, things could always be worse, right?

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Here’s the first video of Mike Brown and I having a surprisingly rational conversation as we smash everything in our kitchen to oblivion. Enjoy!

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