To all the Beat Boys (and the girls) going back to the first day back in school,

I know when I was there I'd always refer to the place like it was prison, like ask people "what they were going to do when they got out," and I know that I still do that sometimes. And that's fair. College is a four year sentence where what you do is all planned for you and you put in your time and they give you a slip of paper and let you leave. But I was just thinking last night, that it might be good just to say, you know, there are worse place you could be.


Last nights coke raid.

I got a job.

I hate hippies.

I'll be in Hillsdale for Team Larry festivities (I call dibs on the big couch).

I think I'll delete my blog and start a new one, not associated with my real name so I can bitch more freely.

So it goes.

Victory!

Gary (and I'll have it be known I prefer the name "Rook") had his first victim today in the Beat basement. Apparently we have a bat or two.

The album is done.

for details:

My blog

My music

New address:
3340 Richlands Highway, Apt. #23
Jacksonville, N.C. 28540

New job:
The Daily News

New blog:
longknives.wordpress.com

According to the Human Events magazine, the Ten Most Harmful Books of the last 200 years include: Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche), The Feminine Mystique (Friedan) and The Kinsey Report. Among the honorable mentions: On Liberty (Mill), Madness and Civilization (Foucault) and The Origin of Species (Darwin).

Check out the list of judges, Hillsdale College history majors.

Much luv to the new class. To every one of you, and you each know that.

All I ask, really, is if you rock out "Holla" by Ghostface periodically throughout the year.

...And send me somethin wrapped up pretty in coffee beans to disguise the scent.
fmi: davefrank1@gmail.com

Beat Off '06-07

There was some speculation last semester that we might lose the house - that the Beat as we know it would cease to exist. Some people heard talk of track guys or IV guys replacing us.

Let me squash the rumors now. The Beat continues.

I guess it was pretty obvious that it would. We signed the lease in May. But! in case any casual readers were wondering, that's the status.

That said, Friday, Aug. 18th. I'm buying a shitton of PBR and smokes to welcome the new and returning members. Those members are:

Econ Schonert
Jonathan Dunn
Dylan Lindgren
August Stafford
Chase Purdy
Ryan Leng

w/ ostensibly our honorary drifter, Tony Gonzalez, who is really our manservant/sexual slave.

I hope things are going to be as good as in previous years. Last years guys will all be missed.

Hope to see some people on the 18th.

Gary and Len were born 3,000 years ago in ancient Hong Kong and knew all the names of the forgotten gods.

In his earliest years, Len's dinosaur phase taught him of the fleetingness of power. That settled, he never sought imperial office. Gary, however, was the first youngster to learn to ride his Big Wheel, and the taste of domination was there implanted.

A series of vacuums of power, coupled with Gary's ability to sneeze in threes, blew him onto the imperial throne. Len attended a prestigious music school and grew fond of the sitar.

During the emergence of the Han Dynasty, the brothers rendezvoused in modern-day Guam and returned to China with the gift of fireworks.

They piddled about.

In 1784 the pair washed up on the shores of Nevis. Taken for dead, a seafaring merchant nursed the brothers. Their vim and vigor restored, they took residence in Portugal. Now fluent in the languages of four continents, Gary matriculated to Oxford University, while Len buried the Portuguese rock sitar tablets in a manmade mountain beneath loose soil.

Gary is the mythological father of Gary, Indiana. Len could duke in the litter box and be out before it hit the sand.

Seen in this photograph, taken in 1951, Gary and Len are caught in a rare non-action shot, the last image of the now-missing brothers.



Boys, say hello to Gary and Len, found at “102,000 Old Books” in Allen, Michigan.

I guess it is time that I posted something...

Amber and I have moved to Wisconsin for new jobs. Our new address is up on facebook or you can e-mail me for it.

Packing sucks...as does unpacking.

I got to drive a 24' bed GMC 4 ton truck to move all our crap...

We'll be sending out invites for the wedding soon...

I'll be sending out stuff on tuxes before to long (hopefully)...

Life is kind of a drag...

There are 7 bars within 4 blocks of our apartment...

so it goes

DAVE FRANK
700 COLLEGE ST., APT. #3
CLINTON, N.C. 28328

We all know Drowning Bob is dead, has been for a while. Jon Gibbons once said: “We killed a cactus. We are less nurturing than the desert.”



Thanks to the Root System, a Jonesville-area roadside cactus and succulents shop, Prickly Pete—not to be confused with George Costanza's fake horse at his fake house in the Hamptons—is the euphorbia canariensis that now graces the Beat's upstairs hallway.

We are confident Prickly Pete will grow in girth and stature.

—Econ

Well done, Dylan. Well done.

So I fashioned this little thing to demonstrate the far reaches of (an intoxicated) Econ's authority:



Of course the poster will be worthless when it comes to actually...you know...being clean. But you have to admit it's nice to look at for about 5-7 seconds.

Amber and I are moving to Wisconsin in about three weeks...any of you bastards going to be in the area this summer/fall?

I went to Jacksonville last week and had dinner at the Marina Cafe and I can't say I was impressed by either. A Hillsdale on the bay.

No pants party gone awry in Roma. So I went for a little walk tonight at about midnight. I walked out to the place where the thieves market ends, as I turned the corner I looked down and thought to myself, "How odd, that looks like a man without any pants on." But I kept walking anyway, because that's just the kind of guy I am. Then I thought to myself "Fucking shit, THAT WAS A MAN WITH NO PANTS ON!!!" So I walked back, and sure enough it was this guy without any pants on, wearing a red button down shirt, khaki socks, and nothing else, lying in a pool of his own blood. I wasn't really sure what to do, but there where other people there who spoke Italian. I don't speak Italian. I just sort of stood there, noded when people looked in my direction, shruged every once in a while, and waited for the ambulence to show up. Actually, I didn't know that the guy was lying in a pool of his own blood until the medics got there, up to that point I just heard that he was breathing, and knew that there where about eight other people there. A medic felt for a pulse, and I think he said "He's drunk" but like I said, I don't speak Italian, though I'm pretty sure that he didn't say "He's dead" because that sounds something like "Morte" and the ambulence drove off with the lights on, and I think that's a good sign... Anyway, if you come to Rome, don't have a no pants party face down on the sidewalk in a puddle of your own blood.

-HARVY

The Demolition




So now I can always explain the fact that I attended Hillsdale by saying, Well it's changed.

Mell sez hi