Shattered!  Ruined!!

Last week I suffered a tremendous loss that most people won’t be able to sympathize with. While walking into the house my beloved iPhone fell from my hand and onto the kitchen floor. As the device was airborne, the next few nanoseconds seemed to pass by in super-slow-motion as I recognized my beloved phone’s eminent doom.

I didn’t want to pick the phone up from the floor because I knew the surprise that was waiting for me. Eventually I mustered up the courage to retrieve it and one look at the screen confirmed my suspicion. My first thought was “oh no…it’s ruined” and I panicked for about five seconds. Then it dawned on me–a revelation so profound that I knew that I was among a slim minority of iPhone owners in the world to recognize this: It’s just a phone.

I continued life as normally I possibly could and scheduled an appointment at the Apple Store later that day. When I walked into the store, I decided that honesty was the best policy and I confessed my iSins to the Apple Genius. I said to him, “before I show you the phone I want to explain what happened. I walked into the house and my kung-fu grip failed me, which caused my phone to fall onto the kitchen floor and pulverize the screen.” I wanted to prepare him for the horribleness that he was going to see, but he seemed completely unfazed by it as he calmly replied, “ok, let’s get you a new one” and disappeared behind the magical Apple Store door.

I stood there completely dumbfounded, thinking “wait… what just happened?!”

Minutes later he returned with my new iPhone 4, which he took the liberty of activating for me. I signed sign a piece of paper and he sent me on my way.

This seemed too quick and simple. I didn’t even have to pay a penny as iPenance for my iSin! I stood there and said “so that’s it??” He said, “yes.” I replied, “so you’re sure that’s it? Nothing else?” “Yes…you’re all set.” “Whoa.” That’s when I decided to quickly leave with my shiny, new, activated iPhone before he changed his mind.

P.S: In commemoration of this interaction, I’m considering getting a tattoo of the Apple logo across my stomach with the words “Apple4Lyfe” on my arm.

The G-Head Logo


If you’ve been around these parts recently, you might have noticed that I tend to use my G-head graphic on everything, but you might not be familiar with the graphic’s backstory. Sit back and relax as I share the very revealing tale of the Geremy G.

I’ve had a massive head since the day of my birth–so large that my mom had to have a C-section to deliver me. From the age of five years old to my current age of twenty five years old, my head hasn’t grown an inch–my body only grew around it.

Baby Geremy Head

My massive head got me into lots of issues when growing up. When I was a toddler my head messed up my body’s center of gravity, which resulted in repeated trips and bruises. One day at the age of four I lost my balance, fell down the staircase head first and landed on my teeth. This caused me to lack my two front teeth from the age of four until I was 13 years old. When I started school, all of the kids used to cheat off my exam because they assumed that my adult-sized head had an adult-sized brain inside, which made me appear as a genius. I was known as the little kid with the BIG head until the age of 10, which was when my misspelled name took the focus of my classmates.

Beginning in fifth grade every kid thought that he/she was an expert speller, which caused them to spell-check everything including my name. When I was born my parents decided to spell my name with a G because my older sister’s name also began with a G and they wanted to stay consistent. Little did they know, this would be the cause of ridicule for the majority of my adolescent years. The school kids would always tell me “you’re spelling your name WRONG,” because apparently they were linguistic experts who were masters at the art of name-spelling. To make things worse, whenever we had a substitute teacher he/she would take attendance and call me “GER-ME,” which caused the entire classroom to erupt in laughter. I hated the G.

Fast-forward to my college years when I began to understand the power of branding and I sought a logo to serve as my graphic signature. I decided to pair the two things that I always viewed as a negative in an attempt to use the law of double-negatives to create a positive. Since the introduction of the G-head 2004 I have been parading it around the internet and it will continue to be exhibited for the world to see for many years to come! Having a big head and a misspelled name has never been so great!

The Life and Times of the ’98 LS400

Eight Years Later

The year was 1998 and I was a forgetful little thirteen year old boy who walked to Edison Middle School every morning. On my journey to school each day I saw the same boring things, but one day I noticed something completely different and utterly life-changing. There was a beautiful, new Lexus LS400 parked outside of the “Fabulous Wallcoverings” store and I was instantly mesmerized by it. Suddenly this little eighth grader who couldn’t remember his timetables remembered every single detail of the car—the prominent Lexus logo on the wheels, the wooden steering wheel, the subwoofer behind the rear seats, the absence of a radio antenna. In my little mind, this car was the perfect car and I decided that I needed it in my life as soon as it was legally possible.

For my 18th birthday I leased myself a new Nissan Altima 2.5S and kept it for a few years, but I still had the ’98 Lexus on my mind and I felt like I was cheating on it. A few years into the lease I decided to return the car early and pay thousands of dollars worth of penalties so to be able to pursue my dream car. After a brief search, I picked up my ’98 Lexus LS400 on Saturday, May 6th 2006 and drove it home with a smile plastered on my face like a kid with a new toy.

I had the car for three years and shared a lot of great moments with her. I read books in her backseat, I bought her new shoes, I took her to different states and I took her through some rough conditions, and through it all she stuck with me and never gave me a single problem. She was so great that even after her older, more attractive sister took her place, I kept her around because I was emotionally attached.

After sitting in the driveway being used minimally for a year, I decided to sell her to a great family who will never love her as much as I did, but will appreciate her greatly. Thinking back on her history I realized that the desire for this car was birthed in me when I was a wee little child and eight years later it became mine, but now it’s gone….gone forever. I don’t know how long it will take for me to get over this! This is devastating.

….I’m over it. That was quick.

Gun. Bullet. Clay Disc. POW!!

Gun in Hand, Ears Open

Recently a friend and I went to a skeet shooting range because we wanted a safe, real-life alternative to the Nintendo NES game Duck Hunt. As soon as I arrived on the property I knew that things were serious because everyone was walking around with a gun in their hand. I stepped out of the car very carefully and tried not to make any sharp movements or loud noises because I didn’t want to excite the gun-toters and end up as a potential target. As I calmly walked to the front desk, I heard five simultaneous gunshots and my natural reaction was to swiftly collapse my nervous body to the ground—this was a skill that I perfected after living in the hood for eight years. However, I had to remind myself that I wouldn’t get shot as long as I don’t get in the way of fire….I hope. This was a true test of faith!


I approached the front desk and expressed my interest in skeet shooting. The man asked in the most southern accent, “you ever shot a gun before?” I didn’t know if playing DOOM on Windows 95 counted as shooting a gun, so to be safe I said “no.” He gave me these massive bullets and said “wait over there!” I listened because when a man hands you a box of bullets and tells you to do something, you do it! A few minutes later, a different man with a gun in his hand approached me and without making eye contact he said, “follow me.” I wasn’t sure who this guy was, what he wanted or why he wanted me to follow him, but this man had a gun in his hand so I better listen carefully!

My friend and I followed this man into the bushes, not knowing if he wanted to play a good ol’ fashioned game of pin-the-tail-on-the-Geremy–his bullets being the tail, but I stayed brave. Soon, he took my bullets, introduced me to the gun and showed me how to shoot the clay discs.

Disc, meet bullet.  Bullet--Disc.

When I tried to load the first bullet, I accidentally pointed the gun in the instructor’s face, but luckily he was pretty forgiving and he just aimed the gun elsewhere. I guess this happens a lot. My first shot— miss, second shot–miss, third–miss. What was wrong with me?! That’s when he told me–you’re closing the wrong eye! What a rough start! I recovered nicely by hitting 18 out of the 20 discs. I guess all of that practice playing Duck Hunt when I was 7 years old payed off!

When I was done with my ammo I took one of the used shotgun shells to keep in my car so if any ex-convict tries to mess with me, I can show him the shell and say “You see this?! I’m not afraid of going back to jail!!”