A day early and a feature short.
One Week of Blogs In One Paragraph
The week started out with a podcast in which we learned how I become the gay friend. After that there was some fiction which was stolen by another website and posted. At least they gave me credit for it. So I guess that technically makes me published. Wednessday got rough because I realised I have gotten old. A list appeared in which I complained about being ugly and explained how and why Han SHOT FIRST! We closed the week off here with the fully necessary blog about not blogging and instead making love with your hand and other excuses.
Monkey Messages
The more you are motivated by love, the more fearless and free your actions will be - Kath
Musical Interlude
The All-American Rejects - It Ends Tonight. Sometimes it is just good to end things that cast a darkness over you, even if that darkness is unintentional. This song has always been about the switch from pain to understanding to learning. How all break ups, endings, deaths, lead to eventual wisdom.
Guns N' Roses - Garden of Eden. This is one of those songs that reminds me that Phil Collins is meaningless. This is when Huey Lewis just became irrelevant. The lyrics of this song are so angsty and yet possess a sort of hope for change that I can't help but love it. It's not a problem you can solve, it's rock and roll.
Guns N' Roses - Don't Cry (Alt Lyrics). This song reminds me of a person is tired of being your solution but can't walk away because he loves his tormentor so much. There is this feeling of not getting what you want and yet still staying because of duty, honour and love. The writer walk with ghosts that no one helps with but he will help those he loves because he loves them, and he will sacrifice but he needs to say these things.
Violent Femmes - Kiss Off. Immature love at its finest. Also, college music at its finest. Insecurity mixed with passion and lust. Dealing with these feelings can be tough, and when the going gets tough the tough get messed up.
Linkin Park - Bleed It Out. I would have to say that this is probably my second favourite band performing my second favourite song they do. I am sure it is just random lines on a page to them, but to me it speaks volumes about a redemptive act, and how sometimes that redemptive act can merely be bringing to light the things that have created wounds in us.
Weekly Nirvana
Podcast Of The Week
This week I want to hilight the podcast of twin brothers Randy and Jason Sklar. Their podcast is called Sklarbro Country, which is more clever a ame than people give it credit for.
These two brothers play off of each other better than any comedy team that I have heard previously. I am sure it helps that they are twins, but still, they can build and play off each other with ease, creating avalanches of jokes and referential puns and building complex takes on pop culture and sports.
What many might claim as a drawback is that it is very sports oriented. The two are clearly sports fans and have made a career of commenting on sports. This is not an issue for me, and it most likely won't be for you. They manage to make sports accessable to people by talking more about them in their pop culture influence rather than in an elitist, musst know batting acerages sort of way.
These two clearly know their audience and their craft and they manage to make sports and ridiculous pop culture funny and topical.
Each week they bring in a guest who is not a sports star. They bring in mostly comedians and actors to discuss all manner of things. Special episodes include Chris Cox impersonating several celebrities rather well. Of course these impressions are over the top charactures and invariably lead to groaning and laughter.
For those who are musical snobs they also provide several musical breaks in which they showcase independent style music, some of which may actually come from bands you have heard of. If you haven't there is still a pretty good chance that you will like it, and if you don't they are brief and easily forwarded past.
All in all a quality podcast with great hosts, guests and bits. This podcast is highly reccomended to sports fans and strongly reccomended for people who like comedians who roast celebrity.
YouTube Clip Of The Week
Finally, a gym I wish to join.
One Monkey Toy
I attempted to do research for this week's toy, and so, like all great researches I typed something in to google. What I typed in was Man Toys. Now, I must admit I had to wade through a few porn related sites with live action Miley Cyrus dolls, but once I did, the first site that came up not related to getting your rocks off was about stalking women. No seriously.
What I saw was a site for night vision goggles and other special optics devices for spying. While I can get behind playing spy games, I cannot get behind stalking the ladies.
This google interpretation of manhood shocked me in so much as it is right there out in the open. So often we like to think the world is not what we think it is, but apparently, according to google, the world is exactly the way you think it is.
Men are creepy, disgusting sex addicted perverts who will get what they want one way or another. I am only slight pleased at the fact that sexual surrogates were ranked slightly higher than devices which make kidnapping and rape easier.
I am so disillusioned right now, and cannot look for real toys, sorry.
Wrap Party
Had to get through this quickly because I am going on a week long vacation. I am taking a week off starting.....right now....ok not now but soon. I just need some time away from the internet to get some stuff in ordeer. My creativity has taken a minor slide of late so I want to recharge the batteries. This means that there will be no posts this week and seriously reduced twitter and facebook traffic. I will be back with a vengeance after this down time with a bunch of awesome posts and podcasts. Take care people and I will see you on the other side.
Vacation starts ....... now.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Do or Do Not, There is No Shame
Ok, there is actually some shame... in fact I am feeling a tremendous amount of shame right now. It is not my usual shame for the way I look, or the things I say or the incredibly small manhood that I possess. Today's shame is something a bit more fixable, which is totally not true about my other shames, despite what the emails I receive might lead me to believe.
Today is Friday, and on the blog that means stories from street level. The original idea behind the theme was to gather stories about what is really going on in the world from the perspective of the people living their lives in a more realistic way.
All too often I read books where characters are from the streets or have some sort of street cred, yet the writer only understands these people through the tint of their car window, or the fade of the yellowed pages of some socio-political handbook on how to be a better bleeding heart liberal. It irks me sometimes to think that this is how they see the lives of those who I know so well.
I also wanted to give a platform, not only for myself, but others who might have stories in their head from their past that they feel a need to share, sort of a therapy thing in a way.
This morning I sat down to begin writting a story. I wanted it to come from the heart and from the vantage point of a person dealing with issues that just aren't prevalent in the burbs...or at least from a different point of view.
I sort of grow tired of listening to angry white boys from the suburbs bitching about their lives in song. I think that might be one of the reasons I like Saliva, they can at least admit where their anger comes from and how they shouldn't pretend it is anything more than it is.
I wanted to write something touching and gritty and real. Then I wanted a donut.
Nothing came out of the whole thing because I decided to masturbate rather than go for a donut, but there was nothing good on the porn sites, and I accidentally clicked on a video about trannys which sort of ruined the whole experience for me. They sneak them in to the damn websites now like they did in the porno mags. You're cruising along enjoying a nice pictorial of a young lady with massive boobs in a corn field, or a young lady with massive boobs in a bar, or a young lady with massive boobs in a sports car and all of a sudden there's a picture of a nice young lady with massive boobs and a giant man handle. Seriously. It ruins the aesthetic. I never understood the idea. Are gay dudes so repressed they need to masturbate to straight porn with a hint of naughty, or is it more a straight thing where guys just don't want to admit they just want to take a shot in the mouth to see what it's like? I digress a little here, but it happens.
The point is, I was unable to write.
I have made great strides in my life, overcoming several obstacles and putting my behind in the past.... hey does making a Lion King reference balance out the detailed porno thing? Again, the point is that I have come so far that trying to think in terms of the street level character is difficult and causes me to desire donuts, which are completely unhealthy and not at all the direction in which I should travel given the fact that ugly people are turning me down for dates.
This is all just an incredibly long winded way of me saying I can't fulfill my obligation today. I have a strategy though. Tonight, at the crack of dusk I will venture forth from my comfortable location clad only in jeans and a hoody. I will seek out street life and street civilizations. I will boldly go where no classy man has gone before.
I need to commune with my nature because it has been far too long. I have spent far too much time locked in my attic writing space dreaming up new things to write about and it has left me a softened old husk of a man.
Tonight I shall brave the wilds of drunken teenagers, shambling bums, women in tight skirts, jackasses in I love Jersey shore muscle t's, and I will report my findings.
I shall brave the urban jungle as I once did. I will slip unnoticed through their ranks and really get back to where I should be. Though I have come a long way, and I would not willingly go backwards, I feel a kinship to this sort of thing, a legacy that bleeds through my impassioned writing should come out and play. This legacy should be the real heart and soul of all the things that make up me. I should stop pretending that my place is here, in the confines of my apartment, or in the inviting warmth of friend's insulated locales. My place is with my people.
Tonight I shall go walkabout.
P.S. Though this is sort of a lame post, I am somewhat proud of it because of all the references. I said somewhere in there some nonsense about being all the parts of me, and in this post I think I achieved it. Self deprecation, Kevin Smith, Star Wars, Star Trek (which sucks btw), music, dirty humour, clean humour, and self recrimination. Yay me!
Today is Friday, and on the blog that means stories from street level. The original idea behind the theme was to gather stories about what is really going on in the world from the perspective of the people living their lives in a more realistic way.
All too often I read books where characters are from the streets or have some sort of street cred, yet the writer only understands these people through the tint of their car window, or the fade of the yellowed pages of some socio-political handbook on how to be a better bleeding heart liberal. It irks me sometimes to think that this is how they see the lives of those who I know so well.
I also wanted to give a platform, not only for myself, but others who might have stories in their head from their past that they feel a need to share, sort of a therapy thing in a way.
This morning I sat down to begin writting a story. I wanted it to come from the heart and from the vantage point of a person dealing with issues that just aren't prevalent in the burbs...or at least from a different point of view.
I sort of grow tired of listening to angry white boys from the suburbs bitching about their lives in song. I think that might be one of the reasons I like Saliva, they can at least admit where their anger comes from and how they shouldn't pretend it is anything more than it is.
I wanted to write something touching and gritty and real. Then I wanted a donut.
Nothing came out of the whole thing because I decided to masturbate rather than go for a donut, but there was nothing good on the porn sites, and I accidentally clicked on a video about trannys which sort of ruined the whole experience for me. They sneak them in to the damn websites now like they did in the porno mags. You're cruising along enjoying a nice pictorial of a young lady with massive boobs in a corn field, or a young lady with massive boobs in a bar, or a young lady with massive boobs in a sports car and all of a sudden there's a picture of a nice young lady with massive boobs and a giant man handle. Seriously. It ruins the aesthetic. I never understood the idea. Are gay dudes so repressed they need to masturbate to straight porn with a hint of naughty, or is it more a straight thing where guys just don't want to admit they just want to take a shot in the mouth to see what it's like? I digress a little here, but it happens.
The point is, I was unable to write.
I have made great strides in my life, overcoming several obstacles and putting my behind in the past.... hey does making a Lion King reference balance out the detailed porno thing? Again, the point is that I have come so far that trying to think in terms of the street level character is difficult and causes me to desire donuts, which are completely unhealthy and not at all the direction in which I should travel given the fact that ugly people are turning me down for dates.
This is all just an incredibly long winded way of me saying I can't fulfill my obligation today. I have a strategy though. Tonight, at the crack of dusk I will venture forth from my comfortable location clad only in jeans and a hoody. I will seek out street life and street civilizations. I will boldly go where no classy man has gone before.
I need to commune with my nature because it has been far too long. I have spent far too much time locked in my attic writing space dreaming up new things to write about and it has left me a softened old husk of a man.
Tonight I shall brave the wilds of drunken teenagers, shambling bums, women in tight skirts, jackasses in I love Jersey shore muscle t's, and I will report my findings.
I shall brave the urban jungle as I once did. I will slip unnoticed through their ranks and really get back to where I should be. Though I have come a long way, and I would not willingly go backwards, I feel a kinship to this sort of thing, a legacy that bleeds through my impassioned writing should come out and play. This legacy should be the real heart and soul of all the things that make up me. I should stop pretending that my place is here, in the confines of my apartment, or in the inviting warmth of friend's insulated locales. My place is with my people.
Tonight I shall go walkabout.
P.S. Though this is sort of a lame post, I am somewhat proud of it because of all the references. I said somewhere in there some nonsense about being all the parts of me, and in this post I think I achieved it. Self deprecation, Kevin Smith, Star Wars, Star Trek (which sucks btw), music, dirty humour, clean humour, and self recrimination. Yay me!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Yer Momma
I feel so guilty about not having a list yesterday I think I am going to over compensate, cause you know, I owe you or something.
The following is a list of things my mother never taught me that might have made life easier.
1. Internet rejection is as painful as real rejection. Seriously you felt the need to send me a note to tell me I am funny and charming and seem nice..... aaaaand I am not good looking enough? Jesus.
2. Short people are bad for you, sort of like the plague.
3. You shouldn't annoy Kevin Smith's publicist.... on multiple occassions.
4. Funny is over rated. If given the choice, most people, male or female will go for a 6 pack over a sense of humour. Nobody gets it on with a joke.
5. Same applies for kindness. You can't get an orgasm from caring.
6. Confidence is never showing the other person you care about their opinion.
7. Never write a blog post 5 minutes after a stupid person hurts your feelings. It belittles you and your work.
8. Having expectations of others is your fault not theirs. If they dissapoint you it is because you projected your own demands not theirs. A person will rarely step outside of their own character no matter how much it means to you.
9. This list is depressing.
10. I should bring the funny.
11. Here comes the funny.
12. It's ok to like fish, because they don't have any feelings.
13. When a bounty hunter corners you in a bar you MUST shoot first. The bounty hunter is at the disadvantage because the fat sluglike creature paying him wants you alive, whereas you want the bounty hunter dead. Waiting for him to make the first move is just silly.
14. Workahol > alcohol > drugs. At least in prestige. They all perform the same task, diverting one from acknowledging their life, but workahol only causes broken relationships, social dysfunction, heart disease and stroke... hey wait a second....
15. You don`t need to be good to be a success. You just have to exploit someone else's good. I am looking at you Dave Grohl.
16. You can also succeed by exploiting someone else's bad. I am looking at you Charlie Sheen's Posse.
17. Lists make you look cool and on top of things, even if they are full of self recrimination, doubt and angst.
18. Never give your love away for free cause then no one will appreciate it. Note: Love does not include compassion in the previous sentence.
19. When incarcerated, fear the cobra, otherwise it is just a horrible movie or a pet for someone who hates their parents.
20. I like you still. #NotIntendedAsAFactualStatement.
21. Always be trendy and # outside of twitter cause twitter peeps will think they are part of the in crowd when they read it and others will think you're cool because they don't get it and that must mean you know something they don't.
22. When a Chinese buffet is good you can solve all your problems, when it is bad you just spent 10 bucks on shit, and you have to eat a lot of it because you are at a buffet, and it would be wrong of you to waste the trust placed in someone when given unfettered access to food. It is your duty to eat all that you can not a suggestion.
23. Landlords are like women, you're not allowed to shoot em. Besides, you clearly lack property on which to hide the body.
24. Farting can improve a back ache but it also smells and so should be done in private.
25. Always let them see you sweat because it tells them that you are working, but seriously dude, never let them smell you sweat, that's just gross.
There are just some of the things my mom forget to mention while I was growing up. If you have any feel free to post them or email them to me.
The following is a list of things my mother never taught me that might have made life easier.
1. Internet rejection is as painful as real rejection. Seriously you felt the need to send me a note to tell me I am funny and charming and seem nice..... aaaaand I am not good looking enough? Jesus.
2. Short people are bad for you, sort of like the plague.
3. You shouldn't annoy Kevin Smith's publicist.... on multiple occassions.
4. Funny is over rated. If given the choice, most people, male or female will go for a 6 pack over a sense of humour. Nobody gets it on with a joke.
5. Same applies for kindness. You can't get an orgasm from caring.
6. Confidence is never showing the other person you care about their opinion.
7. Never write a blog post 5 minutes after a stupid person hurts your feelings. It belittles you and your work.
8. Having expectations of others is your fault not theirs. If they dissapoint you it is because you projected your own demands not theirs. A person will rarely step outside of their own character no matter how much it means to you.
9. This list is depressing.
10. I should bring the funny.
11. Here comes the funny.
12. It's ok to like fish, because they don't have any feelings.
13. When a bounty hunter corners you in a bar you MUST shoot first. The bounty hunter is at the disadvantage because the fat sluglike creature paying him wants you alive, whereas you want the bounty hunter dead. Waiting for him to make the first move is just silly.
14. Workahol > alcohol > drugs. At least in prestige. They all perform the same task, diverting one from acknowledging their life, but workahol only causes broken relationships, social dysfunction, heart disease and stroke... hey wait a second....
15. You don`t need to be good to be a success. You just have to exploit someone else's good. I am looking at you Dave Grohl.
16. You can also succeed by exploiting someone else's bad. I am looking at you Charlie Sheen's Posse.
17. Lists make you look cool and on top of things, even if they are full of self recrimination, doubt and angst.
18. Never give your love away for free cause then no one will appreciate it. Note: Love does not include compassion in the previous sentence.
19. When incarcerated, fear the cobra, otherwise it is just a horrible movie or a pet for someone who hates their parents.
20. I like you still. #NotIntendedAsAFactualStatement.
21. Always be trendy and # outside of twitter cause twitter peeps will think they are part of the in crowd when they read it and others will think you're cool because they don't get it and that must mean you know something they don't.
22. When a Chinese buffet is good you can solve all your problems, when it is bad you just spent 10 bucks on shit, and you have to eat a lot of it because you are at a buffet, and it would be wrong of you to waste the trust placed in someone when given unfettered access to food. It is your duty to eat all that you can not a suggestion.
23. Landlords are like women, you're not allowed to shoot em. Besides, you clearly lack property on which to hide the body.
24. Farting can improve a back ache but it also smells and so should be done in private.
25. Always let them see you sweat because it tells them that you are working, but seriously dude, never let them smell you sweat, that's just gross.
There are just some of the things my mom forget to mention while I was growing up. If you have any feel free to post them or email them to me.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Break It Down
Let me begin by apologizing for the interruption of the regularly scheduled broadcast. Many writers I know would have slogged through their current head space and churned out second rate product. I am not that guy.... anymore. I used to be that guy when I wrote for radio and television. It never mattered if I was in to this weeks lawyer's suck skit, I had to write it, and write it I did.
Now I have a bit more luxury since I am the head of this venture. I can do what I want, and today I do not feel classy, sophisticated or mature.
Some might say that is the perfect mindset for my type of writing, and those people would be correct. I score a certain level of hit with my juvenile sense of humour. Boobies. And it provides me with smelly farts and a comfortable warm feeling (haha) that someone, somewhere finds me the slightest bit entertaining, but it is cold comfort to me right now.
The problem with my head space is that it is not what you would call a happy go lucky immature rambling combines with eye opening pseudo spirituality place. It is more the self punishing, you're no good because you are old and still acting like a child sort of mind scape.
Next week I turn old. Very Old. Ridiculously old. It is not just one of those fake old numbers that people look at and go aha! yer old, here's your old guy mug, you' geezer hat and have a happy birthday. This one is for realz.
I turn 35.
I can't believe I just admitted that out loud and on the internets. There it is kids, I am old and there is no turning back or denying it.
There are such things as desired demographics. Generally speaking the 18-34 demographic is wanted because they are impressionable and have tons of disposable cash. They are also trendy and hip. They are the ones people think are cool because they are young, beautiful and influential among their peer group. These people are in to the pop musics and the rock and or roll thing. They have ideas and are go getters. They have energy, they have youth and they have balls.
In one week I go from that to being old.
The next demographic is called 35 to dead of natural causes. This new demographic is for people who are old and set in their ways. All of the sudden they listen to new country and Celine Dion. They have little spare time, even less energy and never seem to come up with anything new. These people are considered lucrative because they buy the big ticket items, but otherwise no one gives a crap what they think other than politicians since these are the people who vote. Yes that's right kids, these people are the reason politics is the way they are.... so that's cool right?
I am about to join people who are marking time towards their doom. I am about to become the old guy.
I can no longer feel good about listening to rock music. Breaking Benjamin does not make me cool, it makes me the old guy who tries to look cool.
I have to stop watching The Daily Show because it is for younger people who are cutting edge thinkers. The Colbert Report too.
Here's the thing that is troubling me. As an old dude, I am a failure. I am not set in my ways, I do not have a job that is going to provide for my retirement. I do not have savings or a portfolio.
I have no assets or prospects.
I am merely an old overweight fool who pines for shit he cannot have.
Here's where I get all sad about this writing thing. I am the guy who has always dreamed, like all young people do. I have dreamed of being a writer and making a difference. I have dreamed of helping people get clean. I have dreamed of helping kids escape their destinies and find new paths.
I have dreamed these dreams of the young, and I am still dreaming because something keeps me from grabbing that brass ring.
Over a week ago I wrote a glowing email about my writing and why literary agents should pick me up and shop my brainchildren around. It is full of grandeur, insight and persuasive salesmanship.
I did not hit send.
I cannot hit send.
I am afraid to hit send.
Now I am afraid I am about to become old without a single dream coming true.
There was a time in my life, actually three times in my life, when I never thought I would make it to old. The first time was when I was underneath a park bench. You can read about that here. The second time was when I was all strung out and completely messed up on the drugs. You can read about that here. The final time was when I was misdiagnosed as having liver damage that was going to kill me before I was 35. Clearly, unless I suddenly drop dead (which according to my biofeedback after having tried jogging today may happen) in the next week was incorrect.
I have never thought about the future because the future was never going to happen. Who cares about the future when there is a here and now to live in.
I am thinking that there might be a future. If I have survived this long there is little reason to think it is not going to continue. Apart from the actual problem with my liver, which is easily controlled by diet, I am ridiculously healthy. Despite all the crap I did to my body, and I did a lot of crap, I have a strong healthy heart and lungs that can oxygenate my blood like a damn athlete. I kid you not. I am a large dude with the blood pressure of a damn vegan marathon runner.
My body has betrayed me.
My body has conspired to keep me alive until the future happened.
I am reminded of a song in which the lyric goes, "teenage angst has paid off well/now I'm bored and old." I will give you three guesses as to who wrote that line.
What really sucks is that I am starting to gain some traction in this whole thing, but I can't keep up the happy exterior. I am hitting a breakdown. I am hitting that wall of looking back at what I have done and not being pleased. Then I look to my left and right and don't see what I want. I look forward and it is all a blur, nothing coming in to focus because I am lacking confidence and direction.
I want to be able to write funny. I want to be able to entertain you today, but I would have to wear clown make up to do it, and nobody likes clowns, not even clowns.
So here I am, laying bare to you the situation. I am old. I am not cool. I am sincere. I am trying hard to get somewhere but cock blocking myself. I am lonely. I am bored. I have a million dollar brain with a ten cent self esteem.
I wish I could blame someone for the fact that I am old, but really there is no one to blame but myself. I let this happen. I slacked on the drinking and drugs. I started eating actual food. I started living a normal life. I started exercising for crying out loud.
I am to blame for being old.
Sheesh no I am mad at me.
I guess there is nothing left to do but make some damn lemonade.
Oh good, old people like lemonade.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Chaos Theory.
In a lush field somewhere in the Chinese interior there is a butterfly. Not necessarily a beautiful butterfly, but pretty enough to gain the attention of a little girl. The girl smiles the smile of a child who has just discovered the meaning of life. She wants to grab the butterfly and keep it forever. Not knowing what to do, the little girl pauses for a second, wondering if her dad would know what to do.
Though Kayla had been hurt before, she still didn't comprehend what was happening. How could he be so mad as to pull a knife on her? How had she pissed this man off to the point where he was thrusting a large knife at her throat? Why didn't her foot listen to her and slam down on the gas pedal?
With expert precision the bad man plunged the business end of his weapon into the soft yielding flesh of Kayla's neck.
Fatal wound notwithstanding, her foot finally finds a home on the gas pedal. The car surges forward, and the bad man loses his grip on the window. His already shattered knee gives way,and he crumples on to the drenched pavement under the car. Massive injuries to most of his internal organs kill him in short order. Half a block away, the car comes to a halt as Kayla's life does.
A boy named Billy is sitting next to his babysitter watching T.V., not knowing in an hour he will be in the dreaded "system," and his life would change forever. How he will hate that bad man, and all men really. And years later, he won't realise he is following in the bad man's footsteps when he takes up a career in pain and suffering.
Thousands of miles away, possibly moments later, maybe decades, a man stands in an apartment alcove, biding his time. The man is smart, attractive, fit, and thoroughly evil. To his left a rot iron staircase leads to the homes of people he doesn't know. To his left, a brick wall is all that separates him from a young couple and their newborn child. Above his head rests a light bulb that has been ever so slightly twisted from it's snug resting place. In his pocket, tonight's weapon of choice, a sharp carbon steel Christmas tree blade.
None of this matters to him here, and it's doubtful it ever matters to him. What matters is his target. The young lovely wife that his client is no longer interested in. Across the street she sits in an open window, trying to allow the brewing storm to cool her off on this early August evening. Her thoughts rest only with the reality show she is watching.
The man in black decides the time is right. His muscles tense, synapses fire, he jerks forward. This surprising unfluid motion for a man of his skills is interrupted though. Perhaps a reprieve for the young lady, who's only crime was being a trophy with too much rust, and a collection of too much dust around the middle.
A flash of light brightens the sky. A flash that illuminates everything. The kind of light that lays bare all of our intentions, showing our motives in a shock of blue white across our faces. If anyone had seen the bad man at that very moment, they would have seen his plan, his grotesque motivation tragically written across his normally handsome features, turning him into the monster that lurks just below the surface.
Then, the crash of thunder. It started far away, slowly gaining earthshaking status as it rolled across flat land, carried on a stiff cold wind. When the chill hits the man, it instantly froze, stiff as the bad man's black empty heart sublimated the air straight to ice.
Two blocks away a pretty young blond sits impatiently at a red light. Hunching her shoulders she peers outside the top of her windshield, the clouds almost enough to push her happiness to the side with their stark grey-black heaviness. Nothing could make her unhappy right now though. She had just closed her first house. She was now officially a real estate agent. Some of us may sit here and say, big deal, it's just a house; but, for Kayla it was the realisation of a dream too long in the waiting. She had finally achieved status in the profession she had always wanted to be a part of.
The only dampening of her spirits was the irritation of having to wait until she got home to share her achievement with her young son. To be able to tell Billy that they were on their way, and they did it all without Billy's bastard father.
Then the power went out in the neighbourhood. For most people an annoyance, but for Kayla, a sign from God that she was doing the right thing. Her red light had just switched to a four way stop. When it was her turn she accelerated into the intersection and carefully banked left.
The man smiled, God was on his side tonight. The power going off darkened the entire street. Somehow, someway, twilight had given way to the cold clammy grip of a stormy night. It was not one of those slowly waning twilights that seem to last forever when you are young and in love, but a quick flip of the switch change, like the one's that always seem to happen when you're having fun and your curfew is darkness.
The man saw safety in the darkness. A mask that slips over the whole body, obscuring his presence and his purpose.
A block away now, Kayla is still smiling to herself. The smile won't last.
Somewhere in the bowels of her cheap old car a wire pops, fizzes and shorts out. Her headlights blink out. Her smile freezes in place as she realises that it is uncommonly dark on the street. No matter, she was almost home. Just around the next right, and a couple of football fields down. In front of her, an oncoming car illuminates her intersection as if it was the driver's destiny to help Kayla on her way this bleak distressing night..
If the bad man wasn't so single minded, so bloodthirsty; his peripheral vision might have saved so many lives that night. As it was, he didn't see the light flickering off of a rusty old ford as it slipped around the corner and headed his way.
Kayla's car hit a puddle and she lost her steering for a split second. Her eyes flowed to the right with her windshield, her foot went to the accelerator. She hoped that a bit of speed would help her tires find their hold.
The bad man cared little for Kayla and her automotive hassles. He had a job to do. He was in the street now. Singularly focused on his sick fantasy of blood and gore. A fantasy he was going to make a reality once again.
Still accelerating, Kayla felt her car hit something, heard the groan of her hated jalopy as something impacted with the tired old metal.
The bad man actually hadn't heard the car, didn't even know that it was a car that turned his world upside down. As the world rotated back to it's proper inclination all air left his lungs as he was violently introduced to Kayla's hood.
As she slammed on the breaks, lightening played a cruel joke on her. When the world was lit like time's square on new years eve, she came face to face with what she'd done. She saw the face of a man looking at her with cold dead eyes. She mistook the look for actual death. To her credit, she had never looked into the eyes of a confused sociopath.
From his perspective, the bad man saw only a scared doe, who's eyes defied the laws of nature, expanding beyond the sockets that held them. The bad man did not mistake what he saw. He saw the focus for some hatred. He saw a victim waiting to happen.
The bad man's hand slipped into his pocket, cold angry fingers clutching an instrument of death. Lurching, he made reassuring noises as he rounded on the driver's side window.
Though Kayla had been hurt before, she still didn't comprehend what was happening. How could he be so mad as to pull a knife on her? How had she pissed this man off to the point where he was thrusting a large knife at her throat? Why didn't her foot listen to her and slam down on the gas pedal?
With expert precision the bad man plunged the business end of his weapon into the soft yielding flesh of Kayla's neck.
Fatal wound notwithstanding, her foot finally finds a home on the gas pedal. The car surges forward, and the bad man loses his grip on the window. His already shattered knee gives way,and he crumples on to the drenched pavement under the car. Massive injuries to most of his internal organs kill him in short order. Half a block away, the car comes to a halt as Kayla's life does.
Strangely, the newborn child, a girl, who was mere feet away from the bad man a few minutes ago, will meet that same cop's son in college. Their love will spawn generations of dedicated people who will carry on the work of their ancestors, only on a grander, and slightly more effective manner.
A boy named Billy is sitting next to his babysitter watching T.V., not knowing in an hour he will be in the dreaded "system," and his life would change forever. How he will hate that bad man, and all men really. And years later, he won't realise he is following in the bad man's footsteps when he takes up a career in pain and suffering.
A man at a nearby gas station finishes checking the day's receipts. He slowly gets up out of his seat, joints creaking, bones aching, and shuffles to the front door. He looks outside, the power comes back on, he smiles and flips the sign to CLOSED.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Podcast S01E05
Here is this week's fabulous podcast. It features little bits of conversation over several days. Notice how I call back to several jokes, and how I lose all masculinity.
You can download the MP3 here.
Things You Should Know:
1. We are less explicit than last time, but there are still a few naughty words. Also, stop when you hear the end music if you don't like female mammary tissue.
2. Pants are a waste of space.
3. We discuss the necessity for back up office supplies.
4. Some idiot (not me) hits on Alley. BIG MISTAKE!
5. I break Alyssa Milano's heart....again.
6. Who likes landlords?
7. Pulling girl's pigtails still does not work.
8. Neither does being sweet.
9. I googled porn for realz people, all for your entertainment.... and uhmmm purely for educational purposes.
10. There is an inside joke about the number of Hungarians who read this blog.
11. We provide important public services, such as the dangers of the home office and what is good purse security.
12. Alley is not a substance abuser.... I swear!
13. I become a gay man in Alley's eyes.
14. Despite everything I say, she owns me, she is the boss of me.
15. Who knows where jeans come from, they just appear. Uh huh.
16. The shortest episode has the longest list.
17. That is not me she is talking about at the end.
As always, we welcome your comments.
You can post them here (you do not have to sign up to comment) or you can email us.
onemonkeymedia@gmail.com
alleythemonkeytamer@gmail.com
Our Twitter.
Our Facebook.
Our Free Gift To You.
You can download the MP3 here.
Things You Should Know:
1. We are less explicit than last time, but there are still a few naughty words. Also, stop when you hear the end music if you don't like female mammary tissue.
2. Pants are a waste of space.
3. We discuss the necessity for back up office supplies.
4. Some idiot (not me) hits on Alley. BIG MISTAKE!
5. I break Alyssa Milano's heart....again.
6. Who likes landlords?
7. Pulling girl's pigtails still does not work.
8. Neither does being sweet.
9. I googled porn for realz people, all for your entertainment.... and uhmmm purely for educational purposes.
10. There is an inside joke about the number of Hungarians who read this blog.
11. We provide important public services, such as the dangers of the home office and what is good purse security.
12. Alley is not a substance abuser.... I swear!
13. I become a gay man in Alley's eyes.
14. Despite everything I say, she owns me, she is the boss of me.
15. Who knows where jeans come from, they just appear. Uh huh.
16. The shortest episode has the longest list.
17. That is not me she is talking about at the end.
As always, we welcome your comments.
You can post them here (you do not have to sign up to comment) or you can email us.
onemonkeymedia@gmail.com
alleythemonkeytamer@gmail.com
Our Twitter.
Our Facebook.
Our Free Gift To You.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
One Monkey Week April 4-10
One Week of Blogs in One Paragraph
The week started off well with a tremendously good podcast, our best so far, and not just because Alley is insane. I also posted about what to expect when you are expecting nothing from us here at monkey headquarters. I then wrote a love letter to the amazing Alison Rosen, but she didn't respond, so that made me sad, and a little tired so I took a nap and then wrote about it.... at length. This week also marked the deathday of Kurt Cobain, so I had to respond. I then got angry and swore a little bit about stuff that frustrates me. To wrap up the week, I went ahead and broke the rules and didn't post properly according to the new schedule, but sometimes life gets in the way and there are things you just have to do... with hookers.
Monkey Messages
Musical Interlude
Once again, these are posted daily on our facebook page and can be a helpful public service. Also, once again I slacked off as life got in the way. Send Alley an email and let her know she is slacking too.
Boyz II Men - It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday. I wish this "band" hadn't died. Accapella can be powerful, and this is a good example of it.
Nirvana - Aneurysm. This is one of my favourites. It has always been that way because it is classic grunge. This is the part we play soft, this is the part we play heavy. Third verse, same as the first. It also has a powerful hook, and easy to understand lyrics about a single emotion that drags you kicking and screaming in to the light of not feeling in control, and feeling like someone else has the upper hand over your emotions.
Hoobastank - Crawling In The Dark. Life can be a rough thing, and searching for reason, for a solution to the darkness can be all consuming. It is the basis for religion, and it pervades our souls. This is a pretty powerful tune about that state of being.
Weekly Nirvana
This is the best video of theirs by far. I think it captures the way Kurt felt about things. So awkward and out of place it makes you cringe. It fits the emotion of the song perfectly, even if the lyrics are a bit jumbled. If you want to understand how a person who just wanted to make art feels about the people who hated him growing up loving him now just listen to this.
Podcast Of The Week
This was a tough decision. Last week I discussed one of the giants in podcasting, the Adam Carolla show, and I wanted to resist the urge to follow up with the same sort of thing by jumping on the Kevin Smith bandwagon. It has long been true that I am Kevin Smith's Bath House Bitch. A title given to me by the man himself, which I wear proudly. This makes it hard for me to be even slightly objective about his work.
I compromised. This week I want to focus on one of the shows on his podcast network that does not in fact feature him. Tell 'Em Steve Dave.
At first glance, this is merely a few friends getting together and bitching at each other. In many cases, that is what the show is. What struck me as interesting about it however, is the fact that these guys are all self deprecating. Instead of slamming each other, the slam themselves, and Ming Chen.
It is easy in comedy to just make fun of the other guy and watch him twist in the breeze, and they do this with Ming. What is difficult is to manage to make yourself funny, while making fun of yourself, and they all manage to do this. I am drawn to the humanity of this show, as three friends go about their business while admitting their own shortcomings. They do it in a way that doesn't ask for forgiveness, or even excusing the way they are, but they still make you like them for all their faults.
As a podcast it does hit all of the high notes. quality conversation about popculture, quality references to shared experiences, and self deprecating stories. This is essential to the new podcast paradigm. Essentially podcasting is more about character than it is about content. These fellas seem to get that and are unafraid to be characters.
What is remarkable about this podcast is how much it feels like these guys are just hanging out with us. They do some great theme shows, where they go out in public and do crazy stuff, and they also just hang out. What really captures the feeling of friends though is how much they do for their listeners. They are constantly allowing listeners on the show, planning meet ups, talking about listeners, and even providing a platform for new artists to promote their work through the show.
Those are all elements that make this a great show for people who enjoy the humanity of podcasting more than the mechanical corporatization of other media. These guys do podcasting well.
The only drawbacks may be the dirty humour. I personally enjoy their brand of humour, but it may be lost on those who seek a more.... high brow jolly. If you find the fact that they faked a contest of listeners sending in pictures of nasty toilet surprises just so they could sicken a person by forcing them to look at the unending stream of rusty brown digital snapshots hilarious then you will fit in with the TESD family. If not, might I suggest something from NPR?
All in all this is a great example of podcasting done right. They have character, they have chemistry and they have content, even when they don't. Well worth the listen each week, and well worth supporting their endeavors.
YouTube Video Of The Week
This is really everything that made YouTube great, and dare I say the internet great. It is star wars. It is cats. It is Star Wars cats.
Is there anything better? Maybe some faked nude Amidala pics.
One Monkey Toy
This is sad, but I did not play with any toys this week. Maybe that is why I am in such a bad mood. I failed to take time out of my busy schedule to just play. This is the thing that really matters in life, letting go of the grind, letting go of expected behaviours and just being a big kid. This segment has been a part of my entertainment repertoire for years. It began on a morning show in Regina, where others got to play with my toys, and continued through my entire career. I have to say that I am somewhat depressed about the fact that I have no toy prepared for today.
I can say that I have been playing with twitter a lot this week, but it seems to be a bad toy. It confuses me and is full of weird cultures I do not understand.
I am sorry there is no toy. Please send your hatemail to youmeannothingtomeandyouropinionswillnotbeheard@gojumpinthelake.com I will be sure to read each one of them and take your messages to heart.
Friend Of The Week
This week I would like to mention my friend Becky. It is her birthday and I am too cheap to buy her a real gift, so instead I will use my blog to declare my love for her. She is awesome, even though she is a hippy. She is also kind, even though she is a chick. She is beautiful and smart and makes me happy cause she is crazy and fun.
Happy birthday Becky, and welcome to the blog.
Wrap Party
Well, there you have, the week that was in monkey land. It was a long rough week, but it is over now....it must have been love, but it's over now....goddamn you Pretty Woman soundtrack! Anyway, this week should be better, with some amusing musings. I am currently trying to blackmail funny people in to writing stuff for me so I can spend more time playing with toys. Alley is out of town on an adventure, we will try and catch up with her for the podcast, and I am going out on assignment to see what this whole talking to women thing is all about.
Have a great week, and as always, talk to us, we are lonely and need friends.
Emails are welcome, as are comments.
Leiderhosen
The week started off well with a tremendously good podcast, our best so far, and not just because Alley is insane. I also posted about what to expect when you are expecting nothing from us here at monkey headquarters. I then wrote a love letter to the amazing Alison Rosen, but she didn't respond, so that made me sad, and a little tired so I took a nap and then wrote about it.... at length. This week also marked the deathday of Kurt Cobain, so I had to respond. I then got angry and swore a little bit about stuff that frustrates me. To wrap up the week, I went ahead and broke the rules and didn't post properly according to the new schedule, but sometimes life gets in the way and there are things you just have to do... with hookers.
Monkey Messages
Musical Interlude
Once again, these are posted daily on our facebook page and can be a helpful public service. Also, once again I slacked off as life got in the way. Send Alley an email and let her know she is slacking too.
Boyz II Men - It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday. I wish this "band" hadn't died. Accapella can be powerful, and this is a good example of it.
Nirvana - Aneurysm. This is one of my favourites. It has always been that way because it is classic grunge. This is the part we play soft, this is the part we play heavy. Third verse, same as the first. It also has a powerful hook, and easy to understand lyrics about a single emotion that drags you kicking and screaming in to the light of not feeling in control, and feeling like someone else has the upper hand over your emotions.
Hoobastank - Crawling In The Dark. Life can be a rough thing, and searching for reason, for a solution to the darkness can be all consuming. It is the basis for religion, and it pervades our souls. This is a pretty powerful tune about that state of being.
Weekly Nirvana
This is the best video of theirs by far. I think it captures the way Kurt felt about things. So awkward and out of place it makes you cringe. It fits the emotion of the song perfectly, even if the lyrics are a bit jumbled. If you want to understand how a person who just wanted to make art feels about the people who hated him growing up loving him now just listen to this.
Podcast Of The Week
This was a tough decision. Last week I discussed one of the giants in podcasting, the Adam Carolla show, and I wanted to resist the urge to follow up with the same sort of thing by jumping on the Kevin Smith bandwagon. It has long been true that I am Kevin Smith's Bath House Bitch. A title given to me by the man himself, which I wear proudly. This makes it hard for me to be even slightly objective about his work.
I compromised. This week I want to focus on one of the shows on his podcast network that does not in fact feature him. Tell 'Em Steve Dave.
At first glance, this is merely a few friends getting together and bitching at each other. In many cases, that is what the show is. What struck me as interesting about it however, is the fact that these guys are all self deprecating. Instead of slamming each other, the slam themselves, and Ming Chen.
It is easy in comedy to just make fun of the other guy and watch him twist in the breeze, and they do this with Ming. What is difficult is to manage to make yourself funny, while making fun of yourself, and they all manage to do this. I am drawn to the humanity of this show, as three friends go about their business while admitting their own shortcomings. They do it in a way that doesn't ask for forgiveness, or even excusing the way they are, but they still make you like them for all their faults.
As a podcast it does hit all of the high notes. quality conversation about popculture, quality references to shared experiences, and self deprecating stories. This is essential to the new podcast paradigm. Essentially podcasting is more about character than it is about content. These fellas seem to get that and are unafraid to be characters.
What is remarkable about this podcast is how much it feels like these guys are just hanging out with us. They do some great theme shows, where they go out in public and do crazy stuff, and they also just hang out. What really captures the feeling of friends though is how much they do for their listeners. They are constantly allowing listeners on the show, planning meet ups, talking about listeners, and even providing a platform for new artists to promote their work through the show.
Those are all elements that make this a great show for people who enjoy the humanity of podcasting more than the mechanical corporatization of other media. These guys do podcasting well.
The only drawbacks may be the dirty humour. I personally enjoy their brand of humour, but it may be lost on those who seek a more.... high brow jolly. If you find the fact that they faked a contest of listeners sending in pictures of nasty toilet surprises just so they could sicken a person by forcing them to look at the unending stream of rusty brown digital snapshots hilarious then you will fit in with the TESD family. If not, might I suggest something from NPR?
All in all this is a great example of podcasting done right. They have character, they have chemistry and they have content, even when they don't. Well worth the listen each week, and well worth supporting their endeavors.
YouTube Video Of The Week
This is really everything that made YouTube great, and dare I say the internet great. It is star wars. It is cats. It is Star Wars cats.
Is there anything better? Maybe some faked nude Amidala pics.
One Monkey Toy
This is sad, but I did not play with any toys this week. Maybe that is why I am in such a bad mood. I failed to take time out of my busy schedule to just play. This is the thing that really matters in life, letting go of the grind, letting go of expected behaviours and just being a big kid. This segment has been a part of my entertainment repertoire for years. It began on a morning show in Regina, where others got to play with my toys, and continued through my entire career. I have to say that I am somewhat depressed about the fact that I have no toy prepared for today.
I can say that I have been playing with twitter a lot this week, but it seems to be a bad toy. It confuses me and is full of weird cultures I do not understand.
I am sorry there is no toy. Please send your hatemail to youmeannothingtomeandyouropinionswillnotbeheard@gojumpinthelake.com I will be sure to read each one of them and take your messages to heart.
Friend Of The Week
This week I would like to mention my friend Becky. It is her birthday and I am too cheap to buy her a real gift, so instead I will use my blog to declare my love for her. She is awesome, even though she is a hippy. She is also kind, even though she is a chick. She is beautiful and smart and makes me happy cause she is crazy and fun.
Happy birthday Becky, and welcome to the blog.
Wrap Party
Well, there you have, the week that was in monkey land. It was a long rough week, but it is over now....it must have been love, but it's over now....goddamn you Pretty Woman soundtrack! Anyway, this week should be better, with some amusing musings. I am currently trying to blackmail funny people in to writing stuff for me so I can spend more time playing with toys. Alley is out of town on an adventure, we will try and catch up with her for the podcast, and I am going out on assignment to see what this whole talking to women thing is all about.
Have a great week, and as always, talk to us, we are lonely and need friends.
Emails are welcome, as are comments.
Leiderhosen
Hookers and Hand Grenades
Let it never be said that my life is boring. Let it never be said that my life is easy. No life should lack excitement, or difficulty for that matter. Without the difficulty one may never know that they are alive. I sometimes think easy would be boring and therefor not worth having.
The following is the story of my last few days, and how I came to understand I am no longer a bad man.
It started innocuously, with an email from a friend of a friend. Two years ago, my friend of friends E introduced me to the love of his life. He met her on the job, which is not that rare for people, except for the fact that his job was that of a pimp. The reality is, he would have never called himself that, nor would he have dressed or acted the part, but when it comes down to it, he was a pimp and a drug dealer.
He ran a strip club that had a cheap motel attached to it. Guess what was going on there people.
Anyway, he introduced me to this woman he had met on the job, and I was pleased to meet her from the standpoint of being happy he was somewhat settled down.
Then E killed himself and left her stranded in a sea of depravity. She had no guide, no life boat, no map. She was merely lost adrift with nothing but what she knew as a survival mechanism.
My life moved on and she was not a part of it.
Then the email arrived. In it she discussed the fact that she may or may not be about to be killed, and that she may or may not be having a drug problem. She begged for my help. She was afraid of her new manager, and afraid of what he might do for her. She needed me to come and rescue her.
Sometimes we are a victim of our instincts, and my instincts told me this was a bad thing. They also told me I knew how to deal with this. I am not proud of this, but there have been points in my life where I could walk in to a room and my will would dominate the situation.
The problem here is that I am not that guy anymore. I am not the large angry tattooed man any more. I am just not. Regular readers of my blog would see me more as the sad pathetic guy who can't get a woman. I suppose in a sense, this is what I have become, though I would like to think I am more.
Yesterday I became more.
On Friday though, I was a collection of misfiring neurons. I had no idea what to do. There was a part of me that felt responsible for her. That part was the part of me that had made a promise to sacrifice myself for E. We all had. There was a part of me that felt I had failed E when he died, and thought this was a chance to make up for that failing. There was also a part of me that felt guilty for having cut ties with this woman. I had simply let her go because she was a symbol of my failure and grief, and I couldn't live with that. There was also a part of me that wanted to prove I was not pathetic, that I still had the courage and manliness to get the job done.
I have always prided myself on the fact that I was not scared to act when the chips were done. A part of me that thrived under pressure and rose to the occasion to do that which was necessary to protect myself and my loved ones no matter what needed to be done. I felt like I might have lost that. It happened slowly, but when my ex told me she had been raped, I didn't bat an eyelash. I didn't run to her to claim revenge, I didn't move a muscle. I wanted to, but somewhere in the back of my mind I called bullshit, but I also called bullshit on myself. I wanted to believe she was lying so that I didn't have to do anything. I wanted to believe she was making it up so that she could drag me down to where she was at the time. SO I didn't act. But I always felt I did nothing because I was scared to become my old self.
So now I had this new chance to be my old self. I immediately went to a friend or two to get my mind screwed on safely, and make the decision of how to respond.
One friend told me not to do it. Not to get involved. What this person told me pissed me off. In many ways, it made me resent this person.
This person wanted me to just sit back and let the chips fall where they may because I didn't owe these people anything. Maybe this person was right, but I didn't think so.
All of a sudden I was angry. All of the sudden I was confused because my anger was misplaced.
Then I began to understand why I was mad.
I am not that man any more. I am not the violent, reactionary man, but I am still a strong person, a courageous person. I am tough and I am smart. I felt my friend was not giving me any credit for this. My friend was thinking in terms of me busting down doors and cracking heads; but, I am not that guy. I am a new guy. I am a smarter more sophisticated guy.
That was when I decided to show this friend, and myself that I have changed, that I am stronger inside than I ever was before. I could do this, and I could do it all without threatening, beating, pounding, shooting, snorting, or bullying. I could use my new skills to get the job done.
Many years ago, I had decided that I wanted to help people. I wanted to help get the lost and confused, the drugged out and the abused, the abandoned misused out of bad situation and in to good ones. You see, I have some skills some people don't. I have been there. I know exactly what it feels like to be lost and alone. I know what it feels like to think nothing is ever going to be alright again. I also know exactly what it takes to fix it.
I went back to school with the plan of becoming an addiction counsellor and crisis worker. I have all the training I need and several certifications with organizations with ridiculous acronyms.
What I don't have is a regular job doing these things, but I digress.
The point is, I have fully realised my new skill set and mindset. My friend did not give me any credit as this new person. This person who can and will help people in need by using his brain and his compassion rather than his brawn and his passion.
I went to this hooker. I went to her side and checked in to a seedy motel. I think many people wouldn't understand why or how I could do such a thing, but I am not shy, nor am I afraid of doing things that are dirty.
To protect this hooker's dignity, I will not go in to very much detail here because despite all her faults and bad decisions, she is a good person, a person deserving our respect. She is a person who deserves our kindness because she wants to better her life, even though she is scared and it is hard.
I will tell you this part though.
I had to confront her business manager. He was not happy to see me. His first thought was that I was some douchebag from a cheap romance movie. His thought was that I was a John trying to buy this whore from him because I foolishly thought she was in love with me.
I may have some issues with thinking women like me more than they do, but I would never be foolish enough to think someone I pay to show me affection actually felt that affection. I suppose my low self-esteem is helpful here. Despite the sad commentary on my inner demon, it is helpful to have the thought, not even a hooker could love me.
I calmly explained that no, I wasn't a customer. I explained who I was. Then he got mad. Apparently E had pissed this man off as well. Thanks buddy, you know, you could have been a little nicer to people.
Moving on, this is when the man started getting threatening and mean. The old me might have simply removed this obstacle. The old me might have reacted violently to his machinations. The new me stood my ground but also calmed the situation. The new me used psychology and a superior thought process to smooth ruffled feathers.
I explained to the man what value she used to be to him and how that value was lost now. I explained how it made good business sense for him to move on to a newer source of income.
He bought what I was selling. It took over an hour but I made him see the value of not being involved with a woman who was no longer stable, and no longer under his thumb. I also explained to him how hurting her or I was counter to his business model.
I left that room without having expressed one threat. I left that room without having hurt anyone. I left that room without backing down. I left that room with my head high, my eyes forward and my mind clear.
I left that room and puked in the parking lot.
It occurs to me now that anger and rage trump fear every time, and the sympathetic nervous system is more powerful than the para-sympathetic nervous system, but that being strong has a different meaning now.
I went back to my hooker. I explained that she could not go back to her life now. I explained to her how she was at a crossroads. Before her lay two paths, and that I could not choose the path for her. I could help her down the path if she choose to follow me, but I could not pull her kicking and screaming.
That night we mourned for her old life. She explained to me the horror of her life, and I think for the first time in her life, someone listened without pity, without judgement and without anger.
For the first time in her life she had a real friend that night.
She also got very very high.
Once I passed out she was left alone with her thoughts, alone with her decision. It took her several hours to come to a conclusion, but when she woke me up she had made her choice. She chose to live.
Then I had a choice to make. My youth had been spent doing various things that could get you fucked up. I had tried everything I could to make myself blissfully unaware of my own pains. Sometimes I still dream of getting high. Sometimes I still wake up with the feeling of being high, and then suddenly sober up and want to get high. I haven't, for the most part.
Since I quit drugs I have smoked pot 5 or 6 times. I kind of give myself a pass on that, even though I shouldn't, but it has been more than ten years since I got clean, and I am glad for that.
This was the first time I had been staring down the barrel of having the means to get totally messed. I had been offered drugs a few times, mostly by E and I had always said no. I think I did it out of sheer stubbornness, not out of inner strength or determination to turn the corner on my own crap.
Yesterday morning I had about an 8-ball of meth in my hands. I had the means to make myself feel better in my hot little hands for the first time. I didn't pay for it, so it hadn't cost me a thing to get a hold of it.
I didn't owe it to anyone to be sober, and I didn't owe anyone for the drugs. I could do them, feel better, feel stronger and get back that feeling of power.
At this point I had a decision to make about who I am. Am I the guy who is strong enough to say no, or am I just the guy who is strong enough not to be around it.
As it turns out, I am the guy who can say no. Though it felt harder than it should have, I flushed the happy powder.
Taking a hooker to rehab really changed my life. Not in the sense that anything is different. I am still the person I was the day before this all began. I am still living in the same place, and I am still poor. I am still underemployed and I am still lonely.
What I am though is still a good person. I am still Strong in a way the old me could have never dreamed of it. Before I left I was a new person, but I hadn't been that person yet. Before I left I was a new man, with new skills, and none of that has changed.
Now I know who I am. And that has made all the difference.
I talked with that same friend because I wanted to explain this to them. I wanted to give this person a front row seat to who I am. I had thought that like me, they hadn't given me any credit for being this better angel of my nature. I thought this person saw me as pathetic and weak and thought I didn't have the ability to get the job done without resorting to violence and thuggary.
I was wrong.
Turns out this person was just scared I would get hurt. Turns out someone out there cares enough about me to be mad when I risk my safety. Turns out maybe I ma wrong about no one loving me.
I see this person's point, and I shall not be getting this involved in some one's care again. What I will be doing though is making sure that when I can help I will.
Today I feel good about myself.
Today I feel loved like I never have before because I love me.
Today I feel cared about because someone I care about almost said they care about me.
Today I feel good because there is one less lost soul wandering the world.
Today I feel good because I was able to do what none of my old friends could. I transcended my life and realised my potential rather than getting bogged down in my baggage.
Today is a good day.
The following is the story of my last few days, and how I came to understand I am no longer a bad man.
It started innocuously, with an email from a friend of a friend. Two years ago, my friend of friends E introduced me to the love of his life. He met her on the job, which is not that rare for people, except for the fact that his job was that of a pimp. The reality is, he would have never called himself that, nor would he have dressed or acted the part, but when it comes down to it, he was a pimp and a drug dealer.
He ran a strip club that had a cheap motel attached to it. Guess what was going on there people.
Anyway, he introduced me to this woman he had met on the job, and I was pleased to meet her from the standpoint of being happy he was somewhat settled down.
Then E killed himself and left her stranded in a sea of depravity. She had no guide, no life boat, no map. She was merely lost adrift with nothing but what she knew as a survival mechanism.
My life moved on and she was not a part of it.
Then the email arrived. In it she discussed the fact that she may or may not be about to be killed, and that she may or may not be having a drug problem. She begged for my help. She was afraid of her new manager, and afraid of what he might do for her. She needed me to come and rescue her.
Sometimes we are a victim of our instincts, and my instincts told me this was a bad thing. They also told me I knew how to deal with this. I am not proud of this, but there have been points in my life where I could walk in to a room and my will would dominate the situation.
The problem here is that I am not that guy anymore. I am not the large angry tattooed man any more. I am just not. Regular readers of my blog would see me more as the sad pathetic guy who can't get a woman. I suppose in a sense, this is what I have become, though I would like to think I am more.
Yesterday I became more.
On Friday though, I was a collection of misfiring neurons. I had no idea what to do. There was a part of me that felt responsible for her. That part was the part of me that had made a promise to sacrifice myself for E. We all had. There was a part of me that felt I had failed E when he died, and thought this was a chance to make up for that failing. There was also a part of me that felt guilty for having cut ties with this woman. I had simply let her go because she was a symbol of my failure and grief, and I couldn't live with that. There was also a part of me that wanted to prove I was not pathetic, that I still had the courage and manliness to get the job done.
I have always prided myself on the fact that I was not scared to act when the chips were done. A part of me that thrived under pressure and rose to the occasion to do that which was necessary to protect myself and my loved ones no matter what needed to be done. I felt like I might have lost that. It happened slowly, but when my ex told me she had been raped, I didn't bat an eyelash. I didn't run to her to claim revenge, I didn't move a muscle. I wanted to, but somewhere in the back of my mind I called bullshit, but I also called bullshit on myself. I wanted to believe she was lying so that I didn't have to do anything. I wanted to believe she was making it up so that she could drag me down to where she was at the time. SO I didn't act. But I always felt I did nothing because I was scared to become my old self.
So now I had this new chance to be my old self. I immediately went to a friend or two to get my mind screwed on safely, and make the decision of how to respond.
One friend told me not to do it. Not to get involved. What this person told me pissed me off. In many ways, it made me resent this person.
This person wanted me to just sit back and let the chips fall where they may because I didn't owe these people anything. Maybe this person was right, but I didn't think so.
All of a sudden I was angry. All of the sudden I was confused because my anger was misplaced.
Then I began to understand why I was mad.
I am not that man any more. I am not the violent, reactionary man, but I am still a strong person, a courageous person. I am tough and I am smart. I felt my friend was not giving me any credit for this. My friend was thinking in terms of me busting down doors and cracking heads; but, I am not that guy. I am a new guy. I am a smarter more sophisticated guy.
That was when I decided to show this friend, and myself that I have changed, that I am stronger inside than I ever was before. I could do this, and I could do it all without threatening, beating, pounding, shooting, snorting, or bullying. I could use my new skills to get the job done.
Many years ago, I had decided that I wanted to help people. I wanted to help get the lost and confused, the drugged out and the abused, the abandoned misused out of bad situation and in to good ones. You see, I have some skills some people don't. I have been there. I know exactly what it feels like to be lost and alone. I know what it feels like to think nothing is ever going to be alright again. I also know exactly what it takes to fix it.
I went back to school with the plan of becoming an addiction counsellor and crisis worker. I have all the training I need and several certifications with organizations with ridiculous acronyms.
What I don't have is a regular job doing these things, but I digress.
The point is, I have fully realised my new skill set and mindset. My friend did not give me any credit as this new person. This person who can and will help people in need by using his brain and his compassion rather than his brawn and his passion.
I went to this hooker. I went to her side and checked in to a seedy motel. I think many people wouldn't understand why or how I could do such a thing, but I am not shy, nor am I afraid of doing things that are dirty.
To protect this hooker's dignity, I will not go in to very much detail here because despite all her faults and bad decisions, she is a good person, a person deserving our respect. She is a person who deserves our kindness because she wants to better her life, even though she is scared and it is hard.
I will tell you this part though.
I had to confront her business manager. He was not happy to see me. His first thought was that I was some douchebag from a cheap romance movie. His thought was that I was a John trying to buy this whore from him because I foolishly thought she was in love with me.
I may have some issues with thinking women like me more than they do, but I would never be foolish enough to think someone I pay to show me affection actually felt that affection. I suppose my low self-esteem is helpful here. Despite the sad commentary on my inner demon, it is helpful to have the thought, not even a hooker could love me.
I calmly explained that no, I wasn't a customer. I explained who I was. Then he got mad. Apparently E had pissed this man off as well. Thanks buddy, you know, you could have been a little nicer to people.
Moving on, this is when the man started getting threatening and mean. The old me might have simply removed this obstacle. The old me might have reacted violently to his machinations. The new me stood my ground but also calmed the situation. The new me used psychology and a superior thought process to smooth ruffled feathers.
I explained to the man what value she used to be to him and how that value was lost now. I explained how it made good business sense for him to move on to a newer source of income.
He bought what I was selling. It took over an hour but I made him see the value of not being involved with a woman who was no longer stable, and no longer under his thumb. I also explained to him how hurting her or I was counter to his business model.
I left that room without having expressed one threat. I left that room without having hurt anyone. I left that room without backing down. I left that room with my head high, my eyes forward and my mind clear.
I left that room and puked in the parking lot.
It occurs to me now that anger and rage trump fear every time, and the sympathetic nervous system is more powerful than the para-sympathetic nervous system, but that being strong has a different meaning now.
I went back to my hooker. I explained that she could not go back to her life now. I explained to her how she was at a crossroads. Before her lay two paths, and that I could not choose the path for her. I could help her down the path if she choose to follow me, but I could not pull her kicking and screaming.
That night we mourned for her old life. She explained to me the horror of her life, and I think for the first time in her life, someone listened without pity, without judgement and without anger.
For the first time in her life she had a real friend that night.
She also got very very high.
Once I passed out she was left alone with her thoughts, alone with her decision. It took her several hours to come to a conclusion, but when she woke me up she had made her choice. She chose to live.
Then I had a choice to make. My youth had been spent doing various things that could get you fucked up. I had tried everything I could to make myself blissfully unaware of my own pains. Sometimes I still dream of getting high. Sometimes I still wake up with the feeling of being high, and then suddenly sober up and want to get high. I haven't, for the most part.
Since I quit drugs I have smoked pot 5 or 6 times. I kind of give myself a pass on that, even though I shouldn't, but it has been more than ten years since I got clean, and I am glad for that.
This was the first time I had been staring down the barrel of having the means to get totally messed. I had been offered drugs a few times, mostly by E and I had always said no. I think I did it out of sheer stubbornness, not out of inner strength or determination to turn the corner on my own crap.
Yesterday morning I had about an 8-ball of meth in my hands. I had the means to make myself feel better in my hot little hands for the first time. I didn't pay for it, so it hadn't cost me a thing to get a hold of it.
I didn't owe it to anyone to be sober, and I didn't owe anyone for the drugs. I could do them, feel better, feel stronger and get back that feeling of power.
At this point I had a decision to make about who I am. Am I the guy who is strong enough to say no, or am I just the guy who is strong enough not to be around it.
As it turns out, I am the guy who can say no. Though it felt harder than it should have, I flushed the happy powder.
Taking a hooker to rehab really changed my life. Not in the sense that anything is different. I am still the person I was the day before this all began. I am still living in the same place, and I am still poor. I am still underemployed and I am still lonely.
What I am though is still a good person. I am still Strong in a way the old me could have never dreamed of it. Before I left I was a new person, but I hadn't been that person yet. Before I left I was a new man, with new skills, and none of that has changed.
Now I know who I am. And that has made all the difference.
I talked with that same friend because I wanted to explain this to them. I wanted to give this person a front row seat to who I am. I had thought that like me, they hadn't given me any credit for being this better angel of my nature. I thought this person saw me as pathetic and weak and thought I didn't have the ability to get the job done without resorting to violence and thuggary.
I was wrong.
Turns out this person was just scared I would get hurt. Turns out someone out there cares enough about me to be mad when I risk my safety. Turns out maybe I ma wrong about no one loving me.
I see this person's point, and I shall not be getting this involved in some one's care again. What I will be doing though is making sure that when I can help I will.
Today I feel good about myself.
Today I feel loved like I never have before because I love me.
Today I feel cared about because someone I care about almost said they care about me.
Today I feel good because there is one less lost soul wandering the world.
Today I feel good because I was able to do what none of my old friends could. I transcended my life and realised my potential rather than getting bogged down in my baggage.
Today is a good day.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Masculin Bovine Excrement
Gonna just get this out of the way, there are going to be one or two dirty words used here today. They are not gratuitous, but sometimes, just sometimes, naughty words are necessary. They convey the message in such a way that no other word can. Some people claim they are merely the work of a tired mind that lacks the ability to use more complex language to put forth an idea.
I disagree. Sometimes one word can convey the thought better than the Queen's english.
Today, that word is bullshit.
I had occasion to recently think about the bullshit we tell ourselves. The little white lies, and the huge gaping black hole lies that suck the world in on us. Both are the makings of disaster, and we seem to do it to ourselves and others constantly.
Everyone seems to hate to face reality. They avoid the truth of things at all costs when the truth is painful. It is a defense mechanism which we utilize everyday. The bullshit we tell ourselves.
One of those big black hole universe sucking lies is, "It'll be better in the morning," or "Tomorrow things will be better."
I remember being told this by my mother all the time when I was little and scared. She was lying. I am not sure if she knew she was lying, I don't have the heart to ask her. Things always seemed to get harder the next day as new pain, new stress or new fear floated in.
I remember Ian telling me this once. I remember laughing at him. I remember the look on his face, it was one of hurt, afterwards. He was wrong. I'd like to think that he was being hopeful and optimistic and not lying, but the truth is, he was goth before goth was cool. That means he always thought the world was going to end tomorrow.
Sometimes it becomes easier for us to tell us things will get better because we can't admit defeat, can't admit that sometimes things get much worse before they get better.
I often find myself wondering why we want to lie to ourselves, even when we want to protect ourselves. This is actually one defence mechanism that I do not possess. I never have been capable of lying to myself. I am not sure if that makes me more or less well adjusted than the average person.
I know far too many people who are so adept at lying to themselves, they rarely even know it is happening. Sometimes we fear things so much, or we are shocked by our own feelings so much we have to lie to ourselves and other about them. It makes it so much easier to cope. But it really doesn't.
What it does is expose that present bias. It exposes the idea that we are ok now because we will be better in the future. Things will be so different in the future that I do not have to worry about the here and now.
I will stop, or start feeling a different way in the future because that future is so different, I can ignore how I feel now. I can ignore the me I project today because the me of the future is actually not going to have to deal with this.
I often wonder what happens if we never deal with these feelings. I often wonder what would happen if we continued to lie about it until the lie becomes the truth and we believe it so much that no matter what someone says, the truth is not enough.
Is it possible to turn a lie in to a reality?
Is it possible to pretend something until that something is willed in to existence? Or, in the end, do we wake up one day, see the truth and cry.
The Navy Seals have a saying, it goes like this:
The only easy day was yesterday.
There is a truth in this. Not a pessimistic truth, but rather a reality of understanding. Today and tomorrow are going to be hard. We are going to have to work for them to make them something worth living and feeling, and once they pass in to history they will in fact be something to look back on fondly. Days to remember with pride and joy because, though it was work, it was hard, it was tiring, it was challenging, it was well worth it.
There is a saying that the SAS use that also applies.
Who dares wins.
You can't sit back and think that the world will change around you in to what you want. You can't say to yourself or anyone else that tomorrow is going to be better simply because it has to, simply because you want it to. You have to go out on a limb. You have to be willing to risk pain. You have to risk losing it all to gain it all. Without this risk there can be no tremendous reward.
Risk carries with it the possibility of pain. It carries with it the unknown, but the unknown is not to be feared, merely conquered.
Risk is much like crisis. It caries with it both danger and opportunity.
Turn from the easy and don't settle for some watered down version of your better tomorrow, and risk everything for the opportunity of everything that could make you happy.
If yesterday was the only easy day, than that makes today the greatest day, because today is the day of opportunity. Today is the day where you can stop the lies, stop the pain and frustration. Today is the day you can walk in the light of a brighter sun. Today is the day you can admit to yourself all the things you lie to yourself about because today is the day tomorrow begins on.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep
This weeks world defined list is all about the nap! It is a time honoured tradition, and one I have spent a good deal of my time studying it. This past Sunday I was able to return to the realm of the baseball nap, which you will shortly see is one of the best of the naps. This nap got me thinking.
I have tried every version of nap on all manner of surfaces and I am finally ready to present to you my results.
Science tells us that you need to reach REM sleep in order to feel truly rested. Yet, the power nap flies in the face of this knowledge.
A power nap is a short nap between 20 minutes and a half an hour. Technically this is not enough time to reach REM sleep, even if you are dreaming about overrated alternative bands. Because of this, one would assume that the power nap is a terrible idea. This is not so. The power nap can be incredibly rewarding to experience.
The best way to accomplish a power nap is to do it when you know something is going to wake you up in a half hour. When you know you have a task to perform upon waking this Nap is great for short bursts of energy. You wake up slightly refreshed, and then don't have time to think about it. Your brain immediately goes in to survival mode and kicks out the jams. You are alive and running around, and everything is great.
The only downside is that this nap is much like that fabled sugar high. You get a few quick hours of energy, but then you crash real freaking hard. While there is nothing like the rush of a power nap, there is also nothing so terrible as the crash that happens later. Your body simply shuts down and you will loose the ability to think.
This nap is only recommended for professional nappers who can handle their high.
This is the unintended nap. It is the result of working too hard or playing too hard. Thousands of people have fallen asleep at their desks for thousands of reasons, but the most common reason is boohugging (HA I managed to get it in there!).
This is essentially spending all night talking to the opposite sex until you pass out at the keyboard.
This is your brain shutting down to protect you. This may result in injury, or an embarrassing imprint on your face of a keyboard or desk blotter.
While this is unintentional napping, it tends to have a high reward when you wake. Generally people will feel relaxed and rejuvenated post nap, which all the better for continued boohugging.
This is truly the nap our scientists should be trying to figure out. If we could combine the power nap with the drool nap we would be able to rule the galaxy. I honestly think that if Darth Vader had been trying to learn these secrets rather than those of sith alchemy, Luke would have joined him, and we would have far fewer muppets to deal with today.
Drool napping is unpredictable, and it is nearly impossible to force. It can happen during any type of nap at any time. It transforms an ordinary nap into the most transformative experience an individual can have.
Waking from this state is so powerful you are disoriented at first. As understanding dawns, you will slowly wipe the drool from your face with the back of your hand. At first you will be a bit sickened by it, and then more so when you see the wet spot on whatever surface your face was resting. After the initial shock wears off you will realise you are now fully rested, and you had the strangest dreams....
This is the Nirvana of napping and can only be reached by repeated practice, or by getting lucky.
When it happens, rejoice in it, for there are those in this world who may never achieve such lofty heights.
A few things you should know about napping properly:
1. It is rarely, if ever recommended to nap in your own bed. This has the danger of turning from nap to legitimate sleep cycle. It will ruin you for days and have the opposite effect of what you intended.
2. It is usually recommended to have some type of noise in the background. Television and radio work well for this, and I personally recommend some type of sports programming. Sports related naps can have a wondrous effect on you, and it may allow you to convince your significant other to watch with you. The only caveat is that volume is a fickle mistress. Sports programs tend to get loud near the end, so be careful. Always set the volume low.
3. Do not set mechanical alarms. It is far too much like waking up in the morning and your body won`t understand and will just think you didn`t get enough sleep. Use humans to wake you, or hope you wake on your own.
4. Never complain about someone snoring during a nap, that is what they are for.
5. If you nap through it, it wasn`t important and it is just the universes way of telling you you shouldn`t have done it. Stop worrying.
6. I am going to stop and go take a nap now.
I have tried every version of nap on all manner of surfaces and I am finally ready to present to you my results.
The Travel Nap
This is really the most basic of naps, and it is also the worst. This nap is fitful, and the majority of us, unless ridiculously drunk, will come in and out of consciousness randomly.
A big characteristic of this nap is the head bob. This is where the chin meets the chest, then rockets upwards in that 5 year old, "I am not tired mom" way. This tends to cause serious neck trauma and generally leads to the required neck back rub, should a significant other be handy.
The only real value that this nap has is the fact that it is designed to make a long trip much shorter. This has some effect on the disposition of the napper, making them slightly more pleasant to be around at the end of the journey.
Mainly used on buses and planes, there is also a car variant of this; however, attempting to nap in a car is most likely going to be inefficient as whoever drives will wake you at regular intervals out of jealousy.
This is a very strange nap type because it defies science. Our best and brightest minds have been dispatched to study a very limited number of issues. We have managed to solve the floppy penis problem, so that was a win. What we haven't been able to do is harness the power of this nap and bottle it.
This is really the most basic of naps, and it is also the worst. This nap is fitful, and the majority of us, unless ridiculously drunk, will come in and out of consciousness randomly.A big characteristic of this nap is the head bob. This is where the chin meets the chest, then rockets upwards in that 5 year old, "I am not tired mom" way. This tends to cause serious neck trauma and generally leads to the required neck back rub, should a significant other be handy.
The only real value that this nap has is the fact that it is designed to make a long trip much shorter. This has some effect on the disposition of the napper, making them slightly more pleasant to be around at the end of the journey.
Mainly used on buses and planes, there is also a car variant of this; however, attempting to nap in a car is most likely going to be inefficient as whoever drives will wake you at regular intervals out of jealousy.
The Power Nap
This is a very strange nap type because it defies science. Our best and brightest minds have been dispatched to study a very limited number of issues. We have managed to solve the floppy penis problem, so that was a win. What we haven't been able to do is harness the power of this nap and bottle it.
Science tells us that you need to reach REM sleep in order to feel truly rested. Yet, the power nap flies in the face of this knowledge.
A power nap is a short nap between 20 minutes and a half an hour. Technically this is not enough time to reach REM sleep, even if you are dreaming about overrated alternative bands. Because of this, one would assume that the power nap is a terrible idea. This is not so. The power nap can be incredibly rewarding to experience.
The best way to accomplish a power nap is to do it when you know something is going to wake you up in a half hour. When you know you have a task to perform upon waking this Nap is great for short bursts of energy. You wake up slightly refreshed, and then don't have time to think about it. Your brain immediately goes in to survival mode and kicks out the jams. You are alive and running around, and everything is great.
The only downside is that this nap is much like that fabled sugar high. You get a few quick hours of energy, but then you crash real freaking hard. While there is nothing like the rush of a power nap, there is also nothing so terrible as the crash that happens later. Your body simply shuts down and you will loose the ability to think.
This nap is only recommended for professional nappers who can handle their high.
Emergency Nap
This is the unintended nap. It is the result of working too hard or playing too hard. Thousands of people have fallen asleep at their desks for thousands of reasons, but the most common reason is boohugging (HA I managed to get it in there!).
This is essentially spending all night talking to the opposite sex until you pass out at the keyboard.
This is your brain shutting down to protect you. This may result in injury, or an embarrassing imprint on your face of a keyboard or desk blotter.
While this is unintentional napping, it tends to have a high reward when you wake. Generally people will feel relaxed and rejuvenated post nap, which all the better for continued boohugging.
The Drool Nap
This is truly the nap our scientists should be trying to figure out. If we could combine the power nap with the drool nap we would be able to rule the galaxy. I honestly think that if Darth Vader had been trying to learn these secrets rather than those of sith alchemy, Luke would have joined him, and we would have far fewer muppets to deal with today.
Drool napping is unpredictable, and it is nearly impossible to force. It can happen during any type of nap at any time. It transforms an ordinary nap into the most transformative experience an individual can have.
Waking from this state is so powerful you are disoriented at first. As understanding dawns, you will slowly wipe the drool from your face with the back of your hand. At first you will be a bit sickened by it, and then more so when you see the wet spot on whatever surface your face was resting. After the initial shock wears off you will realise you are now fully rested, and you had the strangest dreams....
This is the Nirvana of napping and can only be reached by repeated practice, or by getting lucky.
When it happens, rejoice in it, for there are those in this world who may never achieve such lofty heights.
A few things you should know about napping properly:
1. It is rarely, if ever recommended to nap in your own bed. This has the danger of turning from nap to legitimate sleep cycle. It will ruin you for days and have the opposite effect of what you intended.
2. It is usually recommended to have some type of noise in the background. Television and radio work well for this, and I personally recommend some type of sports programming. Sports related naps can have a wondrous effect on you, and it may allow you to convince your significant other to watch with you. The only caveat is that volume is a fickle mistress. Sports programs tend to get loud near the end, so be careful. Always set the volume low.
3. Do not set mechanical alarms. It is far too much like waking up in the morning and your body won`t understand and will just think you didn`t get enough sleep. Use humans to wake you, or hope you wake on your own.
4. Never complain about someone snoring during a nap, that is what they are for.
5. If you nap through it, it wasn`t important and it is just the universes way of telling you you shouldn`t have done it. Stop worrying.
6. I am going to stop and go take a nap now.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Endless Nameless
Today is April 5th, which doesn`t seem like a big deal to very many people, and rightfully so. To me it is the day one of my heroes killed himself.
Like many people in my generation, Kurt Cobain is one of those defining celebrity characters. He came around at a time when I felt life slipping away from me. He was there when nothing seemed to have meaning to me. I won`t say that he provided meaning, that would give him and music way too much power.
I will say that he gave voice to my feelings, voice to my thoughts, and voice to my desires. In a strange way, he spoke for me in a way I never could.
Kurt Cobain had a strange voice, a strange style and a strange manner about him. It was my voice, my style and my manner.
What most people fail to realise about the style is that it was the style of poor. All of those cool clothes that people rushed out to buy from department stores were the clothes we all got from goodwill. Our hair was wild because we didn`t want to spend what little we had on hair cuts.
Style was never important to us, it was always about substance, and I think that was one of the things that weighed too heavily on a tortured soul.
In a way, he had become all the things he hated. He became a parody of himself along with an icon to people who would have never given him the time of day previously.
This was why he was so important to me. I felt like I got it, like for the first time I was on the inside. I was part of the winking few who truly got the message, truly felt the sorrow for a world that had passed us by.
Kurt was special to me because he played the music we played at street level like it was something real. He made our feelings real by plastering them all over the billboards for everyone to see. I know that sucked for him, but it meant the world to me.
Because he came along, I had power. I had a chance to speak my mind because now people were open to listening to what we had to say.
I know he wasn`t alone in this, but he was one of, if not the best.
I will forever remember him for the gifts he gave me.
I am glad that his music lives on in my head, and am glad that we at least have something of him left to share.
On this strange and horrid anniversary, I say thanks man, and present to you guys a little taste here of what it was like for me.
RIP you fucking psycho!
Like many people in my generation, Kurt Cobain is one of those defining celebrity characters. He came around at a time when I felt life slipping away from me. He was there when nothing seemed to have meaning to me. I won`t say that he provided meaning, that would give him and music way too much power.
I will say that he gave voice to my feelings, voice to my thoughts, and voice to my desires. In a strange way, he spoke for me in a way I never could.
Kurt Cobain had a strange voice, a strange style and a strange manner about him. It was my voice, my style and my manner.
What most people fail to realise about the style is that it was the style of poor. All of those cool clothes that people rushed out to buy from department stores were the clothes we all got from goodwill. Our hair was wild because we didn`t want to spend what little we had on hair cuts.
Style was never important to us, it was always about substance, and I think that was one of the things that weighed too heavily on a tortured soul.
In a way, he had become all the things he hated. He became a parody of himself along with an icon to people who would have never given him the time of day previously.
This was why he was so important to me. I felt like I got it, like for the first time I was on the inside. I was part of the winking few who truly got the message, truly felt the sorrow for a world that had passed us by.
Kurt was special to me because he played the music we played at street level like it was something real. He made our feelings real by plastering them all over the billboards for everyone to see. I know that sucked for him, but it meant the world to me.
Because he came along, I had power. I had a chance to speak my mind because now people were open to listening to what we had to say.
I know he wasn`t alone in this, but he was one of, if not the best.
I will forever remember him for the gifts he gave me.
I am glad that his music lives on in my head, and am glad that we at least have something of him left to share.
On this strange and horrid anniversary, I say thanks man, and present to you guys a little taste here of what it was like for me.
RIP you fucking psycho!
BZZZZZZ Origins
Jeremy was the very picture of dichotomy and strangeness. He was at once average and below average. He sported a pot belly made of cheeseburgers and beer. He also had a nice face to balance this.
Born of an average intellect, Jeremy's future was not bright. He could not aspire to greatness, but merely to a mediocrity of just above minimum wage spending as much on lottery tickets as on personal grooming products.
That isn't to say that he didn't bath regularly, or use soap when he did so, merely that his routine was a mixed bag of not shaving enough, using expensive soaps, cleansers and exfoliates or even brushing every night.
His extravagance was all about food. Fast food really. He didn't even do it because he liked it, he did it because he had no idea how to cook. Sure, he could survive on the food he could cook, but who would choose to eat Rice a Roni and hamburger helper over a double beef burrito? A sack of white castles? A BigMac, and don't forget those giant salty fries, oh the fries!
Due to his limited intellect, Jeremy found himself in the exciting world of telephone customer service. His boss claimed it was a fast paced creative environment that allowed him to help people and feel good about his contribution to society. Even Jeremy knew this was not true, but his ambition and short comings led him to a complacent place where change and advancement were simply not possible.
Three years in to his tenure of helping people with their computer problems over the telephone Jeremy was content, if not happy, but fate had a different plan for this youngish man. Fsate is a foul temptress who can never be denied.
Jeremy's one hobby, the one thing that kept him from his television, and his world of warcraft account was bee keeping. It seemed like a weird thing to be in to according to his coworkers and guildmates online. Jeremy didn't care. There was a peace, a calm in the rush of life that came only when he was staring at the latticework of a beehive.
Few understood his passion, and even fewer still would have even guessed he had a passion, such was his melancholic way.
This was at the center of his dichotomy. In the rest of his life, nothing held his interest for any length of time, nor drove him to such heights of bliss as standing there in his hood and padded armor. That is how he thought of it anyway. He fancied himself a knight when he donned his gear. A valiant protector of these small flying scavengers.
The day Jeremy's earth shook was little different than any other. He awoke to the alarm, got ready for work and grabbed a breakfast burrito.
Work was not tough, just annoying. He really didn't know how to fix any one's computer, but he sure did know how to run a database search for answers people required. After a long day of googling stuff, Jeremy was ready for a Big Mac on the way to his hive.
Once there, Jeremy's sullen look changed to that of a happy boy. He strode confidently towards the hive, clad in his armor, and his life, and the world changed forever.
What Jeremy didn't know was that a new wind was blowing. Not just the wind of change, but also the wind of fallout. Two weeks prior, there had been a massive reactor failure in Japan after a devastating natural disaster. The fallout from this disaster travelled a great distance to find Jeremy on the coast of California.
The wind carried radiation. Not the killing kind ; rather, the kind that all of those cheesey comic books discussed. The transformative type of radiation that can only mean strange things are a foot.
As the wind finally reached his place of being, Jeremy was opening up the hive. Several bees came rushing out. They were caught in the draft and whipped into a frenzy by the maddening levels of radiation, their small bodies unable to cope with the pulsating rays. The brains of these tiny insects became a torrent of animalistic furor.
Jeremy did not understand what was happening. All he knew was that something had spooked his charges. They were flying around him in maddening quick circles, their pace quickening at each pass, the sound of their buzzing wings filled Jeremy''s ears with a rumble.
Normally his armor would have been enough to protect him, but these were irradiated bees. Their strength heightened, their instincts boiled to madness.
Several of the bees made it through the protection and stung Jeremy. He recoiled in frustration more than pain. Why was this happening? How had he lost control of his tiny adopted children?
Each sting released radiation directly in to his bloodstream. Each sting brought him one step closer to a new existence.
It took Jeremy several minutes to get things under control. His interest in the hobby was lost for the night once he did. Failure is one of life's great cold showers. It breaks the hold many things have over us when we feel its gut punch.
Jeremy left his hive behind, and made his way home.
It was a night of fit full sleep, as nothing seemed to be going right, not even his dreams. He bolted upright at 3am, drenched in a feverish sweat. Jeremy got to his feet shakily and glided to the bathroom in his bachelor apartment.
Looking in the mirror he could see his hair matted to his forehead, his wild eyes had epic luggage under them too. His jowls were swollen for some reason.
Jeremy's big idea was to take a shower to try and cool off. This was apparently a terrible idea, as the water made him feel nauseous, like he was being drowned, or maybe just held down and thus his movements were sluggish.
As he got out of the shower he felt a sudden pain jolt his spine. There was a ripping sound as the flesh of his back parted. Jeremy was going insane, no doubt about it.
He reached back to feel his wounds, but instead found.... wings!
What the hell was happening to him?
Slowly over the next 18 hours, Jeremy went through a new puberty, and it was not pleasant. Slowly he was transformed from a normal average pudgy dude, to a man sized bee like creature.
The amazing thing was how much of himself he kept inside his head. He did not become a mindless drone, but rather himself, but with wings and a fuzzy black and yellow belly. Also, he now had a long stinger coming out of his ass.
Once the transformation was complete, Jeremy decided he needed to test this situation out. He jumped out of his third floor window and began to sore.
It took him sometime to grasp the concepts of human flight, but once he did, he was able to hover, float, dive and soar like any bee.
Suddenly Jeremy was no longer average. Suddenly Jeremy felt a power coursing through his veins that had never been there before. Suddenly Jeremy could do anything.
Most people faced with such a situation had a decision to make.
Most people would have to decide whether this was a power to be used for good, or for ill.
The decision was pretty easy for Jeremy. A life of being an after thought, of being held down by not only his own limitations, but also the mean actions of others made the decision so much easier.
Jeremy had power now, and the world would know it, and feel it!
Perched high atop the city, his new limbs clinging with ease to a church cross, Jeremy screamed to the world:
"Look out world, here I come! I can eat flowers and crap honey, beware my power!"
All the world heard, if it had cared, was a loud BZZZZ sound.
For those of you wondering wtf this is, I can only explain it to you thusly. A short time ago, which actually translate in to years in the internet world, the ever talented and beautiful Alison Rosen made s brief joke on a podcast. This is my attempt to declare my intentions to woo her... or to get some attention or something.
So I hope you enjoyed it, and yes, it is intentionally bad and cliched.
Born of an average intellect, Jeremy's future was not bright. He could not aspire to greatness, but merely to a mediocrity of just above minimum wage spending as much on lottery tickets as on personal grooming products.
That isn't to say that he didn't bath regularly, or use soap when he did so, merely that his routine was a mixed bag of not shaving enough, using expensive soaps, cleansers and exfoliates or even brushing every night.
His extravagance was all about food. Fast food really. He didn't even do it because he liked it, he did it because he had no idea how to cook. Sure, he could survive on the food he could cook, but who would choose to eat Rice a Roni and hamburger helper over a double beef burrito? A sack of white castles? A BigMac, and don't forget those giant salty fries, oh the fries!
Due to his limited intellect, Jeremy found himself in the exciting world of telephone customer service. His boss claimed it was a fast paced creative environment that allowed him to help people and feel good about his contribution to society. Even Jeremy knew this was not true, but his ambition and short comings led him to a complacent place where change and advancement were simply not possible.
Three years in to his tenure of helping people with their computer problems over the telephone Jeremy was content, if not happy, but fate had a different plan for this youngish man. Fsate is a foul temptress who can never be denied.
Jeremy's one hobby, the one thing that kept him from his television, and his world of warcraft account was bee keeping. It seemed like a weird thing to be in to according to his coworkers and guildmates online. Jeremy didn't care. There was a peace, a calm in the rush of life that came only when he was staring at the latticework of a beehive.
Few understood his passion, and even fewer still would have even guessed he had a passion, such was his melancholic way.
This was at the center of his dichotomy. In the rest of his life, nothing held his interest for any length of time, nor drove him to such heights of bliss as standing there in his hood and padded armor. That is how he thought of it anyway. He fancied himself a knight when he donned his gear. A valiant protector of these small flying scavengers.
The day Jeremy's earth shook was little different than any other. He awoke to the alarm, got ready for work and grabbed a breakfast burrito.
Work was not tough, just annoying. He really didn't know how to fix any one's computer, but he sure did know how to run a database search for answers people required. After a long day of googling stuff, Jeremy was ready for a Big Mac on the way to his hive.
Once there, Jeremy's sullen look changed to that of a happy boy. He strode confidently towards the hive, clad in his armor, and his life, and the world changed forever.
What Jeremy didn't know was that a new wind was blowing. Not just the wind of change, but also the wind of fallout. Two weeks prior, there had been a massive reactor failure in Japan after a devastating natural disaster. The fallout from this disaster travelled a great distance to find Jeremy on the coast of California.
The wind carried radiation. Not the killing kind ; rather, the kind that all of those cheesey comic books discussed. The transformative type of radiation that can only mean strange things are a foot.
As the wind finally reached his place of being, Jeremy was opening up the hive. Several bees came rushing out. They were caught in the draft and whipped into a frenzy by the maddening levels of radiation, their small bodies unable to cope with the pulsating rays. The brains of these tiny insects became a torrent of animalistic furor.
Jeremy did not understand what was happening. All he knew was that something had spooked his charges. They were flying around him in maddening quick circles, their pace quickening at each pass, the sound of their buzzing wings filled Jeremy''s ears with a rumble.
Normally his armor would have been enough to protect him, but these were irradiated bees. Their strength heightened, their instincts boiled to madness.
Several of the bees made it through the protection and stung Jeremy. He recoiled in frustration more than pain. Why was this happening? How had he lost control of his tiny adopted children?
Each sting released radiation directly in to his bloodstream. Each sting brought him one step closer to a new existence.
It took Jeremy several minutes to get things under control. His interest in the hobby was lost for the night once he did. Failure is one of life's great cold showers. It breaks the hold many things have over us when we feel its gut punch.
Jeremy left his hive behind, and made his way home.
It was a night of fit full sleep, as nothing seemed to be going right, not even his dreams. He bolted upright at 3am, drenched in a feverish sweat. Jeremy got to his feet shakily and glided to the bathroom in his bachelor apartment.
Looking in the mirror he could see his hair matted to his forehead, his wild eyes had epic luggage under them too. His jowls were swollen for some reason.
Jeremy's big idea was to take a shower to try and cool off. This was apparently a terrible idea, as the water made him feel nauseous, like he was being drowned, or maybe just held down and thus his movements were sluggish.
As he got out of the shower he felt a sudden pain jolt his spine. There was a ripping sound as the flesh of his back parted. Jeremy was going insane, no doubt about it.
He reached back to feel his wounds, but instead found.... wings!
What the hell was happening to him?
Slowly over the next 18 hours, Jeremy went through a new puberty, and it was not pleasant. Slowly he was transformed from a normal average pudgy dude, to a man sized bee like creature.
The amazing thing was how much of himself he kept inside his head. He did not become a mindless drone, but rather himself, but with wings and a fuzzy black and yellow belly. Also, he now had a long stinger coming out of his ass.
Once the transformation was complete, Jeremy decided he needed to test this situation out. He jumped out of his third floor window and began to sore.
It took him sometime to grasp the concepts of human flight, but once he did, he was able to hover, float, dive and soar like any bee.
Suddenly Jeremy was no longer average. Suddenly Jeremy felt a power coursing through his veins that had never been there before. Suddenly Jeremy could do anything.
Most people faced with such a situation had a decision to make.
Most people would have to decide whether this was a power to be used for good, or for ill.
The decision was pretty easy for Jeremy. A life of being an after thought, of being held down by not only his own limitations, but also the mean actions of others made the decision so much easier.
Jeremy had power now, and the world would know it, and feel it!
Perched high atop the city, his new limbs clinging with ease to a church cross, Jeremy screamed to the world:
"Look out world, here I come! I can eat flowers and crap honey, beware my power!"
All the world heard, if it had cared, was a loud BZZZZ sound.
For those of you wondering wtf this is, I can only explain it to you thusly. A short time ago, which actually translate in to years in the internet world, the ever talented and beautiful Alison Rosen made s brief joke on a podcast. This is my attempt to declare my intentions to woo her... or to get some attention or something.
So I hope you enjoyed it, and yes, it is intentionally bad and cliched.
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