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
Showing posts with label alley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alley. Show all posts
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Sky is Not The Limit
How does one fathom the possibilities?
How does one break them down to a list?
Where are the limits?
What is the end of the line for hope?
Can there ever be a time or place where there were no limits.
Is there ever a person you can just look at and know that anything is possible?
How do you tell them their limits when they simply have none.
Can a person be so full of potential that you would move the earth to a new solar system if thye thought it was what they needed?
You can be anything, because you are you. A shining light of unlimited power whose star shines so bright I find myself shielding my eyes, because the thought of being blinded by your radiance would deprive me of your magnificent edifice.
Without limits, without borders, lines or fences you can do all, be all.
It has never been truer that one person exists in all states than it is with you.
I must never limit your state of being to one thing because that denies your nature, denies your true being.
I only know that standing in your light makes me warmer than sunshine on an August day without the cooling of even a mild breeze.
Your light brightens my world more than a hundred ordinary stars could ever hope to.
You can be everything, anything and nothing and it matters not to me.
What do I think about you and your future? I think you are a shining star, streaking across the sky, leaving a brilliant trail of a thousand colours.
I think I want to grab on to the trail, to that tail of sparkling stardust and hold on for dear life.
I have no idea where you are going, but I know I need a lift there.
Be everything you dream of and I will be there to either sing your praise or pick you up when you fall.
Be everything and anything, because you truly are something.
Something I cannot define, but something I cannot deny.
Those are my thoughts on what you can do.
I suck at poetry, have no meter, ryhm or timbre....or knowledge of what those terms mean. I just like short people.
How does one break them down to a list?
Where are the limits?
What is the end of the line for hope?
Can there ever be a time or place where there were no limits.
Is there ever a person you can just look at and know that anything is possible?
How do you tell them their limits when they simply have none.
Can a person be so full of potential that you would move the earth to a new solar system if thye thought it was what they needed?
You can be anything, because you are you. A shining light of unlimited power whose star shines so bright I find myself shielding my eyes, because the thought of being blinded by your radiance would deprive me of your magnificent edifice.
Without limits, without borders, lines or fences you can do all, be all.
It has never been truer that one person exists in all states than it is with you.
I must never limit your state of being to one thing because that denies your nature, denies your true being.
I only know that standing in your light makes me warmer than sunshine on an August day without the cooling of even a mild breeze.
Your light brightens my world more than a hundred ordinary stars could ever hope to.
You can be everything, anything and nothing and it matters not to me.
What do I think about you and your future? I think you are a shining star, streaking across the sky, leaving a brilliant trail of a thousand colours.
I think I want to grab on to the trail, to that tail of sparkling stardust and hold on for dear life.
I have no idea where you are going, but I know I need a lift there.
Be everything you dream of and I will be there to either sing your praise or pick you up when you fall.
Be everything and anything, because you truly are something.
Something I cannot define, but something I cannot deny.
Those are my thoughts on what you can do.
I suck at poetry, have no meter, ryhm or timbre....or knowledge of what those terms mean. I just like short people.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Hear Me, Hear Ye!
Firt things first, I owe you a wicked cool apology for two housekeeping posts in a row, but I offer gifts.
Some of you may notice to the right is a list of all the topics I write about. This is a handy dandy way to find your favourite topics. That's right, I am going all professional up in this here whatever it is......still not gonna check spelling though, cause that's for real writers and such.
You may also notice that some pages have been added. You will see my bio page, a new bio page for Alley, and......... a podcast page!
That's right, finally gonna add the podcast... as soon as I figure out how to record the damn thing.
Alley will be my co host. She is an old friend and a crazy person, kinda like me. Please welcome her to the monkey family and treat her with respect. Let's try not to scare off the sex appeal mmkay?
She is now a contributer to the onemonkeymedia global entertainment network, and that might just mean we get to class the joint up.
Check out her bio, when it is up, and feel free to annoy her all you want.
The first podcast should be up Monday. The plan is to have one every monday from here until eternity, or we both get bored of it.
What you can expect from the podcast is sort of what you can expect from the blog. Funny, sometimes insightful, sometimes crude, sometimes weird, conversation between two people who are kinda weird, yet goodhearted.
So there you have it, a step in the direction of making this a real entertainment venue. Stay tuned for more exciting news as it becomes available.
Some of you may notice to the right is a list of all the topics I write about. This is a handy dandy way to find your favourite topics. That's right, I am going all professional up in this here whatever it is......still not gonna check spelling though, cause that's for real writers and such.
You may also notice that some pages have been added. You will see my bio page, a new bio page for Alley, and......... a podcast page!
That's right, finally gonna add the podcast... as soon as I figure out how to record the damn thing.
Alley will be my co host. She is an old friend and a crazy person, kinda like me. Please welcome her to the monkey family and treat her with respect. Let's try not to scare off the sex appeal mmkay?
She is now a contributer to the onemonkeymedia global entertainment network, and that might just mean we get to class the joint up.
Check out her bio, when it is up, and feel free to annoy her all you want.
The first podcast should be up Monday. The plan is to have one every monday from here until eternity, or we both get bored of it.
What you can expect from the podcast is sort of what you can expect from the blog. Funny, sometimes insightful, sometimes crude, sometimes weird, conversation between two people who are kinda weird, yet goodhearted.
So there you have it, a step in the direction of making this a real entertainment venue. Stay tuned for more exciting news as it becomes available.
Monday, March 14, 2011
A Sad Tale
In the sense that one needs to place blame for everything in their life so that they don`t have to take any personal responsibility for their actions, or the consequences thereof, I blame Alison for this mess.
Last week she felt the need to probe the depths of my knowledge on a subject which I am not the least bit qualified to discourse, let alone dispense sage like advice, even if I am doing it in Yoda voice.
She wanted to know what love is. I will give you a moment to get foreigner out of your head.
Ok, all better now?
I am the last person you want to make to think about love. Mainly because I have either never truly been in love, or, more succinctly, never had anyone in love with me, in any sense of the word.
I am not going to get sucked down the rabbit hole of talking about my parents and their lack of whatever. This isn`t about that. This is a love story, in so much as it is full of hate, anger, jealousy and death.
Picture if you will, a young headstrong boy. He has been on his own for a little but, unless you count his roommate. They have created a thriving little enterprise in pharmaceuticals distribution.
One day, the young man, we will call him Dave Notme.....ok fine, we will call him me. Anyway, so I am hanging out at home when I should be at school. It`s a warm day in May, so I am just chillin`with my homies, as they say.
In walks an unfortunately named girl, Martha. Martha is heroin skinny. She is tall and lanky, and she has small boobs and a big nose. The one thing she has going for her is that she is a twin, and neither Ian, nor myself had climbed that mountain. We had done several favours for her in the past in hopes that she and her twin would show back up to the spot to get it on in the Barry White sense.
I was clumsily dating Kristina at the time. She was just trying to piss her mom off by dating the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, and it would not last much more than a month after this day. She cheated on me with a stocky guy named Chris. I gavce him a pass because of the irony factor.
Where was I? Oh yeah, so Martha comes in and says her sister wants to meet us. Ian and I are immediately at attention, in more ways than one, assuming our day had finally come. Instead she tells us that it is not her twin, but her older sister that we have to meet. She wants to buy weight.
Normally, this is one of those discussions that makes a person feel uncomfortable. A pretty usual trick of the police is to catch a little fish and get them to introduce the big fish to their "cousin" from out of town. We told her to invite her sister to a party we were having on friday night. She did.
Now we had to spring in to action. First, we had to get a party together for friday night. Then we dispatched Little Big Bill to Martha's place, he had been having the sex with the other sister for a bit, so he could get in and find out if there was a big sister. Turns out there was, and we owed Bill big time, cause he didn't really want to admit he was having the sex with the sister. I think we loaned him the town crotch, and some anti biotics.
Ok so friday night came and Ian and I were nowhere to be found. Josh handled the party cause he was a mainstay in that area. He told us all went well, but she was disappointed that she didn't get to see us. We promised to meet with her the next day.
The next day I remember like few other days. The first thing that happened was that our apartment, the shack in the alleyway, instantly smelled like peculliu. I was kind of upset because that was hippy smell.
She did not disappoint either. She was wearing an olive green tank top, and ripped jeans. Her hair was in a pony tail, and she was beautiful. Brown hair, green eyes, and perfect. Not skinny, not fat, just right. She had boobs, unlike her sisters, and her nose was appropriately sized for her face.
Ian knew me very well, and knew that I didn't have to pee on her to mark her as mine. He backed off. She bought a quarter pound of pot. To this day, I have no idea what the hell she did with it, but frankly, I don't really care. It was the first, and last time she ever bought drugs from us.
She was a year older than myself, so that made it all naughty and fetishy.
I'd like to say she succumb to my wilds immediately, but that isn't the case. She did start talking with me on a regular basis. She would come over, hang out, get high and shoot the shit.
Eventually that didn't cut it, and we started hanging out away from the others. One of our favourite things was to go to the park off Augusta and Baldwin and hang out on the swing set and just talk, especially at night.
We flirted. A lot. Not that cheap little teenage flirtation of two people who don't know how to close the deal, but that flirtation of two people who would rather be making the love.
It's that type of flirting that dares you to create that awkward moment. That one moment in time where you look at each other and dare each other to kiss. That flirting where you play fight and touch each other in hopes of it turning into heavy petting.
Thing is, I never closed the deal. At first it was because of Kristina. Then Chantelle. Then one of the Jens. Then it was because of Odie.
Odie was a friend of the family you might say. He had been away for a time because of a botched robbery with one of Josh's brothers.
When he came back, we initiated him, and he became one of us. A huge mistake.
This was about a year after Joanne was in our little group. He came out and immediately went for her. Noone else had. Nonone else was stupid enough. They all knew she was marked, but he didn't give a shit.
He was also almost twice her age. Seriously. She was 17 he was 31.
I wanted to hurt him very very badly, but I owed the Fish family, so I let him be. Then he did something I will never be able to forgive. He cheated on my beloved. In front of me. With a 16 year old girl.
Joanne, never a stupid one, came to me with her suspiscion. We were sitting on the swingset about maybe 2am. I was shifty at that point. Trying to find a way out of the conversation. Big Bill came running over to tell me there was a problem at Raoul's. This was heaven sent, despite the fact Dale had hit someone with the butt end of a shotgun.
I told Bill my dilemma, he said, Jesus, what a dick for putting you in this position, you should do something. So I slept with the 16 year old. Odie's roommate, a dirt bag known only as weasel threatened to stab me. Apparently Odie and him had done a little time in the slammer.
I laughed at him. He walked away. Two night's later, he crushed a guy's skull in on the sidewalk in front of my place. Weasel disappeared after that. Odie went with him.
At this point, I finally told Joanne that I loved her. She was too distraught over the disappearance of Odie to listen.
We stayed friends. I would hold her when her dad beat her. I would comfort her when she was sad, I would laugh at her bad puns. I even let her use my shower, even though she used somehippy shampoo.
She would spend a lot of nights at my place. And we were the bestest of friends.
Then these fools we were beefing with destroyed her. They found her out late one night and took their time, and turns, on her.
There are some sights that are forever etched on to the back of a person's eyelids. Some sights that you cannot drink or drug away. Some memories that will be with you for the rest of your life.
The look in her eyes that night when I opened my door is one of those images.
I have always loved Joanne's eyes. They sparkled with a light that just read mischief and fun. Despite all of the beating she took for her sisters, the men who mistreated her, and the system that forgot her, she had a fire in her eyes. She was a fighter, a w2inner. This sparkle was dead that night. Her eyes were vacant, dead. They lacked emotion. She looked as much through me as at me.
It would take several hours to find out what had happened. Several days to get the full picture. I spent every moment of the next two weeks with her. Holding her, feeding her, listening, or just letting it be silent.
It was decided that she should move away. Go somewhere safe. My heart was crushed. The woman I loved was leaving me.
In an ironic twist, she was moving down to florida to be with an aunt, or was it an uncle in Atlanta. I can never remember these things. Anyway, after everything died down, say about two weeks, she called me.
I remember the life in her voice. I thought she would be sad, but the truth is, she wasn't. At first this hurt me, to think that getting away would have saved her and made her happy. How could she be happy without me?
Turns out, she couldn't/
She told me she loved me and she wanted to come home to be with me. She said she was leaving right away.
My love was coming!
She never made it. Her ride, a drunk had crashed the car. She died then and there. My love was gone.
Those two days were the happiest two days of my life though. The time between when she called, and when we got the message.
I spent those two days in love, and loved.
You see kids, this is why I am not qualified to tell anyone anything about love. I waited so long that I lost it. Had I grabbed it when I could, there would have been no Odie, no bad men, no drunks. There would have been love.
When you think you have it, you go for it. You don't wait to be sure.
There is tremendous risk in putting yourself out there for love, but what of the risk of waiting for the sure thing?
I doubt many will ever experience the pain I did, but even at half the price, can you afford to wait, or worse yet, let it walk on by like I did?
Last week she felt the need to probe the depths of my knowledge on a subject which I am not the least bit qualified to discourse, let alone dispense sage like advice, even if I am doing it in Yoda voice.
She wanted to know what love is. I will give you a moment to get foreigner out of your head.
Ok, all better now?
I am the last person you want to make to think about love. Mainly because I have either never truly been in love, or, more succinctly, never had anyone in love with me, in any sense of the word.
I am not going to get sucked down the rabbit hole of talking about my parents and their lack of whatever. This isn`t about that. This is a love story, in so much as it is full of hate, anger, jealousy and death.
Picture if you will, a young headstrong boy. He has been on his own for a little but, unless you count his roommate. They have created a thriving little enterprise in pharmaceuticals distribution.
One day, the young man, we will call him Dave Notme.....ok fine, we will call him me. Anyway, so I am hanging out at home when I should be at school. It`s a warm day in May, so I am just chillin`with my homies, as they say.
In walks an unfortunately named girl, Martha. Martha is heroin skinny. She is tall and lanky, and she has small boobs and a big nose. The one thing she has going for her is that she is a twin, and neither Ian, nor myself had climbed that mountain. We had done several favours for her in the past in hopes that she and her twin would show back up to the spot to get it on in the Barry White sense.
I was clumsily dating Kristina at the time. She was just trying to piss her mom off by dating the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, and it would not last much more than a month after this day. She cheated on me with a stocky guy named Chris. I gavce him a pass because of the irony factor.
Where was I? Oh yeah, so Martha comes in and says her sister wants to meet us. Ian and I are immediately at attention, in more ways than one, assuming our day had finally come. Instead she tells us that it is not her twin, but her older sister that we have to meet. She wants to buy weight.
Normally, this is one of those discussions that makes a person feel uncomfortable. A pretty usual trick of the police is to catch a little fish and get them to introduce the big fish to their "cousin" from out of town. We told her to invite her sister to a party we were having on friday night. She did.
Now we had to spring in to action. First, we had to get a party together for friday night. Then we dispatched Little Big Bill to Martha's place, he had been having the sex with the other sister for a bit, so he could get in and find out if there was a big sister. Turns out there was, and we owed Bill big time, cause he didn't really want to admit he was having the sex with the sister. I think we loaned him the town crotch, and some anti biotics.
Ok so friday night came and Ian and I were nowhere to be found. Josh handled the party cause he was a mainstay in that area. He told us all went well, but she was disappointed that she didn't get to see us. We promised to meet with her the next day.
The next day I remember like few other days. The first thing that happened was that our apartment, the shack in the alleyway, instantly smelled like peculliu. I was kind of upset because that was hippy smell.
She did not disappoint either. She was wearing an olive green tank top, and ripped jeans. Her hair was in a pony tail, and she was beautiful. Brown hair, green eyes, and perfect. Not skinny, not fat, just right. She had boobs, unlike her sisters, and her nose was appropriately sized for her face.
Ian knew me very well, and knew that I didn't have to pee on her to mark her as mine. He backed off. She bought a quarter pound of pot. To this day, I have no idea what the hell she did with it, but frankly, I don't really care. It was the first, and last time she ever bought drugs from us.
She was a year older than myself, so that made it all naughty and fetishy.
I'd like to say she succumb to my wilds immediately, but that isn't the case. She did start talking with me on a regular basis. She would come over, hang out, get high and shoot the shit.
Eventually that didn't cut it, and we started hanging out away from the others. One of our favourite things was to go to the park off Augusta and Baldwin and hang out on the swing set and just talk, especially at night.
We flirted. A lot. Not that cheap little teenage flirtation of two people who don't know how to close the deal, but that flirtation of two people who would rather be making the love.
It's that type of flirting that dares you to create that awkward moment. That one moment in time where you look at each other and dare each other to kiss. That flirting where you play fight and touch each other in hopes of it turning into heavy petting.
Thing is, I never closed the deal. At first it was because of Kristina. Then Chantelle. Then one of the Jens. Then it was because of Odie.
Odie was a friend of the family you might say. He had been away for a time because of a botched robbery with one of Josh's brothers.
When he came back, we initiated him, and he became one of us. A huge mistake.
This was about a year after Joanne was in our little group. He came out and immediately went for her. Noone else had. Nonone else was stupid enough. They all knew she was marked, but he didn't give a shit.
He was also almost twice her age. Seriously. She was 17 he was 31.
I wanted to hurt him very very badly, but I owed the Fish family, so I let him be. Then he did something I will never be able to forgive. He cheated on my beloved. In front of me. With a 16 year old girl.
Joanne, never a stupid one, came to me with her suspiscion. We were sitting on the swingset about maybe 2am. I was shifty at that point. Trying to find a way out of the conversation. Big Bill came running over to tell me there was a problem at Raoul's. This was heaven sent, despite the fact Dale had hit someone with the butt end of a shotgun.
I told Bill my dilemma, he said, Jesus, what a dick for putting you in this position, you should do something. So I slept with the 16 year old. Odie's roommate, a dirt bag known only as weasel threatened to stab me. Apparently Odie and him had done a little time in the slammer.
I laughed at him. He walked away. Two night's later, he crushed a guy's skull in on the sidewalk in front of my place. Weasel disappeared after that. Odie went with him.
At this point, I finally told Joanne that I loved her. She was too distraught over the disappearance of Odie to listen.
We stayed friends. I would hold her when her dad beat her. I would comfort her when she was sad, I would laugh at her bad puns. I even let her use my shower, even though she used somehippy shampoo.
She would spend a lot of nights at my place. And we were the bestest of friends.
Then these fools we were beefing with destroyed her. They found her out late one night and took their time, and turns, on her.
There are some sights that are forever etched on to the back of a person's eyelids. Some sights that you cannot drink or drug away. Some memories that will be with you for the rest of your life.
The look in her eyes that night when I opened my door is one of those images.
I have always loved Joanne's eyes. They sparkled with a light that just read mischief and fun. Despite all of the beating she took for her sisters, the men who mistreated her, and the system that forgot her, she had a fire in her eyes. She was a fighter, a w2inner. This sparkle was dead that night. Her eyes were vacant, dead. They lacked emotion. She looked as much through me as at me.
It would take several hours to find out what had happened. Several days to get the full picture. I spent every moment of the next two weeks with her. Holding her, feeding her, listening, or just letting it be silent.
It was decided that she should move away. Go somewhere safe. My heart was crushed. The woman I loved was leaving me.
In an ironic twist, she was moving down to florida to be with an aunt, or was it an uncle in Atlanta. I can never remember these things. Anyway, after everything died down, say about two weeks, she called me.
I remember the life in her voice. I thought she would be sad, but the truth is, she wasn't. At first this hurt me, to think that getting away would have saved her and made her happy. How could she be happy without me?
Turns out, she couldn't/
She told me she loved me and she wanted to come home to be with me. She said she was leaving right away.
My love was coming!
She never made it. Her ride, a drunk had crashed the car. She died then and there. My love was gone.
Those two days were the happiest two days of my life though. The time between when she called, and when we got the message.
I spent those two days in love, and loved.
You see kids, this is why I am not qualified to tell anyone anything about love. I waited so long that I lost it. Had I grabbed it when I could, there would have been no Odie, no bad men, no drunks. There would have been love.
When you think you have it, you go for it. You don't wait to be sure.
There is tremendous risk in putting yourself out there for love, but what of the risk of waiting for the sure thing?
I doubt many will ever experience the pain I did, but even at half the price, can you afford to wait, or worse yet, let it walk on by like I did?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Man Danglers
Running a bit late today, and maybe that is a good thing. I thought I was going to riff on seeing some dorkstick painting snow... serriously, our tax money at work; however, it occurred to me that it would have sounded hollow coming from me.
You think this is true mostly because my heart and mind wouldn't be in it. I had one of those conversations that a person has that at the time seem meandering and relatively without consequence.
I am famous for my philosophizing, my incessant need to question and examine. Hell, one of my better friendships is based on doing this when I probably should have been working. It got to the point where the boss actually would say something about us philosophizing in the hallways.
The point is, I am never happy with the surface of something, and rarely happy with an sort of lack of discussion on something.
This conversation was about something I have no right to discuss in any way. Love.
It's one of those topics that everyone has an opinion on, and some even get rich of their ridiculous notions.
Gear not intrepid reader, this is not about love, and I am never ever going to get rich off of my minuscule understanding of life's great prize.
This actually started me thinking about something. Mostly, why the hell am I not feeling the goodness of the love. This led me to think in the physical realm for a short period of time, but then I realised, hey some people love pugs, so beauty is not really a factor.
So is it that I am not a man?
Yeah I know, where did that come from, right? Sometimes it is better not to ask how my brain gets somewhere, lest we get sucked in to a vortex of nutbariness. In this case we should probably just say, in order to be in love, and be loved, you kinda gotta be a grown up. Kids get caught up in other emotions, lust, anger, jealousy and other things Yoda disapproves of.
A man can move beyond these things. A man has the knowledge and the wisdom. The temperment to utilize these things, and the strength to not back down from them.
In many ways, I am still a boy. In many ways I am still that scared little boy under the park bench waiting for someone to kill me. I recently had the chance to discuss the stages of development as theorized by Eikson. These stages discuss how someone learns and moves on to the next stage of life. The important part therapeutically speaking of his idea is that when one does not pass through the stage properly, they become stuck in life and cannot truly grow and mature.
I bring this up because I am wondering if I am really a man, and what really makes a man anyway.
I talked of strength, and to be sure, strength is not my problem...or is it. I am a very powerfully built human being. A gift I suppose that has helped me survive in many instances that surely should have destroyed me. But what use does that strength have? I can no longer use it to make money, so it kind of becomes useless.
True strength though is about strength of character, self discipline and the ability to beat yourself up when necessary.
I think this is the strength that any of my so called father figures failed to impart to me. Oh sure, I am stubborn, and that provides a certain amount of strength. If I say, something is going to be some way or another, then that is simply the way it is going to be for me. It's how I kicked drugs. I merely said, nah this is not how I am going to be any more. And for the most part, it was, and is that way.
What I was never taught though, what my Miyagi's never got through to me, or in some cases never bothered to impart in any way, was self discipline to attain things.
I have the appropriate sensibilities about woman, and proper behaviour, but I lack the stickwithitness that many find so sexy.
Mostly this has been about a lack of motivation. Never having the foresight to see the value in anything allows me the freedom to act like a child. This is not what being a man is all about.
Taking action when action is needed is easy. I am the type of protector and giver that will save and protect you from anything if I want to, but it is the fact that I can never promise the world that keeps me from doing anything proactive.
Think of it this way, Christians act nice because they are going to heaven. Tell them that God's plan for them is eternal suffering because he loves them is not gonna get you many god botherers.
Telling a man, if he man's up he is going to get what he wants, and most men will nose up to that old grindstone. Not me.
You can promise me the world if I just do this that or the other thing, and I will say to you, sounds great, give me a taste to prove you are telling the truth. I lack all faith. We could examine all of the broken promises in my life that has led me to this belief structure, but this is not about that. This is about me complaining about not having what I want.
On a certain level, this is about me wondering what a man has to do.
I never had that instruction. I never saw what a true man is. I only saw what not to do. What does a man do when he lacks all context for how to go about this life thing as a true man.
Like every other shlub out there, I want the American dream. The beautiful home, where the beautiful wife sits with me and stares out the window at the beautiful scenery. Don't know how to get it, wouldn't know what to do once I got it.
I guess what I am saying then is, like most of you, I don't have a clue. Life's instruction manual appears to be written in Sanskrit or Chinese, or Spanish, or some language only the crazy people are confident in knowing how to read....yeah I am looking at you charlie sheen, after all you are winning!
Since I don't have the answers, here is what I offer.
Adventure.
Come with me and explore this vast world with me. Learn with me. Try things, taste new things, ttry different ways and see what works and what doesn't/
I can't promise it will be easy. I can't promise it won't hurt sometimes.
I can promise it will be exciting. I can promise that it will be a learning experience full of new sights, sounds, smells and sensations.
It won't be predictable, but life shouldn't be. Life shouldn't be lived in routine. If it is, you aren't trying.
Live to live with me, and stop living to die.
You think this is true mostly because my heart and mind wouldn't be in it. I had one of those conversations that a person has that at the time seem meandering and relatively without consequence.
I am famous for my philosophizing, my incessant need to question and examine. Hell, one of my better friendships is based on doing this when I probably should have been working. It got to the point where the boss actually would say something about us philosophizing in the hallways.
The point is, I am never happy with the surface of something, and rarely happy with an sort of lack of discussion on something.
This conversation was about something I have no right to discuss in any way. Love.
It's one of those topics that everyone has an opinion on, and some even get rich of their ridiculous notions.
Gear not intrepid reader, this is not about love, and I am never ever going to get rich off of my minuscule understanding of life's great prize.
This actually started me thinking about something. Mostly, why the hell am I not feeling the goodness of the love. This led me to think in the physical realm for a short period of time, but then I realised, hey some people love pugs, so beauty is not really a factor.
So is it that I am not a man?
Yeah I know, where did that come from, right? Sometimes it is better not to ask how my brain gets somewhere, lest we get sucked in to a vortex of nutbariness. In this case we should probably just say, in order to be in love, and be loved, you kinda gotta be a grown up. Kids get caught up in other emotions, lust, anger, jealousy and other things Yoda disapproves of.
A man can move beyond these things. A man has the knowledge and the wisdom. The temperment to utilize these things, and the strength to not back down from them.
In many ways, I am still a boy. In many ways I am still that scared little boy under the park bench waiting for someone to kill me. I recently had the chance to discuss the stages of development as theorized by Eikson. These stages discuss how someone learns and moves on to the next stage of life. The important part therapeutically speaking of his idea is that when one does not pass through the stage properly, they become stuck in life and cannot truly grow and mature.
I bring this up because I am wondering if I am really a man, and what really makes a man anyway.
I talked of strength, and to be sure, strength is not my problem...or is it. I am a very powerfully built human being. A gift I suppose that has helped me survive in many instances that surely should have destroyed me. But what use does that strength have? I can no longer use it to make money, so it kind of becomes useless.
True strength though is about strength of character, self discipline and the ability to beat yourself up when necessary.
I think this is the strength that any of my so called father figures failed to impart to me. Oh sure, I am stubborn, and that provides a certain amount of strength. If I say, something is going to be some way or another, then that is simply the way it is going to be for me. It's how I kicked drugs. I merely said, nah this is not how I am going to be any more. And for the most part, it was, and is that way.
What I was never taught though, what my Miyagi's never got through to me, or in some cases never bothered to impart in any way, was self discipline to attain things.
I have the appropriate sensibilities about woman, and proper behaviour, but I lack the stickwithitness that many find so sexy.
Mostly this has been about a lack of motivation. Never having the foresight to see the value in anything allows me the freedom to act like a child. This is not what being a man is all about.
Taking action when action is needed is easy. I am the type of protector and giver that will save and protect you from anything if I want to, but it is the fact that I can never promise the world that keeps me from doing anything proactive.
Think of it this way, Christians act nice because they are going to heaven. Tell them that God's plan for them is eternal suffering because he loves them is not gonna get you many god botherers.
Telling a man, if he man's up he is going to get what he wants, and most men will nose up to that old grindstone. Not me.
You can promise me the world if I just do this that or the other thing, and I will say to you, sounds great, give me a taste to prove you are telling the truth. I lack all faith. We could examine all of the broken promises in my life that has led me to this belief structure, but this is not about that. This is about me complaining about not having what I want.
On a certain level, this is about me wondering what a man has to do.
I never had that instruction. I never saw what a true man is. I only saw what not to do. What does a man do when he lacks all context for how to go about this life thing as a true man.
Like every other shlub out there, I want the American dream. The beautiful home, where the beautiful wife sits with me and stares out the window at the beautiful scenery. Don't know how to get it, wouldn't know what to do once I got it.
I guess what I am saying then is, like most of you, I don't have a clue. Life's instruction manual appears to be written in Sanskrit or Chinese, or Spanish, or some language only the crazy people are confident in knowing how to read....yeah I am looking at you charlie sheen, after all you are winning!
Since I don't have the answers, here is what I offer.
Adventure.
Come with me and explore this vast world with me. Learn with me. Try things, taste new things, ttry different ways and see what works and what doesn't/
I can't promise it will be easy. I can't promise it won't hurt sometimes.
I can promise it will be exciting. I can promise that it will be a learning experience full of new sights, sounds, smells and sensations.
It won't be predictable, but life shouldn't be. Life shouldn't be lived in routine. If it is, you aren't trying.
Live to live with me, and stop living to die.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Light and Fluffy
So, I decided that I didn't want to put presure on myself today and actually write more on the piecework fiction project.
This wasd a horrible decision that appears to have backfired tremendously. Turns out, the presure to do something worth reading is much greater than the presure to write something cohesive.
I was chatting with a crazy person, which is of course never recomended, but I figured it would be ok because I am a bit crazy so it couldn't be all bad.
Well, I mentioned I had to figure out what to write about. Her fabulous and overwhelmingly useful suggestion? Something light and fluffy.
What does that even mean? Does that mean I should write about a miniature fat dude who is crazy? No wait, that's who she thinks I am. Ok maybe she meant....oh who I am kidding. I have no freaking idea what she meant.
I don't think I am built that way. I am just not light and fluffy. I want to be, but even the stuff I joke around about are actual issues we are trying to deal with in this world.
I would like to be the kind of person who can just let his mind wander, and wonder. The kind of person who can go to the same job, screw in the same bolt day in and day out. Come home to the same caserole every night. Fall a sleep during the news.
I just can't do this, I am not that person. I need more.... stimulating experiences.
Like a scientist I want to observe and experience everything this life has to offer, not just the monotony of a servile existance.
I cannot do light and fluffy because I refuse to believe that this world is light and fluffy. I refuse to believe that all existance is that frigging boring. There has to be more.
I know there are people who can watch CSI Pawtucket, but it ain't me.
I know there are people who can watch TMZ, it ain't me.
I know there are people who can do what they're told and fall in line. It ain't me.
I think this life would be easier if I could do this sort of thing, but I have never done anything the easy way. Not once have I chosen the easy path.
I chose the streets. I chose anger and hatred.
I chose unrequited love,
Some might say it is about suffering, about choosing to punish myself for being weak or distorted thinking about not being worthy. Many a psychiatrist or psychologist will tell you that if you are told you are worthless long enough you will believe. It becomes self fullfilling prophecy, but that is crap.
I choose the tough road because I think I am worth it, because I want big things, great things. I want these things that are out of my reach.
So often in this life it is about the chase, the high is in the yearning for the achievement. Once you get there you can enjoy it all the more.
It is the reason I will never give up, I will never back down from anything.
Some people have to deal with this in a way I wouldn`t wish on them, but it is the way it is.
I am not light and fluffy, just big and hard....ok that sounded sexual, but it wasn`t.
I have a dream to shoot for now, and I am trying my ass off, but should I fail, that`s ok, I can always fall back on being one of the masses, enjoying my pavlum.
This wasd a horrible decision that appears to have backfired tremendously. Turns out, the presure to do something worth reading is much greater than the presure to write something cohesive.
I was chatting with a crazy person, which is of course never recomended, but I figured it would be ok because I am a bit crazy so it couldn't be all bad.
Well, I mentioned I had to figure out what to write about. Her fabulous and overwhelmingly useful suggestion? Something light and fluffy.
What does that even mean? Does that mean I should write about a miniature fat dude who is crazy? No wait, that's who she thinks I am. Ok maybe she meant....oh who I am kidding. I have no freaking idea what she meant.
I don't think I am built that way. I am just not light and fluffy. I want to be, but even the stuff I joke around about are actual issues we are trying to deal with in this world.
I would like to be the kind of person who can just let his mind wander, and wonder. The kind of person who can go to the same job, screw in the same bolt day in and day out. Come home to the same caserole every night. Fall a sleep during the news.
I just can't do this, I am not that person. I need more.... stimulating experiences.
Like a scientist I want to observe and experience everything this life has to offer, not just the monotony of a servile existance.
I cannot do light and fluffy because I refuse to believe that this world is light and fluffy. I refuse to believe that all existance is that frigging boring. There has to be more.
I know there are people who can watch CSI Pawtucket, but it ain't me.
I know there are people who can watch TMZ, it ain't me.
I know there are people who can do what they're told and fall in line. It ain't me.
I think this life would be easier if I could do this sort of thing, but I have never done anything the easy way. Not once have I chosen the easy path.
I chose the streets. I chose anger and hatred.
I chose unrequited love,
Some might say it is about suffering, about choosing to punish myself for being weak or distorted thinking about not being worthy. Many a psychiatrist or psychologist will tell you that if you are told you are worthless long enough you will believe. It becomes self fullfilling prophecy, but that is crap.
I choose the tough road because I think I am worth it, because I want big things, great things. I want these things that are out of my reach.
So often in this life it is about the chase, the high is in the yearning for the achievement. Once you get there you can enjoy it all the more.
It is the reason I will never give up, I will never back down from anything.
Some people have to deal with this in a way I wouldn`t wish on them, but it is the way it is.
I am not light and fluffy, just big and hard....ok that sounded sexual, but it wasn`t.
I have a dream to shoot for now, and I am trying my ass off, but should I fail, that`s ok, I can always fall back on being one of the masses, enjoying my pavlum.
Monday, March 7, 2011
So Far Away
I have spent most of the day day dreaming with my favourite dreamer. And it was good.
We bandied about theories on what makes appropriate semi formal dinner ware, and we dicussed beach front property. It was good.
We bargained for decor, and divied up imaginary rooms. It was good.
We even discusseed what it would take to live the dream. It was bad.
As with so many things in life, this dream involved chasing tiny pieces of green paper around until we caught enough of them. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to do this, didn't have to whore ourselves out.
I also wonder why it is some people have so damn much of it when the rest of us have so damn little.
It annoys me that society deems what Alex Rodriguez does is more valuable than what I do. And not even by a small margin. Think of it this way, A-Fraud makes approximately 1103 times what I did at my highest paying job. It angers me a bit that this dude has millions of dollars while people starve. I think until we manage to reconcile that every life has value, and that paying stupid money to people to do stupid things is not progress.
Think of it this way. Charlie Sheen has so much FU money that he can melt down and never have to worry about it. He can piss off and alienate every one on the planet, but who cares, the guys great greta great grandchildren never have to work a day in their lives.
This is all just sour grapes because I see how far away my dream is, how tiny of a speck on the horizon it is. I am seperated from it by an ocean and a desert, and I have no boat and no camel.
I think though I might as well work towards it. Work harder than I have ever worked in my life, because if something is worthwhile, and if it is truly great, then it must be worth fighting for, and worth working my ass off for.
So I guess this is me tossing my hat over the wall, dropping the gauntlet, pissing on the electric fence. This is me saying come hell or high water, by December 2012 I am going to be in Florida. I am going to have the dream, and if my favourite dreamer wants to meet me there, so be it.
Is this a good thing?
We bandied about theories on what makes appropriate semi formal dinner ware, and we dicussed beach front property. It was good.
We bargained for decor, and divied up imaginary rooms. It was good.
We even discusseed what it would take to live the dream. It was bad.
As with so many things in life, this dream involved chasing tiny pieces of green paper around until we caught enough of them. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if we didn't have to do this, didn't have to whore ourselves out.
I also wonder why it is some people have so damn much of it when the rest of us have so damn little.
It annoys me that society deems what Alex Rodriguez does is more valuable than what I do. And not even by a small margin. Think of it this way, A-Fraud makes approximately 1103 times what I did at my highest paying job. It angers me a bit that this dude has millions of dollars while people starve. I think until we manage to reconcile that every life has value, and that paying stupid money to people to do stupid things is not progress.
Think of it this way. Charlie Sheen has so much FU money that he can melt down and never have to worry about it. He can piss off and alienate every one on the planet, but who cares, the guys great greta great grandchildren never have to work a day in their lives.
This is all just sour grapes because I see how far away my dream is, how tiny of a speck on the horizon it is. I am seperated from it by an ocean and a desert, and I have no boat and no camel.
I think though I might as well work towards it. Work harder than I have ever worked in my life, because if something is worthwhile, and if it is truly great, then it must be worth fighting for, and worth working my ass off for.
So I guess this is me tossing my hat over the wall, dropping the gauntlet, pissing on the electric fence. This is me saying come hell or high water, by December 2012 I am going to be in Florida. I am going to have the dream, and if my favourite dreamer wants to meet me there, so be it.
Is this a good thing?
Monday, November 29, 2010
You, Me and Decree.
I find it rather interesting that more than one person has given me the advice that I just need to be me. Be yourself monkey man, and the world will be yours. This is such a load of BS it makes me feel like Cartman's mom.
No one, ever, wants you to be you, it interferes with them being them. In all honesty, being me makes every woman on the planet want to be my friend. I do not need any more friends. I don't like half the ones I have now, and the other half don't get treated half as well as they should because I am so busy with the half I want to beat about the head and neck with a baseball bat.
Think about it. People are jerks. We are all selfish, and we are all more animal than we would like to admit. Everyone likes to point to the UCLA study that had half a psychology class pretend to be convicts and the other half prison guards. Unsupervisedd, after only a few short days, the guards turned insane and began torturing their classmates. This is people being them.
Sure, these are average people, but the world is full of average people. Despite what they might think, I have met very few above average people. I know a handful, maybe 3-4 above average people. The rest of them are depressingly average, even if they think they are not.
Dating, at least the attraction process of it is about putting your best foot forward. It is sort of like people who dress up for church. God doesn't care what you wear, or anything of the sort, but you had better look good for the neighbours. The same thing is true of attraction stage dating. You are supposed to be on your best behaviour.
Sure, no one suggests that you should lie, but you certainly need to behave in specific way. Why do you think first dates are so stressful? Not because of the pressure to be charming, but because of the pressure to edit everything you do or say.
I think it is ridiculous to think that you can attract a person merely by being yourself. Yourself is selfish. Yourself talks with their mouthful, yourself grunts at the wrong time. Yourself farts. Yourself sometimes would rather be somewhere else.
It seems interesting to me that people think they are being themselves. The same people who pretend to be things they aren't. They lie to themselves. They fake enjoyment of things to please other people. They pretend to like their coworkers.
All these fake people think I need to be myself.
Of course, that advice is harder to follow when you have no idea who you are. We all fake it to make it. We all pretend to be things, pretend to like things. Some of us try so hard to fit in that we forgot who we are.
That is where I find myself. I have beem faking it so long I am not sure who I really am. I have pretended to be so much that the real me has fallen away and I have either become who I pretend to be, or I have zero identity.
This got me thinking how do you find your own identity.
To that end, I am going to examine some identities this week and see if any of them fit.
First off, I think I should be gay. I am terrible with women, you know, unbless I want to just be friends. I think this means I am gay. A legion of females who want to be my friend and are so comfortable around me they can talk about anything, and make me feel like a tool. Ok so Imight be gay.
It would be so easy for me to just start being gay.
Of course, while I love sausage I am just not a fan of giving head. I don't want those things in my mouth.
Ok, I can be a pitcher.
I am beefy and angry, I can be a bear. Yes, I can be a selfish top bear. According to the fat man's large gay friend Malcolm, it is simple to get laid as a bear. This would make me happy.
I guess I can be a big gay bear.
My most meaningful relationships in the last few years of been solely with men. Ian, Darryl, Jay. All guys. My female relationships have been ripe with annoying behaviours, dissapointment, rejection and all the other lovely things we all hope and dream for.
Apparently I am in to dudes. I get along with them, and they never dissapoint me.
Maybe I am a big gay bear man lover.
Wouldn't it be great if the christians were right and the world worked this way. Of course, it doesn't work this way.
I love women. Men are rough, and bumpy, and smelly. Women are soft and rounded and smell amazing. Men are mostly idiots, women are kind and seem to be interesting to me. I do not like outies, men are outies.
Short, tall, fat, skinny, blonde, red head, brunette, white, black, chinese, native, they are all attractive. I find myself in general appreciation of most women I see. This isn't going well. It would appear that despite the fact women only want me as their gay friend, I am unfailingly in to them, and apart from a very select few, I can't stand dudes. Ther majority of them think only of eating, fucking and drinking.
Ok, identity check number 1. I am flamingly heterosexual.
Ok, I guess tomorrow I will try and be something else.
No one, ever, wants you to be you, it interferes with them being them. In all honesty, being me makes every woman on the planet want to be my friend. I do not need any more friends. I don't like half the ones I have now, and the other half don't get treated half as well as they should because I am so busy with the half I want to beat about the head and neck with a baseball bat.
Think about it. People are jerks. We are all selfish, and we are all more animal than we would like to admit. Everyone likes to point to the UCLA study that had half a psychology class pretend to be convicts and the other half prison guards. Unsupervisedd, after only a few short days, the guards turned insane and began torturing their classmates. This is people being them.
Sure, these are average people, but the world is full of average people. Despite what they might think, I have met very few above average people. I know a handful, maybe 3-4 above average people. The rest of them are depressingly average, even if they think they are not.
Dating, at least the attraction process of it is about putting your best foot forward. It is sort of like people who dress up for church. God doesn't care what you wear, or anything of the sort, but you had better look good for the neighbours. The same thing is true of attraction stage dating. You are supposed to be on your best behaviour.
Sure, no one suggests that you should lie, but you certainly need to behave in specific way. Why do you think first dates are so stressful? Not because of the pressure to be charming, but because of the pressure to edit everything you do or say.
I think it is ridiculous to think that you can attract a person merely by being yourself. Yourself is selfish. Yourself talks with their mouthful, yourself grunts at the wrong time. Yourself farts. Yourself sometimes would rather be somewhere else.
It seems interesting to me that people think they are being themselves. The same people who pretend to be things they aren't. They lie to themselves. They fake enjoyment of things to please other people. They pretend to like their coworkers.
All these fake people think I need to be myself.
Of course, that advice is harder to follow when you have no idea who you are. We all fake it to make it. We all pretend to be things, pretend to like things. Some of us try so hard to fit in that we forgot who we are.
That is where I find myself. I have beem faking it so long I am not sure who I really am. I have pretended to be so much that the real me has fallen away and I have either become who I pretend to be, or I have zero identity.
This got me thinking how do you find your own identity.
To that end, I am going to examine some identities this week and see if any of them fit.
First off, I think I should be gay. I am terrible with women, you know, unbless I want to just be friends. I think this means I am gay. A legion of females who want to be my friend and are so comfortable around me they can talk about anything, and make me feel like a tool. Ok so Imight be gay.
It would be so easy for me to just start being gay.
Of course, while I love sausage I am just not a fan of giving head. I don't want those things in my mouth.
Ok, I can be a pitcher.
I am beefy and angry, I can be a bear. Yes, I can be a selfish top bear. According to the fat man's large gay friend Malcolm, it is simple to get laid as a bear. This would make me happy.
I guess I can be a big gay bear.
My most meaningful relationships in the last few years of been solely with men. Ian, Darryl, Jay. All guys. My female relationships have been ripe with annoying behaviours, dissapointment, rejection and all the other lovely things we all hope and dream for.
Apparently I am in to dudes. I get along with them, and they never dissapoint me.
Maybe I am a big gay bear man lover.
Wouldn't it be great if the christians were right and the world worked this way. Of course, it doesn't work this way.
I love women. Men are rough, and bumpy, and smelly. Women are soft and rounded and smell amazing. Men are mostly idiots, women are kind and seem to be interesting to me. I do not like outies, men are outies.
Short, tall, fat, skinny, blonde, red head, brunette, white, black, chinese, native, they are all attractive. I find myself in general appreciation of most women I see. This isn't going well. It would appear that despite the fact women only want me as their gay friend, I am unfailingly in to them, and apart from a very select few, I can't stand dudes. Ther majority of them think only of eating, fucking and drinking.
Ok, identity check number 1. I am flamingly heterosexual.
Ok, I guess tomorrow I will try and be something else.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Random is as Random does.
I was trying to decide between one blog entry and a few smaller ones. Since I am an attention whore I am going to just throw everything out there, so this is going to be very very random.
For starters, cooler heads only half prevailed yesterday. I am of course speaking about the US election. Now one might wonder why I am so interested in this. Two reasons really. The first being, my favourite person lives in the US. The second is that too many people here want to emulate the US in everything, including politics.
So, the big deal is, that none of the real crazies won, and that is good. Some of the minor crazies did. That is a shame. I was really buying in to the rall to restore sanity, and was hoping it might actually take hold some.
Anyway, my thoughts are that it would be a terrible thing for us to import the american way of doing such business, that's all.
So, yesterday I was writing about living each day as if it mattered. The thought occuredd to me that what s the definition of a good day. I immediately began to download the entire discography of Joe Satriani. Sometimes it's just the small things that matter, and the big things can just show when they show.
I was also thinking about being shot. Part of a live each day like it might be your last is thinking about some of those close calls. I almost never tell the story of what happened that day, and never what happened before and after. The reason I don't tell the story is that it always begs the questions of why we were there and what happened after. Also, I tend not to tell it because it makes me look good. The one thing you might notice from my stories of yesteryear is that I rarely tell any that make me look good or in which I am the sympathetic character. I prefer to tell stories about others in that way.
Anyway, for those who think I misspelled my fb entry yesterday, you may want to google sabe, and you will find that it is an incredibly poignant star wars referrence in relation to the story of how I took a bullet meant for someone else.
I have also been thinking about why I do this. I recently read through the entire archive on this site and found what I want to be dong with it.
Every writer wants to do two things. The first is to entertain. If you don't enjoy your time reading what I write, then I have failed. Writing is not a noble cause, or a divine calling. It is a form of entertainment, unless you are writing a technical manual, but that isn't really writing, that's more spewing forth useless information that works better than ambien. Writing is about understanding that we all lead incredibly busy, complicated lives, and that when we take the time to read something, we want to be entertained. We want a break from the workaday world. Even if that break is in the form of psuedo philisophical pretentious ramblngs from a crazy dude. There is nothing special about a writer, apart from the fact that they have a chance to help people relax and immerse themselves in to something, if even for just a little while.
The other reason is to make people think. I like having that effect on people. It doesn't particularily matter if they agree with me or not. I just like the discussion. I like to know they are paying attention and that we are progressing n the world, and not just stagmating and letting life walk past us while we are driving the kids to schooll or hussling to that meeting.
Again, some random stuff. I don't really have anything profound today, but I am working on it. By frday I will have part 3 of the story online. I am going to take some more time with it, because I rushed the last one out, and it felt weak to me.
I just wanted to share a few small things today and remind you of what to expect from me. A little less self discovery and a little more free for all fun.
For starters, cooler heads only half prevailed yesterday. I am of course speaking about the US election. Now one might wonder why I am so interested in this. Two reasons really. The first being, my favourite person lives in the US. The second is that too many people here want to emulate the US in everything, including politics.
So, the big deal is, that none of the real crazies won, and that is good. Some of the minor crazies did. That is a shame. I was really buying in to the rall to restore sanity, and was hoping it might actually take hold some.
Anyway, my thoughts are that it would be a terrible thing for us to import the american way of doing such business, that's all.
So, yesterday I was writing about living each day as if it mattered. The thought occuredd to me that what s the definition of a good day. I immediately began to download the entire discography of Joe Satriani. Sometimes it's just the small things that matter, and the big things can just show when they show.
I was also thinking about being shot. Part of a live each day like it might be your last is thinking about some of those close calls. I almost never tell the story of what happened that day, and never what happened before and after. The reason I don't tell the story is that it always begs the questions of why we were there and what happened after. Also, I tend not to tell it because it makes me look good. The one thing you might notice from my stories of yesteryear is that I rarely tell any that make me look good or in which I am the sympathetic character. I prefer to tell stories about others in that way.
Anyway, for those who think I misspelled my fb entry yesterday, you may want to google sabe, and you will find that it is an incredibly poignant star wars referrence in relation to the story of how I took a bullet meant for someone else.
I have also been thinking about why I do this. I recently read through the entire archive on this site and found what I want to be dong with it.
Every writer wants to do two things. The first is to entertain. If you don't enjoy your time reading what I write, then I have failed. Writing is not a noble cause, or a divine calling. It is a form of entertainment, unless you are writing a technical manual, but that isn't really writing, that's more spewing forth useless information that works better than ambien. Writing is about understanding that we all lead incredibly busy, complicated lives, and that when we take the time to read something, we want to be entertained. We want a break from the workaday world. Even if that break is in the form of psuedo philisophical pretentious ramblngs from a crazy dude. There is nothing special about a writer, apart from the fact that they have a chance to help people relax and immerse themselves in to something, if even for just a little while.
The other reason is to make people think. I like having that effect on people. It doesn't particularily matter if they agree with me or not. I just like the discussion. I like to know they are paying attention and that we are progressing n the world, and not just stagmating and letting life walk past us while we are driving the kids to schooll or hussling to that meeting.
Again, some random stuff. I don't really have anything profound today, but I am working on it. By frday I will have part 3 of the story online. I am going to take some more time with it, because I rushed the last one out, and it felt weak to me.
I just wanted to share a few small things today and remind you of what to expect from me. A little less self discovery and a little more free for all fun.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
I suck at titles
Recently I have been listening to some fantasy novels on tape...no not dirty ones with Fabio on the cover, ones with dragons and dudes in plate armor and chicks in chainmail bikinis. This has led me to think in terms of knights and dragons and the like. Because of that I have been toying with certain unsavoury ideas. This is one of them.
Her terrible wrath is known by the entire realm for years; as is her beauty. In a way, she is a freak of nature, but she has managed to make it work for her.
She is a minidragon.
One might think that this would make her less terrible, less frightening, but one would be wrong.
To behold her is to know unbridled fear and unmitigated terror. If you are one of the few who can withstand her all incompassing aura of unfathomable fright, would describe her as follows:
Her bright eyes glow with an inner fire which can range from a calm soft brown when she is excited and playing with her food, to a stormy blackish brown with fiery sparks when she is in total rage. One could lose their soul in those eys, and possibly even enjoy it until one of her claws guts them.
Her face is perfectly molded and symetrical, and the beauty is only marred by a mouth full of razon sharp teeth, which one will never confuse the use of.
Her sacles range from a shimmering onyx on her back to a more radiant dark red on her underbelly. These beautiful scales which reflect a light that may actually be radiating from inside.
Her tail is formed by some sort of good. The perfect shape that invites awe and terror. The tail ends in a sharp point with a barbed tip.
Though her legs may not be long, her legs are shaped to support her frame and provide a counterpoint to her solid frame.
What mortals fear is not her appearance, the true terror resides in her mouth. Her tongue is reptilian and it lashes out to catch those unaware. It can knock a grown man down with a mere flick. But even that is not the true terror. When she opens her mouth one of two things may happen. She may charm you with her spell. She can spin your mind in on itself with her sweet tones, and draw them in to her trap.
But if she wants to be destructive, if the whim hits to obliterate all she surverys she can use one of her two fierce breath weapons. She can breath fire, immolating anything in her path. She will incinerate your home, your clothes, your flesh, your very soul.
When she feels particularily mean and spiteful, she won;t burn you in a gloriously short fire of rage, but rather spit out acid. This acid slowly corrodes everything it touches. Once it works it's way through your clothes, your outer defenses it begins to work on your flesh. Seering pain enters the picture at this point.
The acid seems to have a mind of its own. It feels as if it heads straight for your heart, where it can do the most damage. One would think this would speed up the process of sweet ecstacy and the release of death, but the slowness of the acid betrays you. It slowly works its evil on your heart, breaking it down on a cellular level until it finally devours the last remaining piece of your heart, and life finally ends as you know it.
Now that you know what we are dealing with, one more thing needs to be said about the minidragon. That is, she is mini. Not young, not jouvenile, just small for her species. This, all the the sages agree, is what makes her even more terrifying. This is what makes her mean spirited and ravenous for your soul.
The minidragon, whose name is lost in the mists of time, lives in an unknown lair. The bards tell of glorius treasures that lay inside. She has been hoarding her treasure for sometime, and no mortal save her slave has seen this treasure, and he does not speak of it, out of terrible fear.
This is the complete picture of our evil foe, of the scourge of the realm.
What remains for our hero is to figure out what to do with the dragon in order to save the world from her evil.
Like most true heroes, ours doesn't even know he is a hero yet. We can only hope that he finds his true nature before she does; because, if she does, she will surely kill and silence him forever. This is her way, her self preserving way.
Happy birthday Alison.
Her terrible wrath is known by the entire realm for years; as is her beauty. In a way, she is a freak of nature, but she has managed to make it work for her.
She is a minidragon.
One might think that this would make her less terrible, less frightening, but one would be wrong.
To behold her is to know unbridled fear and unmitigated terror. If you are one of the few who can withstand her all incompassing aura of unfathomable fright, would describe her as follows:
Her bright eyes glow with an inner fire which can range from a calm soft brown when she is excited and playing with her food, to a stormy blackish brown with fiery sparks when she is in total rage. One could lose their soul in those eys, and possibly even enjoy it until one of her claws guts them.
Her face is perfectly molded and symetrical, and the beauty is only marred by a mouth full of razon sharp teeth, which one will never confuse the use of.
Her sacles range from a shimmering onyx on her back to a more radiant dark red on her underbelly. These beautiful scales which reflect a light that may actually be radiating from inside.
Her tail is formed by some sort of good. The perfect shape that invites awe and terror. The tail ends in a sharp point with a barbed tip.
Though her legs may not be long, her legs are shaped to support her frame and provide a counterpoint to her solid frame.
What mortals fear is not her appearance, the true terror resides in her mouth. Her tongue is reptilian and it lashes out to catch those unaware. It can knock a grown man down with a mere flick. But even that is not the true terror. When she opens her mouth one of two things may happen. She may charm you with her spell. She can spin your mind in on itself with her sweet tones, and draw them in to her trap.
But if she wants to be destructive, if the whim hits to obliterate all she surverys she can use one of her two fierce breath weapons. She can breath fire, immolating anything in her path. She will incinerate your home, your clothes, your flesh, your very soul.
When she feels particularily mean and spiteful, she won;t burn you in a gloriously short fire of rage, but rather spit out acid. This acid slowly corrodes everything it touches. Once it works it's way through your clothes, your outer defenses it begins to work on your flesh. Seering pain enters the picture at this point.
The acid seems to have a mind of its own. It feels as if it heads straight for your heart, where it can do the most damage. One would think this would speed up the process of sweet ecstacy and the release of death, but the slowness of the acid betrays you. It slowly works its evil on your heart, breaking it down on a cellular level until it finally devours the last remaining piece of your heart, and life finally ends as you know it.
Now that you know what we are dealing with, one more thing needs to be said about the minidragon. That is, she is mini. Not young, not jouvenile, just small for her species. This, all the the sages agree, is what makes her even more terrifying. This is what makes her mean spirited and ravenous for your soul.
The minidragon, whose name is lost in the mists of time, lives in an unknown lair. The bards tell of glorius treasures that lay inside. She has been hoarding her treasure for sometime, and no mortal save her slave has seen this treasure, and he does not speak of it, out of terrible fear.
This is the complete picture of our evil foe, of the scourge of the realm.
What remains for our hero is to figure out what to do with the dragon in order to save the world from her evil.
Like most true heroes, ours doesn't even know he is a hero yet. We can only hope that he finds his true nature before she does; because, if she does, she will surely kill and silence him forever. This is her way, her self preserving way.
Happy birthday Alison.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Mushy gushy
I don't want to bury today's original post, because it contains a wicked new philosophy I am going to try, as well as a challenge to all of you to face your true selves and stop hiding from stuff, but I am just motivated to speak out, so more on that other thing tomorrow.
On a day where a douchebag threatens to kill me, and some crazy psycho threatens me with a toaster oven....really, what are you going to do, bake some tastey cakes and then refuse to share? I can't help but be amazed by humanity.
Oh sure, we can be nasty to each other. I watched a guy push his girlfriend and call his mother the c word. His mother.
I watched a group of people pull of a miracle today. I know we toss about miracle willy nilly, but let's face it, a human miracle is succeeding against all odds. A human miracle happens when we as seperate people put aside politics, selfishness, greed and ridiculous hats to do something to save others.
Watching the rescue live on the internet taught me something about humanity. There is little we can't do when we put our effort in to it and work together.
A while back, some smart people decided to make the internet. Then they used it for evil world domination and price fixing, or whatever it is the cia does.
Then some smarter people, or one person named Al, depending on your view of history, decided this can be a force for good....and porn.
Flash forward to today, where some lazy no good canadian can sit on his ass eating bon bons and watching something priceless happen...no the megan fox porn tape has not been released yet. I am talking about the rescued miners.
I am reasonably sure someone has said it better than me, but I am still going to say it anyway.
When those miners were first trapped, I am sure they never thought they would make it out. Ther persevered.
When the families of the trapped miners first heard, I am sure their fear was overwhelming, but they kept hope alive.
When politicians heard they came up with some plan to curry political favour.
When CNN heard they thanked god for providing them with something to do besides retweet the opinions of the common folk.
Then, smart people got involved.
Several smart people from several countries.
They came up with a plan. A daring new plan. They came up with some new equipment. They gave time and effort and were rewarded for that.
So were the miners and their families.
Today we all saw, through the magic and wonder of technology that can be used for great good in this world, a tremendous life affirming event.
We saw people come together, and ignore their differences to save lives.
We saw hope restored and rewarded, and we saw a miracle of humanioty.
I am so glad this happened, and had a happy ending.
I am so dissapointed that tomorrow, the same people and technology that brought us this wonder are going to return to business as usual; dividing us and bringing us hate and bigotry.
Maybe these truly positive stories are few and far between, but I don't think so. I just thing fear and our desire to be better than our equals drives us to desire hate and anger and outrage.
I for one am going to hold on to this little story, and try and remmeber the good that was done in Chile today. In the spirit of being authentic and true to myself and everyone around me, I am going to say, I was moved, and I hope it continues.
Also, I did not post this because of people with toaster ovens.
On a day where a douchebag threatens to kill me, and some crazy psycho threatens me with a toaster oven....really, what are you going to do, bake some tastey cakes and then refuse to share? I can't help but be amazed by humanity.
Oh sure, we can be nasty to each other. I watched a guy push his girlfriend and call his mother the c word. His mother.
I watched a group of people pull of a miracle today. I know we toss about miracle willy nilly, but let's face it, a human miracle is succeeding against all odds. A human miracle happens when we as seperate people put aside politics, selfishness, greed and ridiculous hats to do something to save others.
Watching the rescue live on the internet taught me something about humanity. There is little we can't do when we put our effort in to it and work together.
A while back, some smart people decided to make the internet. Then they used it for evil world domination and price fixing, or whatever it is the cia does.
Then some smarter people, or one person named Al, depending on your view of history, decided this can be a force for good....and porn.
Flash forward to today, where some lazy no good canadian can sit on his ass eating bon bons and watching something priceless happen...no the megan fox porn tape has not been released yet. I am talking about the rescued miners.
I am reasonably sure someone has said it better than me, but I am still going to say it anyway.
When those miners were first trapped, I am sure they never thought they would make it out. Ther persevered.
When the families of the trapped miners first heard, I am sure their fear was overwhelming, but they kept hope alive.
When politicians heard they came up with some plan to curry political favour.
When CNN heard they thanked god for providing them with something to do besides retweet the opinions of the common folk.
Then, smart people got involved.
Several smart people from several countries.
They came up with a plan. A daring new plan. They came up with some new equipment. They gave time and effort and were rewarded for that.
So were the miners and their families.
Today we all saw, through the magic and wonder of technology that can be used for great good in this world, a tremendous life affirming event.
We saw people come together, and ignore their differences to save lives.
We saw hope restored and rewarded, and we saw a miracle of humanioty.
I am so glad this happened, and had a happy ending.
I am so dissapointed that tomorrow, the same people and technology that brought us this wonder are going to return to business as usual; dividing us and bringing us hate and bigotry.
Maybe these truly positive stories are few and far between, but I don't think so. I just thing fear and our desire to be better than our equals drives us to desire hate and anger and outrage.
I for one am going to hold on to this little story, and try and remmeber the good that was done in Chile today. In the spirit of being authentic and true to myself and everyone around me, I am going to say, I was moved, and I hope it continues.
Also, I did not post this because of people with toaster ovens.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Good Medicine
I see her standing there in my mind. I close my eye and I picture it, and the picture becomes so vivid I can smell it, taste it, hear it.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
casey jones- The Ungrateful Dead
So this weekend is thanksgiving, at least it is here in the Frozen North. That usually means people are scrambling to find family to torture or pathetic friends to save. It also usually means people will comb the surface of their brain like an over zealous stormtrooper on the sands of tatooine looking for droids.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
On the Shoulders of midgets on the shoulders of dwarves on the shoulders of men on the shoulders of half giants on the shoulders of giants.
Longest title ever! It will actually make sense, at least to my twisted world view at a certain point in my meanderings.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Chicks, Girls, Gals, Broads, Ladies and women.
In a statement of what can only be called actual irony (yes I am looking at you Alanis) one of my closest friends informed me that I needed to "roll with a better class of female." This amuses me since at the time of this speech that friend was in fact a female....and to the best of my knowledge she intends to remain that way for the foreseeable future.
Personal attacks on Alanis aside (yes I intend to learn more html code, but before you get uppity, you might want to consider that the next thing I learn is embedding photos....and did you really want me to begin by embedding...teehee Alanis?) this is actually an important statement in life.
I have come to the conclusion that there are 6 types of females in this world (not including sisters, mothers, and aunts....let us just pretend for the sake of argument there are in fact no females we are related to ok...) and the list breaks down somewhat like this....and if I did it right there will be a photo example.
Chicks.
This type of female is characterized by a complete inability to make realistic life choices. They are usually attractive in a superficial way, or they have some sort of character that makes you want to be near them....right up until they say something really, really stupid...which will happen. They are completely self absorbed and will in fact behave in a manner that makes you scratch your head and wonder how they are not dead. In a relationship, which will be purely based on something superficial like money, fame, a nice hindquarters, whatever...they tend to wonder why the drunk guy they love to party with is banging six other chicks...all of whom will answer to the name baby. These are also the girls who take their tops off on video because it seemed like a good idea at the time and then wonder why people call them sluts. It is my learned opinion that unless you want one blissful evening of pumping away at a moaning near lifeless carcass, followed by 7-10 days of anti-biotics, these are the ones to avoid. You will know them by there smell...it precedes them by 5 minutes and cost more than 100 bucks, and it really doesn't turn you on.also, their laugh will clue you in...it is misplaced and always too loud and over the top. Also, if you are not HOT) they most likely won't talk to you, or they will treat you as if you are their gay friend. Unlike the movies though, this class of female never sobers up and realises they have loved you all along. Just run ok.
Girls
I hesitate to use the term immature to describe this class of female simply because most people will be thinking of chicks when I say that. These females simply haven't grown up yet. I don't mean that in the pleasant young at heart sort of way where a female can be all girls and cutesy. I mean the3se females are still playing house and dress-up, only with real people and real babies. This is in fact the kind of female who will poke a hole in a condom to get pregnant so you have to marry her and then build that dream life together. Here comes reality folks, steaming down the tracks....they almost never make good choices. One day they wake up and realise they are with an ass, but lacking adult sophistication they have no idea what to do. These are also the type who are dreamers and always waiting for the better thing. They are not willing to try anything that does not fit in to their perfect little dream world because it doesn't match the Norman Rockwell setting. This type will mature eventually and will realise what they really want; and more importantly that it can't be found in the bad boy drummer or the drunk frat boy, or the abusive stock broker; but this takes time, so you best have patience if you want to wait for this one to catch up. I once watched a dude wait two years for this one girl while she continually made hairbrained choices and went back to her ex and got hurt time and again, until he lost patience. The good news here is that girls are not as superficial as chicks, but you have to fit in to their fantasy or they won't give you the time of day, other than to use you to get their real needs of intimacy, friendship, safety, and security met. This can be very disheartening.
Gals
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These are the world's most common type of female in a sense. You see they are the ones you meet and get along with and become friends with. They see you as a friend, and maybe you did too...at first. Then you realised the secret to life was....be friends first. Only one small problem. You live in Platonia. We all have this guy to thank for that. You see he was the first to walk up to a female and say, hey baby, why don't you and I go behind one of these pillars and philosophise. And the response was, I don't know, your beard is kinda scruffy and you've got an awful lot of sitting around on your backside thinking all day weight. I think it would be best if we just stayed friends. Now instead of saying whatever and moving on to the next female, that guy thought hey, maybe if I stick around she will eventually see how smart, funny, caring, and interesting I am. Heck I am this guy they will remember me forever as a cool dude, she'll have to see it eventually. And thus was born Platonic love. A sad desperate little dance where one female decides not to be mean and say hey, you are ugly to me, even though you possess every trait I say I want in a dude, so we just can't do it, they say, let's be friends. It never works out like that. In the movies you see they eventually realize they are truly meant for each other. As heartwarming as that is, it is not how it happens. What really happens is, dude is placed in friend hell, and one or the other begins to feel bad about the situation. Then one of them pushes the envelope once again because they have become real intimates...and the whole thing goes boom. This female is cool. She is friendly and she likes you because to her, you are completely non threatening. You are all the good things she wants but not in a package that intimidates her or makes her feel uncomfortable. You also might be crazy, but let's assume you aren't. for whatever reason she is not attracted to you so she treats you like a king. You have fun together and you can do things that would normally be hardcore flirting or even foreplay for crying out loud, but because you are buds it isn't for some reason. These are dangerous females. They will hurt you. Not intentionally mind you, 'cause hey they are just one of the guys right? Again...pain!
Broads.
These females are tough, no nonsense career oriented women. They say they do not want kids. They are obsessed with success. The only thing I can say about these females is to stay away from them at all times. Do not approach them. If they want something from you (and they will) they will tell you. Do not upset these females. They are capable of grinding you in to pulp. They are success and goal oriented so if your goals and their line up, they do make good partners, but there will be less emotion involved in your love making than in buying the Lexus.
Ladies.
These are unattainable females folks. They barely exist, and they do not hang out where you do. Ladies are prim and proper. They are experts in manners and sex...no kidding. These are females who are designed to please in every way. Sometimes gals can pretend to be ladies, and when women are in the mood, they easily become ladies, but as a species...or sub species, whatever, these females are a rare sight. Don't believe me? Google image search classy. Then try classy dame. Now count the number of women with half exposed bewbs and spray on tans. Now cry.
Women.
These are the rarest of all females....at least in the unattached variety. These are normal, sane, mature, caring, fun, etc etc females. 99% of them are martried or in a commited relationship. To find one "on the market" is next to impossible. Some scientists believe it is because they have been scared away. Others believe this is the evolved form of life that girls eventially become. Gals also become this, but not with you. Chciks will find it hard to reach this stage of life, and need a lot of help to get there. Broads consider these females beneath them, and Ladies consider them works in progress, but worthy of respect. Women are hard to find, but I am told they are out there. I see examples all the time. My friend Darryl found one, clubbed her over the head and now they are very happy.
I would say my friend was right, because looking back I would have to say, I have never been with (in any sense of the word) a lady or a woman. Hell I never even been propositioned by a broad....guess I just am not ambitious enough for that. All I haver ever done was seek girls, lust after chicks, and just plain be stupid over too many gals.
What a weird way to live huh?
Personal attacks on Alanis aside (yes I intend to learn more html code, but before you get uppity, you might want to consider that the next thing I learn is embedding photos....and did you really want me to begin by embedding...teehee Alanis?) this is actually an important statement in life.
I have come to the conclusion that there are 6 types of females in this world (not including sisters, mothers, and aunts....let us just pretend for the sake of argument there are in fact no females we are related to ok...) and the list breaks down somewhat like this....and if I did it right there will be a photo example.
Chicks.
This type of female is characterized by a complete inability to make realistic life choices. They are usually attractive in a superficial way, or they have some sort of character that makes you want to be near them....right up until they say something really, really stupid...which will happen. They are completely self absorbed and will in fact behave in a manner that makes you scratch your head and wonder how they are not dead. In a relationship, which will be purely based on something superficial like money, fame, a nice hindquarters, whatever...they tend to wonder why the drunk guy they love to party with is banging six other chicks...all of whom will answer to the name baby. These are also the girls who take their tops off on video because it seemed like a good idea at the time and then wonder why people call them sluts. It is my learned opinion that unless you want one blissful evening of pumping away at a moaning near lifeless carcass, followed by 7-10 days of anti-biotics, these are the ones to avoid. You will know them by there smell...it precedes them by 5 minutes and cost more than 100 bucks, and it really doesn't turn you on.also, their laugh will clue you in...it is misplaced and always too loud and over the top. Also, if you are not HOT) they most likely won't talk to you, or they will treat you as if you are their gay friend. Unlike the movies though, this class of female never sobers up and realises they have loved you all along. Just run ok.
Girls
I hesitate to use the term immature to describe this class of female simply because most people will be thinking of chicks when I say that. These females simply haven't grown up yet. I don't mean that in the pleasant young at heart sort of way where a female can be all girls and cutesy. I mean the3se females are still playing house and dress-up, only with real people and real babies. This is in fact the kind of female who will poke a hole in a condom to get pregnant so you have to marry her and then build that dream life together. Here comes reality folks, steaming down the tracks....they almost never make good choices. One day they wake up and realise they are with an ass, but lacking adult sophistication they have no idea what to do. These are also the type who are dreamers and always waiting for the better thing. They are not willing to try anything that does not fit in to their perfect little dream world because it doesn't match the Norman Rockwell setting. This type will mature eventually and will realise what they really want; and more importantly that it can't be found in the bad boy drummer or the drunk frat boy, or the abusive stock broker; but this takes time, so you best have patience if you want to wait for this one to catch up. I once watched a dude wait two years for this one girl while she continually made hairbrained choices and went back to her ex and got hurt time and again, until he lost patience. The good news here is that girls are not as superficial as chicks, but you have to fit in to their fantasy or they won't give you the time of day, other than to use you to get their real needs of intimacy, friendship, safety, and security met. This can be very disheartening.
Gals
These are the world's most common type of female in a sense. You see they are the ones you meet and get along with and become friends with. They see you as a friend, and maybe you did too...at first. Then you realised the secret to life was....be friends first. Only one small problem. You live in Platonia. We all have this guy to thank for that. You see he was the first to walk up to a female and say, hey baby, why don't you and I go behind one of these pillars and philosophise. And the response was, I don't know, your beard is kinda scruffy and you've got an awful lot of sitting around on your backside thinking all day weight. I think it would be best if we just stayed friends. Now instead of saying whatever and moving on to the next female, that guy thought hey, maybe if I stick around she will eventually see how smart, funny, caring, and interesting I am. Heck I am this guy they will remember me forever as a cool dude, she'll have to see it eventually. And thus was born Platonic love. A sad desperate little dance where one female decides not to be mean and say hey, you are ugly to me, even though you possess every trait I say I want in a dude, so we just can't do it, they say, let's be friends. It never works out like that. In the movies you see they eventually realize they are truly meant for each other. As heartwarming as that is, it is not how it happens. What really happens is, dude is placed in friend hell, and one or the other begins to feel bad about the situation. Then one of them pushes the envelope once again because they have become real intimates...and the whole thing goes boom. This female is cool. She is friendly and she likes you because to her, you are completely non threatening. You are all the good things she wants but not in a package that intimidates her or makes her feel uncomfortable. You also might be crazy, but let's assume you aren't. for whatever reason she is not attracted to you so she treats you like a king. You have fun together and you can do things that would normally be hardcore flirting or even foreplay for crying out loud, but because you are buds it isn't for some reason. These are dangerous females. They will hurt you. Not intentionally mind you, 'cause hey they are just one of the guys right? Again...pain!
Broads.
These females are tough, no nonsense career oriented women. They say they do not want kids. They are obsessed with success. The only thing I can say about these females is to stay away from them at all times. Do not approach them. If they want something from you (and they will) they will tell you. Do not upset these females. They are capable of grinding you in to pulp. They are success and goal oriented so if your goals and their line up, they do make good partners, but there will be less emotion involved in your love making than in buying the Lexus.
Ladies.
These are unattainable females folks. They barely exist, and they do not hang out where you do. Ladies are prim and proper. They are experts in manners and sex...no kidding. These are females who are designed to please in every way. Sometimes gals can pretend to be ladies, and when women are in the mood, they easily become ladies, but as a species...or sub species, whatever, these females are a rare sight. Don't believe me? Google image search classy. Then try classy dame. Now count the number of women with half exposed bewbs and spray on tans. Now cry.
Women.
These are the rarest of all females....at least in the unattached variety. These are normal, sane, mature, caring, fun, etc etc females. 99% of them are martried or in a commited relationship. To find one "on the market" is next to impossible. Some scientists believe it is because they have been scared away. Others believe this is the evolved form of life that girls eventially become. Gals also become this, but not with you. Chciks will find it hard to reach this stage of life, and need a lot of help to get there. Broads consider these females beneath them, and Ladies consider them works in progress, but worthy of respect. Women are hard to find, but I am told they are out there. I see examples all the time. My friend Darryl found one, clubbed her over the head and now they are very happy.
I would say my friend was right, because looking back I would have to say, I have never been with (in any sense of the word) a lady or a woman. Hell I never even been propositioned by a broad....guess I just am not ambitious enough for that. All I haver ever done was seek girls, lust after chicks, and just plain be stupid over too many gals.
What a weird way to live huh?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I Have Too Much Time On My Hands
Georgia in for a Rough Ride
By: Chris Parker, OMM News Contributor.
Authorities in Georgia are bracing for an early start to the huricane season this year. According to scientist Blake Smarterthanu an early start to the season means people are unprepared in Atlanta and the outlying regions. "With little to no warning that we are about to be hit by a devastating storm, the people of Atlanta could face tremendous pressure to deal with something they have never seen before."
One such storm is headed their way according to reports we have received. This storm, which has been dubbed Hurricane Alley is expected to reach Atlanta sometime today and brings with it the full force of terror and dread for the citizens who were not informed of such an arrival until early this morning via facebook.
Experts, who asked not to be named, are suggesting that this storm might be worse than first predicted yesterday. "Carrying with it hot air that can travel upwards of 120 miles per hour and devastating rains and even large heavy objects thrown around randomly at their cities less intelligent inhabitants, the potential for disaster is great!"
Authorities are no cautioning the people of Atlanta to stay indoors as much as possible and avoid this storm. Further warnings have been issued to any stores carrying track suits, hoodies, shoes and sterlite containers as it has been rumoured that this storm has a particular attraction to those items.
Meteorologist Sunny Dayze spoke with me about the threat. "We could see polyester and plastic flying everywhere, I am very afraid, will you hold me in your big strong arms?"
Whatever this storm has in store for the region, you can be assured that Atlanta will never be the same after today. The people will have to try and pick up their lives as best they can with the understanding that you never quite recover from this sort of thing.The potential for destruction on a mass scale is one that will be felt for sure in this zone.
We can only hope that hurricane Alley decides to be gentle, and no one tempts fate by laughing in the face of this danger.
I have way too much time on my hands that I am obviously spending very wisely.
By: Chris Parker, OMM News Contributor.
Authorities in Georgia are bracing for an early start to the huricane season this year. According to scientist Blake Smarterthanu an early start to the season means people are unprepared in Atlanta and the outlying regions. "With little to no warning that we are about to be hit by a devastating storm, the people of Atlanta could face tremendous pressure to deal with something they have never seen before."
One such storm is headed their way according to reports we have received. This storm, which has been dubbed Hurricane Alley is expected to reach Atlanta sometime today and brings with it the full force of terror and dread for the citizens who were not informed of such an arrival until early this morning via facebook.
Experts, who asked not to be named, are suggesting that this storm might be worse than first predicted yesterday. "Carrying with it hot air that can travel upwards of 120 miles per hour and devastating rains and even large heavy objects thrown around randomly at their cities less intelligent inhabitants, the potential for disaster is great!"
Authorities are no cautioning the people of Atlanta to stay indoors as much as possible and avoid this storm. Further warnings have been issued to any stores carrying track suits, hoodies, shoes and sterlite containers as it has been rumoured that this storm has a particular attraction to those items.
Meteorologist Sunny Dayze spoke with me about the threat. "We could see polyester and plastic flying everywhere, I am very afraid, will you hold me in your big strong arms?"
Whatever this storm has in store for the region, you can be assured that Atlanta will never be the same after today. The people will have to try and pick up their lives as best they can with the understanding that you never quite recover from this sort of thing.The potential for destruction on a mass scale is one that will be felt for sure in this zone.
We can only hope that hurricane Alley decides to be gentle, and no one tempts fate by laughing in the face of this danger.
I have way too much time on my hands that I am obviously spending very wisely.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Welcome to the Bungle
We got fun and games....sorry quick air guitar moment before I jump right in.
Today I wish to talk about a subject near and dear to my heart....bewbs. See what I did there? It's funny because I have man boobs.
Ok before you run away in disgust or remove all of your clothing...depending on how interested in this subject you are, I should say I am not going to be vulgar or pornographic, I am just using shocking speech to get your attention and make myself giggle like a school boy.
The uncomfortable truth is, like most men, I am lead around by a leash, and that leash is not being used properly. Somewhere along the way something got jumbled up, and instead of thinking with little jimmy, I am just being dragged around by my uhmmmmm prehensile tailbone...or something...look it up, I did, and it is kind of funny.
The thing with me is I have painted myself in to corners more times than I would like to recall. I have misread, misunderstood, mismanaged more relationships with women than I can even count...assuming I stopped learning to count past like 8.
There is one reason for this and one reason only.
I can't say no to a women.
I mean I really can't do it. When they ask me for my last dime, I give it. When they ask me to get them woman stuff, I do it, even if am not a blood relative or married to them (which by the way is like the man code for that sort of thing...common law applies). When they ask me to stay up all night holding their hand and making life better I do it. When they say jump I say....well on that one I usually feign an injury or just run away. Point is, no is rarely if ever in my vocabulary if there is a woman in sight.
I am not sure why I have trouble saying no to women, I just do. Some psychologists might call it a mommy thing but to them I say Luke Skywalker. Luke was all like mommy died, auntie raised me well, no worries....but then he couldn't say no. He said no to the darkside and all of it's force juice, but could he say no to his own sister....even when she wanted to make out? Ok bad example but still....This is so not going to be about wanting mom's approval, if I wanted that I would ask for it, or at least send her my report cards or something. crazy freudists aside, why would I have this problem? Is it a problem?
Yes.
See what this means is, I can be played, and I mean like some dude who made a deal with the devil plays the fiddle played.
It means I will do almost anything for womanly type love...or even bare acknowledgement. Ok, I can accept that but....when's gonna be my time?
When do I get mine. When do I, your humble monkey servant get to wet his beak (not dirty, it is a gangsta reference...gangsta like the godfather and goodfellas and stuff, not as in like gold chains and $3500 rims on a $1500 dollar hooptie).
I just wanna say that the more a person is used and then thrown away without reciprocal usement, the more likely a person grows bitter and tired of the game.
All I am really saying is man, I feel like a woman right now. I feel like all those women who date immature guys who use them for sex and money and rides (don't look at me like that, I can't drive) and Popsicles. I feel at one with the sisterhood of the stolen pants.
Alas, only at the end does he see what all woman kind has gone through to get where they are now. I am used for what little intellect I have, what meager succor and aid I can provide, and for self esteem building.I wonder why no one uses me for my body? You know I once had a girl tell me she couldn't date me because that is all it would be, just using me for sexual gratification....we lived together for six months after that....I wonder why she cheated on me and never appreciated my romance gestures....Ok this is no doctor Phil moment, this is Oprah baby, on to the united sisterhood front.
Ok so from this day forth, I pledge never ever ever to use another woman for my own gratification...well right after I use this one who is using me for my own, and my friend's entertainment...I pledge to never ever ever take for granted the woman and or her breast tissue again. I pledge to hold sacred the womanly virtues and never ever ever make fun of them...unless some dude is all girly...and only if he claims to be a macho man.... I also pledge to just be honest.
Now ladies, what the freak are you gonna do for me?
That's what I thought. See if I ever help you out again....Ok I will, but I will complain about it.
PS There is a vieweskew reference in there, you just have to look close...so far I have managed to get starwars and kevin in to every post... I am awesomesauce with cake and whatnot.
Today I wish to talk about a subject near and dear to my heart....bewbs. See what I did there? It's funny because I have man boobs.
Ok before you run away in disgust or remove all of your clothing...depending on how interested in this subject you are, I should say I am not going to be vulgar or pornographic, I am just using shocking speech to get your attention and make myself giggle like a school boy.
The uncomfortable truth is, like most men, I am lead around by a leash, and that leash is not being used properly. Somewhere along the way something got jumbled up, and instead of thinking with little jimmy, I am just being dragged around by my uhmmmmm prehensile tailbone...or something...look it up, I did, and it is kind of funny.
The thing with me is I have painted myself in to corners more times than I would like to recall. I have misread, misunderstood, mismanaged more relationships with women than I can even count...assuming I stopped learning to count past like 8.
There is one reason for this and one reason only.
I can't say no to a women.
I mean I really can't do it. When they ask me for my last dime, I give it. When they ask me to get them woman stuff, I do it, even if am not a blood relative or married to them (which by the way is like the man code for that sort of thing...common law applies). When they ask me to stay up all night holding their hand and making life better I do it. When they say jump I say....well on that one I usually feign an injury or just run away. Point is, no is rarely if ever in my vocabulary if there is a woman in sight.
I am not sure why I have trouble saying no to women, I just do. Some psychologists might call it a mommy thing but to them I say Luke Skywalker. Luke was all like mommy died, auntie raised me well, no worries....but then he couldn't say no. He said no to the darkside and all of it's force juice, but could he say no to his own sister....even when she wanted to make out? Ok bad example but still....This is so not going to be about wanting mom's approval, if I wanted that I would ask for it, or at least send her my report cards or something. crazy freudists aside, why would I have this problem? Is it a problem?
Yes.
See what this means is, I can be played, and I mean like some dude who made a deal with the devil plays the fiddle played.
It means I will do almost anything for womanly type love...or even bare acknowledgement. Ok, I can accept that but....when's gonna be my time?
When do I get mine. When do I, your humble monkey servant get to wet his beak (not dirty, it is a gangsta reference...gangsta like the godfather and goodfellas and stuff, not as in like gold chains and $3500 rims on a $1500 dollar hooptie).
I just wanna say that the more a person is used and then thrown away without reciprocal usement, the more likely a person grows bitter and tired of the game.
All I am really saying is man, I feel like a woman right now. I feel like all those women who date immature guys who use them for sex and money and rides (don't look at me like that, I can't drive) and Popsicles. I feel at one with the sisterhood of the stolen pants.
Alas, only at the end does he see what all woman kind has gone through to get where they are now. I am used for what little intellect I have, what meager succor and aid I can provide, and for self esteem building.I wonder why no one uses me for my body? You know I once had a girl tell me she couldn't date me because that is all it would be, just using me for sexual gratification....we lived together for six months after that....I wonder why she cheated on me and never appreciated my romance gestures....Ok this is no doctor Phil moment, this is Oprah baby, on to the united sisterhood front.
Ok so from this day forth, I pledge never ever ever to use another woman for my own gratification...well right after I use this one who is using me for my own, and my friend's entertainment...I pledge to never ever ever take for granted the woman and or her breast tissue again. I pledge to hold sacred the womanly virtues and never ever ever make fun of them...unless some dude is all girly...and only if he claims to be a macho man.... I also pledge to just be honest.
Now ladies, what the freak are you gonna do for me?
That's what I thought. See if I ever help you out again....Ok I will, but I will complain about it.
PS There is a vieweskew reference in there, you just have to look close...so far I have managed to get starwars and kevin in to every post... I am awesomesauce with cake and whatnot.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Anger is a gift
Emotion drives the world and this is a truth no one can deny, even robots. Let's face it, every robot I can think of has been driven by emotion unwanted.
Data, totally emotional dude who stove to find them damn emotions wherever he could.
Robot from I, Robot, the only robot in the movie with emotions. Uh oh! All of the sudden 3 rules safe means jack!
AI, overly emotional, even for the I see dead people boy.
I could go on but I think I have established my geek bona fides on this issue.
For the last several nights I have been listening to Coast to Coast. If you don't know what this is, let me enlighten you. It is a radio program devoted to paranoid schizophrenia. I am not kidding. It is a show all about aliens, the Illuminati, small demons invading our breakfast cereal and all other manner of conspiracies Barack Obama is hiding from the world.
So, I, a totally normal free thinking rational human being has been listening to this show...I am doing this right now and as I am writing I just heard the line, "and they don't want you talking..." yeah dude, that is exactly why he is on an internationally syndicated radio program with hundreds of affiliates worldwide, because they are scared of him talking! Where was I? Ok so this much sane brain of mine has been listening to the rabble rousing of various dissidents and now I am angry.
I am not angry about the fact the world is going to end Thursday, or that the military industrial complex is keeping us all under their thumb by putting Prozac in our potatoes, no sir and or ma'am, I can handle the aliens in their strange attempt to understand humanity by continually ramming strange objects into our rectums, I can handle the fact that George Lucas is a historian and not just a horrible filmmaker. Here's what I can't handle.
My life.
I think that some sort of insidious smokey back room filled with old white men conspiracy group is trying to keep me down.
Seriously.
No really, get back here!
Ok so this is what the heck I mean. I am stuck in a feedback loop. I am guilted in to doing things I do not want to do, being places I do not want to be, and feeling things I do not want to feel.
Going in to a place every day to get abused and used for no remuneration is bad enough, but now I am being made to feel guilty about it. But wait there's more.
For some reason I am expected to be the one to initiate all communication. It is true. I have tested this theory out over the last week and found out I am one of those people that is out of sight out of mind.
Ok whatever. But now I am made to feel guilty for liking people, who seem pleasently nice to me. I am guilted in to feeling bad about liking other people who may be unhealthy for me because of history and other unnatural acts of mental cruelty to myself.
And I can come to only one conclusion in order to remain confident in my ability not to become a raving lunatic on the radio.
The cirgarette smoking man wants me silenced. He wants me second guessing my actions and feelings. He wants me worried in to inaction. The cigarette smoking man wants me browbeaten and confused.
You see it has to be the cigarette smoking man, because if isn't that dude and his croanies, well then it can only be one other person.....me!
So instead of taking personal responsibility for my position and working on fixing it, or making my position known, I am going to sink my inconsiderable resources into fighting the power. Please feed my dillusion and join my battle. Together we can strike a blow for insanity and lack of self discipline. You and I can take the man down! And then I don't know, we can hang out and get a latte, or perhaps train some robots to feel.
Data, totally emotional dude who stove to find them damn emotions wherever he could.
Robot from I, Robot, the only robot in the movie with emotions. Uh oh! All of the sudden 3 rules safe means jack!
AI, overly emotional, even for the I see dead people boy.
I could go on but I think I have established my geek bona fides on this issue.
For the last several nights I have been listening to Coast to Coast. If you don't know what this is, let me enlighten you. It is a radio program devoted to paranoid schizophrenia. I am not kidding. It is a show all about aliens, the Illuminati, small demons invading our breakfast cereal and all other manner of conspiracies Barack Obama is hiding from the world.
So, I, a totally normal free thinking rational human being has been listening to this show...I am doing this right now and as I am writing I just heard the line, "and they don't want you talking..." yeah dude, that is exactly why he is on an internationally syndicated radio program with hundreds of affiliates worldwide, because they are scared of him talking! Where was I? Ok so this much sane brain of mine has been listening to the rabble rousing of various dissidents and now I am angry.
I am not angry about the fact the world is going to end Thursday, or that the military industrial complex is keeping us all under their thumb by putting Prozac in our potatoes, no sir and or ma'am, I can handle the aliens in their strange attempt to understand humanity by continually ramming strange objects into our rectums, I can handle the fact that George Lucas is a historian and not just a horrible filmmaker. Here's what I can't handle.
My life.
I think that some sort of insidious smokey back room filled with old white men conspiracy group is trying to keep me down.
Seriously.
No really, get back here!
Ok so this is what the heck I mean. I am stuck in a feedback loop. I am guilted in to doing things I do not want to do, being places I do not want to be, and feeling things I do not want to feel.
Going in to a place every day to get abused and used for no remuneration is bad enough, but now I am being made to feel guilty about it. But wait there's more.
For some reason I am expected to be the one to initiate all communication. It is true. I have tested this theory out over the last week and found out I am one of those people that is out of sight out of mind.
Ok whatever. But now I am made to feel guilty for liking people, who seem pleasently nice to me. I am guilted in to feeling bad about liking other people who may be unhealthy for me because of history and other unnatural acts of mental cruelty to myself.
And I can come to only one conclusion in order to remain confident in my ability not to become a raving lunatic on the radio.
The cirgarette smoking man wants me silenced. He wants me second guessing my actions and feelings. He wants me worried in to inaction. The cigarette smoking man wants me browbeaten and confused.
You see it has to be the cigarette smoking man, because if isn't that dude and his croanies, well then it can only be one other person.....me!
So instead of taking personal responsibility for my position and working on fixing it, or making my position known, I am going to sink my inconsiderable resources into fighting the power. Please feed my dillusion and join my battle. Together we can strike a blow for insanity and lack of self discipline. You and I can take the man down! And then I don't know, we can hang out and get a latte, or perhaps train some robots to feel.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Blockage
I am stuck. I am totally, completely, utterly stuck. Every fiber of my creative being in in a state of limbo like paralysis. I have no access to my mind in any fashion..
I am really not sure what happened, or more to the point what is happening. I thought maybe if I began writing this blog post something would occur to me, some kind of epiphany or at least a freaking brain fart, and I could splash this page with juicy nuggets of intellect and humour; a little something to get the old swagger back. Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
What scares me is the fact that this might not only be my groove. I have this crushing suspicion that this is also where I am at in my life. Paralysed in to some sort of comfortable inaction. For some people that might not seem like a huge deal. Life is about repetition, monotony, Pure cheesy (hey look kids, I was totally not stoned enough to forget Ren and Stimpy...if you don't know what that is then you have never been a pot smoking Canadian with too much time on their hands. Oh powdered toast man...which was a nickname of mine for a few weeks, and the ever popular LOG! And of course don't wizz on the electric fence...the home game...wait what was I talking about....did I just float off in to mesmeratia, the land of no thought, trying to spice this thing up with other people's creativity? This is what I am talking about people....ok where was I....)ridiculous long time over dull same old same old routine. There may even be some kind of unnatural attraction I have for certain aspects of that; you know the comfort of expectation, but not at the expense of spontaneity, or even the moment. This means I am afraid I am ready to blow a gasket.
Here's an example of what I am talking about. Last weekend, because I am dull and uninteresting, I decided to do something stupid. Here's what I did. I hit on the same chick (yes mean it that way people) that I had been hitting on for the last two years...well ok year and a half or so. I guess I just wanted the comfort of being rejected again. I do this with her every three months or so, just to remind myself that I suck I guess. I know the outcome before I even start, it is the same every time.She tells me she is not interested in dating anyone, which in case your girlie to english dictionary is broken means, I am waiting for someone better than you to show interest in me. Sometimes I like to pretend it means, you are too nice and I am waiting for a good looking douche who will treat me like shit to come along and I need to make sure I am single when that happens, but we all know that is creative licence.
The point is, rather than take a chance, try something new, dare to be different, I did the same old thing. I think the definition of insanity in some circles is doing the same thing over again expecting different results each time. This does not apply here because I am always expecting the same results. I want to be rejected, it fuels my need for self loathing. Don 't get me wrong I don't do it because I hate myself, I love myself too much for that, I mean look at me, I blog for crying out loud; something inside my head makes me think you need to hear (read) the dither, blithering rants that I spew forth at an alarming rate, because if you didn't your head would explode! No what I mean is something differently entirely.
I need that rejection so I can justify any crap that does actually happen. I do that to defend against the dark arts of the world. If things go too well, I always have that to fall back on.
And that leads me to the point of this (besides doing this instead of real writing) which is, do we as people crave disappointment in order to feel even better about our small successes? I went through this whole process to get to the idea that in order to safeguard myself against rejection that might actually mean something. I ask her out in order to avoid rejection from someone that might actually hurt me; someone whose opinion means more to me, or who might actually be worth long term investment. Maybe I thought she was a year ago, but really people, and sorry if she reads this and figures out I am talking about her, but frig, do I seem like I am trying anymore?
The same can be said for my editor...who never really wanted the job. She (yeah shock me back to life, did he say she?) read over my first bit of brilliant prose...and do you know what she said....she liked it and no real changes were necessary! In my head I am thinking wow, she hated it that much that it wasn't worth her time to rip it apart and tear me some type of new excreting orifice. Geez oh pizza, what now? What if no one will like it then? Oh crap, is it crap?
Gotta love lack of confidence huh? But you see here comes something that matters right about now..... I want people to like my writing. Yep. It is true. I want people to be entertained and enlightened (whatever the hell that means) by what I have to say. There are very few thing that people have in this world that define them in their own minds, and for me this is one of them. I want to be a writer. Because of this, I obsess a bit, so forgive me this little shamble of the brain.
In my heart of heart, the one tiny little piece that lies suspended in an adamantine enclosure to protect it from the elements and harpies that would choose to feast on its withered carcass, lies the truth of a thousand voices. I want em to like me.
But wait, there's another fat man with a pen that I mustn't forget.The Obi Wan to my Luke, the Yoda to my...well everyone else in the galaxy. Let's call him....uhhh Kevin Smith....I suck at names.... he has taught me one thing, no not the circus seal bit, I already knew trhat, that people will hate on me, and people will love on me. If I have something worthwhile to say, someone, somewhere will listen and in their own way say, read it, liked it. And for every one of those people, there are roughly 7 zillion asshats who will log on to the internet to tell me how fat, old, stupid, ugly, dumb and douchely I am. So screw it, which one of those groups do I do it for?
So for the one dude reading this and going, hey that shit makes sense in a weird unintelligible way, what up? And for the 7 zillion dbags who want a piece of me because they have nothing going for them in their own lives....bring it! I can handle you, and gosh darn it, I like me, even if you don't.
So Ladies and gentlemen, whether it is good or not, whether it is a strong example of what I can do or not, on Wednesday June 9th at 4pm est I am going to post an excerpt from my book that some old white guy thinks is worth spending money on. Read it, and praise me, or mock me, just do something to me....feed the troll!!
I am really not sure what happened, or more to the point what is happening. I thought maybe if I began writing this blog post something would occur to me, some kind of epiphany or at least a freaking brain fart, and I could splash this page with juicy nuggets of intellect and humour; a little something to get the old swagger back. Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
What scares me is the fact that this might not only be my groove. I have this crushing suspicion that this is also where I am at in my life. Paralysed in to some sort of comfortable inaction. For some people that might not seem like a huge deal. Life is about repetition, monotony, Pure cheesy (hey look kids, I was totally not stoned enough to forget Ren and Stimpy...if you don't know what that is then you have never been a pot smoking Canadian with too much time on their hands. Oh powdered toast man...which was a nickname of mine for a few weeks, and the ever popular LOG! And of course don't wizz on the electric fence...the home game...wait what was I talking about....did I just float off in to mesmeratia, the land of no thought, trying to spice this thing up with other people's creativity? This is what I am talking about people....ok where was I....)ridiculous long time over dull same old same old routine. There may even be some kind of unnatural attraction I have for certain aspects of that; you know the comfort of expectation, but not at the expense of spontaneity, or even the moment. This means I am afraid I am ready to blow a gasket.
Here's an example of what I am talking about. Last weekend, because I am dull and uninteresting, I decided to do something stupid. Here's what I did. I hit on the same chick (yes mean it that way people) that I had been hitting on for the last two years...well ok year and a half or so. I guess I just wanted the comfort of being rejected again. I do this with her every three months or so, just to remind myself that I suck I guess. I know the outcome before I even start, it is the same every time.She tells me she is not interested in dating anyone, which in case your girlie to english dictionary is broken means, I am waiting for someone better than you to show interest in me. Sometimes I like to pretend it means, you are too nice and I am waiting for a good looking douche who will treat me like shit to come along and I need to make sure I am single when that happens, but we all know that is creative licence.
The point is, rather than take a chance, try something new, dare to be different, I did the same old thing. I think the definition of insanity in some circles is doing the same thing over again expecting different results each time. This does not apply here because I am always expecting the same results. I want to be rejected, it fuels my need for self loathing. Don 't get me wrong I don't do it because I hate myself, I love myself too much for that, I mean look at me, I blog for crying out loud; something inside my head makes me think you need to hear (read) the dither, blithering rants that I spew forth at an alarming rate, because if you didn't your head would explode! No what I mean is something differently entirely.
I need that rejection so I can justify any crap that does actually happen. I do that to defend against the dark arts of the world. If things go too well, I always have that to fall back on.
And that leads me to the point of this (besides doing this instead of real writing) which is, do we as people crave disappointment in order to feel even better about our small successes? I went through this whole process to get to the idea that in order to safeguard myself against rejection that might actually mean something. I ask her out in order to avoid rejection from someone that might actually hurt me; someone whose opinion means more to me, or who might actually be worth long term investment. Maybe I thought she was a year ago, but really people, and sorry if she reads this and figures out I am talking about her, but frig, do I seem like I am trying anymore?
The same can be said for my editor...who never really wanted the job. She (yeah shock me back to life, did he say she?) read over my first bit of brilliant prose...and do you know what she said....she liked it and no real changes were necessary! In my head I am thinking wow, she hated it that much that it wasn't worth her time to rip it apart and tear me some type of new excreting orifice. Geez oh pizza, what now? What if no one will like it then? Oh crap, is it crap?
Gotta love lack of confidence huh? But you see here comes something that matters right about now..... I want people to like my writing. Yep. It is true. I want people to be entertained and enlightened (whatever the hell that means) by what I have to say. There are very few thing that people have in this world that define them in their own minds, and for me this is one of them. I want to be a writer. Because of this, I obsess a bit, so forgive me this little shamble of the brain.
In my heart of heart, the one tiny little piece that lies suspended in an adamantine enclosure to protect it from the elements and harpies that would choose to feast on its withered carcass, lies the truth of a thousand voices. I want em to like me.
But wait, there's another fat man with a pen that I mustn't forget.The Obi Wan to my Luke, the Yoda to my...well everyone else in the galaxy. Let's call him....uhhh Kevin Smith....I suck at names.... he has taught me one thing, no not the circus seal bit, I already knew trhat, that people will hate on me, and people will love on me. If I have something worthwhile to say, someone, somewhere will listen and in their own way say, read it, liked it. And for every one of those people, there are roughly 7 zillion asshats who will log on to the internet to tell me how fat, old, stupid, ugly, dumb and douchely I am. So screw it, which one of those groups do I do it for?
So for the one dude reading this and going, hey that shit makes sense in a weird unintelligible way, what up? And for the 7 zillion dbags who want a piece of me because they have nothing going for them in their own lives....bring it! I can handle you, and gosh darn it, I like me, even if you don't.
So Ladies and gentlemen, whether it is good or not, whether it is a strong example of what I can do or not, on Wednesday June 9th at 4pm est I am going to post an excerpt from my book that some old white guy thinks is worth spending money on. Read it, and praise me, or mock me, just do something to me....feed the troll!!
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