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.
Showing posts with label ben affleck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ben affleck. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Firsties
Man, I remember when that was cool! Back on those old style message boards, back when the Internet was slow and random AOL users would IM you looking for love. It is totally different today, now random Yahoo users IM me looking for money. Progress!
I gotta say this is an interesting little exercise. I have for years been utilizing the social networking craze as a platform for my Ben Affleck like attention whoring, but now I finally have a reason to do things smartly. I am sort of a professional writer...again, for the first time...
Well for years I pounded out refreshing slogans and adds for junk you don't need or even want until I told you you needed and wanted them. I got paid, and I had to write, so I guess that made me a professional writer. Truth be told, the only thing I liked about it was when they let me write bits and perform the funny stuff. I enjoyed when they let me do the entertaining monkey dance.
Like a million frustrated writers I consoled myself with the fact that someday, somehow, someone would notice me and give me praise and make me an offer I would refuse at first and then slowly demurely accept like the nice girl at the prom. I made excuses for why it hadn't happened yet and I relished the attention from well meaning friends who lavished me with their praise and encouragement. And for sometime this kept me stable, alive, fed and satiated by their morsels of kindness. Slowly I became bloated and content to just let it be, and be me, but a kind of weak version of me that never hungered, never sought the prize.
Well dammit I am Rocky, and I want my prize. I wanna run through Philly, I wanna hit on the weird shop girl, I wanna get my face pounded in to hamburger and I want to stop paying someone else to do that last part!
Really what I want is the freedom to play video games all day and hit on unattainable women, all the while eating good food and not having to actually work for this privilege. I want to be a writer again.
So I got the urge, got the thought, got that feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach...got the tums but that didn't help, and so I realized I was being called to my keyboard again.
Then I met the man who will change my life again. And now he wants to pay me to write, so here I am, because I am cheap....and still actually poor since no one wants to pay me before they get paid, doing a more serious bloggity blog thing. Why might you ask?
Kevin Smith.
Yep, I have learned from him the ways of self marketing. Don't buy my books, buy me. I am a brand. You know what you get when you bite in to one of my works, and thus you want it. Ok you don't know yet, but you will.
So here I sit, on a Friday night, pretending I am cool, all the while wondering what you look like naked. Nice birthmark by the way. Here I sit on the verge of breaking through to some sort of natural high, strangely enough writing about unnatural ones... hey now there is irony Alanis!
Ok so for now I will use the good folks at google to house my blog, and then, oh then you will see. Eventually we will move in to fancy new digs, I'll invite you over for a cocktail, and you will have to indulge my thoughts, not because you like them, but because you are being polite.
Until then, let me enlighten you as to what to expect.
My Plan is to blog here, and release some excerpts from my book, assuming my publisher allows it. He might not over some sort of legal arrangement thingy that says if I post something on a site I don't own, they now own the rights, but I figure they can't own the rights to my story, but hey I am no lawyer. In the end, until one of us coughs up the dough for our own site, we will be playing fast and loose with the whole legal system.
I am also going to work on some guest blogs, and maybe a podcast. In the end one monkey media is not just about me typing away unendingly on a keyboard. One Monkey Media is about you and me. It is about all forms of entertainment, and it is about being cool. It is about chatting about everything and nothing. It is about being a geek. It is about free form thinking and expression. It is about Neo-classical post modernistic art. It is about pre-pubesent humour. It is in fact about whatever we want it to be about.
The world is our oyster people, let us shuck it!
P.S. In case you hadn't figured it out, this entire post was nothing more than a space filler and a way for me to mess around with the blog format until got it right....uhmmm maybe I should do something entertaining......uh oh, I blew my creativity on the Affleck joke.... oh wait. there was s and m too, so there!
I gotta say this is an interesting little exercise. I have for years been utilizing the social networking craze as a platform for my Ben Affleck like attention whoring, but now I finally have a reason to do things smartly. I am sort of a professional writer...again, for the first time...
Well for years I pounded out refreshing slogans and adds for junk you don't need or even want until I told you you needed and wanted them. I got paid, and I had to write, so I guess that made me a professional writer. Truth be told, the only thing I liked about it was when they let me write bits and perform the funny stuff. I enjoyed when they let me do the entertaining monkey dance.
Like a million frustrated writers I consoled myself with the fact that someday, somehow, someone would notice me and give me praise and make me an offer I would refuse at first and then slowly demurely accept like the nice girl at the prom. I made excuses for why it hadn't happened yet and I relished the attention from well meaning friends who lavished me with their praise and encouragement. And for sometime this kept me stable, alive, fed and satiated by their morsels of kindness. Slowly I became bloated and content to just let it be, and be me, but a kind of weak version of me that never hungered, never sought the prize.
Well dammit I am Rocky, and I want my prize. I wanna run through Philly, I wanna hit on the weird shop girl, I wanna get my face pounded in to hamburger and I want to stop paying someone else to do that last part!
Really what I want is the freedom to play video games all day and hit on unattainable women, all the while eating good food and not having to actually work for this privilege. I want to be a writer again.
So I got the urge, got the thought, got that feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach...got the tums but that didn't help, and so I realized I was being called to my keyboard again.
Then I met the man who will change my life again. And now he wants to pay me to write, so here I am, because I am cheap....and still actually poor since no one wants to pay me before they get paid, doing a more serious bloggity blog thing. Why might you ask?
Kevin Smith.
Yep, I have learned from him the ways of self marketing. Don't buy my books, buy me. I am a brand. You know what you get when you bite in to one of my works, and thus you want it. Ok you don't know yet, but you will.
So here I sit, on a Friday night, pretending I am cool, all the while wondering what you look like naked. Nice birthmark by the way. Here I sit on the verge of breaking through to some sort of natural high, strangely enough writing about unnatural ones... hey now there is irony Alanis!
Ok so for now I will use the good folks at google to house my blog, and then, oh then you will see. Eventually we will move in to fancy new digs, I'll invite you over for a cocktail, and you will have to indulge my thoughts, not because you like them, but because you are being polite.
Until then, let me enlighten you as to what to expect.
My Plan is to blog here, and release some excerpts from my book, assuming my publisher allows it. He might not over some sort of legal arrangement thingy that says if I post something on a site I don't own, they now own the rights, but I figure they can't own the rights to my story, but hey I am no lawyer. In the end, until one of us coughs up the dough for our own site, we will be playing fast and loose with the whole legal system.
I am also going to work on some guest blogs, and maybe a podcast. In the end one monkey media is not just about me typing away unendingly on a keyboard. One Monkey Media is about you and me. It is about all forms of entertainment, and it is about being cool. It is about chatting about everything and nothing. It is about being a geek. It is about free form thinking and expression. It is about Neo-classical post modernistic art. It is about pre-pubesent humour. It is in fact about whatever we want it to be about.
The world is our oyster people, let us shuck it!
P.S. In case you hadn't figured it out, this entire post was nothing more than a space filler and a way for me to mess around with the blog format until got it right....uhmmm maybe I should do something entertaining......uh oh, I blew my creativity on the Affleck joke.... oh wait. there was s and m too, so there!
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