Olympics, Schmolympics, Let's call the whole thing off...

I don't care about the Olympics.

I really, really could give less than a rat's rotund, furry arse.

Actually, I feel that way about all sports. It's just not interesting to me.

When I was younger, I collected baseball cards, and then played basketball and baseball for one season each...but I didn't like it. Not really. I did it because I was expected to like sports.

I had baseball team logo wallpaper on my bedroom walls when I was 7, and I didn't care. I was too busy using my imagination.

I mean, what is there in sports that takes a brain, or imagination, or creativity of any kind?

Playing sports takes conditioning and physical ability. Nothing more!

Why should I care about sports?

It's mindless...and no matter who wins, they're just going to come back again and do it all over next year! It's pointless.

Maybe I'm just the bitter fat kid who always got picked last, but I really don't see the fascination.

Especially with the Olympics.

Woohoo...our country has the person who can use a stick to jump over another stick the highest.

I mean...who cares?

Let's use that money we use to help for training, and cash in those medals, and use the money to work on the space program, so when the time comes for this planet to be destroyed, we can get off this rock, and to safety! Or we could feed some people somewhere...or work on that Aids cure...

...I think that's more important than seeing which too-muscley unattractive woman can pick up the heaviest discs of metal stuck on the ends of a stick.

Honestly...who does that help?

A Snippet of Self-Righteousness

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, I started college.

It wasn't the college I wanted to attend.

It wasn't the area I wanted to live in.

...and I had a daily commute of an hour to, and from school.

I failed miserably because I was miserable. I quit going to class altogether about halfway through my second semester. It was a bad, bad thing.

...and it's still haunting me today, every time I look at my GPA.

I know I'm smarter than that number says I am. I'm not an A student anymore. I've reached a point where it doesn't matter to me. My chosen (future) profession is not one in which my grades will figure, anyway.

Actually, I don't even really ~need~ the degree to do what I want to do.

I want to write.

I've known that for a long time, I think, but I ignored the fact, thinking it was too much of a long shot. The other day I told a random person I met on campus during some obligatory small talk what my major was. He told me that people with that major shouldn't take out student loans.

To all those people who told me I shouldn't, wouldn't, or couldn't try it, the following sentence is for you.

Screw you.

Live your pathetic lives in your wasted spaces of society. Work in your factory for the rest of your life, have chubby, ugly babies, and retire to die alone in some old-age housing without anything for anyone to remember you by.

I will be remembered.

I will change things.

Even if I only sell one copy of a book, or a single short story, I will be remembered, because somewhere, there will be someone that finds that book on a bargain rack, or reads that short story in a third rate magazine.

They will love it, and they will keep it in their hearts.

They will read the tale that I weave, and reap the best efforts of my imagination.

They will make me immortal in my own right.

...I don't need your looks. I don't need you to tell me how hard the path I have chosen will be. I don't need that pity behind your eyes.

Let your dreams die. Give up. Stay where you are. It's easy, and you will never have to try.

...but you will also never even give yourself the chance to fulfill your dreams, even in part.

Enjoy your mediocrity, but leave my ambition alone.

Perhaps it's jealousy, deep down inside that makes you look at me like that.

Save your looks for someone who cares what you think.

I don't want them.

Cheers for those Chubby Women

Are ribs really so sexy?

Have you ever looked at the skeleton in the biology lab and just said, "Wow...I need me some of that!"

No?

Then why do we glorify skinny women?

(A friend wrote an entry in her blog that made me decide to focus on this topic, by the way.)

What's wrong with a girl with curves?

I'm not talking about softball-sewn-onto-the-breast looking implants, or even breasts, really. I'm talking about the entire body.

I want to see curves, not angles.

You can keep all the tiny-waisted, willowy blondes. Give me a woman with some substance.

I hate to use this example, but it works, so I will.

Marilyn Monroe.

Damn sexy woman. Just watching her walk in old footage makes my...er...heart...leap with joy. Watch "Some Like it Hot," and tell me that she's not the most gorgeous woman you've ever seen.

Once again, I'm not talking facial looks or hair. Just body. (Personally, I don't like Marilyn's face much, or blondes all that well, really.)

Put a woman like her next to any of the women that Playboy shows every month, and I'd take her any day.

(Actually...Playboy's models all seem to look alike anymore. Bring back the 60's and 70's playmates, for gods sake...at least you could tell them apart by more than hair color.)

Give me the girls from the Lane Bryant fashion show.

...and use all the other runway models for what they are.

Unattractive toothpicks.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Cheers for those Chubby Women

By

James Bredin



Women should all carry an extra pound or two,
For fear of a famine and to just improve the view,
No need for anorexic women with bones sticking out,
Strutting starving on catwalks, never looking about.

The stores are full of food so why a scrawny face?
Just to show their skinny bony butts -- skeletal disgrace,
Not a round bum or boob allowed in that lanky bunch,
Are they not paid enough to go out and buy a lunch?

Slaves of sleaze to sell some stuff and demonstrate duty,
To groups bowed down groveling at so-called beauty,
Which proves that society is more than a little ill,
So eat up girls to stop this mental illness; eat your fill.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Exactly.

A Melancholy Spirit

What is it that makes a place feel like home?

...and if you have more than one, does that make you an oddity?

Throughout my childhood we moved a lot. Never stayed anywhere more than four years, actually.

All of those places are home. Even the ones I haven't been back to since we left, I know, if I go there, it will feel like home.

It's more than a "home" feeling, though. The memories remain. Memories of people, events, etc.

There's more to it than that.

It's almost like time slows in a syrupy way when you're somewhere that there were emotions, good or bad, that were connected to you.

The theory is that ghosts remain in a place due to some type of strong emotion or unfinished business.

Could simple emotions be the same way?

When what you felt somewhere was incredibly strong, and you leave that place and come back, do those traces remain? The closer you get, the stronger you can feel that strange, sweet sickness of feeling things that should stay where they were in the past.

You forget things, and then when you get close to where they happened, you can just feel it in your bones, and taste it in the air.

The good things are a sort of soft and melancholy, because they are gone...and the bad things are a sickening feeling of intoxication that is somehow stangely attractive.

Maybe some things never really fade, no matter how much you make yourself forget.

If so, the world is full of ghosts.

...and home is nothing more than a haunted dream.

A Whole New Breed of Idiocy: Lesson Two

Ahh...morons.

Another road related example.

Let's keep Bob. I liked him as an example, though I hate him, (in the general sense), as a driver.

Bob is on his way home, once again, a little depressed now, as his girlfriend broke up with him, and wouldn't tell him why.

Okay...so actually, she told him, but he blocked it all out.

(Selective memory is a beautiful thing when your heart is broken.)

So, Bob stops to get gas, and it starts to rain.

Bob comes out with his pack of deathsticks, hops in the car and takes off.

Bob gets behind me.

Bob is distracted by a pretty girl walking under a lovely umbrella with a Hello Kitty design, which keeps him from noticing that I'm stopping, because of a red light.

After a close, screeching halt behind me, Bob starts to keep his distance, staying back from me.

Part of this is due to my easily heard cursing pointed at his idiocy. Part of it is due to the mean looks I'm giving him in the rear-view mirror. The rest is a general feeling of stupidity on his part, at having not been paying attention.

This is Bob's first idiocy of this example.

Lesson: When it is raining, and roads are wet, it's harder to stop on a dime, so pay attention.

As we move through town, (with me becoming slightly paranoid as that guy I yelled at now seems to be following me, and I hope it's not intentionally), Bob's cell phone rings.

He answers it.

It's his girlfriend. No. Ex-girlfriend, and she says she's at his apartment, and they need to talk. Bob's heart leaps with joy, and he slams on the gas on a long stretch of four-lane, and blasts past me, and weaves through traffic like a drunken fish.

He's doing at least 10 mph over the speed limit.

Bob loses control on the wet pavement, hits a minivan with a Jesus fish on the back, which knocks in a pin-ballish fashion into a large Chevy truck with a "I love animals...they're tasty!" bumper sticker. The truck hits a rail that was put in place for just such an occasion, bounces back, hits the minivan again, which bumps Bob back, throwing his teeny, tiny Ford escort into the ditch that is the median.

Thus, traffic is backed up for a mile while the ambulance comes and takes away the 56 year old church secretary in the van and the driver of the truck, (who I assume is not a member of PETA). Three tow trucks, four policeman, and 56 slow-driving gawkers later, I get to press on toward my destination.

Bob gets to call his insurance, and then his girlfriend, who left his apartment already, assuming by his lateness that he doesn't love her anymore.

...and so, idiocy number two is revealed.

Lesson: When it is raining, and roads are wet, don't drive fast. If anything, slow down.

Thus endeth the lesson.

Patience and Hope Play Tug 'o' War

It's a bit hard to be patient.

Especially for someone with the patience of a "gnat with ADD," as a brilliant friend of mine once said.

That's a pretty good description of the amount of patience I contain.

Patience, though, is the dryly humorless cousin of hope.

I am full to overflowing with hope.

...and so, everytime my heart gets set on something which I know is coming, I cling to it, reach for it, and cry out for it constantly in my lack of patience.

This lack of patience mixes with the abundance of hope, and creates an insatiable desire that I could most likely quell, if I could stop looking ahead, hoping it will come fast.

For example, every year we get money from the government for school, and have some left over.

I've been dying for three months to get my hands on it, constantly wishing and praying that somehow, someway, it would get here sooner than expected.

It will be here today or tomorrow.

I wish hope sprang less eternally...it would have made the last few months easier to bear.

A Whole New Breed of Idiocy: Lesson One

Technology has grown and flourished, and evolved into something our forefathers,(and mothers, for the politically correct who might be reading this), could only dream of.

Along with it, has come a level of idiocy unheard of until this time. This type of extreme idiocy has only become workable as technology has provided the means for it to flourish.

For example, people who talk on their cel, (or cell, whichever it is), phones when driving without using a hands-free device.

(I realize this is almost a cliche` now to complain about this, but please, bear with me.)

Let's make up a person. Let's call him Bob, since Bob is a simple name, and really rolls off the tongue. Try it. Bob.

Now, let's say Bob is driving his teeny tiny 1994 Ford Escort through a suburban area.

Bob drives fairly well normally and has only had a few tickets in his life.

Now, Bob gets thirsty, so he stops and gets a 44 oz. Big gulp full of fizzy goodness. let's say it's a Coke. No. A diet Coke. Bob has a little bit of a gut, and is trying to lose it.

So now Bob has one hand occupied 1/4 of the time with his cool, refreshing beverage.

Bob, sadly, also took up smoking a few years ago when his wife left him, and hasn't been able to shake the habit, even with the patches, gum, and hypnosis he's tried.

Now, with his Big Gulp and a Smoke, Bob's hand is occupied 1/4 of the time for the drink, and 1/4 of the time with his cancer stick.

That's a whole 1/2 of the time.

(I add good.)

Bob enjoys a toe tapper, like any other respectable person, and has a brand new CD player in his not quite s new car. He isn't bright enough to make mix CD's as he's afraid of infringing on copyrights, so he changes CD's often, and as each CD is at a different volume level, he has to adjust his volume accordingly.

That's another 1/4.

Now we're up to 3/4.

Bob's hand is occupied 3/4 of the time, instead of being on the wheel, as it should be.

Then, he decides he can't wait fifteen minutes until he gets home...he has to call his girlfriend, (who is about to break up with him because he smokes, is fat, and drives a crappy car), and devote his other hand solely to holding the cell phone up to his ear.

He has a hands-free accessory, but he leaves it at home, because he doesn't have anywhere to put it in his car where it won't look "messy."

Out of a possible two hands completely at the disposal of the needs of controlling the wheel, Bob is down to one hand 1/4 of the time on the wheel.

Bob...is an idiot.

...and he's in my lane.

...and I hate him.

...and all this was made possible by the continual march of technological progress.

Duality

Most people are not always who they appear.

In everything in life there is a dual nature.

Heads and tails, day and night, etc...

Everything in life has two sides to the proverbial coin, and we are no different.

Tell me you're not a different person when you're alone, and I'll call you a liar.

Like a coin, we all have our two sides, the side that everyone sees, the side that is right out there in the open whenever others are around. The other side, is that side of us that only the walls, and maybe our pets see.

The side where we dance to music and sing at the top of our lungs, when we know we can't dance or sing very well.

The side that hides out little fantasies that we wouldn't admit in the presence of others.

This is the side where hardcore bikers listen to Britney Spears, and simple, sweet children rip the heads off of dolls.

This is the dark side. The evil twin. The side we hide from all eyes.

When this side comes out, depending on the nature of the beast, it can be good, or bad.

Most never come out at all.

For some the change is slight. It's nothing. Maybe they simply relax, read, write bad poetry, or just zone out while they do the dishes.

For others, though, this is the true person, the thing that they are beneath the charade. The darker half.

Sometimes that darker half is unleashed, almost taking over in a Jeckyll and Hyde type of transformation, and thus are the rapists, killers, child molesters, and other horrendous lunatics of society released.

No...at that point they leave human society and become beasts, and we fear them, and loathe them. Some even pity them.

This inner duality, this other side can be a blessing or a terror.

Either way, it is just another part of our basic nature.

Humanity at it's best and worst.

A simple flip of the coin.

A New Breed of Pseudo-Intimacy.

So.

Why do we make these things, anyway?

What's the point of a blog, or a web journal of any kind?

I'm not talking about those with obvious agendas, like, "Look at My Boring Vacation Photos," or, "I hate Republicans/Democrats," or "PORN, PORN PORN XXX!"

Those all have an obvious, stated point.

But there are so many blogs out there about so much nothing.

Exactly like this one.

I write thoughts, things that pop into my head, things I observe. Other people write about their day, or their family, or what they ate, whatever.

It's just human nature to record our observations in some way. I don't know if it's a desire to leave a record, so as not to be forgotten, or just something we have instinctually done since the first man to do so painted his first bison on a cave wall.

..and so, Bob from Pittsburgh tells us about how his dog chewed his favorite shoes up, and a teenager shares the pain of her boyfriend cheating on her, (using sentences like, "Plz. He lft me 4 Staci, and I 1nt 2 hit hm.")

And people like me,(and people not like me), surf around and find these blogs, these personal details about people we don't, and probably won't ever know personally.

...and it's a bit like voyeurism, and the writers are like Voyeurs.

They strip away parts of them, showing some of the juiciest tidbits of their life, and we can see it all, through the window that is our computer screen.

It's intimate to see the dark thoughts of people, and hear their grudges and deepest desires. We see the feelings they hide from everyone they really know.

It's intoxicating in a way.

I may be reading too much into this.

Maybe we're just a bunch of internet addicts who can't take the time to write in a pen and paper journal.

Either way, I'll keep watching.

I love a good striptease.

Evolution of the Whiny, Annoying Complainer

Sometimes, people just have to complain.

Sometimes, they do it because something is truly not right.

More often, I think, they do it for the power trip.

When someone complains, they are often merely voicing their opinion, which, as I stated before, I could care less about.

If I wanted to know, I would ask...and I rarely ask.

In the act of complaining, a person gains a sort of power. A holier-than-though rush. A high-on-the-side-of-right feeling.

Problem is, half the time complaints are just wrong, or the blame created by the complaint is wrongly placed.

When someone gets addicted to the tiny feeling of power they get from complaining, and does it too often, they are labeled as whiners...and no one likes a whiner.

Bureaucracy is the ultimate breeding ground for this kind of annoying person, whether it be a political, business, or even scholastic bureaucracy.

There's always that one guy who runs to the boss for everything, and you have to watch what is said in his presence. In elementary school, they're tattle-tales. In high school, they're Narcs.

...and you know what? No one really likes them.

For some reason, they don't get that. To make things work smoothly you have to smooth things over. You can't makes waves, and expect everyone else in the pool not to be mad at you.

Then the tattle-tales and Narcs grow up and become snitches, weasels, and informants.

Just for the record, I have no problem with informants. They tell cops where the bad guys are. There is some honor in that.

...but your run of the mill snitch or weasel, I have no respect for.

They use their brown-nosed status to rise in favor with the boss, who, most likely, doesn't really like them, but finds them useful.

...and you know what? All the coworkers who are snitched on are complaining.

About the snitch.

Have to regain that power somewhere.

It's a sick, sick cycle.

I hate to say this...but I am forced by a lack of any other way to say it.

"Can't we all just get along?"

Eulogy Number One

We are here to mourn the passing of one that served humanity diligently for a large part of our species' time here on Earth.

Today, we are here to mourn Common Courtesy, who was taken from us, slowly over the course of many years, by the debilitating illness known as Selfishness, and the side effects of it, Rudeness and Anger.

Common Courtesy was born when an early human recognized the rights of another to take their turn. Born into a rough environment filled with hostility and barbarism, Common Courtesy grew slowly, impeded by the darker side of our human nature.

After many centuries of weakness, and living at the fringes of "modern" civilization, Common Courtesy made a foothold for itself among the more prominent ideas, and began to work change on hardened hearts.

It faced a strong uphill battle the entire way, though, fighting fight after fight against ideas that had long reigned in the hearts and minds of men and women.

Common Courtesy fought valiantly against Selfishness, Malice, Greed, Envy, and Spite, with help from it's cousins, Respect and Freedom.

In time, it began to win.

"Modern" civilization gave way to true Civilization, and some would say it was due to the actions of Common Courtesy and the ideas that had joined its' cause.

Together, they all worked to abolish oppression and it's evil cousin, Slavery.

Common Courtesy was a friend to us all.

This great idea has been destroyed; taken from us by the remnants of the most powerful negative ideas that were its' enemies: Selfishness, Malice, Greed, Envy, and Spite, and their underlings, Rudeness and Anger.

Like a slow illness, these things ate away at the fringes of all that Common Courtesy had built. Common Courtesy is gone. It is among us no more.

Selfishness, Malice, Greed, Envy, and Spite now rule the world.

There are those who remember Common Courtesy, and many of you, who are gathered here today are among that number. Let us not forget what Common Courtesy has taught us.

We must keep the memory alive, so that someday, perhaps, Common Courtesy may be revived, and reborn, to once again rule the hearts of men, who are so fickle.

Common Courtesy leaves behind three sisters; Charity, Love, and Hope, and three brothers; Understanding, Communication, and Friendship. Also left behind are its' beloved cousins; Respect and Freedom.

Now, as we say our final goodbyes, let us remember the good things that Common Courtesy has done, and never forget, in it's own words, to, " Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you. "

Amen.

---

A note on this entry - 10/5/04:

Having wandered a bit through blogs, I see now that this sort of thing is rampant, and not as wonderfully clever as I thought it was. Ahh, well.

Maybe it's true, then, that there are no original ideas left in the world, and everything is a reworking of an old idea.

...or maybe I did it first, and everyone copied me.

Nope. It's most likely that first one.

It's a Double-Play Way Back Weekend on "Hot" 94.7

Oldies. Classic Rock. New Rock Alternative. Pop.

Radio is a fairly new concept, if you compare it to the ages humanity has been around.

So, to us, it's obvious that an Oldies station will play music from the 50's, 60's, and some 70's, depending on the station. We know Classic Rock is your 70's and 80's rock 'n' roll. New Rock will be pretty much everything from the early 90's on, (basically, everything not pop after Nirvana came on the scene.) Then, you have the Pop stations that have names like "Hot 94.7," that play, well, Pop music.

I just wonder how things will change, category wise, at time goes on.

Right now we have these categories because before these categories, there wasn't much there, in the way of mass produced and widely known music.

So in forty years will Nirvana be playing on Classic Rock stations?

Will our New Rock Alternative stations be renamed "Old Rock Alternative?"

Of course, there's not much Alternative to the music anymore. It's become what rock 'n' roll is. It's taken it's place.

Springsteen was obviously rock 'n' roll. There's no other way to categorize his music.

No one does rock 'n' roll anymore. Not new groups, anyway.

...and the old groups make bad rock 'n' roll, so I don't even count them.

In 2050, will the music of today be considered classic?

I don't know.

I guess we'll have to see.

Of course...by then, we'll be old, and bound by the secret laws of the ancients to like nothing but the music of our youth...

...played at a "reasonable" volume.

A Snippet of Insecurity

Life is constantly changing, and so do dreams.

There was a time I wanted to be a firefighter. Then a youth pastor, (influenced by my preacher father). Then a million other things between then and now.

Now I want to be a writer.

I know what I want.

Now it gets hard.

Now I have to actually make decisions that will determine how my career path, and thus, my future will go. It's a frightening thing. In high school, you tell yourself you have forever to decide what you want to be.

No one tells you that after you pick what you want to be there are a million other questions.

Which college to go to? What classes to take? Do I need an internship?

...and then the questions get bigger, and expand.

Where will I have to live to do this? What branch of this should I go into?

...and those questions take you back to the original ones.

Which college to go to? What classes to take? Do I need an internship?

I know what I want.

I just don't know the details, yet.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Ever wonder what would or could have been, if you'd made a few different choices in your life?

If you answered no, you're a liar.

Everyone wonders at some time or another.

If you hadn't taken that street, you might not have gotten into that wreck. If you hadn't dated her sibling first, would she have gone out with you? If you hadn't let the boss talk you into working, would you have hurt yourself on the job anyway, sometime?

...and of course, the biggest of all questions, a subject tackled in one of the greatest movies of all time, It's a Wonderful Life.

What if you had never been born?

It's pointless to think about this kind of thing, and yet we're drawn to it. In movies, books, and video games, we see it played out constantly.

So why this obsession with what might have been?

It's because we are not permanent creatures. Nothing in life is certain, and everything in life is affected by the choices we make.

That's a lot of pressure on us. Constantly.

It can take someone an hour to choose where to eat, but some of life's biggest choices come in an instant, and don't give you time to sit and reason out the best course of action. When that happens, we make our best guess, and go with whatever we chose.

The problem is, what we choose doesn't always work out the way we want.

Sometimes it does. There is merit at times in following gut instinct.

So, we make our choices, and we live with them, but we obsess about what might have been. We see our credit reports and wonder if we could have gotten a house, if only we hadn't let those bills go before, and messed it up.

We wonder about everything. Jobs, colleges, significant others, purchases, etc., etc....

The list could go on forever.

Hrm. I wonder if it would have been better if I'd written about something else...

College: Native Habitat of the Spoiled Brat

College is a wonderful thing.

Especially when the government gives you plenty of money to attend, above and beyond what is needed.

That's not the point here, though.

Just a few words to the kids who go to college straight from High School, live in the dorms, and have parents who pay.

Let me just say that you are lucky, lucky bastards.

Well, assuming you don't screw it up like I did. Then again...I didn't live in the dorms, commuted an hour both ways, and was going to a college I instinctively hated.

Anyway, you are blessed to have parents who can send you there in the first place, or at least help you out reasonably.

Dorms are supposed to suck. I understand this from what I've heard, never from personal experience. Of course, I've heard the other side, too, that dorm life was excellent.

Just depends on how you go into it, and luck with roommates I suppose.

Anyway, I have a small request to make of you, if you please?

Stop complaining.

Ever semester, I hear someone in one of my classes say, "I don't have enough time to do my homework, or to write my paper, or to study for the test because I have to (insert comment here from the following list).

- be in intramurals.
- clean my room/do laundry/etc...
- meet my boyfriend/girlfriend because (insert random dating ritual here).
- go to rehearsals/practice/home/the store/the club.

...Or they have trouble studying with their roommate around.

Another complaint on a different sort of note, is that they don't have any money for anything.

So, I hear this kind of complaint, and then I listen to things they say in class, or to friends.

Their parents, (some with government help), are paying for everything. They live in the dorm. They have a fairly new, if not brand new car. They wear designer clothes. They live for their cell phones.

When I hear these things, my teeth grind, because these little idiots don't have a damn thing to complain about.

If you can't study because of extra-curricular things, drop the extra-curricular things.

You don't need to do intramurals. You can clean your room or do your laundry later. Your boyfriend/girlfriend can talk to you later, or you can reschedule the date.

I suppose I can excuse practice and rehearsals, if they are part of your actual degree program.

If not, though, drop it. Your parents will understand you can't drive home because you have to study. you can go to the store after you study. You can go to the club after you study.

School comes first.

Then they complain about a lack of money. What else do you want?

Your food, housing, car, clothing, and cell phone are taken care of by others. Quit griping!

Instead of worrying about money to go out with, waste on fast food, or on things you don't need, think about how great you have things.

There are people who can't go to college. People whose parents can't afford it, even with government help. People who fall into that middle ground where you're too well off to get help, but too poor to do it alone.

Then there are people like me. I'm 24 years old, and just barely a junior, credit-hour wise.

I started college with a full scholarship. I dropped out after a year because I was under a great deal of pressure personally, not even in a college-related way.

A couple of years passed. I went to a community college for a year, and left it as a sophomore.

Then I got married, and we moved away from the nothing town in the nothing corner of a state, to here, Springfield, Missouri. We both enrolled in Southwest Missouri State University, where I had wanted to go originally.

That's a whole other drama, though. Maybe someday I'll share that, if it falls into good context.

Anyway.

Now, we're here, and we've been going to SMSU for a year.

Even with the excessive amounts of money the government has given us, we still have both had to work real jobs on top of going to school.

To all the college students I mentioned earlier:

Quit complaining. You don't have to worry about any of the following.

-electric bills.
-gas bills.
-groceries.
-clothes.
-work, (and whether it will work with your college schedule).
-car insurance and maintenance.

Plus, you try to find time to write term papers, do research, and (one of my most hated things), group projects for your classes, on top of all that.

We worry about whether we'll be able to eat.
You worry about not getting your McDonald's instead of the cafeteria food.

We worry about keeping our cars insured and legal.
You worry about whether or not daddy will let you get those pin stripes on your Mustang.

We worry about how long our clothes will last.
You worry about how long low-rise jeans will be in fashion.

See the difference?

Can't you see how easy your life is?

Stop worrying about the small things, the unimportant, juvenile, pointless things and look to your future. Enjoy the time you have, but use it wisely, and appreciate the gift you are being given by your parents, your school, and your government.

Most of all, stop whining about those pointless things aloud in class.

No one cares.

If they do, they're as shallow and ungrateful as you are.

The Dark Side of Self Help

You can't help a person who won't help themself.

I'm sure most know and understand this, but it doesn't stop it from being an annoying, frustrating thing.

For our example, let's use a person I know. Let's say it's a woman, in her late thirties.

Her claims-

"I never have any money, and I work my butt off."

"My son just doesn't understand that I can't give him money. I don't have it."

Now, let's look at her habits, as ascertained through conversation.

She smokes.

She drinks. (A lot. Sometimes on the job. "It just makes me feel better.")

She talks on her cellphone constantly. (About nothing. The entire time she's working.)

Okay.

Combine the two lists, and what do you learn?

She makes plenty of money to take care of business if she would budget, and be frugal.

She would be much more financially sound if she didn't drink, smoke, and talk endlessly on the phone.

It's infuriating, because she gripes constantly about lack of money, and not having money, and having to pay bills, and, (most aggravating of all), how she's going to government agencies and food banks for help.

Why should I pay for her stupidity with my taxes? Why should these good people at the food banks give away food others truly need to this woman who, instead of paying $3.00 for a pack of smokes could be buying a pack of hotdogs and some bread to eat?

I don't try to help her, because I know it would be useless. She's set in her ways. She's a mild alcoholic, and nothing's going to change that.

Example #2.

Another woman I know. Early twenties.

Wild, crazy. Tried it all. Drugs, sex, alcohol, more drugs, more sex.

Calmed down slightly, but still does it all. Less sex, now. Little less alcohol and drugs, (maybe).

Lives in a tiny town where there is nothing, in a corner of a state where there is nothing.

Offered to help her. Bring her here, find her a job, give her a place to stay (quite comfortably), feed her, show her around. Do all of that until she gets on her feet with a job.

Won't do it.

No good reason not to, honestly. A few reasons that don't stand up under pressure, though.

Apparently, that's enough.

Example #3.

Another woman. Early forties, I suppose. Not sure of age, really.

Same nothing town, nothing state corner.

Works in a dead end job. Married to a dead end alcoholic man who looks like Willie Nelson.

He really does look like Willie Nelson. It's freakish.

Drinks herself to a stupor constantly.

Lives in a nasty little house.

Why?

Why is it people settle for lives like this? What makes a person say, "You know, this is the best I can do. I guess I'll just stay like this."

Fear of the unknown? Get over it. Life is nothing but unknown variables...and my three examples can't get much lower than they already are, even if the variables turn out to be negatives.

Maybe they're just "simple people." No such thing. Simple people are just people with no drive or ambition, because they've given up on their dreams. They're happy in their own way, and yet, not happy.

In the end, it just comes back to that original statement.

You can't help someone who won't help themself.

The Rise and Fall of the Nerd Class

Does anyone else remember when nerds, (a.k.a. dweebs, dorks), were the outcasts of society?

I do. I know, because I was, (am), one.

The things that made nerds look nerdy are now "cool."

Video Games.

Working with computers.

The internet.

Anime Obsessions. ("One of these things does not belong...")

Etc...

True...some are still nerdy.

Band.

(Insert Name here. eg.-Chess) Clubs.

Etc...

Then there are those inbetween, that find their groove somewhere below "cool," but somewhere just above nerdy.

Role-playing.

Obscure bands.

Etc...

The shift over time of technology and it's need for use has pulled the nerds from the basement of "cool" society, and made them our gods.

Who wouldn't want to be Bill Gates, or Steve Jobs?

Who wouldn't want to be a video game programmer?

Who wouldn't want to have come up with Google, Yahoo, or KaZaA?

As technology moves forward, the nerds who stayed up late playing "A Bard's Tale" on their Apple IIE's are the people who stand out, and become the millionaires. They become the highly skilled, inventive, creative people that bring games, the internet, and a million other things into the grasping, groping public on a regular basis.

I remember people laughing at me because I loved Super Mario Brothers. Before that, they laughed as I bragged about my high score on Joust on my Atari 7800.

Those are the same people who now sit around blasting each other to bits on Halo, play out their sports fantasies from their couch, and rave over the newest Final Fantasy game.

So, my question is: When did this shift occur?

Societal and cultural change, concerning what is "acceptable" and "normal" change slowly over time. This is the case here, I think.

When someting slips in quietly, it slowly grows to be the norm. Yes, there are protests. There are people out there that think the internet is the work of the devil, and soon all IP's will include the number of the beast. They shy away from such things.

As with any new thing, rumors abound, misconceptions, fear of the unknown.

Playing Doom would make you want to kill people.

Role-playing would make you want to kill yourself, (and listen to "Don't Fear the Reaper").

The internet would destroy children's minds.

Anime is evil...it's all molesting tentacles and violence to women.

(That last one annoys me. I'm no huge fan of anime. I like a few choice ones. To say, as many did, and some do to this day that all anime is like that is like saying all movies are exactly like Friday the Thirteenth. It's ridiculous.)

So...you have your main group of nerds that are now acceptable.

Why is it the others haven't gone mainstream?

Let's take Role-Playing games. No, not video game ones. I mean the ones where you still use your imagination and make it up.

Pen and paper, or on the internet, Role-Playing is still a sort of second rate dorkdom. "Cool" people do it...funny people that you would be friends with. Yet, when you hear someone say role-playing you think of two groups, (or at least I do) : The goth/heavy metal crowd with all the piercings and the vampire obsession, or the nerdy guys from high school that you overheard saying how powerful their dwarf was, now that he had a mythril axe.

Admit it...most of you didn't even know what mythril was until the Lord of the Rings movies came out.

I said most...quit looking at me like that.

If it's in videogame form, it's cool. Final Fantasy is the most well known name, I would say. The "cool" kids are all playing it because it's "cool."

So why can't they put it all together themselves? Write the story themselves as they go? Role-Playing videogames aren't Role-Playing at all, in the classic sense. They're interactive-movie-sort-of-choose-your-own-adventures.

True Role-Players...the ones who are still considered semi-nerds, know the difference. They play the games, but become bored easily because they can't do what they want, and go where they want, and make their character who they want.

Even in a Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game, you are still on a set path. Sure, you can be a level two forever, and just use the game to chat, but the point is to level up doing mindless tasks.

Alright. Now I'm just rambling.

...oh...that's where I was.

There are still, of course, the nerds. The band-nerds, the chess club dorks, and the others...who are so far in the margins I can't even think of them at the moment to list them.

It makes me wonder, though, this ascention of the dork, this revenge of the nerds, (yes. I said it). What will be okay "coolness wise" in ten, or twenty, or thirty years?

Will the "cool" masses finally come around and start playing flutes and clarinets? Rehashing old showtunes on their tubas with their friends? Will getting together with your chess club buddies replace poker night? Will the "cool" and "pretty" people have serious discussions about their dwarves around the table at the nightclub, planning their next online campaign?

I don't know.

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Of course...I didn't think "cool" and "pretty" people could have serious dicussions, either.

My, How the Morons are Fallen

...Isn't it incredible how many moronic fools there are, and yet our species survives?

Take, for example, the wife-beater. No, not the shirt. The ignorant arseholes who actually think it's okay to hit a woman.

What is it that makes us hit others? Specifically, what makes these jerks think they can get away with it?

Well, I suppose many DO get away with it. But I mean...how can people stand by while they know it's happening?

The only fight I've ever been involved in during my whole 24 years of life was over a guy hitting a girl. I didn't particularly hate the guy. He was cordial enough to me. I didn't particularly like the girl...she was loud, scuzzy, and a skank, to be honest.
That didn't give him the right to hit her.

Has chivalry...no, not chivalry...basic common sense and social order died? Women have the right to vote, are right up there with everyone else, and yet...

...Billie Sue works at the gas station and comes to work with black eyes. Or Melissa sleeps soundly only when her husband is out of town. OR any number of other scenarios.

It's sick.

I've heard of men who hurt their wives, who treated their golden labs like kings, and their wives like dogs.

Why hasn't natural selection destroyed this ugly side of humanity? Why hasn't society come to destroy men like this? Why does it still happen?

Of course...I'm naturally logical, and not driven by emotion very often. Every time I've followed emotion I've fallen deeper into places I didn't want to go, so I disdain it. I think logically. I work things out rationally.

So I have problems understanding why women put up with it.

They're threatened? Leave. Run like the wind. Tell the cops. Tell your local pastor. Anything. Someone will help you. What I don't understand are the ones who won't help themselves.They say, "he loves me," and "I deserve it." What drives that thinking? Dependancy. Confidence issues. Mental abuse. ...I just don't understand.

Of course...there are a lot of things I don't understand, too.

Like why people drive like idiots.
Why we elect politicians instead of achievers, thinkers, leaders.
Why can't religious people leave everyone else alone?
Why are the things we want kept from us because we don't have enough little green pieces of paper?

I don't know. I'm rambling. Forgive me.

I just...I'm tired of stupidity. Ignorance. Delusion.I'm tired of people being two-faced. Tired of back-stabbers, bare-faced liars, manipulative people, fake people, brand name people, class-oriented people, uneducated people who act like they know everything and defend their position when it can be logically proved to be wrong.

I hate that people think they know what' right for me.I like what I like. I like being who I like. I like believing what I like.

I don't care what you want me to like. I don't care who you want me to be. I don't care what you believe.

If I cared, I'd ask...and I rarely ask.

One more thing that bugs me? People who push their politics. You like Bush? I don't care. You like Kerry? I don't care. You're for the war, or against it? I don't care.

Tell me with your vote.

Not your stupid television ad, with the bad voice-over and the annoying fingerpointing. Not with your signs along the road, impeding my view. Not with your protesting, blocking traffic, burning the flag, singing bad songs with worse lyrics, chanting ridiculous slogans that you think are clever because they rhyme. Don't call me to take a survey. Don't educate me on the facts.

If I wanted to know, I'd ask. If I cared, I'd ask...and I rarely ask.

Another thing? People who take a job, and then don't do it properly. Why take it if you're not going to do it right?

Another thing? People who look at you like you're a monster because you say you don't want to have kids. Not all of us care about continuing our bloodlines, and helping overpopulate the earth. Leave me alone. I don't think your baby is cute. No babies are cute. They smell bad. ...and no, baby powder is not a good smell.

Sorry.

Another thing? People who ask me if I know where I'm going when I die. Because they're going to heaven!

Key word in that sentence? "Know." No one "Knows" where they're going when they die. You can believe what you want, but there is no definitive proof of anything. No one's come back with pictures.

Believe in heaven all you want. Believe I'm going to hell if you want. ...but leave me alone. I don't believe in heaven. I don't believe in hell. You know what? That's my perogative. It's called freedom of religion...and I'm free to not have one.

I don't want to go to your cheesy fake rock concert. I don't want your salvation tracts shoved in my screen door. I don't want you knocking on my door in your nice suit. Don't send your teens to my door either.

Odds are they don't really believe either.

Trust me, I know. I was one. Preacher's son, even.

Keep your beliefs to yourself.

If I want to know I'll ask...and I rarely ask.

...and now I shut up. Nothing really touched this off, actually.

Spontaneous annoyance combustion, I guess.

An Overdue Introduction

Actually, this wasn't written on August the 1st, at 6:13pm.

It was written on September the 17th, at or around 5:47pm.

I was going back through the blog, reworking the links to the little pictures I like to throw in, (for new readers, hover over the pics, just for kicks, and because I wasted time making them do what they do), and I noticed that if you read that first entry, I sound like a complete and total jerk. Also, if you read it, and then the rest of the blog, I sort of contradict myself.

I say I don't want to hear the opinions of others, but it appears I'm more than willing to share my own on things. The reasoning behind this is that I'm assuming if you read this blog, you don't mind reading my opinions.

Really, I was talking about those people who preach wherever they can the good, (or bad, or even neutral), word of whatever they happen to believe.

I don't preach in this blog, and so I am set apart from that.

For those of you who haven't read the entry in question, it's the next one, and once you read it, you'll understand the entire bit of justifying I have just done.

...and also, if you're a new reader, and are starting from the beginning, you are most assuredly welcome here.

Comment to your heart's content if you want to.

So, I guess all I'm really saying is:

Welcome to the Annoyances, Grievances, and Misc. Happiness of Corgan Dane.