The Annoyances, Grievances, and Misc. Happiness of Corgan Dane

The Great Experience Paradox

2005-04-18T14:49:00.000-05:00

Ugh.

That's all I can say. Just...ugh.

There's nothing less appealing than looking for a job. Am I the only person out there who feels it's a huge invasion of privacy? I mean, when you fill out an application, you're telling complete strangers all about you. Where you've worked, who your friends (references) are, and your skills.

I can understand that they need to know things like that. It's important to know where a person has worked, and for how long, and what skills they might have that you, the employer, can use.

...and yet, I have this image in my mind of the human resources director looking at my resume (or application, depending on how classy the company is), and just seeing all my mistakes.

You see, I'm a serial quitter. In my entire working life, since age seventeen or so, I've probably only given the customary two-weeks notice three times that I know of. This, naturally, is not included in my work history by me, but it's still there, and I feel like the personnel directors of the world can sniff me out, like a rotten egg in the back of the refridgerator.

It's not that I don't feel bad when I don't give notice. My problem is, by the time I'm ready to leave a job, and fling myself into the insecurity of unemployment, I'm sick of the job. I have trouble with getting bored.

I can't say that I've ever had a job that really challenged me, or really used my skills and potential in any sort of real way.

You know why?

Because of the experience paradox.

You all know what I'm talking about. The great mystery of the human resources dynamic.

The potential employer wants people skilled in _________.

In order for someone to become skilled in ________, one must work in that field.

Unfortunately, all of the potential employers want someone already skilled in ________.

I am fairly certain that I could do something like graphic design if I was hired on to do something in that field, and given about a week to learn the programs. Let's be honest, a person almost always learns more when doing something hands-on than in a classroom situation.

So why am I not working in graphic design?

Because I haven't done it in a "paid" situation.

So, I'll be doing what any stupid monkey can do. It doesn't even need and intelligent monkey. A stupid one can do it.

Ugh.

Ten things: Movies

2005-02-14T15:20:00.000-06:00

Ten things I've learned from watching movies.

1.) The rules Randy said in Scream about being in a horror movie? Yeah. All completely true.

2.) No matter how you get the girl/guy to fall in love with you, she/he'll forgive you of it if enough time passes, or you do something incredibly embarrassing to yourself. You could have been posing as the opposite gender, using him/her in some sort of secret plot, or any number of incredibly asinine "obviously bad ideas that will eventually, inevitably go wrong" happenings.

3.) Old people are all either grumpy with a heart of gold, know-it-alls who've had incredibly inspirational lives, or beloved eccentric people who die at the exact moment everything is going right for you.

4.) Everyone has at least one redeeming quality, (even obviously evil, unlike-able people), which will show up in the form of a tear, or sad look as they die.

5.) There is always only one scientist that really understands what is going on in an emergency, and no one will listen to him until a whole lot of bad things have happened.

6.) No one ever gets away with any sort of crime unless they're funny and good looking.

7.) If you do get a date,(or get into a relationship) with the girl/guy of your dreams, something will inevitably go wrong. Fortunately, this can be fixed easily through self-humiliation (i.e. singing outside a window at 3 a.m.).

8.) Ugly girls are hot once you clean them up...every time, without fail.

9.) If you miraculously receive superhuman powers, you must turn incredibly good, or incredibly evil. There's no inbetween.

10.) If you come across several attractive, flirtatious women in the middle of nowhere, run. Messing with them will only lead to you being loved up and turned into a horny toad, or turned in to the authorities as a Confederate deserter.

Just Shut Up!!!

2005-01-29T02:07:00.000-06:00

Movies are a huge part of my life. Actually, probably more of my life than is actually healthy. Our living room looks like a small Blockbuster Video, we have so many VHS tapes and DVD's.

Part of the enjoyment of a movie, naturally, is that for a short time, you escape your reality, and get pulled into the story of the characters in the film. Yes, books can have the same effect, but that falls into an entirely different category for me.

So, that's why I got a bit upset at the freakin' movies tonight.

We went to see "In Good Company" and had a trio of genetic rejects come in late and flop down a few seats away. An older man and his wife, and their daughter. It was obviously their daughter, as loudly, as the movie started, she announced, "Mom, we're sitting down here! There's no stairs over there!"

Now, I don't want to sound like some kind of movie theater snob, but these people drove me nuts. You forget to turn off your cell phone? That's okay, as long as you answer fast, and hang up faster. Think of something funny to tell a friend, or need to ask them a question? Fine. Whisper it to them, and then shut up.

Part of the problem with that is that half of the people in the world don't seem to understand the difference between a stage whisper and a whisper. The proper way to whisper is to get close to someone's ear, and basically his the words, or say them under your breath. If it's a loud situation, like a car chase scene in a movie, then move closer to the ear, instead of attempting to raise the volume of the whisper. When you raise that volume, it becomes a stage whisper, easily heard by everyone else, and more likely to be heard than, say, a mutter, because of the distinct hissing sound you're making, which annoys the crap out of me, when I'm trying to watch the movie I paid to see.

I need to be pulled into the story, and that's not going to happen if someone's a few seats down from me, stage whispering to her mother, (who laughs like a donkey being tortured), about how that actress is on CSI: Miami. I can't let the narrative take me away if someone's repeating every line she finds halfway amusing, (and she had a really strange sense of humor), to her father, who keeps blowing his nose loudly, like a dented trumpet trapped uncomfortably in an elephant's trunk. I can't enjoy myself with someone's idiotic inability to shut up!

Deprived of my out-of-body-into-film experience, I got fed up, and I went:

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

...and they shut up, for ten minutes. Then it started in again. I gave up, and just enjoyed the movie as best I could, imagining a reality in which the three didn't exist, where I was totally wrapped up in Topher Grace's inability to just relax and realize he hates what he does for a living. I went to my happy place, where I could truly enjoy the adorable qualities of Scarlett Johansson.

Then, the movie ended, and the mother had the freakin' nerve to "apologize" for her daughter's behavior. Don't apologize to me, woman! You should have told your ridiculously loud wench of a daughter to shut her flapping, sparkly-glossed lips! You should have taught her at an earlier age, (did I mention the daughter looked like she was in her late-late teens, or twenties?), that in the movie theater, you watch the movie! You don't comment on every little thing!

(Stops, catches his breath.)

Anyway, that was my exciting Friday night. Sorry about the rant, but I had to let it out. Had to!

Look, a blog post!

2005-01-27T22:22:00.000-06:00

I'm neglecting the blog again, and I know it. I'm bad! Horribly, awfully bad.

...and I really do feel bad about not posting much. Partly because I don't want to feel like I'm abandoning this thing which I've built, and fussed over, and spent a small, but vital part of my life putting together. Partly because I know some people actually read it, and I feel bad for not giving them a good reason to believe they didn't just waste a mouse click.

The other part is that I hate the fact that there might only be four or so posts in some of the monthly archive pages, and that just doesn't look good, when someone's going back through it all.

One the other hand, I feel really good about the comic. Through Keenspace, who hosts my little strip, I've gained connections and friends, and that's a great thing. I've finally gotten the comic page organized and pretty enough that I don't look at it and say, "I need to change that" anymore. I've almost got forty strips.

It's incredible.

Then, on the...third hand? Yeah. Whatever. I have the novel, which is just sitting there, with nothing. No updates, because I haven't been writing on it. I take that back, actually. I wrote about a fourth of a chapter the other night, just to prove I could still work on it. I can, and am trying to. It's just hard to get motivated, for some reason.

Am I stretching myself out too far creatively? Am I trying to do too much at once? R~ says I'm insane, doing so much at once, but I love it. These things don't feel like a burden, really. I just seem to be having difficulty getting myself moving on the blog and novel, while with the comic, I'm going above and beyond the call of duty on a daily basis.

So if things are slow, don't hate me, and don't consider your click wasted. Just sacrifice one more precious click, and look at the comic page, and see what's been taking up my all my blogging time...

Bob's pointless email question thing

2005-01-16T11:48:00.000-06:00

Bob was bored. He figured, "Why not?"

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

1. What is your full name: Bob...if I told you the rest I'd have to kill you! Bada-bing!

2. What color pants are you wearing now: Bright red sweatpants.

3. What are you listening to right now: Flock of Seagulls.

4. What are the last two digits of your phone number: 66

5. What was the last thing you ate: Half a box of Krispy Kremes.

6. If you were a crayon what color would you be: Copper, or Brown.

7. How is the weather right now: Beautifully cold, gray and overcast.

8. Last person you talked to on the phone: Time and temperature.

9. The first thing you notice about a girl: Breasts! No...wait...I mean, personality!

10. Do you like the person who sent this to you: Mr. Dane? Yeah, he's...okay, I guess.

11. Are you happy today: Not really.

12. What is your favorite drink: Fresca mixed with Diet Pepsi! Yum!

13. Favorite alcoholic drink: Anything fruity...and Goldschlager.

14. What is your favorite sport: All of them!

15. What is your hair color: Bald.

16. Eye color: Brown.

17. Do you wear contacts: No.

18. Siblings: Nope...my momma spoiled me!

19. Favorite month: January.

20. Favorite food: Guacamole.

21. What was the last movie you saw? The Hours.

22. Favorite day of the year: Milton Berle's birthday...God rest his soul.

23. Are you too shy to ask someone out: No?

24. Summer or Winter: Winter.

25. Hugs or Kisses: Both!

26. Chocolate or Vanilla: Swirl.

27. Do you want your friends to write back: Friends?

28. Who is least likely to respond: Mr. Dane (Since he's imaginary.)

29. What's under your bed: Stacks of magazines, and shoe boxes full of...well, nevermind.

31. What's on your mouse pad: Ashlee Simpson.

32. What is your favorite board game? Monopoly Jr.

33. Favorite smells: Vanilla and pickles.

34. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Yep.

35. What inspires you: My excellent driving record.

36. Do you like your popcorn with salt or plain popcorn? I like it with ketchup.

37. What is your favorite flower: Magnolia...and the movie was EXCELLENT!

38. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning? Ashlee Simpson...cause her posters are right there on the ceiling!

Pointless email question thing

2005-01-15T15:47:00.000-06:00

I was bored. Figured, "Why not?"

1. What is your full name: Corgan Dane

2. What color pants are you wearing now: Arizona Wide-leg blue-jeans.

3. What are you listening to right now: Nothing, strangely enough...(turns on the radio.)

4. What are the last two digits of your phone number: 36

5. What was the last thing you ate: A roll of Smarties.

6. If you were a crayon what color would you be: Cobalt Blue

7. How is the weather right now: cold, gray, overcast.

8. Last person you talked to on the phone: My wife's friend, Sarah.

9. The first thing you notice about a girl: Smile.

10. Do you like the person who sent this to you: I stole it from R's blog...and I like her. Yep.

11. Are you happy today: Pretty much.

12. What is your favorite drink: Coke.

13. Favorite alcoholic drink: Don't really have a favorite. (shrugs) Not a big drinker.

14. What is your favorite sport: Golf, I guess. Not a big sports guy, either.

15.what is your hair color: Brown.

16. Eye color: Blue.

17. Do you wear contacts: No.

18. Siblings: Three. One sister, two brothers.

19. Favorite month: Can't pick. I love the holidays of October and December, but hate the weather. I love the weather in June and July, but nothing fun happens. So I don't know.

20. Favorite food: Anything with pasta, meat, and cheese involved.

21. What was the last movie you saw? The Aviator.

22. Favorite day of the year: Halloween.

23. Are you too shy to ask someone out: Sometimes.

24. Summer or Winter: Summer.

25. Hugs or Kisses: Kisses.

26. Chocolate or Vanilla: chocolate.

27. Do you want your friends to write back: Kind of a useless question...

28. Who is least likely to respond: Bob. (Since he's imaginary.)

29. What's under your bed: Dust bunnies.

31. What's on your mouse pad: Spiderman.

32. What is your favorite board game? Risk.

33. Favorite smells: Oranges, Fresh pastry, and Woodsmoke.

34. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Almost...

35. What inspires you: Depends.

36. Do you like your popcorn with salt or plain popcorn? Kettle corn...mmm....sweet.

37. What is your favorite flower: I don't know.

38. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning? "Just a little longer..."

Delusional Sitcom Pointlessness

2005-01-12T16:50:00.000-06:00

Things just never turn out like you expect them to, really. I mean, sometimes things end up close to what you imagine, but very rarely does everything go just the way you planned.

I planned on going to college, getting my degree straight out of high school, and going to work doing something I liked that paid me enough money that I could buy all the videogames I wanted.

Yeah. That didn't work out.

I have to admit, I never really thought I would ever get married. It just sort of snuck up on me, and really, it's been a pleasant surprise. I never thought I'd be where I am, living the relatively comfortable life that I do. This isn't to say I never have problems, or anything. Money and school constantly give me problems, but that's just how things are, and I'm used to it now.

Things have turned out well, and will hopefully keep getting better as time passes. I'm slowly balding, and I've come to grips with that. It's called a hat. Beautiful thing. I've come to realize I'll never be skinny, never be truly cool in the socially accepted sense, and never get that dream date with Christina Ricci. Those things just aren't attainable, or important.

If I'd known where I am now a few years ago, though, I would have been disappointed. Twenty year old me wouldn't have seen the good in where I am, or understood how I can be content as I am, or how in the world I would have ended up with my wife.

(Sure, he thought she was great, but mainly just a friend. It would have freaked my younger self out completely!)

I blame his disillusionment on a lot of factors. Societal ideas of the good life, and of family, for one. But mainly, I blame it on sitcoms.

I know, you're thinking, "Sitcoms? They're just television shows!" I disagree, or course. Sitcoms, (and other programming), were my other family growing up. I laughed at Urkel, had a crush on the girl from Full house, (I think her name was D.J.?), and wished my Wonder Years were as touching and interesting as those I saw on what my Dad has always jokingly called the "One-eyed god."

With their perfect thirty-minute, (or hour-long), endings and things that always worked out, they put in my mind this sense of how things should be, and how in the end, everyone always loved each other perfectly. Even when bad things happened, everything came out fine, even if it took a few "to be continued's."

It was all crap-ola, really. A bunch of junk. Meaningless drivel.

Life isn't that perfect, because we as a species, as the human race aren't perfect. We hate for no reason, do spiteful things, and feel the less desirable emotions like jealousy and greed.

It's a good thing, too. Life would be boring, otherwise. That's why sitcoms grow old after a few years on the air. Yeah, they may stay funny, like Frasier, but most of them die slowly, twisting and turning in the anguish of their perfect worlds. They have to make the stories more and more unbelievable, because they've made the family or group on the show so...lovey-dovey perfect that they have no more real conflict to play off of.

If you don't believe me, watch the last season of Family Matters.

So my life isn't a sitcom, like I imagined it would be. Those patterns and expectations that were slowly ingrained into my thoughts in thirty-minute chunks are out now. Erased. Gone.

I understand life more clearly now, because I've seen it, and been a part of it. Sure, there are bumps, have been bumps, and will be bumps in the journey, but isn't that half the fun?

Must...write...blog...post...

2005-01-12T16:18:00.000-06:00

Well, hello!

A few updates on things.

1.) Got the puppy, named Poe. He's adorable, a bit stinky, and eats every meal like it's his last.

2.) I got a record player! Woot! I've been dying for one ever since my Grandmother's old one died, and I had to let it go. Now I can listen to my records again, and hear that lovely crackle. (Also, I have the Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack on vinyl, and it's freaking beautiful!)

3.) Got a few other things, too. New office chair, a drawing table, and a Nintendo DS. The table is great, the chair is fine, but needs to be broken in, and the DS is just...fun. Especially since I got The Urbz: Sims in the City for it, and Super Mario DS.

4.) I ordered a custom made shirt with my WebComic on it. The colors were changed slightly in printing the shirt, but it looks good, and it feels awesome to wear a shirt with my own stuff on it. The only mistake I made was that I put the web address on the back as www.grimtidings.keenspace.com, and there is no www on the web address for it.

Whoops!

Anyway, now I'll do a regular post, since this really doesn't count!

(Flips his Bing Crosby record, and waits for inspiration to strike.)

Big 'ol Sappy Me

2004-12-28T23:04:00.000-06:00

I'm a big 'ol softy. Really. I am.

...oh, you want proof? Okay.

I need to preface this a bit. I hate little yappy dogs, or "punt" dogs, as I've heard them called. They're usually simpering, annoying little things that belong to older people, who treat them like children. I've only had one dog in my life, and her name was Prissy. (No one, including me, seems to know how or why we named her that, so don't ask.) I had her for most of my life, and I loved her, and then when I hit my teenage years, I became more interested in girls than the faithful little lady who'd stuck with me, and loved me unconditionally. I didn't realize what I had until she was gone.

She got cancer, and we had her put down. I didn't even go. I never said goodbye, and it haunts me to this day.

Now, I'm getting a puppy. I'm getting a ten week old Pekingese puppy. I'm getting a ten week old blind Pekingese puppy.

...and I'm so excited it hurts.

I've already bought him a little spiked collar. I'm addicted and pathetic, and I don't even have the little guy yet.

His name is Poe. If anyone has seen the movie Wonderboys, they would know why. (It's a great movie, if you haven't seen it.) He has a gray head, and then his middle is white, and his end is black.

He's freakin' adorable, and the blindness just makes him irresistable. Apparently, one eye didn't form right, and the other has some sort of problem/infection/painful condition where he can't see. They're going to take the eyes out, and sew his eyelids shut.

My poor little puppy. He has a pedigree, though. That's pretty spifty.

See, my sister raises puppies as a business, (though she gets darn attached to most of them too, I think). She's ethical, and loves the little things. She's not some scuzzy puppy mill runner. So, with Poe's problems, she can't sell him anyway, and so when we were there on Christmas, I was playing with the Pekingese puppies she was keeping in a pen in the house.

(They were in the house because they're small, and have had to be hand-fed, I think...or something like that.)

She showed me Poe, my heart melted, and then my puppy dog looks combined with the real puppy's sad looks made my wife's heart melt.

Now we're getting a puppy.

Heck, I don't even know if puppies are allowed in this apartment, but honestly, I don't care right now. If we have to move, then we will. We want to get a house, even as a rental, anyway, so maybe it'll push us to do so.

See? Told you I'm a big softy.

The Creepy Christmas Blues

2004-12-22T17:38:00.000-06:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I love Christmas. I always have. I don't know exactly what it is that makes me love it so, but I do.

I'm one of ~those~ people. I start listening to Christmas music in the summer. I put up my tree as soon as possible, sometimes before Thanksgiving. I'm usually the first on the block with Christmas lights outside. I have a string of Christmas lights in my office all year long.

I think one of the reasons I love Christmas is the creepy quality behind it. The season itself is either incredibly happy, or incredibly depressing. I haven't seen a lot of in between. It's usually one or the other.

Stories like "A Christmas Carol" play up the underlying creepy factor of the season beautifully. There's a sweet sadness behind the festivities, as people think about the past, and how things used to be. That nostalgia gives the season a natural sadness underneath the more joyful aspects.

If you want to really be creeped out, just go outside on Christmas Day at two or three in the morning. The world only truly rests on Christmas night, and even if you aren't a religious person, you can feel a sort of holiness in the crisp cold, and blanket of quiet that fills the darkness around the twinkling lights.

It's beautiful.

I have to admit, though, I've been more sad than happy the last few years on Christmas. I'm wrapped up in the nostalgia, but I don't have much of a joyful Christmas. With work and school always hovering around, it's hard to just enjoy yourself, and the season.

Before the next paragraph, I need you to know that I don't care about getting a lot of presents. It's not a materialistic thing.

...now that I've said that, I've been sad about something else, too. In my family, we do the "drawing names" thing, and exchange gifts that way, with a money limit that no one really stays within. So we basically get one present. Most people would get presents from both sides of their family, or from their spouse's family, but we're a ways away from my wife's family, and my "close" family only extends to my siblings and my parents.

So there just aren't a lot of presents. Usually my parents get everyone something, even though they are part of the drawing like the rest of us. So, in a normal year since I stopped being a "kid" and started joining in on the drawing, I get a present from my wife, and one from my parents, and one from whoever draws my name.

I guess I'm just not accustomed to the change from everyone getting me toys to getting only a few "grown up" presents, like beard trimmers and sweaters. Part of that is because I still love video games and things, and those are my favorite things, but everyone thinks I'm too old for them. Well, everyone except my lovely wife, who always gets me exactly the perfect gift, whether what I get her is what she wanted or not.

It might even help if I worked at a place where the company gave us gifts or something, but all my work is giving me is a ham. I'd rather have the money they paid for the ham, to spend on something I'd like.

Maybe it's all just me being greedy, but I don't think so. It's just...not the same old Christmas, where it feels like the presents just keep coming the whole season, even if they're something simple like a box of chocolates.

It'll all fade away, though, as I help my sister wrap presents for the kids, and (gasp!) take Santa's job of putting them under the tree.

...and then at two or three AM, I'll head outside, and feel the crisp perfection of the world at rest, and my faith in the inherent holiness of Christmas will be renewed for another year.

Four Things That Bug Me Beyond Belief

2004-12-18T22:45:00.000-06:00

A short list of things. None of these are really worth a whole post, but together, they form Captain Annoyance! No...wait. Er, nevermind.

1.) The word "Fiance." I don't know why, but it annoys me. I hated being called one during the engagement period, so you will never hear me call anyone that. It's just...ugh.

2.) Also wedding related. When someone's getting married, don't make the obligatory jokes. Please. We've all heard the cold feet, how the old ball and chain is getting hooked on, how life is over, how she's the last one you'll ever have.

Let it go. It's not funny.

3.) People who whistle incessantly while at work. There is a woman who does this constantly where I work, and she drives me batty. At least now she's whistling Christmas songs instead of "The Song That Never Ends," or "Henry the Eighth I am."

4.) The assumption people make that if you work with them, you should be chummy and smile at each other. Really, I have nothing in common with those I work with. I'm there to pick up their trash and sweep their floors.

I'm not that friendly, wisdom spouting janitor from the holiday movies. If I wanted to talk to you, I would. Leave me alone. I'm not a recluse, I just like to think while I'm at work, about story ideas and such, and you might make me forget something important.

...and after all that negativity, I just want to say, Merry Christmas and such.

A Whole New Breed of Idiocy: Lesson 4

2004-12-10T17:54:00.000-06:00

Bob and his stupid driving habits are going to be the death of the human race as we know it.

On his way to see "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason," he was way ahead of time. An hour ahead, actually, but he didn't want to wait to get there. He liked to watch the previews up on the big screen they had above the snackbar.

Also, he'd left home early because he wanted to catch the rush hour show at five pm, which meant he'd save a whole dollar on his ticket.

(He was already saving seven dollars by not having a date, the poor schmuck.)

At the same time, completely by coincidence, I was on my way to work.

(It's funny how we're always on the road at the same time, isn't it?"

Bob, being impatient to see the trailer for "Closer," threw his tiny Escort into drive, and began to blast his way through traffic, weaving like a mad man. A truck was turning, so he flung his car into the left lane. It wouldn't do to have to slow down for two seconds.

No, it was much better to almost hit that minivan with the Illinois plates, and the Grateful Dead sticker in the back window.

Then someone else, (who rivals Bob in driving judgement), came out into the left lane, going nice and slow. Bob slammed on his gas, and sped over into the right lane again, losing a hubcap, which eventually, a man in overalls would sell for five dollars at his roadside stand.

The madness continued, and I watched as Bob neared my position in the left lane, where I had sped up ever so slightly to get past a big rig, that according to the name painted on the hood, was named "Gracie."

People like Bob make me insane, and mad, and so, as he flies up behind me, I'm almost past Gracie, but I start to slow down.

I hate him. I want to make him drive slow.

In an effort to make me move, Bob tailgates me, and I grin and laugh evilly as he is trapped behind Gracie and I, as I keep up our intricate dance to keep him behind,

It's beautiful.

The Lesson: Weavers never prosper. You may make it for a while, and seem to be making progress, but eventually, someone's going to stop you just for principle.

...and I hope it's me.

A Few Chunks o' Happiness

2004-12-10T17:20:00.000-06:00

Now that Blogger's being nice again, here's a post!

A few really good things have happened, and here they are, in no particular order:

1.) Got my car, Bob, back. I never thought I'd be so glad to be back in the old roller-skate on wheels. Of course, after driving a gas-guzzling truck for a while, I've come to understand the beauty of a tiny car.

The downside is that it cost almost a thousand bucks to get him fixed. At least I have a radio again, which is something the truck was lacking.

There's a lot of silence between here and work without a radio.

2.) School is almost over for this semester, and I'm already registered for next semester. I registered late, and had to really work to find classes, but heck, at least I've got them.

I have finals next week, and have to write a paper, and a poem still, but that's okay. I can sleep in now! Woot!

3.) The comic is at 20 strips! In my mind, that counts as a halfway decent archive, for being as new as it is. Also, getting lots and lots of hits, which make me happy.

...and I figured out something I should have realized a long time ago, that will make the lines darker and sharper when I scan. It's called scanning in black and white.

(Slaps himself.)

4.) Two words: NaNoWriMo winner.

5.) It's almost Christmas. Which means KGBX plays nothing but Christmas music all day, every day from now until New Years.

Yep. Lots of happy things.

Smarter Than Thou

2004-11-22T22:25:00.000-06:00

There's a very thin line between being an expert on a subject, and being obsessive.

Me? I'm very, very far away from that line. I'm not an expert on anything, and I know it. I have a very general sort of knowledge about a lot of things, though, and it makes me look smarter than I am.

My general knowledge comes from a natural curiousity in me. I read all sorts of things, whether they interest me right away, or not. I've read a lot of books, watched a lot of movies, and when you do that, you pick up a lot of useless facts.

(No, I'm not going to list any. There are entire websites full of them, all over the net.)

...and with the general knowledge making me look smarter, I feel bad I know something someone else doesn't. It makes me feel like I'm some sort of show-off, and I'm not really.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I love the spotlight, when I decide I want it. In high school, I kept myself in the spotlight among my friends as much as possible, because that was who I was at the time. Now, I'd rather be a bit blurry, and only come into focus long enough to crack wise, smile charmingly, and fade back away.

I feel bad when I look smarter, because I know it's not right. It's a lie! I'm just an average schmuck, who happens to be a halfway decent writer. (At least that's what I'm told. I'm not sure I believe it, honestly. In my mind, I'm just an average writer with just a little more drive than other average writers.)

Maybe I should just give in to it, and become snooty. I can make some elitist friends, and stand around talking about things in general, avoiding any subject I'm not decently versed in.

Nope. Don't think so. I'd rather stick out like a sore thumb in a room of real, average people, than be surrounded by fake posers. (Oxymoron, anyone?)

Give me your stoners, your role-playing nerds, your band-that-will-never-go-anywhere members, and let me be their friend.

At least they'll be real with me, even if they think I'm too smart for them.

A Snippet of Anachronism

2004-11-17T15:56:00.000-06:00

I love this kind of music, and I don't even really know what to call it.

I'm listening to the Ultimate Pink Panther soundtrack. Some of it is jazzy, some just odd, and of course, you have the orchestra arrangements.

I think I ws just born in the wrong time, or something.

Most everything I like is old. I love old movies and old music. Most of my dream girls are all dead from old age. I think it would be awesome to wear a fedora in public without being (laughingly) compared to Indiana Jones.

Then again, I can't be all anachronistic. I do like some (rare) new music, and a few of the dream girls are still alive, and reasonably young. It just puzzles me as to why I like the stuff so much.

I think part of it might be my parents, (and this is not a bad thing in any way), who had me late in life. I came along thirteen years after the other kids, had very few friends that came over to play or lived close enough to do so, and so I spent a lot of time alone. That's not a bad thing either, really. I think it forced me to develop one heck of an imagination, which is awesome, since, y'know, a writer needs one of those.

For what I consider my "formative" years, we lived in the country, and we didn't get many television channels, or pick up any radio stations very well. So, I delved into my parent's record collection. Percy Faith, Her Alpert, Roger Miller, the (early) Beatles, Roy Orbison, and so many others were my music.

I blame the old movies on my parents as well. Okay, it's not so much blame, as gratitude. My father, as many of you know, is a preacher, and so we didn't watch movies with bad language, nudity, violence, or anything like that, and that was okay. Doesn't bother me that it was like that. I watch things with that stuff now, of course, but starting out with those restrictions meant that basically anything in black and white was safe.

Abbot and Costello don't cuss, y'know.

So, my most basic sense of humor, ideal of female beauty, and a million other things were influenced by old movies and music.

Well, I guess I'm not so puzzled, after all.

(Look at that, another entry where I've answered my own question. I have to stop that.)

Age, Wisdom, and the College Crowd

2004-11-14T04:50:00.000-06:00

Someone told me about a person they knew recently. This person was an older lady, say, in her 50's, I think it was. Every time there was a discussion about anything involving this woman, she thought she always knew the right way to go, (and was wrong quite often), because she was older, and therefore, knew more about everything than the younger people around her.

WRONG!

Just because you are older, doesn't necessarily mean you're wiser. That's a ridiculous assumption.

On the other end of the spectrum, you have the college kids, who think because they've had a class on something, or got their degree, they are instantly the fount of all knowledge.

WRONG AGAIN!

Both sides are wrong. Both need to realize that they have different types of knowledge. The older people have life experience, but often they try to base every decision on a subject on their personal experience with something. Take, for example, lawyers. If they had one bad experience with a lawyer, they're going to assume all lawyers are scumbags, and should never be trusted.

The same goes, in a way, for the college kids I mentioned. If it was in the textbook, or a teacher said it, it must be true! The sky is yellow, darnit, because the book said so!

In the end, it really comes down to the fact that no one knows everything. Which is a good thing. If someone knew everything, he'd share the information with everyone else and the world would become very, very boring very fast.

The mystery is what makes life good!

So all you college punks, are you listening to me?

Your moral of the story is this: Listen to your elders, and take their opinion into account. Don't decide it's wrong just because they don't have a degree.

...and for all you older folks, turn up the hearing aids!

Your moral of the story is to listen to what those young'uns say, too. That book-learning that you never got, cause you were picking cotton so you could feed your twenty brothers and sisters? It's good for some things. Life knowledge isn't the only useful knowledge.

It kind of makes me wonder what it'll be like once the generations who didn't go to college are gone. Will the Doctorates and the Bachelors fight over who knows more, and whose knowledge is better?

Maybe the new "cotton fields life" will be found in the community colleges, where they worked hard to make it in community college to help feed their twenty brothers and sisters.

I donno.

I do know this, if I don't go to bed, I'm going to fall asleep on the keyboard.

(...and go read the novel! It's the reason I'm sleepy!)

Oh, and one more thing. Yesterday was my birthday (the 13th). Yay me. I'm 25. That's a fourth of the way there. I hope the next 25 are a little more exciting. ;)

The Mock of the Beast

2004-11-07T23:55:00.000-06:00

People take everything too far.

No matter what it is, there will always be someone who takes it to a whole other level.

Want an example? Fine. Out of boredom a couple of weeks ago, I was flipping around the radio, hit a talk station, and started to listen. The program on at the time was about computers, and technology, and the host was a tech guy from a local computer store.

They were talking about the mark of the beast.

It took me a minute to really get what they were talking about, and then I just stared, dumbfounded at the radio for a good five minutes. Apparently, the host had brought up a news story about how they can implant a microchip into a person for various reasons, but specifically the article he quoted was about the usefulness of such a thing during a kidnapping case, or etcetera.

That was enough to bring the nut-jobs out, and the caller who was on the air as I tuned in was making reference to how he would never let anyone implant on in him, because it might be the mark of the beast!

I cringe, I moan, I sigh.

Come on, people, use your minds.

"He also forced everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand or on his forehead so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of his name. This calls for wisdom. If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man's number. His number is 666" (Rev. 13:16-18)."

It's just a microchip. It's not a mark. No one is forcing anyone to get a microchip in their heads, and the ones they were talking about had nothing to do with being able to buy or sell things.

See? That caller took it to a bad level. He went too far with something. All of the conspiracy theorists and "the end is near" nuts do that.

...and you know what? It drives me insane. I can't for the life of me understand why people can't just live their lives without looking ahead to the end of the world. Especially the crack-pot end-times obsessives.

I don't know.

I'm looking all over the place, following links as I write this. I just came from a guy's website about the microchip/barcode mark of the beast, and, through his links page, to this website, which he claims as his favorite website out of all the links on his page.

...and he expects to be taken seriously? The antichrist and Mars?

I can't think about it anymore. I'll just start ranting about morons, and that won't do any of us any good.

Ugh.

A Snippet of Addiction

2004-11-01T23:45:00.000-06:00

So many creative outlets, so little time.

With the comic, the new novel in thirty days thing, and the blog, I'm blowing creativity out my ears!

That's good, though. Really. There's nothing more fulfilling than creating something. Bringing something into existence from nothingness, or a jumble of things.

I'm not talking about kids. Some people think instantly of popping out little people as soon as you say creating something is a beautiful thing. I don't want children, at least not for a long time. It's not that I hate kids, I just don't need them around now. My patience is paper thin with the cats, much less children.

At least the cats can't talk back. Well, that I know of.

So, here I am, just oozing creativity, and it's like a drug. I need more as soon as I get something really rolling I see something else and I just have to do it, have to try it out.

Hi, my name is Corgan, and I'm addicted to creating.

That's right. I'm hooked. I got started on this blog, and it grabbed me. As many of you know, I've spent literally hours tweaking the html, playing with the colors, and trying to find new nifty little tricks like that changing header.

I tried to branch out and make more blogs. That didn't really work.

Then I found out that I could have my own web-comic. For a while a few years ago, I tried coming up with my own comic, but in more of a book form, that involved the skull-headed character that is in Many Tidings Grim. The path was as follows. A certain someone sent me to a web-comic, (I think it was Penny Arcade, but I could be wrong), that had a link to a comic called Girly. With a little wandering about, I found Keenspace, and started obsessively doodling.

Thus, creative outlet number two was created. That got the juices really flowing.

Then, I magically stumbled across the National Novel Writing Month, and I couldn't resist. It was a way to get a novel going and prove to myself that I could do it, and that I might just be able to pull an idea together enough and stop obsessing over pointless details and actually have something solid to show for it that was over ten pages long.

Wow, that was a long, long sentence.

So here I am, frantically trying to keep all three up and loving it. I could do this for a living! Well...yeah...I guess that's obvious, since I want to write for a living, but the comic thing, that's a surprise.

I'm even thinking of changing my minor to Art.

Yep. Now I'd better go write a little more on the novel, and then attempt to get another strip all prettied up for the web-comic.

Save your interventions, this is a blast.

A Big Chunk 'o' Happiness

2004-10-29T15:05:00.000-05:00

The following wonderful boost of my self esteem comes to courtesy of the Weblog Review.

I'd like to personally thank the reviewer, Magz. She made me blush, and that's hard to do.

I got a five out of five...I must be doing something right. I think so, anyway.

The review reads:

Am I a lucky reviewer or what? Corgan Dane ROCKS! I'd advise that you get his autograph, now, so we don't make him late for his date with destiny. This young man is going places! He's not just toe-dabbling in the prose pond, he's making a big cannonball leap, and I predict he'll make a helluva splash.

This is his personal blog: it includes links to 2 previous self-designed websites that are well worth visiting. Watching him evolve as a writer, cartoonist, and designer feels a lot like seeing a behind-the-scenes documentary called Birth of an Author. At the age of 24 he's already showing a great deal of wit and wisdom, and seems to have something interesting to say about a variety of topics. Even the more mundane semi-rants about school, traffic, and cyberspace seem fresh and entertaining through Corgan's eyes and words. There is a powerful will to write expressed in everything he does, and he shows a real grasp on the nuances of the English language. He has a knack for side-stepping the pitfalls so many of us bloggers are prone to, such as the serializing of dull events, the aimless aggrandizing and self-conscience soul searches we do to fill up pages. He shows a refreshingly uncynical ability to poke fun at himself and others without whining, or smirking.

His design is a fairly simple blogspot template: easy to read, logical, and grammatically correct. His more experimental efforts are seen on his previous pages, which are easily linked along with other things that amuse or entertain him. He's also a cartoonist and poet, with examples of all his work very accessible from this blog. He's kept the main page quite free of anything that might distract from his focus, his writing. There is enough personal information everywhere to get the impression that he's a pretty cool guy with a very busy life and a real passion for writing.

A few of the standouts in my memory are his recent entries titled American Dream, Winter Species, Internet Crack, and I Just Like Stuff. Each of those writings demonstrate a different facet of his style from introspective to humorous, and very few of his entries bogged down the reader at all. I found myself totally absorbed in his pages, following every single link and even reading all the poetry he's written for a college class. He plans to write his second novel in November during the National Novel Writers Month and I plan to read it as he blogs it... this is a guy with ambition!

I believe that with just a bit more seasoning we'll be seeing Corgan Dane on the New York Times Bestsellers list and I'm looking forward to reading and hearing a lot more from him. "Bob-On" Mr. Dane, may I have your autograph on this napkin please?

I have to make one small addendum, though. The novel in November will be my first novel. I've done short stories and bad poetry, (you've seen the poetry), but not a novel, as of yet.

I wish I already had one done, though.

Ooooh....Ch-Ch-Changes...

2004-10-29T14:13:00.000-05:00

Change is in the air, once again.

Life has been crazy lately. Yes, I know that's always the excuse a blogger uses when they haven't written an entry for a while, but it's really true with me, as of late.

In the last week:

1.) Bob, my car, broke down. Radiator got a hole in it. Changed the radiator. Assume that wasn't the only problem since water spews out of the radiator cap like Old Faithful the minute you start it.

2.) My wife quit her job, (and that's not a bad thing), and is now looking for another one.

3.) I thought one of our two cats, Bart, was going to die. He has problems involving his urinary tract. I'd go into it more, but no one really wants to hear about that.

It's all going to work out. I'm getting the car fixed, and my Dad loaned me his truck until Bob gets fixed. Pamela will find a job, I'm sure. No problem there, and Bart's better now.

...but I'm still thrown off by it all.

I'm a creature of habit, probably more so than most people. I fall into patterns and I stick with them. My mind finds the little patterns in my life and works around them, creating a nice little schedule that I keep, just naturally.

For example, sleeping. I have to have a fan to sleep. I have to have two pillows. I have to lay on my right side for a while, then my left, and then my right again before I can fall asleep. I have to have a fairly regular schedule of sleep, or I start to fall into insomnia. I never sleep well in a bed or place that isn't my own.

Having something change is a good thing, usually. I've rarely had changes happen in life where in the end, things didn't come out better. I'm not worried about the outcome.

Really. I'm not. It's the time of flux is what always gets me.

Once everything settles down again, it'll take me a few days to find a new pattern, and I'll stick with it until I'm forced to change again.

Rhapsody in Blues

2004-10-23T01:54:00.000-05:00

Music is just incredible.

It constantly amazes me just how much music can effect me. Us. Everyone.

Some people don't organize their cd's. I've been one of those for a while, not because I don't want to, I just never have thought to do it since I got my super-huge cd case.

People who do organize their cd's, (and I say "cd's" because that's the main form of music media now), do so differently depending on the person. Some do alphabetical. Some do chronological, by release date or purchase date.

Me? I used to do it by mood, then alphabetical.

I'll give you an example.

In the "melancholy, sad, and/or depressed" section of my cd case, the following would all be found:

Johnny Cash - American IV: The Man Comes Around

New Radicals - Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too

Oasis - What's the Story, Morning Glory?

Red Hot Chili Peppers - One Hot Minute.

Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Let's take it one at a time.

Johnny Cash. His voice is pure sadness when he's not trying to be upbeat and funny. If you haven't heard this album, stop reading this right now and go buy it, or find it by any other means you may have.

New Radicals. This hits in this category because I connect it to a time period where I was depressed. It also makes me think of snow, and winter-after-Christmas. It's for those times when I'm feeling chronological-introspective-depressed. That's when you look back at your past, and rethink each and every move and decision you made, and somehow latch onto that, and add to your depressed state. It's...a sweet, lonely feeling.

Oasis. Yes, I know, some of you hate them. I, personally, don't. I found them when I ran out of Beatles, at a very, very difficult time in my life. I have trouble listening to them anymore. It makes me too sad. I sink too low. I take it only in measured doses.

Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'm betting no one else in the world would have this in the "sad" section of their case. I like two songs on the album. That's it. One is halfway perky, and okay. The other is track number four. "My Friends." This is my deep, sad, dark song. When I'm really, and truly depressed, as deep as I go, this song comes out, and goes on repeat. I own the cd just for that song. It's played very infrequently.

Smashing Pumpkins. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I don't actually have this album right now. I did for years. I got it after the problems connected to the Oasis, but before the echoes of those problems had died. The discs are full of thoughtful songs. The kind of thing I want to listen to while I write or draw. Music you can fall into, and still find your way out quickly.

Wow. That was a huge off-topic ramble, but I suppose it does help illustrate what I basically said in the first sentence.

Music has an incomparable interaction with the human mind. A single song can symbolize and file away a relationship until it's heard again. A song can bring back smells, tastes, sights, feelings, and any other number of things. A song can take us over, and make us sing it, and repeat it in our heads, like a demonic possession. A song can make a person fall in love with you. A song can make a person leave you. A song can make a person hate you. A song can change the entire mood of a room, whether it contains a drunken party, or two orderly rows of pews and a pulpit. A song can bring back smells, tastes, sights, feelings, and sounds, even if one has forgotten those things completely.

It is the closest thing to magic that we have.

It's incredible...but I've said that already.

(Also, notice how big of a dweeb I am. I made them in alphabetical order by name, using last names for solo artists, even in my little list I put on here. Sad, sad, sad.)

Comedy versus Stupidity

2004-10-19T16:53:00.001-05:00

Old movies are wonderful, specifically, old comedies.

I hate to say this, but they just don't make 'em like they used to.

Who're the biggest names in comedy movies these days? Ben Stiller, Will Ferrel, and that whole gang.

The movies are stupid. Let's be honest here. Dodgeball? A movie where the main joke revolves around people being hit with random objects. Anchorman. A movie where the main joke revolves around bad 70's cliches. They're just...brainless. A monkey could watch these movies, and laugh like mad.

Where's the wit? The snappy dialogue?

Where's the comedy?

Yes, there is a place for slapstick comedy. If it's done right, a guy getting hit in the (insert genital slang here) is funny. If it's done right, jokes about a time period can be great.

Just watch the Wedding Singer. In that movie they used the time period jokes to good effect, and it was funny, because when that movie came out, it hadn't been done to death.

What I'm saying is that comedies today can't even compare to a lot of older movies.

Take, for instance, the Philadelphia Story.

It's brilliant. The dialogue is witty and snappy, the premise is funny, and the actors don't have to resort to crotch-knocking to get laughs.

Some quotes:

Macaulay Connor (Jimmy Stewart): Doggone it, C.K. Dexter Haven. Either I'm gonna sock you or you're gonna sock me.
C. K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant): Shall we toss a coin?

Macaulay Connor (Jimmy Stewart): I'm testing the air. I like it but it doesn't like me.

C. K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant): Sometimes, for your own sake, Red, I think you should've stuck to me longer.
Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn): I thought it was for life, but the nice judge gave me a full pardon.
C. K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant): Aaah, that's the old redhead. No bitterness, no recrimination, just a good swift left to the jaw.

Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn): You're too good for me, George. You're a hundred times too good. And I'd make you most unhappy, most. That is, I'd do my best to.

Macaulay Connor (Jimmy Stewart): (drunk, to driver) Well, this is where Cinderella gets off, now you hurry back to the ball before you turn into a pumpkin and six white mice, goodbye.

It's wonderful stuff. You can't even compare the belch, burp, fart, fall, disgusting, and bad-fashion jokes that seem to be the only way to get laughs anymore.

Is it the movies themselves that are going downhill, or are they dumbing it down because they have to, in order to hit the average person's humor?

I don't know.

(Incidentally, I also suggest watching Bringing Up Baby, the Court Jester, any of the Rock Hudson/Doris Day movies, and a movie with Don Knotts called the Love God.

...and a million others.)

The Sophomore Slump

2004-10-16T16:35:00.000-05:00

Every band goes through this. Okay. Maybe not every band, but most bands.

It's the sophomore slump.

A band will come out with a first album that hits the bell at the top of the charts so hard the bell cracks.

Then, nothing. Their second album isn't worthy of the case it comes in. The album gets tucked away, never to be listened to again, though it does give you the sad bragging rights that, "I have all their albums."

Why is there a sophomore slump?

...because they spent years getting that first album ready. A band works hard, plays the local venues, and slowly move up until they hit the point where people will pay for an album of their music. They've been doing those songs for a while. They know which ones the people like. They've tweaked those songs to make people yell and clap at their gigs.

Then, they go to write the second album, and they do one of two things. They either use the songs they didn't use on the first release, which are usually not as good, or they make all new songs, under pressure in a record deal, and they hurry them out without that kind of intensive customer testing.

Then they bomb out.

What I stumbled across earlier today was that the phenomena of the sophomore slump is a lot like a mid-life crisis.

Not just men go through the mid-life crisis. Women do it too, or there wouldn't be any market for face-lifts outside of Hollywood. These men and women hit a point in their life where they have a great, best-selling, chart-topping life, where they've followed their primary, obtainable, society-approved dreams to fulfillment.

Where to go next? To the secondary dreams. The ones that are just a little more wild, a little more adventurous, and often, a lot more expensive. They go for it. They buy a convertible, etcetera, etcetera.

...and it's not what everyone was used to. It's different. It's good to them, and what they like, but it's not what the public, or the people around them want to see.

It's a mid-life crisis.

It's life's sophomore slump.

I Just Like Stuff.

2004-10-15T01:19:00.000-05:00

It's not that I'm materialistic.

At least I don't think I am. To me, materialistic people are those people who have to own everything, and have everything they own be bigger and better than everyone else's everythings, and show off their everything constantly.

Me? I just like stuff. I like having stuff. It doesn't have to be bigger and better than other people's stuff, or cost a lot.

I just like stuff! Pointless things.

For example, we went to Target recently, and I bought this, an official toy Batman grappling hook. Why? Because it made me think of Jay and Silent Bob. So I got it. It's a cheap plastic thing. It's hanging in my office now, and I love it. Just having it makes me happy.

Which leads logically to the flip-side of that coin. If I can't get stuff, it depresses me. That's why I hate window-shopping.

That's right. I said it. Window-shopping is no fun. What's the point in looking if you can't get anything? It's not just a guy thing, either, so don't try and tell me that. I know women who don't like it either.

I suppose for me the worst part of it is that I get a little annoyed and depressed when I go shopping and can't buy anything. There are plenty of things in life I want, and can "see," but can't have, already. Not being able to get the small, pointless three dollar things I want just reminds me, in a snowballing fashion, of everything that I can't have now that I want...and I don't just mean physical objects.

I mean everything. Hopes, dreams, uncertain plans for the future...they all hit me, hard, one by one, as I stare at that pointless, cheap object and want it, and can't have it.

That's probably not normal. Maybe I should just shush and go back to eyeing that Batarang I want...

Dreaming of Leg Room

2004-10-13T22:10:00.000-05:00

My little car is so sad.

I have a '97, (or is it '98?), Ford Aspire. I call him Bob. It's a pattern in my life. Anything that annoys me, I call Bob.

Okay, so sometimes I call things that annoy me other names, but none of them are very nice, or child friendly.

Anyway, poor Bob hasn't been washed since I got him. I refuse to wash the car, partly because I'm stubborn, and partly because when I have the money to wash him, I'd much rather be spending that money on something else.

Also, I had some of that Febreeze for cars, and got some on the inside of the windshield, and so now, the big window is dirty. Everything viewed through it is slightly blurry.

Another problem that plagues poor Bob is that he's filthy inside, too. Not so much dirty kind of nastiness. It's more of a "million empty soda cans" kind of nastiness. I let the cans build up because I'm lazy, for one, and I'd rather use my freetime to work on things like this blog, and my upcoming webcomic than to dredge through the aluminum jungle.

My wife hates to ride in Bob, for all the reasons I've mentioned above.

...and I honestly can understand that. I can.

Her car is immaculate compared to Bob. Heck, most cars not owned by wierd, scuzzy people are clean compared to Bob.

The real problem is that I don't like Bob. I have no pride in him. He has a tiny engine, and very little leg room. I need leg room. I crave a big engine.

I think my last car spoiled me.

My last car was a boat of a car. A 1978 Chrysler Newport Custom with a nice big engine that was so loud it would scare cats up trees when I blew by. It was ugly. It was white and rusty, had a dark pea green top and interior.

I loved that car. I could sit comfortably in it, and I'm a big guy. I'm not grotesquely fat or anything, I'm just big. I've recieved several offers for jobs as a bouncer, if that helps you visualize me any better.

...and then, I ended up with Bob, because the Newport finally died, and I couldn't afford to fix it.

I'm like a widower who remarries, and no matter how much he knows the new wife loves him dearly, and treats him well, she'll just never be the love he lost.

Maybe I will wash Bob. He deserves it for putting up with me.

At least while driving him I've never called out my old car's name.

The American Dream

2004-10-11T22:33:00.000-05:00

I listen to a lot of talk radio, as many of you know, especially if you've read this post.

This post isn't about talk radio. It is, however, about the commercials I hear on it, over, and over, and over. Actually, just one in particular.

The ad in question is for a local home-builder's association, and they have this pleasant, (but annoying after the thousandth time you hear it), jingle in the commercial. One of the lines in the commercial is that "a quality home is the American dream."

That is totally bloody wrong.

This isn't the first radio, television, or print as I've heard or seen this type of thing in. Leave the American dream out of it. The American dream has nothing to do with whatever good or service you're trying to sell.

The American dream is to have the opportunity to better yourself, and do as you wish, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. That's it. Nothing more. There's no mention of any specific items you must own, or services that must be rendered to you for you to achieve the American dream.

That's not the only place the concept is taken wrongly, either. Political candidates routinely change the use of the term to whatever they currently need to raise their poll numbers one point.

(Okay, so politicians will take anything and use it however they can to get a vote, but that's not the point.)

The American dream isn't about owning things, it's about a state of mind, or a state of being. When you feel that you have bettered yourself, you are living the American dream. Everytime you go to the church of your choice or buy Penthouse, you are a part of the American dream. You are doing what you want, and, (in your own terms), bettering your situation.

That's the end. Now go live the American dream...unless you're not from America, in which case, feel free to live your countries' dream as you will.

...or, heck, hurry up and come over here*, and you can have some of ours.

*This offer only intended for those who enter the country legally. Terms and conditions apply. For official rules and entry form, please see the United States Immigration Bureau. Member FDIC. May cause drowsiness. If you're still reading, you must really, really be bored. No exclusions, exchanges, coupons, or refunds. Viva la small print.

A Beginner's Guide to Wasting Time Efficiently

2004-10-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

Welcome!

Today, we'll be starting with the basics.

First things first, you have to not clean your office in a year. Just let that stuff pile up, and up and up, and don't touch it.

Then you procrastinate as long as possible, until one day you decide, "hey, I'll clean the office, and put up those new posters I bought three months ago!"

Don't go into it with a plan, stumble blindly about doing things in no order whatsoever...oh, and be sure to have someone call you right in the middle of hanging the highest, hardest to reach poster.

Then, you will be wasting time with a proficiency of which you never dreamed!

I know you can do it. Know why?

Because I am, right now. I'm also procrastinating during the process, which doubles my efficiency.

If I wasn't procrastinating, I wouldn't be writing this, though, so you should be happy.

Well, back to work. Maybe I'll just pile it all back up and deal with it later...

A Winter Species in Summer

2004-10-09T18:21:00.000-05:00

Fall is upon us, finally, and I love it.

I would say I'm a fall person, but that wouldn't really be true. In the winter, I'm a spring person, in the spring I'm a summer person, and so on.

So right now, I'm a fall/winter person. I can't wait for the cold and the snow, but I'm also ready for the bright colors and hypnotic dark nights of fall.

What is it that makes fall nights so dark and mysterious? I think it's the loss of those long, bright summer nights that you grow accustomed to during the summer months. Suddenly the days seem so short, and the night so long.

Unless you're a morning person, which I'm not. I've never understood how people can enjoy the morning so much. My parents get up at five in the morning almost everyday, even though they have nowhere to be at that hour, and that blows my mind. I'm a night owl, so I guess I'll never understand it.

Some people, though, act like getting up early is some sort of virtue. "Early to bed, early to rise," and "the early bird gets the worm," are just two sayings I would love to never, ever hear again. I don't want to rise early. There's nothing there. It's cold, after being in my warm bed. It's bright, after being in my dark bedroom. I just don't like it.

Back to this virtue thing, though. What's wrong with getting up at ten or eleven in the morning if you have nothing to do until then? What makes that a crime against nature? It's not laziness. It's a personal choice, and, I think, an ingrained quality in people. Some people are born to be night owls, and some to be morning risers. Are the morning risers any better than the others? Not in any way I can see.

Maybe it's just a leftover thing, from when people had to work from sunrise to sunset to survive. They'd get up early, hit the fields, get some harvesting done or whatever, and then work until sundown because they had to.

I'd be willing to bet my ancestors would have loved to be able to just sleep in, and rise when they were fully rested, and ready to face the afternoon. Just because someone had to do something to survive at one time, doesn't make that a virtue. It was a necessity then. It's not anymore.

That doesn't necessarily make us more lazy, or less productive. It means that the world has changed, and so have the demands upon our bodies and minds. At one time, it was a question of physical ability to survive. As a species, we have forced our own evolution in a way. We don't rely on nature to provide us with new advances anymore. Instead we create them ourselves. We have taken the basic power of the human mind and multiplied it through computers. We have stretched the limits of the human body's strength by using machines which can lift things a human could never dream of picking up alone.

We are a species working forward for ourselves, instead of waiting for the next evolution.

We are a winter species in the middle of summer, and for us, it's already snowing.

Blogsharing the Night Away

2004-10-09T17:25:00.000-05:00

I can't stop.

Someone help me, please!

This internet drug has captured my mind in ways I hadn't imagined it would.

What is it?

Blogshares.

I stumbled across it doing a random search for my blog, and fell right into the rabbit hole. The thing is, by all accounts, I shouldn't like it. Mainly because math and I have never gotten along. I'm an English-major writing junkie, the natural enemy of the numbers crowd, and thus I shouldn't be hooked like this. Heck, I should have ran when I saw the initial page. The whole thing screams, "Math here! Get your math!"

Yet, here I am on a Saturday night when I could be doing something constructive, carefully conserving my twenty transactions so that I can hopefully up my ante and someday reach the top of the Blogshares food chain.

In a way, though, I am doing something constructive. I'm learning. Before I began playing with Blogshares, all I really knew about the stock market was to buy low, and sell high, and I didn't even really understand how that worked. If a stock was low, didn't that mean there was a reason for it? How did you make a stock rise in value?

I know all that now, or at least I like to pretend I do. This game is a learning experience, as well as a game. Another thing I've noticed is that unlike other games I've played online, the people on Blogshares genuinely seem to like each other, and enjoy the game in more than just a "winner takes all" type of way.

In the first hour I was a player, someone dropped some very lucrative stock in my lap, for no reason that I could see. It threw me off. I just assumed something had to be wrong there, for someone to be just giving me things right off the bat. In other games I've played, someone giving you something free was a way for them to cheat through some loophole. From what I've seen though, the person who gave me that boost just did it to be nice. You don't see that a lot in real life, much less in an internet setting.

Incidentally, I believe that gift also boosted my learning process, as I've been able to play around more, and find out how things work more quickly, without worrying about losing everything on a stupid move.

I guess I should take back what I said at the beginning of this post.

I don't want someone to help me quit Blogshares.

Now, I think I'll go transfer some worthwhile shares to a new player, and pass on the good deed that was done to me.

(...and for those interested, my user id# is 20791.)

Warning: Internet Crack Contained Within

2004-10-07T17:04:00.000-05:00

People do this just to be cruel, I swear.

They make games, or pointless little things that just make you sit and stare and click for hours, and never really accomplish anything.

Here they are, my list of internet crack sites. Those sites that you just keep playing with, and don't actually do anything, but they're so addictive.

I don't actually do all of these, anymore...but at one time or another I've been addicted to them all.

1.) Blogshares. If you own a blog, this is highly addictive, and I've just picked up the habit.

2.) Ever wanted to be a little alien and gather mass amounts of pointless things? The Alien Adoption Agency is for you. It's not for me, anymore, thankfully. I was too cheap to pay the fee!

3.) Ever wanted your own nation? Making trade agreements and alliances sound like fun? Then Nation States is for you. Also broke myself of this habit. Just quit cold turkey. Actually, lost my internet connection for a while, then never went back.

4.) The ever popular Neopets. Addictive, if you have time to wait for the millions of graphics to load, and can stand the constant advertising. I couldn't. Yay me!

5.) In the market for a heavy dose of cuteness with a large chunk of pointlessness tied on? Try the games at Orisinal. Fear the Bungee Bear.

6.) One of my earliest internet crack issues was Furcadia. Soon, though, I realized that it involved far too much chatting, and too little of any actual game elements, but it was still fun to explore for a while.

7.) Like Nation States, (see #3 above), Utopia let's you rule a country, but the setting is medieval. It suffered the same fate as Nation States.

8.) Also incredibly time consuming is Space. Take over planets, build fleets of starships, create alliances. Wicked, wicked crack. Also broke the habit due to loss of the internet.

9.) This took forever to escape. It's so simple, and therein lies the addictive qualities. What is it? It's E-blots.

10.)...and the most pointless time-wasting thing of all? The Idiot Button. Despite the name, you just have to push it. Must push button! Must push! Must! (clickclickclickclick...)

...and of course, there were more, but most were in beta versions, just don't exist anymore, or I just don't remember them.

Click the links, and look, but don't touch, I'm warning you...

The Winged Thief of Holidays Past

2004-10-06T16:08:00.000-05:00

Time flies while you're having fun.

That's most definitely true.

What they don't tell you is that it flies faster as you get older, anyway, and fun has nothing to do with it.

I know I'm not old, okay? That's not what I'm saying here. You're not old until you're at least 75 or 80, I think, and even then, it depends on how you look at life whether you feel that way.

When you're a kid, though, once October hit, it felt like it was ten months until Christmas. It took forever. The time stretched out into the distance, and then, finally, after you'd stared at those presents for what seemed like a millennia, you got to open them.

Now, it's October, and December 25th is just a few paychecks away, a few weeks of college away, a few weekends away. It still holds a sort of mystical, magical quality to me, (like Halloween), but it just comes and goes so fast, because there's so much to do, and so little time to do it in.

...and we don't even have kids. We have cats, but they don't care. Christmas to them is once a day when we feed them. Oddly enough, though, they're always excited about it anyway. Maybe it's the shorter life span. I don't know.

Maybe they're just cats, and I should stop thinking about it so hard.

There are all those movies and television specials around the holidays that show how, if you work too much, or are ambitious, and ignore the simple things in life, you'll lose the meaning of Christmas. What they don't show, though, is that before the hilarious elf/reindeer/snowman/real Santa showed up, the person still loved Christmas...there was just too much to get done to enjoy it. Not things they didn't have to do, but things they did do, mainly to make that magical Christmas available to their kids/nephew-nieces/grandkids.

There's just no time to stop, and do nothing, and play with our toys.

We're not allowed to do that anymore. We're too old, and there are too many things to do.

Time won't let us. It's stingy with the goods.

...and I promise, this will be the last post about Christmas I do until at least November.

(Chuckles)

A Reworked Third Snippet of Possibly Bad Poetry

2004-10-06T15:52:00.000-05:00

Last night I stayed up later than I should, studying for a test in my literary criticism class.

Yes, the material in that class is as yawn-inducing as it sounds, but the teacher is funny, and that helps.

Anyway, I had forgotten to print out and turn in the last poem I had written for my poetry class on Monday, so I had to email it to my teacher.

I went to copy-paste it over to the email, and just sort of started reworking it.

This is what came out, and what I sent in.

Revelations

You're our Father,
but most times I feel,
as your Son,
when we talk you don't listen,
but maybe that's fair.
We do the same to you
when we're all lined up in a stiff pew.

We sang in your Church last sunday,
all of us on that cheap carpet stage.
We did it just for the harmony's sake,
and the song
that we sang,
was "Amazing Grace."

...how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me...

"A personal relationship with the father,"
you said to me once.
"You worship a ghost,"
I replied to you once.
Neither of us heard a word.

You call simply to chat.
We fell a-cross your heart.
Just talk to me once,
without trying to
guilt me down onto my knees.
You know not what we do, but
you think you do.
You exist by your doctrine,
and we live by free will.

You preach your religion
in a trinity each week,
sunday, that night, and
then wednesday.
They listen better than we do,
but you don't know them at all.
Faceless souls to be won.

Look at my face.
You don't really know me.
You don't really know us.
If you really love us,
you must forgive us,
our Father,
for we have sin.
Now, cast the first stone.

I'm not asking for comments, again...you...you...non-commenting when I ask readers!

A Few Thoughts on this Blog, and You

2004-10-05T17:10:00.000-05:00

The blogosphere, as the blogging community has been called, is a place with it's own little culture, and I have to admit, I haven't quite figured it all out.

I read the Weblog Review and randomly browse other blogs pretty regularly, partly because I bore easily, but also because I want to make my blog the very best I can. I want it to be accessible to pretty much everyone. I don't really care about building up a big readership or anything, but I don't want my blog to be one of those you roll your eyes at, either.

Writing-wise, I think I do alright compared to many of the blogs I've come across randomly. I try not to dwell on the little, unimportant details of my day. The boring quality of my life has been why every pen and paper journal I've attempted to write in daily has been a failure.

I always just become bored with my own words when I write that I went to school, and then work, and then came home. Which is basically my life right now, all total. I'm not an exciting person, and I know it. I think I'm kind of funny, halfway intelligent, and come off as a likeable guy.

Actually, I don't think I've ever had a true enemy in my life. Even people that didn't like me have always had to admit I'm a pretty nice guy, and they've been few and far between.

Most of them have been jealous of something, or someone I had or was involved with.

So, I'm boring to myself, but other people seem to find me amusing, and my words here worth wasting a few minutes out of their day to read. That's all I ask. As long as someone is reading what I write, and finding it at least mildly enjoyable, I'm content.

A lot of blogs have a single, serious issue or topic around which they revolve. I guess I just don't care about any one thing enough to spend hours writing about the same thing.

Like politics.

I could write a political blog. I know I could...but it wouldn't really matter to me, and thus wouldn't be worth the server space it occupied.

Instead, I write this. This chunk of randomness, that works, largely, the way my mind works. I jump around from topic to topic, writing whatever happens to strike me at the moment I sit down at the keyboard and open up the "new post" page.

So, for those who read this, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. It's a pleasure to entertain you, stimulate you, or whatever it is reading this does to you.

What does it do for me?

It alleviates the boredom, and gives me a place to write, even when I don't feel like writing. It stimulates me, and makes me think a little more indepth about things that I might not view as closely otherwise.

...and it makes me happy to think that I'm writing something that might make someone else think or feel an emotion, either positive or negative, which is the point of writing anything.

At least I think it is...

Talk Radio Killed the Video Star

2004-10-04T22:58:00.000-05:00

When the music on the radio becomes a pattern, and you can actually hear the playlist queue they have set up on their computers starting over, what do you do?

You flip over to talk radio, and listen to the assortment of oddities that inhabit that chunk of the airwaves.

It's not so much the hosts. With the hosts, you know what they're there for, and what they're talking about. If they say they're conservative, they're republicans. If they say they're liberal...well, none of them say that.

There are no liberals in talk radio, apparently, at least not around here.

I'm a fence-sitter politically, because I choose my issues individually, and then make my decisions. I don't tow the line of any party.

In the end, 99.9999% of all politicians are in it for the career, money, and power anyway, so let's stop pretending they're actually there to help us, shall we?

What I really want to talk about with talk radio, though, is the people who call in.

You have five basic types:

1.) The pointless agreeing people. They call more to get on the radio more than anything. They call just to thank the host for doing a good job, basically say the same thing the host said, and then say something like "God bless you."

2.) The conspiracy theorists. You know these guys. They think any of the following are secretly pulling the strings:

Democrats
Republicans
The Skull and Bones Society
The Illuminati
Jews
Muslims
Aliens from Omnicrom Delta 4 (or another planet)
The Labor Unions
The Freemasons
...or any big corporation or government agency

3.)The argumental people. They don't agree with the host, and darnit, they think they can prove they're right. They never do. For some reason, they just don't get it that the host of a radio show always has the last word, and you always look foolish in the end.

4.)The off topic people. These are the people that call and try their best to push the host off the topic and onto another one by using what they consider a slick transition. 90% of the time this fails. The hosts are professionals. Most of them can see these guys coming from a million miles away.

5.)The take it too far people, (aka the shockers). These are the guys that think we should have the death penalty for jay walkers. They take everything just that one step too far. They commonly refer to the "slippery slope," and insist on showing us the bottom of the slope, which usually consists of the end of civilization as we know it.

...and I listen, and I laugh.

Sometimes I growl a lot, like other people.

...mostly, though, I just wish the volume down button on my cd player wasn't broken so I could play my own music without people in Wisconsin being able to hear it.

I'd leave the radio altogether, and never come back.

A Snippet of Possible Misc. Happiness

2004-10-04T17:10:00.000-05:00

I hate looking for a job.

Actually, I don't think I know of anyone who enjoys hunt for employment.

I have a job already. I work for the Bixler Corporation as an office cleaner, 5 nights a week, from 6 to 9:30.

It's an easy job, and I like it, and it gives me plenty of time to do schoolwork, housework, and to write on here and things. It's a laid back sort of job, and I basically work alone, which I like. The place I clean isn't an office so much as a very clean factory. I clean the Dameron Color Labs building, (who, apparently, haven't ever completed their website).

It's a photo developing place, on a huge scale. They do prom pictures, sports pictures, and wedding pictures mainly. Which, to a janitor, means one thing:

Massive amounts of trash.

I swear they kill at least twenty acres of photo-paper rainforest a day. It takes me an hour just to take out their trash. Then I do the floors in the whole place, and make sure there are no cobwebs in the corners, ceiling and floor.

It's easy, and basically stress free.

So, this afternoon, I applied for a job with the local airport, basically doing the same thing, for $4 more dollars an hour. I can't even imagine making $10.30 an hour. It blows my mind. The job would be from 5-9 pm, Monday through Friday.

I'm so nervous. In the back of my head, there's a part of me screaming, "You'll never get it. You never get the jobs you want!" Then there's the optimistic side that isn't saying anything. He's too busy praying and hoping I get it.

I guess all three of us, me and my two parts, will have to wait and see what happens...

Die, Webscum, Die!

2004-10-04T01:05:00.000-05:00

The internet really brings out the worst in some people.

R sent me this link, to show me Laura Prepon now that she's died her hair blonde.

I realize that Howard Stern doesn't draw the classiest people, on his best day, though I did think his movie was halfway decent.

...but, ignoring that, just reading what those guys wrote annoys me.

A lot.

I don't want to beat the feminist anti-meat drum, but that's what they turned her into. Meat.

The internet brings out the worst in people. Yes, the internet offers a better, faster, more wide-scale exchange of information. Yes, it can be very enlightening, and useful.

...but more often it's just crappy, like people.

You have morons who sit and all they do is download porn.

I have nothing against porn, really, but if you're sitting around in your underwear collecting welfare checks and watching that crap like it's a regular movie...you fall into the category of internet scum for me.

You're low.

You fall into the same category as the Spammers, the Cyber-sluts, the Hackers, and the Virus-makers.

You are all so depraved in normal life, (and it may not show there), that when you get on the internet all that natural sick, scummy idiocy comes out and oozes through the web.

The guys who commented on Laura Prepon like that probably don't fall into that category. They're not bottom feeders. Instead, they stay just in the range of respectability, using the anonymity of the net to be the morons they want to be in real life.

Well, actually, some of them probably are in real life.

(Re-reads what he's written.)

I think I need to go to bed. I'm rambling, and being incoherent.

Goodnight.

Christmas Comes but Once a Year, Darnit.

2004-10-03T20:20:00.000-05:00

In any conversation where the holidays come up, I always end up hearing someone complain about how much earlier the stores are putting out their holiday items each year.

Right now, they have Halloween and Christmas sections in our local Wal-mart, co-existing peacefully.

I have no problem with that.

I get impatient for the holidays. They give me something to look forward to, even if I don't actually do anything on most of them. They add a little spice, and a little nostalgia for when I was younger, and make me happy.

So why shouldn't stores have out the Christmas trees the first day of September?

For that matter, why shouldn't they have them out all year long, as long as there is someone buying the product?

I don't see the problem, there. If they have the space, why complain about it? Maybe there's some schmuck like me who just likes to walk down the Christmas aisle and think of how nice that time of year is, and how much I enjoy it. I'd love to have a store with a Christmas aisle all year long, so when I'm depressed in June because every week is like the last, I can wander down that aisle and dream of snow and the smell of pine needles.

I realize not everyone loves the holidays like I do, and that's your perogative, (you squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner!).

...but don't grump about my little aisles of fun just because you don't like the holidays.

Gripe about people that drive like idiots. At least that's actually a problem.

What? Me Scared? Yep.

2004-10-02T19:35:00.000-05:00

I'm afraid of Zombies.

I know they're not real! I know it!

...and yet, I wake up in the night after dreaming, just sure the apartment will be crawling with them, or those creepy, moaning, hand-shadows will be outside the window of the bedroom.

It's ridiculous. Zombies do not exist. (Well, not as the undead. There have been cases in the "Voodoo" countries, but those were most likely cases of some sort of chemical/hypnosis combinations).

I just want to know where the fear came from.

I even have problems at funerals. I'm so afraid the deceased is suddenly going to look at me, and make a low moaning sound.

The point of this little confession, I suppose, is to bring it around so that I can pose a question, as I seem to do quite often in what I write here.

This time, the question is:

What is it that makes us scared, even when the fear can be decimated by simple logic?

For example, people that flip out whenever they see a mouse.

As far as I know, no mouse has ever caused anyone serious bodily injury or death, unless said mouse was being placed in a bad place, which is just nasty and wrong anyway, (and the sicko's deserved to be hurt or die, in my opinion).

It's just a mouse, and yet, as we've seen in a million cartoons, sitcoms, and movies, the minute one shows up, some people just scream and throw a hissy fit. That blows my mind.

It's just a mouse. Heck...I've had them as pets, (and fed them to my pet ball python, but I felt really bad about it).

Okay, so what about...spiders?

I don't like spiders. I'll admit that. If it's bigger than the tip of my pinkie finger and I see it, a spider is history.

...but I know how incredibly miniscule the odds of a spider seriously hurting me are, so I'm not afraid of them. Yes, people die from spider bites, (or stings? Which is it?), but not very often.

Then, we come back to my fear. My pointless, irrational fear. Zombies.

It's ridiculous. I'm 24 years old, and would love to go see Shaun of the Dead, but I know I can't, because I won't sleep for a week. Trust me, I know I wouldn't. I've just watched the trailer and some clips, and in daylight, they're funny...but when I'm laying there in bed, I can only see the zombie parts in my head.

...and since my fear is imaginary, I can't even be confronted with it and get over it that way. People who are afraid of heights go sky diving, and get over it. The mouse people get a pet mouse. The spider people have a tarantula crawl on them.

What can I do? Have a guy in a zombie suit chase me for a while in the park?

I'm just going to have to overcome my fear, irrational as it is in the first place.

Come on, logic...do your thing...

A Third Snippet of Possibly Bad Poetry

2004-09-29T01:06:00.000-05:00

...and the poetry barrage continues.

This is, of course, the third poem I've written for my poetry class.

It's a little more personal, I suppose. My teacher told us to write a poem about family, and she made dead sure that we all understood no family is perfect.

So, here's my little dysfunctional family poem:

Revelations

You're our parents,
but most times
I feel
that when we talk you don’t listen
to a word that we say.
In your living room,
or ours,
it’s always the same talk about nothing.
We have our differences
and we all know it.
We all try to ignore it
but it won’t go away.

We sang together in your church Sunday,
all of us on that cheap carpet stage.
We did it just for the harmony,
though we’re never really in key.

You love us unconditionally,
but in a conditional way.
You don’t seek to control us,
and yet,
you do.
Around you
we watch our words,
and
we rework our stories
to keep them spotless
and sin free.

I got married for love,
but more for you.
A silver band escape
from your brimstone murmurs.

We want to be like you,
but not believe like you,
but you can’t accept that.
You preach your beliefs every
Sunday and Wednesday
to people you don’t really know
and most you don‘t like.
You love us, though,
and with love comes understanding,
whether you can
understand it,
(and us,)
or not.

Comments are welcome, good or bad...thanks!

Odd Thoughts on the Odd State of Normalcy

2004-09-28T22:25:00.000-05:00

I think I may be odd.

I'm not sure, but I think all the right signs are there.

Sign #1 - I talk to myself, and yes, I do answer myself.

Sign #2 - I have this automatic thing that I do, where I automatically resay everything I say aloud in my head right after I've said it.

Sign #3 - I always go to the back stall in a bathroom.

Sign #4 - I obsess over small things in a large way after I first discover their existence.

Sign #5 - I talk in strange accents for no reason at times.

Sign #6 - I have a habit of taking the song that is on the radio, and making up my own lyrics, often adding my name, my wife's name, and the names of our pets.

Actually....I don't think those things make me odd. I think they make me a bit normal.

A little sad, maybe, but not odd.

My justifications are as follow:

Sign #1 - I work alone, and a good conversation never hurt anyone.

Sign #2 - In thinking this way, I automatically know if I've said something wrong or stupid.

Sign #3 - Doesn't everyone do this? I clean bathrooms every night, and there is always more trash in the back stall's trash can than in any other.

Sign #4 - I think everyone does this, too. In love, it's called a crush.

Sign #5 - Yeah...I've got nothing. That's just odd.

Sign #6 - See #5.

I guess the point of this is that if a person sits and really thinks about the things they do, it's all odd. Every bit of it.

We obsess over little things, and have strange little quirks. Everyone does.

So that means we're all odd, right? ...or is it, perhaps, our collected oddness that makes up what is normal?

I'm not going to make the college freshman/high school senior argument that basically consists of asking, "What is normal?" in a sarcastic tone. Normal is what is accepted by the masses, whether that is good or bad, or somewhere in between.

So really, what makes us normal is what makes us seem strange, when not in a group setting.

For example, let's say someone goes to a building, (which they built), alone once a week just to get on their knees, fold their hands, lower their head, and speak to someone that died a long time ago. Then they sing some songs about the person, and sit for thirty minutes on a highly polished, (yet highly uncomfortable), bench listening to someone talk about the person.

Alone, that sounds insane.

In a group, that's called religion, and thousands of people do it every Sunday. (Some do it on Saturday, and a lot meet on Wednesday as well, but that's beside the point.) I have nothing against religion, so don't get that idea...if you choose to believe, that's your thing. I was just making a point.

...and that point was:

So I guess I'm really not odd. I'm just alone far too much.

Darkness and Light Play Tug 'o' War...Again.

2004-09-27T22:10:00.000-05:00

Any sentence that starts, "When life gets you down, you..." is usually worthless.

When life gets you down, you're just down for a while. That is the way of life. It can't be up, up, up all the time. We as human beings need valleys in order for us to understand how beautiful the mountaintops can be.

For some people, the valleys are too deep, and they begin to feel as though the earth is swallowing them whole. Then they get help to stay level, or enter self-destructive patterns.

What no one seems to realize is that the mountains alone cannot satisfy the needs of the human soul. We need those low places to retain our sanity, and our grip on what is good in life.

If all of our wishes came true, we would be the most boring people in the world. Our lives would become meaningless, because there would be no comparison, and no danger of falling. In time we would come to seek out those low places on our own.

This is my theory on why celebrities so often self-destruct, or fall into bad patterns of alcoholism, drug abuse, and other vices.

They need that darkness.

The greatest creative forces in humanity are linked to the darkest of emotions. Failures in love, sadness, and depression have been behind most of the greatest songs, books, and movies in human history.

Just think of the things that never would have been written, sung, or filmed, had it not been for the melancholy, darker side of life. Yes, there are all those things about happiness, true love conquering all, and success, but they don't move us like the darker works.

It always comes back to light and darkness. Everything does. That contrast is in everything in life.

I didn't mean to write about darkness and light, again. I meant to write about the way people treat depression and sadness as though they are diseases that must be cured. They think that one should never be depressed, and never feel that melancholy.

I guess that's all I really needed to write, then, wasn't it?

A Snippet of Insecurity

2004-09-26T16:00:00.000-05:00

Another lazy weekend day.

Well, not completely lazy. There are household chores to be done, and they'll all be done by the end of the night, but it's that space in between the chores that I always seem to waste.

Instead of doing something productive like writing, I sit and play with my blog, or randomly surf the internet, or play video games.

Then I wonder where all the time went at the end of the night.

I need to stop fooling around and just make myself write, and I know it, but it's hard to do.

It takes an amazing amount of energy for me just to open the word processor and get started, yet I can pointlessly browse the time away and never even notice.

That's when the doubts hit me again, about my major, and about what I want to do with my life. I sit here and I question myself. If I can't even write for ten minutes a day, how can I ever write an entire novel, or even a sellable short story?

I do write regularly in this blog, but that isn't the same thing. This is just my thoughts, rambling, wandering around whatever happens to pop into my head. When I write in the blog, I get no sense of satisfaction beyond the fact that I'm filling in the space, and not wasting blogger's time with an entry every few months.

I'm not creating, not weaving a tale, not making anything that hasn't been said in a hundred different ways in a hundred different places, (or blogs, for the matter).

Don't misunderstand me. I love my blog. Probably a bit too much. I obsess over it. I look at it even when I know there are no new comments and nothing there I haven't seen before. I waste hours tweaking the template, and then usually throw it all out in the end.

I just need to take the few minutes a day I spend writing here, and add on ten minutes writing something from my imagination. I have to do it. It's not a question.

The "Best" Post of "All Time"

2004-09-22T22:04:00.000-05:00

I noticed that the cover of the latest Entertainment Weekly, (September 24, 2004 - issue #785), has the headline "Fall Music: The 25 Must-Have CD's - Plus: The Best Album of All Time" in one corner.

Intrigued, I checked it out, (after reading the main cover story about the new Star Wars DVD release), and found, to my surprise, that they put that label on "London Calling" by the Clash.

I need to preface this by saying that I am no musical expert. I know the bands I like, and the bands I don't like, and just have some general musical knowledge.

...but I think it's a bit pretentious to call any album the "Best" album of "All Time."

There's no way you can say that about any album, without taking into account your own likes and dislikes.

So basically, I have a problem with their choice of words.

If they had said:

"One of the Most Influential Punk Albums of All Time,"

or

"One of the Best Albums of All Time,"

even, I might have been okay.

The problem is, you can't take one album out of all the albums ever made, and proclaim it the crowning accomplishment of the musical industry in general. It just can't be done. The world of music is too diverse to make a statement like that.

If you must make a claim, give it more of a categorical approach. Say it influenced its' particular genre greatly or something like that.

It would be like me claiming that "Lemon Meringue pie is the Best Pie of All Time"

(Incidentally, I would never, ever claim that. I hate lemon meringue pie. Actually, I hate any kind of meringue. Bleagh.)

It wouldn't work, no matter how strongly I believed it because other people would like other things better. It would just be silly.

Now, I officially proclaim this the "Best Blog of All Time," as well as the "Best Post of All Time."

That is all!

International Tension: The Internet Edition

2004-09-22T17:02:00.000-05:00

Stop it!

I randomly follow links in blogs to other blogs, and I always eventually reach a blog where the writer has to announce how much they dislike Americans.

It's not exclusively in blogs, of course. I've seen it in chat rooms, and been hit with it personally there.

There seems to be this, (and this might be too strong of a word), certain arrogance that some people display toward Americans, as though we're in some way inferior to them.

So I don't like soccer. I'm not a fan of any sport, really, except for Pool, which isn't really considered a sport...it's more of a game.

So I don't like dark beer. I'm sorry...it's personal taste. The stuff is bitter, and I don't like it. I'm not wild about beer of any kind, really.

So I don't understand your slang. Heck, half the time you don't get mine, either. That's how language works. It doesn't mean I'm stupid. Just explain it to me in conversation, and we'll go on.

It's not right to lump us all together like that. There are some Americans who love dark beer, soccer, and can say any naughty word in ten different slang terms from around the globe.

...and then there are those like me who are different from you.

So we're different. Let it go. Let's just exchange some cultural ideas, get over that, and get on with our lives.

If you hate Americans, or are an American who hates people from other countries, please get over it.

There are enough problems in the world without having you both thinking you're superior because of the way you handle a ball in a game, (whether with your feet, or with your hands.)

Either way, you're just passing around a ball in a pointless game to me.

Eleven Steps to Being a Personable Professor

2004-09-21T22:40:00.000-05:00

The problem with professors is simply this; they are human beings.

Most of the teachers I've had in my college career I've either incredibly liked, or not really cared about them either way.

That's pretty much how I am about most people in general, everyday life too.

Unfortunately, just like everyday life, you sometimes run into people, (or professors, in this instance), who exude personality traits that make you want to slap them, though you usually can't.

Well, not without bringing on a lawsuit or some other ill consequence.

Sometimes a person will rub me the wrong way in so many ways that I don't want to even see them again in passing, much less talk to them, or interact.

With a professor, though, you can't escape.

Oh, you can drop the class, but that just adds time to your already long list of classes to take in the coming semesters. Since I'm already past the normal term to fall into the category of "traditional" student, I press on, generally, no matter what, because I don't want to be in college until I'm thirty.

I really, really want it to be over...but that's beside the point.

The point of this is just to rant. I'll admit it.

So here are a few suggestions for you professors out there.

(Disclaimer: In the following the word "we" does not mean all students, merely those who I consider my peers, as opposed to the alcohol-guzzling Abercrombie and Fitch addicts.)

1.)Don't talk down to your students. We hate that. We're intelligent, and the point of the class is that we learn the material.

2.)Don't call on people randomly. We hate that, too. No one thinks clearly when forced into a spotlight in front of a large number of people they don't know. If we don't raise our hands, odds are, we're not outgoing socially, don't know the answer, or think that if we get it wrong, you'll make us look like fools.

3.)Pop Quizzes are fine, but don't make them for real points. Make them for extra credit. This can help those who are struggling in the class anyway, as opposed to hurting them if they're having problems.

4.)Stay on subject. We don't care about your family problems, your pets, your bad jokes, or your pet peeves. Especially that last one. We don't care what you like. We're here to learn about the subject at hand, not how much you hate people who pronounce it "kill-ah-met-er" instead of "keel-o-meet-er," or whatever.

5.)If your class is a "workshop" class, let the students judge each other, instead of leaping in with your observations constantly, overriding what the students are saying. Don't constantly put down something a student has written, (and I have seen this happen, quite recently). Most students take a low-level workshop class because they would like to try whatever the class focuses on, be it poetry or playwriting. We are not going to write deeply meaningful works of incredible literary merit. Challenge us, but don't attempt to over-control us.

6.)If you have questions on homework or a test that involve math in any form, don't make us show how we did our work. Some people don't work that way. (I do, personally...I have to write it all out, so this isn't me playing favoritism.) It's not right to punish those who do things well in their minds, and not on paper.

7.)Rough drafts are not always necessary. I've written about that before.

8.)Group work should not be forced on everyone. I also wrote about that before.

9.)If you gives us notes in class using a projector or other machine, give us time to write it all down. Don't tell us to jot down a few keywords, and then go back and find it all in the book later. If you want to do that, just give us the keywords, because unless we write down the definitions, seeing them(usually in overly wordy form), on the screen does the majority of us no good. Also, when someone asks for you to scroll back up, or slow down a bit, don't lecture them on how you want them to take the notes. (For more information on how to handle that, see suggestion number one above.)

10.)If you are a physical education teacher, and the class we're in is the one class that the college, (I consider pointlessly), makes us all take as a requirement, remember, we don't want to be there. Most people take the class because they must, and thus we don't really care about actually running, or walking laps, or working out on the Nautilus machines in classroom 105 in that smelly old gym built in the 1930's. Give us vocabulary, show us the interesting parts of it, like how to measure our body fat content, and leave trying to get us in shape to personal trainers who we would hire, if we really, truly wanted to work out.

11.)Those test essay booklets suck. We call them blue books at my school. For your test, you make us spend money (which we could be spending on lunch), on a little blue booklet full of lined paper. This is why we have notebooks full of paper, and staples. Most college students are poor enough already. I know they're cheap...but so are double cheeseburgers on the dollar menu, which are far superior to Ramen.

There will be more suggestions later, I'm sure, so please, by all means, come back later.

Have a nice day!

A Whole New Breed of Idiocy: Lesson Three

2004-09-20T22:18:00.000-05:00

Bob wasn't feeling very well one evening.

He needed a new job.

He needed a new girlfriend, too.

He'd tried calling his old one to patch things up one more time, but she wouldn't answer, (and then she got the restraining order).

Depressed, he decided to go get some of his favorite ice cream, rent "Sleepless in Seattle", and then return home and mope the night away while adding to his weight problem.

He knew that wouldn't help him in the girlfriend department either, but he didn't care. He wanted his Mutty Nonkey, (the local grocery store's brand of a rather famous brand of ice cream), and some Meg Ryan romance!

It just so happened, (gasp!), that Bob had to go down a particular street to get to the grocery store.

It also happened that the street was being worked on, and had been taken down to one lane, as signified by several signs, several orange barrels along with their bitter rivals in the Road Construction Paraphernalia Guild (local #764), orange cones, and two large, flashing lit signs.

One read:
Caution: Road Construtcion
(blink)
Slow Donw
(blink)
Drive wiht Care
(blink, rinse, repeat)

(This is not a typo, sadly, the programmer of the sign was dyslexic, which caused him to be fired a week later, which caused him to sue, and which, in the end, made him a very, very rich man. Incidentally, that caused my taxes to rise, but that's a fair price to pay to end discrimination against dyslexic road workers. Edn the injutsice! Poewr to hte poelpe!)

Unfortunately, Bob failed to notice all of this, and shot past what he considered to be idiots sitting in the left lane for no reason. Then the tables were turned, and he sat there, waiting for someone to let him in.

Fortunately for Bob, some idiot let him in, effectively moving him up in the line from where he would have been, causing me, ten cars back, who had been three cars in front of Bob, to have to wait while he got his car turned into the line.

His actions influenced a small red sportscar with an "I Brake for Nothing"
bumper sticker, and an SUV driven by a soccer mom, (whose kids didn't really play soccer, but she liked the term), to attempt the same maneuver.

They both succeeded, effectively slowing down everything, and almost doubling the slowdown.

Bob, of course, sped on oblivious, going over the construction zone speed limit by at least ten miles per hour.

Lesson: Pay attention to road signs. Heck, pay attention in general. Even if you come out of it alright, you're most likely screwing someone else over, and, well, that's not nice.

Bob stops to get his frosty frozen treat, and then resumes his journey, heading toward the local video rental chain store. You know, the one with the flashing lights and the over-priced candy.

Through sheer dumb luck, I end up in front of Bob, having come from my destination.

I stop at a red light, in the left, (and only open) lane. Bob jumps in the left turn lane, after everyone turns that were sitting there.

As the light turns green, Bob decides he doesn't want to go left. He wants to go straight, as that's a faster way to the videotaped object of his desire.

Bob slams on the gas and flings over into my lane in front of me as I prepare to go.

We almost collide.

I have to slam on my brakes, causing a chain of red lights to work its way back through the collected trail of other cars behind me.

Each person curses at the person in front of them, and looks apologetically at the person behind them, until the see the person behind them cursing them, and then they get mad, and curse the person behind them too.

Lesson: Bob has just managed in one act of idiocy to turn a chain of simple commuters into rude, growling puppets of angst. It's not nice, safe, or very bloody brilliant to cut people off, or turn the wrong way from the wrong lane, especially when the lane's light is red.

Way to go, you moron, you ~@!#$%* fool!

Gah!

I mean...I kept my head.

I was the exception, (you fat, balding jerk!)

Long story short: Bob got his ice cream and his movie, went home, and had a glorious time wallowing in his own self pity.

(He was also wallowing in a large bit of melted ice cream, as he had dropped some and couldn't find it, but he wouldn't learn that until much later, when he noticed a strange stain on his couch. There was also a matching stain on his pajama pants, but amidst the frolicking Smurfs, it was hard to see, and so he never really noticed, even after they had been washed.)

As for me?

I went home and washed my mouth out with soap, like a good boy.

Maybe.

2004-09-20T16:47:00.000-05:00

Finally, the eternal dream has been reached, and I have webspace.

Yes, my own little chunk of the internet to play with. To make and create. To mold in my own image, if I so choose.

...and I have no clue what I'm going to do with it.

I've built just a basic chunk of the site already, just your basic "about," "home" and "links" pages.

...and now I have no clue what else to put on there.

Part of my reasoning for getting the webspace was to have a place to host my pictures for the blog you are currently reading, without having to mess with free hosts that go down constantly.

That's a beautiful thing. My images are always here, and I'm not having to move them to a different web host every few days after logging on to find them all replaced by those little pages with the red X's on them.

The other part of the reasoning was that I've always wanted my own webpage that didn't have "angelfire" or "geocities" attached to it.

You put in a massive amount of time building a page, and if you don't log in for a while, it's just gone, all deleted from their servers.

Fear the randomness of it all!

So, like I said, I have my own space now, and I have no clue what to put on the page.

I want it to be a cool site with at least some purpose other than sending my friends to, so that they can see my stupid html tricks.

I want it to have a purpose, and I have no idea what to do.

Most of the things I want to say I can just put in the blog. I don't have the bandwidth to offer free downloads or anything. I don't want to make it some kind of political site or anything, either...there are already too many of those.

Maybe I'll just keep it as my little html playground.

I don't know.

In a way, that feels like some kind of analogy for my life.

I always start things, get all the necessary tools to do the things with, and then I never do them.

I have about 5 sketchbooks full of characters for comic strips I've never written.

Right now, I'm working on an idea and characters for a web comic, and I don't know if I'll ever really get around to finishing even one strip.

Maybe I should use the page for that.

Maybe.

Maybe I should just leave it like it is, and do nothing. Just have it there, and put up an under construction sign like I did on my old site.

...or maybe, just maybe, I should get some stupid ambition, and finish something for once.

Maybe.

Personalized Learning...wow.

2004-09-16T16:24:00.000-05:00

You know, if Pokemon really existed, they would eat us all.

That was totally random...wow.

Anyway, today I did my re-write of my first poem for the class. For those too lazy to scroll down, you can read it here.

I didn't think it needed a rewrite, but I had to do it, or I wouldn't get a good grade. Actually, I probably won't get a good grade anyway, since the rewrite sucks. Very rarely do I write something, and feel the need to go back and rewrite it.

I don't do rough drafts.

It seems like whenever I go back over something I get too picky about everything and end up messing it up, or, as in the case with rewriting this poem, I just don't care about the whole thing, so I changed a few things around, making it cmpletely crappy.

That was a long, long sentence...wow.

Anyway, my point is, everyone does things differently, so why is it that teachers try to treat everyone the same?

A good example of this is group work in class, (and out of class), which I loathe and despise with the fire of a thousand Zippo's.

I prefer to work alone. That way, if I screw up, it's my own fault, and if I do good, it's all my good work.

I don't want to get stuck with a preppy girl with a stick up her butt, a stupid jock, and an art major with a bad atitude, forced to work together on a project focusing on the mating rituals of the african flying chortle bee.

(That was a lot of making-crap-up...wow.)

Anyway, I guess the point is just that I wish teachers would give us the choice.

Not everyone is comfortable in group work. Yes, I know I go to a public affairs college, but...well...it's not my bag, baby.

Would it be so hard to ask, and let us do what works best for us?

Let me write my one draft, spell check it, and take the grade I get, (which is generally an A on papers, by the way). I don't need a rough draft.

Let me work on my own, and take the grade I get. I don't need a support group. I don't think four heads are always better than one.

That was the end, wasn't it? ...wow.

Just Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fishbowl

2004-09-15T23:41:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I watch pets, I feel sorry for them.

Especially fish.

I watch them swim round and round, and they never really get anywhere, or accomplish anything, and then they die, (hopefully a while down the road, not two days after you buy them).

The same thing with house cats. I watch our two cats, and they just sleep, and eat, and never really seem to care about outside, and even if they wanted to go, they couldn't.

Then I hit that cheesy philosophy moment, and realized we're the same thing.

Humanity is on the earth, and we do our thing, and most people never really wonder about what's out there, beyond our little fishbowl.

(I actually almost put "fishball." Even though, that would work, I suppose, the world being a sphere. Hrm.)

Then I got that insignificant, tiny feeling.

Everyone's had that feeling at sometime in their life...or will have it, someday.

You just realize how vast everything is, and how very, very not vast you are. You realize that no matter what you do, it won't really, truly matter in a million years, or even a thousand, and most likely, not even in a hundred.

Then you either:

A.) Attempt to throw off the thought by reaffirming how special you really are,

or,

B.) Are depressed for a while, and then eventually forget the whole thing when you see something shiny.

Usually, I do that first one.

I tell myself that I'll be remembered somehow, or that at the least, at least I will have lived my life to the fullest, and somewhere, there's a big tally board where that counts.

In the back of my mind, of course, there's a little voice screaming that all of that is complete and utter crap, but I learned to ignore that a long time ago.

...and so I wonder...

Do the fish somehow think the same thing, as they swim along in their transparent holding cells? Do the cats try to rationalize their existence with faulty reasoning, and glittering generalities?

Do they strive to live their lives to the fullest, like we do?

I really hope not.

That's kind of a creepy thought.

(...and the title, incidentally, is from the Rasputina version of the song. Heh.)

A Second Snippet of Possibly Bad Poetry

2004-09-15T01:13:00.000-05:00

I am still not the poetic type.

...but I am still taking a poetry class, and so here, and now, I share with the world my second poem, (for this class).

Here it is.

Poem Number Two

I wanted to write a nice poem
that you would like,
but I’m not quite sure that it turned out
right. It was a little
too short
when I started out, and then slowly became just a little too long,
and went on and on, incessantly.

I went over it again
and again and again
and then one more time
just to make sure it was right.

I arranged the alliteration around
in a way that would make it
fit in,
and be fun to say,
like:
“O frabjous day!”
and
“ Calloo! Callay!”

(I added that in
just to be witty, I think,
and maybe a
little bit
literary, but I
have to admit I don’t
know if it works.)

After a few stanzas,
I noticed I had
no metaphor at all,
so I worked one in,
just like Winnie the Pooh,
wedged right in
where he didn’t belong in the first place.

I figured I needed another, as well,
just to fill things out, but
in the end, I decided that
most were too trite,
and some just not right, like
a poke in the pillows.

I wanted to write a nice poem
that you would like,
but I’m not quite sure that it turned out
right. It’s funny how
often the best intentions
can turn into nothing
on an empty white page.

...any feedback would still be greatly appreciated.

(See how I did that? All cheated and just added "still" to everything? Now ~that's~ quality blogging...)

Warning: Slight Politics

2004-09-09T16:06:00.000-05:00

I don't really know if I should post this, but it's kind of hard not to...

I'm being published in my college's paper, writing a column in response to a couple of columns by a Political Science major that seems to think he can spin things his way and no one is going to write back and call him out on it.

So, here's the column in all it's glorious form, before they hack it down to fit the tiny, pointless school paper.

I'd put a link to his columns, but by tomorrow the link would be dead, as the paper is horrible about archiving what they've published. So you're just going to have to listen to my side, I guess.

"I don’t think you can win it. But I think you can create conditions so that those who use terror as a tool are less acceptable in parts of the world." I would really like to be shown exactly how that is "tantamount to declaring defeat on behalf of the United States," as Brad Medlin wrote in his column in the September third edition of the Standard. According to Mr. Medlin, we are in an "un-conventional war," and I completely agree. My view on the President's statements, though, is totally different.

That this is an un-conventional war is exactly what makes the President's words right. This is not a war we can win in the traditional sense of the word. We are fighting a war unlike any in which we have ever been. Our enemy does not wear a single uniform or have a common language, but the do have a common goal; to destroy everyone who does not do as they desire. The President has chosen to go where the greatest concentration of those who would kill us are grouped. When the President says that, "We are winning the War on Terror," he is not contradicting his statement that he doesn't think we can win it. Every terrorist that our military, our intelligence agencies, and our law enforcement agencies take out of the game is a victory. Every enemy suicide bomber, guerilla fighter, and sniper they capture adds a mark to our "win" column. I assure you, they have far less marks than we do. So yes, I would say we are winning.

Mr. Medlin quoted part of a press release from the Kerry campaign Website which he said, “spells out the plans the Democrats have.” The quote read, "John Kerry and John Edwards believe in a better, stronger America - an America that is respected, not just feared; an America that listens and leads, that cherishes freedom, safeguards our people, uplifts others, forges alliances and deserves respect." In that statement, I see no spelled out plans, only broad terms that were a variation on the same things most politicians claim to espouse every time an election year is in progress. These things are, for the large part, things that I believe already apply to America. I, personally, as an American cherish freedom, feel safe, and believe America already deserves respect, not only for what we have done in the past, but what we are doing now. As far as I know, we still listen and lead, sending billions in foreign aid to other countries every year, which I think counts as helping to uplift them.

In the column, President Bush was called a “flip-flopper.” While I don’t agree with everything the man has done, I can see the good in what he has done. Mr. Medlin calls him a flip-flopper in the context that first, we went to war in Afghanistan, then the President “flipped” to a war with Iraq and Saddam Hussein, and that now he has declared defeat. There was no flip-flop on the war in Iraq. The President never said he wouldn’t go to war with Iraq and then change his mind. It was a decision that he made with the help of his administration. Whether that decision was right or wrong, there was no flip-flop, only the adoption of a plan of action.

The next week, in his September seventh column, Mr. Medlin argued that the Electoral College is an "outdated system that can no longer function." He goes on to contradict himself, when he uses the words of FEC expert William C. Kimberling, who wrote that, “Direct election was rejected not because the framers of the Constitution doubted public intelligence but rather because they feared that without sufficient information about candidates from outside their state, people would naturally vote for their favorite son.” Then, in the first sentence of the following paragraph, Mr. Medlin says that "The framers had a fear that citizens would never be able to fully understand a candidate," To say that the voters wouldn't "understand" a candidate wasn't the fear of the framers. Their fear was that voters wouldn't know the candidates from outside their state, and automatically vote for their local boys.

He also states that he believes that, "Today...with mass media, people can easily choose who they think fits the job best." I would argue that today, with the mass media, the mass media can easily influence for whom the people vote. This is not to say that there are no informed voters, only that the way in which candidates are shown in the media can be heavily influenced by the political ideas of those presenting the information. Many people choose their candidate using the opinions and commentary they hear on television and radio, instead of making their decision using actual straight facts about a candidate.

Mr. Medlin wrote that, "The argument held by many that the Electoral College is sacred because the framers conceived it is ludicrous. The framers believed that non-land-owning males were not citizens and neither were women...and treated African Americans as three-fifths of a person. The framers' original intentions do not match up with the historical situation today." The intentions of the framers, I believe, do match up with the situation today, even if their beliefs do not. Yes, it was a different time, but to argue that one part of our government should be thrown out because of the misguided beliefs of the framers would also cast doubt upon everything else they set up. So, for the reasons Mr. Medlin has quoted above, we could also throw out the U.S. Constitution, merely because the framers held beliefs that do not fall into the same pattern as the majority of people believe today.
In my mind, the main function of the Electoral College is to make sure that states with a larger population do not have a larger voice than smaller states. According to the California quick facts page on the U.S. Census Bureau's Website, in 2003, California had a population of 35,484,453. In the same year, Missouri had a population of only 5,704,484. In a popular vote situation, the odds are that California's choice would instantly overpower the votes of the people of Missouri. As Mr. Medlin wrote, "The State of Missouri will play a very important role in this election because it has 11 Electoral votes." This is completely true. Without the electoral college, the votes of people in the smaller states would be almost useless, as candidates would work their hardest to win the most populated states in order to win the popular vote. As it stands now, though, Missouri is an important state.

Another side effect of this is, as Mr. Kimberling wrote, "Indeed, it is principally because of the Electoral College that presidential nominees are inclined to select vice presidential running mates from a region other than their own. For as things stand right now, no one region contains the absolute majority (270) of electoral votes required to elect a president. Thus there is an incentive for presidential candidates to pull together coalitions of states and regions rather than to exacerbate regional differences." The Electoral College, then, helps to unify our nation, and keep one region from becoming more important than another, politically.

To blame the electoral college for the problems with the votes in Florida in the 2000 election seems a bit off base, to me. Mr. Medlin wrote that, "We may even find our nation stuck in a tie with neither candidate receiving the 270 Electoral votes needed to win; hanging chads will be the least of our worries then. The election could even be thrown to the House of Representatives where Bush would surely win." In this statement, he has revealed the true meaning of the two columns to which I have been responding. Mr. Medlin is strongly against President Bush, and has just spent two columns saying so. In the first, his attack was more blatant, but was based on a twisting of words from their context, which leads me to believe Mr. Medlin would be comfortable as a member of any "spin team," as he worded it. In his second column he uses his arguments against the Electoral College to cover his undercurrent of aggravation over Governor Bush being made President in the 2000 election. His arguments are based on emotional response and a disregard for the institutions that the framers set in place. It seems to me Mr. Medlin should perhaps think of switching his major with mine. He apparently already has skills in creative writing.

That's it. Please, no comments on politics...this isn't that kind of blog. But I had to put this up here because it's actually going to be in print...and that's a beautiful thing.

*Update 9/25/04: After cutting down the article to make it a printable (in the tiny school paper), and being told it would be printed, it wasn't. No sign of it at all. Apparently, comments on anti-war chalk messages left all over campus on the sidewalks were considered more interesting.

Ah, well. That's what I get for trying.

Sacrilegious Thoughts on Literature

2004-09-08T17:06:00.000-05:00

At one time, every great writer and musician the world has ever seen was a nobody.

A nothing, a nada, a zilch, a zero.

...and I'm sure a great many incredibly talented writers and other artists have died, still just as obscure and unknown as the day they decided to be a creator.

What makes something "great?"

Many people would say it's personal choice in the end for everyone, but that's not true. Personal choice doesn't make me read "O Captain, My Captain" and "Moby Dick."

If it were up to me, no one would ever have to read Melville. Ever.

So who was it that decided that the tale of the great white whale is more important than reading, say, "Reservation Blues" by Sherman Alexie.

I would go so far as to say Alexie's book is a better book by far than Melville's.

(Okay, so I would probably argue that "Green Eggs and Ham" is better than Moby Dick, but that's beside the point.)

Another thought I had on literature in general is why, when you're in literature classes, (especially those pertaining to poetry), symbolism and metaphor is what it's all about.

I've gotten into arguments several times with others, and they argue that all of the great writers have had deep underlying currents in their works.

...and I always answer with two words.

Alexandre Dumas.

One of the great writers of the world. He wrote some of the first serial novels, coming out in chapters, and they were the soap operas of their day. His works are based on story, not on undercurrents, or over-done imagery, or symbolism.

They are simple, yet complex stories that still give me chills when I read them.

If you've never actually read "The Three Musketeers," or "The Count of Monte Cristo," I suggest doing so.

They are both masterworks of plot and character, without the overwhelming flowery imagery and metaphor that bore most who are forced to read "great" literature.

A Snippet of Possibly Bad Poetry

2004-09-07T13:44:00.000-05:00

I am not the poetic type.

...but I am taking a poetry class, and so here, and now, I share with the world my first poem, (for this class).

Here it is.

Distractions

Sometimes when I
sit in class, I
watch the posers
in the hall, with

All
their buttons, bands, and black
who

talk of music
philosophy,
and human actions
in the hall, with

All
their piercing, pain, and patches
and

Sometimes when I
sit in class, I
watch the pretties
in the hall, with

All
their beads, and bags, and brands
who

talk of nothing
indiscretions,
social orders
in the hall, with

All
their people, plans, and pander
but

Most times when I
sit in class, I
take my notes.
Ignore them all.

...any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

PhotoRealism

2004-09-02T01:09:00.000-05:00

I hate looking at the photo album.

Hate it!

So why do I do it?

I always go into it thinking, "Ah...I'll look at all the pictures, and laugh at things that happened..." Then when I actually begin looking at the images of the past, I just get depressed and sad.

...and it all goes back to that stupid "What if?" question that I've mentioned before. Why can't I ever get rid of that questioning, longing sense of curiousity?

I look at the pictures and see myself as I was just a few years ago, and the changes are so big that it boggles my mind. The same goes for all the people in my life.

Of course, most of the people in those pictures aren't in my life anymore...they're still in my hometown, or within a short distance of it, living their lives.

Having babies or doing drugs, one of the two. (...some might be doing both.)

...and they are only miles, sometimes blocks away from each other, and they never see each other.

In High School, we were inseperable.

I guess, really, it's just that I'm shocked at what the flow of time over us can do.

...and that saddens and depresses me. It makes me feeel like everything will die away in time, no matter what, even the memories....the good memories will fade.

...and I don't want them to.

...but I keep looking in the photo album as soon as I forget why I wasn't going to look in it any more, and I'm right back where I started.

A Farewell of Sorts

2004-09-01T01:46:00.000-05:00

These are the posts I made on my blog I decided to dedicate to Bob, my fictional nemesis...for some reason having that blog just for him was killing my creativity with him, so I'm shutting it down.

...but, just for the fun of it, here are the two posts I had made on it.

I'm sure we've not seen the last of Bob, though...never fear.

Schmoopy-kins and Huggy-winkles on the Town

"Public display of affection is in poor taste. Students are to refrain from kissing, embracing, or engaging in this kind of behavior on campus. Failure to comply with this rule will result in referral to the Principal. Repeat offenses will result in notification of parents and possible suspension."
-Excerpt from the Florida School for the Deaf and the Blind's policy handbook.

______________________________________________

Bob finally found his girlfriend, and got to talk to her.

She apologised for acting like she had, and for all the things she'd said, (90% or more of which were true, and she still believed to be so.) They made up in a grand fashion, and released their passion in a good ten minutes of bodily bliss, (a time span, which, incidentally, was one of the reasons she had stated for leaving him.)

To celebrate, they went out to eat at a restaurant, and had to wait in line.

They got there right before I did, and so were in front of me and my party in line.

Then...it got ugly.

Bob, feeling intense joy and love from the bottom of his penny loafers to his ever increasing bald spot, slipped his arms around his sweety-bootie-lovey-nummy-kins, and gave her a few kisses.

Normally, his girlfriend wasn't the type to show such public affection, but she was still feeling slightly guilty about the whole "breaking up" episode, so she returned the caresses and lip acrobatics with some of her own.

My gag reflex began to put up a valiant struggle, but I managed to keep it in check.

Soon, Bob and the little misses were seated, and lucky me, we got seated directly behind them.

Over breadsticks they giggled and played footsie, using words like "sweet-thing."

Bob spelled out "I love you" with pieces of breadstick, and used the dipping sauce to make a heart on the napkin.

The gag reflex called in the reinforcements, and I had to constantly sip my drink the rest of dinner, at least twice a minute to keep it at bay.

Through another "happy" coincidence, I ended up behind the lovebirds in line at the movie theatre, still cuddling and cooing like drunken pidgeons.

There we sat in the packed theatre, through yet another twist of fate, directly behind Bob and the object of his ten minute desire.

They whispered sweet nothings, and sweet somethings, and sweet so-and-so's throughout the entire movie, and Bob faked the "yawn-stretch-arm-around-the-girl" maneuver three times, drawing giggles from his lovely companion.

After the third make-out session, it was just too much, and I whacked his bald spot with a Twizzler, then looked away innocently.

The movie ended and the two left, somehow not showing up on my doorstep as I imagined they would somehow, after the incredible string of coincidences thus far.

Lesson: No one wants to see that. Do it in your car, or your house, or a hotel room, (if she's that kind of girl).

My poor stomach just can't take it.

Anyone have a Rolaid?

Adventures with Work: Volume One

"National studies indicate that one third of all romantic relationships begin at work. Usually a company's primary concern is not with the romantic relationship but with the implications of a romantic relationship that goes sour."
-Excerpt from the HR Watch for the week of November 22, 1999
by D'Ancona & Pflaum

______________________________________________

Bob worked in a local law office doing something that involved large amounts of paper being moved from one side of his desk to the other, and then into his bosses' office, and back again, then back across the desk. After that, he gave it to the attractive older woman who worked in records, with whom he had cheated on his girlfriend once, at a charity event when alcohol was present. She had never mentioned it.

(A part of him wished she would, and I think you can imagine which part.)

Being low on the big totem pole of importance in his workplace, Bob was assigned the tasks no one else wanted.

One of these was dealing with the company they had hired to clean their building five nights a week, Monday through Friday.

I work for this company part time.

At six p.m. on Monday, I come in and do my job, which consists of emptying trash, and vacuuming the floors. An easy job.

The next day, there's a note from my boss in my broom closet. Bob called, and said his office had not been vacuumed.

I make sure to do so. In his trash can, he has thrown away an entire can of refreshing Coca-cola, open. I dump it, not knowing, and soda goes everywhere.

In revenge for his little hidden carbonated trash trap, I don't vacuum his floor completely.

Screw him!

Wednesday night, a new note. Bob called to say that the toilet downstairs is stopped up, and was not cleaned.

This is NOT my job.

Bob is still in the building, working late, moving those papers with all the efficiency he can muster as he jams out to Kool and the Gang in his headphones. I don't plunge the toilet because it's not my job. I do, however, do my job.

I am moving a bit quickly, and bump the doorframe of his office with my vacuum a little bit too hard. He looks up at me like I've disturbed him in the middle of something important, and then later, when I pass back by on my way to put up the vacuum, he is closely inspecting the doorframe near the floor, muttering something under his breath.

Note nothing was said about my having not vacuumed his office, when I didn't do it right, but on the day I did do it right, I got a note saying I didn't do it at all.

Thursday, 6 p.m. No note. Uneventful night.

Friday, the next Monday, and Tuesday go perfectly.

Wednesday, my boss makes an appearance. He says Bob was complaining that I didn't touch the toilet, was tearing up the walls with my vacuum, and had been stealing office supplies and leftovers from the break room refridgerator downstairs.

I explain it's not my job to clean toilets. I tell my boss the story of the vacuum. I swear to all that is holy that I have never taken any paperclips or leftover tuna salad.

My boss nods, shrugs, says something about just making the customers happy, and leaves.

That night, Thursday, and Friday, I am very careful to do everything perfectly.

The following Monday, the cycle begins again, not in the same order, necessarily.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Lesson: Annoying the cleaning people isn't nice. Don't nitpick over things. Just because someone works as a cleaner does not mean they want more to do, as though they enjoy it. Empty anything filled with liquid before putting it in your trashcan.

...never, ever, attempt to talk with a co-worker about a night of drunken lovin' if they don't bring it up. Bob couldn't take it anymore, and mentioned it.

The attractive records lady called his girlfriend, who she knew through a friend of a friend, thus the reason she had never said anything, wanting to just forget the whole thing.

(Plus, Bob hadn't been so great, anyway...apparently drunk he couldn't even hit five minutes...or...er...the proper target without assistance.)

...and thus Bob became single again, and quit his job because he became known as "That Guy who had the Thing with the Woman in Records."

...and my life was made much, much easier.

...and so I say adieu to Bob's official blog.

Farewell...you were with us such a short while.

Another Farewell. This one for real.

2004-09-01T01:11:00.000-05:00

Ahh....it's fun not having your own webspace.

Makes it so when a free server goes out, all your image links stop working...messes up a lot of things.

So, my Adoptions blog is also now defunct, and on the road to deletion.

Just for kicks, though, I am going to save a few of my personal favorites here.

...such as...

I adopted a cute lil' dragon fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!

~Pedro the Jelly Bean~

~Get Your Own Pet Jelly Bean!~

Skully the Skull
Adopted From the
SKULLZ Adoption Center

~Napoleon Bonaparte~

Adopt a Conquerer!

This Website is Rated G!

~"Adopt a Censorship Panda for Your Site!"~

~Vincent, the Killer Whale~

~Adopt a Mean Thing~

Love Hina Girls!

~Adopt Anime Sprites!~

...and so, we also say goodbye to my adoptions page.

You were mindless fun for me. I enjoyed hunting down all you random animals, things, and etc...

Rest in Peace.

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

2004-08-29T16:14:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-26T15:57:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-25T16:12:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-23T22:06:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-20T01:05:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-19T02:12:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-16T23:58:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-15T21:03:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-08-12T23:51:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-11T23:53:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-11T01:54:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-10T01:45:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-07T01:08:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-06T01:15:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-05T01:15:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-04T01:10:00.000-05:00

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

2004-08-03T03:06:00.000-05:00

...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

2004-08-01T18:13:00.000-05:00

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.