A Near Hit? No.. near miss... wait - which?

I left the house early this morning, but not before re-entering the house twice for Chap Stick and an iPod. I need both in my pockets at all time. Ever sit at a bus stop with dry lips and nothing to do?

So I finally get on the road and take 54 south for about six minutes. It’s a straight shot.

This the part where a semi carrying three cars blows a tire. A hundred or so feet in front of me, it swerves into my lane. It drifts towards my shoulder, leans to a side, and then cuts quickly as to pass me on my left. The motions from a chaotically responding truck driver seem smooth and complete. It almost seems normal.

A few dozen feet behind me, after its passed, it swings back into my lane. There, it crashes.

Now there is a window of maybe a hundred or so feet and a period of eight seconds where it completely misses me. If I hadn’t gone back for both the Chap Stick and the iPod, or had completely ignored both, would I have been hit?

Actually, that’s not even an important question. I wouldn’t have. I’m a fatalist. I was meant to have the shit scared out of me, not die.

So what was my thought? That one brief moment before where an all encompassing thought fills you to the brim almost as to let your life flash before your eyes?

I thought I still had seasons One and Two of Millenium sitting on the top of my DVD shelf, still wrapped. And I really wanted to watch them.

I don’t think it really expands to some greater concept. It’s not like its some small scale version of a deep seeded need to finish all the things I never completed. It wasn’t me wishing for more time to do a few more things that I want.

Sure, minutes after it I was thinking about having never gotten married, visiting another continent, having kids, going skydiving, and seeing at least one of the great wonders of the world.

But not during. Then? I just wanted to watch seasons One and Two of Millennium. That’s where my priorities were.

Subtleties

If I step onto a bus, or say, into a hallway, I should be hit by according smells. Bus smells. Hallway smells. I want - nay, demand - the scent of weak-ass cleaning solution and human traffic. So when I'm struck with a throat closing scent, seemingly eminating from no natural spot on God's green earth, do you think I'm in my boundries to freak?

I’m sitting down. A girl comes on the bus. She smells like peaches. Not the real stuff mind you, that heavy artificial smell where it tickles your throat. I watch her move past the seats and people react – ‘Hey! I know that smell!’ But their faces don’t light up with that fun expression from when youtry and guess the Yankee candle scent. No, it’s more like they’re morbidly curious to try and figure out where the pine tree stick up scent is coming from that’s masking the dead rodent in the wall. It’s an intense, chunky smell.

How many products have you rubbed into your skin to obtain such a heavy scent? Is there a literal bathtub full of bath and body works products that you bathe in? It smells like Flava Flav walked into a room, only he replaced his trademark alarm clock with a giant canister of potpourri and lemon zest.

And it’s not just the women. Fuck the man who invented Axe body spray. Guys, it has got to be the cheapest way to say ‘I’m trying’. Four dollars on cologne is like buying a ten cent cigar. And men will layer that stuff on as heavy as my uncle does with bug repellent. Is there some deep seated inner fear that if every inch of them isn’t covered, it won’t work? Your plantar arch will be fine without the scent of Phoenix.

Call me old fashioned, but I want a hint of the scent. Perfumes and colognes are seductive, and meant for close quarters. You not supposed to entice someone three city blocks away. When you’re close enough, it should be a tease. I don’t want the fucking Titanic to knock me out of my seat with some honey tea and dewberries amalgamation. You know who uses a ton of perfumes?

I'm Cute

Catalogue of Obsolute Notations

I'm 22 and for the first time in my life today I said 'Keep the change' to a teller. As the words came out of my mouth, I realized it was the first time they had ever been said without being followed by '... you filthy animal'. Don't get that? Ah, it's a classical reference - John Hughes, Home Alone 1.

At the time, I really wanted to turn around and say to the cashier "Hey! You're the first person I've ever said that to." I have an inherent urge in wanting to share first time events. Occasions need to be marked before they're forgotten. I'm sure even the first time I masturbated I wanted to kick down my parents door and get in some quality share time. Maybe you think it's wrong, but I say some things innately earn a measure of note.

Where as other things may have no purpose in being remembered, especially if it's not the first time. Where my OCD kicks in is when it moves beyond the first time and I have to signify which time it is I've committed whatever activity.

"We just watched Con Air."
"That's the 49th time I've seen it all the way through."
"What? Why?"

I do something, then it has to be marked, catalogued, and thrown into cognitive storage with a number next to it. Especially insignificant things. Actually, only insignificant things. I couldn't tell you how many dates I've had or girlfriends or toes on my feet. You could actually give me time to count those things and I'd zone out half way through, only to have me make a number up for you. 'Cuz even I won't be listening to what I'm saying, especially since 3 girlfriends is more than enough for a life time.

But times I've trimmed my fingernails , or gotten haircuts, or refilled my car this year I can do. 18, 5, 24. How awesomely sad is that?

Pantless Patsy

I feel embarrassed if I fall asleep with my pants on. I'll wake on a chair or a couch, look at the pair of khakis or jeans I'm wearing and remark: "Wow, I fell asleep before I even changed." I refer not to the mid day nap or a drunken black out - those are forces of nature. Too much booze in the system is a veritable title wave of unexpected sleep.

Here's the scenario: Me groggy. It's two am. I see a half eaten sanwhich next to the remote and the TV is showing an infomercial for a mop. There's 70% chance I slept with my mouth open, and the inside of it is dry.

None of that bothers me as much as my pants still be around my waist. It takes three seconds at most. There's no rule you even have to switch into PJs, you can cheat and just drop trow. Boxers work.

The whole thing seems like an abortion of basic sleep procedure.
1.) Take off work clothes
2.) Sleep

See! I routinely botch half of it! Other people will recommend steps like "Wash Your Face" or "Brush Your Teeth". I say they have a leftist agenda to corrupt my teeth with fluoride water and rid my face of it's natural acne infested beauty. If I'm not perfect the way God made me, why did he bother putting out something sub par? Sounds like lousy work ethic. Someone ought to get on that.

Pantless Patsy

I feel embarrassed if I fall asleep with my pants on. I'll wake on a chair or a couch, look at the pair of khakis or jeans I'm wearing and remark: "Wow, I fell asleep before I even changed." I refer not to the mid day nap or a drunken black out - those are forces of nature. Too much booze in the system is a veritable title wave of unexpected sleep.

Here's the scenario: Me groggy. It's two am. I see a half eaten sanwhich next to the remote and the TV is showing an infomercial for a mop. There's 70% chance I slept with my mouth open, and the inside of it is dry.

None of that bothers me as much as my pants still be around my waist. It takes three seconds at most. There's no rule you even have to switch into PJs, you can cheat and just drop trow. Boxers work.

The whole thing seems like an abortion of basic sleep procedure.
1.) Take off work clothes
2.) Sleep

See! I routinely botch half of it! Other people will recommend steps like "Wash Your Face" or "Brush Your Teeth". I say they have a leftist agenda to corrupt my teeth with fluoride water and rid my face of it's natural acne infested beauty. If I'm not perfect the way God made me, why did he bother putting out something sub par? Sounds like lousy work ethic. Someone ought to get on that.

Things I Want Eliminated From The Female Inventory

The following is a public service works. I'm preventing you from future embarrassment. This small list of items need to be eliminated from the possession of every woman. These innocuous, seemingly every day items will come back to bite them in the ass when they look at photos twenty years from now. And - yes - for the mean time, these all happen to piss me off. A lot.

Things I Want Eliminated From The Female Inventory:
Collars That Pop
Small Dogs
Ugg Boots
Big Glasses
shiny Lipstick
Big Hoop earrings
Shirts With One Shoulder Strap
Anything That Glitters
Belly Button Rings
Tattoos That Mean Nothing
Glasses That Tint Halfway
Orange Tanning Product
Trucker Hats
Trucker Hats When Titled Slightly
Anything That Can Be Bedazzled
Shirts That Show Midriff
Pictures Of White Girls Throwing Gang Signs
Pants That....

....you know what? Just look for anything and everything that can be seen worn on MTV. Let me just redirect you there instead.

God damnit I hate it when girls throw GANGSTA signs.. and I just want to punch you.

Josh Lucas Is No Longer My 2nd Man Crush

Dear Josh Lucas,

You were my 2nd man crush for five years, right below Kurt Russell. Recently the two of you did a movie together. Kurt came out unscaved from the experience, but you are tainted. Why? Because a few days later I watched "Stealth". You are only making crap movies. Don't think I had forgotten 'Hulk', 'cuz I haven't, Josh. I hated you in that movie. What happened to you, bro? You were so flipping man candy in 'Sweet Home Alabama'. I wanted you to just juggle your junk on my face.

BUT NOT ANYMORE! I can see through you know, pal. You're not like Kurt. Sure, you did a movie together but Kurt's done a lot of movies. A lot of bad movies. A lot of movies I would pay so I could not hear about it. But Kurt has always been one thing - himself. You're some kind of chameleon, Josh. Sometimes you act with a giant smile on your face, other days you put a giant grin beneath your nose. It's bullshit! Kurt has range. Kurt faces down danger drunk in his films, like Lee Marvin did with Bob Mitchum. Those guys were drunk every take, every shot. Not like you, as I'm sure you're on some hippy vitamin hijink crap diet. Go away, Josh.

- Ken

W0rc|$

Please throw away your dictionary, at least while you're with me. I abuse our language, and on most days can barely speak it. My only advantage is that words can be like the people on MTV, in that they are easily manipulated. And love to be on television. Words are very vain.

And words themselves have no meaning. It's just a sound. Or a jumble of letters on paper. It's the power behind those words, distributed by the people that use that word, that give it context.

Let's take my house. Now a dictionary could say 'Gay' is a term relative to sexuality or happiness, but given the manor in which it is used in my environment (like when Sean running down the stairs with his shirt off, boxers holding on for dear life, and a plate of eggs in his hand) it's meaning narrows. It my house, 'gay' means stupid. So if I'm watching Dora the Explorer and talking along with the TV, I will receive said label, even if I had been doing good and had gotten all the answers right. I could even yell 'Swiper, no swiping.', but I would be considered 'gay' by the man in boxers and well kept fingernails.

It's the same thing as the corruption of the English language - particularly with Spanglish and Ebonics. 1337 speak too. It's taking a base language and converting it to be unique to a specific group. And because it can be corrupted, it suffers. Which is why I suck so much balls at speaking.

My rythmic of spoken language is kind of like those moon shoes I owned as a child. I abused it all so much that the contraption broke, and now all that's left is a useless plastic shell. So whenever I speak useless plastic shell, ignore me. Throw away the dictionary.

Reminders: I busted my language so bad that I think two words in my head and say them out loud as one. Cryptography much? Try out these doozies: "Pirlor", "Grun", "Dranga"

Someone put my Red jedi-spoon from the Corn Pops through the wash and it doesn't work anymore. I retract the previous analogy.

Woefully underrated Them

It always comes from nowhere, because from nowhere is where we find the unexpected. It's not like the prize at the bottom of cereal, where a red Jedi-Lightsaber spoon in my Corn Pops can unexpectedly make my day. Actually - yeah - let's go with that reference. I love my pops. And you know I know you know your jedi stuff. It's osmosis, even if you don't care. It's like not knowing who the Mario Bros are. I work in broad strokes, people! I can't be expected to hold your hand on every allusion to literature or pop culture. You don't want to be caught working with Duplo blocks when people are asking about Legos.

But back to the cereal prize. There's a difference between being caught unaware and found totally unprepared. If I was unaware, the Jedi-Spoon would fall into my cereal bowl while making breakfast. But since I was unprepared, it was something like the cereal box started sprouting legs, shouting in Cantonese, and began to fight me.

Last night, this lady danced F'n circles around me when it came to this film stuff. Of course I'm shocked. My ego needs to be stroked every day, and I don't like it being knocked out of place. And here she was ninja kung-fu kicking me in the temple. Kids, this was a veritable care bear stare of destruction. Lionheart pushed his gut out and exploded sunbeams onto my face.

Maybe it's all the Mamet plays and films I enjoy, but I find myself becoming slightly more misogynistic these days. In my defense, the capacity to which the women in my life consistently perform at does not leave much of an image, or even one to improve upon. The bar is pretty low and they fall under it. I mean, this is what I thought to be typical. I still do. But if you buy into a stereotype, you can be awkwardly countered once in a while when the truth comes around.

Oh, I will still be making fun of those people. You know I have an incredible amount of disdain for my generation - both male and female. But when something you hold to be solid as a rock begins to tatter and wear, you might want to reconsider your options.

Reminders for Class: Graduation in a two weeks. Woo!

The Sandbox

I know too many people that worry about finding reason. They don't understand that reason is relative to an individual, not a situation. That knowledge alone is a freedom, one many our age should be taking liberties with. What you do and who you are may never coincide, but what you become because of it certainly will. Don't do it if you don't want to. Let's spare religion and contain ourself to this physical world. In the world we inhabit, between the course of birth to death, what mandates must we follow?

Life is short and without point. That fact is not sad.

That knowledge alone should gives license to do whatever you feel like, for all the time you have. If not, you should be ashamed.

Just because you're twenty three doesn't mean you've stopped learning. You studied business - go into physical therapy. You've always watched Law and Order - try out CSI. Hey - masturbate with your opposite hand.

Life is those same stomping grounds we used to play as a child. You see your growth as a change to the parameters. Not true. In the sandbox, you could do practically anything. Confined in a four by four square, a child is able to go to the beach, travel through space ship, and make sand pies. If I trap you in a four mile by four mile area, you'd be lost. That's regression.

If you can't call upon that same spark of the sandbox, where anything was possible, your life will go on unnoticed. Your size will always be limited, as will your time. Be sure to do something with what you have. It doesn't have to count, but it should be yours. We are not born into this world to make others happy.

Remember Your Lincoln

What a brilliant pairing of words: "Love Changes". To have something so small cross and cover an infinitely vast canyon of meaning is like reading alongside the Green Power Ranger Of Literature. Sure, the other power rangers are tough, but we all know the Green was the best. You don't even have to be a fan of him to admit that.

Love Changes. Now who among you remembers their Lincoln? The belief that such a tightly built series of words could differ their meaning, dependent solely on what time of life the reader was in. What? You... you don't remember your Lincoln? That man only took a bullet for you, and pretended slaves weren't okay. The least you could do is acquaint yourself with his... nevermind. They're making a movie out of it sometime soon. I think with Liam Neeson. For those who can't wait, I'll refresh:

"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: 'And this, too, shall pass away.' How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"

It's one of those things you can't appreciate unless you're manic depressive. Or smart. And I mean book smart, not like 'can cook a kilo of meth into two'-type street smart. Lord knows I'm neither. I mean - of the smarts - I'm clearly manic depressive bi-polar omnisexual klepto.

But how cool is that? Love Changes gives the hopeless romantic proof something inside can altered by the simple presence of love. For the bitter, it could mean nothing ever stays the same. The old see the qualifiers changed, and the young still see cooties everywhere. Dan hates cooties and he's 21.

But to have something that will always posses meaning, that has got to be power. Feel good about that.

Reminders for class: I'd pay that much to clear my head.

Music for you to like

Click the Pic For Good Tunes

OK NEWS!!!!

I got the best email of my life the other day. I knew it was spam when I checked the inbox, but I had to open it. The title simply said 'Ok News'.

I'm not a thinking man, but if you had to send an email knowing that whether or not the person opening it would judge solely on its title, would you put that as your opener? 'Ok News'?

Probably not. You're brighter than me, so you'd say it was some type of email news that was great, amazing, or possibly fantastic. Pffft. That's why I wouldn't open your email. In fact, I would block you and spike your server just to make sure you knew I don't like being toyed with. Not when it comes to news.

Nobody ever rushes out to tell their friends when it comes to your regular, just OK News. Why? Because it's only Ok News, not shatteringly important stuff. 'You know if you're pants don't fit, buy a different size.' "Ok, thanks. "

But this emailer booked it to make sure I knew what was the lowdown on the already known. Inside it said:

"Having trouble getting or keeping an erection? Try Viagra."

And that was it. No sales pitch, no link to click on, and no more than that one line. It made me so happy. Amazingly happy. I mean, I have around 534 unread messages in my inbox; how did he and I find this connection? Somehow this guy broke through my amazing spam blocker at Excite and fixated itself right at the top of my list.

I felt a special connection to this person. My hands tingled and my keyboard was bursting with possibility. Would I return the email? Let him know how much I appreciated this unfamiliar love?

People! Think about this: someone out there - God knows where - made it his or her very personal concern to make sure my erections were coming in the way they should. I hate to say it, but I wish my real friends were like this. Chad or Alex would never bust down my door when I'm handling the garden tools. They'd never say 'Hey, that erection in your hands: How is it really doing?' Maybe that would open up some sort of dialogue that would change the nature of our relationship. Maybe they'd mention something about checking myself for testicle cancer, or thinking about baseball to sustain durability. I would thank them for such advice. We'd become closer. Ah, but who knows? They've never tried. I doubt they even care about my erections.

But this emailer wanted to make sure everything is working. My friends wouldn't, but OK NEWS would. OK NEWS is the kind of friend I wish I had. All of us should take a page from The OK NEWS. We might find out that your average news is a little more than OK. We'd find out that it's great.

Reminders: If everyone on the planet was as nice as whoever sent this email, I'm pretty sure we'd be without war.

Simpler

At one point in my life, the only problems I had were finding polite ways to turn down threesomes. This fact is simultaneously - A) Not a lie B) The only cool thing to ever happen to me C) Oddly disturbing, yet inspirational.

I think somewhere muddled in me is a romantic who finds the idea of multiple partners simultaneously only cool in porno. Not pornos I've made, but ones I've downloaded or rented featuring soulless - but attractive - husks inserting things into places where said things were- and still are - never meant to go. Case in point?: Corn on the cob. It just doesn't go there.

But in real life, I don't think you should ever attempt a trist between three or four people. Maybe five or more is fine, because EVERYONE will be doing something, but three or four feels like someone will be left out. Now let's just say, for the sake of argument, I have five things that could feasibly be used in such an activity.

WAIT - you say - how five? How can there be five usable appendages?
I'll tell you how. Elbows and Toes.
That is plain sick.
Hey, I'm not the one in the middle of an orgy.
Yes, yes, you are.
No, this is imaginary.
No, this is real.
Hypothetical. I said I wouldn't and so it hasn't.
Bah to you. It's real.
No, I'm saying for this I would be acting on your behalf.
Where did you say that?
I'm saying it now.
This is gross.
No, you know what's gross? Thinking you could pleasure someone with an elbow. You make me sick.
You're the one that said it would work.
Hypothetically. Now you sit here and are completely ready to go out and try it.
No we're not.
Shut up! Yes you are.
I'm done reading you.
I'm done telling you orgies of less than five people are formationally unsound.
Gross.
Screw you, I've never done it. I've just done the research.
What, your wrist hurt?
What do you know? Ever sit through gay porn? DO YOU KNOW HOW EAGER THEY LOOK?!?!
Please stop.
Oh, who wants to hear it now? Huh? You're the one that's willing to participate in a sexual fiasco.
That was you.
I declined it! That was the point of all this!
You know what, I'm going to CNN.com to avoid this. I'm not talking to you anymore.
Whatever.
[pause]
Quit bringing her up.
God, you sick fuck.
Berate me; great. I'm going to go watch Foster's and eat Fruity Pebbles.
Who's mature now?
Eat my ass.
You'd like that.

I remember simpler times when all I had to worry about was politely turning down threesomes and not having conversations with myself.

Reminders for class: No, I haven't watched them.

Chick Trick

So eHarmony.com didn't work. Check the latest conversation below for proof. Sometimes I think it'll be easier to purchase women, preferably available on certain street corners.

Me: Girl, I want to please you
Ms. X: Yeah, about that
Me: WhaT's up sex creature?
Ms. X: The girl thing
Ms. X: like how much "girl" were you expecting?
Me: I'll make a woman out of you regardless
Ms. X: That sounds nice
Ms. X: But seriously, you'd love me know matter what - right?
Me: I'd make love to you no matter what
Ms. X: Even if I was a little different?
Me: Makes no difference to me
Ms. X: Even if I had a little uh penis?
Me: You mean you aren't that girl you linked me?!?!?
Ms. X: What if I had a big penis
Ms. X: I mean, at least until the hormones kick in?
Ms. X: Hopefully.
Me: God, not again

I think it's time to give up and just a make a million dollars then buy a wife.

Reminders for class: Buying russian brides is nothing. People do it all the time.

Chaos

I got a job today without my beard.

Reminders for class: Nothing makes sense anymore.

The American Dream

One day, this will be me. I may be willing to compromise on a few issues, like the size of the pile of money or the size of the American flag behind, but you never the size of Wife #4's breasts. Wife #4 knows that I am uncompromising in some aspects of my vision.

My suit in this photograph cost ten thousand dollars. The shoes double as roller blades and jet boots. And they're also pumps, a shoe universally known to make you run faster.

Other aspects of my dream life include a pet, a kid as flippin' cute as the one in Jerry McGuire, and my own football team. I would occasionally slip in as QB and throw a touchdown. I would never get sacked.

My wife will also never have to do anything. If she had to do anything, I myself would do it - or else I would hire a incredibly built 6'3" man to do it for her. I would be the most giving husband ever, so much that it explains why the previous three left. I. Love. Too. Much. It's all I'm guilty of.

I would make the money by being incredibly awesome and honest. Maybe something about drying mustard in the sun and selling it. Or trade with the Chinese. Doesn't matter. Point it I'll be giving and buy you that thing you've always wanted. Part of the American dream is sharing it. And that's exactly what I'm doing.

Reminders for class: I like draw-rings. So should you.

The Death of Charlie

Charlie, perhaps the world's most loyal beard, died last night between nine and ten pm. A household icon and perhaps the largest supplier of sunshine outside of the sun is survived by an awkward patch of chest hair and some excess hair around the knuckles.

Charlie was born in June of 2005 after a fruitless job search gave his best friend, Kenji Meadu, some free time to grow. After multiple experiments, Charlie was the final result. "You always know someone like Charlie exists inside you. You just never think you'd be strong enough to find him."

In the first weeks of life, Charlie gained his infamous 'rust' colored red coating. Though perhaps the most noticeable of all his traits, Charlie was never one to brag. "Most people get their hair color and then go gray. They never experience anything else without a dye job. I am blessed to have so many freakish colors riding my undercarriage."

Charlie was known as a philanthropist, donating millions to several prominent charities. His favorites were those that involved children, because he knew he could use his powers to influence a life. Often Make-A-Wish would contact him about getting a photo opportunity with a child. He was frequently quoted as saying "I don't waste time on dead things" when they rang, and would mail the sick child two copies of his motivational book "Live Long, Live Bearded" and three random characters from his action playset collection.

Charlie was married twice in his life. Once in the summer of 2005 for seven days to Kate Botsworth, and a second time for three weeks in September 2005 to Mariska Hargitay of Law and Order fame. Both marriages filed for divorce citing that they could not satisfy Charlie's insatiable lust, and it was worthless to keep trying.

But late in his life, Charlie became decrepit. Drink would often spill down over the mouth and drain into his hair. Charlie was aware that age was taking over.

"He said if I didn't help him, he would do it himself. I did what any friend would do. " said Kenji. "I helped him."

Charlie died by electric razor on Friday, shortly before TGIF ended its family lineup on ABC. Though it's not for certain, speculation is that he was thinking of Urkel during his last few moments of life.

Reminders for class: I can't believe he's really gone.

Female Drivers

That's it. That's all I'm saying. Female drivers. Was she on her cell phone? Maybe. Looking at herself in the rear view? Maybe. Was she signaling for a lane that did not exist? Maybe. All I'm saying is female drivers.

Reminders for class: Female Drivers.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Dear Gut,

We have been seeing each other for a while now, but I think it is time we go separate ways. Lately, you have been getting fatter. I add the -er because, frankly, you've never been thin. I sense that soon you will block the view of my penis, perhaps one of the grandest views God has ever put on this planet. That cannot stand.

You may argue that for any one else the view remains unobstructed, but I am not anyone else. I am me. ME! Gut, you had to know what you were coming between. You are preventing me from seeing the equivalent of a sun rise.

I know I promised we'd be together forever. I said we'd get a pet together. I said lots of things, and promised you more. I was in love with someone else. That someone can never be you. It was going to be you and me until the wheels fall off.

There were good times, like the night where we worked together to balance a beer on your head. And the time when I used you to fake a 2nd trimester pregnancy. But those good times were few and far between.

The adoring crowds of women that flock to me daily will still want on me, but you take off crucial points. Despite the fact that I am a 100%, +10 Hotty, you prevent me from flawlessness. You make them doubt my prowess.

How will they know? You know they never look at my face anyway. I'm always like "Hey! I'm up here" when they stare at my junk. And to get to my face, they have to go through you. Getting around you costs me crucial seconds before I can flash my award winning smile, pop my collar, and totally quote something from Grey's Anatomy or Oprah to sound romantic. You are an obstruction. Like chastity or sober drivers. And I must end this with you.
I hope you aren't mad, because I have to destroy you with jogging and crunches. It was inevitable. If I didn't, some doctor would tell me I have to put you down like that little shit kid at the end of Old Yeller. And I would cry so hard because I it will more work later. I hate work.

It's better I do it now.

Love,
Ken

My Outlook

You should never make a resolution, as the following will probably happen. This is a 100% true story.


Reminders for class: I am a really good artist.

I'm Awesome

Thought you might enjoy this.

Oscar Picks

[Ed. Update - 13 Correct Oscar Picks. Medea's was 1st in box office, 16 Blocks 2nd]

They say that the Oscars last year had over 25.2 Million people in its draw from females age 18-24. Conversely, only 12.8 million were men of that same demographic. Speculation this weekend is that the Oscars will remain a high draw for women, while the men will go see 16 Blocks. Since I am so cool, I'll be doing both. But yey, I say not to underestimate the power of Dave Chapelle. He really is that nice of a guy. Oh, and Medea's Family Reunion. They'll still be going in drones to see that drivel.

Ah, yes. The Oscars. Probably my favorite night for film all year. And despite you having seen NONE of what's up this year, I suggest you watch too. Actually, just watch with me. I'll catch you up on what you've missed and you can be permanently scarred watching me act like a spaz. Ever see a 22 year old have a shit fit over best supporting actress? It's like I got caught in the rain without a tampon. I am laughable and pathetic.

So the picks. Here's the basic stuff you don't care about:

Art direction: "King Kong"
Cinematography: "Good Night, and Good Luck"
Film editing: "Crash"
Sound mixing: "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe"
Sound editing: "King Kong"
Original score: "Brokeback Mountain"
Original song: "Travelin' Thru" from "Transamerica"
Costume design: "Pride & Prejudice"
Makeup: "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe"
Visual effects: "King Kong"

And here's the stuff you do:

Screenplays:
Adapted: Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana have written some brilliant stuff together. I'd make a strong wager that nobody played a cowboy right until John Wayne, and nobody every wrote a cowboy right until Larry McMurtry. Lonesome Dove is one of the few books that's made me cry, and Brokeback is such a logical extension of his cowboy writing style. Exchange the old west for now and the hooker with a heart of gold to the sweet can of Jake Gyllenhall. I say it's a shoe in, especially since they wrote the screenplay in 1998. Brokeback Mountain.
Original: I'm going with Crash, as it was the same thing as Syrianna but with more crowd appeal. Syrianna was an amazingly well done movie, but it was designed to leave you feeling ignorant about the state of the world and your lack of effort in it. Crash just makes you feel ignorant for any hint of racism you've ever displayed. I'm an ignorant person, so I'd much rather feel bad about something that's already within my control. Crash.

Best Documentary: Murderball was too much at once without going somewhere. It wasn't like Fahrenheit 9/11 where you felt either manipulated or manipulated (by Moore or the Man) and polarized you into a response. You just watch those people in wheel chairs battle it out and go "God, damnit. That's creepy." I heard it was good the penguin movie was good in kindergarten. March of the Penguins all the way.

Best Foreign Film: As it's controversial, Paradise Now seems in the running. It's topic is... who am I bullshitting, I've barely seen any of the Best Pictures, why would I have seen the foreign films? I know Tsotsi is really just Lone Wolf and Cub with a late second act entrance on cub's part. So for now money's on Paradise Now.

Best Animated Film: Hayao Miyazaki is a name you should know. He makes very good Japanese animated films that intellictual appeal to people who may not enjoy anime. His Princess Monoke is probably one of the best films to ever be made, and Spirited Away was nothing short of... some flattering word. But his entry this year, Mr. Howl's Moving Castle, left a lot to be desired. It wasn't so much as bad as it was not genius. And as children's humor done well is some of the best stuff on this planet, I'd chose Wallace and Grommit.

Best Director: If only for the fact that he's an Asian heterosexual doing a film about gay cowboys, Ang Lee. The man's last film was that comic to film bomb, Hulk. Clooney may have shown more cohesion than in his last film, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, with his Good Night and Good Luck entry, but it's a second option in comparison to the front runner. Plus Lee won the Director's Guild of America award for best work. That's quite an endorsement. Ang Lee for broke.

Best Supporting Actress: Ah, the category no one pays attention to. I'm serious when I say studies were conducted that show more people get up at this time to urinate on their loved one than any other time of the year. Catherine Keener had been nomination before, so I think the academy said it was about to time give her another when they were struggling with filling the category. Rachel Weisz in The Constant Gardner was good, just not Gabby Hayes good. So I'm going to back Junebug's Amy Adams. The film was shot locally in my town, and I've been riding it all year. Unless the cowboys sweep, Michelle Williams won't be walking into the sunset with this one. Boy, that was a bad joke. Amy Adams.

Best Supporting Actor: Do you know how long I've waited for George Clooney to be good in something? I sat through Peacemaker or Pace Maker or whatever that crap was. I saw Batman and Robin in theaters, where the nipples on the bat suit were four feet wide. I was a fanboy for From Dusk Till Dawn before people knew what the hell it was. I WATCHED ER! So goddamnit, this better go to Clooney. I love a man that is smug, but some how still grounded. Loosely grounded. Whatever. You know he'd give one hell of a good acceptance speech. George Clooney.

Best Actress : Just with Catherine Keener in supporting, Dame Judy Dench only got nominated again because she already had been before. I'm not saying the Oscars are slanted. [Take time to giggle and revel in my joke or become mystified as to why you're still reading, but did not get that]. Nobody has seen TransAmerica, though Desperate Housewives may flip if Huffman wins. Charlize Theoron has hers already and Kiera Knightley got nominated because she was hot. If she pulls a Marisa Tomei and gets it, I'll tap dance to the moon. I don't what that means. Anyway, my money is one Reese Witherspoon, if not only for the fact that I hated her as an actress until Walk The Line. She converted me entirely. I have Legally Blond 1 and 2 order on Amazon and I'm totally excited to watch that movie she did with her husband back in 1939. Whatever it was, I'm sure it's awesomely awesometastic. Reese Witherspoon.

Best Actor: Pssssssh. I hate this. I want Terrence Howard for Hustle & Flow so badly. I want it so, so, so badly. Like last call at the bar, fleeting drunk hookup attempt badly. The man made an incredibly complex character that you hate to hate because he's so bad, but trying so hard. It was the same thing with Matt Dillon in Crash. You hate that these characters burn you n the way down because something else is going on that might counter it. Ahh.. fart sandwiches. I know it won't happen. Instead, the virtuoso performance in Capote will take the cake. Never step between a fat man and his deserved cake. Phillip Seymour Hoffman.

Best Picture: I'll say Munich doesn't stand a chance because it's too controversial and it seemed like a pity nod to a director who has not been trying lately. No to Capaote because sometimes no means no. I don't know what that means. So of the three heavy players, Crash seems to have the popular appeal. Good Night and Good Luck is brilliant craftsmanship all around, but doesn't have the legging that Crash and Brokeback have. I say Crash has lost its luster for having stood around in the cold for so long. GLAAD is will protest if Brokeback Mountain loses, claiming homophobia. They might be able to argue people were afraid of seeing it, but I'd say people were afraid of seeing everything nominated this year. Regardless, I'm a sucker for playing the heart strings (Million Dollar Baby last year had me bawling as well). The cutest couple of the year will take it home. Brokeback Mountain.

Reminders for class: I love Oscar.

Advocating Masturbation

At one point in my life, the only problems I had were finding polite way to turn down threesomes. Problems is pluralized, meaning more than one (1) and less than twenty thousand (20,000). I've never been an expert at politely declining sex. I don't even think hookers earn that saving grace. And it's not even so much as polite decline, but more like me scrambling to find in any way possible. I have used the excuse of me having a period. Yes, I'm awkward - much like us all - but I never make the effort to hide it.

I think somewhere muddled in me is a romantic who finds the idea of multiple partners disturbing. I do not know this guy, but he speaks from the small end of a large megaphone. I can tell his megaphone is loud because he speaks from under the buried debris of porn throughout the years and additional societal pressure. I will name this speaker Ralph, as I am disgusted with his presence. The outside resources (porn is a resource) he refutes say any sexual activity, particularly a threesome, is more than an okay thing.

Ralph advocates abstinence. I say fuck Ralph. A lack of sex only leads to bad choices in sex. My compromise would to be an advocate for masturbation. I won't argue the merits of self gratification, but rather the clarity the comes afterwards. I'll refer you to your VHS Textbook copy of "There's Something About Mary":

DOM: The most honest moment in a man's life is the five minutes after he's blown a load. That's a medical fact. And it's because you're no longer trying to get laid. You're actually thinking [...]
TED: Jesus Christ you're right.
DOM: You bet your ass I'm right. You don't go out with a loaded gun, you empty the barrels!
TED: Holy shit, I've been going out with a loaded gun!
DOM: People get hurt that way.

I'm trying to stop you from dumb hookups. If you haven't gone out, do it. Nobody makes a stupid mistake after they're done. Sex has this component where it blocks out several awful truths. In order for it work you need dim lights and a catalyst. It can either be alcohol or lack of stimulation or both. But just remember, this guy doesn't care:

All I'm saying is that I've never heard of anybody completing the third act in a one man show and going 'Sweet, I'm going to catch another production.'

No. You stay at home and practice your monologue. Come out after.

Reminders for class: Really, just stop with the stupid decisions, Phil.

Subtle Elements

I'm watching several relationships deteriorate over the course of a couple months and have a few things to note. Actually, one thing. You should never have to explain it in order to justify a behavior. If someone swears at you loudly, brings up history, or berates you, there shouldn't be a second standard that excuses the moment. To say the situation has to be clarified to include extenuating circumstances in order to be understood is weak. Weak. If it was your behavior that was this consistently poor, would you excuse yourself under the same reasoning? It should never be a catalytic and reactionary relationship.

The compassionate side of me says every relationship cannot be catalogued nor categorized by any basis, and it's an impossibility to explain to the outside from within. But that’s an exception true with all things. I could never explain to you how the Dececpticons link up to form Devastator, because you're not in on it. You could never explain to me why your sorority is super-mega different from the other ones because I’m ambivalent. It's like the distinction between animation and anime, between burping and belching - between rape and what Kobe does. There always exists a level of discernability for those that see it.

[ed. note - I had about six more paragraphs about people who think boring stories are worth telling, but I'll save you the irony]

So the fact that your relationship doesn't make sense to me because I'm not there doesn't float. We've all been there; you're the only one still entrenched. You can think that there is an element none of us see, but nobody's so unsympathetic. It's just that the rest of us have hindsight flying for us.

Reminders for class: I don't care about the difference between Kate Spade and Hecht's, so please don't bother telling me.

The Ob(li)vious

I keep forgetting I'm small. It's never really an issue because I can reach the top shelf to get the hot chocolate mix myself and in the world of adults that's where the line is drawn. I may dance around said line, having once stood on my tip toes to change a light bulb, but I figure that's been it. Once I stopped having to use a stool, I just about forgot the whole height thing. Maybe it’s because of my bogus over confidence or the uncanny ability of being blindsided by the obvious, but somewhere along that line it got lost.

In the moments before it was found, I was browsing Yahoo! Personals (mainly because it's funny). I started to go through the local Burlingtonites directory for giggles and I just kept clicking ‘next page’. I’ll preface the rest of this by saying I’m not desperate - but at 2 am, everyone gets a little wonky.

While laughing at the 20 year old divorcees, 58 year old former show girls, and the rest of this town, I did what everyone does: I started taking it to seriously. Like when you're on face book and you start following friends of friends until the next thing you know you're checking out some guy from USC. And the guy looks like a real creep, but you swear to God you wound up back at his place drunk on a Saturday night two years ago, where the only solid memory connecting it all it is the haunting smell of key lime pie.

Well that’s tonight. I started going over it and the next thing I know I’m looking at qualifiers. And I’m yelling at my monitor. “Male, Caucasian… 6’0” – 6’7”?!?!. Holy crap! How many tall, white males do you think there are out there?”

Tonight I wound up legitimately browsing personals. I. Feel. Dirty.

Reminders for class: Oh, and I came up short. *rimshot*

Watched Too Much TBN Today

If ever there was a reductio of intelligent design, it's the appendix.

Belief is something that cannot be sanctified by argument or evidence. Death is the elimination of consciousness. No matter what your religious belief, whether you have a soul or not, death is the finality of your ability to chose. If you get thrown to heaven or hell you experience such pleasure or pain that thinking no longer takes precedence. Religion may anethisizes us against our fear of death, but it has to be conceded that death destroys essentially what you are.

So most of us form our moral identity around our religion. We're all born into this experience where we are constantly seeking happiness. What we get, we lose - it's a given. We're just trying to find out how much happiness can be enjoyed by one being. Applying a code as defined by a religion allows/tries for happiness in this life and beyond.

O.K.

But if the bible really is the wisest book we have, we would be beating our kids and stoning women. We should be taking an eye for and eye. You can put your faith in our 21st century ethics or refer back to the 1st century outlook.

There's a rush to say that without religion, what's to prevent us from killing each other?

Look at the UN index. They categorize nations by everything. The most aethiestic societies are some of the ones with the lowest murder rate. I'm not making it up. Netherlands, Canada, Sweeden. There is no evidence to suggest that a heavier grouping of religion would make for a healthier environment.

I'm not insinuating that there would not be wars without religion. There's still tribalism, nationalism, racism, etc.... but the extremes of people killing other people because they think their religious creator wants them killing in his name might taper off. There's a word for not being religious, but seems to be no need to create a a word for 'Not being a Dentist' or 'Not Being An Enthusiastic Motorist'.

I know there is no greater conversation starter then faith. And what I'm writing probably stopped most of you at the top. But there needs to be an understanding of religion that is as clean as scientific studies. We need to understand this in a way that does not rely on divisive superstitions. Everytime a scientist says 'I don't know', religion rushes in with God to fill the gaps.

These are the same people that will say "There is nothing you can say that will change my mind" when it comes to their faith. Imagine that kind of response in medicine. That no matter what argument or evidence was presented, you could not sway another scientist. How corrosive would that be to reasoning? That sort of stubbornness is toxic. Your faith in one thing was so strong that you refuse all other forms of reasoning.

Dinosaur bones anyone?

Which leads to me to say that the moment you start to sound reasonable enough to start shaking someone's faith, you get demonized for trying to tempt them. Going counter of their dogma. Well, damnit, sometimes I just want to speak what I feel is painful obvious and the truth. I shouldn't be brow beaten for it.

I don't want to be burned at the stake either.

Reminders for class: Who let's me talk?

What Goes Through My Head

These are thoughts that literally go through my head everyday. I just want you to realize how odd I am:

I would be really good at the piano if the piano was a clarinet. Are people impressed by the clarinet?

I sleep too much.

Would I look good in an army helmet? How about any other helmet? Bike helmets make you look dumb, but I think I look alright.

The inside of my elbow is itchy. What is the name of that spot? I'll google it later.

When I host an infomercial, my audience won't be rigged. It'll be all my friends, but it won't be rigged.

The magic bullet theory doesn't work out. And aliens probably did build the pyramids. Captain Kangaroo should have told us the truth back then.

I should write children's stories. But they should never let me around the children. That would be a mistake.

I bet I look stupid during sex. I know I have that stupid complacent look of an ape while another ape picks bugs off its back. The women always look good.

The hole in my stomach still hasn't healed. I hope it's not cancerous. That would stink.

Drinking straight from the container is fine as long as it's yours. It's also a good way to deter other people from drinking your stuff.

They need to remake Duck Hunt.

I want someone who is smarter than me and right all the time, but who isn't bossy. That's just gloating.

How much does it cost to be a hermit?

I always though Garfield was kind of annoying. But then again, so is House. But House is a doctor, not a cat. Cat's can't be awesome. Dogs can. Lassie was cool. So was Rin-Tin-Tin. And that dog on the Little Rascals. Fucking Petie or whatever.

I wish my hand was a gun. That way, I'd walk around with it charging all the time and tell people: "Hold on, I'm charging my power ball. I need it saved up all the way so I can use it as the last hit on the boss of the game. He's got this whicked fast pattern that you need to blow up right away or you lose."

When I'm a rock star, I'll sign all the autographs they ask. I'll probably do two pop albums, then get crazy with the power ballads of love. At that point I'll be rich, so I can use the power ballads as leverage once my life goes boring and I get a job at a bank.

I'll rent Brokeback Mountain. I don't want people seeing me in the theater. Heath Ledger is mildly attractive, but not like old school Sean Connery was. There was a man.

Women are continually dating assholes and then complaining afterwards. Just date me. I am better.

'Palm of Your Hand' by Cake is a really good song.

I want to watch a movie with a lot of action, that's funny, and smart. Eh, I can only get two. Screw it, I'll just put on Cartoon Network.

Bernie Mac is a lot better than people give him credit for.

Fat people make me sad. Really sad. So do old people who deliver pizza. They never wanted to do that with their life.

An Open Letter To Your Deity Of Choice

as written by a thirteen year old me

God,

Please stop the parade of crazy women that have sought to enter my life. They are not cool. Instead, give me someone who is maladjusted or clingy. I say that because asking for some one normal would be too much. I know I am a little screwed up, but what you are giving me is the equivalent to beating the dog with a hot skillet after it whizzes on the carpet. Sure, he whizzed, but a rolled up newspaper would be fine. But no - no, God - you had to cook fajitas on that extra large skillet and then hit me with it before you washed out the onion grease. Not cool, God. Not cool.

I will make the same promise I made my Dad when I got my rabbit, Sugar. I will be very nice to her if you get her for me. I will feed her and change her cage everyday. I will even cut the poop out of the fur if it gets clogged up because she doesn't stand whenever no. 2 happens.

If will hold doors open and show up on time whenever asked. I will even hold hands if someone was watching. I would be ultra awesome nice to her, and you would be so impressed you might even give me two because other guys couldn't be as nice as me. Maybe you could even give me a whole village of women, who each have special limited edition Transformers (Autobots only) in their hut and.....

ED NOTE: He just trails on like this for a while. I'll skip ahead to the end.

So in summation, I will not ever do drugs unless a family member asks me. But in exchange for all that God, I want something to. Stop it with the weird ones. For the love of you, it's too much. Can't you just drop a highway overpass on that weird ones? And why is it I before E except after C - but not in weird. Isn't is weird how weird is spelled?

Anyway, drop a roof or make them slip on wet trash. We all know who they are. And they'll get to heaven if you do it.
-Ken

Reminders for class: I take no credit for this one. I seriously wrote this. Ok. Not really. Maybe. Ah, who knows?

Robert The House Fly

There is a fly who chose his final resting less than an inch above my rearview mirror. I have named him Robert, since he died nameless, and I have to have something to call him when I'm talking to him in transit. For something several thousandths my size, he provides good company.

I am aware this is the action or actions of an insane person, but I take comfort my psychosis is already padded and delightfully comforted by my rampant alcoholism. Directing my inner monologue towards a dead musca domestica stuck to the roof of my car lets me get all the sillies out.

Ideas always sound good in your head, so sometimes you have to say them out loud to the hardened exoskeletal structure of a house fly, occasionally making eye contact with its now 400 some lifeless compound eyes. Yeah, it's in that scenario things can sound ridiculous. "Move to San Francisco? What WAS I thinking?"

Robert is therapy, something I'd suggest to many, many of the people in my life. I enjoy his company because he doesn't talk much, and when he does its me talking for him. It's odd behavior, but what's that saying about sending a killer to catch a killer? Or maybe it's a chef to kill a baker. Someone google that, I'm still too steamed up about the superbowl. I was trying to establish some crazy fixing crazy methodology, but my incoherent rants usually do that on their own.

Reminders for class: What we all need is someone out of their mind.

Rollerball is on USA

There's nothing wrong with being cocky, especially if you can't back it up. Everybody deserves the chance to feel greater then they really are.

Except Joel Schumaker. Fuck that guy. No. Batman & Robin? St. Elmo's Fire, Flatliners, and Phantom of the Opera? Someone needs to stop this guy. Someone patiently waiting in a H3 Hummer, located in a dark parking lot with his lights off, with half a bottle of wild turkey in his system and an inability to locate the brakes. All this someone would have to do is drive off and so much would be fixed.

I'm talking about the kind of tranquility on the same level when Jesus found the last egg at the easter egg hunt last spring. The man found the egg loaded with Starburst Jelly Beans. He did that fish and wine thing so we all got to eat as many as we wanted, and I ate so many of the purple/grape ones I got a sugar headache. Then the two of us stayed up late and got ice cream. Jesus spilt his chocalte on his robe. "Chocalate stains do not come out" he said with a sad face. I worry about that kid sometimes.






Why do I write?

Reminders to class: Starburst jelly beans are the best thing ever.

Queens of Any Age

I'm going to make this short and sweet. Queen rocks. Sure Freddy Mercury, their lead singer, was gay. Maybe even capitol gay. Maybe even Fire Island bake sale gay. But the band rocked so hardcore that their 'straight band' competitors couldn't compete with them. You give them their dues. What would rather here before a sporting event: "We Will Rock You" or "Come Sail Away"? Yeah, that's what I thought. Go sit on a piece of glass Styx, nobody cares. Domo Ire-shut the hell up.

You know you wish you knew even four of the notes from the Bohemian guitar solo. That would make you bad ass. But guess what? You don't. Tool.

Reminders for class: They tried to release a "best of" for Queen, but it proved impossible. Why? Because everything is their best of.

Trivia realities

I'm doomed to become trivia. Or trivial. There's probably a difference, but the distinction can't be made by a dumbass like me. As a person, I really don't care what you think of me - as long as you think something. The thing that gets me is becoming some blank faced person in the background of a memory - the concomitant being sipping cranberry and vodka during the taping of a better memory, thus equaling out somewhere around the red shirted bastards who die before the first commercial break on Star Trek.

I'm sure there are those who'll remember poorly, those with wide waists and poor taste, but that's fine. I deserve it. Remember the time I got the Phi Mu house picture and put the caption "Find the Fake Girls", then circled the whole thing? Or the time I said "I've never met a Zeta that wasn't burned at the stake in the previous life?" and then got bombarded with IMs, which I then put in my profile because they were loaded with spelling errors and grammar problems? How about when I caused that fight at the black culture society... Oh wait... They did that on their own. Ha! See that comment right there? That's why I'll be poorly remembered.

But that's not a big deal. I just want to linger on after I'm gone, be remembered for anything good or something gone wrong. Think about how many kids you've gone to school with. Thousands in high school, hundreds in middle and elementary. Of all those people, how many can you remember without a photo? How many can you recall with one?

Being forgotten is how The Neverending Story started. BTW - Neverending my ass, we stopped at Part III. Bond is more neverending then that flying dog/eel muppet. So unnatural how that blinked. 'Ooooh it was the 80's. Give them a break.' Shut up, Sean! Things age poorly for a reason. They shouldn't be given mental breaks because of the time it took place in. Is anybody giving "It Takes A Village" by Hillary Rodham Clinton a second read? No. Shut up.

Things wither away in time because everything does. I'm trying to be the exception. And if I have to majorly asshole it up and stab your tires, steal your kids candy, and ruin this season of Lost to do it, I will.

Reminders for class: Job Hunting Is Fun.

Goodnight January

So goes the notion that everything has been done before. Life is said to be reduced into a handful of experiences that all resemble each other, and its only the people and places that change to differ the circumstances. I've read similar accounts that only seven stories exists for us, and they're all the same. Someone loses love, someone gains it. Someone misplaces something, someone finds something. Someone dies, someone lives. The seventh is Matthew Kennedy plows you. Those are the seven stories that have been told over beers since Cain slew Abel and went to that sweet little Bahama themed bar at the end of the road.

I'm myself couldn't find seven stories with a seven-story locating device made of giggles and well wishes. I don't think we're fortunate enough to have that much of a variety. I think there may be only two; a stranger comes to town and a man goes on a journey. You might think that outlook as cynical, but I'm a bit more optimistic then my bohemian, dishevled good looks lead on. If on a universal level we only have two stories to tell, it's only superficialities that drive us apart. Sure, your God isn't as sweet as mine - and I may stab your chin for it - but it's all gravy.

For example, the following children are the product of:
A.) Bad Parenting
B.) Bad behavior
C.) A Failure By Some DeathSquad

In my book, only two things are responsible for this. 1) A stranger comes to town - and impregnates some white trash fourteen year old then leaves. 2.) A man goes on a journey - after impregnating some white trash fourteen year old in town.

Either way, someone abadoned these bastards. Wouldn't you?

I mean, this is failure, no matter how you brand it. I could place the strongly written words of an intellectual or professor who has made it their life study to understand the children in this type of situation, but I won't. I know the truth - Jake 'The Snake' Roberts nailed two cocktail waitresses in the same night to produce offspring resembling his BAC.

There may be only two stories in the world, but it's not worth a good god damn if you don't make it your story. People who refuse to do things because they've been done or heard of them as being done before before wind up like John Malkovich in every movie he's ever been in. World weary and uninterested. Have you seen Con Air? Have you?!?

You can read the books and watch the movies, but don't let that dictate how you see the world. Anybody can dispense a quote to fit a given occasion. It takes real courage to say something full well knowing more intelligent people have said it better. Or people have lived it. Or someone can tell it better. Idiots (as pictured) and geniuses (as written) exist, but let neither affect how you see the world. If you constantly think you're better than someone, a day will come when someone shows you up. If you continually think of yourself as a failure, someday you will move to Burlington and feel like a gloriously golden being among crippled church mice.

So it's no Chaucer, but my caption for this would be "Fuckups breed Fuckups" It's simple and its sweet, but flavors rarely call for the need to be complex.

Reminders for class: Is there anything more powerful than saying "Goodnight Moon" to anyone with good parents?

So I have that theory....

That theory I have about somebody always settling in a relationship? Tell me: which one?

Give me time

Better Lyrics For Dan

He eats filet migon
I'm eating fuckin' Alphabits
And the motherfucker just left me
The consanants

I hold his leash while
He gets all the compliments
He gets more attention than
A one eyed elephant

He's in the club
I'm in my car
Out of my element
In a Honda Element

Feeling irrelelvent
But it's on like it's Vaugh comma Vince
I wanna be gone like I'm
Jon Favreau havin' a fit

He's surrounded by chicks
Rubbing their D cup tits
I flip the toilet lid
Read a Maxim mag, bust a couple kids

Tomorrow

Reminders for class: Same bat time, same bat channel. Cya tomorrow with part 3.

Peckennedy

Every time I watch a film, I get closer to this intangible answer for which I have no question. I have no idea what that means, but I know its true. I put in a movie and something clicks, so this is leading somewhere. Last night I watched 'The Boys From Brazil' until about five in the morning, and when I was done I felt I was really close to figuring out what the hell I'm doing. Mayhaps it has to do with graduating, or mayhaps its because Gregory Peck is one of the few men ever born on this planet.


He and I have something in common. We fight evil. I went to great lengths to paint this picture of a mixture of myself and Mr. Peck fighting evil. In it, we have a cigar. Would you like to see it? I know you would. Those lines on our chest are pecs and abs. Amazingly detailed, yes. So what else is left?

Well as a fusion of Peck and myself, we need to find a job. Greg said he gets royalty checks, but I told him real men earn their money. He said "Man, you're awesome and always right" then quit talking. He decided I needed to quit drinking for 30 days, and center my life around a career. I said maybe. He said 'Yes' and arched an eyebrow. Crap indeed I bowed to his will. Who am I, stupid?

So yeah. Getting a real job. Nazi hunting for fun.

Reminders for class: Never leave college. Never ever. It's such a mistake.

Music To Shoplift To

I hate Walmart. Deep within my soul burns a little Asian man who only shops at Walmart. I hate this Asian man. I have named him Tony. Tony is a prick and agrees with my wallet, who is bilingual, and is also saying that I have to shop at Walmart to save on bills. Tony, like all Asians, is smart - and right.

Those who know me know what I do to roshambo Tony right in the testicles. I won't come outright and say it, as that maybe a confession to a misdemeanor, but you know. Oooooh, nigga you know.

I have also come to the conclusion that it's okay to be a satirist. In that sense I can be a truthful observant, which in turn gives me license to be slightly racist and offensive. Like the claim "Women can't drive". Sure, it may not be statistically true, but every accident I've ever taken a place in has the end results of a failed woman. And not like a failed woman - the doctor got my penis wrong - more like a failed woman - I was on the cell phone crimping my hair. Who crimps their hair well driving? I'll tell you who: Satanists. It's clear there is a connection between women and Satan. Just look at the bible! The part in the fucking back! YOU KNOW IT'S THERE! SHUT UP!

Ok. Just look at this pie chart:
See how messed up that is? The numbers don't even come out right. Man, I'm not even a Math minor, but I can tell something is up. So what? Do I buy a shotgun cross that shoots holy water to prepare myself for the onslaught these female devil drivers are preparing? No. I'm a rational man. I will become ordained and fight alongside the greatest vampire hunters the catholic church has ever had. That's right, James Woods in Vampires.

Go Shoplift from Walmart, do the world some good.

Reminders for class: I'm a college graduate in 12 hours.

Wishing

Trying something new. Skip it if you want. I'll just say that sometimes I sit here and the words can only come out in one form. Those nights I usually tangent, but I've got nothing for you ('cept for maybe a couple of lines about why they always have to glue the first sheet on toilet paper or paper towela... you always end up ripping the first two layers clean off just to avoid undoing the glue)

I'm aware of a stigma that comes attached with a man doing poetry, but only loosely. I've heard it marks him as 'gay'. I'm fine with that, since none of you have burned anything on my lawn as of yet; new development probably won't be happening soon. I'm just that I'm giving you added benefit of being able skip my hollow crap now, instead of later. Put it to rap if it bothers you.

I Wish

I wish straddling the divide
between hopeless and golden
didn’t mean leading a life
that’s already chosen.

I wish for good sleep
and not some restless night.
That my moments in the dark
didn’t feel cut or knifed.

I wish we were both young
And mom’s would care for us,
instead of you being you
and me being embarrassed.

I wish our generation
wasn’t part of a joke.
And when we opened our mouth
we didn’t sound stoned

I wish it wasn’t as simple
As they try to make it out,
that we handled our challenges
and be allowed to stay proud

I wish I wasn’t born
with a soul that's frozen,
driving wheels in reverse
with no idea where I’m going.

I wish that this curse
that I think I have
wasn’t the one good thing
that makes me glad

I wish my life wasn’t crashing
and dreams weren’t fleeting
I wish your head was out of the clouds
but forever day dreaming.

Gay.

Reminders for class: Poke fun at your gay teacher.

The Last Beer

This is the way college ends.
This is the way college ends.
This is the way college ends.

Not with a bang, but a keg.

I'm sure only two of you got that, but it's okay since I only write for two of you. Upfront - apologies for my behavior. I was Captain Sketch of the Sketch Force last night, fully equipped with an armada of sketchy actions and behavior. I do not regret anything that happened, mostly because I cannot remember it, but I won't say I was proud. No, pride is a sin and I must remain virtuous. I'll remind you that we started and finished a keg in one night with less than thirty people, an accomplishment rarely made in my E201 days.

I have an alcohol problem, yes, but it's mildly curbed. I say that in comparison to - oh - Mickey Rourke in Barfly. With that problem in mind, I tried to not drink before eleven. At our parties, we have a habit of starting at nine only to find that no one has arrived by ten. At that point we consider the whole party a bust and go for broke. Then 11:30 roles around and I'm half naked with a lamp shade on my crotch while Sean Deakins is choking me and calling me 'Pasos Billy'. That's also around the point where the place becomes packed. So I waited until eleven last night - gasp - no one was there. So then we all hit the bottle as hard we could. Like magic, they all showed up.

I could recap more, but if you weren't there you probably wouldn't be reading this. Suffice to say that everyone made three mistakes that would behoove them to never think about again. I'm looking at you, Kids Making Out On The Children's Swing Set.

Reminders for class: What a nice way to go.

Who's Excited?

I am having a party. Not a tea party, or a birthday party, or an anniversary party. I'm having a goodbye party. Yes, I'm having a goodbye party despite the fact that I'm not leaving. And you are not saying goodbye to me, nor I to you. I am saying goodbye to my college. A college – I’ll note – I’ve never actually liked.

So what am I saying bye to? The rigid social structure? The taboo that has become doing anything without letters? The utter lack of originality, creativity, or even originality? The niches? The divides? The wars, the feuds, the duels, the bickering, the whining, the sheer banality found in your everyday lunch line conversation?

This is what I’m saying goodbye to: anything that sounds like the following.

Ugly Girl: “I’m so hideous.”
Ugly Girl Who Doesn’t Realize It: “I know, your teeth are awful.”
U.G.: “That’s because I look like a horse.”
U.G.W.D.R.I.: “Whatever, just wear make up and guys won’t know.”
U.G.: “Really? They won’t notice?”
Lunch Man: “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
U.G.W.D.R.I.: “Cha, look at me!”
U.G.: “You look just like a china doll.”
U.G.W.D.R.I.: “I know. My boyfriend is so lucky.”
[Somewhere, a freshman male transfers]

That’s really it. I’m saying goodbye to that. I’m sure I’ll still be subjected to more hideous conversation in the future, because Burlington isn’t exactly a hubbub for witty banter. Like this one from line at Walmart:

Guy: You hear Latricia’s brother got shot?
Girl: Yeah, it hurts more when you’re shot in the cold.

Really? In the cold. I didn’t know that. Next time I’m shot, I’ll have to make sure I’m in my summer seasonal clothes. That way the sting of the gunshot wound won’t interfere with that light nipping that comes from the winter air.

…..

You know what? Parties off. I’m becoming a hermit.

Reminders for class: Obi-Wan was a hermit. Some argue the hermit.

I and the Universe.... or is it the Universe and Me?

“A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe, "The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation."
- Stephen Crane

I spoke to the universe once. I said 'How are things looking?' The universe replied:

'Meh.'

There's always a need to have someone listen, preferably someone greater and more powerful then yourself. Telling someone better always runs the chance of them being able to help you out. People burdened with secrets know that fact. Holding onto something you never wanted to be saddled with in the first place can often be too great a burden, like tape worms.

'Holy crap!' I hear you say, 'Where are you going with this? Do you have some dark secret about your origins? Are you really a deity from space?' Shut up. I'll tell you where I'm going with this. People who post that they want 'Whatever I Can Get' and 'Random Play' on their facebook. Funk that. Seriously. That's what I want to talk about. Clicking that box is the equivalent of yelling to the universe 'I can't get laid by any of the people I want!', and then the universe silently tosses back "Man, your ass is undesirablee."

Listen up, kids. This post is the equivalent of giant care bear stare in your face. Stop it. Now. Admitting that you would find ass via the internet is - no, no. Just stop it. You will not find your dream partner on eHarmony.com, and if you do - tsk! If you wanted someone to do the work for you, I'm sure your mom still wants to set you up with the Nedlson kid down the street - you know, the one with a good heart but a lazy eye.

If you're a man-ho or a skank, you shouldn't need to check that box anyway. Odds are your picture will have you in either swim wear, shirtless, or drunk in a compromised position. You say to the universe 'Hey! I'm easy!' but you forget to add the post script of 'But don't be confused when I become so emotional unstable around you that it becomes easy to confuse me with Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction!'

Selecting something like that box is fishing with out bait. You know what kind of a catch you're going to get? A retarded one that looks like this. Yes. They're always defective on the internet, so just stop it. The universe thanks you for not addressing it with such meaningless clutter. And so do I.

'cuz I am way too good looking and awesome to be bogged down with something like that.

Reminders for class: Smile

Blind Faith

At least to my face, my friends pretend to have faith in me. It's a odd feeling I can trace back to high school, singularly rooted in the constant question: "When you're famous, can I be in one of your movies."

Sure, I'd answer. Of course. You can even have a starring role! After I'm finished financing the picture with rainbows and dreams, we can all go out for ice cream.

But the questions continue in that fashion, so much and so often that I'll get calls at four in the morning by parents, hammered.

"Dude, dude. Son. Dude. What was the movie with the guy who had that black partner?"
"Lethal Weapon?"
"No, it had something to do with DC. Politics."
"What? Lethal Weapon 2? That had a diplomat."
"No, like an FBI guy. And there was a bomb. In a garage."
"Arlington Road."
"HA! Hey, everyone --- silence --- fucking thanks, man."
"My rents overdue."
"Love you too, son."

I'm not sure why people, or even as much as a singular person, would ever put their trust into a kid who routinely drinks as often as I do. I'm sure there is a job out there for someone as dangerously underqualified as myself that pays well, but I have no motivation to find it.

The trick, I'm told, is to find an environment or workforce I'm comfortable with. I have found that workplace, but my desk at two in the morning rambling on about whatever doesn't pay well. Unless you're Dave Barry.

I suppose if enough people have bothered to tell me - or even muster the energy to lie to me - about being fully capable of doing this film thing, then why not. I know I have poor social skills, even worse speaking skills, but damnit if I don't feel confident when it comes to film. I've got this one thing that drives me, this need to entertain others. And if I have to ride my laundry basket down the stairs with a lampshade on my head and a cape around my neck, I'll do it. I'll even yell 'spoon' all the way down until I break my neck at the bottom to get a laugh. If that' what it takes, I'll do it.

Reminders for the class: We're all here to have fun. I'm just trying to be the one making sure everyone else is doing it.

Come to Bed

I went downstairs to watch some TV and ended up watching a whole episode of Law & Order. It's an addictive show you never can remember. All that sticks out is the crime and the verdict, so in a sense it's a lot like drinking heavy; you remember what you drank and whether you were hungover or not, everything else is inconsequential.

During it I went to the kitchen and brought back to the table a jar of peanut butter, grape jelly, a knife, a plate, and a gallon of milk - no cup. I spread the crap all over the table and began to fashion myself something to eat. Halfway through my second sandwich, I really wanted a wife. Not anyone in particular, just someone to have someone walk downstairs and say "Clean up and come back to bed."

But I don't have that. I live with two men who define bulk. Which is not to say that they aren't cute, it's just that neither seems the wedding type. I doubt I could anyway, what with laws being as they nowadays.

It was like the bummer moment at a party when you realize you no longer want to be there, and all you want is to be home. Being home, I knew I didn't want to be in front of the television, or eating food, or to still be up at 3 am. So I hiked upstairs to find everything quiet.

In this still, I thought I'd sit down and say a couple nice things to you before I lay down and fake sleep. I wanted to let you know that everything will be okay and you're doing fine, so there's no need to worry. Contradict me if you'd like, but you must be doing alright because you've found the time to sit down with me and read these words.

So I wanted to let you know that.

Reminders for class: You're cool.

Youth and Amish Suck

My generation embarrasses me. Not just the guys with popped collars and platinum chains or the girls with two hair colors and caked on makeup, but the whole lot of them. I am embarrassed by them. Not ashamed, or upset with, or annoyed. Embarrassed. If I see someone my age walking around with a mobile phone on speakerphone, chirping after every sentence he mumbles into his hand piece, I'm embarrassed. Phone calls are private - and even if you don't care, I don't want to know what stage you're sister's Chlamydia has advanced to. Your life is mundane and trivial to me. But they still do that eye scan after they say something on it; “Sure, just smear some apricot jelly on it. That’ll reduce the redness” and they look around. Are we supposed to be impressed? “Holy LORD! That man has a phone without wires? Where – does anyone see the wires? Holy crow!”

The only way I would listen to what your speaker phone was saying is if you were a celebrity on VH1 getting your life profiled. And even then, it’s not because I think they’re better, it’s because I want to make sure whatever they’re talking about is as inconsequential as I think they are. You hear me Bronson Pinchot? Nobody cares.

The same goes for tricked out cars and stereo systems. People who love their car should know that it’s always going to be an unhealthy relationship. Why? Your car can never love you back.. Dogs, cats, hamsters – sure. They all show affection. I’m not sure Hammy the Hamster ever really loved me in a poignant manor growing up, but damn sure if he didn’t appreciate me when I dropped a food block into his cage-o-torium.

And it’s not just the tool bags. The Bible Belt kids turned out messed up to. Take this excerpt from a teenager’s column about a teacher sleeping with her 14 year old student.

"No more slut teachers in public schools. If it were me, they'd be burying that 'woman.' First the apple in Eden. Now molesting innocents. Hang her."

Can you say that? Is it allowed? I’m pretty sure that a death threat in the form of shunning. Shunning may have been popularized by the Amish, but those guys are bastards. Oh – what? – it’s not like they’ll ever find out I said that. The Amish suck.

Remidners for class: MLK weekend. Double your sunday pleasure - drink.

Attention Whore

"Women will listen to every single genre of music, only so when they meet a guy who says they're into it they can spout off two or three names in the field."

I had a friend say that tonight while we sat on the outskirts of a poorly planned party. His reasoning could have been derived from year'’s experience, but I think it was more of an attack on our hostess. When she put her iPod on, some of the worst music from time forgotten started playing.

Do a mental checklist of the horrible songs you wish you forgot. Aqua - Barbie Girl? Check. Hoku - Another Dumb Blond? Probably somewhere in there. And I know I heard Love Shack come screeching out of the speakers, because some girl-like man thing started to dance to it like her face wasn't hideous. Is everyone else fed up with that song, or am I the only one?

Back to my friend's statement, which I gather was part of a larger indictment, is that certain women can be attention whores. I'm sure if he had the time, he would have explained to me that it doesn't matter if it's positive or negative attention, just as long as its directed towards her. For that, I'd agree with him and say they'd upset you just as soon as they would smile at you. After all, the desired response is your 100% undivided attention.

But as for the rest of his reasoning, well, I can't say I'd back his statement. It makes a number of claims I don't think I see any logic in, like:
1.) Only males can appreciate music.
2.) Females may only use music as a tool for mating.
3.) That somewhere out there is a cache of women listening to polka, in hopes the man of their dreams bychance listens to it.

I will agree with his version of the attention whore theory, mainly because I got to see it occur while we sat together. Finding faults in other people is always more fun with an audience. [prggrz] See if you can follow the bouncing Betty:

Girl comes in with guy, they sit down together. Dog comes to play with guy. Guy becomes enamored with dog. Girl starts to play with dog too. Dog, nor guy, care. Girl stands up to dance. Guy doesn't notice. Girl plays beer pong. Guy rolls around with dog on dirty carpet. Girl ties her shirt off at the waist to show her stomach. Now he's jealous and everyone else is fixated.

So why is this important enough to tell you? After all, I did visit a biohazard containment area today - that could've made a better story.

It just seems that many people we know have become charmed by themselves, and have forced themselves and others into a position where they have to receive some idol worship to get by. The attention calling is just another way of seeking approval or security. Call it fishing for compliments or what you wish, a relationship that hinders on reassurance might as well revolve around sex, because someone i’s eventually going to get tired.

When you a’re constantly fighting and making up -– or fornicating -– there will come a time when one of you gives up, and youÂ’re left with what was always there. An attention whore is that someone who knows that truth, and is doing anything to not have to face it.

My advice is to stay single until rapture, because you'’d be settling at this age anyway.

Reminders for class: I bash on women in these posts because they a’re more complex than men. Men are simple. We drink, we lie, we cheat, we die. I mean, Jesus, we'’ll never have something as interesting and complex as a period. So I'll talk about women until I'm blue in the face because women are infinetly more engaging.