Just a Typical Monday

"Okay class, please turn to page 47 in your workbooks and do exercises 1 and 2"

"Me too?"

"Yes, as we've been over many many times, you are, in fact, a member of this class. Thusly, when I make blanket introductory statements such as 'okay class,' I am, in fact, referring to you too. However, I would like to thank you for once again wasting my time."

"Why? Why do I have to do it too?"

"As I mentioned previously, the whole class, in which you are a member, is responsible for completing exercises 1 and 2 on page 47 of the workbook."

"But, I don't wanna!"

"Well, god dammit, you fat, ugly, Baby Huey-lookin'-like (get'um), old-enough-for-deodorant-but-too-fuckin'-stupid-too-realize-it-smellin'-like (get'um), white trash, homely mother fucker (get'um) don't do it then!"

"Will you fail me?"

"Yes."

"What does homely mean?"

"There's a dictionary under your desk."

Just Because

I've so little to write about
But so much time
I've no stories to tell
And I can't even rhyme

whups...

I've been absent a week
My readership is dwindling
It's sad
spindling?

Is that a word?

Spellcheck will answer in one hot minute
But for my next post
You've longer to wait
Perhaps this blog-thing isn't the most

word

Answering Machine

This is just one of those joke emails that tends to get passed around, but with one difference--it's actually funny. I only wish my school would do this:

SCHOOL ANSWERING MACHINE

This is the message that the Pacific Palisades High School (California) staff voted unanimously to record on their school telephone answering machine. This is the actual answering machine message for the school.

This came about because they implemented a policy requiring students and parents to be responsible for their children's absences and missing homework. The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children's failing grades changed to passing grades, even though those children were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough schoolwork to pass their classes.

The outgoing message:

"Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school.

In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please
listen to all the options before making a selection:

* To lie about why your child is absent - Press 1

* To make excuses for why your child did not do his work- Press 2

* To complain about what we do - Press 3

* To swear at staff members - Press 4

* To ask why you didn't get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you - Press 5

* If you want us to raise your child - Press 6

* If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone -Press 7

* To request another teacher, for the third time this year -Press 8

* To complain about bus transportation - Press 9

* To complain about school lunches - Press 0

* If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework and that it's not the teachers' fault for your child's lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!

*If you want this in Spanish, you must be in the wrong country."

Tard Blog App.

ATTN: Rudius moderator

I’m a big fan of the Tard Blog. It’s unfortunate Riti no longer writes. Anyways, I’m a special-ed teacher and wanted to fill out the application, but it doesn’t work anymore. Since the Blog hasn’t been published to in such a long time, I’m assuming you gave up this cause. A friend of mine and I both would like to fill out an application, and I believe she’s already contacted someone within your organization, as we recently had the following conversation:

My friend: ps, i just sent them a message.
My friend: you should do it too.
Me: a rudius moderator?
Me: what'd you say?
Me: i'd like to author the tard Blog.
Me: because i teach tards.
Me: and they're funny little fuckers.
My friend: oh my god.
My friend: oh my god.
My friend: i just realized why it's called tard.
My friend: and i'm horrified.
My friend: oh my god!
Me: you missed that?
My friend: completely. that probably makes me a tard myself.
Me: yea, i think you might be one.
My friend: i'm surprised you're just realizing that.
My friend: and you should be aware this is why i'm good at my job... i relate to my kids a little too well.

Readers Digest Again, OH NO!

You can probably guess how I came across this little tidbit, a submission by one of Readers Digest's, no doubt, faithful readers:

If Only we Lived in a Sitcom World!

Ray Romano's wife once complained to Rolling Stone Magazine that her husband spoke to his TV wife more in one episode than he spoke to her in one week at home.

"Well, we have writers on the show," explained Romano. "If we had writers here, we'd be having long, funny conversations."

The thing about this quote that I find hilarious, is that it's endlessly applicable to my daily life. You see, I have this, I don't know what you'd call it, I have this condition, I guess. I always envision my own life as though it was a sitcom. Every decision I make, I ask myself, "Is this worthy of a clap-track? Would what I'm saying at this exact moment bring my studio audience to its feet?"

The problem is that real-life rarely should be at all like a sit-com. Still, I wish it was. For instance, the other day in class, I demonstrated a simile for my students: "Honeys play me close like butter plays toast." No doubt, this was sitcom-worthy material; however, it proved to me unproductive in a realworld enviroment. It took me almost 10 minutes to get my class back under control. Of course, I was flattered that they bit on my punchline. And, maybe, they gained a slightly greater understanding of similes, but ultimately, I lost 10 minutes of instruction time. Time I'll never get back.

Spell Czech

While taking a shit on Tuesday, I found myself to be a bit short of reading materials. I began an ancillary search of the areas immediately surrounding my commode and came across a rather large stack of Reader’s Digest magazines. Although I’ve never been a huge fan of Reader’s Digest, reading is reading—fundamental—and when you’re in a position such as the one I was, you take what you can get. I didn’t find a wealth of great articles, but I came across a poem I really enjoyed:

“Spell Czech”

Eye halve a spelling chequer. It came with my pea sea.
It plainly marques four my revue miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye strike a key and type a word and weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write. It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid, it nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite. Its rarely ever wrong.

Eye have run this poem threw it, I am shore your please two no.
Its letter perfect in it’s weigh. My chequer tolled me sew.

Sauce Unknown

In addition to forewarning about the dangers of being too reliant on spell-check, I think the poem has an excellent voice. When I read it to myself, I can’t help but find my mind’s eye reciting each word sounding like a computer: “I talkk like thiis.” Anywho, kudos to the sauce, however unknown you choose to remain.

Ahh...the Woodchuck

This week and next week I’m participating in a training course at my school. CRISS Training. I don't remember what the acronym means, and I'm too lazy to look it up. Tonight we worked on KWL charts. A KWL chart is essentially a graphic organizer to aid students' learning. The K part of the chart is where a student lists what he knows already, or thinks he knows already, about the material that will be covered. The purpose is to bring out students’ background knowledge, as this is helpful in furthering their learning, according to CRISS philosophies. Obviously, this section is filled in before the material is covered. The second section of the chart, W, is also filled in before the material is covered. In this section students write what they want to learn about the material that will be covered. The final section of the KWL chart is where a student fills in what he actually learned. This is the only section that’s filled in after the material is covered.

Since we’re in training we modeled one of these charts in class tonight. We were told that we’d be reading a two-page scientific article about woodchucks. The reason I’m posting my model isn’t so much because I’m interested in spreading this fascinating educational technique, but more so because I think my model is hilarious. Yes, I have an ego.

“The Woodchuck” KWL Chart:

What I knew, or thought I knew, about woodchucks:

• They’re mammals
• They’re the subject of a popular tongue-twister
(That’s it)

What I wanted to learn about woodchucks:

• Can a woodchuck actually chuck wood?
• If so, how much wood can a woodchuck chuck?
• If a woodchuck can’t chuck wood, what does it actually do?
• If a woodchuck can’t chuck wood, why the hell is it called a woodchuck?
• If a man were to engage in hand-to-hand combat with a woodchuck, who would likely be the victor?

What I learned about woodchucks:

• Is the largest member of the squirrel family
• Has sharp teeth
• Synonymous with Groundhog
• Herbivores
• Hibernate in winter
• Breed after emerging from hibernation

Although I did actually learn a few more things than those which are listed above, I don’t feel the need to drag on any further. What I do feel the need to do, is bemoan my disappointment in the things I wanted to learn about woodchucks, but in which I was unable. I found it very interesting that woodchucks and groundhogs are actually the same thing. So, not only are woodchucks the subject of a popular tongue-twister, but they’re also the subject of a, I don’t know, quasi-holiday. However, this doesn’t answer the question of whether or not a woodchuck actually chucks wood, nor any of the questions that go along with woodchucking or not woodchucking. And the hand-to-hand combat quandary, I still can’t find and answer to, try as I may.

After our KWL, we modeled another CRISS strategy, a writing template. The template went as follows:

One of the most (adjective) things about the Woodchuck’s (something you learned) is that…This is interesting because…

This model is where I had the chance to really shine. This was a spectacular activity because I was able to articulate something about the woodchuck that did really interest me. My response:

One of the most super-dooper things about the woodchuck’s breeding habits is that it breeds immediately after hibernation. Woodchucks sleep for two months then get busy as soon as they wake up. Woodchucks know what is up. Could there possibly be anything better than wakeup sex after a winter-long slumber? I think this is a spectacular way to build endorphins before having to face the world again for yet another 10 months of consciousness. Probably, the whole shadow-thing is a myth perpetuated by the woodchucks in order to avoid facing the world. In reality, woodchucks can see their shadows at all times, but sometimes they retreat back to their holes to continue with getting busy. After all, who would want to chuck wood, or not chuck wood, if they could be boning instead?

My Post are Slammin

This week's sign that the Apocalypse is upon us:

I walk into the boy's bathroom at my school to yell at them to stop horsing around, take their respective pisses, and leave. Two brilliant works of calligraphy, written in bright green marker, are on the walls.

The first work of art says, "Bitches." The message is brief, but it's tactful in its simplicity, and it does a relatively effective job of expressing its intended message. I'm almost pleased.

The second message, "School are for Pussys," leaves me slightly disheartened. It's apparent that I've much work to do.

Indeed, school is for pussies...

And He'll Probably do it Again too

In other news:

A Panda Bear eats, chutes, and leaves.

These grammarians are not so bright as they seem...

Put that in your chute and smoke it.

Vengeance!

To Set Things Straight

Some things you should know about James:

He doesn't say intimidating things ala Christopher Walken, but he does do the intimidating things that Christopher Walken would say. You will not be told that "your tone is all wrong." He won't say, "Your talkin to my guy all wrong. You do it again, and I'll stab you in the face with a soldering iron." James isn't much for conversation.

However, if you do make the mistake of using the wrong tone with James' guy, then, you may very well be stabbed in the face with a soldering iron. There's witnesses to this very occurrence. Witnesses who swear they couldn't believe that liquefied metal could plunge daringly through a man's left cheek and out his right with such grace. This happened twice just last May. Neither time were words exchanged.

James likes to make a point, going as far as to say that he'd do two or three years in Riker's to achieve that end.

And as such, if he feels a point needs to be made, he'll come right through this computer screen and make one. Don't say you haven't been warned. Chuck Norris has nothing on me.

The Legend

Pseudonym Jim (please call me James) is an evil, heinous, villainous soul. He plunges his worn battle axe into innocents without hesitation. He pillages villages, ravages cabbages, and rhymes unabashedly and without scheme. Worst of all--he feels no sorrow for what he has done. He'll wake up bright an early tomorrow and repeat it all over again.

When he was young, he called out in class without ever raising his hand. He spoke solely in profanities and vulgarities. He had no consideration for what anyone thought of him. His personal hygiene was abhorrable, his bad habits incorrigible. He didn't learn much in the classroom, but the playground, well that was his battlefield. He killed three peers with a dodgeball in one day, and believe me, there's witnesses who will attest to that.

"I heard he filled the dodgeball with rocks,"
some said.

"No, he simply has superhuman strength,"
others insisted.

I know the truth.
"James rules! Not O'Doyle, James! Long live James! Long live James! Long live James!"

But they called him Jim. They insisted that if he was only a pseudonym, he could do no harm. They knew they could never bring those three children back. Nor the others, the many, many others. They insisted that if they could kill his legend, they could kill him with that legend.

They were wrong.

Art Imitating Art, I Hope

Hopefully, it's obvious this picture goes with the post below this one.

A Leaf

A leaf is only a leaf if you let it be a leaf. Theoretically, a leaf could actually be whatever you decide you would like it to be. For my purposes, this leaf will be a window—not a window glimpsing my imagination, but a window into my past.

A leaf makes me feel reminiscent of my past. The same leaf that now sits on my windowsill could just as easily be the leaf that long ago initially crackled but was later reduced to dust beneath my footstep, blew out to sea, and was absorbed in a high tide. The leaf on my windowsill is green, but the former leaf was not.

The former leaf was glowing orange and fire red. It was in a giant pile of its brothers, some of whom shared the same color, but some of whom were as yellow as the sunshine, as green as the Irish countryside, or even a miraculous purple that occurs only in a select few of those who have fallen to the ground victim of a harsh Autumn wind. Even those leaves whose brown staunchly contrasted the life in their still-green counterparts, did not feel it was their business representing death, as George Moore or James Joyce might have once suggested.

No, those rogue brown leaves refused to represent death. Rather, they represented life to come. They persevered to maintain their status as a longing certainty that everything is cyclical. The children who played atop of these leaves, crushing them into smaller and smaller tattered bits, fed off of their spirit.

I fed off of their spirit. The brown leaves, the orange-red, the green and the yellow, even that miraculous purple. And so it is that a green leaf on my windowsill reminds me of my days spent in youthful bliss.

This green leaf is a window in itself. The window that allows me to view neatly raked piles of Autumns past—when stress didn’t seem omnipresent, worries were few, and jumping in was not a choice but a certainty.

To be continued...

I'm in the Witness Protection Program

So, during my long hiatus, I came upon a job teaching sixth grade. I decided I didn't want my students reading any thing I might have written during my "formative?" years.

For some time, I was content to just not write and/or leave my posts hidden until I could find an appropriate way to deal with this dilemma. My solution would of course need to appeal to my laziness. Nothing ever came along. However, I've decided this will have to do.

Yes, my full name is in the email address that's attached to this account, but I've done rigorous testing to ensure my privacy. By rigorous testing, I mean that I've googled myself. My feelings: if Google can't find me, a bunch of sixth graders can't either.

Just to be safe, I won't deliberately demean or make fun of any of my students as a coping mechanism on this blog. At some point, I'll make a new blog for that.

Pseudonym Jim, over and out.

To Learn or Not to Learn

I talked to my mother and father today, coaching them on the need to nag my brother into actually completing college. (He'll begin college this fall). Kind of makes me think: Was it worth it? Five years. Two degrees. I don't know, 30 or 40 classes. Hundred-something credits. Was it worth it?

Do I actually know more at 23, post-college, than I did at 18, pre-college? The answer is obviously yes. However, there's a good chance I would have picked up a thing or two over the past five years with or without the benefit of a college education.

I now have a job as a teacher. Yes, I'm still in school; I'll just be sitting in a bigger desk facing the opposite direction. I'm weighing my options in regards to more school. Part of the masters application process will be completion of a general knowledge exam. Five years of school and I'll be taking a "general knowledge exam" just to earn the right to keep going. What the hell is "general knowledge?"

Could we file how to change a tire under general knowledge? Somehow I don't see the exam featuring a jack or tire-iron. Then again, I didn't learn how to change a tire in school; no, some things can't be picked up in a classroom as easily as they can on the side of a highway in pouring rain.

Porkchop Sandwiches!

So It would seem that I've regressed to just posting videos that I think are funny to my blog rather than actually writing anything. I'm okay with that.

Porchop Sandwiches!

Letter to Ann Coulter

I was flipping through channels last night and came across "The Henry Rollins Show." I thought the segment "Letters from Henry" was pretty hilarious, so I figured I'd post one of the skits here for your viewing pleasure. I really wanted to post the letter to Toby Keith, but I couldn't find it, so this one will have to do. It's funny, just not as funny.

The End

I don't know if this is every one's experience, but for some reason I've always been able to view the last moments of my life with more clarity than any other time period.

The trauma... perhaps. It's all crystal clear. I swipe my card and walk into the room. Walk up to the machine, put my card in, 7-3-6-9-5, "WOULD YOU LIKE A RECEIPT WITH THIS TRANSACTION?" No.

For some reason, it's very clear to me that I felt the cold before I felt the barrel of a gun against the back of my head. It was a strange feeling, foreign to me, a completely new experience. I was dead cold, as though my body was trying to tell me something bad was going to happen. Completely useless information considering it came about half a second before the gun did.

A hand reached around me, its fingers pressing the button for maximum withdrawal. As the phrase "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS" appeared on the screen I felt the cold again. But this time it passed quickly and took with it all my worries. It was only a split second, but it felt like an eternity. It seemed strange at the time, but I've since learned that it's an almost universal experience. You can't move on without first accepting your fate, and that's what happened to me in that paradoxically brief yet timeless moment.

When I saw my own blood roll over the reflection of my face on the screen, I didn't even flinch. Everything was so perfect and surreal. I'd never been trapped in a moment like that before. No regrets, no thoughts of dreams unfulfilled, no flashing of my life before my eyes, all I could think was how my blood's red was several shades darker than I'd expected it to be. I knew that once I closed my eyes it was all over, but for some reason, that was okay. And then I did, and it was.

Just Like Stretching

Being a little bit lazy, but I'm about to go to the gym. Right now, I'm watching The Beach, which is an incredible movie if you haven't seen it. It makes me think about how good an actor Leonardo DiCaprio is. Because I never really appreciated him as an actor until I saw Blood Diamond.

Blood Diamond is also an incredible movie. The way Leo changes his dialect throughout the movie is incredible. I haven't been as happy with a movie as I was with this one since I saw Pan's Labyrinth. To put things in perspective: most people loved The Departed, another movie Leo was in. The Departed was good, Blood Diamond is better.

Although I don't particularly care to be shot at or have an arm chopped off (see the movie), one thing about Blood Diamond is that it appealed to my want to see the world. Many people want to visit Europe, which is one place I want to visit as well, but what makes me different is my desire to see the rest of the world. I want to visit Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, even the Middle East.

The other day I was talking about potential careers. I'm still holding out hope for contract killer. I've established a promising lead in my mercenary training. I could be a war journalist, which would give the the opportunity to travel, although I understand there's the possibility of some danger involved... I laugh in the face of danger. I could teach English to the Japanese in Japan.

As it turns out, there's hope for me.

Hurrah!

Because I'm Bored

I'm sitting in the library (not getting much work done as usual) looking out a window. What do I see? It's snowing. A lot. It's April 13. Why is it snowing? A lot.

Oh yeah, I go to school at SUNY Cortland, located in lovely upstate New York. Days like today force me to really look forward to my impending move down south. I'll be in Tampa in t-minus 6 weeks... ish.

When I think about the fact that I'm moving, I feel excited, and a little bit scared. I'm not scared of excessive sunburn or alligators, or anything literal really. Well, I guess I am kind of afraid of alligators. But mostly I'm afraid I'll fail miserably. I guess I probably won't, and even if I do, it'll be nice and warm. I could stay here and fail miserably, and it'd probably be really cold and miserable.

The whole "getting a real job" idea is daunting. If you have any suggestions for what I should be, leave a comment. I'm pretty much open to anything, legal or illegal. I'm assuming that I'll have a bachelors degree in English, and I'm pretty sure my associates degree is in journalism. I suppose this means that I should be a writer, but that sounds like a much less interesting career than say, oh i don't know, contract killer.

On that note, if anyone wants to teach me how to shoot a gun really well or has general knowledge of mercenary tactics and is willing to share that knowledge, leave a message with contact info.

Hmmm... writer, teacher, contract killer. It seems the world is my oyster.

For old times sake: peace out to my niggas pookie-bear and ray-ray.

A Highly Random Post (with a picture!)

I think I'll be posting a story to this blog some time soon. But if I were you (and I'm not), I wouldn't trust me because I'm highly unreliable.

Right now, I'm bored... and I wanted to show you all a picture of me acting stupid. I don't really know where the picture is gonna actually show up because I'm not too good at these fancy computer thingeys, but I'm pretty sure it'll be somewhere in the post.

How would you like to feel the wrath of Flash after he's stolen Thor's helmet and big thumper-type thingey? That's what I thought. Biatch!

If I do post a story, it will deal solely with the subject of masturbation... maybe.

Until then, au revoir... I think that's goodbye in French, It might be.

Happy-Happy March-March (and some other thoughts)

I realized I hadn't posted in over a week and was feeling a bit guilty so here I am. I've been caught somewhere in between busy and not as of late. To update, March is the month of my birth which is a good thing because, you know, I'll get stuff... Other than that, it's also about a week until spring break.

I'm excited because, as usual, I'm heading down to Myrtle Beach to visit my boy Vic. It's always an awesome rowdy time and typically concludes with a massive hangover and a confusing disoriented adventure in a major metropolitan airport. Money is a little tight, so I think I'm going to tell Vic that strip clubs are off limits pour moi. The goal is always to dedicate about 80-percent of my travel budget towards items consumable by straw.

In other news--and it's absolutely necessary this is mentioned--I think I've found a new favorite movie. Thursday night Mal, Patty, and I went to see Pan's Labyrinth; this may very well be the best movie ever made. I was considering posting a review on here but don't want to risk ruining it for anyone. I could not however "over hype" this movie; it's simply too good to be "over hyped." Do yourself a favor. If the movie is playing somewhere near you, go see it. It is in Spanish and has subtitles, but the plot is so incredible that you'll feel as though you understand everything the characters say within fifteen minutes or so.

For anyone that doesn't know, Shamrock won "The White Rapper Show." I was initially happy, but on closer examination, John Brown was in fact better--even thought that's not his real name. I figure Shamrock isn't a birth name either, so we'll have to allow it. Whatever, I'm sure I won't be purchasing either's album any time soon.

The K'nicks lost Jamal Crawford for the season. Fortunately, according to Isiah, he'll be back by the second round. This is a major blow to our playoff chances, but there is hope as another Knick's guard is poised to re-earn the nickname "Stevie Franchise." Maybe he and "Starbury" can play together after all. Numbers 1 and 3, respectively, combined for 64 points, 12 dimes, 11 boards, and 8 steals on Saturday versus Atlanta (okay, I know it's the Hawks but still). The most impressive stat: they also combined for only three turnovers. Also deserving of a shout out--NALDO!!! There's hope in Knickland.

Methinks tis it for now. Please don't use this blog for evil...

Celebreality? Why?

Lately, I've been giving some thought to why our culture is so obsessed with celebrities. And not even for-real legitimate celebrities, reality television has created a sort of quasi-celebrity, characters that people become fascinated with, but who aren't special in any way other than that they sent an audition tape to the casting director of a reality television program.

Last summer, I was visiting a friend in Buffalo and we couldn't get in to her favorite bar because it had reached capacity. We asked the bouncer why so many people were there and he told us that Landon from "The Real World" was in the bar. You all remember Landon, right? He was a pretty regular guy, kinda short, muscular, not much of a personality, got a lot of camera time for basically acting like a huge douchebag. He's touring the country, collecting fees from bars that in return draw extra patrons who want to get drunk with Landon and see if he's really as much of a douche in person as he is on television. There was a flyer outside of the bar; Book Landon from MTV's "The Real World" for your next event, it read. I was shocked, but I'm not really sure why.

People are obsessed with these reality tv stars. I'm not trying to contest the inherent idiocy of our society and claim that I'm above it; I too am privy to many of these shows. In particular, I can't miss an episode of VH1's "I Love NY" or "The White Rapper Show;" I'm not sure what attracts me to these shows. I can't really even decide whether the show's characters are really bad actors, or if there are actually people that crazy in the world. Whatever the answer, I find the shows entertaining.

What got me thinking about this was something that happened a few days ago. My roommate Ray and I went snowboarding with our friend Mallory, and she told us how one of the guys living in her house knows one of the contestants recently eliminated from "The White Rapper Show," Sully. Ray and I both were instantly fascinated with the idea of possibly speaking to Sully. And then, it hit me; Sully's not exceptional in any way. He's just some random guy from Boston that happened to land on a television show. He's kind of an alcoholic and has a very moderate musical talent. Why should I be excited to talk to him? If anything, he should be excited to talk to me.

I can't really resolve this; maybe I'm mad at the culture that has formed me... or maybe I'm just disappointed because I'd rather meet John Brown than Sully (he seems much more interesting). Anyways, let me know what you think.

Hallelujah Holla Back!

Please Fall Down a Flight of Stairs

Right now I feel the need to speak from my heart, and these thoughts are kinda sad, but mostly, very true. There's some people that I really wish would fall down a large flight of stairs. This is mean, I guess, but it'd really be convenient for me. I can think of at least three people who could fall down flights of stairs and it wouldn't even bother me a little.

Person A is a huge douchebag. He's the kind of person that would spill his drink on you at the bar and not even apologize. Person B is an acquaintance from a long time ago. I don't know why I thought of her, but she repulses me. About three years ago she put my dick in her mouth for like a second, but then decided she didn't want to give me head. I think we all can agree this is an inherently evil thing to do. Person C, well I don't actually even know Person C and he's fucking up my life nonetheless. Go figure.

If you happen to see a person that fits any of the above three descriptions, and you also happen to be approaching a staircase when you spot them, do me a favor, give them a nice healthy shove. You'd be doing the world a favor, and me an especially large favor. If you've ever had your dick in a girl's mouth and didn't shortly thereafter experience an orgasm, you know how I feel.

If you happen to push someone down a flight of stairs and then realize you didn't get the right person, that's on you. However, my guess would be that if they fit a description I've laid out above, they probably deserved the fall as it is.

I'm feeling spiteful, angry, and bitter... and this is not my usual tone. If you're a first time reader, I apologize.

As for the rest of you, you're a bunch of god-damn ingrates.

Happy New Years... err Valentines Day

I have a few minor obsessive compulsive tendencies (how minor depends on who you ask). Because of these tendencies, I have a major issue with old drafts that haven't been published. However, I don't feel obliged to delete these drafts so I'm publishing one now (with some additions).

I started to write a post on New Years Day, but didn't finish it. In the Holiday Spirit, Happy New Years... on Valentines Day. Anyways, this post can serve as an update.

1-1
Happy New Years everyone. I know it's been a while; perhaps my resolution should be to start posting more often. I guess we'll have to wait and see if that happens. I've got a number of other ideas for resolutions.
2-14
Well... if that was a resolution I did actually get to it, just a month late or so, but what's every one's fascination with the first of January. From what I remember, it was like any other day, except colder...

1-1
What is the deal with new years resolutions anyway? I don't feel any different today than I did yesterday, my hangover not withstanding, of course... I digress. I have a number of goals I plan on accomplishing this year, but I had goals in mind for last year as well. Right now, my resolution is to cleanse my body, so at least for the month of January there will be no drugs, alcohol, or fast food for me.
2-14
As far as the goals I had in mind, not quite yet; I'm not really even so sure if I've gotten to the ones from last year, whoops. For the record, I cleansed my body for exactly ten days, pretty good, no?

Conclusion: Blogging is like time travel, only better.

Today is Tomorrow's Yesterday

Someone told me Kenny was a little bit depressing; I thought for fun I'd make him a foil, Pete. I agree that Kenny is depressing, but Pete is boring... what do you think?


The sun warmed Pete’s bed as its ray reached the height of his window. He looked at the clock on his nightstand; 7:20, the alarm wasn’t due for another forty minutes. What the hell, he thought; an early start never hurt anyone. Besides, from the moment he woke up Pete’s day was destined to get better.

Pete took a shower, took his paper on the side of Eggs Benedict and black coffee and thought to himself how lucky he truly was. Thirty years old and he already had this world by the balls. Tentatively due at work by nine, he kissed his gorgeous wife goodbye and jumped in his expensive new car.

God is smiling on me…

Pete gets home from work around five. His wife already has dinner prepared, Chicken Marsala—his favorite. His son tells him that he has made the baseball team, his daughter that she has won the spelling bee. Pete thinks he must be the picture of the American dream. He’s sure his children will be too.

You can do anything you want to in this world…

After dinner, Pete plays catch with his son. Around nine he tucks both of his children in, reading his daughter a book before giving her a goodnight kiss on the cheek. He watches television with his wife for an hour or so. They make love before going to sleep around midnight.

I’ll get another early start tomorrow, honey; today was such a great day. I love you…

A lifetime of tomorrows awaits him.

Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow

From her window, Kenny’s neighbor watches him make a purchase. An eighth, for forty dollars, he should have only paid thirty-five, she thinks… Days like this have been occurring far too often. He swallows his pride and convinces himself it’s the last time.

He thinks about how cliché this whole situation is as he watches most of his problems float away with a cloud of smoke. Just in case, he drowns the rest of them in a sea of Captain Morgan’s. If his parents could see him now… If his parents could see him now they’d tell him this is not the American dream. Whatever, they have their perceptions; Kenny faces his reality every day. Still, there’s solace in some things.

Thank god I never got into harder drugs…

He wakes up, as expected his problems have returned. Today is a good day; the weight of the world won’t keep him in his bed. Today he begins his new job. Today is the first day of the rest of his life. Today Kenny will find the career he’d always dreamt about, the fulfillment he could never even imagine, faith in god, the girl of his dreams, and the house with the white picket fence; today Kenny will find the American dream. He’ll make his parents proud.

Think positive, it’s all within your reach…

Kenny goes home with his dreams unfulfilled. He still has the bowl and the bottle. Maybe this is the American dream, he thinks. He packs his bowl in silence. Their dream wasn’t in his cards today. What’s a data recovery specialist anyway? He considers quitting his job. The thoughts of rent, child-support, car payments, insurance, and that ever present thirty-five dollar fee for his sanity slowly drift away. How can he fit in a society that wasn’t designed with him in mind?

Today just wasn’t my day…

A lifetime of tomorrows awaits him.

Anonymous Said...

Lucia keeps telling me that I should make a post, so I'm appeasing her (because I know her wrath). In reality, there's two important factors going on in that statement. (A) I really need to post because I've been lazy. And (B) It's flattering that someone enjoys my blog enough to demand that I post (even if she's both my friend and a nerd).

Lucia says that I should post about the importance of blogging. I agree. Blogging is important, and I have been blogging on another site with a more concentrated purpose hence that has taken time away from this site. However, I haven't really decided what the purpose of this blog is. If you're reading this, you should comment. Because aside from Lucia's nagging I rarely get feedback.

I enjoy feedback, for a bottom line reason. It's flattering to know people read my blog. I'd probably blog more often if I felt that more often. I'm a textbook narcissist, I allow anonymous comments for a reason. Even if you leave a comment that went something like "you're a huge douche, signed anonymous" I'd appreciate the support. So yes, blogging is important, and commenting is more important. Lucia... you're anonymous.

On a random aside, i managed to scare a lady at the grocery store today. While she was ahead of me in line I started having a conversation with her vegetables, naming each one. Hector the tomato, Bernie the cucumber, Lenny the lettuce head, etc... I managed to freak this lady right the fuck out, she ran out of Topps screaming bloody murder and I got her spot in line. All in a days work, huh...

Peace for now, I'm going to attempt posting more often from here on out...

announcement

Ohh yea, I forgot something. Coming soon, pictures of the big bald new me. Yay!

I Didn't Care About Global Warming Until it Started Fucking With my Winter

So, I wanted to post about Andy's first attempt at snowboarding this afternoon; I had intended to title my post, "Andy tries snowboarding, hilarity (does or does not) ensue." I guess that is what I'm doing right now; but let me tell you, hilarity did not ensue. Andy totally bitched up; he's a vagina. And yes, Andy I hope you're reading this because I just compared you to a pink patch of flesh.

I don't want to waste too much time on this other than to ridicule him, but here's a basic sum-up of Andy's first snowboarding adventure: Andy falls down, Andy sits for a long time, Andy attempts to get back up, Andy falls again, Andy punches snow and curses, I throw snowball at Andy, Andy punches snow and curses, Andy gives up and takes snowboard off, Andy walks down mountain, while walking down mountain Andy falls and is ridiculed by 12 year olds, Andy falls again, 12 year olds ask Andy if he is drunk--he is not, Andy... probably punches snow and curses.

So, my big snowboarding weekend upstate has basically left me disillusioned, mostly bad news. I made it 12 days into the new year without drinking. The mountains near Cortland are only half covered with snow, and Molson Canadian stopped printing quotes on their beer bottles. I fear at some point this last fact will leave me socially immobile. Those damn quotes come in handy at parties when you don't really have anything to say.

My feelings at this time: What the fuck is the world coming to?