Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Excuses, Excuses.
Once again I find myself incredibly behind on this little waste of space. Working two jobs and going to school is making my head spin, and I am finding myself with little to no time to do most of the things that I want to. My sincerest apologies to the few people who may find this site entertaining at times. Again, I will try and get back on the ball. There are quite a few wonderful stories that I need to tell, however, now is not the time. Okay...okay, I'll give you all a little teaser and let you know that one of the stories involves me being called a "fuckhead" for a solid hour by a 14 year old girl. That should hold your attention for a little bit. I'm off to shower and ponder my days activities. I will try and give you all something of substance tomorrow before I ship off to mold young minds. Have sweet dreams, invalids.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
100 Resolutions
Greeting from the future. The world keeps spinning, time keeps moving, and the snow continues to mount an unending assault on the city that always sleeps. Due to quarantine and a lack of motivation, I have re-discovered my love for Russian water, or in lamens terms, vodka. Sigh! What am I doing with myself? The new year started off as it always does; the promise of a fresh start, a sever hang over, and countless resolutions. Now less than a week in, I am facing those old familiar doubts and obstacles. My sever anxiety is rearing its ugly head again, as are my infamous mood swings. I am in a constant state of worry and exhaustion. But enough about me, how is your new year grinding your gears? Marital troubles? Finances? Economy? Dose of the clap from the hooker in Reno? That's tough, kid. My deepest sympathies. Sometimes it feels like this stupid blog is the only thing that keeps me going. Well, that's not entirely true. Actually, that is not true at all. I still have my hopes and dreams. Unfortunately, my hopes and dreams usually consist of unicorns and never ending rainbows. Man, this is really going nowhere.
I'm sitting here with a glass of my favorite brand of Russian water, attempting to conjure up ways to entertain those of you who might still stumble onto this every now and then. As you can tell.....things are looking bleak. This whole blog thing was meant to be a form of exercise. A way to be creative on the spot, and to keep my writing skills fresh. I honestly do not remember the last time that I sat down and wrote something truly for myself. Lately all of my writing is directed towards the unending bullshit that I have to crank out for school, and this here blog. It is upsetting in a way. I find some sick pleasure in doing this, even though it counts for absolutely nothing, and I am sure that most of you who read it are disappointed with its content, or lack there of. However, I really need to get back to being creative for myself. The worst thing that a writer can do (and I do not consider myself a writer by any means) is to write for someone else. The second that you start taking other people into consideration, or worrying about what other people will think is when everything goes to hell. There is a reason that so many writers can only create one piece of work that is truly amazing. That's because they started giving a shit about what people thought and wanted. With any amount of fame and recognition, even in the slightest, come expectations. Attempting to live up to the expectations that other people set for you is truly a dangerous, destructive, and dreadful thing. If you have a passion for something, do it for yourself. Whether its writing, painting, music, miniature golf, or blow jobs, do it for yourself. Well, I guess you can't really include blow jobs under that list. Use your imagination. Sheesh. I can't spell everything out for you people. The point is, notoriety is great. It's amazing to gain notoriety and recognition for something that you have done. Especially if that something is your true passion. But to cater to the masses only cheapens what you are doing. That takes all of the passion out of it. Look at the Beatles. A couples of fine looking men from across the pond, playing rockin' tunes, dressing for success, and kicking ass and taking names. Then shit hit the fan. What happens next? You've got four hippies, wearing ponchos, singing about eggs and a walrus. Then things only got worse. There is a difference between artistic evolution and going plain nuts. Enough about the Beatles. In all honesty, they were a terrible example and I could give a shit less about them. I guess I'll go all motivational speaker on you and say 'do it because you love it'. That's one of the greatest things and one of the shittiest things about the world we live in. You can do anything. That doesn't mean you're going to be good at it. Doesn't mean people have to like it. And it certainly does not mean that you will get paid or laid for it. Shit. More than likely you're going to suck at it. But as long as you have a passion for it, and I mean a true passion, do it. Love music? Start your shitty garage band, post your videos on YouTube, and face the ridicule. Love art? Get a canvas and paints and do your best impression of a piece of shit. Who knows? Maybe someday you will strike gold. More than likely not, but at least you tried. And remember, with everything that you produce and put out into the world, the criticism comes with it. Nothing you can do about it. No need to defend your piece of shit output. Because for every terrible mess that you can create, there are a million other people who create a bigger mess, a million more to rip you to shreds, and maybe two more who can do it to perfection. This was fun. We should really do it more often. Now that I have inspired the masses, and possibly helped to mold a couple of future Nirvana cover bands, I will leave you with my parting thoughts. The new year does not bring on the promise of bigger and better things. Waking up on January 1st does not negate the past, and will not vanquish what happened last year. Once that ball drops in Times Square, magic does not happen and all is not forgiven. I have learned that the hard way every year. I will continue to fail, as will you. We will all do stupid and horrible things this year. Next year will be the same. The year does not dictate the person that you will be, or the things you will accomplish and fail at. You do. This year can be great, but it sure as shit won't be perfect. You will still fuck someone you shouldn't have, talk shit to the wrong person, watch a great person die, and eat at the wrong Chinese buffet. But can you look past those things and realize that the new year was never a starting over point? Can you do something for yourself, and make at least one of these days this year extraordinary? I think we can. Here's to 2010! Just another number on a calendar. Use today as a starting point.
I'm sitting here with a glass of my favorite brand of Russian water, attempting to conjure up ways to entertain those of you who might still stumble onto this every now and then. As you can tell.....things are looking bleak. This whole blog thing was meant to be a form of exercise. A way to be creative on the spot, and to keep my writing skills fresh. I honestly do not remember the last time that I sat down and wrote something truly for myself. Lately all of my writing is directed towards the unending bullshit that I have to crank out for school, and this here blog. It is upsetting in a way. I find some sick pleasure in doing this, even though it counts for absolutely nothing, and I am sure that most of you who read it are disappointed with its content, or lack there of. However, I really need to get back to being creative for myself. The worst thing that a writer can do (and I do not consider myself a writer by any means) is to write for someone else. The second that you start taking other people into consideration, or worrying about what other people will think is when everything goes to hell. There is a reason that so many writers can only create one piece of work that is truly amazing. That's because they started giving a shit about what people thought and wanted. With any amount of fame and recognition, even in the slightest, come expectations. Attempting to live up to the expectations that other people set for you is truly a dangerous, destructive, and dreadful thing. If you have a passion for something, do it for yourself. Whether its writing, painting, music, miniature golf, or blow jobs, do it for yourself. Well, I guess you can't really include blow jobs under that list. Use your imagination. Sheesh. I can't spell everything out for you people. The point is, notoriety is great. It's amazing to gain notoriety and recognition for something that you have done. Especially if that something is your true passion. But to cater to the masses only cheapens what you are doing. That takes all of the passion out of it. Look at the Beatles. A couples of fine looking men from across the pond, playing rockin' tunes, dressing for success, and kicking ass and taking names. Then shit hit the fan. What happens next? You've got four hippies, wearing ponchos, singing about eggs and a walrus. Then things only got worse. There is a difference between artistic evolution and going plain nuts. Enough about the Beatles. In all honesty, they were a terrible example and I could give a shit less about them. I guess I'll go all motivational speaker on you and say 'do it because you love it'. That's one of the greatest things and one of the shittiest things about the world we live in. You can do anything. That doesn't mean you're going to be good at it. Doesn't mean people have to like it. And it certainly does not mean that you will get paid or laid for it. Shit. More than likely you're going to suck at it. But as long as you have a passion for it, and I mean a true passion, do it. Love music? Start your shitty garage band, post your videos on YouTube, and face the ridicule. Love art? Get a canvas and paints and do your best impression of a piece of shit. Who knows? Maybe someday you will strike gold. More than likely not, but at least you tried. And remember, with everything that you produce and put out into the world, the criticism comes with it. Nothing you can do about it. No need to defend your piece of shit output. Because for every terrible mess that you can create, there are a million other people who create a bigger mess, a million more to rip you to shreds, and maybe two more who can do it to perfection. This was fun. We should really do it more often. Now that I have inspired the masses, and possibly helped to mold a couple of future Nirvana cover bands, I will leave you with my parting thoughts. The new year does not bring on the promise of bigger and better things. Waking up on January 1st does not negate the past, and will not vanquish what happened last year. Once that ball drops in Times Square, magic does not happen and all is not forgiven. I have learned that the hard way every year. I will continue to fail, as will you. We will all do stupid and horrible things this year. Next year will be the same. The year does not dictate the person that you will be, or the things you will accomplish and fail at. You do. This year can be great, but it sure as shit won't be perfect. You will still fuck someone you shouldn't have, talk shit to the wrong person, watch a great person die, and eat at the wrong Chinese buffet. But can you look past those things and realize that the new year was never a starting over point? Can you do something for yourself, and make at least one of these days this year extraordinary? I think we can. Here's to 2010! Just another number on a calendar. Use today as a starting point.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Soldier Who Saw Everything Twice
I have been neglecting my duties as an entertainer as of late. This blog has become a barren wasteland, and the tumbleweeds of apprehension and laziness are the only things drifting through. I will have to start getting back into a routine of criticism soon enough. It's a new year and I plan on being more amazing and captivating than ever. Good riddance 2009! Aloha 2010! Running low on time today so I will try and pick the pace back up in the next couple of days.
Friday, December 18, 2009
"He's cheating on you! He's still cheating on you!"
My friends and I are at that age where things are starting to slow down. The parties are ending earlier, the girls are not going as wild, and most of my foods have to be liquefied before I am able to take them in. Dinner parties have replaced house parties, spooning has replaced forking, and wives and babies have replaced Internet porn and condoms. What a sad tale. I actually have this friend who refused to go out last weekend because he was working on replacing his toilet. His excuse was that he was "too involved to turn back now." This man has a wife and baby, mortgage payment, government job, and receding hairline. His life is over. You would think that an invite to go out for a few hours would be jumped on like Jessica Alba at a frat party, but he just could not step away from replacing his downstairs toilet. Amazing.
Nothing makes you feel old and restless like watching your friends surpass you. The same people that were dropping acid on top of the Empire State Building, and banging Vietnamese hookers are now building airplanes, and teaching monkey's how to write in cursive. Jesus. And here I am. Writing in this stupid thing, pretending to work at my crappy job, and just waiting for 4:00 to come so that I can go home and take a nap. It's Friday, ladies and gentlemen, it's Friday. I should be headed to the nearest bar immediately after work. I should be taking shots of Patron, and telling strangers about the time that I saved a baby from the rabid jaws of a cheetah. Goddammit! I should really be out telling that story. Now when my friends and I do go out, all we talk about is how awesome we USED to be. There is never any talk of what we are doing now, because what we are doing now is boring. We're getting old and responsible. Fat and ugly. Gray haired and dead eyed. No one wants to hear about how I sat at school all day, looking at pictures of dinosaurs, and eating bananas. I don't want to hear about their day of house hunting, and hand holding. Spare me/us.
I think back to a few years ago, and the unbelievable things that my friends and I were able to get away with. From touring around the country to running naked through a living room wall. I look at all of us now, andI have a hard time remembering those kids that we used to be. I don't necessarily know if that is a bad thing, but it is definitely sad. The aging process is inevitable. No matter how hard you kick and scream, and try to sell your soul to the devil, you're still going to get old and ugly. I know that there is a part inside of all of us that want to still be those guys at the parties who are the last ones to leave, and still look cool as fuck even if that slutty girl in the corner wont blow you. But I'm also glad that we aren't the guys who still try and act on it. Nothing is more pathetic than watching old guys play dress up. This is the same reason that I do not constantly go around advertising my past endeavours. No one gives a shit about the person you used to be, or the things that you have done. I don't want to be the guy that walks around offering up information. "Hey, dude. I used to be in this killer band, and we would play shows all the time, and go on tour, and shoot up heroin, and bang strippers on the back of snowmobiles." That shit is lame. No one cares, and you look like a total dickhead. The people that do that are pathetic. Look at fucking Motley Crue! Look at that ass hat from Poison. There is a reason that people evolve and grow up; the reason is to avoid looking like those clowns. No matter how great things are, you eventually have to let them go. When its over and dead, leave it alone.
As much as I miss those times, and the younger, much more attractive people we used to be, I am glad that almost all of us are still friends. So waddya say we lay down the wives, babies, painkillers, needles, Asian feces porn, and paint the town red until about 9:30 p.m.?
Nothing makes you feel old and restless like watching your friends surpass you. The same people that were dropping acid on top of the Empire State Building, and banging Vietnamese hookers are now building airplanes, and teaching monkey's how to write in cursive. Jesus. And here I am. Writing in this stupid thing, pretending to work at my crappy job, and just waiting for 4:00 to come so that I can go home and take a nap. It's Friday, ladies and gentlemen, it's Friday. I should be headed to the nearest bar immediately after work. I should be taking shots of Patron, and telling strangers about the time that I saved a baby from the rabid jaws of a cheetah. Goddammit! I should really be out telling that story. Now when my friends and I do go out, all we talk about is how awesome we USED to be. There is never any talk of what we are doing now, because what we are doing now is boring. We're getting old and responsible. Fat and ugly. Gray haired and dead eyed. No one wants to hear about how I sat at school all day, looking at pictures of dinosaurs, and eating bananas. I don't want to hear about their day of house hunting, and hand holding. Spare me/us.
I think back to a few years ago, and the unbelievable things that my friends and I were able to get away with. From touring around the country to running naked through a living room wall. I look at all of us now, andI have a hard time remembering those kids that we used to be. I don't necessarily know if that is a bad thing, but it is definitely sad. The aging process is inevitable. No matter how hard you kick and scream, and try to sell your soul to the devil, you're still going to get old and ugly. I know that there is a part inside of all of us that want to still be those guys at the parties who are the last ones to leave, and still look cool as fuck even if that slutty girl in the corner wont blow you. But I'm also glad that we aren't the guys who still try and act on it. Nothing is more pathetic than watching old guys play dress up. This is the same reason that I do not constantly go around advertising my past endeavours. No one gives a shit about the person you used to be, or the things that you have done. I don't want to be the guy that walks around offering up information. "Hey, dude. I used to be in this killer band, and we would play shows all the time, and go on tour, and shoot up heroin, and bang strippers on the back of snowmobiles." That shit is lame. No one cares, and you look like a total dickhead. The people that do that are pathetic. Look at fucking Motley Crue! Look at that ass hat from Poison. There is a reason that people evolve and grow up; the reason is to avoid looking like those clowns. No matter how great things are, you eventually have to let them go. When its over and dead, leave it alone.
As much as I miss those times, and the younger, much more attractive people we used to be, I am glad that almost all of us are still friends. So waddya say we lay down the wives, babies, painkillers, needles, Asian feces porn, and paint the town red until about 9:30 p.m.?
Thursday, December 10, 2009
God is in His Heaven, All is Right With the World
I am a person of very marginal faith. To be quite honest, I cannot even recall the last time that I felt I had any kind of connection with religion. And you know what? I am fine with that. I don't feel that I need to put all of my rotten eggs into one Easter basket, so to speak, in order to save myself from whatever horrible shit might lay ahead once I am dead and gone. I wont be one of those people who spend their entire adult life searching for the religion that is right for them. Does that even begin to make sense to anyone? It's not like going out 3 months before prom, and trying to find the perfect dress to lose your virginity in. It is a faith. An unflappable extension of who you feel that you are, and what you connect to on a different level. Well, I do not connect to anything which promotes lifestyles that are generally more unhealthy than the one that I am currently living. I hate enough shit as it is, I don't need an entire organization to contribute to my delinquency. Why do you think so many people are finding religion in prison? It's not because Jesus just happens to be hiding out in the rec area of every correctional facility, or working on his criminal justice degree as an intern at Las Cruces. No, it is not because of that. It is because desperate times call for desperate measures. Do you really believe these people when they say that it took something truly horrible in their lives to occur in order for them to see the light of God? Really? Was it completely necessary for you to go on your rape, and kidnapping spree before you were able to hear the calling of God? Well, what kind of God are you associating yourself with?
I, by no means, am any kind of exceptional person. However, I do not feel that I can really have that much going against me in terms of possibly going somewhere cool once this whole life is over. I don't feel that just because I have some reservations about proclaiming myself as a firm believer in mythology, and folklore that I am going to be cast off into some dark Eden. I'm not calling God a faggot, or anything ridiculous like that. I am simply stating the disconnection that I feel from ALL types of religion. Am I really as bad as some of these people out there? Can I truly be lumped into that category of people who are going to hell? Am I truly as bad as the murderers, rapists, juggalo's, Norwegian metal bands out there? Maybe I am. Maybe disbelief, and question ability really is enough to cast someone into Dante's basement. I guess I will find out someday.
This week my friend lost his wife. They had only been married for two months, and now she is gone. My friend is a firm believer in God, and one of the most stand up individuals you will ever meet. I have been thinking of him all day, every day since this happened. I think of how I would handle this situation. How much I would be losing myself right now. Then I think of him, and how incredibly brave and strong he is. He relies on his faith to help him, and their families through this time. That's great, really it is. I admire the man, and I can not say enough about his character, and his compassion. I am glad that he has a support system like that to keep him going, because I don't think anyone really knows how to act in a circumstance such as this. It is events like these that lead me astray from faith, while on the reverse, it can bring others even closer to it. I just honestly do not understand this world. No one does. I don't understand the reasoning behind the madness, and events that take place. My brother was only able to grace this world for mere weeks before he died. Weeks! What kind of test was that from God? To let a child be brought into this world with such physical damage, and then take him away mere weeks later? What the fuck is that? That's what some very racist people would call 'Indian giving'. Those are things that you do not ever get over. My brothers death didn't make me a stronger person, didn't give me a greater urgency for faith, didn't turn me into a crime fighting super hero. All that it did was hurt me, and it still does. If these are the ways that God is trying to get us onto his side, it is a horrible idea, and the entire marketing department in heaven really needs to re-evaluate their campaign for next year.
In conclusion, terrible things are happening everyday to extraordinary people, and apparently it is all in the name of faith. That is just something that I cannot get behind.
I, by no means, am any kind of exceptional person. However, I do not feel that I can really have that much going against me in terms of possibly going somewhere cool once this whole life is over. I don't feel that just because I have some reservations about proclaiming myself as a firm believer in mythology, and folklore that I am going to be cast off into some dark Eden. I'm not calling God a faggot, or anything ridiculous like that. I am simply stating the disconnection that I feel from ALL types of religion. Am I really as bad as some of these people out there? Can I truly be lumped into that category of people who are going to hell? Am I truly as bad as the murderers, rapists, juggalo's, Norwegian metal bands out there? Maybe I am. Maybe disbelief, and question ability really is enough to cast someone into Dante's basement. I guess I will find out someday.
This week my friend lost his wife. They had only been married for two months, and now she is gone. My friend is a firm believer in God, and one of the most stand up individuals you will ever meet. I have been thinking of him all day, every day since this happened. I think of how I would handle this situation. How much I would be losing myself right now. Then I think of him, and how incredibly brave and strong he is. He relies on his faith to help him, and their families through this time. That's great, really it is. I admire the man, and I can not say enough about his character, and his compassion. I am glad that he has a support system like that to keep him going, because I don't think anyone really knows how to act in a circumstance such as this. It is events like these that lead me astray from faith, while on the reverse, it can bring others even closer to it. I just honestly do not understand this world. No one does. I don't understand the reasoning behind the madness, and events that take place. My brother was only able to grace this world for mere weeks before he died. Weeks! What kind of test was that from God? To let a child be brought into this world with such physical damage, and then take him away mere weeks later? What the fuck is that? That's what some very racist people would call 'Indian giving'. Those are things that you do not ever get over. My brothers death didn't make me a stronger person, didn't give me a greater urgency for faith, didn't turn me into a crime fighting super hero. All that it did was hurt me, and it still does. If these are the ways that God is trying to get us onto his side, it is a horrible idea, and the entire marketing department in heaven really needs to re-evaluate their campaign for next year.
In conclusion, terrible things are happening everyday to extraordinary people, and apparently it is all in the name of faith. That is just something that I cannot get behind.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Really?
Okay, so I have these silly dreams and aspirations that one day, maybe, I will be this somewhat successful author, or maybe even a decent teacher, one who doesn't go around banging his high school students, and driving off to Mexico to hide out in seclusion with his 14 year old, sexually confused girlfriend. Ridiculous, I know. I think the thing that irritates me most is that I am no different from any other dickhead with a computer, and at least a 7th grade reading level. Do you know how many people out there think that they are a great writer, and thinker, and have all of these amazing ideas that need to be put down in print? These people that have all of these poetic, and meaningful words, that once read, will just move someone so much that they have to get a shitty tattoo of it across their shoulder blades. Well, I don't either, but I'm sure there are a ton of talentless hacks out there, such as myself. And you know what? It really bugs me. It pisses me off to think that I might be somewhat decent at something that I love to do, just because some dork heard a Caught in the Fall song (my old endeavour) and was moved by some line from a song that I wrote when I was 19. What makes me think that I might have a shot at actually doing something with writing? Again, I really don't know. I read the works of these amazing authors, such as Neil Gaiman, and Joseph Heller, and I think, "there is no way in hell I could ever come up with something this brilliant." Have you ever read The Master and Margarita? That shit will blow your mind! I am currently reading "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer, and it is absolutely blowing me away. Anyone in the world can write a line that gives people goosebumps, or makes them think about their first love, and makes them tear up, recalling the fond memories of their lost virginity, but this guy blows every line that you have ever considered to be moving OUT OF THE WATER. I read his work and I feel ashamed. Ashamed that I could ever consider myself to someday be capable of creating even a sentence as captivating as his fucking dedication list. Jesus!
Whoa, just got distracted by the television. On the discovery channel, I just watched a CGI dinosaur poop out an egg, and it was pretty intense. Anyways, back to the matter at hand. In a nutshell, it really sucks to love something, and have such a passion for it, but deep down inside you know that it is a lost cause. And the worst part about being an aspiring writer, or what have you, is the fact that for every good author, and every great piece of literature, there are about a thousand dickheads with piece of shit books getting published. For example, this whole vampire craze that is spreading like AIDS throughout our country. They have an entire aisle at the bookstore dedicated to these teen vampire romance novels. For fucking real? Yes, for FUCKING real. It sucks, but can you be surprised? Absolutely not. If I were to ever "make it" with anything I would not want it to be with some kind of garbage like 'The Chronicles of Sheila: Lesbian Vampire", or whatever the fuck it is these ill informed kids are reading these days. And don't pat yourselves on the back if your older than 18, and think you have some kind of right to consider yourself a literature snob. Reading the works of Dan Brown, and Tom Clancy don't count for shit either.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have this dream of writing something that will blow people away. Let's face it, what's the point in writing if it sucks? Or writing something that is just mediocre? That, my friends, is what Chuck Pahlaniuk does (sic?). I want to write the next Catch 22, or Catcher in the Rye. And you know what? It is not acceptable to me if it does not happen. I think that is the only thing that I truly have on my side in this endeavour. Writing is just about the most frightening thing in the world. Don't believe me? Try it. Go on. Go out there, put your most personal feelings on the line, every creative fiber in your body, attach them to a line, and throw them out into an ocean of people who are just waiting to fuck you up. Absolutely terrifying. However, that is just something you have to deal with. I guess if all of this doesn't pan out though, I can always write some erotic stories for Hustler. I'm pretty good with coming up with different ways to describe vagina's and dicks.
In conclusion, don't get me wrong, not everyone should chase their dreams of being a world renowned writer. It's not for everyone. I'm not a motivational speaker, nor am I an endorser of shitty, sub par teenage poetry. Let's keep the goth, wrist cutting, crappy stories of nights filled with Bauhaus records, and awkward first kisses to a minimum. They work as amazing time killers while browsing the Internet at work, but that is where they should remain. But if you insist on persevering through it, there is always an spot open for your work right next to 'The Chronicles of Sheila: Lesbian Vampire" on the shelves at Borders. Goodnight, vampires, or should I say good morning?
Whoa, just got distracted by the television. On the discovery channel, I just watched a CGI dinosaur poop out an egg, and it was pretty intense. Anyways, back to the matter at hand. In a nutshell, it really sucks to love something, and have such a passion for it, but deep down inside you know that it is a lost cause. And the worst part about being an aspiring writer, or what have you, is the fact that for every good author, and every great piece of literature, there are about a thousand dickheads with piece of shit books getting published. For example, this whole vampire craze that is spreading like AIDS throughout our country. They have an entire aisle at the bookstore dedicated to these teen vampire romance novels. For fucking real? Yes, for FUCKING real. It sucks, but can you be surprised? Absolutely not. If I were to ever "make it" with anything I would not want it to be with some kind of garbage like 'The Chronicles of Sheila: Lesbian Vampire", or whatever the fuck it is these ill informed kids are reading these days. And don't pat yourselves on the back if your older than 18, and think you have some kind of right to consider yourself a literature snob. Reading the works of Dan Brown, and Tom Clancy don't count for shit either.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have this dream of writing something that will blow people away. Let's face it, what's the point in writing if it sucks? Or writing something that is just mediocre? That, my friends, is what Chuck Pahlaniuk does (sic?). I want to write the next Catch 22, or Catcher in the Rye. And you know what? It is not acceptable to me if it does not happen. I think that is the only thing that I truly have on my side in this endeavour. Writing is just about the most frightening thing in the world. Don't believe me? Try it. Go on. Go out there, put your most personal feelings on the line, every creative fiber in your body, attach them to a line, and throw them out into an ocean of people who are just waiting to fuck you up. Absolutely terrifying. However, that is just something you have to deal with. I guess if all of this doesn't pan out though, I can always write some erotic stories for Hustler. I'm pretty good with coming up with different ways to describe vagina's and dicks.
In conclusion, don't get me wrong, not everyone should chase their dreams of being a world renowned writer. It's not for everyone. I'm not a motivational speaker, nor am I an endorser of shitty, sub par teenage poetry. Let's keep the goth, wrist cutting, crappy stories of nights filled with Bauhaus records, and awkward first kisses to a minimum. They work as amazing time killers while browsing the Internet at work, but that is where they should remain. But if you insist on persevering through it, there is always an spot open for your work right next to 'The Chronicles of Sheila: Lesbian Vampire" on the shelves at Borders. Goodnight, vampires, or should I say good morning?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Banned From the Back Porch
Yeah, I'm going to be one of those guys. You know, the ones who say, "If you really want to know what I think then check out my blog." Mmm hmm......that is what I was destined to do, I guess. Actually, that sounds really lame, I know. To be honest, I don't really know why I am doing this. It is silly and unnecessary, but it's something to pass the time, and maybe make some people mad in the process. Enough about nothing. Let's move onto the dick jokes, daddy issues, and self loathing.
Since I doubt anyone will ever read this, unless my friends or enemies stumble upon this, why not just cut the shit, and dive right into the good stuff. I often times find myself to be completely surrounded by, how do you say, ahem....degenerates. This doesn't stem from my occupation, or social life, but from the very place that I live. While sitting in my living room last night, with my lovely companion, we were bombarded by one of my roommate's, and his drove of simple minded fuck sticks. Now I know that he does, in fact, pay his share of rent, and is entitled to have people over, have a good time, and do naked back flips in the living room if he wants, etc. BUT here is the deal. When it is approaching midnight on a Thursday night, and you walk through the front door, with about 10 rejected scraps of shit from god's people making factory, and reek of fryer grease, and the under sweat of a fat strippers tits, all while creating enough weed smoke to either flag down a patrol car, or start your own Phish concert, I would appreciate a fucking heads up. In case I have not painted an ugly enough picture, let me put some emphasis once again on the fact that these people are complete losers, almost as bad as juggalo's. The kind that when they send a message to someone via text message, or facebook, and they find something to be funny, they just have to start out the message with LMAO or LOLZ. They also have no concept of somewhat proper punctuation, so they use the ......................method to break apart their sentences. Ugh! Probably not a big deal to most people, but those people are wrong. It is, in fact, annoying and retarded.
So back to my tale of disbelief. These pot filled, drunk, grammar destroying creatures of the night stumble into my humble dwellings. Automatic rage fills my body. Mere moments ago, I was enjoying my night, relaxing, finishing up some homework, and getting ready to lay down the love with my lady. Now my night, and life have been ruined by these monsters. For the next few hours they proceed to be as loud and annoying as a Nickelback concert with Kid Rock as special guest vocalist. While attempting to fall asleep, and lure myself to a land of dreams, where hippies, and shitty beards do not exist, these stone crazy vultures proceed to go outside, in 20 degree weather, onto the back porch, which is directly outside of my bedroom. Instead of sleep, I was subjected to over hearing tales of failed drug tests, and criminal backgrounds. Really? You guys? Really? I never would have guessed that about any of you, honestly. God! Night from fucking hell. George Romero could not have written a script to make my night any worse. Such a cluster fuck of let down. I hate complaining, I really do, but all that I am asking for is to have some respect for those that you live with, and to maybe, I don't know, not be such a fucking loser all the time. Grown men, in their mid-twenties, should not be spending their Thursday nights sparking spliffs, drinking Budweiser, and talking about jam bands. At least not around me. Go out and find some lonely, self conscious hippy chick to bang or something. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about having a good time, chasing the red dragon, or whatever, but there is a time and a place. That time is not midnight on a Thursday, outside of my bedroom window, talking about how you can't get hired on at Billy Frogs Grill & Bar because you can't deal with their strict working environment, and drug testing. It's a fucking BAR & GRILL! I'm sure things can't possibly be that regulated and demanding. They make their money by providing college girls with alcohol, who will then in turn get wasted, and make awesome life choices, with awesome dudes. And I'm pretty sure that some of the wait staff is in the bathroom blowing lines of coke up each others' noses anyways. I can't see how they could be too picky on their choice for employees. Can you pour a beer? Check. Can you bring a plate of hot wings out to the fat guy at table 12? check. It's simple, lay off the drugs for a few days, pass your test, make some money, then get your own place where you can stay up all night watching Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, and talking about how the world just doesn't understand you. Okay, I'm done with that. I have actually kind of worn myself out from this. I should try and make my next post a little less angry, and a little more sexy. Until next time, keep watching the sky.
Since I doubt anyone will ever read this, unless my friends or enemies stumble upon this, why not just cut the shit, and dive right into the good stuff. I often times find myself to be completely surrounded by, how do you say, ahem....degenerates. This doesn't stem from my occupation, or social life, but from the very place that I live. While sitting in my living room last night, with my lovely companion, we were bombarded by one of my roommate's, and his drove of simple minded fuck sticks. Now I know that he does, in fact, pay his share of rent, and is entitled to have people over, have a good time, and do naked back flips in the living room if he wants, etc. BUT here is the deal. When it is approaching midnight on a Thursday night, and you walk through the front door, with about 10 rejected scraps of shit from god's people making factory, and reek of fryer grease, and the under sweat of a fat strippers tits, all while creating enough weed smoke to either flag down a patrol car, or start your own Phish concert, I would appreciate a fucking heads up. In case I have not painted an ugly enough picture, let me put some emphasis once again on the fact that these people are complete losers, almost as bad as juggalo's. The kind that when they send a message to someone via text message, or facebook, and they find something to be funny, they just have to start out the message with LMAO or LOLZ. They also have no concept of somewhat proper punctuation, so they use the ......................method to break apart their sentences. Ugh! Probably not a big deal to most people, but those people are wrong. It is, in fact, annoying and retarded.
So back to my tale of disbelief. These pot filled, drunk, grammar destroying creatures of the night stumble into my humble dwellings. Automatic rage fills my body. Mere moments ago, I was enjoying my night, relaxing, finishing up some homework, and getting ready to lay down the love with my lady. Now my night, and life have been ruined by these monsters. For the next few hours they proceed to be as loud and annoying as a Nickelback concert with Kid Rock as special guest vocalist. While attempting to fall asleep, and lure myself to a land of dreams, where hippies, and shitty beards do not exist, these stone crazy vultures proceed to go outside, in 20 degree weather, onto the back porch, which is directly outside of my bedroom. Instead of sleep, I was subjected to over hearing tales of failed drug tests, and criminal backgrounds. Really? You guys? Really? I never would have guessed that about any of you, honestly. God! Night from fucking hell. George Romero could not have written a script to make my night any worse. Such a cluster fuck of let down. I hate complaining, I really do, but all that I am asking for is to have some respect for those that you live with, and to maybe, I don't know, not be such a fucking loser all the time. Grown men, in their mid-twenties, should not be spending their Thursday nights sparking spliffs, drinking Budweiser, and talking about jam bands. At least not around me. Go out and find some lonely, self conscious hippy chick to bang or something. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about having a good time, chasing the red dragon, or whatever, but there is a time and a place. That time is not midnight on a Thursday, outside of my bedroom window, talking about how you can't get hired on at Billy Frogs Grill & Bar because you can't deal with their strict working environment, and drug testing. It's a fucking BAR & GRILL! I'm sure things can't possibly be that regulated and demanding. They make their money by providing college girls with alcohol, who will then in turn get wasted, and make awesome life choices, with awesome dudes. And I'm pretty sure that some of the wait staff is in the bathroom blowing lines of coke up each others' noses anyways. I can't see how they could be too picky on their choice for employees. Can you pour a beer? Check. Can you bring a plate of hot wings out to the fat guy at table 12? check. It's simple, lay off the drugs for a few days, pass your test, make some money, then get your own place where you can stay up all night watching Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, and talking about how the world just doesn't understand you. Okay, I'm done with that. I have actually kind of worn myself out from this. I should try and make my next post a little less angry, and a little more sexy. Until next time, keep watching the sky.
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