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 |   My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
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First there was "I'm Studying You"  ...then there was "Who Do I Think I Am??" . Finally, we reached "Who do I still think I am??" .Until now. Welcome to the Buffalo in your soul...       A THREE-TIME CHAMPION OF THE "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" !   |
  "'Sex almost always disappoints me in novels. Everything can be said or done now, and that's what I find... a feeling of generality or dispersal. In my opinion, true sex is so particular or peculiar, that it is yearned for. I believe that is what makes the desire between two people so unique and specific.' -Elizabeth Benedict. Do you agree or disagree with Ms. Benedict? Do you write about sex in your own writing pieces? Does your own experience come to life on the page or do you find yourself following what others have done?"You guys! It's been nearly two months since I've written a legit entry in this collection! How does that happen? It's not like I've been sitting on my ass; I started "Soundtracked" for different music challenges, and I threw my hat in the fray for "Give It 100!" with "100" (where I plan on writing a poem a day for 100 days). And then there's the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" and judging January's entries, while overseeing our February 50/50 fundraiser and raffle (have you seen the packages up for grabs each week in "The 30DBC Mega-Raffle Extravaganza!" ??  ). And let's not forget reviewing...I've tried to do that a lot more, because it's kinda embarrassing that I've been a WDC member for almost 15 years and have less than 500 reviews to my name. So I've been occupied.  I saw this prompt last night from Lyn's a sly fox  and before I could even process it fully she IM'd me about it...and while I managed to compliment her on it, she snuck in a "Maybe you'll even blog..." comment. Well-deserved . I probably should've been writing entries all month. And I think this prompt in particular is daring, to be honest. It's not something I would come up with during a normal 30DBC run. It's a bit racy; it's definitely on the blue side. There are sure to be some interesting responses. Props to Lyn for challenging this month's participants. Now, I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination. I like sex. I've almost always enjoyed it. Recreationally and emotionally. But I don't read about it...at least not on purpose. I'm just not crazy about it. I can watch sex no problem (don't tell me you've never seen porn, because you're probably lying  ). But reading it? It's not the same, and I'm having trouble trying to justify why that is. If anything, if you enjoy intercourse, and literature, it would make sense to have the scenes laid out for you so you can build them in your head visually...as opposed to having the work done for you by actors on a screen. Maybe it's how I feel about intimacy. The passion you experience with another person is so much more personal...words to me often fail to do it justice. You know it when you feel it. Reading about it just seems...uncomfortable. Like I'm getting a glimpse of two peoples' private moments. At least with porn you know they're getting paid for it. In a novel, you're seeing something you know might not otherwise come up in ordinary conversations with these characters. At least, that's pretty much how I see it. And writing about sex? I can put myself in many different situations I have zero experience with and manage to come up with something I can sorta relate to, but not sex. I don't know why. It's like breaking down the fourth wall almost. Maybe it's the one thing that I want to see that stays between the people I'm sharing it with, like an emotional curtain that needs to remain shut. That's not to say it's a taboo topic; it's just not for everyone, and I'm not sure I could write about it in a way that does it justice or doesn't sound like it's forced or contrived. That's where I side with the author of the quote. While sexual possibilities are endless (Cosmopolitan magazine has pretty much based their entire circulation around the notion, it seems), I think there's only so much that can be said about it that is fresh and unique. Maybe this will change as time goes on; maybe someone will perfect the craft of explaining the acts performed in such as way that preserves the sensuality and togetherness only experienced between partners. I know if I tried to do that, it would probably sound more like something from Penthouse Letters crossed with locker room exaggerations and youthful overexuberance  . And I don't see how anyone could benefit from that.   Honestly, I'm not entirely sure I know how to discuss personal feelings and relationships of a sexual nature in an open, public forum. On a private basis with someone I trust or love or even just having a casual physical affair with, sure. But to put it all out there, unprovoked? Why would anyone be interested in that? Maybe a long time ago I would've been more forthcoming. There was definitely a period of wild promiscuity that I'm not exactly proud of...the kind that makes you realize there's more to sex than random fucking; that people have feelings too, and that there is often a connection between sex and romance and love and stuff. Everyone's got to be on the same page, or hearts get broken and life becomes messy for all parties. These days I'd rather have the emotional connection first...it makes everything else that follows more rewarding and satisfying.   Quick thought on the biggest football game of the year, Super Bowl 50: I'm not really rootin' for either team. I'd rather see a good, close, down-to-the-wire finish. If Peyton Manning is gonna retire, I'd like to see him go out on top...but Carolina is a better overall team than Denver. If the Broncos' defense can keep the Panthers in check, they'll have a good shot at winning. But I'm just not sure. Regardless of the outcome, I know I'll feel a little anticlimactic when all is said and done, because that means no more meaningful football for me until September. Well, I've done about enough writing today. A poem, a Soundtrackers entry, and a blog entry. I've caught myself up in places where I wanted to catch up otherwise. The rest of the day will be spent with a last-minute trip to the store for snacks, reading a few more entries here and there from the other Soundtrackers and 30DBC participants, and killing time before the game. Peace, I can't say no, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "It was said in 'The Joy in the Lines That Leap Off the Pages' in the New York Times by Dwight Garner that he did not mind writing year end top ten lists because forced choices lead to soul searching. How do you feel about top ten lists? Are they helpful? A waste of time? Do you find yourself creating lists throughout the year?"What's up folks? I'm here today to make your holidays a little brighter (whichever holiday that may be...and no, it's not the winning lottery ticket you begged Santa for, so calm down). Actually, I'm here more to kill time on the Saturday before Christmas, while most of you are busy with last-minute shopping, holiday parties, and avoiding other annoyances dallying in other assorted tidings this time of year brings. Hope yer havin' fun . I'm gonna talk about lists, because that's what the prompt is prompting us for, and I'll bet some of you may not know this, but I love lists. I'm totally a list guy. I hosted a contest for Fran 💜 💜 💜  back in October ("hosting" is a generous way of putting it...she did most of the work and all I did was judge  ) called "List Mania" that was all about, well, uhhh, lists. I can appreciate a good list. Now, I didn't read this Garner guy's NYT article (and I'm not motivated enough to search for it right now), so I can't speak to his real feelings. Scratch that; I'm gonna read it now so I can try to figure out where this guy's head is at...without context I suddenly feel very uneasy about what he was quoted as saying in the prompt, for some reason. So hold on a few minutes here...Ok. My suspicions were right. This guy's full of astute points, but there's some haughty dipshittery goin' on here as well. Just like when I first started blogging many years ago and before I became prompt-dependent, I could write an entire entry with only bullet points about random things that pissed me off got my attention on any given day...and that's what I'm gonna do here, regarding this article.  Garner reaches for the clickbait button early...as in first-line early. One quick scroll down its length reveals that this is not a Top Ten list he is writing. Or maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I prefer my lists to be numbered...especially if the author starts out with "top ten" and imagery suggesting a years' end review. Doesn't matter...the closest he gets after that to admitting this is any kind of ranking is in the third-to-last paragraph. Poor form, Garner. Forced choices? What a dubious phrase! Nobody's forcing him to write this. And if a good slice of writing that sticks with you for an extended period of time is considered a "forced choice", perhaps you're in the wrong profession. This isn't a list at all; it's a poorly edited version of his personal Grammy Awards Ceremony for books, with tidbits of what the selections mean to him interspersed with quotes from new literature from 2015. Some of these paragraphs don't make sense next to one another. This is why formatting is critical, and why bullet points are a handy list-making tool. I gave up trying to take this guy seriously about halfway through, and then stopped comprehending it a few sentences later...because I...I couldn't (and I'm so sick of people saying things like "I can't even." and they damn sure can, but no...I totally couldn't). Maybe I was so turned off by his zany assertion that he didn't mind being forced to write a list that wasn't even a list, and then never really approached the topic again, opting instead for little anecdotes that do not bleed well like the essay it looks like...and the subject matter, while not entirely Garner's fault, simply boils down to his preferences in the books he's read. I'm actually getting more enjoyment from listening to my neighbor try to rap along to whatever he's listening to (which I can't completely make sense of, but I do recognize some of the verses), and normally hearing people through walls pisses me off. I don't know where Garner's getting his recommendations from, but he needs to change up his sources, or his address, or something. That's where I'm gonna end this little bit of list-ery. Some lists can be very helpful. Some lists, like the ones I make in hopes I'll remember to bring them with me when I grocery shop, are useless. This list? My life would be no different without it. But I like making lists. Ask me something like my all-time favorite records each day for a week, and in seven days you might get seven different lists. They're fun, and they can be meaningful...even the most inane. They can help you to remember, or determine why you should forget. And if you wrote a Top Five list for whatever reason every day for a year, you'd have over 1,500 things listified, which is impressive regardless of what they're about. Yes, it seems like the thing to do for every media company and anyone with a website, and there is a ton of redundancy in a lot of the "best of/worst of" selections, but a good, thoughtful list can be entertaining. Like any piece of writing, it should be...it's all about holding the reader's attention.   "Imagine a flea market in your mind; what treasures does your vivid mind discover?"I love me a good flea market! For real! Like a straight-up dirt mall, where maybe half the vendors might be shady, but they've been around for forever still tryin' to sell the same shit they've been dealin' since 1985, so they must be sorta legit. And though it's been a few years since I went there, I'm a little bummed that they tore down the Super Flea in my hometown just so Walmart could move in a few blocks from a store they built maybe not even twenty years ago, at the expense of another shopping plaza/dying mall. Fuck Walmart, but that's not the point of this prompt. My mind hasn't been vivid lately. I don't know if it's because I ate a little while ago, and sometimes I get really, really tired after I eat, but I didn't take a nap and now I feel like it's a struggle staying awake (and it's way too early to try and go to sleep for the night right now). So I feel like my head's being squeezed a little, plus I'm having some trouble associating such a glorious shithole like the Cheektowaga Super Flea with vivid treasures (and I mean glorious shithole with a tremendous amount of affection). And maybe that's what life's all about...finding beauty in the unlikeliest things. Like the joy of finding a Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card at one of the stands, or thinking for the longest time how amazing the tacos were at the snack bar, even though the place had been crawling with rats pretty much since the existence of rats. Little things that stay with you long after their shine has worn off (if they even shined to begin with). Sometimes we don't need to discover as long as we can rediscover. That's what the flea market in my head feels like. This is it! The final day of "Invalid Item" ! And I'm excited because "Deck The Halls" seems like it'd be such an easy song to Spam...but it's not (or maybe I'm just not looking at it the right way). I mean, when were kids we all knew the "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Rudolph laid an egg..." (and holy shit did I just now realize all day I've been confusing "Jingle Bells" with "Deck The Halls"  ...honest mistake, right?). So I turned to Wikipedia, which in its challenging wisdom has not let me down today . This was ripped off from a Welsh love song!  And the original first line supposedly is "Oh! how soft my fair one's bosom" followed by the traditional fa la la's. So the Christmas classic that we all know is actually old-school Spam! Further proof that the more things change, the more they stay the same, and gelatinous love songs can become Christmas songs just as easily as a pig can be put in a can. Then I went to my next-trusted source, YouTube, because I just remembered that Weezer Christmas EP that came out back in 2008, and I was all like "They had to put a version of DTH on there!" And to my dismay, they did not. Of course, like most trips to YouTube, I did get to spend some time watching plenty of live Weezer footage from a concert festival called "Deck The Halls", but there was no actual hall-decking or wrecking going on that I was made aware of. There are worse ways of wasting an afternoon though. And I don't know how I did it, but I stumbled upon a Barenaked Ladies holiday album (well, Amazon suggested it, so I guess I didn't really stumble). And they also didn't cover "Deck The Halls". No, brothers and sisters, they outright Spammed it. They Spammed the Spammers. I don't know what to say about it, other than I was left jaw-dropped for a minute or two. It's like a Christmas Miracle, if you prefer your miracles to be not how nature intended them to be in any way, shape, or form. This...is "Deck The Stills", and yes, it references that Stills. And Crosby, and Nash and Young. And that's all it references. And now I've got to write my own Spam version, after following that? That's like the kazoo player in The Jimi Hendrix Experience playing a 2.5-hour set at Monterey right after Hendrix himself set his guitar on fire. Like, you just don't do that...or, at least, you're not supposed to. So now I'm woefully unprepared for this, after all the wrong turns I've taken while preparing for this entry...let's just make it up as we go along, I guess (and I know it'll never be as good as the original composer's ode to his favorite bosom ). Spam The Spammers Spam the spammers for a laugh! Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. Parodies aren't rip-offs. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. It's "fair use" if done correctly. Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, lololol. Copyright laws will protect thee. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. Sometimes it is an improvement. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. Weird Al's made a career of it. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. But how does one Spam the Spammer? WTF, WTF, lololol. How does it get any better? WTF WTF, lolololol. If you're funny it won't matter. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. If you're not you shouldn't bother. Ha ha ha ha ha, lolololol. Unless you signed up just to write Spam. Ha ha ha, ha ha ha, lololol. And everyone knows it's s'posed to be bad. Ha ha ha ha ha, so one-star bad. And I'm ok with this being the second rendition I've written this week that features a prominent version of hahaha in a chorus-like situation, considering all the Christmas songs that start with only the letter O (like I've also touched on a few times this week  ). Anyway, one week's worth of holiday Spam has been served up here, just for you. I don't think I'll want to write another poem again, for a long, long time. It's gonna take awhile to get the awfulness outta my system. Just like the real Spam in the can stays in your body in some chemical form for lawd knows how long, actually having to try to write terrible verses can wreak havoc on one's creative process. At least, that's what I think happens...I don't really have a creative process, but introducing bad things into the system usually messes up all the good stuff, and it takes a long time to correct the damage. From what I've heard.  Speaking of lists and as 2015 comes to a close, we're about to be inundated with everyone's god damn idea of what the best or worst of this year has been. I've just come across my first list of The 10 Worst Songs Of 2015 , and I'm proud to say that I have not heard a single one of them (and if I have, it's unlikely I would've even known it). I don't think I've even heard of half these artists, but the ones I am familiar with...well, it's been a shameful year, and 2016 can't come fast enough I guess.  Also because I'm lazy and get sucked into link after link on websites imploring me with the knowledge that if I liked what I just read I'll like something else even better, have yourself a merry little list of ten unlikely artists who have recorded Christmas songs .  Of course, the wonderful folks who are also Twitter users have not let us down in 2015. If you're striving for not giving fucks about anything in 2016, these are your people . We should all be chair fort guy...or the burrito lady. Or be ambitious...be both of them. Just don't be all of them, 'cuz nobody likes an overachieving showoff.  And finally, maybe you're like me and you don't decorate much for the holidays because you want your festive looks to also be functional (yeah, that's totally my reason for not deckin' my halls ). Maybe a gingerbread house looks nice and smells great and satisfies your sweet-toothy urges. And that's outstanding and all, but some people need something a little heartier. Perhaps more flavorful...more...exciting. Say no more fam, I got you...why not craft yourself a Pizza House ? I truly believe that someday building this was the reason I was put here on this planet. Ok folks, it looks like my work here is done. I wasn't joking when I said I probably wasn't gonna write any poems for awhile, but I'm also taking a short holiday sabbatical, so no more of anything from me (for the most part) for a little bit...Sunday is for football and taking care of paperwork, Monday I've got all the last minute odds and ends to tie up (crosstown bus trip to the new doctor's office, stopping at the library to return some books and borrow another one, grabbing snacks for the holiday trip home), and Tuesday I'm heading off to my mom's for Christmas and I'm not sure when I'll be coming back. It happens every year, I guess...I'll still be popping in to check my email and stuff, and I'll have to set up the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" for January (crap...that means I need to finish judging November's round too ...ahhh, it'll get done eventually), and tend to other things, but I probably won't settle down to accomplish much more than that until I return from Buffalo. Try not to miss me too much while I'm away  . Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and yay for whatever and however you celebrate! I hope your Santa is good to all y'all this time around. Peace, mutual kisses, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "Modern Manners says it is rude to ask a hostess who else is invited to a party. What do you think?" What's up you guys? Today looks like it's promising as far as fun, interesting blog entries are concerned (in one way or another), so let's get right to the prompts. Hell yeah I think it's rude to ask someone hosting a party who's all on the guest list...most of the time. There are legit exceptions, but generally, hey, mind your own frickin' business and just be happy there was a party and someone thought enough of you to ask you to join in the fun. And I think that while most hosts have a pretty good idea of the people they're inviting and believing everyone's gonna play nice together, you can't expect them to know why Person A can't be in the same room as Person B, or that Persons C & D are jerks when they're together, and Person E is an asshole after three drinks, and so on. People are so spoiled sometimes, not being able to put aside petty beefs and feeling like they have to be the center of attention at someone else's throwdown. If that's why you want to know if so-and-so has been invited, fuck you and don't come. But chances are, the host/hostess already knows you've got a restraining order against someone, or that both parties in a nasty divorce aren't gonna show up at the same time to little Billy's 8th birthday, or who the shameless whore in the group is targeting for a ride home. Some questions don't need to be asked, but in situations like these maybe it's alright to have the bases covered. So no, don't ask. Be respectful. If you don't like someone but your mutual friend is opening their home up to you with food and drinks and harmless merrymaking, don't be a little bitch about it. Act like the bigger person. The bigger, more mature person (and not the bigger, uglier asshole). When crowds gather they can smell who doesn't fit in, and you don't want that to be you because not only will you be outed quickly, but you'll ruin your chances at future invites. Especially if I told you that it's at that party in 2018 that you'll meet the love of your life, so long as you can keep your big fat yap closed this weekend when your boss's wife is opening her second personal bottle of wine and starts going on and on about how "this country needs a real man like Donald Trump to lead us and bomb all of Asia and half of Europe" and bites her bottom lip like she just had sexytime in her head with the thought of him actually achieving any of that. Plus, it's just a bad look if you're scoutin' out the guest list and wondering why you got in but your homies didn't. Not everyone is capable of overlooking flaws like you are, and won't tolerate the same bullshit you have for twenty years of friendship. Sometimes, it's better just letting things be.  "What's the best piece of health advice you have ever received? Did you follow it? Why or Why not?" Ok...here we go. I don't want to make a big production out of it, and I've only talked about with a few people, but I may as well get it out there so I can get it out of the way faster. I saw my psychiatrist last Friday. His office is on the second floor of the building, at the opposite end of the stairs (and there's no elevator). By the time I made it to his couch, I was exhausted. Spent. Gassed. A little sweaty from the exertion even. And I'm not a model of perfect health by any means, but I've done fairly well in the physical department throughout my tenure as a human being (besides the various broken bones, but that's not the point). Instead of talking about football for a half hour and getting refill scripts for my antidepressants and insomnia meds, he wrote up an order for blood work...to "rule out a few things". So that's how I spent my Monday, going to the hospital and having them shove a needle in my arm (which went surprisingly well, because usually they jab away for awhile and then give up and go in through the back of my hand, which then swells and bruises and looks like the hand of a 96 year old's). I woke up Wednesday morning and had a missed call and a voicemail from him...and you know they don't call you with good news or no news. Basically, in his words: "Your thyroid has stopped working." Normal levels of <insert his fancy medical wordology here> are 3.6-3.7, and mine is 12. And "I don't normally do this, because I'm a psychiatrist, but I'm writing you a script because I don't feel comfortable with you walking around untreated." And mind you, I'm not a very big "see your primary doc twice a year" kinda guy. In fact, I don't even know who my actual primary is right now, because the first time I saw one when I moved to Cortland, it was that guy's last day at the medical place I was sent to, and the next time the doc or physician's assistant or whoever I saw was, he didn't seem very interested in me or my health at all. So even before any of this started happening, I called a doctor my shrink recommended who he said he's had a good working relationship with, and some of his other patients have seen him, and glowing reviews and blah blah blah, but I can't get into his office until later on in January. So I've got the ball rolling on him, as far as paperwork and whatnot goes. And it's not like I'm languishing half-dead or anything, with a new pill in my daily repertoire. So there's that. My thyroid is no longer compliant with the rest of my body, which explains why it's more of a pain in the ass than usual just going downstairs and checking my mail. As for medical advice, I'm sure I'll be hearing some in the near future, as my condition comes up in conversation with people I'll run into while visiting at my mom's during Christmastime. And like most conversations that revolve around me, I'll get sick of it really quick. Everyone's got a story, and everyone has either been through some shit or knows someone else that has the same damn thing you have going on. And suddenly everyone's a doctor, and will tell you exactly how you should treat your new ailment because "it worked for me". Except I'm not you, and I know what works for some people doesn't work for everyone. So I don't often listen to the advice given out from others...and just because you asked me what's going on and I tell you, that's not an open solicitation for your miracle cure. Everyone's concerned for a second until they can turn it around and make it all about them...I could be lying in the street, bleeding from a gunshot wound, and sure as shit someone's gonna come up to me and say "You should put something on that...I got shot last week and rubbed some ragweed and dried apricots directly on the bullet, and I'm running a marathon next month! Lemme tell ya 'bout my guy...". Naw man. Fuck that. I don't wanna hear it. Unless you have a degree, your medical advice is lost on me. I'm not a mechanic, so don't expect me to fix your car when you tell me you got a flat tire. I just...I can't take that shit. I know I'll hear some genius commentaries soon..."Quit smoking!" "Eliminate sodium from your diet!" "Do some push-ups!" "God hates you and is punishing you because you don't like guns!!1!!!" Save it. No one takes you seriously when you share that pic of the sick kid with the caption "Jesus will cure the world's apathy if this post gets 100,000 likes!", and no deity of your preference is gonna fix me or put a new thyroid under your Xmas tree with my name on it because you prayed about it and posted my face on your Facebook wall asking that we all have a moment of silence. That's not how thy body shall return itself to its normal, quasi-fat and quasi-old and generally miserable condition. My terms. That's how I'm going out. This won't kill me, and if it does, I'm goin' while doing what I enjoy...I'm not gonna live in fear and take every precaution and brush my teeth and say my prayers every time I step off a curb. If I'm meant to get hit by a truck on the way to a doctor's appointment, so be it. That's life. I could click my heels three times upon achieving a clean bill of health and then keel over from a random heart attack. There are still chicken wings I haven't eaten and supermodels who haven't divorced me. Getting a diagnosis of anything sucks balls. It's a bummer. I've had my day or two of being sad and pissed off about it, so don't be sad and pissed off for me. This is just one more thing I have to deal with in a life full of shit I've had to overcome. Let's not be concerned, and let's not play doctor in the comments section (and I'm sure I'm guilty of passing along home remedies and well-wishes and all that in the past, but this is how I feel and all I ask is that you respect it). No big thing y'all. Now that I've had my say about it, I'm not gonna bring it up here anymore (unless shit takes a crazy left turn somewhere, which I suppose is a possibility). Let me worry in peace, privately and to myself. Maybe I don't have anything to worry about. And maybe I didn't even tell you this . Carry on. This is Day Six already of "Invalid Item" ? I've torn up the sheets of music on five other Christmas classics? I still have this and one more to go? I've been, uhhh, distracted a little this week, so forgive me for not knowing how this is gonna turn out...first though, I'm gonna need another reason to stare at Sarah McLachlan playing a guitar for about three and a half minutes. If the internet lived and raged on back in the 1800's when this was written like it does now, there would be haters climbing Christmas trees and decrying our zealot nation hearts regarding Bethlehem by throwing ornament bombs laced with pungent glitter. "Can't give them dirty hippies a home if they don't wanna live where they came from! Dur dur dur guns, dur dur dur premarital sex, dur dur dur what about us dur dur dur." We would be awash in backwards rhetoric and filling our sin bins with all the hatred for things unlike us. Oh wait...we already do that, only it's called a "comments section" and instead of casting away our demons in churches, we use the internet to make ourselves holier than thou. Here's your daily holiday Spam update on another O classic number, as part of the War On Christmas Music. O Belligerent Town Of Internet O belligerent town of internet, how quick we are to judge. Armed by anonymity because we hold a grudge, we can hate and hate and hate because you're not like us. Science gave us wondrous things but this isn't evolution. For your opinions I bid you all the shame. I think I know who you are and you know my fake name. Please go on about your cause and tell me who you blame. I promise I will share your point if a hundred do the same. How magical, so masterful, that you could quote Fox News! If it came from MSNBC you'd swear it wasn't true. Everyone knows you're out there yet we don't hear you talk until the bad stuff happens and you're the first to squawk. O belligerent town of internet why're you the first to blame all of society's problems on those who aren't the same? You're not helping; in fact you're hurtin' us, kid. Get off of your high horse and practice community service.  And while I'm on the topic of keyboard warriorism, could Donald Trump be anything more than a used-beyond-its-means giant orange-y/pinkish dildo? Good ol' Vlad Putin is an evil sonuvabitch, so when he endorses you for anything you should probably GTFouttaDodge. But your boy with the troll hair tamped down by too many sticky-fingered strokings has embraced Putin's words and again doubled down on his stupidity. Don't fuck with him, man! No need to get into a dick-measuring contest with someone who will lull you into thinking yours is bigger just to cut it off! But what do we expect from this guy? He's not going away, and people are still loving him, more and more. How much crazy do you people need in your lives? I have a few ex-girlfriends I'd like you to meet. Sorry our conversation last night went batshit awkward and abruptly ended when you mentioned Creedence Clearwater Revival, Charlie ~  . But the truth is, there's just no end to all the happy music that has inundated our lives. It has become the soundtrack to all of our existences, whether we like it or not. What happened to the angry musicians? Why aren't we more socially in tune with what's happening in the world when we go into a restaurant or store? Where are all the Rage Against The Machines or NWAs? Why is it all about happy now and not justice? Why have we become so spoiled with appeasement and how come no one makes an album today that represents all the world's bullshit that appeals to earholes and music buyers and still has the tenacity to creep into the mainstream? Where's this generation's "Fight The Power" ? When the world's dysfunction creeps into our everyday lives, why are there so few artists standing against that? Why can't popular music today address issues of violence or governmental injustice in a way that pleases people? Who is suffering more, the general public who turn to music that has softened our souls into indifference, or the artists stifled by the hopes of radio airplay, Spotify spins, and blasé notoriety? Even the old political rants that bent ears in ways to make change don't do it anymore, and eventually we get tired of them and the same shit we turn to that used to make us happy no matter what. And then? It's a cycle the industry hasn't figured out, and doesn't want to, as long as there are dumb hot chicks and dudes who can sell records by singing and saying nothing at all. And finally, look, like some of you I appreciate a good crime story. Me, not so much in book form, but in internet articles about people and places who aren't like us and where we don't live. It happens all the time, and someday it'll happen in your little peace-burg. And because yay internet and year-end lists are a thing, have a gander at the craziest crimes of 2015 . Maybe someone should find out if Brother Nature  and Andre The Blog Monkey are in good graces with other international governments, because it appears that there was a TROOP behind #1, and last I was aware that was Andre's management co. Ok, well I've said all I need to say for another day, and I really need to get something to eat (if only to get the taste of this entry out my love-filled mouth from all the hugs I've gotten lately just from being me). Peace, cast our sin and enter in, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "Christmas is a spirit that flows from one heart to another. It is more precious than rubies and better than your gold. How do you feel about this?" Ho-ho-freakin'-ho, my friends! Santa left some prompts in my inbox this morning, so let's see if I can put them to good use. I think I may have said this before, but I'm not one who gets the Christmas Spirit anymore. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's kinda hard to get excited about it when Christmas stuff shows up in stores starting in August...and if you think it goes away around January then you've never touched anything saturated with glitter. That shit never goes away. Walk into any store that puts their decorations up in the same location each year at any other time, and you're bound to find glitter buried in little nooks and crannies in the carpets, and at the backs of the shelves closest to the walls, and all around. I swear, it multiplies...and yet each time Christmas comes around, we dump more and more of it onto the unsuspecting public. There has to be a better alternative to making things shiny! Science has created underwear that traps the smell of farts , but we're stuck with glitter that doesn't go away. Imagine how pissed off you'd be if you didn't even celebrate Christmas and accidentally touched some holiday decor while making your way through Target, or got stuck with a shopping cart that was previously used by the lady down the street from you who goes balls-out decorating each year with the silver wreaths and shit. That'd be all I need to swear off winter for good. Maybe it's just me, and how heartless time has made me over the years, but the Christmas Spirit doesn't magically flow into me, like a contagious cold does. My therapist and I were discussing "feelings" last week, and he came right out and asked me if I ever felt anything about anything. Without hesitation, I was like "I used to, but not anymore, for the most part." Like love, or hate, or anger, or elation, or anything like that. Nope. Nothin'. And when I do catch a case of emotions, it's very fleeting at best...I'm over it in a day or two. So that probably explains why I'm not a holidays person...not Christmas, not Halloween, or Arbor Day, or Presidents Day. I'm not into any of it. Let's just exchange gifts and eat a nice meal and watch some relatives snipe at each other for a few hours and be done with it, ok? Greed and commercialization have ruined most of the holiday sentiments for me. You go through a lot of trouble for one day of the year, and half the Catholic population doesn't even care that it's the day their baby Jesus was born. And for non-Catholic religious people, Dec. 25th is just another cold, shitty day (most years, in my part of the world). It's a cold, shitty day where most businesses (with morals) are closed. God forbid something happens on Christmas Day, like running out of salt for your mashed potatoes, and you have to go to the 24hr gas station and either hope they have some (where you'll pay four times the grocery store price) or pray the bitter counterhelp stuck working that day filled up the rollerdog condiment bar with plenty of little salt packets that you can shove in your pockets. And don't get in a car crash, because your insurance company wants no part of it on that blessed day. And definitely don't die, because that just involves all sorts of people who don't want to be working on the holidays, and you'd be separating them from their families, is what you dying is doing, you monster. And don't tell the people who got rubies and gold for Christmas that their spirit is more meaningful. It's not. Don't try to sell off holiday cheer at the local pawn shop, because you're gonna have a bad time. I couldn't even sell a textbook I barely used last year in school, even though my neighborhood pawn shop goes out of its way to advertise their book buy-back policy; if they won't take a business course book, they're not paying pennies on the dollar for your heart's rendition of "Silver Bells". So, to sum it all up, while Christmas Spirit is all the rage this time of year, it doesn't easily pass from one person to the next. It holds no monetary value, and for a country founded on religious freedom, we seem to get off a lot on shoving Santa down everyone's throats. Know what I want for Christmas this year? A few gifts, plenty of drinks, some family time, and peace on Earth and quiet. That's how I plan on not rollin' down your chimney with care this year. "What songs are on your happy playlist?"Oh boy...I love this prompt, and I don't at the same time. See, I have a ton of music in my iTunes library, but I don't make many playlists. I just put that shit on shuffle and see where it takes me...and if I don't like it, I see what's next. I have three playlists...one for a girl who probably will never see that cd being burned for her, and two for an old buddy of mine from high school whose wife up and took off on him with their baby and moved across the country (as soon as I have a few extra bucks for blank cds and postage I'll send them off). And Apple's software has been a mess lately...now if you delete a song from a playlist it gets taken out of your library, and it's a major fucking inconvenience especially if it's something you haven't purchased directly from them. I added a song to a list for someone and took it off because it didn't fit, and it's on a hard to come by cd that I had to order directly from Canada...and right now all my cds are in an 18-gallon storage bin on a high-up shelf in my room. Once I got them all uploaded to my laptop, that was the best place for storage concerns, and it fell on my head awhile back while reorganizing, so shit went flying everywhere and I don't have the patience to go back and look for that cd just so I can have that one song back in my library. But what I'll do now, here, to play along with the prompt, is I'll open up iTunes, set it on shuffle, and list the songs that come up until I find the first five songs that make me happy. They might not be happy songs, but I'll be happy, and that's what matters (because most songs designed to make people happy generally piss me off). It's not the iTunes Shuffle Quiz, and if you wanna play along with me on that just shoot me an email or read one of the few entries in "I'm Studying You" where I posted my results several years ago. The "happy" songs (my words, not yours) will be denoted by a link...let's hope this doesn't take me all day. 1. "Start Here" by The Gloria Record (fitting way to start, I guess) 2. "Wicked" by Ice Cube (but that line about choking like the Buffalo Bills always pisses me off)3. "Always Coming Back Home To You/Say Shhh" by Atmosphere ("Say Shhh" is one of the most underrated hidden tracks in all of recorded music history)4. "Roman Candle" by Boxstep (if you've never heard of them it's ok...a large outfit out of Pittsburgh, and very cool) 5. "Rhymes" by Too $hort (I so wanna include this as a "happy" song, because I smile whenever the Playboy Todd comes up in my earholes) 6. "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da" by The Police (c'mon man, it's a fun song)7. "Move!" by Public Enemy (not a happy song by not a happy bunch of people) 8. "At Least That's What You Said (live)" by Wilco (also not a happy song, but once it gets loud and the guitars kick in, I wanna invent a dance for that) 9. "Theologians" by Wilco (it's an upbeat piano song, but it's not what I want to hear that'll make me happy) 10. "Make Me A Believer" by Longwave (saw them open up for a few local bands a few years ago...a decent cd) 11. "All I Can Do" by Felt (love Slug and Murs, but I've probably skipped over this song a lot) 12. "Dope Nose" by Weezer (not the only song by them that makes me happy, but this is fun fo' sho')13. "I Corinthians 15:55" by Johnny Cash (not a lot of happiness there) 14. "Make Me Whole" by Longwave (why is Apple doing this to me, repeating bands and artists like this?) 15. "People Just Love To Play With Words" by Men At Work (bought the cd from a gas station a long time ago because it was a nice price) 16. "She" by Girlpope (a local and long-defunct Buffalo band with a great sound...and most of their songs always make me smile, but not this particular one) 17. "Miseryhead" by Ours (obviously not a happy song) 18. "Gratitude (live at Budokan)" by the Beastie Boys (so many good memories attached to this song for so many different reasons)Well, that's a solid list of five and I figured it'd take me about twenty songs or so to get there. Guess I'm in a better mood today than I was yesterday. Anyone else in the same camp that thinks a lot of holiday songs start with the letter O? Like, just the letter, and not including words that begin with O. Now, I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but how far away are we from An O-face Christmas? Isn't that where civilization is degrading itself to? We're still so unholy to celebrate the season mainly by shopping and stealing internet passwords so that we can cop a view of A Very Murray Christmas on Netflix, so this is bound to happen. And on the fifth day of Spamlings doing the "Invalid Item" , our true love lizco252 gave to us "O Tannenbaum", which isn't even a Christmas song so much as it's a German ode to fir trees. I love it because there ain't nothin' Christmas-y about it...it's just a dude who wrote a song about how great he thought a tree was. Why are we spam-shaming that? I've got to blame the OG Charlie Brown, for getting it major airtime every year during his holiday special/Jesus is the reason lecture by Linus. Still gets to me every year. I almost had no idea how to approach this in righteous Spam tradition, but I just had a tinkle tinkle upon a porcelain star and it hit me (a thought, not some blowback from the pee)...I should celebrate all who are making an effort in the War On Christmas Classics. Oh Spambily! Oh Spambily, my writing fam-bily, your words do delight me! Ky (Cinn  ) and Lyn's a sly fox write rhymes so taut.Neva (Prosperous Snow celebrating  ) keeps the mood so light. (Andy~hating university ) Andy wants the Spammer's Throne.I can't let him sit there alone. Oh Spambily, my writing fam-bily, give love to Jellyfish (⭐️Jellyfish⭐️ ) and AmyJo (amyjo-Keeping it real and fun! ).(ANN Counselor, Lesbian & Happy ) Ann's chipped in her holiday best, and (Steev the Friction Wizurd ) Steve has nailed the rest. Don't forget our leader, Beth (lizco252), who's saved us from Xmas complacency! That's what I've got for today, you guys. I wasn't making a four- or five-verse epic outta it...it's not even a real Christmas song! It's not like I'm jumpin' on some ol' stale Rudolph rhymes with obvious sing-songy structures anyway...and peace to the red-nosed reindeer for having the sack to help out the same clan who emotionally abused him until they needed something from him. Apologies to anyone I left out, but I think I got you all.  Why are people giving this family shit for having some fun with their yearly holiday card? Fuuuuuck man, I'd be doin' the same thing if I had a cool-ass family and could send out cards like it's no big deal (and I'm not, because Christmas isn't in the budget this year...sorry). Let these people have their fun doin' their thing...like y'all ain't got bigger shit to get pissed off about.  Just booked my Greyhound ticket back to Western New York for holiday time with the fam this morning, and the ride itself on a Greyhound bus isn't particularly offensive...not like some of some of these rides . I get it that it comes from the same German place that produced a person who wrote an ode to trees that we in the US adopted for our own holiday fetishes, but there's a whole lot of WTF-ery going on in these pictures that I don't need a translation for. And people pay for the privilege of resting their asses on them! Remember that asshat that I wrote the Spam poem about a few days ago ("This one's about skill, etiquette, and the Wu-Tang/AIDS guy." )? Oh, I guess he's still scamming and bleeding funds from his endeavors. I hope his ass gets sent to the jail part of Hell, where he's surrounded by deceased AIDS patients who butt-rape him while singing all the verses to the Wu-Tang record he paid $2 million to get the only copy of. And while he's on lockdown, I hope that Bill Murray actually comes through on that (probably fake) seller's clause in the contract and takes it back for the Wu and their fans, and that it doesn't suck like everything since Wu-Tang Forever , and it shows up for free on iTunes, and Apple gives a grand to charities that support HIV sufferers with each download. Because fuck Martin Shkreli.  Wanna get rid of your holiday blues, like I'm attempting to? Then watch a video of Stephen Colbert and Henry Rollins serenading each other with "Carol Of The Bells" . I'll admit I have yet to watch his new show on CBS, so I can't say if he's funnier than Fallon or Kimmel (both of whom I can easily watch online without paywall bullshit, just like his and Jon Stewart's Comedy Central replacements)...but dammit, I didn't know how much I missed Rollins or needed him doing this until I saw it. And finally, today is my boy Charlie ~ 's birthday...and ~Minja~  has created a place where you can say what's up to him over at "Invalid Item" . So get there and do it, because I love that kid like a little brother, and everyone's birthday is way more important than mine. And just like that, I'm done for today. Special shout-out to all the name-drops for being a part of this today, and a big shout-out to me, because I need a nap now. Peace, you fill my heart, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 ""'Live in such a way that if anyone should speak badly about you, no one would believe it.' -Audrey Hepburn. Do you agree?" Hey y'all...I'm gonna be upfront and say I'm in a terrible mood right now. Got some bad news, and I don't really feel like talking about it at the moment, so I'm gonna do this thing here that I love and see if that'll cheer me up or at least put me in a better place for the time being. I love you guys and thanks for understanding. I'm actually kinda perplexed by this Audrey Hepburn quote, and I'm not sure why. I agree with it, but I think because it was said so long ago and it comes from a different era, I don't know if it holds true anymore. See, back in the day, Ms. Hepburn wasn't on the same 24/7 news cycle that we've grown into in the 21st century. Sure, she lived under a camera, and celebrities had their share of struggles back then just like they do now, but she also didn't have to worry about camera phones in everyone's pockets and TMZ wanting to shoot and display her every move. We've obliterated the mystique that used to surround the famous....now, anyone with a working knowledge of Google can tell you everything and more than you ever cared to know about how the other half lives. What was just gossip and rumors fifty years ago now comes with photographic evidence and twenty people coming out of the woodwork to say they saw or knew someone who knows someone who saw something shitty happen, and this person or that one is a horrible animal because someone else couldn't be allowed to take advantage of someone's status. "I didn't get an autograph when they were leaving the hospital or out to dinner with their family" turns into "He/she spit at me and called me names and I'm butthurt by this rich asshole who thinks they're better than me for trying to live a normal life". And as the general public, we're more inclined now to say "Fuck them!" in regards to the pretty people, when we really should be saying "Leave them alone and mind your damn business!" I think everyone at one time or another has wanted to be famous and live some gloriously exuberant lifestyle, without understanding that not only is there a lot of work that goes into their craft, but also into promoting it and dealing with all the regular day-to-day shit everyone else goes through. "We're all gonna lie, we're all gonna cry, and we're all gonna take painful shits." And that's kinda how it goes for everyone. I have learned that I would be a horrible celebrity, because the second I'm out somewhere having a moment that many of us already have and some jackhole sticks a camera in my face, I'm gonna get shitty with them. "Hey, I'm trying to eat a Super Mighty here, with my family, like all these other people, so fuck off!" and then word'll get around that I was a mega dick to one intrusive prick, instead of me just stopping there after feeding 1,000 homeless Syrian refugees out of the back of a pickup truck and curing butt cancer in my spare time between the free Hip-Hop concerts I put on to support worldwide global cooling, like awwww helllllll naw. Because that's how shit works, and that's how the media sells things...they have worked hard to condition us to believe we'll watch/read/click on stories involving people doing dumb shit at their worst. And it's not fair, and it's not right. Like when I used to go to karaoke nights all the time with the J-Bag$, and one day while I'd stopped in a gas station on my way to work to buy cigarettes the cashier looked up and he was like "J-Bag$!" and I wanted to crawl inside someone's gas tank with a lit cig rather than talk about whatever happened that week at The GPC . Please, take my money and don't small-talk me...it makes me uncomfortable. And if you're gonna persist, ask me about something good I've done, and not something closer to a catastrophic tire fire. Like "No! I'm more complex than what you saw on a night I was celebrating a promotion and had gotten myself overserved enough to make questionable decisions!" But there isn't time often for a lengthy rebuttal when you're on someone else's terms; hell, there's barely enough time to grab your shit and leave with the Walk Of Shame leg-slashing required to save as much face as you can with a line of people behind you. It happens here on WDC too at times, when you start getting involved with more activities and that's how people come to know you...you're in some fun thing, and a few weeks later you get a random review from a newbie who's like (this is just an example...it hasn't happened lately) "Oh, you're the guy who wrote the sorta homophobic blog entry with the Christmas song rip-off! Here's a three-star review of this poem you wrote 15 years ago, you bag of shit...keep writing!" and they don't even know I've been a member for fourteen and a half years and to whom and what I've contributed to. It's little things like that that maybe shouldn't piss me off, but they do, and it makes me appreciate some celebrities when they get outed for certain transgressions and get their name dragged through the dirt and how they handle it. I give them credit for not straight choke-slamming a bitch, and they don't get enough props for their restraint. Because that's the world we live in now, twenty+ years after the death of Audrey Hepburn. But it goes without saying...be a good person- if not all the time, then as much as possible. For your own conscience, if nothing more. No matter what you do, someone will always be looking to take you down a peg or three. "I think it's great how you used to be great..." and "My neighbors ain't doin' much better and we're makin' competition instead of stickin' together." It's like it almost doesn't matter what you've accomplished or what you had to do to get to where you are now, because someone's always gonna pop up to remind you of when you were at your worst, and when you try to explain to them how things have changed for the better like they ain't got nothin' to say still, that's all they remember. And people get pissed when they ain't got nothin' to talk about to make themselves look rosier. Don't matter how you act or what you overcame...all they care about is them and their perception. And I don't need their respect or redemption...if I fished for it then that's what would be seen. I'm straight with not doing anything and only acting in the best interest of my beliefs, so I can minimize the drama and not having to worry so much about making anything more copacetic or having to regain good graces. I'm ok with not bothering or having to be bothered; not wondering about anyone's hidden agendas. Let me fucking be...I'd rather be charitable anonymously and quiet everywhere else in life than making a big parade out of everything that becomes open to all sortsa talk, and I don't want my psyche murdered and put on display because I did a good thing once. Don't we all have better things to do than erasing someone else's shine because someone else wanted to act on out-of-context reports? Fuck man, I'm just trying to write a blog entry and have a good time...sorry I'm "unpatriotic" for not flying an American flag over all the shit I do. I can't just make anyone believe anything. I do what I can, when I can, and that's that. I stopped living with the idea that I could change peoples' minds and perceptions a long ass time ago. There are too many people out there, and I'm not gonna please them all. At some point, I'll need to figure out how to start making myself happy- first and foremost. And people may not like that because it doesn't serve their needs, and others will fall off because I'm no longer interesting. Fuck 'em. I'm worried about me, and my shit, and what I have to go through...not the petty little "remember when" shit that I could do and then it came around and bit me in the ass. If that makes me selfish, then I'm glad something I did for anyone registered on your scale. I'll be in my own little world, happy, and not trying to fit my life into anyone else's. I had a RZA line in my head, but I can't find it now and instead I'm stuck on this, Bobby being BOBBY ...and now I need to go make a sandwich. Tuna, if ya wanna hold me to that.Gimme a second to check on where we're at on Day Four of "Invalid Item" ...oh yes, "Joy To The World". I have a tab already up with the lyrics from last night, because I've been trying to make a better effort at being prepared. Of course, that doesn't help when your first inclination upon hearing those words is Three Dog Night ...and then wondering how much coke was hoovered before that performance, and then getting sucked into another VH1 clip about just how much drugs played a part in their history. Here's a live recount of how the original 3DN video went for me: 0:04: Lordy, these seventies tv shows with musical guests were no joke. There's a damn orchestra up there! 0:11: Holy shit, that dude has a nose that could obliterate so much cocaine...either by inhaling it, or sneezing it. And that 'stasche...pretty sure you'd need a permit to ride that thing. 0:22: He's into it though. He's feelin' this song. It's a good song to feel like that about. It's rawk, but with a get-down-come-feel-this-with-us mega-vibe. I wanna t-shirt that proclaims "I'm down with Jeremiah". 0:47: MAKE HIM THE KING! SOMEBODY MAKE HIM THE KING OF THE WORLD!! 1:07: Huh...there's a guy in the band who sings some backup vocals and pretty much only plays the tambourine. When the music industry first started cutting back on expenses (presumably to keep dudes like Chuck Negron all up in the stuff), I'm pretty sure they first let all the tambourine players go from all the popular mid-70's bands. 'Cuz I can't do anything musically, but I can probably keep a steady tambo beat...and I can shake my ass a li'l more than these cats are too. The real story shouldn't be how Chuck Negron blew $30 million on heroin and lived in LA dumpsters during the eighties and nineties...we should be focusing on the big fro'd-up dudes rockin' the tambourines and whatever happened to them. And what about the lead singers who could keep their jobs, but were forced to become frontmen/women now with tambourines, but looked awful doing so? "You'll have to pay me in more hookers 'n blow for me to keep that shit up, Artie..." and that was the end of all the great seventies music. 1:09: Damn sure that's Lisa Kudrow in the crowd, fading to the left as the camera pans to the right. Shaking her head and clapping to the beat during the guitar solo. Please be Lisa Kudrow...she looks like she's having more fun than she ever did being the outcast friend Phoebe on Friends. Have all the fun, Phoebe! Before you're homeless in NYC! 1:17: Another tambourine guy? Just struttin' out from nowhere? Man, did I grow up in the wrong decade! 1:23: And I didn't live in a time where you wouldn't get your ass kicked for saying you were a "rainbow rider" and a "straight-shootin' son of a gun"? God the seventies were magical. 1:59: Rock bands don't have this kind of clap-along fun anymore. Like, they're lovin' it, and the studio audience is lovin' it, and I've been to all kinds of concerts and I don't recall having this much fun...not like they're havin'. 2:30: I was kinda hoping they'd bring out the bullfrog, or at least give him a shout-out. Damn. Musta been the excess...and that wasn't discussed in the videos I watched after that.  Where are you, Jeremiah?No. Instead, this video is as close to cool as this Christmas gets. And it's not very cool, because I've already stopped it thirty seconds in. I shouldn't have to wonder when the bass will drop during a prestigious holiday classic. And now, your Spamtastic rendition: Joy To Your World Joy to your world! That's all that counts. 'Cuz it's good to be the king (or queen). Let everyone kiss your ass... 'Cuz no one's more important than you! 'Cuz no one's more important than you! 'Cuz no one, yes no one, is better than you! Joy to your world! It's all about you. No one's troubles matter because they are not you and why should anyone care about anyone else but you? I mean, they're not you, and no one's better than you! No one has your struggles and no one knows your pain. You're the highest priority of all your friends and mates as far as we all know! As far as we all know! As far and wide as we all know! Thank you! I'll be appearing later on this month at the Bethlehem Lounge, so buy your tickets in advance or maybe one will just be there for you immaculately.   I'm using the "ring3" emoticon here because there aren't clown or clown car ones, and last night there was another Republican debate , or as I like to think of them, another reason I'm glad I don't have cable. At this point in the 2016 election cycle, they're overkill...it's like trying to pick a starting quarterback for your NFL franchise from the local girl scouts meeting down the street. Jeb! hates Trump, and Trump thinks he's jealous...Dr. Ben wants to lobotomize the entire hemisphere that doesn't contain the US...the Cruz vs. Rubio undercard winner is that man's own personal presidency...and for every fifty ideas that come out of Trump's mouth, maybe one makes actual sense and won't destroy the planet. And then there are the ten or so other people involved, who are less crazy and therefore don't stand a chance at getting the GOP nod. There are shitshows, and then there is this display of right-wing lunacy. We are better off having no president than any of them. And speaking of starting quarterbacks... Who knew all Tom Brady cares about this time of year is playing football? I mean, if I were buddies with Donald Trump , I'd be trying to turn the focus of any conversation about that into anything else too, so why are reporters covering New England so concerned about the Brady/Trump connection? No one's asking Trump about Brady. And I care about football way more than politics (even though I'm a fan of neither men), and I'm no journalist, but even I know a player's next game is the most important thing on their mind...not who they've played golf with a few times or judged beauty pageants for and also happens to be in the running for the top job in the nation. C'mon man.  And finally, I'm all about the idea of making presidential candidates appear more like human beings who are into normal people stuff, and I truly believe there will be a female president in office during my lifetime, but Hillary Clinton...are we sure that she's not a cyborg? And Carly Fiorina...look, if I had to choose between her and Hillary which one I wanted to spend a night with, she wins by default even though she's another failed CEO and I've already decided I'm not being by myself one more evening. Luckily, I don't have to make that choice, and I'm sure Fiorina was probably a great-lookin' gal twenty years ago minus the Hewlett-Packard mess she oversaw and the fact that it maybe loosened a bunch of her screws (and no one holds a candle to Chelsea Clinton, my one and only political family member crush), but who is advising Carly? And if you've got pets I understand that you'll often do crazy things because of your love for them, but who's allowing her to eat dog biscuits on camera? For the most part, the video in the article kinda makes her appear cute and fun (although she still says a couple of rancid things), but the part where she breaks off the treat and shares it with a dog like part for you, part for me is fucking disturbing...and I get it that that's what some dog owners do, and maybe you do it too, but I don't wanna see that and I don't wanna know, especially from someone we should be considering in opposition of human torched Cheeto Donald Trump. We all have our weird little things we do in private (I'm a nail-biter...gross, I know), and that's where they should stay. Also, why did she think it'd be a good idea to wear all black for a shoot in which she's being covered in dogs? Was a lint-roller not in the budget? And if I'm not mistaken, Obama owns a dog, or at least he did, which goes to show you that I know more about this country than she does. Vote for me! Ok friends, that's all I've got for today. I'm gonna go back now to wondering what has become of my life in medical terms, and hope it doesn't dash what's left of my hopes and dreams. Peace, the curse is found, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "Do you prescribe to the idea that everything imaginable is a skill that can be learned or do you think there are exceptions to that rule?" 'Sup you guys? I'm determined today to not take all of my evening doing this, so I'm just gonna get started. I don't think I've ever pondered the notion that this prompt is asking, and if I did it probably wasn't under that particular wording. What I do know is that "everything imaginable" is a whole lotta stuff though, and when you're throwing that amount of ideas into the pot, exceptions are bound to become necessary. The first thing that comes to mind is childbirth, and forgive me for not being an expert on the topic, but I'm pretty sure there's no way you can hone that into some kind of skill; at least not without changing some of the parameters as to what defines "skill". It's, like, science, ya know? It...happens. There's no Professional Birthing League that I'm aware of. There's no practicing. There's the whole run-up, and then it happens, and then it's over...you need skills for sure before and after, but during? I don't think so, but I don't even have the biology necessary to fully imagine it, so maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Even those crazy Duggar people with the 20 kids and all their kids' kids and whatever, I'm not convinced they've turned baby-havin' into a skill...sure, they'll let reality tv cameras into their houses, but we're not staring at a dilated cervix and marveling at the pelvic techniques used during the pushing out of an infant. You just...no. You don't. Mass murder is another exception. Maybe there are some weirdos out there who have become more proficient at it over time, both in their craft and in not getting caught, but that's the thing I think that winds up preventing people from getting really good at it. Plus, no one that I know of has ever taught or attended a class on The Skillful Art Of Murdering Lots Of People, which leads me to believe that most killers are just subscribing to instinct. Or watching lots of CSI shows. Maybe even both. Again, it's something that doesn't seem to involve a whole lot of competition when happening, and what's the point of calling something a skill if you can't say you're better at it than someone else? The only other thing I can think of off the top of my head is binge-watching, but maybe it's just me and my particular viewing habits. Sure, I can get sucked into any halfway decent tv show, but not for most of my awake time on any given day. I can't just sit in front of anything and watch it for more than an hour or two without doing other stuff. And I can't fathom waking up on a Saturday morning, for instance, and doing damn near nothing all day but catching a Netflix coma that ends when my eyelids refuse to open anymore that same night. I'm not a sit-still person usually, and the only skill I could see developing from that would be all the creative ways in my head I could come up with to answer the "Are you still watching this?" question...which would probably start around the third episode, and by the fifth I'd be just as likely to shut the damn thing off so I could better concentrate on my responses. Funny how that works. So, yeah, maybe most things can be learned into a skill, but not everything. And if you're turning things into skills that haven't already been done before by someone else, chances are you're doing them really, really wrong, or you shouldn't be doing them at all.  "You have the opportunity to write an etiquette primer for everyone dealing with the holidays or another celebration. What does it say?" Ah, yes, a topic I'm somewhat familiar with...etiquette! It's amazing that I haven't become a world-famous expert on the subject (you know, because I'm so polite and respectful  ). This is easy...so easy, in fact, that I think if I ever host any kind of family gathering or holiday party of any kind, I'm gonna get special napkins printed up for the occasion. Or maybe I'll get a wood-burning crafter's kit and make a nice plaque to hang over the doorway for everyone to see upon entering my abode. Because having someone fly a plane with a banner trailing from it is expensive and not very practical, especially if it's an indoor party. Don't be an asshole. Nothing's worse than watching someone in someone else's house act like a giant dick to people, while the host is busy entertaining and trying to keep as many people as possible happy. You know that awkward feeling, when someone's crossed the line with their bullshit and isn't funny anymore, and you turn your emotions away from feeling sorry for the offender to feeling really sorry for the person who has to put up with them on an everyday basis? If you say you don't know what I'm talking about, then you're not invited to my next shindig, because you're probably the person who pulls this behavior off and has yet to have been called out on it. Jerk. Day Three already in "Invalid Item" ! And today we're toasting probably one of my all-time top five favorites, "The Little Drummer Boy" (and don't ask me what the other four are, because having worked in retail for so long has definitely deconditioned me to almost every rendition of all the other songs, so much so to the point that the longer I can get into December without hearing any, the better). Who doesn't love a song about a boy wanting to bang on an instrument like he knows what he's doing? It's cute, and you're a monster if you yell at him and tell him to knock it off, regardless if the kid has less talent than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. I also get to bust out a clip of a guy I used to work with playing the drums to a version of TLDB that his band recorded and sold on iTunes. I don't have many holiday traditions left personally, but posting this in my blog is one of them. And he's a crazy good drummer too. And now, with all due respect, I get to go all Spam on it. Because no one likes an asshole, unless you're an asshole...and even then I'm pretty sure there's some sorta rule in the Handbook For Being An Asshole that states that part of being an asshole is not liking the other assholes, and true assholes don't read rules, which is typically why assholes run in packs (or, in some cases, run companies). The Little Scumbag Oh, you've got AIDS in your bummy-bum bum? And there is no cure 'cept for my druggy-drug drug? How 'bout I raise the price a hunny-hundred? Medicaid won't cover that! A-hahahaha! Hahahaha! Hahahaha! Gonna make my company rich! Hahahaha! Or you'll die. What do I care? It's my jobby-job job. I work with rich guys too who lobby-lob lob. I'm like a gift to them, you slobby-slob slobs. Won't catch us strokin' each other's knobby-knob knobs, you knobby-knob knobs, knobby-knob knobs. Not on our knobs. The Wu-Tang Clan is nothin' to fucky-fuck with. I'll buy the only copy of "Once Upon A Time In Shaolin" for two milly-mill mill. I'll fuck with them and all their fans 'cuz I canny-can can. I've got no morals and I'm a shady businessman, yessy-yes yes I am. Yes I am. Yes I am. They use drugs and you probably do to so you'll all probably get AIDS and die because you can't afford my pills. I think that turned out pretty well, actually...but the last verse seems a little off. Maybe my man Bill Murray can help me out here. En garde! All this Christmas song Spammin' got me like what if old classic kids' books were written about today's issues? Thankfully, the internet has provided us with that answer . It's an inside joke from my old Photo Jesus days that I don't think anyone will understand, but the homie G-Stamm might appreciate the new adaptation of The Ugly Duckling, and I hope he reads that to the youngins in his house while prefacing it with "Remember when Norb Thor and I worked in the Walgreens photo lab...". And finally, it's hard to be as sick of Christmas as I am usually, but thankfully there are still some people out there who manage to make the season bearable . I know I shared this back in "Note: *XMasTree* The following graph shows the amoun...", but I kinda smile a little at some of these, so I don't feel bad about beating y'all over the head with it again like it's a stocking fulla nickels. Damn, son! It's not even 6pm yet and I'm all good for today! *clap clap clap-clap-clap* Guess that leaves me with no excuse but to take care of other obligations around here...or find new reasons to keep blowing them off . Might get to watch a Sabres game tonight, even (thank you, illegal streaming website and Ad-Block Plus Chrome extension )...and get some of that good, early sleep that's been duckin' me lately. Peace, I am a poor boy too, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "Since 'know thyself' is a highly overrated piece of wisdom which, at times, proves to be impossible, what do you think of those biography writers who claim to have the insight into someone else’s psyche? Shouldn’t that biography book be considered a form of fiction?"Good evening folks...I gotta tell ya, I was pretty fired up last night when I saw this prompt. I couldn't wait to tear into it...of course, I was laying in bed half-dazed on my nightly Ambien cocktail trying not to fall asleep with my laptop open to SportsCenter, so I was in no position to do anything about it. And I've had a bit of a busy day for me, which only means it's been festering in my head until now. I ain't mad about it, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little off-put by it. Hear me out when I explain. This is my experience with know thyself...which in Greek is gnothi seauton. That, among many other things, was drilled into my head in my early adult years. In the late nineties through the early part of the 21st century, I spent almost five years working for a local consumer electronics company in Western New York. At the time they had several stores in the area, a t-shirt and jeans offshoot that morphed into a high-end fashion post , and mall stores in places like Novi, MI; King Of Prussia, PA; and throughout NY down the I-90. It was kinda a big deal there; I don't know if it still is, but I made a lot of friends and met some really cool people and learned a shit-ton about life during that time. The owner could be really hands-on when he wanted to be, and when he needed to be. Like a lot of mid-level managers, I clashed with him once or twice...we made him a lot of money in the trenches, and he paid us respectably, both financially and with knowledge that you never realize you might need until later on in life. I'm thankful for the time I spent in his little empire. He wrote the company employees' handbook himself, and it's honestly a piece of art that I wish I still had...filled with the basics of what was expected, and supplemented with philosophical tidbits, reading recommendations, and various quotes on business and success. Even after I left the company I'd find myself going through it every so often. He went so far as to get an ISBN number for it, which is saying something (about it, and him and his ego...). This man was known for coming into an office and smashing a glass-topped desk with a golf club and firing people on the spot for yawning at his mandatory Saturday Morning Meetings, but he'd also reward long-time loyal employees with with $1000 on their 10-year anniversaries- in cash, as a taut roll of twenty dollar bills, which was impressive to look at. Dude was crazy at times, but he was legit...you don't make approximately $14 million a year in sales by only being half an asshole. But anyway, those Saturday meetings...when I started, they weren't a big deal to me because I was in the repair facility as a customer service rep and they were mostly for retail (except for The Big Meeting every January, held at the University Of Buffalo on a Sunday night for the entire organization). When I shifted over into retail, yeah, you had to be there, because everyone worked Saturdays if you were at the flagship location. And every Saturday we had a handbook quiz...twenty questions about anything that could be in that binder (my copy was in a 3-ring binder, filled with a thicker, high-quality paper...also impressive as far as school supplies go). I don't remember what the consequences were if you didn't do well on the quiz, but then again you were not supposed to not do well. I wish I had a horror story about someone failing, or getting more than one or two wrong, or not having the exact wording of a specific quote, but I don't. It was ingrained in us that this was a premier company to work for, and we were expected to treat our positions as such, and if that meant knowing the handbook in and out, then that's just one of the things we had to do to retain our gainful employment. And that's where gnothi seauton comes in, as there is a small section dedicated to it. To this day, I know the phrase and what it means. I no longer remember how the handbook words the reasoning for it being a part of our Advantage Co. existence, but I know it has played a role in my life on many occasions...I think for the most part we all want to know who we are in terms of defining ourselves in ways that other people can see and process who we are in our interactions. You may think this is overrated, and maybe it is, but that does not dilute its importance. In retail it is our job to understand, believe, and sell a product to someone else who may not be as knowledgeable about something as we are. In life, we are all selling ourselves- who we are, what we know, how we relate- to our family, friends, random people we come across in daily activities. We always want to put our best out there on display for others, whether we know we're doing it or not, or whether we're so used to doing it for so long that we don't even know it. We want people to see us for who we really are in our best looks, and it's up to you to decide if you want to buy in or pass. Facebook is an excellent example. Everyone posts their best pictures, their favorite things, etc., but you're only seeing a small percentage of that person's life. Until you interact in real time, what you're getting is only attained through what you see in edited snippets. The more layers you peel back, the better you are of understanding if you're dealing with an orange or an onion. My position is that most of us want to be oranges, but we are who we are, and there are a hell of a lot of stank nasty onions out there disguised as sweet ass oranges. We tend to get so wrapped up in shining our flaky onion skin, hoping for something or someone to bite into it, that we miss the whole point...our cores reveal so much more about us that the rinds conceal. I'm an onion. It's taken me a long, long time to get to that conclusion. And I'll admit, I often try my damnedest not to be. But in a world that often only wants to see things in black/white terms, maybe that isn't so bad. I know who I am, and I can work on it from there. I can be the sweetest variety of onion, just like any orange that isn't scientifically modified can have seeds in every section. And if that orange-type doesn't want you to see their seeds, you won't know until it's too late, much like an onion doesn't burn your eyes until you cut it. And how does this relate to the prompt? Straight facts, homie. Know your sources. Know where the story is coming from. In a biographical sense, is the book written by a guy who knows a guy who heard some stuff about the subject, or is the author a trusted reteller of actual events? And does that even matter, given the rise in authorized/unauthorized accounts? Who do you trust? Someone who hears a bunch of rumors and writes a book, or someone who pays another person to tell you what you want to hear while leaving out the shitty parts? Is leaving out the gritty details of ones' life still the truth, still the story worth reading? Does that make the glossy autobiography a work of fiction then also? Who then is more credible...the rumor mill pillager, or the subject him/herself? Paradox city, in that section of Amazon or your local library. It boils down to you and the kind of person you are and your expectations. Do you want to know everything about someone who is important enough to have a book published about them? Are you willing to take the good with the bad? Whose account do you wish to gain the most information from? Why is this important to you? I'm not physics-smart, but I know enough to know that for every action there is an opposite or inverse reaction or something like that. For everything one person believes, there will be someone else who believes the opposite. For every snotty text, there is an anonymous charitable donation. For all the broken hearts, there is peace in nations of believers. Perception is nasty that way, and sometimes there's not much that can be done about it. Sometimes people are born to see things a certain way, and no amount of factual information will stop them...while others are willing to take everything with a grain of salt before turning assumptions into real feelings. And if you know who you are- if you know as much as you can know about yourself- you're ahead of the game. Sadly, unless you're actually there in experiencing what the general public only longs to read about salaciously, there are three sides to every story...mine, yours, and the truth. And finding the truth is like finding an orange in an onion...but reclassifying every biography in those terms would raise all sortsa hell for librarians and booksellers worldwide, which no one has the time for in an era of fiscal cutbacks and the corporatization of everything having to do with thoughts, feelings, and reactions. It takes balls to stand out among the general acceptance of whatever's out there...you have to know whether you can stand it, how much of it you can take, and where it sits in your own personal grave you started digging once you started caring about something/someone. Also filed in the recess of my wanderings today was the second day's prompt for "Invalid Item" ...an event where I am supposed to bastardize another Christmastime holiday standard. And while I'm generally up for this kind of tomfoolery, I have to admit that for all the time I've had to ponder this, I'm gonna straight up make this up on the fly. Today's quote-unquote inspiration is "O Come, All Ye Faithful" , and I'm coming faithfully in the best Spammer tradition I can. I'm not good at trying to write terrible things, even though I've written terrible things. First, let's get in the mood...I'm not a Bad Religion die-hard, but I need something like this to instigate my attempt at Spamaliciously excitable writings of things. "Let us adore him!" You Sheeple Oh! Come, all you sheeple, self-righteous and indignant. "Look at me now, posting my opinions." Like and subscribe here...like and subscribe here...like and subscribe heeeeee-reeeeahh or get off of my page. Guns and Trump and bible-thumping should control your woo-ooomb. I saw it so it must be true on the internet-et...on the internet-et...on the interwebs christ, you heathens! <lots of rhetoric that don't make sense> Sing 'cuz you think Obama's a mess. I don't have no proof to stand on so I'mma just bluster...and not make sense...you don't need sennnnnnse when you wanna be king. Listen, all you sheeple... eat a bag of dicks for your time. It's better than posturing. No one cares about you...not them, nor him nor her nor you! You're just a turd.  I guess I'm fortunate enough to live close enough to a hospital that normal people can walk to and from, and because today was a nice day by typical December standards (meaning I could wear shorts in public with no fear of weather retribution) I stopped at my local 7-11 on the way home to see if it's still true that you can get a large pizza for $5 with your SNAP card. And you can...if you like a pizza that tastes suspiciously like a certain national brand of frozen pizza that you can't quite identify (totally..nuggets of pepperoni with thick pepperoni slices, and that sauce...yep, damn). Worth it for me in my situation personally, but I wouldn't recommend it for anyone else- you can't front on a local place's pies- but dammit if I ever get so hard up for pizza, now I know I can get some if I can make the effort to get there. And now I'mma gnaw on some cold-ass pizza because of my struggles, because I can. So many ughs, and so much yeah son. The Advantage Co. Christmas parties were legendary...done up at a fancy chain hotel ballroom, open bar, retail zombies allowed to let all the shit hang out for a night in suits and ties and gowns in an already highly incestuous work environment civilization...best parties ev-arrrrhhhh my man. I can proudly ( think) say that I've never experienced this much drama at any type of holiday gathering. Ok y'all...I need to get outta here and get this in before the  gets posted in the "Blogging Circle of Friends " by Prosperous Snow celebrating . Tomorrow I'm bent on scheduling my bus trip back to Buffalo for Christmas...hey PandaPaws Licensed VetTech , that means I'll be passing though your area, and I know it's a busy time of year, so I'm just sayin'  . Anyway, my legs are tired as fuck and I'm almost as tired as them, so....peace, thee be glory given, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
What's up you guys? I know it's been...  ok, I didn't quite realize it's been three weeks since the last time I decided to write a blog entry, but we can't change that now and so here we are. I've come close to wanting to write one a couple times, but honestly most days it's been more like "nah, not into it". I won't go into detail or request any kind of pity party (yet)...let's just leave it all at this (September to March) isn't my favorite time of the year (reasons being my own) and get on with our lives and my entry, capisce?! "Regardless of your beliefs, traditions, or nationality everybody likes to celebrate. - What do you celebrate? - Talk about some people who deserve to be celebrated. - Research a celebration that you know little or nothing about and write about what you learned. - Write a prompt that you think your muse might like to write on. - Don't forget: THIS IS YOUR MUSE'S BLOG, NOT YOURS. (This is a prompt in itself.) - Let your creative side be the driving force in all of your (YOUR MUSE'S) entries." Initially, I had decided I wasn't gonna run an Unofficial "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" round for December. Brother Nature (The Official Unofficial Host) has real-life stuff that needs attending, it's the holidays and WDC activities either tend to suffer slightly from lack of attendance or feature a small concentration of people huddling their words under one mistletoe, hoping for that random kiss from a stranger in the crowd, and quite frankly, I wasn't up for hosting anything or participating in anything and praying at some point I'd be able to summon up the mental fortitude to judge November's 30DBC...so I was like "Sorry guys, we're closed for Christmas as of Dec. 1st!", and as soon as I posted that I felt sad(der than normal). I started thinking that maybe I could run a week or ten or twelve days of something, but while I was trying to bleed my tired stone of a brain for ideas Joel popped into the forum with his prompt (as you can see in the italics above). A good man, that Brother Nature...one of the best around these parts if anyone asks (and seldom does anyone ask me). I'm not gonna tackle all of his suggestions at once...my entries almost always fall on the longer side as it is, and if I were to write one entry according to all six points up there, chances are I'd be here 'til Easter explaining myself. And I don't have the patience for any of that, so I'll do my best between now, this week, and any other time I might slap down an entry before your boy St. Nick and his fat ass makes it down your chimney (with care ). And I'm not doing this with the courtesy of a muse...sorry. I've taken the pains in previous entries to explain before that I don't have one (and I don't feel like looking back through over 1,000+ entries to see how I carefully worded my way around not having one or believing in the idea of one). Plus, it makes for better reading about not being into all-out celebrating if I'm also telling you without an all-out inspiration. What the industry might want here is a win-win; this is more like a settle-settle. Let's move on. You could say I celebrate Christmas...I'm good with that. But if you ask me what it means, I'll tell you...and it's all non-religical for me (but if you know me you already knew that about me). It's all about kids and seeing their faces light up with Santa's magic. However, I am no longer physically a child (mentally, on the other hand... ), nor do I have any. In fact, there aren't very many people at all left in the immediate family I celebrate with now, so that's what Christmas is...spending time with those closest. Because I live a few hours away from everyone and don't get to see them very often, that's the most important part. We'll have dinner with my brother's friend's family (they have kids, so I'm sure I'll get a Santa story or two), but hanging out with my mom and my brother for a few days or a week or however long I'm in town for (I'll be on a one-way ticket and I'm not sure when I'm returning)...that's what's up.Other than that, I don't have much to say about Christmas without being a downer...I just haven't been in the holiday spirit much in the last few years. I can't pinpoint one particular reason or cause, and I don't have a classic incident I can look back on and say that something happened to ruin all future holidays for me; I'm guessing (hoping even, maybe) that it's just situational, and maybe down the road I'll be more festive.  #FestiveGoals: 2009 me, with the best hat decoration ever. Until then, like every other time of the year I'll do what I can and play my part in trying to make the best of everything. I have family and some friends to see, and I'm thankful for that. There will be food and fun and fellowship, good conversation, and mostly joy. Gimme that and a pack of menthols, and I'll do all I can to follow along and smile. Ya know what could actually get me in the holiday spirit (and encourage me to write a little bit more often)? Making fun of traditional Christmas music! Because nothing gathers people together better than their mutual and varied dislikes and distastes...and lizco252 has donned ye all in our gayest apparel and opened up her hearth so that we all may crowd around and join our voices in one giant off-key holiday cloud. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my foray into "Invalid Item" . I can do this. This might be as  happy holidays as I get in 2015.Today's selection is "Away In A Manger Spanger" (and I'm using my poetic license to change Spanger to Spamger because that's what I wanna do), and I'm gonna be honest...I have no idea what (besides the title) the lyrics to the original actually are. I don't think I've even sung this since elementary school (back when you could get away with singing religious holiday songs in public schools). According to Beth's forum, there's supposed to be a video or lyrics or something posted to go along with today's prompt...but since I'm jumping the gun a bit and want to get this done early this morning, let's see what I can find...(and not this , which would be great if it were a little longer and of better sound quality I figure)...Not what I was looking for, but it was the best I could find for not wanting to spend more than 10 minutes looking for a punk cover. Lyrics. Away Is The Spamger Away is The Spamger; no meat for my bread. The lord of gelled ham has left me unfed. Supermarket shelves are empty this year; all the old ladies stocked up in fear that a snowstorm would come and shutter them in, leaving them without their favorite ham in a tin. Now, I'm down with The Spamger, but I'll be ok... I'll make a cheese sandwich or a PB&J. As long as I know there'll be more to come, I can get by without processed swine on my tongue. Damn those old ladies who hoarded the Spam, but at least Tofurky doesn't come in a can. Ok, it's not perfect, but it's the best I could do for now and I'm ok with it...and just like I thought I would, I feel a little bit better about the holiday season already! Plus, I've got an idea or two kickin' around for a couple of the other songs...I just hope I can give myself enough time this week to finish them all up.  So I'm going though my Pocket app (the app that lets you save links to articles so you can read them offline or on other devices...you should definitely get that app for your tablet and/or your browser) because I know I saved a couple links last year regarding weird and/or obscure Christmas songs, and I figured they'd be a nice reference to have in the event of another Soundtrackers holiday music playlist extravaganza event like last year's "12 Days of "Christmas"" . If you're looking for something off the sleigh-carved path, this list, courtesy of mental_floss , is full of exceptional numbers you've probably never heard before...except the one song I have determined is the single worst Christmas song evvv-arrrhh, "Funky Funky Xmas" by New Kids On The Block (because nothing screams "Xmas party time!" more than a shirtless Jordan Knight ...ho ho freakin' ho, y'all). Ok...well, look at that: it's not even 11am on a Sunday, and this may be the earliest I've ever written and completed a Sunday blog entry before. First time for everything, right? And that leaves me with plenty of time to grab some last-minute snacks for the Bills-Eagles game this afternoon (go Bills!)...I'll be doing my usual live-Tweeting nonsense (@fivesixer) if you like watching people make semi-asses of themselves on social media, and during commercial breaks I'll be plotting my bastardization of tomorrow's Christmas Carol Spam, "O Come All Ye Faithful Spamful". All you über-political types worried about some right-wing media-hyped War On Christmas are missing the point...the real battle is being waged by the Hall-Wreckin' Xmas Spammers, and I suggest that no matter what side you're on or what you do or do not celebrate you support our troops in the tin trenches strugglin' to provide the world's freedom to write bad parodies of holiday classics. Or somethin'. Peace, the cattle are lowing, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "Last week a church in Buffalo, NY unintentionally put a pro-homosexuality message on its outdoor sign . The sign read 'Jesus had 2 dads, and he turned out just fine'. The sign was the church pastor's idea, which he came up with after Googling 'funny church signs'...and he claims his intention was to promote a message about fathers and stepdads, and not a pro-homosexuality message. While the Catholic Church looks down mightily on gay marriage, it has also had policies against divorce and remarriage of heterosexuals. What's the bigger sin: two people of the same sex loving each other and committing to a life together, or two people of the opposite sex breaking their vows in the eyes of the church?"Hey folks. Not gonna lie...I've got almost a food coma thing going on, thanks to the second of three Thanksgiving meals in the course of a week. I'm not crazy about writing on a full stomach, let alone one that's been overserved the way I can cram turkey and stuffing down my gullet. Plus, it's a Sunday, and it always seems like WDC is closed on Sundays...except for the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" , which operates like a more reliable postal service (no wind, rain, snow, or lack of internet can shut me down). And then there's my whole dislike of writing for the prompts I come up with, which I've discussed before at length. Let's not even get into how I'm pretty much ignoring football today because I'd rather write a blog entry with three of my least favorite reasons for writing one in full effect. But I couldn't ignore this prompt, because there's this evil stir the pot nonsense lurking in me lately it seems. And the story comes from my hometown (although I pulled the original link from George Takei's Facebook page ). And the whole of it is friggin' awesome. Now, it's my opinion that damn near everything can be made more tolerable with humor, and the world is better off when people or institutions can poke fun at themselves. Couple that with my distrust of Catholicism (and religion in general), and all of this makes me proud to call myself a Buffalonian. Everyone's got an opinion, a reason, an excuse...everyone gets butthurt over petty bullshit, and takes things too seriously, and acts like they're right all the time. It's beyond aggravating. Doesn't matter what you say or how you say it anymore; someone's gonna get pissed off anyway, no matter what set you're claimin'. May as well just have a good time and let the deities sort it all out later; trust me...you're much happier when you can tune out as much unnecessary drama as you can. And I'm drifting way too far away from my own prompt  .I don't care who you pray to, or what book tells you how to "live right", or who you're getting on your knees for . When "My Application To Become The Next Pope" gets vetted and eventually accepted, I may as well edit down the holy books as well (ya know, like I plan on some day simplifying the 30DBC judging process  ) so we can stop arguing over gray areas and little things and whatever, and focus on more important facets of everyday life. Like compassion, and acceptance, and love. I don't care if your religion was founded on principles that included the killing of people who believed in things you didn't (and most religions were), or if you think everyone else is the bad guy now, or whatever your damage inside is. People who love each other are more important than people who don't love one another. There. I said it. Print it up on a t-shirt and rock that over your Sunday best. Hashtag it like #alllivesmatterexcepthaters. The idea that divorce/remarriage is equal to adultery in the eyes of The Lord is plain ol' dumb, I know. It makes no sense. But it wrecks more families than Adam and Steve gettin' down like Adam and Eve. Two dudes, or two chicks, wanna get married? Wanna provide some unwanted babies a loving home? Sure as fuck beats being shuffled off between two houses and separate families on holidays. So yes, much like many other outdated Catholic ideas, divorce is worse than gay marriage...even if all I'm basically doing here is ranking one #1 and the other #2 and that's it. Love outweighs hate. Personally, if two people can't get along, let 'em go their separate ways, no harm done. Let 'em into heaven or whatever it's called as long as they're still good people deep down. But don't tell me they're better than same-sex couples. And I know...all y'all who don't agree will have your reasons, and will love the idea of educating me on the finer principles of your beliefs, and how much of an abomination every living sin you don't happen to like is. Save it. Telling me how to feel won't make you a better Christian. Playing God's messenger to me won't expedite your path past St. Peter, especially if you're a c-word about it (and I don't like calling people cunts, but that's what you are if that's how you think religion works). And manipulating a religion's values to win arguments and look like a person you're not (which is usually something along the lines of possessing intelligence) is probably the biggest sin of them all...I'm not versed up on my churched-out lingo, but isn't there a sin word for that? Like, an important one? One that should be up there with killing and pedophilia and gankin' someone's french fries when they're not lookin'? Quick...if there isn't, someone slip in a request for one the next time the collection plate comes around. And then like this blog entry 56,000 times, and Jesus will grant you three wishes and heal all the sick kids and buy your crossing guard a new car. Why does organized religion reek of the man-made failure it often comes across as? Again, falling off point here. Just leave this pastor and his sign alone (even though he already changed it to sorta slight Walmart  ). Everyone wants to puff their nuts out over the asterisk-gasp-asterisk possible homosexuality of it all, when my man said it had more to do with JC having a dad and a stepdad than a dad and a lover-dad. And y'all know men of the cloth don't lie. Most of the time . Let it go. Bigger problems, both in religions and all over the world, than some church's sign. Everyone loves to exercise their right to be pissed off, yet no one seems to think twice about anything else but how pissed off they are. And people wonder why I hate people and find them a bad time to try and get along with in a reasonable manner.  Still my most meaningful feeling regarding religion. And since it seems like everyone else has forgotten about this except me, there was a television show in the late eighties that foretold the whole two dads thing, but from a slightly different angle (although if I'm not mistaken, they went more for the infidelity aspect in those wild and crazy progressive times, because a woman sleeping around back then and not knowing who the father of her child was could be way more legit than two dudes huggin'/touchin'/squeezin'...each other ).I had this discussion once with Charlie ~ , and I stand by it...Alice In Chains' last studio album with Layne Staley (the self-titled one with the dog on the cover) is still their best album in my opinion. Not Dirt, not Facelift...and their EP's (Sap and Jar Of Flies) are great, but they're not full bodies of work (and I really haven't cared much for what they've done since his passing). Great lyrics, the music's not overproduced hypewagon shit built more for being part of a movement than actually being a movement, and a deranged, high as fuck Layne > an angry Layne. Plus, I enjoy songs that tackle hypocrisy in religion.  Had an abnormal amount of time to kill this afternoon waiting for the local Salvation Army to open up for the turkey dinner, so I thought I'd check in on Donald Trump's latest attempts at destroying the human race making America great again. Yup, he's still racist...and now he's lying about it too . America...we're gonna have a really bad time if this guy gets elected, and he might if we're this far along into the game and people are still taking him seriously. And I don't mean "economy's in the shitter, no one's finding a job, boo-hoo everyone hates everything" bad time. I'm talkin' World War 2017-2021 bad time. Yet I'm the bad guy whose tweet randomly disappears when I say he's full of shit . Guarantee ya if I ever wanted to clear out my Facebook friends list by at least 25%, I'll quote the stats from the made-up news source in the Gawker column I just linked about crime stats that Your Highhairness busted out as gospel. I know that this guy is just as hellbent on stopping himself as he is on getting into the White House, which is the only reason I can think of as to why no one else has bothered to truly call him out yet on anything he's said. Give 'em enough rope though, like the ol' saying goes, and you'll just have to give 'em more and more before they hang themselves because they're so rich they can build bigger, dumber walls to stand on.  So I guess next month some "Star Wars" movie thing or somethin' comes out? And I hear it's a big deal. I don't watch a shit-ton of movies, but I saw a trailer for it today, and it looks hella amazing. I may have to find a way to see it...and I hope it's not one of those things where the trailer shows you the only good parts of the movie. If it doesn't look this badass all the way though I'mma be disappointed.  Ok, I don't go on Tumblr very often. I'll admit, I still sorta don't get it. But there's always funny shit on there that winds up being collected on other websites, which means I occasionally spend a lot of time clicking around and back and forth when I should just cut out the middleman and find all the cool shit on my own. I am my own laziness' biggest enemy. Anyway, there's this Buzzfeed list of amazing Tumblr posts , and yes, at least three-quarters of them are things I've probably done or wondered before. Definitely #'s 1, 2, 12, 13, 15, 17, 20, 25, and the cop in #27. Plus, I love the sound of the laminated paper in #21. If cellphone speakers weren't so shitty, I'd love to make that my text message alert (although it'll never be as awesome as the "Ninja" sound from the Blackberry I had like five years ago).  And finally, speaking of religicallion fanaticalisms (don't front on my made-up wordness, especially if you need to look up at the sky to see if it's raining ), ummmm...everyone's three favorite words: Westboro Baptist Church . Entertain yourself with some fun facts about them. I was so moved by #1 that I actually posted it on Facebook today, and I had no idea they spoofed a Michael Jackson charity song (and called it, of all things, "God Hates The World"). I think if Trump does get elected as the next US president, his cabinet's gotta be WBC. It'd only serve to be his most logical decision, even though the point of politics typically defies logic. Alright, well, that wasn't so bad...I set myself a goal when I came home and finally started this entry to be done by Sunday Night Football, and I've cut it close so that's good enough for a win in my book. Now to figure out a prompt for Monday's 30DBC and pretend like I wasn't even here, so I can eventually sleep off all the pounds of food I've been ingesting like a starving refugee nope, too soon man who will never see turkey again (because I'll pray it's just that easy ). Peace, this god of mine relaxes, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "How many of you out there have been thinking about your golden years? Where would you want to retire if money wasn't an issue?"Oh man you guys...what's up? My blog calendar thingy says I haven't written a blog entry in sixteen days, which normally wouldn't be too much of a story in itself because I'll go through stretches like that...but I'm not even gonna count the marathon 9-entries-in-1-night bout of creative ridiculousness I suffered from the night of Halloween (where I had to make up all my late entries for the "Resurrection Jukebox" ) because they weren't real entries in the sense of how I come up with them. So it's been a really long time (and yes, I'm too lazy to look back just exactly how long, but when I'm saying it's been awhile, it's been awhile). And on top of that, I've been without internet at home for almost exactly as long (which means it's been really long, because an hour without internet is like seven dog years or some other unquantifiable mathematical formula). The building's maintenance guy happens to also be the one who supplies our floor with the wi-fi, and he decided to put a password on it, so I had to rely on the public library for awhile (when my laptop and/or tablet would actually connect to their stingy system...I've bitched about that plenty enough though), and I eventually figured out how to access WDC on my phone that was made for calling people and not doing useful/fun internet stuffs (and oh my gawd with the data charges...even stingier), but let's just wrap up this paragraph by saying the whole of November so far has been one giant bundle of suck, and not even a bundle of dollar-store suck, but like the bags of suck no one wants at the places they give out bundles of suck for the needy which then just sit around for months collecting even more suck until it gets thrown out but not in the dumpster- next to it, because why would a bundle of suck deserve a proper disposal- and then the shady homeless guys are like "Check out my great new (old but new to me) bundle of suck!" Thank you, November.  So here I am, first full day of internet at home in like two weeks, and I should be ecstatic! I watched football last night and fell asleep to SportsCenter, and woke up today all prepared to write a blog entry with links open already and a general idea of how it's gonna go down...annnnnnnd nope. In less than a half hour's time, I have reverted to a state of I'mma Cut A Bitch, and it's all because I decided to visit the general public first (and it may or may not be related to medication changes and the sense of malaise having a bad month can bring on one's soul, but it's just so much easier to blame other people...especially when it's so easy). See, it became lunchtime, and I was feeling the hunger a little. I went to the spot I often go to, which is a church at the back end of my building's parking lot. I'm not churchy- y'all know me better than that- but it's a decent meal that I don't have to cook or clean up after, and I'm in a position right now where I'm not gonna complain when someone says "Free food!", so I go. And yeah, the cafeteria area is generally filled with old people who are one rung on the ladder below needing assistance to eat, shower, and socialize, but there's also a decent amount of what we refer to colloquially as "White Trash". And then there's me, with a book and my headphones and a scowl...but I'm getting food, so whatever. And I left before lunch was served. I had a cup of coffee and a biscuit, and I was gone. Usually there are one or two really old guys there who need a push shove into washing machine, and if I avoid them it's tolerable...but it seems multiple people have caught the stink this week. And no matter where I went, it was everywhere. Not a "weird overcooked meal all the crazy old people eat" scent. Not the aroma of filthy pond on the lam from the highway trying to outrun itself as well. Not an episode of CSI where they walk in on a days-decomposed body...no amount of Vicks Vap-O-Rub under the nose would've helped. I had apparently stepped into The Church Of The Great Unwashed. It's serious when I walk away from free food. And that's all it takes for me lately to become mentally unwound. I have been soiled again by humanity, and it has outworked all the goodwill I'd just earned back from having something work out in my favor. I'm trying to calm down, but it may take me awhile. Please bear with me while I write out my frustrations...seeing as it's difficult enough for me at times to find the will to leave the house, being shunned by the grooming habits of others (or lack thereof) can be a major blow in trying to overcome my anxiety and other social phobias. Oh what a tangled web my mental health has weaved for me. Now watch as I parlay this into today's "Blogging Circle of Friends " prompt. I'm 40 years old, or roughly at the halfway point of an arbitrary average life expectancy. There are many definitions of "golden" in relevance to anniversaries and such, like a 50th wedding anniversary being "golden", etc. So let's say I've got ten years before I can think about what it means to be "golden", because not all these things hit a person directly. Then, there's "retirement age", which varies I guess, but let's face it: I haven't worked gainfully in over three years because of different disabilities. What the fuck am I gonna retire from? I can't walk or stand for extended periods of time, and my main job experience is retail (which is little more than standing and walking all the time). At this rate, my "golden/retirement quotient" may exceed my average life expectancy, and that doesn't take into account heredity factors or lifestyle deviancy. Therefore, I'm probably gonna need more time before I'm truly "golden". Thanks for reminding me. So let's say I make it to live to be 150, a number which is "triple-golden". First of all, shame on Hallmark for not being on point with their "Congrats on 150!" line of cards; they've got every other miscellaneous bullshit excuse to give someone a card, and with my run of luck I'll probably make it to that point and can't be feted for it because "Fuck you, Norb!" Second, even if science and technology and medicine advance so rapidly in the next half of my life to prolong my existence to nearly twice its capacity, what kind of shape am I gonna be in? I can't get out of bed in the morning now as it is without hoping my legs don't decide to give out under the sheer weight of the first forty years' worth of beatings they've survived...how effin' crippled am I gonna be at 140? Science hasn't even been able to build a microwave that can cook a Hot Pocket so the temperature of the insides is consistent with each bite, and I'm supposed to believe they're gonna be capable of reversing the aging process so that I can once again be a spry ol' man able to outrun cars when I'm crossing the street? C'mon man. Thirdly, we all know Life Is Too $hort , so how's that gonna work when life gets even longer? What if you feel like you've lived just enough? "Peace out, I'm good with all this...", and then you're stuck with another 30 or 80 god damn years of WTF-ery and whys? I'm pretty sure that's how you end up being the old guy at the free lunch that no one can stand the stink of...like, regardless of how far we advance in society or medically, something will always click in your brain that triggers the "I've given up on life-itis; now if only the rest of my systems would comply". Something's gotta give, ya know? And the prospect of where I'd want to live out the rest of those days, with money being no object? The way my mind works versus the way my luck runs, I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm not gettin' on that bus/train/plane to the next/final phase, because of paranoias, phobias, and whatnot. I'm not gonna chance the possibility of death by transportation when I could be trying to live out in bliss. I may make stupid decisions at times, but oh no brothers and sisters- not this time. I'mma stay put, with my music and my menthols (if money's not a problem in this scenario, neither are smokes and cancer). I'm better off this way; a broken heart several times removed hasn't done me in, anger and disgust haven't brought upon too much of a blood pressure spike, and my limitations as a person of mental well-being haven't stroked me out or given me the HIV, so why start risking shit now? Hell, I might just even stop updating my antivirus definitions on my laptop when the Grim Reaper starts lurkin', and maybe go for a swim less than a half hour after eating, just to make it look like I'm stickin' it to the afterworld, but deep down I'll know nothing's gonna kill me later that hasn't already yet. Christ, now I feel like myself how we all looked at my crazy Italian gramma Rosie...she's gonna outlive us all, and spit on our graves because we used drugs, dated girls who weren't Italian, and thought we were gay openly and brazenly questioned our sexuality in front of our boyfriends/girlfriends at family holiday dinners. When you feel like your life is ruined at times, and you're still around to shake a fist and proclaim divine existence without the help of religion (smelling nice helps too), then I guess you're doin' alright and it doesn't matter where or how you spend "golden years"...you're golden already.  "Ludwig Wittgenstein said: 'I wanted to write that my work consists of two parts: of the one which is here, and of everything which I have not written. And precisely this second part is the important one.' Do you agree with Wittgenstein and believe that what you haven’t written yet is more important than what you have already written?"The quick, 3-second Wikipedia background check : dude was a philosopher who worked in math, logic, and language...three of his brothers committed suicide, and he contemplated it himself. He's a major player in lotsa smart stuff, and was prone to mental illess. Alright; I can get down with him. I think my man Ludwig is spot-on, and not just because I lived on Ludwig Ave. in my teen years, or worked with a guy once whose last name is Ludwig and has gone on to take pictures that have appeared in USA Today and in many other news articles all around. Basically, and I think any person who writes anything regardless of their current feelings (be it writer's block, or a period of sustained the levee broke) can dig this: what we have already written and posted and published so far is a known quantity, and what lies ahead may be greater than we or anyone else can imagine. What's already been put out there has been seen, and we mostly know all we know about it...our own feelings, the criticisms, the stats, if you will. And yet we make the choice to soldier on, because at some point we will either ride momentum, or rediscover passion. The point is to keep believing and keep doing; remain optimistic in the sentiment that we can/will touch someone with something of varying importance to others. There was a certain joy writing brought us once, and whether or not we feel it, a reader might, so for that we must push on...even if we don't live long enough to see the outcome, the appreciation, the questions. I'm on board with this guy. Like, for instance: my personal writing output that isn't blogging has definitely lagged over the years, but not having internet the last couple of weeks sorta forced me back into (my version of) poetry writing, if only for the sheer time-killing enjoyment. Not great stuff by my standards, but items I'll eventually share ("Purpose?" came about after, of all things, a therapist session- well-timed with my current state of aggravation, "Nine-Four" and "The Broken Code For Remembering" are pretty decent, and "Cryptogram" might be my favorite, sparked from an ongoing conversation with pinkbarbie because I'm a difficult person at times). I know how what I've written and posted for consumption by others has been received so far. After awhile, the reactions settle into their respective places. But what isn't available yet, and what the reactions are, is a great unknown. Maybe they too will rest in the "Good, But Not Great" part of my canon...or maybe they're part of my turning a corner into some vast pantheon that centuries later will be discovered (like, when I'm triple-golden ). Who knows? There rests an excitement in that...like posting a blog entry where you get really deep and serious and wait for it to be liked twenty times because of how awesome it is, only without the disappointment of waking up to it not even getting ten views. I'm not gonna rewrite the Bible or the Constitution. I get that. But I've made a difference to people before using only words, and within that lies the hope that maybe I can do it again. We all write whatever we write for different reasons; there are as many genres and excuses and feelings as there are interpretations and understandings and circumstances. We like what we like and that's where we gravitate toward, and sometimes the lines are blurred and we become drawn to something completely out of our comfort zone because one blurb smacked us up in the domepiece with the importance. Once in awhile, we're the domepiece smackers, and we know it, and it's a great feeling...and that leads us to think that we can do it again. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but if we stay true to what we do and who we are, then we won't be so consumed with being it, and we can just keep doing it. Also, eat a good breakfast, and like the Good Sir Of Canada Brother Nature once said, "Never give up."It does sorta feel nice not to have to pick out music related to dead people, even though I love the research that can go into Rez Juke entries (I learned a lot...like I'm not Cinn -level, but I'm comfortable with where I am and open to more discovery). That said, the playlist changes often along with what life throws at you...today, I was almost sated by using David Bowie's "Golden Years", but I hated it because I hate obvious shit (not that Bowie's shit by any means...just a...well, you know). So I'm out on my walk after the church stank episode because I'd planned to go afterward anyway to CVS to get me some strawberry sparkling water (my god damn everyday thing, because it's delicious and cancer-causing aspartame) and the cute girl works today (I need to stop with the whole cute girl thing at drug stores, but that's another biographical story for another day) and this song comes on and I'm like "YASSSSS!!" so I don't care if this has showed up in an entry or six before. I'm about this daily, because from what I've seen, a reboot is in order. Maybe it makes you sad, or it clashes with your worldview, or I piss you off, or whatever. My blog, my life, don't care. We all see things through different lenses...not like I'm gonna bomb Paris or Atlanta or your hometown anytime soon ever. A Republican presidential candidate recently got away with saying "Shit Stuff happens"...and it's not like I'm close to bombing anything or becoming a Bush brother bent on carrying out Reagan's "blow 'em all up" terrorist campaign. I'm just sick of real people doing real people things in their environment...so much so that I don't have time nor patience for fake people and their propaganda. If I'm gonna grow old and stink, I want this played at the wake for me no one goes to but seems to know where the banquet is held after I'm grounded six under.  Like I mentioned up above, I haven't been totally inactive when it comes to writing. But I've been reading my ass off too, which is amazing because I don't know if I've ever devoted so much time and effort into reading before (and I've worked in a bookstore- with positive results- for the love of your own deity). I credit the Goodreads app on my tablet, which has kept me accountable for what I've read and liked and shared and progress I've made (if you want to see my truth about it, mouse yourself over here ). I think I signed up for it in spring or early summer, and I've read 17 books so far, which sounds absolutely ridiculous to me, but I guess it's legit. And so many of your WDC friends are already my friends and your friends and are doing it, so you should too (peer pressure thing in effect)...Elle - on hiatus  , Future Mrs. B  , 💙 Carly  , Jaeff | KBtW of the Free Folk  , they all do it. Get that app. Impress your friends with your reading skills, or just mystify yourself with all the reading you do, and get some inspiration to read something else out of your TBR (to be read) list/stack. You'll thank us all.  And I've added to my virtual TBR pile, thanks to the coming across of The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson , and the new book she has out, Furiously Happy. My local library system, while it's great with all the new-ish DVDs they have (and the sorta nice people that work there now as opposed to the cagey, stuffy shitheads before), has me 9-of-11 on the local waiting list for this (which means there might actually be some seriously smart and/or depressed people on the same waiting list). I may have mentioned her before, but the link to her blog was in my Pocket (another great app you should get, for syncing links between all your devices), and I found out about her via an NPR article, which... Today is the 20th anniversary of "This American Life" on NPR. Back when I moved to Cortland all I had was a radio, and it was NPR and oldies all the time here at The Gable Inn. You're never too old for NPR, as I learned. It's informative, helpful, cleansing...especially when it's all you have between crosswords and Sudoku puzzles. In the midst of reorganizing my room (another pitfall of no-internet boredom) I came across one of the radios I had, and I almost pulled it out just to have some "current" noise going on, but I didn't feel like trying to pull in stations I was no longer familiar with and I grew obsessed with my iTunes account (where there was music I had not realized was no longer available unless I'd downloaded it from my purchase history again) and then I dropped an 18-gallon plastic tub containing my cd collection on my head while trying to store it up in a nook in my room...Thank you, November; as if I needed more head injuries. But hey, NPR is pretty great actually. That's my word. And finally, my man Charlie Sheen came out as HIV-positive this morning, and the media wants to eat it up like there's no other shit to worry about...like no one else is winning; the tiger blood has been swallowed up for good. Fuck 'em, I say...good for this guy, this a-hole, y'all think. No, he's not a god damn hero, but he's brave for coming out and saying it, being in the position he's in...how many others are hiding it? How many people have watched his tv shows, and secretly (or not so much) loved his characters, and gave his assholery a pass in the past because he's a batshit actor? Like he's the first one to have indiscretions. Yours just aren't as public as his. I'm cringing just thinking about how ridiculous the Facebook and Twitter worlds would be if they existed 25-some odd years ago when Magic Johnson (only perhaps the greatest NBA point guard ev-ahhhh) retired from the game because of his hivvie prognosis. Oh, the outpouring of racial epiteths on social media! "That <n-word> deserved it!!" No. No one deserves a disease, no matter what him or her does. Eat from the hobo's bag of suck that I referenced earlier in this entry, and tell me otherwise. Tell me any asshole deserves what he gets because of his stature, bombast, or shithead living, and I'll tell you all about someone fighting for his life with a disease you can't see and I'm absolutely sick about ringing the bell for. And I know depression isn't the same as HIV or AIDS, and I'm certainly no celebrity (even though I'm still the Blog Champ, in my words), but hey...don't fuck with someone who comes out for anything, even if it's for their own sake. Deep down we're all human, fighting our own battles...sometimes it comes out with Tiger Blood, and sometimes we become hermits searching for why we are the way we are. We're all dealing with shit...even the postcard families waving around at you from across the coast. You just don't know...you never know. Just be nice to people. I know it's been said before, but someone's fighting a bigger battle than you, so stay humble. <insert a haha here...no, don't; let your audience do it>Alright you people, I'm gonna try to eat something because I foresake lunch and wow is a nap from that calling me. Know where your bread is always buttered, even if you're the one butterin'. Peace, don't let the world bring you down, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! Don't act like y'all don't agree with it. |
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