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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" !   |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up folks? It finally happened today...I got my first sunburn of the year. Only a mild one; no big deal...and in a day or two I'll likely be tan for the rest of the summer. I'm lucky like that. I'm also probably some kinda walking melanoma, but whatever...I'll burn that bridge once I cross it. I think I was only out for about two, maybe two and a half hours (or long enough to make a trip to the store, come back, and read about seventy more pages Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle), but it was like the peak time when the sun's at its most potent. The only thing worse than being sunburned when you're sunburned...is that first shower after. You know as soon as the water hits you like a rainstorm of broken glass and needles endlessly scraping and pricking you that you need to be careful, but your arms aren't in that TLC caregiver mode at all...you load up the scrubbie with the bodywash, and you start goin' at it like you always do, and you may as well be usin' a cheese grater. Why does my muscle memory hate me like this?! Same thing all over again when you start to towel off too...you know your arms just put you through a traumatic experience, and yet here they go, determined to start another Civil War between the right and left sides of your body. But whatever; I ain't complainin'...even though I got caught in another typical Cortland downpour that was bad enough to force me to temporarily abandon my walk home underneath a bank's drive-thru tunnel. I don't understand how it goes from sunny and awesome all day...to a five minute long tornado-fest of swirling wind that blows up dust hard enough to sting...to another five minutes consisting of a torrential downpour that leaves an inch of standing water in the parking lot of my building once it's over. It's unanswered questions and odd quirks like this that made me stop wanting to care about weather so long ago in the first place. And besides, I have an entry to write for the "Invalid Item" . Since I'm feeling sorta blank about the pictures we've been given (nobody's fault for that, by the way...I'm probably emotionally and spiritually running on empty for whatever reason), I've decided I'm gonna attempt a short little poem and then bid this whole post adieu.  Bleed Electric I wasn't you...I couldn't be what you managed to put inside me. I tried to change my currents into an emotional currency spent through matching an intention bent to reciprocate all you meant to do for me. I love you but honestly I'm not willing and it's killing me. The way you infected me was stronger than respect should be and when I scratch the itch of your body against me, I can't set myself free. I don't bleed for love or to feel your power from above me. I won't need compatibility to tear open my electricity. Well, that didn't take too long and it wasn't so bad...I might even keep that piece around and maybe tweak it a little (if I remember to). But as of now it's a Sunday night, and you've got better things to do, and I've got better things to blow off, so let's agree to part ways for now and hopefully meet up again soon. Peace, that happiness is mine, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** Ugh...what's happenin'? I just woke up a little while ago from a nap I didn't expect to take, ate a quick dinner that was basically half a bag of pizza Combos, and I have no idea how I'm gonna feel like pullin' out an entire entry this evening. But that's for me to worry about, and not saddle you guys with.  Sorry, people of the "Invalid Item" ...the "teddy bears in a suitcase" picture was just too cute for my liking today. And I just realized it's more like an envelope with a stamp in the corner, but my inattentiveness at 11am has no bearing (oh geez...no pun intended) on my choice tonight. So about the guy in this picture instead...there's an ominous tone going on here, as in wherever this guy ends up next, everyone else is probably gonna have a bad time. Whether he's gonna jump from that building, or retreat back inside and head for a conference room with some kind of assault weapon designed to take out mass quantities of white collar criminals, the only breath of certainty I have is that there won't be a happy ending. I'm inclined to think that a mass shooting is gonna occur. Maybe because anytime one happens in our country, the media dickrides it for clicks and giggles as a means of keepin' the fear fresh...whatever "fear" that is. And I'm not trying to trivialize any recent tragedy, but you can pretty much swap out names, locations, and bodycounts, and the story is basically the same. <young white male> enters <site> in <location>, opens fire, and kills <x-amount of> people. The only thing different is the killer's backstory, but even then how much variance is there...or, perhaps more importantly, how much is the media willing to tell us? And I wasn't gonna approach this angle, but since I'm wingin' this entry anyway I may as well. On Tuesday in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" , I posed this prompt: "When a situation such as a mass shooting occurs, a lot of people tend to throw out their own theories regarding what needs to take place in order to prevent them from happening again. Often you'll hear someone say there should be a better focus on mental health, but seldom does anyone saying this go into detail it seems. What do you think someone suggesting mental health as a solution to violence is referring to?" And I haven't had a chance to see everyone's responses yet, but the mental health aspect is very curious to me because it feels like the media wants to throw around the phrase "mental health" without actually going into detail as far as what they mean and how exactly they think it should be addressed. I think it's a valid question from a general reporting standpoint alone, but it's also concerning to me because I'm considered a mental health patient due to severe depression and anxiety...if this is an issue worthy of discussion every time some kid shoots up a church or school, then any particular social outcome may lead to ramifications for people like myself down the road. I mean, ok...that could be a bit of a stretch, but given the nature of the subject it's gonna be something that stays in the back of my mind whenever violence like this occurs. Certain mental health illnesses are still stigmatized in many societies, even as we become more accepting and understanding of them. It's a complex topic alone, and it's clouded even more by people who aren't clear in what they're trying to say when speaking about it at a national level. This tends to confuse people who aren't familiar with the subject, and what happens when there's confusion? We make assumptions and lump everyone into the same basic categories...leading to the stigmatization of what is generalized as "mental illness". It becomes a circle that everyone who isn't afflicted with it or affected by it seems to become an expert on, without really saying anything in terms of what they mean or how to go about determining what role it plays in certain tragedies. It can be frustrating to someone like me, who has to consider how the general public reacts in these circumstances. How much information will I have to disclose to an employer, who may decide not to hire me because I have an illness that has led a tiny percentage of people to do terrible things? Who else needs to know, and how much? Even though I'm absolutely on the side of less guns and wouldn't know how to go about hurting anyone with one, it only takes enough politicians to say they don't want to take any chances with people like me if they want to restrict our freedoms "for the sake of preventing senseless tragedies in the future". Don't laugh...if it's ok for Joe Sixpack gun owner to be concerned that the government wants to take away his huntin' rifle, then I have just as much reason to be concerned that America wants a return to pre-20th century institutionalization for those with mental disorders. I'm critical enough of a thinker to understand that neither scenario in this argument is likely, but don't we all occasionally fall down the "what if" rabbit hole? If one of the many roles of media is meant to encourage discussion, and discussion opens up avenues for change, intelligent people should be able to rationalize both sides of the topic. The problem is that most corporately-controlled media outlets come with prepackaged agendas that blind and bind everyone into a black/white, us-versus-them mentally, and intelligence gets thrown out the window. I could continue, but I've rambled so far off the original purpose that it's better if I just save that for another day and start reeling this entry in. Suppose this guy is just an average, normal guy on the surface. Maybe he works in this building, with bankers or lawyers or executive types. He sees what goes on...unscrupulous activity, legal loopholes, etc. He knows people are getting screwed by interest rates, bad mortgage deals, and higher-ups who are just lining their pockets on the backs of everyday people like him. And he's had enough. He could call them out on it, and risk losing his job and his livelihood, or he can take matters into his own hands and eliminate another negative force in society. He's got a choice to make, and neither one is going to end well for him. He knows he can't live with himself much longer if he's associating with crooks who will never see the inside of a jail cell. He has to ask himself which option he would prefer, if the closest outcome either way is death. There's no right answer. There are no winners here.  "Create a set of circumstances which a reasonable person would indeed cry over spilled milk. Or, create something with an unwise owl, a disloyal dog, a demanding cat, a slow rabbit and a fast turtle...a story, a poem; make it yours."First, congrats to Lyn's a sly fox  and everyone in Blog City on hitting Day 500! How exciting! That's a pretty solid milestone...here's to 500 more!  I honestly don't know what to do with either prompt offered up today. I could try to make something outta spilled milk, but I don't even like milk and the expression itself doesn't inspire me. And I really don't feel like writing a poem or a story at the moment...even if the prompt with the different animals sorta feels like it'd be something out of a cutaway in an episode of Family Guy. I could totally see Peter saying something like "Yeah, like that time I was stuck in a knock-off of the Enchanted Forest, and instead of Winnie The Pooh I had to deal with a dog that constantly stole money from me and sold all my junk to support his outta control honey pie habit..." and then you'd see a clip of an orange-ish, overweight dog wearing only a t-shirt as he gets stuck in a doggy door because he's fiendin' again, while the rest of his forest buddies are like "WTF, not again, you asshole" and they just decide to go chill at the fast turtle's place because he's stealing wi-fi from his neighbor so they can binge watch the next season of Orange Is The New Black, even though Peter still feels kinda bad for the dog until he just kinda looks around like "screw this guy" and he snags the honey pie just so he can start eating it by the two-fingersful fistful...only to eventually get hooked on it himself, and the irony is that he's thrown into a rehab version of OITNB. I know that's one giant run-on sentence, but it's the best I feel like doing today, and everyone always told me as long as I gave it my best shot it didn't matter if I won or lost, or somethin'.   "What words drive you crazy? They can be slang words, phrases, misused words, or anything else that riles you up when you hear it."I had to really think about this, because there are probably lots of words that annoy me, but I've been trying hard lately (ok, for a couple years now) not to actively show it. And this might come off as sounding petty, but ever since I dated a girl in high school who jokingly called me a dummy, that word has the potential to absolutely grate my nerves. And it's all semantics...but it wasn't the word itself or how she implied it. It was the way it came out of her mouth that irritated the fuck outta me. I don't believe she could help it; it was her normal tone of voice, but ironically it sounded really dumb when she said it, which obviously made it worse because she wasn't I guess what you'd consider a dumb person. It just sounded like she had a 1st grade reading level and some kind of speech impediment whenever she'd say it (and I don't mean to offend anyone who can't read or actually has a speech impediment, because even though I can be mean and rude at times, I would never make fun of someone for that, seriously). So yeah, I've been called a lot of different things before, and I've learned how to take insults and kidding around with a grain of salt...but chances are, if you call me a dummy, the memory of her saying it is where my head's gonna go to, and I'm gonna do everything in my power not to knock your chiclets down the back of your throat.  The last couple of mornings I've woken up with an absolutely random song in my head, completely unrelated to anything I watched or read online the night before or dreamt. The other day it was "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole, which I don't even think is on my iPod (and if it was, with how I've been music-wise lately I would've skipped it anyway), and today it was this song. Before I looked at Charlie ~  's BCOF prompt or even got out of bed, this chorus was repeating over and over. And it's not that I dislike this song, because I enjoy The Monkees, but there could've been better tunes by them stuck in my cranium.   It's funny how sometimes different words can mean different things to different people, yet we generally associate images and logos with certain products and companies first, and our feelings about them second. Maybe that's why I think this list of images with honest slogans is so funny...they're all well-known products, but you can't deny that all of these adjusted taglines wouldn't be out of place if they were actually on the packaging or showed up in commercials. The TMZ one especially nails it. Remember back in April when the 30DBC went on the cruise ship for a month, and one of the ways Charlie ~ , Brother Nature  and I would pass the time was by holding Roomba tournaments in the ship's hallways? Well, Amazon.com held a "Black Friday" type of event called Prime Day, offering a bunch of deals on crap nobody really needs, and I guess a lot of people weren't satisfied with what they were pushing...but I think this guy went a little too far and perhaps lifted an idea of mine from some of our April blog entries  ...  Speaking of words, this writer makes a strong case for a new word of Japanese origin to be included as part of American etymology that I think we can all agree on : tsundoku, which translates into "new books that pile up on our shelves". I'm pretty sure a lot of us have a decent TBR (to be read) stack that never quite seems to get smaller, no matter how much we read.  And finally, Buffalo and the National Football League as a whole lost a legend and a long-time institution last night when former Bills play-by-play man Van Miller passed away at age 87 . Like many Buffalonians, he was our gateway into football, with a distinctive voice that ebbed and flowed with the action happening on the field. He knew how to sell the moment, and he coined some of the most memorable phrases certainly in Buffalo's sporting history, and perhaps the game itself. Here's a really nice article reliving some of his greatest calls . Rest in peace Uncle Van...thank you for the memories, and for teaching us how to Billieve.Well, that's all I've got for you guys tonight. I'm gonna edit this, convince myself to keep judging 30DBC entries, laugh at the notion and tell myself I can get back into that tomorrow, and see how much more time I can waste on the ol' internet thingey before I waste time while trying to falling asleep. Peace, there's no denying, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up you guys? Today's entry might not be the most original, but it's sure to warm your heart and maybe, just maybe, produce a tear or two from even the coldest, darkest of souls (like mine). And if that's not enough of a caution, I suppose I should warn you that the following image might be a little graphic and/or unsettling.  Yes, I know what it looks like, and yes, it's very sad if that's the direction your mind wants to take you with this picture. But that's not what I'm gonna talk about. Last week, a Toronto radio station posted a pic on Facebook of a dead raccoon outside its downtown studio. Not a big deal if you don't think wildlife animals roaming city streets isn't a big thing. Because I have pretty much no life and summer days can be pretty slow, I got to bear witness to a true saga unfolding in real time throughout the course of the day. Animal Control was notified...and then...nothing. 102.1 FM stayed on top of the situation, updating everyone through Facebook and Twitter on the poor dead animal's status. All day long, he baked on a concrete slab waiting for his proper clean-up (there's a sentence I never thought I'd write). Eventually, a city council member joined in on the Tweet parade, injecting a bit of urgency and humor into what was unfolding as a heartbreaking tale of a raccoon taken before his time. And in the wait for authorities, the good people of Toronto stepped up and did the right thing...the humane thing. They memorialized him. I wish I was making this up...but really, even the most adept storytellers would struggle trying to come up with something so unbelievable. True and sad, yet funny, given the outpouring of the community and their support of this fallen creature. You can follow the entire story here, as it's been broken down by Buzzfeed . In my opinion, the councilman (Norm Kelly) is the real hero of the day...congrats good sir! You've just earned yourself another Twitter follower! And let's not forget about the kind souls who launched a fundraising campaign to hopefully ensure a proper burial. For all the shit Buffalonians like to give Canadians when they come into town for the weekends to take over our malls and trash our parking lots, you've done a wonderful service to humanity that all mankind can be proud of. But the story doesn't end there, my friends...just the other day, not only was the occurrence of his untimely demise noted with an on-site headstone, but Conrad (as he has been dubbed) was also named the unofficial mascot of the 2015 Pan-Am Games . Nothin' like a feel-good story to start off your weekend, huh?  "I was reading a blog outside WDC (shhh don't tell) and the author was talking about how to address summer slumps with blogging. Some of her suggestions were okay but others don't apply to us at all. Then I got to thinking...many of you have been blogging for a while now. Do you have any suggestions to keep our blogging on track? I know some of you are not in summer right now but you probably have the same fatal attraction with real life...as those of us here in the states. Help! What works for you?" I skimmed through the list Lyn's a sly fox 's link provided, and I agree that most of it doesn't apply to us. I don't wanna quite say it's garbage, but most of the suggestions are rather pointless...at least to me they are. And I'm no expert on blogging, despite what you might've heard, so I don't know that I have any fail-safe tips to add that you wouldn't already know.Blogging suffers when it's nice out for the same reason football in Los Angeles hasn't always been a tremendous draw (considering that L.A. is one of the largest television markets)...there's simply too many other alternatives, and lots of better things to do. Consider today...here in Cortland it's a gorgeous, sunny day, with temps in the mid-70's. I should be outside, working on tanning my 25% Italian skin. But let's not talk about me and my factors for staying inside (like my aversion to people pretty much constantly, or that I can no longer run up and down a basketball court). Personally, my options are limited, and writing this will likely be the bulk of my entertainment for the day. But you...you have choices! And who wouldn't take rockin' a dope pair of swim trunks just 'cuz you can over sweatin' balls in a hot room?  I guess you could do a few things to alter/enhance your discipline...maybe take your laptop or tablet outside if your wireless internet lets you, and if it doesn't, it wouldn't hurt you to exercise your fingers by actually physically writing down on paper what you want to say in your blog. Unless you're like me and your handwriting's deteriorated to the point where deciphering it is harder than breaking into an ATM...maybe then just copy the prompts you want to use down and start composing an entry offline (just don't try to save it unless you know for certain your browser will retain the input...thank you, gods of Google Chrome). You could also force or shame yourself into making more time, while neglecting all the real-life responsibilities you have like gardening, parenting, or basic housework. That works for me because I don't have a garden or kids, and I live in a very small area which isn't hard for a halfway decent person to keep clean. And if you join groups on WDC, you'll have the inbox reminders burrowing a little space in the back of your head that whisper "You should write something today...in your blog, even." Again, I don't have to worry about that because I kinda pretty much already do what I damn well please. So maybe I'm not the most shining example of advice-giving. I never said I was, but if you ever need to know anything, don't hesitate to come to me for helpful tips I almost always never seem to put into practice for myself.   "Tell us about a book or a song that you've connected with on a deep level. What was about it that affected you so much?"Since I'm already going for all the low-hanging fruit with today's prompts, you should probably have guessed that I'll be opting for "song" in this portion of today's shit-flinging of words against your internet's walls (but if you must know, I've already decided that if I ever have a son, he'll be named Holden after the main character of The Catcher In The Rye and not Norbert IV). I woke up this morning at an ungodly 6:30am, which is very unusual for me, but that grief for lost sleep was tempered by my joy for this prompt. I immediately picked out two songs I love and would've been interested in using now, but then I realized my emotional connections to them aren't as severe as what I'm about to musically break you with. And therein lies the difference...you loving a song isn't the same as the song loving you so much that it forces memories upon you and owns you and shreds your soul into splinters each time you hear it. I'm the kind of person that attaches lots of memories to their respective songs...but only a few songs can break me down and turn my stoic charm into a near-blubbering mass of emotion in skin form the way "A New Found Interest In Massachusetts" by The Get Up Kids does. Here's a brief history of me biographically: I basically grew up on Oldies and Hip Hop, fell into the Grunge trap of the nineties, and progressed from there into all the early, non-commercial Emo. When I lived with my boy DMFM at The Ruckushouse, he kept talking about TGUK and how I should check them out, so I did...bought a couple cds, listened once or twice, wasn't impressed, and figured I'd just die a happy Radiohead death. But something moved me to relisten to those Get Up Kids discs again...I don't know what, but it likely could've been drunken heartbreak. And I fell in love- I swooned- over those songs. They opened me up to knowing that I wasn't the only lovelorn douchebag out there. And that was another arrow in my sensitivity quiver. I saw love and relationships in an entirely new light...I became capable of expressing broken heartedness not through the popular Nu-Metal of the era, but with the aid of intensely sad, almost poetic lyricism. Couple that with eventually falling way too hard for a girl who lived entirely too far away (Florida can seem impossible when you've never really traveled far), and channeling emotions into the songs you listen to all the time doesn't seem like the worst thing in the world at that point. Enter this song, please and thank you. Once this beautiful girl and I came to our senses and before it became obvious that our long history of phone calls and love letters wasn't gonna amount to anything more, the original version (not the cheesy, emotion-void piano remake) grew to define us. There was a period of a couple of years where I couldn't listen to it...it was too much for me to bear inside. You shouldn't punish yourself over someone that way, as I figured out too late after the fact. But it's still a great song...underappreciated by the masses, and loved collectively by the hardcore Emo kids of the old school for its sentimentality. And that noise you hear around the 1:34 mark...that's the sound of your heart ripping out of your chest in longing and admiration of that special someone. I doubt the lost heart intended ever thinks of me when she hears this song now, but I'll always associate it with her.  I don't do a whole lot of grocery shopping, because I only have to feed one mouth, but if I can't meet this guy then someday I wanna shop at the store he works at , because he's a genius (and so very helpful!). He's almost as cool as Shane from Walmart . Ok, well, I thought I had more to add today, but now I'm an emotional, rememberative mess and it looks like I've done enough here. I'm still not going outside, because now it looks like it might rain, and that means maybe I'll catch up on the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" entries I've been conveniently avoiding judging all week (and I was doing so well on keeping up with them too this time around). Oh, me. Anyway, peace, I'd do anything for you, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up blog fam? My week's officially over, in terms of appointments and bothers, so I guess I should be moving on from that and think about catching up in the "Invalid Item" (which I've been saying ever since I missed a day, but I feel like I need to keep typing it down in order to remind myself...feel free to skip this intro if you ever find yourself rereading this entry). The trouble is...I feel kinda worn out mentally and physically, and I'm not entirely vibin' on the inspiration tip, but whatever. Let's just keep movin' and see what happens... From a pure aesthetic standpoint, I love this pic. I'm a sucker for the ol' blurry, B/W mood shot...there's more to see if you look hard enough; when something isn't clear it becomes up to me and my brain to fill in the details all the megapixels can't capture. And maybe it's just me, but doesn't this sorta remind you of a 90's grunge band's cd single? Not any band in particular, or even a popular band from that era, but something you'd see maybe ten years ago in a dollar bin at one of the few remaining indie record shops? You'd grab it, and go "Awww, I haven't heard that song in forever!" and carry it around the store with you as you browse, playing it over and over in your head until you go to cash out and then realize you don't really need it, and put it back. If it sounds like I know what I'm talking about, it's because I've done it often. And then the moment sorta sticks in my head for awhile...until I finally decide I'm gonna go back and pick up that single maybe a month or two later, but the disc is gone, or even worse, that favorite indie shop is closed. That's why you should always support your locals...you never know when they'll no longer be around, and you'll never get the same awesome, knowledgeable service from big ass chain stores. So anyway, when I see this picture, I see the person approaching a crossroads of sorts...they'll eventually have to choose whether they're gonna go up or down. It's likely they're in a building where they have an idea of where they're going...most people do. I don't; not in this sense. I have no direction right now, nor is it entirely imperative at the time being, although I'm starting to get antsy enough that by the end of most days I'm too bored to even sleep and agitated enough to wanna brawl with a neighbor for disturbing my uneasy peace. It's a rough life, this being medicated shit. But back to today, this Thursday, this picture...we'll throw back a little along the way, pray we're not skateboarding down this ramp with the need to make a quick decision or we're so scrambled in our indecisiveness that we wind up in the hard middle, and ride the way down like I'm on a waterslide . That's how it's gotta be if you're on the slope...if you're headin' down, glide and wiggle and take down everything in your way you possibly can.  "You wake up, get out of bed and open the door. You are in OZ! You meet the munchkins, scarecrow, lion, tinman, the witches from the second movie (The Great and Powerful Oz) and James Franco is the Wizard. What happens next? This is your adventure."Oh snap! I almost ignored this prompt, because James Franco...I'm not yet sold on him, and I never saw that second movie, but I'm a crazy good fan of the original. Plus, I wanted to be the Wizard, and apparently Franco ganked my role, but I'll play along because Princess Megan Rose GOT Fox  is my girl, and I'm feelin' like a good sport today even though I don't know how I'm gonna approach this. Because it's a movie, let's pretend I wake up, but I'm not straight wakin' up...I'm dreaming that I woke up, and when I opened my door it pushed back the wizard's curtain to see that James Franco is pullin' levers and runnin' game over Oz. I went to sleep as just a 5'6" munchkin; somehow I've gained unfettered access to the great and powerful, because I'm next in line. But I, in my characteristic unwillingness to learn from deceitful shills or unsavory lemmings, am just not satisfied watching Franco in wizardly drag continue to masquerade...if I'm gonna take his throne, it's gonna be done my way, so my people can see that what we've come to know and accept is wrong. We're being taken for a ride, and "that's the way it's always been" isn't how it always has to be. It's known that I'm gonna succeed Franco eventually, and he's not happy about it- he's rather pissed, and I'm just in his way because he eventually wants to sell out Oz and turn it into a tourist trap...but instead of just forcing visitors to walk through a gift shop at the end of their journey, he's gonna magically turn them into docile munchkins (something the brochures for Oz don't mention). So I hafta get on some ol' James Bond/Bill Cosby shit and stealthily take this playa out. Knowing now is the time or the future of humanity, my people, and future citizens are doomed, I'll risk a sleepless couple of days down the road and slip some of my Ambiens and Doxepins into his ginger ale. Then I'll pistolwhip him with one of those ancient handguns with the long barrels for good measure, and let a good witch sidecar broom-fly his ass over some mountains, where he'll "magically disappear" . By that point I'll have learned enough to know I know too much, but also a lot about how to run and not run our great land of Oz. Sure, I strongarmed my way into the highest position on the Oz's food chain, but I had to...I couldn't take Franco's shit no more. He's a fraud, a phony...a stand-in for real acting. Errryone rejoiced once the word got around; munchkins were happy and witches knew I had it in me to lead and be amazing. We partied like it was 1998 all over again. And my first official act as super-wizard-boy-genius-manchild of Oz was to symbolically tear down the curtain between me and everyone else, because I longed for transparency for so long in the highest of offices. I kicked my Doc Martens up in the console, and thought, "This is now my home...this is now my home...this is..." and dozed off into a daydrunken nap. I woke up with a pillowcase around my head in the shape of a wizard's cone hat, convinced I'm as equally superior as everyone else below me should feel and everyone above me should be frightened into working with. And then I had a flashback that James Franco was dangling off a branch on the side of a candy mountain, awaiting rescue for a sequel where he plots revenge on me, his new arch-enemy.  "What is your favorite part about blogging? Do you see yourself doing it for a long time?"Excellent...I love talking about blogging like this. I started blogging years ago...I was poetically dead, so to speak- I knew I wanted to write, but wasn't getting anything out of writing (my brand of) poetry anymore. I also wanted to become more involved in the WDC community, which I also wasn't getting as much as I could out of. I joined a couple of groups, but they died out and the one that remained was run by Sister Mary Muggingsworth, who is probably still infecting suckas around here with her batshit craziness. Blogging in general was still a toddler back then, kinda learning its way but occasionally wetting the bed and uncomfortable for adults to acknowledge its presence in the halls of serious writing. I figured I'd give it a shot, and learn about it and hopefully grow with it. And that was seven or eight years, three other blogs started and filled, and over 1000 entries ago. The best part? Meeting new people along the way, like Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  and Gaby ~ Keeper Of The Realm  back when she was just a Yellow Witch, and kindred brothers like Charlie ~ , Mitchopolis and Brother Nature , and wonderful people like Lyn's a sly fox , and so many, many others...when you read blogs and yours become read and you have that back-and-forth with people, and you learn so much about each other and you click with them, it's really a fantastic experience. It's beautiful on so many levels that you might not've seen before in the actual people around you. It's been eye-opening. It's definitely helped me change and reshape my entire worldview. And on top of that, blogging has served to reinvigorate my love of poetry (albeit in the way I have always chosen to write and experience it). It's sorta been my gateway/reentry point and inspirational source. I see what someone like Cinn  or ANN Counselor, Lesbian & Happy writes, and how they turn phrases or memories into works they're proud of sharing, and it reinforces the notion that I can do it too. And working alongside Wordsmitty ✍️  on the Blogging Bliss newsletter each month, I get a taste of what else is out there that maybe I normally wouldn't come across...it's like cultural source-ery. Find me if you want more details about it, or if you want to sign up for our monthly spin on this great little (but always expanding and now thriving) community. Will I always keep doing it (blogging)? Probably. It's where I feel most at home. It satisfies my creative urges. It keeps me active on WDC regularly, and it helps me interact with others as well- both here and not online. I'm comfortable in the idea of Blogville. I have both friends I haven't seen in years and family that encourage me and keep up with me through my blog, and I'm very thankful for that. It rarely asks anything more of me than my time and input, and like anything else in life you get out of it what you put in (most of the time). I joined up with the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" a few years back because other blogger friends were doing it, and I wanted to see where I stood compared to other writers (I do have a competitive streak in me). Winning it was an amazing high, but I never wanted to run it...then it got dropped in my lap and it's still the longest-running blogging group on WDC, which I'm very thankful for and proud of. I went from Fivesixer...blog CHAMP!! to being a person who champions blogging and our beautiful community of creative thinkers. And I don't want to let that go. As long as blogging is still a thing, and it will be for a very long time, I'll be a part of it. Peace to 30DBC Creator/Founder , Thundersbeard 30DBC JULY HOST , Emily  (who kept the 30DBC running and helped make it what it is today), and competitors past and present for continuing to provide voices that we read and write to and for in a big part of WDC's vast community that wasn't as present back in the early days. I'm just a small instrument in the grand orchestra blogging has become.I was completely at a loss today for music regarding this entry, even though I had my iPod with me most of the morning. Nothing was setting in for me; maybe because I was slightly preoccupied with appointments and errands. But sometimes writing puts songs in your head...and thankfully it's Throwback Thursday for some of you, so I'm going back to that emo sound, when emo was still a debatable thing that didn't include pop hits tartable like toaster pastries. Just gimme a guitar riff that lets me get lost in my own wonder, with lyrics that nudge me along into the bliss of maybes and what becomes of that. This song in particular will be what the emo kids from the last two decades will daze out to in twenty years as their next "jam bands" (and please don't get all Grateful Dead or Phish on me, because we're not all of the same time/place when wonder and mood strikes us in the only way we know how to get lost in a memorable musical lilt).  I'm only sharing this because I absolutely hate shaving. I tried to do without it for soooo long, but then I ended up like this:  And I got tired of all the comparisons to hillbilly redneck homophobes who shoot guns for aimless kicks and the love of calling ducks, so I went for a more svelte look once I got a beard-trimmer and decided I should kinda care about how I look again. And I do clean up nicely, I suppose. But I'm fascinated by people with the patience to time-lapse themselves for prosperity, like this guy . I love a god damn great beard. But I got annoyed so much when I was trying to eat because that sumbitch kept acting less like a style accessory and more like a bib for an infant. And clearly, I have no problem feeding myself without it. But I do miss my big-ass beard. It was one less physical trait that warded off the chicks that might've thought on first impression that I was cute, and helped me not to open my mouth and prove maybe I wasn't. Life was so much easier then...it's a bitch trimming, even with an electric aid. Keeping my shit nice and tight while not disrupting my attempt at dredlocks is a fucking chore.  Pain is normal in my everyday life. And even when I'm sleeping...I dream crazy shit that often haunts me from past bad decisions, and I've documented this before, but yesterday was something, uhhh, special. I woke myself up during dreaming I was being bullied at Depew's new Boys & Girls Club gym by kicking the asshole who wanted to steal my new Jordans (from back in the day when I got my first pair of Jordans...so, like, 1990? 1991?). I resorted in my dream to stomping him after a confrontation over me shooting airballs and missing easy layups, so my pride was already low, and this kid tried to be my friend but wound up trying to steal from me. In reality, I started booting hard the wall next to my bed with my sorta good (but better than the other) foot...fuck. Who wakes themselves up by smashing a wooden-paneled wall with their foot, to the point it's swollen and hella uncomfortable to trod upon life with? Like, alright, nothing's broken, but this shit hurts! Makes my right flip-flop not feel right! And why? Why do I do this? This is why I'm so ok with never sharing a bed again with anyone! I never asked for this, and it's made me want to never share a bed with anyone ever no matter how big and fancy and comfy it is (and I know I've talked about this before)..."Hey, you're cute, lemme spend the night at your place where I might randomly kick the shit outta you with my legs while we're sleeping!" No. Nope. I won't subject myself to anyone if that's maybe a case of me. I've nope'd myself out of a lot of things in life by either being too cautious of a person or by having seen enough of too much. Ain't no middle ground in these bones, I guess  . Eh, still much more to say, but I've reached my "fuck it" point and I just want today to be done so I can roll it over into maybe a better tomorrow. Peace, I shall ask you this once again, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up y'all? I'm fully aware now that I've fallen like...I dunno, three days behind in the "Invalid Item" . I've also reached a point where today is not the day I'll be making up that lost ground. I'm ok with this, because one shouldn't always punish himself so hard for being lazy and unmotivated during a month-long writing competition (says the guy who runs a month-long writing competition). What sucks more though is that I've practically got at least two of the entries I'm missing written sorta, in my head. And nothin's stoppin' me from gettin' them down. I just...don't feel like it. I will, eventually. It's not even looking like that's something I'll be doing this week, but who knows. Maybe I'll surprise myself.  For a change, I woke up this morning before the image prompts were sent out, but not by long...which means I was still clearing the crusties from my eyes while I was deciphering exactly what was happening in the pictures. I was, at 11am, somehow trying to convince myself that the girl in this picture kinda has a cute butt. It is now 7:30pm, and I am wondering how in the hell my mind led me to just assume the person in this picture is a woman in the first place. Like, there's no way of knowing, and that's no way to be going about life! Shame on me! That's a person! That's someone's daughter! (Or son.) And this could all lead to some uncomfortable conversations...which will be a thread I'll be pulling tonight anyway; just of a different color. There are what...12 pairs of handcuffs on this person? Twelve!! Is that even necessary? I don't play around with handcuffs- I won't even do kinky shit with 'em- because I know how god damn uncomfortable it is to wear one pair of handcuffs. I don't care if you're a tongue gymnast with gold medals in the seven inch and deep throat events...it's not happenin'. Of the many uncomfortable moments over my 40 years, sitting in a cop car with my hands cuffed behind my back has easily been one of the worst. It's murder of your shoulders...seriously, try it. Put your hands together behind your back and sit upright against a stiff chair for ten minutes. Sucks, right? At least I was treated pretty respectfully for the most part (even though the officer that "placed" me in the car seemed very practiced at the art of tucking one's head down while introducing them to their back seat in a swift fashion). I know that this is just a picture (a random one, I hope), but what does a person have to do to get 12 orgy favors slapped on 'em? I'm sure it's not speeding, with a side of suspended license-ness. And I'm fighting a real serious urge to not go all political here and spit some kinda metaphor for police brutality. I don't care who you or your connections are; you can't tell me that some cops don't overstep their boundaries and hide behind their badges (and before you get too cute and accuse me of starting anything, I also know that there is such a thing as a good cop...but your preferred disease of media will get you to believe almost anything if you let it). But I'm not gonna do it...not today. I'm just not interested in that sort of discussion, because I've learned that you can tell people daily that the sky is blue and they'll still answer "yellow" come test day. So seriously, what's going on here? I know...I'm supposed to be answering that. And I haven't even a clue...it's like I can't imaginate today, or somethin'. Or maybe I don't wanna, because this picture is supposed to be the reminder of what it felt like spending a few hours in a jail cell I didn't even know my community had (which was surreal and off-putting, at the same time). I'm embarrassed both for that day, and for not having a better response this evening. Weird how that worked out.  "'For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.' -Vincent Van Gogh. What does the sight of stars do to you?"Stars...don't exactly inspire me (and it's just occurred to me I might be working on my most boring blog entry ever). Maybe I've misplaced some of my ways in the world, but the idea of laying on my back in the grass late into the night has lost most of whatever romanticism it once meant to me. If we happen to be hanging out and that's what we end up doing, know right now I am not looking forward to it, unless we also end up making out. That is what I'm looking forward to. So if A then B, let's get A out of the way as quickly as possible. You know what else I think of when I see stars? It means I'm about to lose consciousness very quickly. Whoever came up with the euphemism "seeing stars" when someone gets knocked out wasn't joking, because every time I've taken a good enough shot to the head I've had a mini light show go on, and then I wake up in a completely different direction and position than what I last remember. There isn't really a better way to describe it...get whacked, stagger for a half-second while a shooting star erupts in each eye, and come to like there was way too much vodka in your last night. So I don't wanna hate on Van Gogh, because he seems to have really meant well when he said this, and it's awfully sweet and delightful for someone who was crazy enough to cut off his own ear and mail it to someone. Karma works in funny ways; if I say something that disrupts a deceased artist's chi or whatever, I'll probably wake up with a sixth finger on each hand, or worse, an ear growing out of my foot...and it's a pain in the ass buying shoes when there's an ear on your foot. I don't need that kind of complication in my life.  "How do you think fear and courage are related? Does fear provide the opportunity for courage? Or is courage an entity on its own without the catalyst of fear?"Excellent question. Certainly one ingredient of courage is overcoming a fear, while fear opens a few doors itself (including the opportunity for courage). To say that one is dependent on the other though isn't entirely true; it's more of a case-by-case issue, where variable amounts of courage/fear lead to varying degrees of courage/fear. And no one has a quantifiable system in either as they relate to different people or circumstances. Take the Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner story, for example. Every year ESPN holds a self-fellating awards program they call "The Espys", and they trot out a bunch of athletes and celebrities because apparently there aren't enough trophies to go around if you're famous or even sorta famous. And people are already bitchin' up a storm because Caitlyn Jenner is gonna receive the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, because these meatheads think it doesn't take much to have a dick and wear a skirt...which I find hilarious, because most of the men I've heard saying that to whatever extent (pardon the expression) wouldn't have the balls to wear a dress in their own house for five minutes, let alone announce to the world that this is how they're gonna live out the rest of their lives. And we're talking about a man who was once perhaps the greatest male athlete of his generation! Who grew up in an era where men were men and women were women and if you preferred moral sanity that's how distinctions were kept! Yet now, after fighting inside himself for decades, he is able to go in front of a nation who certainly isn't all-in with his decision, and confidently say "Ya know what? I'm gonna start being a her now, thanks." You don't think that takes courage? Balls, even (again, sorry/not sorry)? Look at it this way: I don't know the exact numbers, but one is too many, and lots and lots of kids die each year because of the abuse they take over their preferred gender or sexual orientation. Whether it's from a parent, or a schoolmate, or some random person yelling "Fag!" out a passing car's window, it doesn't matter. What if that was your kid, or your brother or sister? Ultimately, which would you choose: adjusting your level of thinking to accept a person for who they are and want to be, or burying a friend or loved one because they couldn't bear to hear another person mock or question them anymore? Be thankful you're even given the opportunity to make such a decision...and then imagine what it must be like for a teenager, who is faced with enough problems as it is with social pressures and expectations, to try and cope with a body he or she doesn't want and a society that might not want him or her once they're ready to embrace their own gender preferences. You cannot tell me that once you've picked your lane, going forward isn't a courageous task. It truly takes a special individual, in my opinion, and that's why I think the kind of people so eager to attack a transgender individual are also the least mentally-equipped to handle the reality of finally being able to be the person they were meant to be. Sports Illustrated actually ran a pretty interesting interview with the Espys' producers yesterday, in which they break down why Jenner was picked for the Ashe Award as well as publicly debunk the rumor that there were more-qualified runner-ups. This doesn't explain in any way my point that fear and courage are or aren't mutually exclusive, and this example certainly leads to both working together in a daring pairing of traits...but not everyone gets a chance to be strong when the focus is on them, just as much as you might not feel anything until after the fact. And I can imagine some people might disagree with me about this entire topic, and that's fine, but if you can't be civil or show even a little bit of empathy, you're probably not the kind of person I want reading my blog anyway, and I won't miss you not participating in what I have to say regarding my opinions. Ok...here's another song I've probably overshared in the last few years, but seriously maybe if I keep circling around to the same songs, then perhaps there needs to be some prompt diversity (or I should just go back to non-prompt-based entries). But I like this band, and that's all that matters (and at least I've moved on to finding better live versions of the same songs). This will also be on my Karaoke Greatest Hits collection, which has been pushed back to a November 2021 release. And since you don't have anything else to do between now and then, you can take the time to learn who Hugh MacLennan was and how he played a role in this song's existence.  Don't say you've never thought of this before, because you totally have...maybe not as an adult, but still. This guy in Canada (it's not Brother Nature , but no word if it's a relative) tied a bunch of balloons to a chair and flew over the Calgary Stampede (which is pretty much what you think it sounds like). While it didn't end well for him (he was arrested), it could've been worse (he didn't die)...and it totally reminded me of that one episode of Arrested Development where George tried to do the same thing with a balcony chair in order to hopefully evade the detection of his escape while on house arrest. And of course, because I only find cool shit when I'm "looking at the internet" or whatever you crazy kids are calling it these days, those awesome bastards at Mental Floss had to drop this list of moments Arrested Development foreshadowed , which is great for reminiscing. Or for starting conversations. Or for just being a big ol' friggin' fanboy dork. (Guess which application I prefer to use this information in.  )  I know back in May when David Letterman retired I said it'd probably be a long time before I mentioned him again. Turns out two months is a long time...he showed up recently at a performance featuring Steve Martin and Martin Short to deliver a top ten list about Donald Trump running for president .  And finally, at long last one of the greatest non-Calvin And Hobbes comic strips has made a return...Berkeley Breathed has started putting out Bloom County again , just in time for another election cycle. I'm very excited to see how this does in an era where he doesn't necessarily have newspaper publishers with agendas peering over his shoulder. Alright, well, I've taken up way too much of your time and my time, and I suppose we should both be moving on to other things. Hopefully your things will be productive, and mine will be something sorta resembling that. Peace, it didn't come, it doesn't matter, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up everyone? Another Saturday...and for it being almost 5pm I've had about the longest day since, uhhh, I dunno when. All unintentionally, of course, and I'll chalk it all up to luck. It's really true when they (again, I don't know who "they" is, but "they" always seems to be right) say "When it rains, it pours." Fortunately, I came out ahead. I'll get more into that in a sec...but lemme tease you first: free beer.  It didn't even take me a third of this month to fall behind in the "Invalid Item" ...but since nobody reads blogs on the weekends anyway, I figured it'd be a good time to snap off a few short entries and regain lost ground. Of course, I also assumed it'd be a safe bet that I'd be mostly confined to the comfort of my home today except for a short run to the store, but boy was I ever fucking wrong.As per usual, I waited until the last possible day to fill one of my prescriptions. I timed it well that I could also pick up some bleu cheese crumbles from the organic food place...but what I did not plan for was today's "Taste Of Downtown Cortland" festival-event thingey. If there's anything I hate more than clamor and random people wandering loosely, it's being unprepared for them. And it's a Saturday...which if you know me and my bitching about where I live, you know that's the morning the anti-war hippies from 1968 gather at the nearest intersection, waving flags and holding "Bring our troops home!" signs while the general public in their automobiles pass by and honk their screamin' horns in direct conflict with my sleeping as late as I possibly can. What is this world coming to?! So already I'm up here when I should be down here, and I know if I would've went yesterday to pick up my meds I wouldn't be quite as angsty in the moment. But whatever...I got my shit together and made it to the pharmacy with minimal intrusion upon my person. Got my script and slashed legs through the parking lot over to the food place...on the ground, I came across three of those tickets. You know, those standard raffle-like tickets, with the numbers on 'em, that come in the big roll? Only, instead of them saying "Keep This Coupon" like they usually do, these said "Drink". Whatever. I don't care. But something told me to pick them up. And I never pick shit up off the ground. But I did. I made my way into the store, got my bleu cheese and a mango Kombucha, and cashed out, managing not to get totally pissed that the few items I wanted to get the last time I was there but couldn't because they were out of were now in stock but I didn't need them because I still had some of the crap I bought instead (that sentence was a lot shorter in my head). I hadn't seen this cashier before...lovely young girl. Probably too young, but the hair was that nice, naturally curly curl that girls seem to hate and go mad far out of their way to destroy by straightening...I don't get that. And I'm not normally a fan of lipstick that looks like it doesn't go with the rest of the face or the ensemble, but it worked on her for whatever reason. Very cute. +1 so far on my trip into the the general population. So I'm tryin' to jam my earbuds back in my don't-talk-to-me holes, and this older couple ahead of me on the sidewalk turns around and approaches me. 1) Fuck, now why can't I go anywhere and not be approached; and 2) I need to start watching my mouth when I say shit like "older couple", because they could've been my age for all I know, even if I looked like I coulda been their bratty pisspot of a kid. They're like "Here, have these! We're from out of town and we're not gonna use them!" It was five tickets for samples at the Taste Of Downtown. Um, ok, cool, thanks! So now not only have I picked up something from the ground, but I've also basically accepted $5 from strangers. At this rate I should be on the back of a milk carton by bedtime . I then made the executive decision to be hungry, since the event was on my way home anyway. I wasn't really hungry, but fuck it man, I been eatin' salads all week...it was time to let the fat kid in me live life some too. Now check this out: because I'm a slow walker, I'd forgotten all about the nice old people couple who donated their tix to me by the time I made it a half-block to the next intersection...but there they were, and they turned around and were like "Oh, have this too!" and it was a map showing the participating restaurants and what they were offering as samples. And sho' 'nuff, the yellow "Drink" tickets that I picked up on a whim were good for beers at the Cortland Beer Company . Jackpot! Basically, free restaurant-quality lunch in bites from different places, and three free beers. I have not been this lucky since...2010? I don't know...it's been a long-ass time. And in my travels between food places, I found another six tickets on the ground. And I grabbed them like a scavenger, because I might get hungrier or somethin'. Don't judge me...I'm on a very fixed income and I hardly ever leave the house. Eventually I made my way over to the CBC, parked my fat ass at one of their outdoor tables, enjoyed my three tasty cold beverages, and cracked open my copy of Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle. If it makes you feel good, I got up to chapter 18...each chapter is like three paragraphs long though. Bonus: when I was out of beer I went home, and passed one of the places I stopped at earlier...where they were giving away full-sized <I forget what they called 'em>, which was turkey with avocado (here's how much I don't like avocado...my spell-check doesn't recognize it), green chilés, and cheddar rolled up in a tortilla and grilled- no sliced-up sample pieces, no tickets...all free. Got two whole ones, which probably would've set me back $10, all because it was closing time. I'm the luckiest bastard ev-arrrrh!! I made it home, didn't get entirely pissed off at the public, found essentially lunch, dinner, and drinks (and probably threw out $6 in sample vouchers when I came home), started reading a book, and I'm writing a blog entry on top of it. All of which leads me to the selected image from July 10th, which I again remind you I am behind in writing about. That image, once again (to refresh your memory): It reminded me of the cover for Hey Mercedes' Everynight Fire Works album ... I'm sure they have at least one other album, but I came across them through a Vagrant Records compilation cd/dvd some years ago, bought a disc, liked it, forgot about it, and then I read this interesting book called Nothing Feels Good by Andy Greenwald (who I think wrote for Spin magazine and also the website Grantland... Charlie ~ , you might appreciate this book if I haven't recommended it to you before), remembered them, learned that the singer was also the lead in Braid, and bought a bunch of Braid albums off iTunes. My mind tends to work backwards like that, always trying to figure out source material; that's why I appreciate hip hop so much- I can go back, see where the samples came from, and fall in love with a totally different era of music at the same time. You can call sampling "lazy"; as a collector and purveyor of musical delights I like to think of it as "economical". And in truth, I needed a day like today. I had to win in the mental department, and not just get by. To go out in public, by myself, not break down or panic, and come out lucky instead of aggravated by everybody else's quirks and qualms. And I'm satisfied. I'm not gonna complain and say "Why couldn't I have found a c-note in cash?" or "Instead of asking if that chair was taken, why not talk to me?". I made it through a day, ahead on some kind of scorecard for a change. I don't care about anything else. And I'm making no guarantees about tomorrow or any other day, and maybe it's easy for you to just go out and grab each day by the balls but I've done that and felt it kick back so many times that it's no longer a foregone conclusion that every day can be so carefree and whimsical, even when I've got the freedom to make it so. I needed this so I could build on it hopefully, even if it trails off into something lesser and lesser than what I experienced. I know I need to get out and do more, and lower my expectations and push myself harder. This is a start. The cracked shell leaking the white and yolk...who will never be whole again but can bloom into an omelet. With cheese. And peppers. Maybe some bacon too, if I'm lucky. Luckier. Better. Better-er. Also, I think my cheeks are sunburned. A complicated sunset Sets the mood within the room All bets are up and We keep looking down To try and find The will to turn this around. I spent the last three months In mental traction Woeing all I could forsee I slept myself free and Cursed at all awake The medicine I'd take. I broke down On the train to southtown Midway inbound Eleven to your seven I held out Carrying this crutch around Angry words came rushing out Eleven to your seven. Now I could pound on the keys so hard and Make the mallets slap the strings and Pump the pedals till I'm breathless and Sing off key and Wouldn't that be just like me? Now people in the back yell hey When they see me today I got a smile so wide it stems offstage They say go go you gone soul and For all I know They now know Oh no. You broke down As I tore the pages out During all the painful parts Eleven to your seven You held out Carrying your diary around Angry ink came rushing out Eleven to your seven. So we finished the night and We laud the long ride Because it leads to my own bed So at least tonight My head will be alright. We broke down Miles out of Morgantown A midnight rainstorm crashing down Not one breathing soul around Eleven to your seven. And all that took a lot more time and space than I thought it would. I'll end on that note, figure out where else I need to do the catching-upness thing, and forge on. Peace y'all... |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's happenin' y'all? Just got back from a trip to the store, and it's 87 degrees out according to the NBT bank I pass in my neighborhood (I'd say I bank there too, but that would be exaggerating our relationship slightly). Why do banks have signs telling us the current temperature? If they're not gonna post bank-like information, such as the current exchange or interest rates, then it seems like a misappropriation of all my overdraft fees. They could serve me better by showing baseball scores, or advertising the date for when McDonald's is bringing back the McRib. It's not like I need to be reminded that it's crazy hot out...I've got a window, and I can stick my head out of it. Once it gets past, I dunno, like, 80, I know it's too hot for me to care. Here's how else I know it's hot...I got one of those damn heat headaches again. I've had sunstroke and sun poisoning before, so I'm somewhat susceptible to them. I don't know what cancer feels like, but this headache feels like what sinus cancer spreading into my upper jaw should feel like. It doesn't hurt, but it's annoying as all get-out, and I wanna nap but it's too late in the day for that and besides, I get the feeling a nap wouldn't help this. But enough about me...you're not here to listen to me whine.  Awww, cute, isn't it? It's a little girl standing in the street, giving her dog kisses. In the middle of the road. Mustn't be a very smart dog, stopping in the middle of the street like that. Kids, they don't know better and we expect that...but animals, yeesh...the way some people talk about and treat their dogs and cats, you'd think we'd be worrying about them taking over our jobs and raping our women instead of listening to that fearmongering, hairpiece-wearin' windbag Donald Trump tell us what all the illegals are gonna do once they cross the magic border. But fear thee not, logical thinkers of WDC and lands beyond...I'm here as part of the "Invalid Item" to interpret this picture and tell you what's really goin' on. And what this is...isn't cute. It's Hollywood. See, in their penchant for easy money and laziness, a well-known movie studio has decided that they need to remake another classic television program rather than come up with a new, original idea that can hoover money directly from our pockets...and this time around, they've chosen Lassie . And in order to appeal to our fanaticism over diversity, the role of Timmy will be played by a tiny little Asian girl. Lassie herself will no longer be a blonde collie either; instead she'll be a dark-colored black African-American German Shepherd. Timmy's parents will be gay, although there will be no obvious references to homosexuality because two same-sex people sharing a scene in Hollywood is fine, but doing anything more than implying or insinutating that they do more than hi-five each other could upset the target 'Murican audience. Don't ask me about a plot though; that last paragraph took a lot outta me, and that alone means it's sufficient enough for me today. Go see the movie when it comes out in theaters and in (is it "in"? I have no idea.) IMAX in 2032...when our child star is all grown up and twice-removed from rehab, and Das Lassie is chasing bumpers in that great wherever dogs go in the sky.  "'But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned to a pillar of salt. So it goes. People aren't supposed to look back. I'm certainly not going to do it anymore.' -Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five. How often do you look back into your life? Does it ever bother you or are you afraid to?"Ya know, I read this last fall, and I barely remember it. "So it goes."...I remember that. But for the life of me I couldn't tell you anything I know about this book. So it goes. I find myself looking back a lot, actually. I've done some cool shit over forty years, and I've done some not cool shit as well. We all have, I guess...it's the not cool things that often I'm reminded of the most. I don't appreciate my brain or my memory-recalling system for working like that. Some of that I suppose I could take more responsibility for; I'm the one who chose to document many periods of my life, and I'm the one who decided earlier this year that it'd be a fun project to start posting more of those works online. And like usual, after about ten minutes I get all "WTF were you thinkin'?" about both the memories, and the actual work involved with typing them up for sharing. And it's funny, while I might very easily go back in time in my head, rarely do I take the opportunity to reread things I've written. Maybe a day or two later, or when I've written something new and feel like flipping through the existing notebook, but that's it. Same with blog entries...once it's edited to my satisfaction and posted where it needs to be posted and comments have been read, there's a 98% chance I'll never look at it again (unless somewhere down the road I want to reference it in another blog entry). My theory is that I lived it at least once, and thought enough to write about it at least once, and I'll probably be reminded of it involuntarily anyway, so why bother? I should be spending more time focusing on the now, at least. But it's when I've convinced myself that I should be archiving all my words that I find myself looking back the most, for the obvious reasons. Don't ever let anyone tell you, when the past's proof is laid out in front of you, that going through it is an easy thing to do. Time may soften a lot of the edges, but they'll still cut, and I still keep going in for more. I don't know why I thought any of it- then, or now- is or was so important or whatever, but I guess it helps fill in some gaps that my physical memory has started to purge. It's nice to know though that even amid some of the crazier points in my life, there have been times where I can look back and be thankful I had the presence of mind to jot down the things I did...even though I haven't finished getting all of "Ribmeat Of The Family Tree" up, from what I've seen in perusing it is that some of what's in there stands up with some of the best or really cool things my head's had the pleasure of being graced with. I try to keep that in mind whenever I wake up after a dream that's been attached to a shitty memory...there's been fun stuff too, even though it's more work trying to look back on those times. Everything balances out, or at least it should.  "The Pamplona Bull Run is the highest profile event of the San Fermin festival, which is held every year from July 6th–14th. The first bull running is on July 7, followed by one on each of the following mornings of the festival, beginning every day at 8 am. Among the rules to take part in the event are that participants must be at least 18 years old, run in the same direction as the bulls, not incite the bulls, and not be under the influence of alcohol. If given the opportunity would you participate in the running of the bulls? Why or why not? How do you feel about this tradition? Do you think it is cruel to the bulls? Why or why not?"I very nearly titled this entry "This one's about the remake, the revisits, and the retards.", but "retard" is up there with a very tiny handful of words I really don't like using. I know, right? I'll drop f-bombs as nouns, verbs, and adjectives, use "shit" in a non-defecating manner, and make Biblical references sound like Penthouse Letters, but I won't call someone a retard. Awww, I guess old age really has softened ol' Norb's heart after all. Shut the fuck up. Anyway, look, I respect the whole tradition of Pamplona and the running of the bulls, but you've gotta be outta your mind if you think I'm gonna run or recommend that activity to a friend. No way homes. And I'm someone who's pondered his own mortality before...I still wouldn't think about that. Maybe in my younger, wilder days I would've considered it. It's certainly easy to tease yourself with the notion when it's a very real possibility you'll never leave your home state again. But no. Every year this thing comes around, and I'm another year closer to a wheelchair already, and I still hold out hope that maybe one day I'll be able to run again just for fuck's sake without being chased by bulls...why would I jeopardize that? Like, don't screw with my bad-decision maker like that, ok? I gotta be pretty close to caught up with karma by now, so let's just not see how far I really can push things. I love the participation rules for this though. Don't booze up, and don't provoke the bulls. I'll tell you what...there's no way I'm risking my life without being absolutely liquored up to the point where running with a large mass of people versus huge animals with horns on their heads is a good idea. I've gotten shitfaced for less. If there's a chance I'm not gonna wake up, or that I do wake up and have half a bull's domepiece stuck in my intestines, you better believe I've also taken out a Crown Royal factory as well. The other part about not inciting the bulls or whatever...ummm, maybe I've watched too many cartoons, but then what's the point of tying the red handkerchief around your neck? And running? In a very large group? Call me irresponsible, but if I'm a bull and I see that poppin' off in front of me, I'm gonna snort and be all like "It's go time!" and try to plow down as many of those fuckers as I can. That's all I need! But then again, that's also why I prefer to not grocery shop with a cart in a crowded supermarket...too much temptation. So yeah, let someone else have that experience. The bull-running is a young man's game anyway. I've already seen some pictures from this year's event, and it's no different than it's been in the past. I do almost feel sorry for the bulls, but not because I think this whole thing is cruel. I mean it is, but it's not their choice, and they're just acting on instinct really...it's my understanding that the bulls get put down if they gore someone, and while the punishment fits the crime it's also like entrapment. They don't know that these people are trying to run with and/or away from them for sport. I also don't claim to know what a bull's nature is, but I'm sure there's a reason why we eat so much steak beyond the fact that it's tasty.Don't expect me to write an entry that involves the running of the bulls and not include this song...especially when there are so many great, incendiary live versions of it. I know repetition can stem from a lack of creativity, and I've shared this video at least 36 times, but you and I also understand me to be different.  Most of us are writers, so that gives us the liberty to sorta say things however we wanna say them, amirite? But that's because we consider ourselves when we're under the influence of ideas to be creative types first, just like when we're at our jobs we're <insert whatever your job is here> first. Now, imagine that you have a job which sometimes entails you having to talk about death (maybe you're a coroner in Pamplona), but you're not supposed to actually say "death". Luckily, there are people who have been in that position, and here's what they called it .  Doesn't it suck sometimes when you're looking back through old pictures, and you see your much-younger you all dressed up in some hideous fashion emblematic of the era? Like you wanna slap your folks for thinkin' this look put you at the precipice of some sorta hip new movement? Well lemme tell ya, brothers and sisters, who doesn't hafta worry about that kind of foolishness...those meddlin' kids from Scooby-Doo , that's who. Straight up class and style, no matter what decade.  And finally, Ringo Starr turned 75 (!!) today, so celebrate (or don't; readers' choice) with four things you might not have known about him ...#4 is my favorite, because it reminds me of how great the second half of Abbey Road is. Alright, it looks like we got through this relatively unscathed and with minimal struggle. Always a good thing. I still feel like one side of my head has been playing around in the nuclear fields a little too long, but at least I think it rained a little during this entry's creation, so that's cooled things down somewhat. Now to see if I can muster up the energy to read the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" entries from yesterday and today so I can maintain my caught-up pace...I might have to force myself. Peace, drop the hits like De La O, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** What's up you guys? It's hot out, I'm sticky, and I hate starting blog entries this late. I guess I can take the blame for the last part there. I'm also gonna try to keep this short, and dammit, one day I will.  Before I get into this, who wants to bet me that Charlie ~ also picks the same picture and writes a poem about it? Maybe he already has, I dunno...I haven't really looked yet to see who's done what today on my newsfeed.And before anyone else wants to call me out on it (not that you will, but it just occurred to me and now it's gonna bug me), I realize that when I put this image into the "30-Day Image Contest Pics, July 2015" folder that I titled it "Wine Glass". Because that's what it is, even if there's water and dyes or whatever in it. I love that it's only taken my OCD meter eight friggin' hours to start pingin' about that. I'm the worst obsessive/compulsive disorderist known to mankind, in that I'm really not good at being one.So I know I'm supposed to be inspired to write about these images. And I am, because I've done it now for like six days. In a row even! And I'm trying to keep the conversation light and airy and maybe occasionally humorous, but I don't think today's gonna work out that way. Why? Because the first thought in my head was that maybe someone's slippin' somethin' they shouldn't be into someone's drink, and that's not a cool topic to joke about. I mean, it's not rapey uncool, but then again no one's droppin' tablets in your drink because they think you've got a fun personality either. Ugh...one paragraph in and this is already gross and I don't feel like stopping. Remember last summer when it was kinda big news for a week or so when some company came along and said they developed a nail polish that changes color when your drink's been drugged? As great of an idea as that sounds, it turns out it doesn't work . Bummer, but hey...how about stop raping drunk people, or any people for that matter? Don't we all have a right to go out and get shitfaced once in awhile without wondering who's trying to take advantage of us? And do you know who I feel equally as bad for? The dude who goes out for like the third time in his life and spends all his money and his evening drinking Coors Light mini-pitchers and thinks he's trashed. I'm pretty sure drinking too much Coors Light actually sobers you up faster than coffee does, but I think I may have accidently drank the silver bullet once in my long, sordid history with booze, so I may not actually know what I'm talking about.And I don't even know what my point was...spiked drinks? Ok. But in this pic, I'm assuming it's water. And if your water's in a wine glass and it's been tampered with, you're probably gonna have a bad time. I don't even...how do you spike a water without getting caught? I know I sound really naive and it happens way more often than I think and it's super easy to pull off, but why? It just...seems like it'd be more of a hassle than (pardon the expression) nutting up and dealing with the notion that "Hey, I'm an idiot and this girl isn't gonna have sex with me." Why is that so hard to understand, to the point you'll try to look slick roofie-ing someone, carrying their lifeless body around, and trying to undress that person with deviant sexual intent? I've had sex before, and sometimes it's almost impossible to undress two sober individuals at the same time who are also determined to actually make this endeavor a joint experience between those with sound minds! I...I don't get it, but that's why I'm not a rapist. I'd make a terrible one. I'd probably get kicked out of the rapists' union, or the clubhouse where they get their benadryl from or whatever. Anyway, to sum this up so far: don't drink whatever's in this glass! It's probably not safe. And rape is dumb and bad. And that moment right before the sex happens, drunk or sober, is always, always like this:  And also, I can finally say this with some back-up and feel so much better about it: fuck Bill Cosby . That's one down, and at least thirty-some more counts against him to go.  "'I am not a glutton- I am an explorer of food,' said Erma Bombeck. What are your feelings about food? How much do you love it? Or do you fear it?"I very much have a love-hate relationship with food. I can be very picky, and I probably need to have an allergy test done because certain foods react in different ways with my body that maybe they shouldn't, but the need to see some of them go from hands to mouth overrides all negative health impacts. Also, I don't consider myself a "foodie" or a connoisseur of high-quality dietary considerations. Fry it, slather it with butter, coat it in cheese or peanut butter, dip it in condiments, and tip my head back. I'm from Buffalo; therefore, I'm immune to heart attacks and food-related fatalities (unless I'm accidently choking on a finger trying to get all the meat off a chicken wing). I have no fear. Dislike? I got plenty o' that. But I'm not afraid. The only fear I might have is the price of all the healthy food compared to the mass-produced, GMO-laced garbage that makes up 95% of the super-mega-ultra grocery stores' shelves. And as much as I want to be healthy and eat right and salad myself straight through to eternity, forty years of crap eatin' hasn't killed me yet...so I should be good for forty more, no? Like, I'm pretty sure if you're exposed to something that's definitely gonna give you cancer of the insides, you'll get it before forty months- not years- is up. But I'll tell ya what...I'm out as soon as these science labs create the end-all, be-all, food-in-a-tube that gives you all the cancers of the diabetuses. Like, that shit'll really kill ya. I want no part of that.  "Write a letter of gratitude to your muse."Oh, man. I, uhhh...I don't have one of those. Muses, that is. I can always scrounge up the gratitudes, but I've never considered myself as having a muse. And for the longest time, I didn't even know what that was. I just always kinda associated it with butterflies. No idea now as to why. Whenever I saw the word that was the first image that popped in my head. But c'mon...I'm an almost 40, fully-grown albeit fairly short, adult male who stopped believing in Santa Claus and Jesus and Republicans and dream weddings at a very young age. I don't think some magical faerie-like force is compelling my fingers to attack both your eyes and critical thinking abilities at the same time. It's just me...li'l ol' me. No devil on my shoulder; no angel stabbing me in the back. Unless you have an issue with any of this. Then I'll let Pablo know. He's the guy who sweeps the parking lot of "Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am" , and when need be he changes the plate outside his door from "Marriage Counselor" to "Muse". I should give that guy a raise.Not really a funny story, because it could've ended horribly on so many levels, but I think I might've been drugged once while out at a bar. I don't have proof, but all the signs were there: I drove myself to meet people out that I normally didn't hang out with by myself (they were friends of friends), I was drinking mixed drinks in a now-defunct bar that was easily one of the three dirtiest I've ever been in, and by the time I got to the post-drinks Zorba's stop, I was so incapacitated I nearly hit the side of the building and definitely bumped something with my car (and yes, I should've known better and all, but I also felt fine leaving the bar and it was twenty minutes later when I felt completely different). It couldn't possibly have been all the double gin and tonics...it had to be the bar itself. Or limes. Maybe I was allergic to limes when I was younger. Sometimes I get lucky and this part of the entry writes itself...like, today it just so happened that a celebrity who's done famous movies and television shows and is also from Buffalo gave an interview about some of his favorite local places for a website I'm pretty sure I've never heard of before. That meant one less link about roofies or food I didn't have to bother with! But since food is kinda an important part of today's entry anyway, I know I'm gonna have to try some of these pizza recipes out soon. And if you have tried any of these, please, share your thoughts (and also, why are you holding back on me?! I thought we were friends!!). And finally, even though it's hot as balls still and it's nearly 10pm and I'm uncomfortable, I haven't let that put a sweaty damper on feeling very well about awarding nearly ninety Endurance Merit Badges this evening to a bunch of you uncontrollable Game Of Thrones-ers who are just dying to know how your teams did. And let me tell you, just because I did that, I absolutely have no idea who's gonna win! I don't even know what a throne game is, to be honest. All I know is I gave a lot of people a badge that 1) some of them, I don't know who they are; and b) I had no idea such a MB existed. That's, like, a two-fer for me! And in reading some of the "thank you" emails I was lucky enough to receive, I was reminded that some people (not judging at all, BTW) enjoy the pursuit of collecting all the WDC MB's. Which is cool and noble and whatever, but I've decided I don't wanna be like everyone else. Rather than attain at least one of everything this site has to offer in terms of prize-ery, I want to get one Merit Badge from every member of WDC. I realize this might be challenging, as some members are dead, but I think if I push myself and put a little extra effort into everything I do, I might just surprise myself (and a few of you as well). Wish me luck...as soon as I figure out a plan of action, I'll be undeterred, for realz yo. Well, I can say with at least 93% certainty that this wasn't the entry I had envisioned when I decided I was gonna contribute to this fine website today, but we all have days where what we end up with vaguely fails to resemble any shred of common decency. Right? I know I do! Maybe I'll struggle for a few minutes before I hit send, and sure I'll feel guilty afterwards, but if society has taught us anything in the last thirty years or so, usually those feelings will pass...especially if you throw enough money at them. Peace, again fuck Bill Cosby, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** Hey everyone! Hope you all had a stellar good time yesterday, and are recovered/recovering and whatnot. I've been doing what I pretty much do best most of the day, which is putting off everything because life sometimes has a funny way of letting you know it's paying attention to you.  This sounds like something you'd read on a fortune cookie, doesn't it? I want to say that it implies you'll be together with the person you're meant to be with for a long, long time, but you know I can't possibly be thinking that straightforwardly. I'm not looking at this in a romantic sense (imagine that)...this picture doesn't actually say what "you" will be together "with" forever. I know...details, details. Here's something about me you might not know: when someone says "keep in touch"...I'm really bad at that. Part of it might be that most of the time that sentiment is an absolute bullshit way of someone trying to be nice. Another part of it might be that if we spend all our time trying to keep in touch with even some of the people who really mean it, we'd be too busy to meet new people. I'm not saying there are more important people potentially out there. There probably are; and you'll probably never see them anyway...not because I'm a Negative Norb or anything, but maybe they're seriously 5000 miles away from you and always will be. And one more reason why I don't often keep in touch...I'm actually a horrible conversationalist most of the time with people I don't talk to on a regular basis. I'm like a vocal manifestation of my physical awkwardness. Need an example? I have over a thousand Facebook friends. How many do I keep in contact with on even a semi-regular basis, say, maybe once a week at minimum? Somewhere south of ten. It's not that I'm a bad friend...but I'm a bad friend. Anyway, lately I've been in the process of staying on top of certain things and trying to catch up in other places I might've fallen (or might be in danger of falling) behind...sometimes the more I do that, the less I seem to actually get ahead. I feel like sometimes I find myself saying things that sound like a great idea at the time, until I've thought about it, forgotten about it, and wind up getting called out on it. Most of the time I can recover. But it's the times I haven't been able to that always stay with me. Last night I was laying in bed...lately I've been having a hard time falling asleep again. And because I can't just lay down in darkness and complete silence, I did what so many of us do...I started scrolling through Facebook. And when I say scrolling, I'm so serious, because most of it is utter crap that I know I shouldn't let aggravate me, but it does. I've gotten better at moving on, but that's not the point. Anyway, I came across a picture of Bill Watterson (the cartoonist who penned "Calvin and Hobbes") in honor of his birthday so I shared it, and eventually I fell asleep. When I woke up there were a couple of likes on the pic, and a comment from a high school classmate of mine...absolutely unrelated, asking me if I'd listen to a song he wrote and maybe come up with some lyrics for. Of course! I don't know if I've told this to more than two or three people before, but for years it's been a secret fantasy of mine to put words down to instrumental music- think Moby, or some of the Check Your Head or Ill Communication-era Beastie Boys. So I'm thinking this is so cool! I haven't talked to this guy very often in the last five years or so, but he'd made a cd of his compositions back then and sent me a copy, and I really enjoyed it; I gave him a link to some of my WDC items, and that was pretty much it. And then it set in...he's a classicly-trained guitarist. He's really good at what he does. And regardless of all the poems and blog entries I've written, or words I've rhymed, or times I've tried to keep up with a beat in my head...for all I've done of that, I'm just an amateur. I may have been writing for a long time, but I'm no more ahead of the game than a second-grader writing a book report. So now, even before I've actually listened to his song, I'm terrified. What if I can't think of anything? What if I can, and it sucks? What if I can, and I don't think it sucks, but he does? Now might be a good time to mention that I have zero musical background besides listening to it. Can't read it, can't play it...nothin'. I can barely describe what I'm hearing in my head sometimes...I have another friend who can play guitar, and I gave him a copy of some poems and asked him what he thought, and to see if he could make some music out of them. But I couldn't articulate exactly what I wanted, and I gave up. It's a lot of work, constructing complete songs...it's like asking me to build a house and only being able to tell you what a window looks like. What doesn't help is that I haven't asked enough questions, and maybe I should, but this man approached me out of seemingly nowhere because I assume he thinks I can do a good job for him. That in itself is a tremendous compliment. Maybe he's read one or zero of my poems, maybe more. Maybe he's read a couple blog entries that I've shared on Facebook or Twitter, or all of them or none of them. He could just be taking my word for it now after a lot of years. Who knows. It's not the time to ask. It doesn't matter. I owe him the respect of trying my best, because I may never get this opportunity again. The point of all of this? Be nice to people. Don't be afraid to share with them when they're open with you. And if you're not good at staying in touch, at least keep the lines of communication open. Forever's a long freakin' time, and circumstances aren't always optimal for people to be interested in what you might have to offer. Sometimes you just have to keep doin' what you do, and eventually, well, I'm not that far ahead of myself yet say what can or can't happen, but anything's possible. I don't think I've ever thought that much about it...but this is my all-time favorite instrumental track since probably not long after I heard it. It's the one I judge all other instrumentals by, whether it's techno or hip hop or one gigantic drum solo like Led Zeppelin's "Moby Dick". I almost kinda wish I could condense this down to six seconds and make it the entrance music for any time I walk into a room. It's perfect.  Does anyone else ever feel like they complicate their lives a little more in order to motivate themselves? I downloaded the Goodreads app today (I swear, I thought I did that months ago, and it would've been not hard to figure out if I did, but whatever) because I really want to read more of somethings that aren't also websites. And yet, as gung-ho as I feel about it currently, a) the "scan a barcode" option really sucks (or the books I've scanned so far really do); and b) is it bad that I've already determined this'll probably be the first app I delete the next time I get the "you're running out of storage space" notification on my tablet? Because guess what...I still haven't been able to open a new book yet. For someone who writes often, I'm like the worst reader. In terms of volume; I'm not, like, illiterate or dyslexic by any means. But oh the existential question: How can one be a bad reader if they aren't able to read? My problem isn't that; it's that I just don't feel like it...which definitely is worse than illiteracy (and nope, shaming myself publicly isn't making me want to care more about reading either...damn).  Maybe I would have more time to read if I could remember to do simple little time-saving maneuvers, like check the little box on newsfeed posts that advise you that you won't be emailed replies to the original post if you've made a comment. This is also why I need to stay off of WDC after I've taken Ambien. I couldn't tell you the last time I woke up to 50 new emails, 47 of which were related to a note I commented on at probably 1am, and none of which I would've known about had I checked the damn box. Yes, I know I'm complaining about something that is my own damn fault. You'll have that from time to time. And yes, I didn't have to read each separate reply. Stop making this harder on me the I've already made it for myself. Alright...well, I was gonna add more, but I also thought this wasn't gonna be a very long entry, and considering that I only let myself go after one prompt today, clearly I don't know where my "off" button is. Apparently I won't be going to sleep early tonight either. Peace, for how long, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #1911719 Unavailable ** Happy Independence Day, folks! And for those of you who are just experiencing another weekend, Happy Saturday! Saturdays are by far the worst day to blog in the history of WDC, because it's a weekend and there should be at least 45 better things to do than sit at the mercy of an electronic device. You've gotta trust me on this...I've been blogging for like seven and a half years, and have been in numerous challenges and groups, and I've probably received a total of 13 comments on Saturdays. Dyin' for my art, I tell ya.  My whole will to want to write a blog entry today is also perilously close to being at an all-time low as well...I suppose if I wasn't in something like the "Invalid Item" I'd probably take the weekend off, but it's been awhile since I actually recorded thirty straight days of blogging. Even if no one's gonna read this because they're busy blowin' shit up, I made a commitment and I guess I'm determined to see it through. But four days into a month and I'm already kinda bored and slightly apathetic...I'm having issues deciding whether I just don't care today or the provided image prompts aren't doin' anything for me.I went with the fire image because it's more exciting, although the potential for the other image to get quickly out of hand is exceedingly high, but I'm determined to keep my blog's rating at 18+. I also don't think most of my readers really care to read girl-on-girl erotica...at least not in this slice of internet cherry cheesecake. So anyway, there's a burning house. I don't like burning houses because they remind me of people who were once close to me that lost a ton of memories when their side of the duplex they were living in caught on fire. It's a real buzzkill. Because of that, I think this image is more appropriate:  Contrary to popular belief, I don't often plan these entries out. There's no diagrams or outlines or secret schematics; I might make a few notes because there are lines I might want to use, or relevant links or songs, but I don't have solid ideas...which is why a lot of the time I end up with long-winded, rambling diatribes on totally unrelated topics. Like today's dumpster fire of an attempt at writing. I went into the CVS across the street from my building yesterday, which is nothing new because I'm usually in there 3-4 times a week, but I hadn't been there since probably Monday. As soon as you walk in, there's a huge display of fireworks...legit, real, blow shit up fireworks. New York recently passed some kind of law making it legal to buy, sell, and use these explosives for recreational purposes. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, unable at first to comprehend what I was seeing in a pharmacy...in all the years I spent working in one, it was the most unexpected sight. The cashiers behind the counter must've thought I was some kind of slow, even though I'm pretty sure they know me as a regular customer. I'm not a fan of fireworks. Call me unpatriotic, but they're loud and boring...for a society raised on staring at a television or computer screen for hours on end, that can spend entire weekends binging on Netflix, I can't imagine what's so exciting about them. And please don't try to educate me or show me the errors of my ways; it's unbecoming, especially because I don't give a shit. The ready availability of fireworks can't be a good thing...primarily if I'm using them to go down a rabbit hole of ridiculous blog-rambling. Surely the number of fireworks-related incidents in this area will probably, pardon the word, skyrocket. Some trust-fund kid with irresponsible parents is probably gonna blow his eyeballs out, our litigious society's gonna cry party foul, and within five years everyone will be back to going to Pennsylvania or Ohio to get their explosives. Call it NY's Confederate Flag Debate of 2019. Some silly-ass redneck moron in this community will take things too far, and think it'd be funny to see what happens when he gets drunk by 6pm and can't wait until sunset or to get outside to light up his fireworks. He'll probably try to make a watermelon or half a can of Coors Light explode, and in the process wind up turning his residence into a living, breathing Aurora Borealis. Fuck that guy, ruinin' all the other responsible people's fun. I know there's stupid people everywhere, but I don't think I've ever lived in a community that has so many openly flamboyant ones. And I by no means am perfect or dealing with a full set of common sense at the ready, but I'm pretty sure when it comes to not setting anything else but the end of a cigarette on fire today I've gotta be in the top ten percentile of geniusness.  "July 4th is one of our no-prompt holidays here at the BCOF. Enjoy your day and be careful!   " "Create me something-- anything using these words: heat wave, bubbly, laughter, red, white, blue and firefighter. Pick some or use them all but let your creativity take you wherever."Leave it to Lyn's a sly fox to out-Creation Saturday prompt me! I'm really not great at coming up with prompts in the first place, and I should've just looked in the 30-Day War Chest to see if there was anything explosion-related, but I got a word (freedom) stuck in my head and that's where I went. Sorry guys. And typically I avoid the "use these words" prompts because I'm kinda lazy and particular, and they feel like when you would walk into an English class and the teacher'd be all like "Ok class, today the only thing I want you to do is spend the entire period writing"...and 90% of the room ends up with two sentences and doodles of flaming dinosaurs with sunglasses on, skateboarding and eating teddy bears. Good looks, hot shots. Anyway, for your consideration: The local firefighters were busy during the annual heat wave. As the temperature flew into the red on the weather map this time of year, they knew they'd be battling brush fires until they were blue in the face. Even at night, the conditions were so unstable that the slightest spark could reduce a park section into a pile of white and grey ash. Eventually, they ascertained with fits of worn out and delusional laughter, there would be nothing left of substance to burn, and before the rebuilding would begin the firemen agreed they would celebrate their hard work by ordering some strippers for their fire pole and poppin' mad bottles of bubbly. There...that wasn't so bad. I am making absolutely no apologies for this song probably being in the top five all-time of the most posted in any of my blogs. When (not if) I become a world-famous Blog Champ and some company decides to maximize my marketing potential with stuffed dolls, notebook covers, and thongs, this slow-burnin' jam will be on the first (of many) officially licensed soundtracks available on iTunes and out of jeep trunks across the globe. "The roof...the roof...the roof is on fire. We don't need no water; let the motherfucker burn. Burn motherfucker, burn." Lyrics. I didn't know or realize this until last night, but there are apparently ten different kinds of fireworks effects . I still don't care, and I still think it's dumb, pointless entertainment. For those of you into random stats and occurrences, here's a list of a bunch of things that have happened on July 4th . You don't see Future Mrs. B  's name on this list, but word on the street is that today's her birthday. She gets a birthday shoutout here because hers is easy to remember. Today is also the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest ...only in America could we invent a competitive eating contest that we would annually lose to a skinny little Chinese dude, which is why my favorite hot dog game (don't we all have one?) is guessing if these are pictures of hot dogs or people's legs .  And finally, it's time for my annual public service announcement where I wish you all a fun Independence Day and warn you not to lose your fingers or faces. Be safe, don't overdo too many things, and remember to stop, drop, and roll. And that's it for me today. I'm gonna celebrate by probably forgetting about fireworks entirely until they startle the living shit outta me, and hope I don't have some sort of PTSD anxiety attack waiting absolutely too long for them to finish. Peace, if man is 5 and the devil is 6, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
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