To the drunk chick with the big tits at the Reef on Thursday....
Dear Drunk Girl With Big Tits (DGWBT),
I know you thought you were really cute when you were dancing in front of the old guy playing guitar. In fact, I'm sure you thought you were really sexy, wiggling your ass and bouncing up and down so your tits flopped all over. However, there are a few things to consider.
1. The too short, too tight shirt really didn't do anything for me. I don't care about your gazongas, nor do I need to see your stomach or your asshat (aka the tattoo above your ass).
2. Yelling and whooping while an old guy plays acoustic guitar reeks of desperation. I think he enjoyed the show you gave him, but he really just wanted to finish his set.
3. Hugging on every guy who comes up the stairs doesn't make you popular. It means you're drunk and will likely fuck anything with a penis. No, this doesn't rule out non-humans.
4. You might be a nice person sober, but while intoxicated, you're nothing but an embarrassment. If you can't hold your liquor -- and that includes being able to hold the glass without spilling -- you need to curb your intake until you learn some control. Oh, but wait. You won't be popular unless you're drinking. My bad.
5. If you want to dance and wiggle for drunks, why not try one of Boise's finer establishments? I hear the Torch 2 is hiring. You'd be a perfect fit.
Thanks!
No. 89628
Friday, September 29, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Numbered days
This may come as a shock to a lot of you.
For the past 34 years, I've been wrong about the person I think I am. You guys know me as Jen. You know me in real life, or we've gamed online or I met you through myspace. We talk every day, in person or online... Yeah. Wow. This is kinda rough.
Fine. I'll just come out and say it.
I'm not Jen. I'm not the name that appears on my birth certificate. I'm 89628.
I work for Corporation X. I supervise 15 other numbers. I don't know their numbers because the computer keeps track of that. But I track their numbers, correct them when their numbers are yellow or red. I return them from break or lunch when their numbers turn orange. I decide when they take break or lunch based on how many other numbers are gone. I track numbers, with the other numbers for Corp X, so we can keep other numbers in the black, because red numbers are bad.
I gather my numbers, when the Big Number Watchers say other numbers are low enough, and discuss their numbers and how they can make them better. Low numbers good in this column, high numbers good in that column. But in several weeks of supervising numbers, I've only been able to meet with them once. That could be why their numbers aren't as good as some of the other numbers' numbers. It adds up if you think about it.
Several of Corp X's administrative functions are in Salt Lake City. A high percentage of numbers there give a percentage of their monetary numbers to a tax-exempt religious entity. I think the more you give, the better number you are. You'll get more in the end and you'll go to a much better place than the people who didn't share their monetary numbers.
Today was my real awakening as a number. Today, I learned that when our numbers turn yellow or red, you have to jump up and find out why and make sure they don't go red or yellow. I was OK with that.... I'm in a position to help the numbers be ... better numbers.
But Corp X... something happened to my monetary numbers. Instead of the expected compensation, it was $21.20 for two weeks' worth of work. I think it's because a Corp X human made a mistake. I mean, a person? Why aren't there computers doing this work? I mean, the human would have clearly seen the forms and paper work my boss submitted -- as he does every pay period -- to pay me my correct wage.
Then again, it's because to that corporate payroll lackey, I'm a number on a spread sheet. The fact that 89628 worked 89 hours on the last pay period... yeah, that adds up to twenty-one fucking dollars and twenty cents. That fucking adds up, right? It's just 89628. It's not my paycheck, says the bean counter. I get my money, I give to the church and I've got my spot in heaven. And if I fuck up, there's church on Sunday to wash away anything that's gone wrong. I'm good. It's payday. Let's load up the Hummer and take the kids to the Wal-Mart.
Fuck being a number. Fuck taking away humanity. I'm thankful my bosses and co-workers are human. I'm thankful they're able to help tide me over until the corrected check shows up.
And by the way: I refuse to treat the people on my team as numbers. They're people with lives and talents who deserve coaching and interaction. I want them to do well, I want them to have the tools they need to do their jobs. Then the numbers will take care of themselves.
But hey, incompetent mega-corp wannabe: Real businesses take care of their people. Real businesses PAY their people on fucking time. Real businesses hold people accountable. Smart businesses value the employee, the people who are out there helping your sorry corporate ass rake in the cash.
You'll never figure that out. That's why you'll always be ghetto performance.
For the past 34 years, I've been wrong about the person I think I am. You guys know me as Jen. You know me in real life, or we've gamed online or I met you through myspace. We talk every day, in person or online... Yeah. Wow. This is kinda rough.
Fine. I'll just come out and say it.
I'm not Jen. I'm not the name that appears on my birth certificate. I'm 89628.
I work for Corporation X. I supervise 15 other numbers. I don't know their numbers because the computer keeps track of that. But I track their numbers, correct them when their numbers are yellow or red. I return them from break or lunch when their numbers turn orange. I decide when they take break or lunch based on how many other numbers are gone. I track numbers, with the other numbers for Corp X, so we can keep other numbers in the black, because red numbers are bad.
I gather my numbers, when the Big Number Watchers say other numbers are low enough, and discuss their numbers and how they can make them better. Low numbers good in this column, high numbers good in that column. But in several weeks of supervising numbers, I've only been able to meet with them once. That could be why their numbers aren't as good as some of the other numbers' numbers. It adds up if you think about it.
Several of Corp X's administrative functions are in Salt Lake City. A high percentage of numbers there give a percentage of their monetary numbers to a tax-exempt religious entity. I think the more you give, the better number you are. You'll get more in the end and you'll go to a much better place than the people who didn't share their monetary numbers.
Today was my real awakening as a number. Today, I learned that when our numbers turn yellow or red, you have to jump up and find out why and make sure they don't go red or yellow. I was OK with that.... I'm in a position to help the numbers be ... better numbers.
But Corp X... something happened to my monetary numbers. Instead of the expected compensation, it was $21.20 for two weeks' worth of work. I think it's because a Corp X human made a mistake. I mean, a person? Why aren't there computers doing this work? I mean, the human would have clearly seen the forms and paper work my boss submitted -- as he does every pay period -- to pay me my correct wage.
Then again, it's because to that corporate payroll lackey, I'm a number on a spread sheet. The fact that 89628 worked 89 hours on the last pay period... yeah, that adds up to twenty-one fucking dollars and twenty cents. That fucking adds up, right? It's just 89628. It's not my paycheck, says the bean counter. I get my money, I give to the church and I've got my spot in heaven. And if I fuck up, there's church on Sunday to wash away anything that's gone wrong. I'm good. It's payday. Let's load up the Hummer and take the kids to the Wal-Mart.
Fuck being a number. Fuck taking away humanity. I'm thankful my bosses and co-workers are human. I'm thankful they're able to help tide me over until the corrected check shows up.
And by the way: I refuse to treat the people on my team as numbers. They're people with lives and talents who deserve coaching and interaction. I want them to do well, I want them to have the tools they need to do their jobs. Then the numbers will take care of themselves.
But hey, incompetent mega-corp wannabe: Real businesses take care of their people. Real businesses PAY their people on fucking time. Real businesses hold people accountable. Smart businesses value the employee, the people who are out there helping your sorry corporate ass rake in the cash.
You'll never figure that out. That's why you'll always be ghetto performance.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Self-inflicted wounds, Part 2
Remember that pic from a few days ago? You know, the one with no bruising around the pellet hole in my arm? The bruise is quite impressive. And it stands as a great representation of what 380 feet per second can do.
Yeah, I'm smrt.
Scott made a fairly astute observation the other night -- I shouldn't have shot myself in the arm. And there's the argument that I shouldn't have shot myself. My response to that is, you need to know what kind of force you're dealing with. It's the same reason why cops have to shoot themselves with mace.
The arm was a bad spot. I know that now, especially with how big the bruise is, and how prominent it is. But where else? Foot? Thigh? Shin? Fuck the shin. No way.
For the record, I didn't shoot Kibbee. I don't know why everyone was worried that I would. I'm not gonna shoot someone without good reason, I'll tell ya that much. Not with how much that gun hurts.
Yeah, I'm smrt.
Scott made a fairly astute observation the other night -- I shouldn't have shot myself in the arm. And there's the argument that I shouldn't have shot myself. My response to that is, you need to know what kind of force you're dealing with. It's the same reason why cops have to shoot themselves with mace.
The arm was a bad spot. I know that now, especially with how big the bruise is, and how prominent it is. But where else? Foot? Thigh? Shin? Fuck the shin. No way.
For the record, I didn't shoot Kibbee. I don't know why everyone was worried that I would. I'm not gonna shoot someone without good reason, I'll tell ya that much. Not with how much that gun hurts.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Out of control
I really shouldn't be allowed to find these sites...
Yeah. I'm spent.
| Your Kissing Technique Is: Perfect |
 Your kissing technique is amazing - and you know it. You have the confidence to make the first move. And you always seem to know what kissing style is going to work best. Sometimes you're passionate, sometimes you're a tease. And you're always amazing! |
| You Are Elektra |
 There's really no superhero with more style than you. Because who could beat being sexy assasin ninja? |
| Your Life Is Worth... |
 |
| How You Are In Love |
 You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time. You tend to take more than give in relationships. You tend to get very attached when you're with someone. You want to see your love all the time. You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change. You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard. |
| Your Aura is Blue |
 Spiritual and calm, you tend to live a quiet but enriching life. You are very giving of yourself. And it's hard for you to let go of relationships. The purpose of your life: showing love to other people Famous blues include: Angelina Jolie, the Dali Lama, Oprah Careers for you to try: Psychic, Peace Corps Volunteer, Counselor |
| You Will Die at Age 76 |
 You're pretty average when it comes to how you live... And how you'll die as well. |
| You Are 22 Years Old |
 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax. |
| You Are From Neptune |
 You are dreamy and mystical, with a natural psychic ability. You love music, poetry, dance, and (most of all) the open sea. Your soul is filled with possibilities, and your heart overflows with compassion. You can be in a room full of friendly people and feel all alone. If you don't get carried away with one idea, your spiritual nature will see you through anything. |
| Your Love Life Secrets Are |
 Looking back on your life, you will have a few true loves. You're a little scarred from your past relationships, but who isn't? You expect a lot from your lover - you want the full package. You tend to be very picky. In fights, you speak your mind and don't hold back. You know you're right, and you can get quite angry about it. A break-up usually comes as a shock to you. You always think things are going well. |
| You Are Animal |
 A complete lunatic, you're operating on 100% animal instincts. You thrive on uncontrolled energy, and you're downright scary. But you sure can beat a good drum. "Kill! Kill!" |
| Jennifer Saoko Ikuta's Aliases |
 Your movie star name: Pizza Tats Your fashion designer name is Jennifer Venice Your socialite name is Nefferjen Monterey Your fly girl / guy name is J Iku Your detective name is Cat Kennedy Your barfly name is Scott Jagermeister Your soap opera name is Saoko Carquinez Your rock star name is Twix Sperm Your Star Wars name is Jensam Ikusco Your punk rock band name is The Orgasmic Dildo |
Yeah. I'm spent.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
380 feet per second
Looks like this, when it hits skin:
Yeah. I shot myself with my Airsoft gun, just to see what it was like. Fuck getting hit. Fuck it right in the ear. Self-inflicted wound, I know.
Let's back up just a bit.
I've purchased a genuine Tokyo Marui MK23 Socom -- it's the gun Solid Snake uses in Metal Gear Solid 2. It's a gas gun (non-blowback) that fires 20g 6mm BBs (alphabet soup, I know). Since it's a gas-powered gun, it takes the heavier ammo and shoots it far, far away. Unless you're at point-blank range like I was about 20 minutes ago. Then it hits stuff and bounces off into who-knows-where.
That's my left arm in that pic. That's a 6mm scrape on my arm. There's a blood blister and a welt about the size of a 50-cent piece. I'm sure there will be bruising in the morning. It's sore in about a 3-inch radius of the "wound" (OK, so if you're a gaming geek, it's a 3-inch AOE). I've been hurt worse, but it's definitely uncomfortable. Ice pack not helping.
Why shoot yourself? Well, Chris says everyone does it. I can honestly say I should've picked another area, but oh well. I know I don't want to get shot at close range. I also know I won't shoot any animals I hold near and dear. Or even those I dislike. This shit hurts. Period. Probably won't be as bad through clothing. But when we start popping each other....
Tomorrow will be my debut shooting the Socom at things other than myself. It should be fun. At least assuming Kib and I don't get into a gunfight. o.O;
Yeah. I shot myself with my Airsoft gun, just to see what it was like. Fuck getting hit. Fuck it right in the ear. Self-inflicted wound, I know.
Let's back up just a bit.
I've purchased a genuine Tokyo Marui MK23 Socom -- it's the gun Solid Snake uses in Metal Gear Solid 2. It's a gas gun (non-blowback) that fires 20g 6mm BBs (alphabet soup, I know). Since it's a gas-powered gun, it takes the heavier ammo and shoots it far, far away. Unless you're at point-blank range like I was about 20 minutes ago. Then it hits stuff and bounces off into who-knows-where.
That's my left arm in that pic. That's a 6mm scrape on my arm. There's a blood blister and a welt about the size of a 50-cent piece. I'm sure there will be bruising in the morning. It's sore in about a 3-inch radius of the "wound" (OK, so if you're a gaming geek, it's a 3-inch AOE). I've been hurt worse, but it's definitely uncomfortable. Ice pack not helping.
Why shoot yourself? Well, Chris says everyone does it. I can honestly say I should've picked another area, but oh well. I know I don't want to get shot at close range. I also know I won't shoot any animals I hold near and dear. Or even those I dislike. This shit hurts. Period. Probably won't be as bad through clothing. But when we start popping each other....
Tomorrow will be my debut shooting the Socom at things other than myself. It should be fun. At least assuming Kib and I don't get into a gunfight. o.O;
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
River, show me how to float...
Yeah, we're on a music kick. Still.
Early in my relationship with the ex, Peter Gabriel was a pretty big part of my listening experience. "In Your Eyes" -- that was our song, just like it was for so many other people. That came off "So", the album Peter filled with songs about his love for Rosanna Arquette. The same woman who broke his heart and prompted him to write the songs on "Us" several years later.
I liked the songs on "So", but it wasn't until the ex left that I understood the songs on "Us." This one in particular hit home.
Washing Of The Water
Peter Gabriel
River, river carry me on
Living river carry me on
River, river carry me on
To the place where I come from
So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside
River, show me how to float
I feel like I'm sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water
My feet won't touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around
Going away, away towards the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on though the heartland
'Til the sun has left the sky
River, river carry me high
'Til the washing of the water make it all alright
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight
Letting go, it's so hard
The way it's hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with thing
'Cause if I follow through
I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide
River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away
I dismissed this song when I got the CD. I was in it for "Sledgehammer" and "Kiss that Frog." But in 2004, well, these were the songs that got me through a lot of shit.
There's still a lot of emotion tied to PG's music for me. Happy, sad... the one song I can't listen to is "I Grieve" but only because I played it constantly the day after the ex told me he was done. It was pretty pathetic, but it did help me sort through the wreckage.
The song up there... it's good at getting me grounded and centered. "Letting go, it's so hard/the way it's hurting now/to get this love untied." Yeah. I can relate to that. I've been there. It could be a bit of a downer... it's a somber song, but it works for me.
And with that bit of blabbering, I'm gonna pick up the guitar before I go to bed and see if I can massacre "Solsbury Hill." Again.
Early in my relationship with the ex, Peter Gabriel was a pretty big part of my listening experience. "In Your Eyes" -- that was our song, just like it was for so many other people. That came off "So", the album Peter filled with songs about his love for Rosanna Arquette. The same woman who broke his heart and prompted him to write the songs on "Us" several years later.
I liked the songs on "So", but it wasn't until the ex left that I understood the songs on "Us." This one in particular hit home.
Washing Of The Water
Peter Gabriel
River, river carry me on
Living river carry me on
River, river carry me on
To the place where I come from
So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside
River, show me how to float
I feel like I'm sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water
My feet won't touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around
Going away, away towards the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on though the heartland
'Til the sun has left the sky
River, river carry me high
'Til the washing of the water make it all alright
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight
Letting go, it's so hard
The way it's hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with thing
'Cause if I follow through
I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide
River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away
I dismissed this song when I got the CD. I was in it for "Sledgehammer" and "Kiss that Frog." But in 2004, well, these were the songs that got me through a lot of shit.
There's still a lot of emotion tied to PG's music for me. Happy, sad... the one song I can't listen to is "I Grieve" but only because I played it constantly the day after the ex told me he was done. It was pretty pathetic, but it did help me sort through the wreckage.
The song up there... it's good at getting me grounded and centered. "Letting go, it's so hard/the way it's hurting now/to get this love untied." Yeah. I can relate to that. I've been there. It could be a bit of a downer... it's a somber song, but it works for me.
And with that bit of blabbering, I'm gonna pick up the guitar before I go to bed and see if I can massacre "Solsbury Hill." Again.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
One more thing
Things that make me happy, right now...
hearing "Quality" in iTunes
painting
hanging out with the kids
Roscoe's happy dance
my guitar
having sore fingers from playing my guitar
Flying Pie
getting over strep throat without OTC meds
having a casual pass
4-day work weeks
falling asleep
long, close hugs
good-night kisses
and above all, this man:
He is smiling.
G'night.
hearing "Quality" in iTunes
painting
hanging out with the kids
Roscoe's happy dance
my guitar
having sore fingers from playing my guitar
Flying Pie
getting over strep throat without OTC meds
having a casual pass
4-day work weeks
falling asleep
long, close hugs
good-night kisses
and above all, this man:
He is smiling.
G'night.
Getting the hang of it
So I played the guitar tonight when I got home. A lot. I had iTunes going and was trying to find things I could play. I've been able to play the intro to "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd since I got it. Not very well, but I could.
Tonight, I figured out "Solsbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel (yay!) and "Hey Man, Nice Shot" by Filter (sorta). I'm not ready to play for anyone yet, but all of that musical stuff I learned in school is slowly coming back.
Playing the guitar is such a great release I didn't realize how long I had been doing it.
My fingers, however, are very aware of how long I was playing...
Tonight, I figured out "Solsbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel (yay!) and "Hey Man, Nice Shot" by Filter (sorta). I'm not ready to play for anyone yet, but all of that musical stuff I learned in school is slowly coming back.
Playing the guitar is such a great release I didn't realize how long I had been doing it.
My fingers, however, are very aware of how long I was playing...
Monday, September 18, 2006
Yeah, OK
I slapped the shit out of Emo Jen and I'm back.
I chose my mood, and I chose poorly, though at the time, it seemed like a good idea. No harm to anyone but me, none of it physical. You don't go to bed angry. And I won't.
Tonight was proof that Flying Pie makes everything better. And breadsticks rule. But I still like my sauce hot (minds out of gutter, all of you).
And even if the shoulder to cry on is out of town, having someone there to listen makes all the difference. You may think no one cares or notices, but you're wrong. You make a difference to me.
Thanks, guys. You know who you are. And I've got your back when you need it.
Sundaes. It's all about the sundaes.
I chose my mood, and I chose poorly, though at the time, it seemed like a good idea. No harm to anyone but me, none of it physical. You don't go to bed angry. And I won't.
Tonight was proof that Flying Pie makes everything better. And breadsticks rule. But I still like my sauce hot (minds out of gutter, all of you).
And even if the shoulder to cry on is out of town, having someone there to listen makes all the difference. You may think no one cares or notices, but you're wrong. You make a difference to me.
Thanks, guys. You know who you are. And I've got your back when you need it.
Sundaes. It's all about the sundaes.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
No subject
Hurt
Nine Inch Nails
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of shit
upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
the feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become?
my sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away in the end
You could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way...
Nine Inch Nails
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of shit
upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
the feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become?
my sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away in the end
You could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way...
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Word of the day: Tyranny
"Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day."
-- Thomas Jefferson
"Dictatorship naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme liberty."
-- Plato
tyr an ny [tir-uh-nee]
noun, plural -nies.
1. arbitrary or unrestrained exercise of power; despotic abuse of authority.
2. the government or rule of a tyrant or absolute ruler.
3. a state ruled by a tyrant or absolute ruler.
4. oppressive or unjustly severe government on the part of any ruler.
5. undue severity or harshness.
6. a tyrannical act or proceeding.
"There is no week nor day nor hour when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their roughness and spirit of defiance."
-- Walt Whitman
In the course of 24 hours, I've changed my tune. Or rather, I've allowed myself to accept the possibility that criminal acts committed by our government reach levels none of us can comprehend or are willing to accept.
We're a nation of sheep. We're lemmings. We run off the cliff, chasing whatever tidbits the evening news throws us about Iraq, gas prices, Britney Spears' baby -- you name it. We want to believe what we're fed because it's easier than thinking for ourselves. We're excessive, whether it's food, skyscrapers or cars. Bigger is better. More is better. Whatever is better -- that's our goal. We know better, we must lead the way.
Why wouldn't we want to believe that two airliners could take down the World Trade Center? Why wouldn't we want to believe the jet fuel could melt steel beams and cause the towers to collapse? Why wouldn't we want to believe that Muslim extremists were to blame for the single deadliest attack on American soil?
Because it's easier than accepting the possibility that someone other than Muslim extremists were responsible for the murders of our own citizens.
"If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy."
-- James Madison
I've never accepted the reasons why we went to war in Iraq. My joke to my friends was that Dubya was cleaning up daddy's mess -- the same mess that Bush Sr. knew he didn't stand a chance fixing. We're over there for the oil and the money. But I never wanted to believe that what we were told after 9-11 wasn't true.
Somewhere along the line, my inner journalist got turned off. You know, the part that says "trust, but verify"? I remember watching the news five years ago, seeing the reports from the people saying they heard explosions. And yet, when they showed pictures of the suspected terrorists, all talk of bombs disappeared. There weren't bombs. There were hateful men who wanted to be martyred who flew planes into the towers so they could get their virgins in the ever after.
So why the change of heart? At the recommendation of a friend, I watched a little movie called "Loose Change." It's not the kind of movie you'll see in the theater. It's low-budget, but it's got a mission. I don't accept it as the whole truth, but it puts things together about 9-11 that the mainstream media won't touch.
There are too many coincidences for it to be made up. There are too many pieces to the puzzle, too many things that make sense. Why? Greed. Power. Excess. It's the American way.
"Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive."
-- C. S. Lewis
I'll take one example from the film, one that stuck with me. When American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon, experts said it hit five light poles, bounced off the lawn and then hit the building. Footage from the scene shows light poles that look like they were knocked over and absolutely no marks on the grass! Really. The pictures don't lie. Don't give me shit about photo manipulation; those images were too widely distributed for that to fly. And the plane disintegrated. Poof. Very little debris. No bodies. Where the fuck did they go? That's a great question.
So, if for a moment, you believe that the American government set 9-11 in motion, there are a few more things to consider. The events of 9-11 led us to... war in Iraq. No, there wasn't a link between Al-Qaeda and Saddam, but Dubya was itchin for a fight there. Let's not forget: We're the country that helped Saddam to power because we needed the Iraqis to help us fight Iran in the Iran-Iraq war. With the war in Iraq, there are tremendous opportunities for American companies to help rebuild the country's infrastructure and provide security.
Still more companies benefit by an increased military build up. It allows the government to dump all kinds of undocumented money into a war that was started under false pretense.
And let's not forget the oil. The oil that's about $66/barrel right now. The oil that makes the gas that around the nation is about $2.64/gallon. And yet in Idaho, we're still paying $2.93/gallon. Fuck that. Seriously.
Someone is profiting from this. And it sure as hell isn't anyone who needs the money. We've got vets with post-traumatic stress disorder. We've got vets with missing limbs. We've got families missing mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. Why? Because we sent them to fight a war in the desert that was started because our government thought it could make some money. And that we'd be dumb enough to go along with it. For five years, a lot of us have. But that has to stop.
And it has to stop now.
"All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent."
-- Thomas Jefferson
Get your hands on "Loose Change." I've got it on DVD and I'll burn you a copy and get you one. Just let me know. Watch it. And then tell me that it doesn't make sense.
Loose Change on Google Video
The 911Research Companion
Building 7's collapse
Scholars for 9/11 truth
9-11 alternative news
Pentagon Research
Am I crazy? Some of you might think so. At the very least, you should open yourself up to the possibility that we've been lied to and manipulated. I don't like that. Not one bit. I've got some strong convictions and I stand firm in my beliefs. I've never done anything about it. But not this time. There's too much at stake. Too much as been lost.
I'll get off the soap box for now.
-- Thomas Jefferson
"Dictatorship naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme liberty."
-- Plato
tyr an ny [tir-uh-nee]
noun, plural -nies.
1. arbitrary or unrestrained exercise of power; despotic abuse of authority.
2. the government or rule of a tyrant or absolute ruler.
3. a state ruled by a tyrant or absolute ruler.
4. oppressive or unjustly severe government on the part of any ruler.
5. undue severity or harshness.
6. a tyrannical act or proceeding.
"There is no week nor day nor hour when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their roughness and spirit of defiance."
-- Walt Whitman
In the course of 24 hours, I've changed my tune. Or rather, I've allowed myself to accept the possibility that criminal acts committed by our government reach levels none of us can comprehend or are willing to accept.
We're a nation of sheep. We're lemmings. We run off the cliff, chasing whatever tidbits the evening news throws us about Iraq, gas prices, Britney Spears' baby -- you name it. We want to believe what we're fed because it's easier than thinking for ourselves. We're excessive, whether it's food, skyscrapers or cars. Bigger is better. More is better. Whatever is better -- that's our goal. We know better, we must lead the way.
Why wouldn't we want to believe that two airliners could take down the World Trade Center? Why wouldn't we want to believe the jet fuel could melt steel beams and cause the towers to collapse? Why wouldn't we want to believe that Muslim extremists were to blame for the single deadliest attack on American soil?
Because it's easier than accepting the possibility that someone other than Muslim extremists were responsible for the murders of our own citizens.
"If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy."
-- James Madison
I've never accepted the reasons why we went to war in Iraq. My joke to my friends was that Dubya was cleaning up daddy's mess -- the same mess that Bush Sr. knew he didn't stand a chance fixing. We're over there for the oil and the money. But I never wanted to believe that what we were told after 9-11 wasn't true.
Somewhere along the line, my inner journalist got turned off. You know, the part that says "trust, but verify"? I remember watching the news five years ago, seeing the reports from the people saying they heard explosions. And yet, when they showed pictures of the suspected terrorists, all talk of bombs disappeared. There weren't bombs. There were hateful men who wanted to be martyred who flew planes into the towers so they could get their virgins in the ever after.
So why the change of heart? At the recommendation of a friend, I watched a little movie called "Loose Change." It's not the kind of movie you'll see in the theater. It's low-budget, but it's got a mission. I don't accept it as the whole truth, but it puts things together about 9-11 that the mainstream media won't touch.
There are too many coincidences for it to be made up. There are too many pieces to the puzzle, too many things that make sense. Why? Greed. Power. Excess. It's the American way.
"Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive."
-- C. S. Lewis
I'll take one example from the film, one that stuck with me. When American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon, experts said it hit five light poles, bounced off the lawn and then hit the building. Footage from the scene shows light poles that look like they were knocked over and absolutely no marks on the grass! Really. The pictures don't lie. Don't give me shit about photo manipulation; those images were too widely distributed for that to fly. And the plane disintegrated. Poof. Very little debris. No bodies. Where the fuck did they go? That's a great question.
So, if for a moment, you believe that the American government set 9-11 in motion, there are a few more things to consider. The events of 9-11 led us to... war in Iraq. No, there wasn't a link between Al-Qaeda and Saddam, but Dubya was itchin for a fight there. Let's not forget: We're the country that helped Saddam to power because we needed the Iraqis to help us fight Iran in the Iran-Iraq war. With the war in Iraq, there are tremendous opportunities for American companies to help rebuild the country's infrastructure and provide security.
Still more companies benefit by an increased military build up. It allows the government to dump all kinds of undocumented money into a war that was started under false pretense.
And let's not forget the oil. The oil that's about $66/barrel right now. The oil that makes the gas that around the nation is about $2.64/gallon. And yet in Idaho, we're still paying $2.93/gallon. Fuck that. Seriously.
Someone is profiting from this. And it sure as hell isn't anyone who needs the money. We've got vets with post-traumatic stress disorder. We've got vets with missing limbs. We've got families missing mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. Why? Because we sent them to fight a war in the desert that was started because our government thought it could make some money. And that we'd be dumb enough to go along with it. For five years, a lot of us have. But that has to stop.
And it has to stop now.
"All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent."
-- Thomas Jefferson
Get your hands on "Loose Change." I've got it on DVD and I'll burn you a copy and get you one. Just let me know. Watch it. And then tell me that it doesn't make sense.
Loose Change on Google Video
The 911Research Companion
Building 7's collapse
Scholars for 9/11 truth
9-11 alternative news
Pentagon Research
Am I crazy? Some of you might think so. At the very least, you should open yourself up to the possibility that we've been lied to and manipulated. I don't like that. Not one bit. I've got some strong convictions and I stand firm in my beliefs. I've never done anything about it. But not this time. There's too much at stake. Too much as been lost.
I'll get off the soap box for now.
When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty
"I sincerely wish we could see our government so secured as to depend less on the character of the person in whose hands it is trusted. Bad men will sometimes get in and with such an immense patronage may make great progress in corrupting the public mind and principles. This is a subject with which wisdom and patriotism should be occupied." -- Thomas Jefferson to Moses Robinson, 1801.
A lot of you aren't going to like what I have to say. So if you're easily offended or agree with the president, you may want to stop now.
I remember Sept. 11, 2001. I remember the anger I felt. I remember wanting to "get the bastards responsible." I remember the sadness I felt at the loss of life, at the fire fighters and police officers who died in the line of duty.
I don't intend disrespect toward anyone who died -- was murdered, really -- that day. But I've had five years to formulate my opinions, do the research, and not follow mainstream media like so many lemmings.
"but overall, the American journalism was cowed, and intimidated by this massive flag-sucking, this patriotic, orgy. You know if you're criticizing the President it's unpatriotic and there's something wrong with you and you may be a terrorist ... "
So, so in that sense, Hunter S. Thompson, there's not enough room for dissenting voices?
"Well, there's plenty of room, just not enough people that are willing to take the risk."
The "liberal media" isn't liberal at all. Your very own Idaho Statesman was owned by Gannett, then sold to Knight Ridder, which was bought by McClatchy. Your local TV and radio stations are owned by Journal Broadcast and Belo. The days of the independent voice are long gone. Corporate journalism is the norm, the mainstream. Rupert Murdoch, who also owns myspace, is best known for owning FOX. FOX News, for all intents and purposes, the Dubya's own personal propaganda machine. Yeah. Liberal media? Since when have corporations been known for being liberal?
For those who don't know, I was a member of the mainstream media for 16 years. On 9-11, I watched the events unfold as a journalist, as someone who knew I'd help deliver a product to our readers. In sports, we pitched in to put together the news portions of morning paper. Yeah, we had our spin on things, but sports... really, who the fuck cared?
Even in the newsroom, there was rampant speculation about who was responsible. "Oh, it was terrorists." "The picked 9-11 because that's what you dial in an emergency!" "We need to get those bastards. We've been attacked. We need to go to war."
Yeah, I bought into the fervor. I wrapped myself in the flag like a good American. I listened to the president's speeches about vengeance, liberty, patriotism and democracy. No, I hadn't had a lobotomy and was supportive of Dubya, but I knew there had to be a plan, a way for "justice to be served."
"Those who are willing to forfeit liberty for security will have neither."
-- Benjamin Franklin
People compared the attacks of 9-11 to Pearl Harbor. There is some merit to that, but they didn't remember their history.
On Feb. 19, 1942, in the wake of Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, President Franklin. D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which allowed military authorities to exclude anyone from anywhere without trial or hearings. This order set the stage for the entire forced removal and incarceration of Japanese Americans and people of Japanese descent along the West Coast.
My grandparents, both U.S. citizens, were rounded up and put in an internment camp because of their heritage. My grandfather was drafted, and while stationed in Texas, did his turn at guard duty armed with a broom because they didn't trust the Japanese-American soldiers with guns.
So why bring up this bit of personal history? Because for people who haven't faced discrimination, this is one way they can sometimes understand.
After 9-11, suspected terrorists were rounded up. They were questioned, interrogated, some of them sent off to a CIA-run prison camp in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Many of them haven't been charged. They were picked up -- in the interest of national security -- and are still being held today. One minor detail -- with few exceptions, these "suspects" were all Arab looking. Dark skin, beard, turban? Well shit yeah, Deputy Fife, we got us a gen-u-wine terrist. We better call the gubment.
Tonight, Scott was telling me about a fellow electrician who emigrated to the U.S. with his wife from Iran. He's had to endure all manner of racial epithets, threats... you name it. The guy is scary smart and is no terrorist.
Since 9-11, this fellow has gotten nothing but grief. In fact, a general contractor fired him from a job because he didn't want any "rag heads" around. The GC was sued and lost.
But clearly, since "rag heads" hijacked planes, were fighting against freedom democracy, they needed to be rounded up. Especially the ones living here in the states. Because they could be sleepers. They could be the next wave. National security. Patriot Act. Yeah, go git em.
"Gentlemen we have called you together to inform you that we are going to overthrow the United States government
Do you still think that jet fuel brought down the World Trade Center?
(Laughter)
Does anybody else see a problem here?
If the government has nothing to hide why are they so afraid to answer a few questions?
This story does not add up
Verse 1
Im on a mission to never forget
3,000 people that Ive never met
We want some answers and all that we get
Some kind of shit about a terrorist threat
Lies Lies Lies Lies Lie"
-- Ministry ~ Lieslieslies
So really, out of one tragedy, several others are born. Racism and racial profiling are alive and well in America. And we go to war -- under the guise of fighting for freedom -- at the cost of untold numbers of Iraqi civilians and nearly 3,000 of our own forces.
There is no link between 9-11 and the war in Iraq. Let's get that out there. It's not a matter of believing or not believing Michael Moore. There's not a fucking link, OK? That being said, if Osama is in Afghanistan, why haven't we found his sorry ass? Why don't we have the bulk of our forces over there? Because the oil's in Iraq.
Do I want the troops to come home? Hell yes. Do I support them? Fuck yes. And I want them to come home. Don't confuse not supporting the war with being unpatriotic. We were lied to. We were played. There are a lot of people who said it better than I can.
But the fact that people are being singled out for their religion or their appearance... tell me how that advances freedom and paves the way for democracy. Oh wait. It doesn't.
The attacks on 9-11 were a tragedy; they were born of hate, they should have been prevented. It's not so much the terrorist hate freedom. They hate the fact that the U.S. has to go and stick its nose in everybody's business. So let's go fix he world while we can't take care of shit here at home. The extremists are tired of our support for Israel, which in turn, is at war with Palestine and has serious issues with several other Muslim nations. They want freedom -- from us -- and will do whatever they need to. We want to spread freedom, democracy and the American way.
Remember something called Manifest Destiny?
"Manifest Destiny is a phrase that expressed the belief that the United States had a mission to expand, spreading its form of democracy and freedom. Advocates of Manifest Destiny believed that expansion was not only good, but that it was obvious ("manifest") and inevitable ("destiny"). Originally a political catch phrase of the 19th century, "Manifest Destiny" eventually became a standard historical term, often used as a synonym for the territorial expansion of the United States across North America towards the Pacific Ocean." -- wikipedia.org
That's not just a 19th century ideal. It's something we're practicing today. We're spreading freedom in Iraq. We're giving them democracy and freedom, whether they want it, or not.
And for fuck's sake. I'm not siding with Al-Qaeda. I'm just educated enough to understand there are two sides to every story, whether you want to hear it or not. Fanaticism from either side is wrong. War in the name of god is wrong. Because any god I'd believe in wouldn't be about vengeance and hate.
But clearly, since I disagree with the war, disagree with the president I didn't elect, I must be a terrorist. I don't have a magnetic flag on my car. I don't worship the flag, I don't wrap myself in it. I don't pray. I don't go to church. I don't understand why after the pain and suffering brought about by 9-11 we have to perpetuate the same hate.
I'm no Hunter S. Thompson, but I'm willing to be a dissenting voice.
A lot of you aren't going to like what I have to say. So if you're easily offended or agree with the president, you may want to stop now.
I remember Sept. 11, 2001. I remember the anger I felt. I remember wanting to "get the bastards responsible." I remember the sadness I felt at the loss of life, at the fire fighters and police officers who died in the line of duty.
I don't intend disrespect toward anyone who died -- was murdered, really -- that day. But I've had five years to formulate my opinions, do the research, and not follow mainstream media like so many lemmings.
"but overall, the American journalism was cowed, and intimidated by this massive flag-sucking, this patriotic, orgy. You know if you're criticizing the President it's unpatriotic and there's something wrong with you and you may be a terrorist ... "
So, so in that sense, Hunter S. Thompson, there's not enough room for dissenting voices?
"Well, there's plenty of room, just not enough people that are willing to take the risk."
The "liberal media" isn't liberal at all. Your very own Idaho Statesman was owned by Gannett, then sold to Knight Ridder, which was bought by McClatchy. Your local TV and radio stations are owned by Journal Broadcast and Belo. The days of the independent voice are long gone. Corporate journalism is the norm, the mainstream. Rupert Murdoch, who also owns myspace, is best known for owning FOX. FOX News, for all intents and purposes, the Dubya's own personal propaganda machine. Yeah. Liberal media? Since when have corporations been known for being liberal?
For those who don't know, I was a member of the mainstream media for 16 years. On 9-11, I watched the events unfold as a journalist, as someone who knew I'd help deliver a product to our readers. In sports, we pitched in to put together the news portions of morning paper. Yeah, we had our spin on things, but sports... really, who the fuck cared?
Even in the newsroom, there was rampant speculation about who was responsible. "Oh, it was terrorists." "The picked 9-11 because that's what you dial in an emergency!" "We need to get those bastards. We've been attacked. We need to go to war."
Yeah, I bought into the fervor. I wrapped myself in the flag like a good American. I listened to the president's speeches about vengeance, liberty, patriotism and democracy. No, I hadn't had a lobotomy and was supportive of Dubya, but I knew there had to be a plan, a way for "justice to be served."
"Those who are willing to forfeit liberty for security will have neither."
-- Benjamin Franklin
People compared the attacks of 9-11 to Pearl Harbor. There is some merit to that, but they didn't remember their history.
On Feb. 19, 1942, in the wake of Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, President Franklin. D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, which allowed military authorities to exclude anyone from anywhere without trial or hearings. This order set the stage for the entire forced removal and incarceration of Japanese Americans and people of Japanese descent along the West Coast.
My grandparents, both U.S. citizens, were rounded up and put in an internment camp because of their heritage. My grandfather was drafted, and while stationed in Texas, did his turn at guard duty armed with a broom because they didn't trust the Japanese-American soldiers with guns.
So why bring up this bit of personal history? Because for people who haven't faced discrimination, this is one way they can sometimes understand.
After 9-11, suspected terrorists were rounded up. They were questioned, interrogated, some of them sent off to a CIA-run prison camp in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Many of them haven't been charged. They were picked up -- in the interest of national security -- and are still being held today. One minor detail -- with few exceptions, these "suspects" were all Arab looking. Dark skin, beard, turban? Well shit yeah, Deputy Fife, we got us a gen-u-wine terrist. We better call the gubment.
Tonight, Scott was telling me about a fellow electrician who emigrated to the U.S. with his wife from Iran. He's had to endure all manner of racial epithets, threats... you name it. The guy is scary smart and is no terrorist.
Since 9-11, this fellow has gotten nothing but grief. In fact, a general contractor fired him from a job because he didn't want any "rag heads" around. The GC was sued and lost.
But clearly, since "rag heads" hijacked planes, were fighting against freedom democracy, they needed to be rounded up. Especially the ones living here in the states. Because they could be sleepers. They could be the next wave. National security. Patriot Act. Yeah, go git em.
"Gentlemen we have called you together to inform you that we are going to overthrow the United States government
Do you still think that jet fuel brought down the World Trade Center?
(Laughter)
Does anybody else see a problem here?
If the government has nothing to hide why are they so afraid to answer a few questions?
This story does not add up
Verse 1
Im on a mission to never forget
3,000 people that Ive never met
We want some answers and all that we get
Some kind of shit about a terrorist threat
Lies Lies Lies Lies Lie"
-- Ministry ~ Lieslieslies
So really, out of one tragedy, several others are born. Racism and racial profiling are alive and well in America. And we go to war -- under the guise of fighting for freedom -- at the cost of untold numbers of Iraqi civilians and nearly 3,000 of our own forces.
There is no link between 9-11 and the war in Iraq. Let's get that out there. It's not a matter of believing or not believing Michael Moore. There's not a fucking link, OK? That being said, if Osama is in Afghanistan, why haven't we found his sorry ass? Why don't we have the bulk of our forces over there? Because the oil's in Iraq.
Do I want the troops to come home? Hell yes. Do I support them? Fuck yes. And I want them to come home. Don't confuse not supporting the war with being unpatriotic. We were lied to. We were played. There are a lot of people who said it better than I can.
But the fact that people are being singled out for their religion or their appearance... tell me how that advances freedom and paves the way for democracy. Oh wait. It doesn't.
The attacks on 9-11 were a tragedy; they were born of hate, they should have been prevented. It's not so much the terrorist hate freedom. They hate the fact that the U.S. has to go and stick its nose in everybody's business. So let's go fix he world while we can't take care of shit here at home. The extremists are tired of our support for Israel, which in turn, is at war with Palestine and has serious issues with several other Muslim nations. They want freedom -- from us -- and will do whatever they need to. We want to spread freedom, democracy and the American way.
Remember something called Manifest Destiny?
"Manifest Destiny is a phrase that expressed the belief that the United States had a mission to expand, spreading its form of democracy and freedom. Advocates of Manifest Destiny believed that expansion was not only good, but that it was obvious ("manifest") and inevitable ("destiny"). Originally a political catch phrase of the 19th century, "Manifest Destiny" eventually became a standard historical term, often used as a synonym for the territorial expansion of the United States across North America towards the Pacific Ocean." -- wikipedia.org
That's not just a 19th century ideal. It's something we're practicing today. We're spreading freedom in Iraq. We're giving them democracy and freedom, whether they want it, or not.
And for fuck's sake. I'm not siding with Al-Qaeda. I'm just educated enough to understand there are two sides to every story, whether you want to hear it or not. Fanaticism from either side is wrong. War in the name of god is wrong. Because any god I'd believe in wouldn't be about vengeance and hate.
But clearly, since I disagree with the war, disagree with the president I didn't elect, I must be a terrorist. I don't have a magnetic flag on my car. I don't worship the flag, I don't wrap myself in it. I don't pray. I don't go to church. I don't understand why after the pain and suffering brought about by 9-11 we have to perpetuate the same hate.
I'm no Hunter S. Thompson, but I'm willing to be a dissenting voice.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
If I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
If I were Roy Rogers
I'd sure enough be single
I couldn't bring myself to marrying old Dale
It'd just be me and Trigger
We'd go riding through them movies
Then we'd buy a boat and on the sea we'd sail
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
The mystery masked man was smart
He got himself a Tonto
'Cause Tonto did the dirty work for free
But Tonto he was smarter
And one day said kemo sabe
Kiss my ass I bought a boat
I'm going out to sea
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
And if I were like lightning
I wouldn't need no sneakers
I'd come and go wherever I would please
And I'd scare 'em by the shade tree
And I'd scare 'em by the light pole
But I would not scare my pony on my boat out on the sea
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
That's one of my favorite Lyle Lovett songs. That one and "Penguins" are pretty close to the top of the list. And one of these days, I'm gonna learn how to play that song.
That day is closer than it ever was.
Right now, the fingers on my left hand are killing me. The tips are numb and it hurts to type a little bit. I've been dinking around on the guitar I'm buying from Mikey, and I have to say, it's one of the best things I've decided to do.
I can't play any songs right now... can't practice chords too well since it's only got five strings because I need a peg so we can string the 6th one. But Scott cleaned it and got it strung tonight and just dinking around is way more satisfying than I thought it'd be. I plucked out the beginning to "Louie Louie." I've been looking at the book Scott loaned to me and checking out tabs to songs I like, courtesy of teh intarweb. I found the tab for the Lyle Lovett song I quoted. I'm not there yet, but it's something to aim for.
The thing I keep thinking is, "what took you so long?" That's the question I ask myself about a lot of things.
I don't want to believe I wasn't free when I was married. But I swear to dog, since the divorce, I've been doing shit I should've done in college. Started listening to punk. Bought a skateboard. Got a faux-hawk. Got an airsoft gun. Got a guitar.
It's not so much a matter of freedom; it's a matter of getting to know myself. And not giving a shit what people think.
Music's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, mom played a lot of different stuff -- John Denver, Stevie Wonder, the Beatles, Steely Dan, James Taylor, the Temptations... all kinds of different styles and artists. In the 4th grade, I got into band and started playing flute. The summer between 7th and 8th grade, I taught myself to play trumpet -- and was good enough to be third chair (out of three!) in jazz band. I also took up piccolo my 8th grade year and had that bitch of a solo in "Stars and Stripes Forever." There's no fucking way I could play that now.
High school meant jazz band, concert band and marching band. Somewhere in there, I taught myself how to play alto sax -- fingerings were nearly identical to flute. So at one point, I knew how to play four or five different instruments. I wasn't great; I could play in tune and knew my part. But I couldn't solo, didn't want to solo.
During my one semester at University of Arizona, I was in the marching band there and was one of three tenor saxes. That was great fun. Stayed out of music in JC but joined the marching band at SJSU. Did pep band too. Got to march at USC, Stanford... pretty cool shit. That was the last time I did anything formal with music.
Tonight, in looking at tabs with guitar in hand... it all started coming back to me. I can hear things but I can't make it happen yet. I don't know the instrument. But I'm gonna learn. That's for damn sure.
This really isn't about a "new me." I've always been there. It's a matter of freeing myself from the bullshit. So far, it's been a lot of fun.
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
If I were Roy Rogers
I'd sure enough be single
I couldn't bring myself to marrying old Dale
It'd just be me and Trigger
We'd go riding through them movies
Then we'd buy a boat and on the sea we'd sail
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
The mystery masked man was smart
He got himself a Tonto
'Cause Tonto did the dirty work for free
But Tonto he was smarter
And one day said kemo sabe
Kiss my ass I bought a boat
I'm going out to sea
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
And if I were like lightning
I wouldn't need no sneakers
I'd come and go wherever I would please
And I'd scare 'em by the shade tree
And I'd scare 'em by the light pole
But I would not scare my pony on my boat out on the sea
And if I had a boat
I'd go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I'd ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat
That's one of my favorite Lyle Lovett songs. That one and "Penguins" are pretty close to the top of the list. And one of these days, I'm gonna learn how to play that song.
That day is closer than it ever was.
Right now, the fingers on my left hand are killing me. The tips are numb and it hurts to type a little bit. I've been dinking around on the guitar I'm buying from Mikey, and I have to say, it's one of the best things I've decided to do.
I can't play any songs right now... can't practice chords too well since it's only got five strings because I need a peg so we can string the 6th one. But Scott cleaned it and got it strung tonight and just dinking around is way more satisfying than I thought it'd be. I plucked out the beginning to "Louie Louie." I've been looking at the book Scott loaned to me and checking out tabs to songs I like, courtesy of teh intarweb. I found the tab for the Lyle Lovett song I quoted. I'm not there yet, but it's something to aim for.
The thing I keep thinking is, "what took you so long?" That's the question I ask myself about a lot of things.
I don't want to believe I wasn't free when I was married. But I swear to dog, since the divorce, I've been doing shit I should've done in college. Started listening to punk. Bought a skateboard. Got a faux-hawk. Got an airsoft gun. Got a guitar.
It's not so much a matter of freedom; it's a matter of getting to know myself. And not giving a shit what people think.
Music's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, mom played a lot of different stuff -- John Denver, Stevie Wonder, the Beatles, Steely Dan, James Taylor, the Temptations... all kinds of different styles and artists. In the 4th grade, I got into band and started playing flute. The summer between 7th and 8th grade, I taught myself to play trumpet -- and was good enough to be third chair (out of three!) in jazz band. I also took up piccolo my 8th grade year and had that bitch of a solo in "Stars and Stripes Forever." There's no fucking way I could play that now.
High school meant jazz band, concert band and marching band. Somewhere in there, I taught myself how to play alto sax -- fingerings were nearly identical to flute. So at one point, I knew how to play four or five different instruments. I wasn't great; I could play in tune and knew my part. But I couldn't solo, didn't want to solo.
During my one semester at University of Arizona, I was in the marching band there and was one of three tenor saxes. That was great fun. Stayed out of music in JC but joined the marching band at SJSU. Did pep band too. Got to march at USC, Stanford... pretty cool shit. That was the last time I did anything formal with music.
Tonight, in looking at tabs with guitar in hand... it all started coming back to me. I can hear things but I can't make it happen yet. I don't know the instrument. But I'm gonna learn. That's for damn sure.
This really isn't about a "new me." I've always been there. It's a matter of freeing myself from the bullshit. So far, it's been a lot of fun.
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
The art of being ...
an asshole.
Some people can do this in a humorous manner. They have a good sense of timing, they know where the boundaries are, they can be serious and get down to business when they need to -- or should.
Along those lines, I like this song a lot...
Bad Penny
Big Black
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Don't curse me for my nature, don't bless me for my luck
Just a bad penny, I always come back to you
Just a bad penny
Just a bad penny, I always come back to you
Should have known you couldn't trust me
Far as you can throw me, throw me
Couldn't throw me too far
Just a bad penny, couldn't throw me too far
I think I fucked your girlfriend once
Maybe twice, I don't remember
Then I fucked all your friends' girlfriends
Now they hate you
Just a bad penny, just a bad penny
Just a bad penny, just a bad penny
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Bad, bad penny, bad, bad penny
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Such a bad penny
Ooh bad, bad penny, bad, bad penny
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Ought've known you couldn't trust me
As far as you can throw me, throw me
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Slap my hand
OK, so maybe that doesn't really fit what I'm trying to say tonight, and maybe I was just looking for a reason to post the lyrics to one of my most favoritest Big Black songs. But yeah. An entertaining asshole is someone you'll come back to. There. Justified the placement of lyrics.
Anyway, being an asshole takes a certain amount of finesse, timing and intelligence. You toy with people without annoying them. You poke fun without being malicious. You stir shit just for the hell of it and can clean up any messes you start -- if they need cleaning up. Otherwise, it can be fun to start something, watch folks get into a tizzy and ... disappear...
But let's remember: all things in moderation.
I know quite a few people who are very good at this. The thing that makes them good is the fact they aren't an asshole all the time; it's like a switch that gets flipped. There are quite a few folks near and dear to me who are great assholes. They do it for the entertainment value. They aren't malicious. You knock someone down, you bring em up. It's a game. No one gets hurt, for the most part.
I know even more people who aren't good at this. They are Genuine Assholes™, who couldn't be anything else even if they tried.
There's the gamer, who we'll call GamerGuy, who has to argue about every rule, every move and twist every rule, every move to his advantage. People don't like playing him. They don't like being in the same room with him. He fails at being a Good Asshole™ because this is his constant state of being. He's never wrong, everyone is against him. He doesn't understand why it's bad to make a 12-year-old cry, or why sometimes, you just need to play for fun, not to prove you're the best because you have a small penis.
There's another gamer, who we'll call DeviousGamer, who likes to take advantage of his place of employment -- so much so, he gets himself merchandise ahead of customers. He fails at being a Good Asshole™ because he does this maliciously -- if a customer has placed a special order, and a product is reserved for that customer, clearly, the customer really, really wants the product. He does this as a power trip and because he thinks he's funny. And because he has a small penis.
This brings to our next type of failed Good Asshole™, the pessimistic, whining, complainer, who we'll call BigBoob. This person is a bad asshole because everyone is against him, no on understands him, everyone hates him, he'll go eat worms. If he makes a snarky comment, he's being witty and humorous. If you make a snarky comment, you're berating him. He's the malcontent in a roomful of people who have little to complain about, so he complains louder so he'll be noticed. He's the guy who asks stupid questions and can't stand to see other people succeed. We suspect he acts this way because he hasn't seen his penis in years. And because it's small.
Finally in our list of Genuine Assholes™, we've got the person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with. The one who said "I love you more" when you said "I love you." The one who said "I'll never leave you" and then leaves you for "true love" that looks like so much tired white trash. The that makes you say, "you left me for that? Fuck. You are stupid." This is the asshole we'll call StupidFuckingEx. He isn't an asshole for breaking your heart. He is an asshole because he had a small penis. This species is incapable of ever being a Good Asshole.™
So it would be easy to assume I'm an asshole because I know so much about them. But assuming isn't a good thing.
I'm not an asshole, I'm a dick.
Because you are what you eat.
Some people can do this in a humorous manner. They have a good sense of timing, they know where the boundaries are, they can be serious and get down to business when they need to -- or should.
Along those lines, I like this song a lot...
Bad Penny
Big Black
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Don't curse me for my nature, don't bless me for my luck
Just a bad penny, I always come back to you
Just a bad penny
Just a bad penny, I always come back to you
Should have known you couldn't trust me
Far as you can throw me, throw me
Couldn't throw me too far
Just a bad penny, couldn't throw me too far
I think I fucked your girlfriend once
Maybe twice, I don't remember
Then I fucked all your friends' girlfriends
Now they hate you
Just a bad penny, just a bad penny
Just a bad penny, just a bad penny
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Bad, bad penny, bad, bad penny
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Such a bad penny
Ooh bad, bad penny, bad, bad penny
Ought to know what a liar I am, ought to know me by now
Ought've known you couldn't trust me
As far as you can throw me, throw me
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Such a bad penny, such a bad penny
Slap my hand
OK, so maybe that doesn't really fit what I'm trying to say tonight, and maybe I was just looking for a reason to post the lyrics to one of my most favoritest Big Black songs. But yeah. An entertaining asshole is someone you'll come back to. There. Justified the placement of lyrics.
Anyway, being an asshole takes a certain amount of finesse, timing and intelligence. You toy with people without annoying them. You poke fun without being malicious. You stir shit just for the hell of it and can clean up any messes you start -- if they need cleaning up. Otherwise, it can be fun to start something, watch folks get into a tizzy and ... disappear...
But let's remember: all things in moderation.
I know quite a few people who are very good at this. The thing that makes them good is the fact they aren't an asshole all the time; it's like a switch that gets flipped. There are quite a few folks near and dear to me who are great assholes. They do it for the entertainment value. They aren't malicious. You knock someone down, you bring em up. It's a game. No one gets hurt, for the most part.
I know even more people who aren't good at this. They are Genuine Assholes™, who couldn't be anything else even if they tried.
There's the gamer, who we'll call GamerGuy, who has to argue about every rule, every move and twist every rule, every move to his advantage. People don't like playing him. They don't like being in the same room with him. He fails at being a Good Asshole™ because this is his constant state of being. He's never wrong, everyone is against him. He doesn't understand why it's bad to make a 12-year-old cry, or why sometimes, you just need to play for fun, not to prove you're the best because you have a small penis.
There's another gamer, who we'll call DeviousGamer, who likes to take advantage of his place of employment -- so much so, he gets himself merchandise ahead of customers. He fails at being a Good Asshole™ because he does this maliciously -- if a customer has placed a special order, and a product is reserved for that customer, clearly, the customer really, really wants the product. He does this as a power trip and because he thinks he's funny. And because he has a small penis.
This brings to our next type of failed Good Asshole™, the pessimistic, whining, complainer, who we'll call BigBoob. This person is a bad asshole because everyone is against him, no on understands him, everyone hates him, he'll go eat worms. If he makes a snarky comment, he's being witty and humorous. If you make a snarky comment, you're berating him. He's the malcontent in a roomful of people who have little to complain about, so he complains louder so he'll be noticed. He's the guy who asks stupid questions and can't stand to see other people succeed. We suspect he acts this way because he hasn't seen his penis in years. And because it's small.
Finally in our list of Genuine Assholes™, we've got the person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with. The one who said "I love you more" when you said "I love you." The one who said "I'll never leave you" and then leaves you for "true love" that looks like so much tired white trash. The that makes you say, "you left me for that? Fuck. You are stupid." This is the asshole we'll call StupidFuckingEx. He isn't an asshole for breaking your heart. He is an asshole because he had a small penis. This species is incapable of ever being a Good Asshole.™
So it would be easy to assume I'm an asshole because I know so much about them. But assuming isn't a good thing.
I'm not an asshole, I'm a dick.
Because you are what you eat.
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
The Eight of Spades
... or, call the SPCA, you should be spayed
The past few weeks, we've been playing a fun little game called Redneck Life. It's like The Game of Life, but with a redneck slant. The winner is the one with the most teeth after the "Day of Reckonin'" and money is used as a tie-breaker. A word to the wise: Don't enter the hog calling contest if Scott is playing. You'll lose.
We went to Flying Pie for dinner tonight. It was a little more crowded than usual, but who wants to cook on a holiday? It's all about making someone else labor for you, right? Or did I get that wrong...
Anyway, we grabbed a table near the front... usual table in the back was dirty, and we weren't about to sit in the game room. Things were nice and kicked-back for awhile until the family (or group) with two adults and seven kids came in and took up residence at the long table next to us.
We heard them long before we saw them. Yelling, arguing, wanting quarters to play games, you name it. The worst part, up to that point, was when they took their stack of plates to the table, clacking and banging all the way. I used to work at FP. I washed those plates on a regular basis. Even at my worst, I never made that much noise loading or unloading the dishwasher or stacking those god-damned plates. It must be some kind of redneck gift.
But hey. The plates provided the foundation for the yelling and bickering that followed. I think there were 7 young 'ens. Probably a fair amount of Darryls. One girl in the lot. I felt sorry for her, until she started talking.
"I sooooooo want these Vans."
The kid across from her, couldn't have been more than eight, comes back with, "Vans are gay."
"They are not!! They're at Hot Topic and they're sooooooo cool."
"Hot Topic is gay."
And so on and so forth.
Then the thought occurred to me: What the fuck are these kids being taught?
When did the meaning for gay change? When did "gay" become interchangeable with "lame" or "crappy"? Why that word? You don't hear people saying "that's so jap" or "that's so Irish." Yeah, I know that's a rant for another day, but that shit ain't right in my world. People never seem to have an answer for that. And they seem to get really uncomfortable when I substitute "gay" with "jap." Funny, that.
The dominant redneck in the group was a real winner. He had an over-grown mullet and was wearing a Slayer t-shirt. The icing on the cake was the big, blue cast on his right arm and the MGD he was drinking. I can only guess the cast was from a "hold my beer and watch this" kind of train wreck. And MGD? Sweet fucking dog. Customers like him are the whole reason FP has to stock shitty beer. But I digress yet again.
You see the profile pic. You know what my hair looks like. I really don't need to get into a staring contest with a wall-eyed redneck spawn. I think I've lived long enough to not have to put up with that. But stare he did... because clearly, I'm a "ferrener." Yeah. What the fuck are you looking at, Jebidiah Ray Wayne Cletus Earnhardt III. Oh so solly. I do laundry now. Just keep swimmin, son, those webbed fingers will definitely get you a spot on the varsity swim team.
The only thing that could've made this better would've been if the kid in the high chair had crapped his pants and they changed him on the table. Or if the little shit with the cheap yellow yo-yo had hit someone with it. Oh, the sweet, sweet justice if he had popped himself in the eye with it.
We finished our meal and left, thankful to be away from the din and the gelatinous mass of redneck life.
I'll tolerate a decent amount of shenanigans. But don't fuck up a meal at the Flying Pie.
The past few weeks, we've been playing a fun little game called Redneck Life. It's like The Game of Life, but with a redneck slant. The winner is the one with the most teeth after the "Day of Reckonin'" and money is used as a tie-breaker. A word to the wise: Don't enter the hog calling contest if Scott is playing. You'll lose.
We went to Flying Pie for dinner tonight. It was a little more crowded than usual, but who wants to cook on a holiday? It's all about making someone else labor for you, right? Or did I get that wrong...
Anyway, we grabbed a table near the front... usual table in the back was dirty, and we weren't about to sit in the game room. Things were nice and kicked-back for awhile until the family (or group) with two adults and seven kids came in and took up residence at the long table next to us.
We heard them long before we saw them. Yelling, arguing, wanting quarters to play games, you name it. The worst part, up to that point, was when they took their stack of plates to the table, clacking and banging all the way. I used to work at FP. I washed those plates on a regular basis. Even at my worst, I never made that much noise loading or unloading the dishwasher or stacking those god-damned plates. It must be some kind of redneck gift.
But hey. The plates provided the foundation for the yelling and bickering that followed. I think there were 7 young 'ens. Probably a fair amount of Darryls. One girl in the lot. I felt sorry for her, until she started talking.
"I sooooooo want these Vans."
The kid across from her, couldn't have been more than eight, comes back with, "Vans are gay."
"They are not!! They're at Hot Topic and they're sooooooo cool."
"Hot Topic is gay."
And so on and so forth.
Then the thought occurred to me: What the fuck are these kids being taught?
When did the meaning for gay change? When did "gay" become interchangeable with "lame" or "crappy"? Why that word? You don't hear people saying "that's so jap" or "that's so Irish." Yeah, I know that's a rant for another day, but that shit ain't right in my world. People never seem to have an answer for that. And they seem to get really uncomfortable when I substitute "gay" with "jap." Funny, that.
The dominant redneck in the group was a real winner. He had an over-grown mullet and was wearing a Slayer t-shirt. The icing on the cake was the big, blue cast on his right arm and the MGD he was drinking. I can only guess the cast was from a "hold my beer and watch this" kind of train wreck. And MGD? Sweet fucking dog. Customers like him are the whole reason FP has to stock shitty beer. But I digress yet again.
You see the profile pic. You know what my hair looks like. I really don't need to get into a staring contest with a wall-eyed redneck spawn. I think I've lived long enough to not have to put up with that. But stare he did... because clearly, I'm a "ferrener." Yeah. What the fuck are you looking at, Jebidiah Ray Wayne Cletus Earnhardt III. Oh so solly. I do laundry now. Just keep swimmin, son, those webbed fingers will definitely get you a spot on the varsity swim team.
The only thing that could've made this better would've been if the kid in the high chair had crapped his pants and they changed him on the table. Or if the little shit with the cheap yellow yo-yo had hit someone with it. Oh, the sweet, sweet justice if he had popped himself in the eye with it.
We finished our meal and left, thankful to be away from the din and the gelatinous mass of redneck life.
I'll tolerate a decent amount of shenanigans. But don't fuck up a meal at the Flying Pie.
Monday, September 4, 2006
Music
I don't sing in the shower. Oh, I have. And then I've listened and I've stopped. I'm not the worst singer I've heard; I can carry a tune and I'm on pitch, but people like Scott put me to shame.
I was a decent musician in high school and college. Did marching band, jazz band, concert band, advanced band in HS; marching band in college. I played my parts well enough, tried my best, and it was usually OK.
The one thing I wish I could do is write lyrics. Writing for publication on deadline is different than writing a song. I've tried. I have some decent ideas, but for the most part, the stuff I've tried is fucking lame.
I wish I could write stuff like this:
Duality
Slipknot
I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing
That slowly stops the ache
But it's made of all
The things I have to take
Jesus it never ends
It works it's way inside
If the pain goes on...
I have screamed until my veins collapsed
I've waited as my times elapsed
Now all I do is live with so much fate
I've wished for this
I've bitched at that
I've left behind this little fact
You cannot kill what you did not create
I've gotta say what I've gotta say and then I swear I'll go away
But I cant promise you'll enjoy the noise
I guess I'll save the best for last
My future seems like one big past
You are left with me 'cause you left me no choice
It's not gonna win a Pulitzer or any literary award, but if you've heard the song... there's a rawness and emotion that gets conveyed that I really like.
So, since I can't write music and don't play an instrument any more, I'm left with just one line of defense: My vast iTunes library and the ability to burn CDs.
I used to make mix tapes all the time as a kid. Once I got a CD player (way back in the lat '80s), then it was all about making tapes with the 3 or 4 discs I owned. I got an iMac DV SE in 2000 and then bought an external CD burner. I could burn my own music! That was about when iTunes came out. It was too cool to be able to burn my own CDs for the car.
I had gotten out of the mix-tape habit until I hooked up with Scott. I burned a ton of CDs for him... in the beginning, the songs were put on the disc after careful consideration for the mood or message I wanted to convey. Those CDs left little doubt about my feelings. It's all stuff I had said, but there's something cool about finding a song that conveys what you're feeling.
Anyway, the whole point of all of this is to say I want to get back in the habit of burning mix discs. And to tell those of you who get CDs to not read too much into it. I like to pick a theme and run with it. So hopefully, when I start doing that, you'll like what I've burned for ya. Some of it might be stuff you have, some of it maybe something you've never heard. I just want folks to get a little enjoyment out of it.
Now I need to make time to do this...
Oh, I might be able to take requests. But it's more fun to try new things, don't ya think?
I was a decent musician in high school and college. Did marching band, jazz band, concert band, advanced band in HS; marching band in college. I played my parts well enough, tried my best, and it was usually OK.
The one thing I wish I could do is write lyrics. Writing for publication on deadline is different than writing a song. I've tried. I have some decent ideas, but for the most part, the stuff I've tried is fucking lame.
I wish I could write stuff like this:
Duality
Slipknot
I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing
That slowly stops the ache
But it's made of all
The things I have to take
Jesus it never ends
It works it's way inside
If the pain goes on...
I have screamed until my veins collapsed
I've waited as my times elapsed
Now all I do is live with so much fate
I've wished for this
I've bitched at that
I've left behind this little fact
You cannot kill what you did not create
I've gotta say what I've gotta say and then I swear I'll go away
But I cant promise you'll enjoy the noise
I guess I'll save the best for last
My future seems like one big past
You are left with me 'cause you left me no choice
It's not gonna win a Pulitzer or any literary award, but if you've heard the song... there's a rawness and emotion that gets conveyed that I really like.
So, since I can't write music and don't play an instrument any more, I'm left with just one line of defense: My vast iTunes library and the ability to burn CDs.
I used to make mix tapes all the time as a kid. Once I got a CD player (way back in the lat '80s), then it was all about making tapes with the 3 or 4 discs I owned. I got an iMac DV SE in 2000 and then bought an external CD burner. I could burn my own music! That was about when iTunes came out. It was too cool to be able to burn my own CDs for the car.
I had gotten out of the mix-tape habit until I hooked up with Scott. I burned a ton of CDs for him... in the beginning, the songs were put on the disc after careful consideration for the mood or message I wanted to convey. Those CDs left little doubt about my feelings. It's all stuff I had said, but there's something cool about finding a song that conveys what you're feeling.
Anyway, the whole point of all of this is to say I want to get back in the habit of burning mix discs. And to tell those of you who get CDs to not read too much into it. I like to pick a theme and run with it. So hopefully, when I start doing that, you'll like what I've burned for ya. Some of it might be stuff you have, some of it maybe something you've never heard. I just want folks to get a little enjoyment out of it.
Now I need to make time to do this...
Oh, I might be able to take requests. But it's more fun to try new things, don't ya think?
Saturday, September 2, 2006
Rinse, repeat? Or, not doing that again
There was a time when I settled and was happy with that; it's how I ended up married -- though at the time, I didn't realize that's what I was doing. It wasn't until getting completely shit on and divorced that I understood the importance of taking chances and fighting for what you want.
I've said before that I don't have a perfect life but that I'm relatively happy. That's still the case, despite the bitching in the earlier entry. Aside from the living situation, I don't have a lot to complain about. Work has turned into something fairly entertaining, and when I get my shit together, I know it will be pretty fun to hang out with some of my co-workers.
The big thing for me is breaking out of the routine -- difficult to do, given how little time I have with Scott. What free time I have, I try to spend with him. But nights like tonight, where I'm stuck at home (my choice, I know), would it kill me to go out with friends?
I didn't do a whole lot of going out when I was married. And yet, the ex and I were together -- and apart -- in the same house at the same time. I thought I was happy. Today, I know I'm happy, whether I'm with Scott or my friends.
The PS2 hasn't been on yet. There's been no gaming, though I may sneak in some BrainAge on the DS. Tonight has been about getting the site up for the Monday gaming crew, so I don't feel too bad about staying in.
But those other times, those times coming up in the future... when someone says they need something to do and I come up with an activity of some kind... that's not a hollow gesture. Chances are, if I make a suggestion, it's because I want to hang out. What you see is what you get with me. If I like you, it's going to be rather obvious. If I don't, then don't expect any invitations from me. Oh, I can be polite and cordial and professional, but that doesn't mean "hey, let's hang out." I can be pleasant enough because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but that's about where it ends.
So if I say "hot fudge sundaes" or suggest getting food or something, then that's the best I can come up with. That's what passes for spontaneous at my age. So say "yes" -- it'll be fun. Better yet, if any of you Top 16 locals come up with something, I'll do what I can to make it happen.
Until I can figure out a way to send hugs or hot fudge sundaes through chat or the internet, I guess the only solution is to get out and have fun.
Powerbooks and ice cream just can't get along.
I've said before that I don't have a perfect life but that I'm relatively happy. That's still the case, despite the bitching in the earlier entry. Aside from the living situation, I don't have a lot to complain about. Work has turned into something fairly entertaining, and when I get my shit together, I know it will be pretty fun to hang out with some of my co-workers.
The big thing for me is breaking out of the routine -- difficult to do, given how little time I have with Scott. What free time I have, I try to spend with him. But nights like tonight, where I'm stuck at home (my choice, I know), would it kill me to go out with friends?
I didn't do a whole lot of going out when I was married. And yet, the ex and I were together -- and apart -- in the same house at the same time. I thought I was happy. Today, I know I'm happy, whether I'm with Scott or my friends.
The PS2 hasn't been on yet. There's been no gaming, though I may sneak in some BrainAge on the DS. Tonight has been about getting the site up for the Monday gaming crew, so I don't feel too bad about staying in.
But those other times, those times coming up in the future... when someone says they need something to do and I come up with an activity of some kind... that's not a hollow gesture. Chances are, if I make a suggestion, it's because I want to hang out. What you see is what you get with me. If I like you, it's going to be rather obvious. If I don't, then don't expect any invitations from me. Oh, I can be polite and cordial and professional, but that doesn't mean "hey, let's hang out." I can be pleasant enough because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but that's about where it ends.
So if I say "hot fudge sundaes" or suggest getting food or something, then that's the best I can come up with. That's what passes for spontaneous at my age. So say "yes" -- it'll be fun. Better yet, if any of you Top 16 locals come up with something, I'll do what I can to make it happen.
Until I can figure out a way to send hugs or hot fudge sundaes through chat or the internet, I guess the only solution is to get out and have fun.
Powerbooks and ice cream just can't get along.
Friday, September 1, 2006
Bitchfest 2k6
or, it's easier to be cranky at the moment....
It's one of those things where when you've been happy for so long, it feels good to be angry. It could be over stupid shit, like it is right now, or it could be some not-so-stupid shit, which is also the case.
I have very little to complain about on the relationship front. The complaints I have are very minor... things like not returning phones calls, or if we're supposed to hang out, tell me where you're going to be. Minor, yes, annoying, yes as well. But after two years, if that's my biggest gripe, I count myself as doing pretty well. Dog knows there was a long list during the marriage, which is why getting divorced was really a good thing. Didn't think so then, but hey... it's a forest-for-the-trees sorta thing.
Yet, here I am, home on a Friday night, blogging on fucking myspace because clearly, my life is that boring. I'll probably fire up the PS2 here in a bit, or maybe work on the web stuff I need to get done. Who knows. Regardless, I'm here and the man is who knows where.
That's not what makes me angry. What makes me angry are people who lie, who manipulate, who need to control everything. People who do this to their own family, to kids who are trying to find the good, the redeemable parts -- and are getting used.
You can't make someone love you, you can't make up for being a shitty parent. Kids aren't there for convenience or to make you look good. Nothing is gained by forcing a kid to take sides.
I don't fucking know. I've run out of steam on this one. I guess the bottom line is that I hate people.
At least right now I do.
P.S. The flash light I bought at Cabela's tonight doesn't work. Woo fucking hoo.
It's one of those things where when you've been happy for so long, it feels good to be angry. It could be over stupid shit, like it is right now, or it could be some not-so-stupid shit, which is also the case.
I have very little to complain about on the relationship front. The complaints I have are very minor... things like not returning phones calls, or if we're supposed to hang out, tell me where you're going to be. Minor, yes, annoying, yes as well. But after two years, if that's my biggest gripe, I count myself as doing pretty well. Dog knows there was a long list during the marriage, which is why getting divorced was really a good thing. Didn't think so then, but hey... it's a forest-for-the-trees sorta thing.
Yet, here I am, home on a Friday night, blogging on fucking myspace because clearly, my life is that boring. I'll probably fire up the PS2 here in a bit, or maybe work on the web stuff I need to get done. Who knows. Regardless, I'm here and the man is who knows where.
That's not what makes me angry. What makes me angry are people who lie, who manipulate, who need to control everything. People who do this to their own family, to kids who are trying to find the good, the redeemable parts -- and are getting used.
You can't make someone love you, you can't make up for being a shitty parent. Kids aren't there for convenience or to make you look good. Nothing is gained by forcing a kid to take sides.
I don't fucking know. I've run out of steam on this one. I guess the bottom line is that I hate people.
At least right now I do.
P.S. The flash light I bought at Cabela's tonight doesn't work. Woo fucking hoo.
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