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3,553,969 | male | 17 | BusinessServices | Cancer | 05,June,2004 | As I am soon to move into my 17th year of existence, I reflect on my accomplishments as a person. Sure, I was in Student Council since my 6th grade year, being President twice. I've been on the Cause Youth Network's Leadership Team. I am on the Worship Team at our church. I've won many awards. I've had many friends. I've met many Congressmen. I've been to many parties, dinners, and luncheons......But where does this get me in the eyes of God? Having things, knowing people, and doing 'stuff' does not make me any better than anyone else. God loves me the same; just like everyone else on Earth. Materials and positions do not get me glory from God. It may feel good because the flesh likes it; because it is full or self-centered pride, but it is inadequate when it comes to Spiritual matters. So what should my focus be in life. If it's not just about being successful, what else is there. The answer lies in the word of God. Everyday I feel more desperate for God than the day before. God will show me something, or I will find a nugget in the Word, and I'll be satisfied for a time, but then the hunger comes back; and again I have to feed it. If this is what life is all about, they why are we all still locked up safe in our Lexus 'Cages' and our huge expensive homes; believing that we have the highest social status of all people on earth? What in the World are we doing??? |
4,063,562 | male | 16 | Student | Scorpio | 19,August,2004 | Yo pimps and hos its the world famous whit here and well tommrow is the big day the friday night lights r coming up and were strapping it up. But o yeah, shit were playing against one of the best QB's in the state. U know what though fuck it i'm going to try to break his damn leg if i get a hold of it. lol damn bastard. well i finally got to talk to rachel some today. and well she saw things the same way i did and wanted to go back to the way we were before we started going out. So i think that will kinda help too cause i think we kinda needed to get used to school a lil more. But yea its a good day when u get cha girl back, i even got a ride down to the field house in the pimp mobile. (92 cutlass sittin' on 10s) Well i gots to get some sleep but hey rachel sry i missed u on here i'll talk to u tommrow at FCA. Holla |
4,063,562 | male | 16 | Student | Scorpio | 18,August,2004 | Yo pimps and hos its the world famous whit here, live from Swofford CTS class again. Right now were supposed to be taking some gay test thing but u know, fuck it. Well i was right bout the 'we need to talk' shit, she said that she just aint in the relationship mood. Well shit say something a month ago, but o well. U know i never did ask if she actually liked me or what i think i'll do that today when i get back to school. I dont mean to sound like a dick but shit if u like somebody and they like u back then, know u. Dont get me wrong i really like being friends with her but if we aint goin to go out now then i would at least like us to be like we were when we were talkin but not so serious bout it. Like a lil more freedom and shit not tied down. but w/e, i tried not to talk to her that much today cause i was still kinda pissed so if u read this then just give me a day or so to get over it. Well now i got to go work on some fucking piece of shit computer catch yall on the flipside. |
4,063,562 | male | 16 | Student | Scorpio | 17,August,2004 | Yo pimps and Hos its the world famous whit here coming to u live from Swofford's CTS (Computer System's Tech.) class. fun fun fun. It really aint all that bad cause we just sit around for most of the time. shit h/o we got a fire drill brb. Aight back, anyway this day has already sucked donkey balls cause today at lunch Rachel said the four words that every guy loves to hear 'we need to talk'. As guy u might know what i mean but personally i dont see how it could be something that bad cause shit we just started goin out and she hasnt been acting weird but i dont know. but say it was something bad then i would be bumed dude i mean ....... well u know. wel i gots to go its break time but i'll let yall know how it goes lata. |
4,063,562 | male | 16 | Student | Scorpio | 13,August,2004 | Yo pimps and Hos its the world famous whit here coming to u live from Swofford's CST (Computer Systems Tech.) class. Fun Fun Fun. Nah actually we dont do much of shit in here. I've already have had a shitty ass day and at lunch i heard those 4 great words every guy loves to here 'we need to talk' |
4,063,562 | male | 16 | Student | Scorpio | 13,August,2004 | Yo pimps and hos its the world famous whit and i have just steped up to the new level of coolness. Well today was the second day of school and when i was talkin to rachel i noticed she was acting kinda weird bout somethin cause she acted different. Then she was like did u read my blog from last nite, and i was like nah my computer was fuck up which it really was. Then i planed on readin it during lunch but she said nah wait til u got to swofford to read it so i did and on it she was like ' i think its time for us to go out and we need to talk bout it in person'. So i was oooo snap. when i saw her again i was like yea i read something on the internet today at swofford and right then she knew what i was talkin bout. And of course she said yes! cause i mean come on who can turn down this huh? yea nobody. But anyways then i saw her at meet the cardinal and she had on these tight pants omg. And she even gave a little present afterwards before she had to go cause u know i'm that good. So yea now i offcailly goin out with her, so that has diffently rised my coolness level. Ps: and |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 29,July,2004 | Today, I did absolutely nothing. I didn't feel particularily guilty about that either. I felt shitty all day and I wished that I hadn't even gotten out of bed for most of it. I haven't even gotten any real gaming in today. I did find an interesting picture though. I'm not an American, so my opinion of the presidential candidates is hardly relevant, but this gives me a giggle anyway. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 28,July,2004 | I worked for several hours on the yard today. The back yard was much easier than I thought it would be, so I spent more time in the front yard than I had originally intended. I pulled up every weed, whacked down every tall blade of grass, and even tilled the soil in the garden by hand so that we can plant some attractive plants there once we have money. It was dirty, sweaty work, and my hands and back are still sore hours later, but it was worth it. The yard looks great. There is still work to be done out there, but the appearance has changed enough that I don't need to worry about complaints anymore. It's my own green thumb that will keep me occupied now, rather than the bitchery of others. I actually want to get some stuff growing out front as soon as I can. I haven't done any gardening in more than a decade, and I guess I missed it more than I thought. There are a couple of plants out there now that I didn't want to pull up because they were obviously 'garden' plants and not weeds, but they're kind of ugly. I'll probably wind up pulling them this weekend. I splurged and bought myself dinner from a restaurant to reward myself for all the hard work. I also managed to sit down and play a couple of hours worth of video games as well. All in all, this was a pretty good day off. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 26,July,2004 | The yard is coming along nicely. I've managed to trim most of the back yard down - only one corner remains overgrown. I still need to rake everything up, but that really won't take me all that long. There are some bare patches in the back yard that need to be fixed, but that's something I'll have to take care of over time. The front yard is my first project for tomorrow. It'll probably only take an hour or so, so I'm not very concerned about it. Nevertheless, I'd like to get it out of the way. The remainder of the back yard can be done either tomorrow afternoon or on Thursday. I've noticed that my temper is very short lately. Perhaps it has always been that way and I'm only just noticing, I don't know. In any case, I've been getting very angry very easily of late, and I'm not sure it's a bad thing. I'm much more inclined to voice my opinion when I'm angry, and I don't become a frothing beast like some people do when angered - I remain articulate, but I gain in volume and diminish in tact. I become very direct. It's a good thing. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 26,July,2004 | I spent a solid hour in the backyard. It does look a little better, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm going to need to roto-till and replant to make it look any good. Still, it was good to get outside and do something rather than sit on my ass. I also cleaned up the kitchen completely, which was even easier than I thought it would be. The front yard should be pretty easy - I'll do that tomorrow night after work. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 25,July,2004 | If a man's home is representative of his mental state, I must be a total wreck. It's unbelievable how messy I've allowed my home to become, both indoors and out. One of my first steps in bettering myself must be to improve the appearance of my home. If I'm in an environment that is always in shambles, how can I expect to exert order and control over my life? The first thing is to get the kitchen completely cleaned up. This is probably the easiest task, and will only take me an hour or so to complete. All I really need to do is one load of dishes, though I do need to fix the kitchen sink by replacing a washer in the cold water faucet as well - something that will have to wait until I can get to a hardware store, unfortunately. The next step, and probably most important one at this point, is to clean up the front and back yards of the condo. I don't have the equipment to do this though, so I'm going to need to convince my brother to bring the stuff over from my parents' place. I need to get rid of all of the weeds in the garden out front, aquire a working sprinkler to attempt reviving the grass, and possibly lay some soil so that I can plant some flowers. The grass hasn't grown enough to require an earnest clipping, but a weedwacking would do the edges some good. The back yard is another story though. I'm going to need to shovel up some dog shit, and the weedwacker probably won't be enough to take down the jungle weeds I've got growing back there. It's going to be several hours of work - I've already set aside my Wednesday off to take care of it, but I'm not certaint that it will be enough. I've got to get at least the front yard done by August 1st, according to a letter I received from the condo corporation. It still really chaps my Libertarian hide that they even have the right to require such a thing, but I do agree that the yard is out of hand. Once all of that is done, I need to start working on the bedrooms. My own room is a sty, but that is mostly thanks to my wife. Her clothing is spread all across her half of the room, and there's a stack of used kleenex on her side of the headboard. I found myself thoroughly dismayed when I returned to the room in that kind of state after my vacation. One of the spare rooms needs a fresh coat of paint and a solid carpet cleaning, as well as having all of a previous tenant's belongings emptied from it. This is probably another day-long project, and I don't know when I'll be able to get to it - probably not until next week. I'm going to start picking away at the back yard immediately. I don't have the tools right now, but I can still shovel up the dog shit and try to clear away some of the debris that has accumulated back there. It's not going to be fun, but it has to be done. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 25,July,2004 | I've been a blogger for years now. I started on urlLink Xanga way back in the Bianca Broussard days (circa 2001). I enjoyed it a great deal, as it was basically what I was trying to do with my old website at the time - just a personal journal where I could put down my thoughts. I introduced my wife to the site as well, and we both kept blogs there for quite some time. My wife eventually introduced some of her friends and our coworkers to the site. Many of them started blogging as well. We had our own little ad-hoc blogger community, and for a time it was good. There were perhaps one or two dozen people in the Xanga community who we knew outside of the web. We all traded comments and e-props, and we all posted fairly regularily. Things did eventually go sour though, as they are wont to do. Due to a falling out between two of the community members, which somehow got blamed on my wife and I, the whole thing fell apart. It got to the point that I couldn't post on my blog without it being brought up by venomous tongues. After almost two years of thrice-weekly posting, I gave up blogging. I was disgusted by the community that I had helped found, and I grew increasingly cynical about the content of the other blogs I found there. That was over a year ago. This blog is an attempt at a fresh start. It's actually my sixth attempt at a fresh start in the last few months. As the title of this post implies, I have very little trouble starting things over from scratch. It's staying the course that tends to give me trouble. The six previous incarnations of this journal survived only a handful of posts each. I'm hoping that this time I'll find the patience and will to continue posting. What's different this time? I've just gotten back from a vacation that served as a very strong reminder of what my goals and priorities should be. My previous six blog attempts have all been meandering and meaningless - I didn't know what I was writing about. My original blog was meant as a chronicling of my spiritual, intellectual, emotional and physical growth, and I'm going to recapture that with this attempt. The cosmetics of this journal are unimportant. The only important thing is that I post regularly, keep my mind on the relevant topics, and don't EVER allow myself to delete what I've written. |
3,200,412 | male | 25 | Technology | Pisces | 01,August,2004 | The next time I see my wife, it will have been one month since we parted. Originally, she was supposed to be back this Tuesday. She has been visiting friends in the eastern US for the last week, and she decided that she was too close to her family in the Maritimes to NOT go visit them. Up until last night, she gave me the impression that she might be there for a day or two. The last time I saw her was July 23rd. The next time I see her will be August 23rd. I'm a bit of a mess as a result. She thinks I'm angry with her, but that's not it really. Yeah, I'm upset that she just kind of dumped all of this on me. More than that though, I feel abandoned. We were supposed to fix the condo up this month in order to sell it. Am I to do that alone now? She's not bringing in any income if she's out of town, so I'm stuck with covering all of the bills out of my own pocket in the meantime as well. I wanted to kick out our room mates at the beginning of September as well, but it looks like that will be financially impossible too. I had been hoping to find a new job through all of this too, but with all of this going on that's really not feasible. The stress of everything is weighing very heavily on me. Part of me has become very cold and hard. I don't know what this means for her and I anymore. I don't know if I can take any more surprises. |
3,300,136 | female | 26 | Tourism | Leo | 17,mei,2004 | Well, memories will stay the same. Wherever you go, they will be 'just' memories. Happiness and sadness color my life. They will be 'just' memories when I recall them. Lately, I recall about Norway. We had a great time up there. December 2003, the winter time. We insisted to go to Norway and struggled with cold and snow. I 'just' can recall the memories. Just like a sea, they rush in my brain. Just like a movie, they play beautifully in my head. Once upon a time in my life, in Norway, at a small island near Oslo, by the shore. Beautiful view, great panorama. We could only make pictures of it, but could not bring it home. The sunset, orange and blue blurred into one great spot spreaded up in the sky. By the shore. 'When we were sad, please remember this very moment together, this beautiful time and place. Take it as the sweet memory of us. If I knew you longer, I would have asked you to be part of me, here, and at this very moment'. Wind blew its power and forced us to leave. Powerless and forceless. We were too stubborn to leave. Our love was greater. Lying back on stones, watching the sky, and silencium. Cold and wind, it was 10 degree under zero, maybe. But, they could not stop us on imagining, dreaming, and reaching the future. I want to go back there, one day, with you. And only with you. Lord, it was marvelous! I miss everything. Each senses. The smell of the sea, the falling leaves, the blowing wind, the roaming of the shore, the cracking stones, the rushing air, the kissing. Each feeling. The longing, the loving, the loved, the praying, the holding hands, the solitude moment,the hugging , the conversation, the silencium. Every single minute. With you. Yet I know, the show must go on. The journey should process. The time runs. The life progresses. Memories will be 'just' memories. But, I pack them in my head, unwrap them when I am longing and place them as one sweet piece of my journey. Never ever never can I forget them. Once again, my journey will continue. There will be another journey and another journey and another journey. In another place, another part of the world. Another step I am looking forward to. Not to leave behind the sweet memories, yet to enrich my journey. Life as a journey with God's hand holding me tight. I believe in Him, as I believe in my, our future. God blesses you, me and us. |
3,300,136 | female | 26 | Tourism | Leo | 12,mei,2004 | Aku ingin mencintaimu, dengan sederhana dengan kata yang tak kan pernah diucapkan kayu kepada api yang menjadikannya abu Aku ingin mencintaimu, dengan sederhana dengan isyarat yang tak sempat disampaikan awan kepada hujan yang menjadikannya tiada (Sapadi Joko Darmono) |
3,300,136 | female | 26 | Tourism | Leo | 11,mei,2004 | saat ini ku datang, membawa keluhku padaMu sungguh berat, beban yang menghimpit hati dan jiwaku kucurahkan sluruh hatiku dan ku dengar suaraMu berkata padaku 'Ku tak pernah tertidur, tak pernah lalai tanganKu slalu menopang dirimu percayalah padaKu, datang padaKu Ku slalu setia padamu saat kau tinggalkanKu Ku slalu setia padamu saat kau melupakanKu Ku slalu menunggumu kembali' (VOG,tak pernah tidur) |
3,300,136 | female | 26 | Tourism | Leo | 11,mei,2004 | time flies. i can't desist. struggles with problems. puzzles in life. life,.... sometimes it is tiring. it is tiring to reach the dreams and to keep on dreaming. yet, dreams make me alive and keep my vibes on and hypnotize me and fill up my soul. soul is fragile. feeling is hurted and hurts. pain is such a traffic, come and fro. solitude rejects me, fights me, squezzes me, yet throws me down. heart is flame, flamable. flamable till it ruins. happiness ruins me. it visits me, many times, uncountable. loves waltz me. they rush, they crush, they rock, they break, then, fly. perfect! i say. gorgeous! i admit. cry! i do. and pray, i be. believe and trust and surrender i, am rotten. i kneel. by: Wenny (Wageningen, May 11, 2004) |
3,300,136 | female | 26 | Tourism | Leo | 07,juli,2004 | Masih (Sahabatku, Kekasihku) (by: Ada Band) http://www.musikmu.com/audio/index.php?sort=2&page=1 Rasa Cinta yang dulu t'lah hilang Kini berseri kembali T'lah kau coba lupakan dirinya Hapus cerita lalu Dan lihatlah Dirimu bagai bunga di musim semi Yang tersenyum menatap indahnya dunia Yang seiring menyambut Jawaban s'gala gundahmu Walau badai menghadang Ingatlah ku kan selalu setia Menjagamu Berdua kita lewati Jalan yang berliku tajam Resah yang kau rasakan Kan jadi bagian hidupku bersamamu Letakkanlah segala lara di pundakku ini S'tiap waktu wajahmu yang lugu S'lalu jagai langkahku Telah lama kunanti dirimu Tempat ku kan berlabuh Cahaya hatiku Yakinlah kan kekal abadi s'lamanya Seperti bintang yang sinarnya terangi S'luruh ruang di jiwa Membawa kedamaian It was my song a year ago,... when we met, when every thing began, when each element in me started, when all bursted into one, when dream stepped in our lives. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 31,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] --OK, we will clear this up first. Unfortunately, most of the email I have been getting has been largely positive. I say unfortunate not because it's not nice that people are amused by my somewhat unintelligible externalizing of my inner monologue--it certainly is--but I was hoping I'd get some more people thinking and pissed off. Well, I almost did. A few emails have addressed my perceived self-adhesiveness and ego. The best was a random IM I received yesterday from some anonymous person. It went something like this (not an exact quote because I closed it before I had the presence of mind to copy and paste, but the sentiment is intact): 'I saw your name pop up on the Buddy List of my new screenname and I had forgotten about you because you blocked me. I don't care because I would never talk to you anyway, but I went to your site to figure out who you were. I wanted to tell you you're not really that great and a little full of yourself.' Let's straighten a few things here: 1. I have blocked one person in my rabid history of IM, my former roommate's former girlfriend because she was insane. Rather than block people I just simply ignore them, because I feel that to be more insulting. She just happened to really drive me up a wall. 2. If you don't care, why are you compelled to write? 3. I want to make this abundantly clear--let's not sugarcoat the adjectives. I'm not a little full of myself, I am 100% blatantly stuffed from and overflowing with myself. I have an ego the size of Montana and, in my own little demented world, it's well-earned. But I didn't think that had come across yet. Apparently it did, and I'm OK with that. To do what I want to do, you have to think very highly of yourself, and I think I'm pretty good at that. --Public Service Announcement for 31 October 2003: The gas at Sheetz is bad. Nobody use the gas. In an independent two week test performed by professionals with GeoffCo Labs, Sheetz Regular Unleaded Gasoline was tested against the same octane gasoline products of Texaco, Mobil, and Exxon. On the average, in a gorgeous 1996 For Escort Wagon (White), Sheetz gas enabled the car to travel a full 50-75 miles LESS per tank as compared to other brands. When the Postulate was first introduced a mere six months ago by one Mr. T. Richardson Brown, Banker, I laughed off the hypothesis as a lark. But field research cannot be denied. All tests were performed on a minimum of 150 highway driving miles. In unrelated news, the Lab rates the Sheetz Roast Beef PretzelWich as hands down the greatest PretzelWich in the land. --Speaking of (insert food here)Wich's, does anyone have actual physical evidence of anyone they know or have heard of actually ever having consumed a ManWich? Ever? Moreover, has anyone ever seen anyone buying said substance? Does it really exist outside of commercials? We've all had beef barbecue, but I'm serious here. It's probably a secret society and they have meetings in abandoned church basements. Like all people who have ever had Jello 1-2-3. That club, as I know from firsthand experience, is limited to myself and urlLink James . --Did you see the video of the guy shooting his lawyer outside the Van Nuys courthouse? Holy sh*t. The part that shocked me the most was how many people refused to do anything. They just stood there looking at the guy. Now, I am first to admit I'm not going to go gung-ho and throw a running Haymaker (a la Robin Ventura vs. Nolan Ryan) at a dude with a gun. I will also freely admit that I would be totally shocked to see such an event unfold before my eyes and would likely be statuesque for a number of moments. I might even pee just a little. Just a little. But when you watch a fat old guy calmly walking away from SHOOTING ANOTHER PERSON, back turned to you, you still do NOTHING? The f*cking camera guys just kept taking pictures. I mean Jesus Christ on a Fluffy Cloud in Heaven, jump on the motherf*cker. Tackle him. It took a full 45 seconds for someone to realize they could take him. The FOXNews camera guy acted like he was all helpful as he POINTED AT THE GUY EVERYONE JUST WATCHED SHOOT ANOTHER PERSON. 'Here he is guys, right here, I've got him in my sights, arrest this man, he's the one you just watched shoot another man while he hid behind a skinny tree, this guy right here, someone should get him, really, he's walking away at three miles per hour, seriously guys...' And has there ever been a more unlikely hero than our little ten-inch wide arborized battleshield? That lawyer fended off certain death with a leg-sized piece of bark and wood. This marks the most unprecedented series of legal maneuvers move since Clarence Darrow outdueled William Jennings Bryan to convince the State of Tennessee that no, the world wasn't really created in Seven Days, horsies before dinosaurs. If only Kobe could get that tree on his side, huh? --This LeBron James kid...he's exciting. I smell the rebirth of the NBA. Last night in the mall it was Trick Or Treat Fest 2003, and some guy (roughly 27 years old) was tooling about in a LeBron Authentic jersey. But not a Cavs Jersey. No. His high school jersey. Official. Authentic. St. Mary's. Adult Male. That is balls , ladies and gentlemen. The guy's girlfriend was fat. Coincidence? Not likely. Happy Halloween everyone. Big, big news coming soon. I'll just say for now that The Fiasco, as I'm calling it, begins in exactly 121 days, and 'The O.C.' was far, far more exciting and appropriate this week.... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 29,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] --Delivered some merchandise to Intercourse, PA today. That is good enough in and of itself, but not nearly the story. The merchandise I was delivering was for an Amish customer who owns a flower shop. The flower shop is upstairs from a Coffee shop, also Amish owned. I don't know any other way to say this so I'll just say it: I walked into the Coffee Shop to get the the Flower Shop, and behind the counter was absolutely the most intensely gorgeous female I have ever seen in my entire life. And she was full-fledged Amish. What the f*ck. Anyone who knows me knows I'm more of a brunette guy than blonde guy, but the blonde hair on this girl was like a very fine flax. Incredible DSL's, one hell of a breast and her Amish getup was quite form fitting. The best part was she was wearing no makeup (obviously) and was one of those girls that looks better without it. So I stared. I got caught. The guy who is running the place--I can only assume it's her father--caught me big time and made a joke out of it. 'The locals come for the coffee, but all the people from out of town just stare at the girl.' He laughed, she got red, and I just didn't care. Later, after describing the situation to the Amish lady upstairs, I was informed that this girl was 20 years old. Son of a b*tch motherf*cker. Had she been 16 it would have lessened the blow, as that would have made her too young, but 20 is still right in my wheelhouse, and this lends faith to the proposition that there is a God and he hates me so much that he taunts me with blazing hot, pious women that are untouchable. Not kidding, best looking human being I have ever seen in person. Imagine a better looking Jessica Simpson with a better body. Really. --Incidentally, another Amish customer of ours is also the owner of a flower shop. The business's name? The Flower Patch of Intercourse. I couldn't have made that up if I tried. Seriously, I know you're Amish, but don't you know? I guarantee people are looking through the phone book and their first thought is that it's a strip club or an Adult Bookstore. --My most recent Unconquerable Postulate: The new Volkswagon, Porsche, Infiniti and Chrysler SUV's are the exact same vehicle with different hood ornaments. I'm telling you, in five years we are all going to be driving the exact same OmniCar, a combo Minvan/SUV/Station Wagon. And have you seen the new Nissan Murano? My cousin just bought one, and I swear the thing is smiling at me every time I look at it. I kid you not, it's f*cking creepy. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 28,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] --Let's say you're the board of directors (yes, just you) of a major national clothing store. For our hypothetical purposes of today, we'll just call it The American Eagle Outfitters (TM). We'll assume it's a full week before Halloween and it's still a consistent 50 degrees in Pennsylvania. Don't you think the best idea would be to go ahead and not only set up the entire store for Xmas, but begin to play Xmas songs on all your stores' sound systems? Me too! This is sure to piss off NO ONE! What a f*cking genius you are! Standing in the doorway of my Job #2 location this evening, attempting to hand out life-saving coupons for 15% off a pair of pre-torn jeans (no, that's not a typo), I watched people enter the store. You know those Disney cartoons where Donald Duck's kids throw water on him in the morning to startle him out of bed? Remember what his face looked like? Well, that was every person that came in tonight, finding the store decked out in garland and little white lights. People looked like they had been told they had HIV and simultaneously punched in the stomach. Who makes a decision like this? I'm saying no more than a few days before Thanksgiving. Clearly, all the sh*t has to be up for Black Friday, this is a given. But before Halloween? And it's been this way since SUNDAY. The mall will host Trick-Or-Treat 2003 on Wednesday. Kids are going to be walking by the store in their little SpongeBob getups or whatever the hell they're wearing this year, seeing the Xmas decorations, and just getting confused as all get-out, like, 'Oh f*ck, did I hit a time warp? Is it snowing outside? I feel like I should walk down the stairs in my PJs now. Mom, what the f*ck is going on?' Here's another thing that really pisses me off--celebrating holidays several days before or after the actual date. F*ck this. Halloween is on October 31, you will get dressed and f*cking beg for candy on that day and no other. My hometown now has Trick-Or-Treat on the WEDNESDAY of Halloween week. WHY? What the HELL purpose does that serve? They even have established hours. Bullsh*t. Bullsh*t. It starts at like 5:30PM and goes until 7PM. No way man, it's not even dark at 5:30PM yet, and I'm for damn sure taking my time. Who the hell decided Halloween could have time limit? The same municipality has not had Fourth of July Fireworks on the Fourth of July for twelve years...EVEN WHEN IT F*CKING FELL ON A FRIDAY OR SATURDAY. It's like they're purposely trying to avoid celebrating the Holiday on the Holiday. Does this completely dismay anyone else or am I alone here? I mean is this f*cking crazy? I'm getting all riled up just thinking about it. It's like when they added Smarch to the school year in 'The Simpsons'. It's that kind of lunacy. Imbecile godd*mn d*uchebags, every single last one of these people. --Females back into parking spots way, way too often. It's almost an epidemic. Is there some kind of major problem backing OUT of the spot at the end of the day? I watched one chick whom I work with back into a spot at the mall tonight. It was unnecessary of one factor because there wasn't a single other car around her, but doubly so because she was closing with me and there were going to be no other cars in the parking lot when we left. What could possibly be the rationale for this course of action? Obviously there are going to be some times where it's advantageous to back into a spot, but c'mon people. And don't even get me started on the female incapability of performing the pull-through-to-the-empty-spot-in-front-of-you-so-you-can-later-drive-straight-out-of-said-spot (heretafter referred to as simply the 'Pull Through'). --My work on my two newest scripts is coming so d*mn slowly. I even got good notes on the first 1/3 of the one and I can't make myself keep going. Yes, I've had some distractions in the last few weeks, but I should have done something. I have all my notes and everything. I can't figure this out. I know I can sell this one too. Side Note: It's pretty sad when your motivation to sell a screenplay is not the realization of a dream, nor the contribution your art, nor even the possible critical acclaim; it is only knowing that you will be paid enough to get out of College Debt (TM). My credit report right now probably looks like the skin on my the bottom of my foot after it caught on fire and someone put it out with an old t-shirt. Another motivating factor to sell a script is the realization that I'll never qualify for any kind of loan and that I'll have to throw cash down on EVERYTHING. I can't wait until I have an agent and a personal financial guru. Give me three years, I'm telling you. Mad shout to urlLink DanWho , who was man enough to create the official GooseTown logo. I will put it up here when blogspot allows me to have pictures. Like a prisoner, I'm allowed only text here, but maybe in the near future I'll get moved to GenPop when I can hang some pictures on my cell walls. That will be when I put this logo up. If you haven't seen it, go to his webpage and check it out. Cousin Scott would be mighty proud. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 27,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] Actually got some emails on a few posts. Mostly from friends, which is nice in a melancholy sort of way. But it's a start. Sort of like your friend picking you last in dodgeball because you're buddies, knowing full well that your hands aren't big enough to grip the rubber deathspheres and therefore your throwing accuracy is that of a seven year old girl with no arms. But I digress. First email comes from Lolly, who I used to follow around The Highlawn Pavillion many a drunken night. She muses: >>But I AM wondering, in regards to your opinion about cheerleading not being a sport...if only the sports that have strict rules and guidelines can be truly called sports (like baseball, football, etc.), then does that make the Olympics an event that is NOT centered around sports? I guess you could call it an athletic event, which 'they' might for all I know about sports. Just a thought that stemmed from your thought... Good question Lolly. While the Olympics are comprised of several NonSports (gymanastics, diving, ice skating) and a few Near Retarded NonSports (hereafter referred to as NRNS's--like rhythmic gymnastics, which seems to be based on a childish dare), they are built on far many more Sports (baseball, basketball, wrestling, skiing, luging, track, speedskating, and my new favorite, Skeleton). Therefore, I would say the Olympics are still Sports-based. However, the IOC threatens to damn this opinion if they continue to consider Ballroom Dancing as an 'Olympic Event'. This humble guy is firmly entrenched in the belief that if Ballroom Dacing becomes an 'Olympic Event', the delicate fabric which gently binds time and space together will be irrevocably torn, resulting in the ultimate destruction of our very universe and putting an end to life as we know it. Next question comes from one of the more nefarious members of The Crew, the lovely and talented Kimer, who upon reading my post about cheerleaders wondered: 'But the Dukettes are OK, right?' Fret not, Kimer. For those unfortunately not inclined, the Dukettes were James Madison University's representative dance squadron. While they did perform at football games, they were not hyperspirited cheertrolls merely deflating their lungs. Think of them as more attractive and talented cheerleaders without the deafening suck. They also tend to be marginally less meaty than your average cheerleader, although as Kimer knows the Dukettes were never too good at 'laying off the snacks'. Finally, for my loyal readers at Guelph University in sunny Canada, I salute you. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 27,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] --I can't believe I have to wait until the first of the month (payday) to buy the g*ddamn 'Indiana Jones' DVD Boxed Set. This is driving me up a f*cking wall. You know what's really sad, though? Harrison Ford works his entire life, becomes this huge sex symbol (not to mention a damn good actor), gets rid of his floundering wife...and ends up with Calista Flockhart. What the f*ck? Harry...I mean Jesus in Heaven, she's the only one that was knocking down your door? Outside of Sean Connery, I can't think of another older guy to whom more women attest that they want to bang. You're slowing down, you're looking more and more grizzled...I'm telling you, hop on the best thing that comes along, not the Saltine with hair. Does this chick have even one redeeming ounce of sexual appeal? My meter is reading zero. I can't figure this out. It bugs me to no end. Is there a good reason you didn't hop on the Demi Moore train, even if it was just for a short ride? I'm so perplexed. Han Solo is going to get hitched to a walking skeleton. My whole world is crumbling. --I worked a 8AM - 6 PM shift at the spectacular American Eagle Outfitters yesterday. I was actually excited to go back to work there for a bit--great discount, same people still managing so I don't really have to do much except crack jokes, and a steady influx of girls. What I failed to realize was that the job was great in high school because I was sixteen and so were all the girls. Now I'm 24...and the girls are all still sixteen. But they don't look sixteen, they look 27, and they are untouched by the atrocious College Beer Fat. This makes for an extremely uncomfortable moral dilemma wherein I weigh the possible consequences of hitting on a pre-collegiate coed. They're unappetizing. In 'Dazed N' Confused', Wooderson exclaims, 'You know the great thing about these high school girls? I get older...they stay the same age.' You think that's brilliant until you hit a quarter century. Then you realize he's a pedophile and you probably are too. I can't even masturbate comfortably now, fearing an errant thought will enter my head, causing the police to kick in my door. --Is there anything more heartbreaking than a pet store? I swear the entrance to every Pettery is laced with some kind of chemical that gives you amnesia, because you ALWAYS walk in thinking, 'Oh, this'll be nice, there's all kinds of fluffy animals in here for me to pet.' For some reason your brain has miraculously hidden away the evidence of the fact that you will leave depressed and mentally incompliant. Super Pets was having a ferret sale today. I have wanted a ferret since I was nine. I don't have good luck with pets. I have given my last two dogs away, though not by overall choice. Why am I going to a pet store? I want to take them all home. This was not a good idea. So I'm looking at the ferrets. The chick working there asks me if I want to hold one, and I say, 'Yeah, sure,' although there is this thought, just outside of my better judgment, knocking on the door, trying to get in, screaming, 'This is not a good idea!' I fail to hear it completely, and she opens the cage. One ferret appears to be dead, but I can see him breathing. All the others look at me and move towards the edge of their Pyrex (TM) apartment. One LEAPS in the air and lands--I kid you not--directly in my arms. The little guy proceeds to climb up to my shoulder, nuzzle my ear, then curl up into a mini-ball in my arms, looking at me and doing this odd purring/chirping thing that was painfully adorable. This is when the outside thought breaks down the door and I remember. Now all I can think is, 'Oh, this is what happened last time. Oh, you shouldn't have come in here. This is...oh, this is bad.' The employee is no help, exclaiming, 'Wow, I've never seen that one hardly move, except when he's biting, like, everyone that tries to pick him up. You heartless f*cking b*tch. But then I think ah, this must be a sales tactic, and relay to the girl that I'm sure she's just saying that so I will buy him. 'Oh, no no no,' she says, and gestures to an older woman. 'Mrs. Thompson, come over here!' The woman walks over, looks at the ferret, down at her reddening hand, and asks, 'Is that the one that just bit me?' The ferret proceeds to hiss at her and hide his face in my forearm. Double heartless f*cking b*tch. Needless to say, I leave the establishment sans ferret, depriving the animal of the only person it ever loved, broken and more dead inside than ever. If you have enemies and you want to torture them, you don't need the rack or bamboo shoots or the Spanish Inquisition. You need only to rip their heart out at the local pet shop. The Crusades could have been successfully completed in two weeks if King Richard had a petting zoo with him. All they needed to do was get the Muslims to pet the f*cking bunnies. --There is no greater validation form someone saying, about a female with whom you have issues, 'She needs to weigh less...and wear more.' I chortle. So wrong morally, but yet as mentioned I'm dead inside, so it doesn't bother me like it should. --'Intolerable Cruelty' is an absolutely fantastic movie, especially if you like old Carey Grant-type screwball comedy. And I'll say this--I will take the mid-30's and early-40's Catherine Zeta Jones and Diane Lane, respectively, over just about anyone else on the planet. And that's NOT just because I have a MILF complex, which I do. --A recent proposition from my good buddy Trevor: 'We should just say f*ck it, move out to LA, drink beers with girls and do fun stuff.' Maybe not us Trevor, but two men should. --As I get older, I'm finding fewer and fewer things that are as gratifying as hearing the phrase 'School is cancelled due to inclement weather.' See, all Schools are basically liable for your safety once you get on any part of their property, which includes any of their modes of transportation. The big problem is that Work, no matter where it is, doesn't give a f*ck if the bus can't get to your driveway. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 25,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] --Went to the Grand Re-Opening of the glorious West Shore Stadium last night. The NuTurf looks great, except for one thing: while one end zone is appropriately painted with the name of the rightful owners of the stadium--the vaunted and historically powerful Cedar Cliff Colts--the opposite end zone offends with the 'PATRIOTS' moniker, that of the oft-reviled Red Land High School. For those of you not familiar with Central PA, let me explain something to you: in the 1970's, the West Shore School District decided that one high school was not enough to accommodate the ever-climbing population numbers of the suburban Harrisburg area. So they took about 30% of Cedar Cliff High School's (my alma mater's) population and transferred it to Red Land, ten miles away in Etters. What happened was that, to save headaches, they built the ONLY POOL IN THE SCHOOL DISTRICT within the confines of Red Land. In a brilliant move, the school board decided this was a fair enough trade off that the football stadium--ON THE CAMPUS OF CEDAR CLIFF HIGH SCHOOL--would be used as the 'Home' field for both high schools. Such decisions of genius were shared by the Nazis at the end of WWII. So I would just like to say to Red Land, once and for all....keep your pool and get out of our f*cking stadium. We don't want your tepid chlorine pit. Build something of you own and then come talk to me, d*ckbags. Trev, you and I are the only ones that still care about this. Maybe Chez. --Note to all high school cheerleaders: real school spirit is not waving pom-poms and chanting during a game. Real school spirit is having an entire opposing basketball team threaten to kill you, thus necessitating a police escort out of the gym while your 'friends' refuse to get your back. THAT is school spirit. What. --Are there any two more overrated chicks in terms of looks than the Hilton sisters? Is the waifish, coked-out, repugnant crackwh*re look back in? Do you think they've stayed in a Hilton Hotel in the last 5 years? I can't even make an intelligent thought about this, it's so alien to me. I mean...people think they're attractive ? Seriously? I'll be the first up on the soapbox to exclaim that once the Olsen Twins turn 18, I will immediately find them to be, by far, the most attractive twins on the planet. Even those grotesque Barbi Twins were more attractive than the Hiltons, and they even have the disadvantage of fancying Michael Jackson-esque plastic surgery (seriously, have you seen them recently, they look like Leona Helmsley bore a cat). Quote of the week: Some reporter asked Paris Hilton if she knew what Wal-Mart was. He response? 'Is it, like, they do wall stuff?' Every time I see her all I can think of is Brian Urlacher on the Price is Right.... 'Brian, take a look at what you could win....A NEW ANOREXIC PARTY SLUT!' --Speaking of the Hilton sisters, can someone feed Tara Ried? Is it just me or did she look infinitely better in the first American Pie when she wasn't puking up craft services' finest? --Only when you work temporarily for your father can you promote yourself to Director of Marketing of a company with exactly three employees. --I'm not kidding when I say this: Maroon 5 is going to take over the planet. Or at least they should. They are tied for the most listenable album so far this year with the All-American Rejects. I anxiously await the new Travis and The Strokes albums. --As of today, 25 October 2003, I have played with a mere three sets of boobies in the last month. This is a full 2,322 less pairings than I would have liked to have played with. --Something funny happened on the way to California... Was included in the purchase of a new vehicle last week, of which I will be the primary driver. Looking from a business perspective, I assessed psychological, economical, and aesthetic factors in determining what kind of car the business should have. I decided on a newer model truck. Not SUV. Truck. Why? Well, the downside (horrible, awful, gargantuanly detestable gas mileage) was far outweighed by the upside (functionality, public perception, practicality for transfering materials). Second choice was a Mail Truck, simply because of the novelty. Father nixed both ideas. So what did I end up with? Nineteen ninety-six For Escort. Wagon. Four cylinder. Blaring horn (and by 'blaring', I mean 'almost squeaking'). I have officially skipped right from College Youth to Middle Age, with no in between. I would tell you how much my life sucks right now, but that would require me to find a meter with a scale of suck that hasn't been invented yet. Though the first day I was tooling around in it, I did get a female to approach me and ask for my phone number. She wanted to know if I could take her kids to soccer practice. There is a positive end to the story, though: was able to eek an entire $103.72--that's not a misprint--out of the car dealer for The Marquis, Year 1988. We rolled it into the lot with exactly one functioning piston left. I win. --Who does Penn State lose to today? Let's check...ah, Iowa. I wonder if, when I slit my wrists, I really will bleed Blue and White.... --Has anyone seen Cuba Gooding Jr.'s career? Hey, there it is! It's running away with Blair Underwood! |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 24,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] Another case of Bible Belters trying to decide what is good for the masses. Before you get into my rant, take a second to read and consider the platform of Valley Family Forum, detailed in this urlLink Daily News Record article. Here is my response. Should they decide to answer me, I'll post it here. >>I came across your 'cause' when I read an article in The Daily News Record. As a JMU student for four years and former member of the Valley community, I was a little more than disappointed to hear of your 'efforts'. To say the least, they sicken me. How about we try this: instead of lobbying to have certian literature--which is only offensive to SOME, mind you--removed from store shelves, the whole of your group take on a little bit of what is called 'personal responsibility' and simply avoid those racks or resist the temptation to patronize such dens of iniquity. Or would that be asking too much, for you to make a personal choice, as opposed to attempting to make a choice for everyone? This may come as somewhat of a newsflash to you folks, but not everyone in the Valley is a Christian. That in mind, some people have a different idea of what 'moral' might be. Do not attempt to speak for what is best for the community. If you could each simply handle making your own decisions for yourself and refuse to worry about what others do, you'd be another step ahead in life. See, there's this little diddy called the First Ammendment. I would explain it to you, but you seem to be pretty versed in what is not . So take what you believe, reverse it, and you'll have the real meaning of what our 'forefathers intended'. What to do then, you might ask? Well, it's really kinda easy: if you don't like a magazine cover, don't look at it. If you disagree with a store selling it, don't shop there. If you don't want your kids to see a slightly-clothed woman, act like a parent and don't let them walk near the offensive piece of material. I'm not kidding--it's just that simple. Then you don't have to spend all your time trying to tell the rest of us what is appropriate or what isn't...you can just make the right choice for yourself and be happy, unconcerned about the rest of us, who probably already have chair with our name on it right next to Satan himself, right? There is nothing wrong with expressing your opinion. Nothing. Zero. The problem with zealot religious groups--such as your own--is that you feel everyone should only express one opinion...yours. Though it may be tough to hear, not as many people think as you'd like them to. Many people disagree with your views. I would point out the fact that Christianity is on a sharp decline in the United States, both in subscription of new members and in overall public opinion. Perhaps it's because of 'fights' like this one? Something to ponder... Sincerely, Geoff LaTulippe Damn these people bother the hell out of me. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 23,October,2003 | Email: [email protected] Is cheerleading a sport or not a sport? I love this one. I believe I have finally figured out the most logical answer, and I'm here to tell you... Not a sport. Let's break this down: In today's American culture, a sport can only be defined as a competition between two or more opposing forces of athletic persons on a designated field of play with objective guidelines and definite, marked outcomes. In other words, it cannot be a sport if the outcome relies on a subjective judge's interpretation. This is of utmost importance in gauging sport/nonsport nomenclature. Therefore, some Sports: Football, baseball, hockey, tennis, swimming, golf, etc. You know your objective (score points) which is achieved only through strict guidelines (crossing the goal line, etc.) with no room for doubt. More importantly, some NonSports: cheerleading, diving, NASCAR, gymnastics See where I'm going with this? If it does not meet the guidelines of 'Sport', it is a strenuous physical activity. It doesn't invalidate its existence, it simply renders it a NonSport Physical Activity. Why? Cheerleading: First of all, let's throw out the notion that the crap that happens on the sidelines of football game has any redeeming social value. The idea of 'spirit' went out the window a long time ago, so drop it. But how about cheerleading competitions? Well, that's exactly what they are, competitions. Your outcome is based only party on performance--you must also deal with the Subjective score of a Judge. Since human being are fallible, one can hardly count on their objectivity. There are no clear parameters for 'Scoring'. Therefore, while a Strenuous NonSport Physical Activity...not a sport. Diving/Gymnastics: Same issue of judge's score. NASCAR: Non-athletes. This cannot be debated. (EDITOR'S NOTE: I have heard many people make the non-athlete claim towards golf. Only a complete assh*le would do this, as anyone who has walked 18 holes can certainly attest.) Now I've heard all the excuses. I'm sure I'm going to get some of the following: --'Yeah, but we practice for HOURS in a gym.' (Great, so do ballerinas. Is ballet a sport now?) --'Yeah, but you can get injured doing this.' (Great. You can get injured doing construction. Or walking down the street. Are those sports now?) --'Yeah, but I'm more of an athlete than those dudes who play Offensive Line.' (Great. First of all, your statement is doubtful. Second of all, f*ck you, as this has NO bearing on the conversation whatsoever.) These are just a few. If you disagree, email me and I shall strike down your contentions with an iron fist. This is one of my Unconquerable Postulates, but I'm open to debate. Unless you want to try to talk about those lunchboxes on the sidelines at football games. Forget it. I won't acknowledge its presence. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 23,October,2003 | Today's Award goes to US Army General William Boykin, who spoke to many packed churches recently about the War on Terror (TM). His comments at each church included the following, dictating why the effort was necessary: '...Because we're a Christian nation, because our foundation and our roots are Judeo-Christian ... and the enemy is a guy named Satan.' You ignorant motherf*cker (EDITOR'S NOTE: I will now be bleeping out any words containing any kind of profanity. Why? It's more fun this way. Like 'South Park'.). It amazes me how Religious Conservatives think they can speak for an entire nation of people with such an incredibly narrow worldview. Gen. Boykin's comments have sparked a good deal of controversy, and rightly so. Even if his intent was to imply that the 'Satan' he refers to are 'Evil Terrorists', all that rational people heard was 'We are fighting the dirty Muslims'. Way to set the War On Terror (TM) back a few steps there, Bill. Let me lay out a few things for you: 1. Until 100% of the population is in fact Christian, this will not be a Christian nation. If you look at current numbers, you'll actually find that not only support for but membership in your faith is declining rapidly in this nation. 2. As far as our 'foundation and roots' being Judeo-Christian, there is just as much evidence to support the idea that the Founding Fathers were Diests as opposed to Christians, having had their fill of the religious oppression in Enlgand. My point is this: if you are Christian, fine. I applaud you. Practice away. Do not, however, attempt to appoint yourself Moral Spokesperson for the USA. Do not assume to place your God as the backbone for governmental directive. And for God's sake, learn to phrase your opinions a bit more carefully. Most Christians are logical, private people who just want their own way to worship. Too many, however, exude the qualities perpetuated by General Boykin--the know-it-all, seen-it-all, here's-what's-good-for-you attitude. Drives me up a wall. What, you think you have all the answers for yourself and everyone else? Great, get in line. Email: [email protected] |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 23,October,2003 | --I hate computers. --Visit my buddy Steve's site urlLink here . If he looks familiar, that's because he is. There is a burgeoning business partnership here. Also, the guy is funny as hell and just worth reading in general. --Had an epiphany today (I have a lot of those): One of the best lessons I learned from one of the many philosophy classes I took in college had to do with love and hate. Many people think that Hate is the opposite of Love; this is not true. Love is actually the absolute value of hate (which would make 'Hate' actually '- Love'--get it?). Biochemically, feelings of love and hate produce the same reaction in the body, they simply have different mental associations. The opposite of Love is actually Indifference. Indifference is the absence of feeling toward something; Love and Hate constitute strong feelings toward something. Still with me? Good, me either. So if we know this, and if I apply it to my life...I don't know that I've ever been in love before. I think I might have fallen victim simply to being in love with the idea of being in love, and that clouds your vision. But I'm not sure. Is that indifference or just moving on? The only thing I'm jaded about is that she got the dog. Is that wrong? I know I love that dog. I've got that. Someone hold me. I think if you can honestly say that you would go through all the pain of losing someone ten times over just for five minutes of their presence, then you've got something there. Like they say, without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet. And it seems as though you could only really know that once you've lost them, either to breakup, death, or geographical disposition. Isn't the human psyche GREAT? I think I need a nap. --I'm really, really starting to lean towards Wesley Clark for President. Bush has got to go. I mean c'mon now. Clark's interview with Maxim was quite impressive, if truncated. A liberal General...the possibilities are mind-boggling. --I'm now 100% convinced that the NYC area is the fishbowl of the world. This is going to anger half my friends, but they've all heard me say it anyway. I would say most (not many--most) people from this area believe that the sun rises and sets in the greater NYC area. Newsflash: Most people loathe the place. This is compounded by the fact that the people who live there talk about it like it's Babylon. Every time the Yankees win a World Series it gets worse. Well, yuck it up all you want, NYCers, but recall...without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet. Speaking of the Yankees...I'm all, 'Yay, capitalism,' but being a large-market team gives you a HUGE advantage in baseball, which lacks a salary cap. Now Joe Torre is the best manager in the bigs, hands down, but how many players on the current roster have the Yankees actually farmed? Jeter, Williams, Posada, and Nick Johnson. Four. The rest of their talent is bought. Maybe they were scared off by the whole Brien Taylor fiasco, I don't know. But come on...bring a guy up from the minors instead of throwing money at him. See what happens when you actually DEVELOP someone. It's a good feeling, I bet, as opposed to just throwing money at people. The Sultan of Brunei has a bunch of sluts walking around too, but they all hate him. Then again, every year the free-spending Mets manage to blow my theory out of the water, so what the hell do I know? I'll tell you what I do know--I like Mets fans a whole lot more than Yankees fans, because they possess humility. --Visit my friend James's site here: urlLink CannedJam It's entertaining, especially if you went to JMU. Look for a special video coming very soon. That's all for now. If you are someone I know and I have lost touch with you, or if you want to send me Hate Mail (maybe not yet, but soon you will...), urlLink Email me. Seriously, send me hate mail. I expect a ton when I post about my hatred for PETA people. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 23,October,2003 | Here I am, bastards. Was talking to a friend last night who explained that he had become a dork, reading up on a bunch of people's weblogs (or 'blogs', as they are known in the 'trade') in his down time. I decided to one-up him, become a total douchebag, and start my own. Why? Anyone who knows me knows I am a writer. I need this. I need you to read the fluff that flows through my head on a daily basis. I need you to comment on it. I need to fight you if you disagree with me. These are things I need. I must have this outlet. I'm not sure why I didn't do it sooner. The thought that I have missed time intrigues and upsets me. I have things to say. So I will say them. I hope you agree with me sometimes. I REALLY hope you get pissed sometimes, because if you don't offend people every once in a while, life gets damn boring. Mostly, I hope I just make you think. There is not enough good thinking done in this world. I happen to like my ideas, so I will share them with you. If you ask, I will elaborate. If you disagree, great, but I'll tell you why I think you're wrong. People ask me all the time why I always think I'm right. What a stupiud question. If you don't think you're right, if you don't think your ideas are the correct ones and your assumptions are based on great analysis, why have a fucking opinion on anything? If you believe something, don't be a pussy about it--believe you are right. There's a fine lline that you have to straddle, however, between believing you're right and knowing you're right. The key is to think you've got all the answers but know full well you could be dead wrong on every fucking one. I'm rambling already. I tend to do that. I will post a lot of thoughts here, people, because there are a lot stuck in my gigantic melon head. This is only the beginning.... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 25,November,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink Anytime my buddies and I get together for a drunken romp at JMU (er...scratch that, reword it yourself) it turns into something memorable. I hereby spoonfeed you a short account of this JMU weekend. It will annoy, shock, bore, and hunger. First things first, let me introduce you to The Weekend's Players: --Craig (The Host--proprietor of urlLink GoldenRoad and all around good guy, yet female-whipped worse than any of Catherine the Great's horses. He is the only one currently still living in Harrisonburg, so we crashed at his place.) --Perdue (That Guy--I've mentioned him before. Charming until he gets half a beer in him, then just simply humiliating. But in a good way, for us.) --Loftus (Ross from Friends --chicks dig him, but for some reason he couldn't score in a Bangkok whorehouse with a fistfull of dollars and Brad Pitt doing the pushing.) --Roland (Johnny Cochran--Seems like a great guy until the first shot goes down. Then you'd swear he has Tourette's and an IQ of less than 7.3. And he got into law school?) --Ruby (That Guy #2--The one 'Crazy Friend' that we all know, love and fear. When the chips are down, bet on him and Perdue to say/do something insane.) --Farrell (Did not show up but is intrinsic to the plot.) Here we go: --The weekend was marked by an unbelievable thick homoerotic element that I could have done without. Not only was there a near-constant rash of 'Good Game's' at Highlawn, but whenever Roland drinks he tries to hump Perdue. Actually, let's be honest, he tries to hump anything., including Craig's digerido. Gotta give mad props to Lily for putting up with it, or maybe it works in her favor. I don't know. Also, there was a lot of Craig yelling, 'Why don't you come over here and suck my d*ck?' I think it was because he's been listening to a lot of rap. --None of us can drink like we used to. With the exception of Loftus, each of us neared death at least five times during the experience. I was broken upon waking Saturday morning, and Ruby's effort the following morning looked like something out of the Evil Dead Trilogy. More on that later. --Not a single one of the single dudes in the group (myself, Loftus, Perdue, and Ruby) came anywhere close to being remotely near a girl thinking about touching us in a vaguely sexual manner. I mean not close. So far in fact that the light from Touching a Girl will not reach Earth for 3.8 million years. Between Loftus, myself, and Perdue, we are looking at a good three calendar years without any action. I'm pretty sure it's been so long since I've had sex that they've changed it on me. The worst offense of the weekend came at Highlawn Saturday night. It was myself, my friend Meghan, and a girl named Michelle, our new Dukette obsession. This girl has always been cute but somehow in the time we left JMU until we got back she exploded into a gorgeous little dancing package. We were all excited. I met her before, saw her talking to Meghan, and decided I'd say hi. I want to be clear on something: I was not hitting on her. Not that I wasn't going to at some point--I was. Not that I had a chance--I didn't. But this is what transpired: (I walk over to MEGHAN and MICHELLE) ME: Hey. MICHELLE: Hey. MEGHAN: Geoff, this is Michelle. (LOFTUS comes walking over and stands next to us.) ME: Hi, I think we met before. MICHELLE: Yeah, I remember that. ME: Actually, I think it was at a Ranger Party. MICHELLE: Right, it was. LOFTUS (to me): Wow, good memory. Stalker. Loftus walks off in the other direction, and you might as well have extracted me from the conversation with an oversized Vaudeville cane. Needless to say, I have only fond memories of Michelle in a clingy red evening gown. And Loftus is now my Non-Friend. Aside from those, Ruby danced with fat chicks, because that's what Ruby does, and Roland got cornered by a girl who introduced herself as 'Bambi'. (EDITOR'S NOTE: When introduced, I immediately made the joke, 'Hi, where's Thumper?' I then fake-laughed hysterically. Good times .) She was a plump little muffin of a girl and revealed to Loftus that she came from Jersey. Oh, and she threw in the fact that she was a mental institution. We passed this girl off to each other like a foreigner asking for directions. 'I'm from Jersey.' 'Really? Oh, well then, you've got to talk to (insert victim's name here). He knows all about that.' --Favorite quotes of the weekend, which will contain neither speaker nor reference to what they were speaking of, so as to conceal intentions and protect the innocent: 'Are you a Jew? Listen, is Farrell there? Is he trying to f*ck you? I don't want you around him, he's going to try to f*ck you. Don't let him f*ck you. Actually, I don't care, f*ck him, go ahead and f*ck Farrell. Perdue, Ge-off, and Loftus are all listening. Call me tomorrow.' 'That townie lady is about to drop it like it's hot.' 'Yeah, alright, so she hurt your feelings and all, but doesn't it make you feel better that she got fat?' 'I thought we were going to make out? Oh wait, you only want to hang out with black guys.' 'When the f*ck are they going to play Hey-Yaa ?' 'No listen I'm fine I can drive no I can you can't take my van f*ck you you f*cking f*ggot where is Farrell I'll f*cking kill him...' 'We have one pork roll casualty.' --We make it through two nights of unsurpassed drinking quality without human casualty. Then, inexplicably, early Sunday morning (well...before Noon), Perdue gets pissed at Craig and attempts to get off the futon. He stumbles and falls. AS I am laying on the floor next to him, this scares me, and I jerk upward. Perdue's lip collides with my knee, and my knee wins the battle. Perdue is down. He rises moments later with bleeding lip. After countless (and by that I mean less than 24) hours of hearty intoxication, it takes a Sunday Morning Stumble to cause someone to become injured. And I am not taking into account Loftus's ill-fated Tour Guide Blunder through the prickly-bush forest behind Forrest Hills, which left me with pricklies all over my left hand. This has made for itching, burning, and severe discomfort while masturbating. I don't want to discuss any more than that. --If I left anything out, which I'm sure I have, let me know. Finally, I'd just like to add that one and a half tanks of gas, two orders of chicken wings, two latenight cheesesteaks, countless Michelob Lights, one pair of handcuffs, a pile of fake greasevomit, a long walk through campus, two hours of dancing with hot girls, severe humiliation and $180 later, I still have the best friends in the world. I f*cking love you guys. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 20,November,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --Would like to thank the wonderful folks over at urlLink DanWho (those folks being...Dan) again for coming up with the Official GooseTown Logo (TM) above. Feel free to click on the picture to find out more about the man whose life I base every decision in my life on, Cousin Scott (WWSD?). --After watching the whole Britney-Spears-Tours-Three-Clubs-In-One-Night thing on MTV, I now hate her. My official position is now that I would not be upset if she got hit by a bus. But, though I don't want to say it, don't want to say it at all, she has a fine, fine ass. --From my buddy Trevor (Triznev to all of you): >>PS: Item R, subsection ii, OC is the best show on TV, period. Last evening's episode was as good as any 90210 episode, and that my friend is a bold statement coming from my mouth. I want to nail both moms, and Summer so hard, wow. Hell and the girl from Pittsburgh. Trev, I couldn't agree more. The O.C. is clearly the 90210 of this generation. The only thing that saddens me about the whole thing is that we're kind of in between generations. We were a bit too young to appreciate the finer beginnings of 90210 , and by the time it was over, it had lost its flavor and Steve Sanders's hairline was fading faster than Tommy Maddox in the fourth quarter. Now we're like 24 and senior citizens and The O.C. is just starting. Clearly, it's aimed at a younger demographic, but I'm claiming it as my own. Why? Does anyone realize the 'drama' that shall define my highschool/college experience was Dawson's Creek ? No f*cking thank you. Plus, the chicks on The O.C. are, like, five times hotter and kewler than on 90210 or Dawson . But I have some gripes: Why does Benjy McKenzie (Ryan) make those 'I'm halfway between crying and taking a crap in my pants' faces? And why is he dating Marissa so soon? Couldn't they have strung us along a little? Why is Seth's mom so gosh darn hot? Couldn't they hold off on him scoring with both Summer and the Pittsburgh girl? They are rushing into the action far too quickly, but I'm holding out hope that the writers have some really soap opera-esque ways to keep me interested without getting too ridiculous. Sidenote: Kelso on That 70's Show is going to be a daddy. BURN! --OK, here's my thing about Ferris Bueller's Day Off: There are some movies that you can watch all the time, there are some movies that are only good for one viewing. Most John Hughes films fall into the former category. Sixteen Candles , The Breakfast Club , even a little Planes, Trains, and Automobiles ...all these movies you can watch over and over again and never get tired of them. But very few movie shave the capacity to change each time you watch it. Ferris Bueller's Day Off is a transcendent film in this way. It's done so very well that it appeals to those that are 13, 16, 18, 25, even 30 years of age. Hell, my dad still loves it and he's going to be 57 next year. The scene that always seems tweaked a bit, meaningful in a different way every time is the scene in the Museum. All the paintings, but especially the part of the montage that has Cameron looking at Seurat's 'Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte'. This scene is specifically designed to be viewed as a major point in the movie for Cameron, but every time you watch it, it seems like something has changed, like Hughes used another angle, or an extended take, or something. You see something different in the Pointillistic brushstrokes, some verisimilitude between Cameron and the child's face. This happens to a lot of people with a lot of movies. The thing is, the movie hasn't changed--you have. There is something different about you that brings out feelers for a particular scene. The thing about Ferris Bueller's Day Off is that it is able to regard its audience in the scope of personal transition. This is to be wholly appreciated, as only a very few films can claim this ability. I welcome the mention of any others. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 19,November,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --As many of you know, I am a firm believer in Innocent Until Proven Guilty. I think it's one of the best ideals of our legal system, and because of that I don't want anyone to think I'm jumping to conclusions. But let's all agree on the fact that one of two things are happening with Michael Jackson: 1. He is molesting kids. 2. People are falsely accusing him of molesting kids. Either way, why would anyone involved WANT THEIR KIDS IN MICHAEL JACKSON'S HOUSE? If these people are not making up the stories, he is a pervert and needs help plus incarceration. Even if you're a big fan of his music and you talk to him and you think he's harmless, if there's a chance the guy is a child-groping felon, WHY WOULD YOU LET YOUR KIDS ANYWHERE NEAR HIM WITHOUT A CHAPERONE? Did you not see him HANGING HIS OWN KID OVER A HOTEL BALCONY TO TAUNT REPORTERS? If you're Michael Jackson, and people are falsely accusing you of molesting their children, and it's happened a few times, FOR WHAT F*CKING REASON WOULD YOU EVER LET KIDS IN YOUR HOUSE UNSUPERVISED AGAIN? Am I the only one with these questions? Does this make sense to anyone else? I feel like I'm Steve McQueen, and I've stumbled onto a leper island, and I realize I'm the only one with good limbs, as Dustin Hoffman has a f*cked up leg. As many as two people just got that analogy. --I'm sorry, I know, I know, but... The O.C. is the best show on television. There, I said it, and Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't care. --I will devote an entire rambling thought to Saved By the Bell at a later date, but I did want to mention my All Time Favorite Exchange (TM) on the show: SLATER: 'You made me look like a jerk at the Maxx last night.' ZACK: 'Well that's what you are.' (ZACK and SLATER begin to fight, knocking off MR. BELDING'S toupee in the process. It falls into the punch. ZACK and SLATER laugh hysterically at the inexplicable turn of events and instantly renew their friendship, forgetting that mere moments ago such angry words were spoken in a fight over the lusty JOANNA from South Dakota.) --Amazon.com (I refuse to link those b*stards because of this) carries the following DVD's in its Corey Haim Classics Collection (TM): Lucas , The Lost Boys , Blown Away , Fever Lake , Dream a Little Dream , and Snowboard Academy . What have they mindbendingly omitted? None other than License to Drive , a movie which features not only harrowing car chases, the father from Mr. Boogedy , and the best onscreen performance by the Coreys (Haim and Feldman) ever , but a very, very young and supple Heather Graham, before she was corrupted by Marky Mark's gigantic prosthetic genetalia. Well, this just proves there is no God. --Has there ever, anywhere been a more annoying Ad Campaign than the current sh*t pumped out by Chili's? I swear, based on their awful commercials alone I will never eat there again. You know the ones I'm talking about, where they have some fat nobody singing about Chili's food on the street somewhere. My 'favorite' is the one with the three assh*le teachers, one with a Caribbean-themed shirt that's seven sizes too big for him, singing, 'All that flavor, gonna make it mine.' F*ck. You. Or how about the chick trying to Skee-Bop? 'Oooh woo, Chili's, dig that spice, ooooh woo woo...' If I ever see you, I will punch you. Do these commercials absolutely infuriate anyone else besides me? I have boycottedededed Chili's for life. I simply cannot fathom that I'm sitting here writing for free, and some d*ck with a pen somewhere came up with this idea and some bigger d*ck with a more expensive pen greenlit the whole campaign. What the f*ck? Which reminds me of another thing I hate about restaurants...the g*ddamn cutesy bullcrap they make up for the menus. There is an Italian restaurant in this area, not unlike the Olive Garden, called The Italian Oven. What's the section of the menu that houses their pasta dishes called? None other than 'Pastabilities'. 'Pastabilities'? ' Pastabilities '? F***********************************ck you, pal. These people that do these things, they're from f*cking Pie Country, I swear. --I have a whole thought on Ferris Bueller that I want to get out to you, but not tonight. It's actually a serious, thought-provoking entry that I'll save to juxtapose against my Saved By the Bell meanderings. Just think about the first time you saw it, and then the last time you watched it again. That'll prepare you. Fun Trivia Fact, though: the two actors who played Ferris's parents in the movie met on set, and then got married in real life after the film wrapped. They're still together. Their son's name? F*ck, I don't know. Anthony? How the hell would I know something like that? What do I do, follow these people around? Jesus, what do you want from me? Where are my pants? |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 18,November,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --Picked up Chinese food tonight. Now I want to preface my comments with the disclaimer that I understand it must be very hard for someone to come into this country straight off the boat, open up a business with little or no semblance of skill in English and not only strive, but survive at all. I have the every respect for these foreign friends. I am not making fun of these people, merely pointing out something. If I move to China to open a business, I'm going to be cognizant enough to grab a local to help me with the language. The local Chinese eatery has a few signs hanging up. Only one really bothers me. It's on the front door, and it's a series of eight Asian characters. It might say, 'Place your order and Cantonese and receive 15% off your purchase!' It might just as well say, 'We come in the food of these stupid Americans,' as I can't read a f*cking bit of it. But doesn't that unnerve you? A sign in all Chinese characters outside a restaurant in Backwoods PA? I'm not going to lie. It frightens me and I want to know what the f*ck it says. There is no reason to hang a sign outside your store in a dialect you and only about six other people within a 50 mile radius could understand. Something is going on. Then you go inside. There is a large dry-erase board behind the counter, exclaiming, 'NO. 1 SZECHUAN MAKE GENERAL TSO CHICKEN BEST TASTY CRISPY CAN'T BEAT AROUND HERE.' Of course, you get the general sentiment, but doesn't it just send the message, 'Hey, we only care enough to get it half right. We assume you'll understand.' If I open my own business in Outer Mongolia and I only know bits and pieces of the language, I'm for damn sure going to get someone who knows what the hell they're doing to proofread, lest I put out a sign that reads 'ME NO HAS TO PUT FEET FOR YOU IN SWEATY SOUP' in the native tongue. The best is as you're walking out; there's one half of a plastic Yellow 'Wet Floor' tent leaning against a wall. Scrawled on it in Sharpie is the warning 'HEY THIEF I KNOW YOU STEAL ONE I WATCHING YOU NOT STEAL MORE HALF, NO.1 SZECHUAN OWNER'. And yet, as the food swims pleasantly into my stomach, I have no gripe. Even if the sign on the door reads 'WE TRICK UNLUCKY AMERICAN ASSH*LE WITH CAT!' --Quick, someone think of more Wasted Potential Hotness (TM) than urlLink Mia Sara . For those of you living in a cave, she played Sloane in Ferris Bueller's Day Off . Jesus H. Christ, look at the crap she worked on. Does her agent know you're allowed to turn down a script? There have got to be a million more like her and I can't think of any of them. Mia was headed for great things only to fall off the face of the earth and resurface in TimeCop . God I wish I were making that up. The only other one I can think of is urlLink Danica McKellar , who played Winnie Cooper on The Wonder Years . I don't think we can count her, as she had such a great run and was one of my obsessions growing up (along with Tiffany-Amber Theissen, as pre- 90210 Kelly Kapowski in Saved by the Bell ...possibly the first, last, and only time a hot girl will retain a Polish last name in any kind of Hollywood production). But then, a few years later when Fred Savage was doing the sitcom Working , she showed up as a guest star in one episode and had somehow eclipsed her previous childhood hotness. I mean blazing hot. And then she got down to her bra and I had to be rushed to the hospital to reverse the effects of the subdural hematoma that beset me. Look at her resume! Hip, Edgy, Sexy, Cool ? Reality School ? Black Hole ? My poor Winnie, I don't even want to touch that last one. But God, I'd let her do me. Please, mention more. After all, there have to be a few Natalia Cigliuti fans out there, right? And can I be the first to mention, though not likely, the possibility exists that Hilary Duff will end up looking lilke Flipper? Also, on a note of Quite Not Wasted Potential Hotness(TM), Leah Remini is just...whoo....gettin' warm in here...I feel a Saved By the Bell Post coming up real, real soon.... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 17,November,2003 | urlLink Email --Allow me to be more specific...this is more of a question based on what I consider to be a highly philosophical hypothesis. I have integrated such a theory into a screenplay and a play, and it is so copyrighted to me. Don't even think of stealing it, though you are free to pass it around the internet, giving me full credit for posing such a high-class query. Again, this thought was inspired by the Oscar-snubbed TimeCop , starring the always venerable Jean-Claude Van Damme: (EDITOR'S NOTE: Since this Unconquerable Postulate (TM) was brought out of my memory banks by James over at urlLink CannedJam , I will use him as my variable .) Let's us assume that there is James in the year 2003. James is married and lives in a house. James somehow finds a way to travel ten (10) years into the future, and does so. James is now in 2013. However, James of Ten Years from Now (James-X, we shall call him) and James'ssss Wife of Ten Years From Now (we shall call her Wife-X) both still exist and live in the same location. Let's say James-X, believing nothing is different in his world, leaves for work at 8AM. Wife-X is staying home that day. James of Ten Years Ago (just James in our book) is now living in the same world as James-X and Wife-X. James locates his house and finds Wife-X inside. Wife-X is at first frightened but then simply assumes that her now younger-looking husband (who is, unbeknownst to her, actually James) has had a spa treatment, thus obtaining said younger look. She decides to have sex with him. James then returns to his time period without ever coming into contact with James-X, which we all well know would result in an immediate implosion of the space-time continuum and end existence as we know it. Still with me? Good, me either. Let's continue. For whatever reason, James, now safely back in 2003, tells his wife that he went into the future and had sex with her future self, Wife-X. James-X comes home to find that Wife-X has mistakenly slept with his younger self. Assuming he takes her story as true (a rather large assumption, but a critical one at this juncture), think about the following, each being one of my Greatest Philosophical Postulates of All Time (TM): 1. If you are James-X, did your wife cheat on you with yourself (yourself being James, the You of Ten Years Ago)? Are you jealous? 2. If you are Wife, did James cheat on you with yourself (yourself being Wife-X, the Wife of Ten Years From Now)? Are you jealous? 3. Is there another situation that's funner to think about? God, sometimes I blow my own mind. --Along those same lines, I've had this conversation with many before and responses have been all over the board. This one is for the guys: Let us say that you have a girlfriend of three years whom you love very much and want to marry. One day you find out she is having an affair...with another chick. Are you jealous? Upset? Do you end the relationship? My answers are no, no, and no. I have thought about this over and over and over and I can't imagine any situation where this makes me anything but more sexually charged. --I watched Britney on Leno last night. Honestly, I never thought this day would come, but my affinity for Britney has worn off. Is she still hot? Yes. Would I let her rape me over and over? Likely. Does she do it for me like she used to? Not nearly. First off, everything she says comes off as contrived and fake. This is a double-edged sword, because on one hand, if she's fake, that's really bad, and if she's not and actually acts like that always, that's really really bad. Neither is good basically. So I'm dropping my 'Let Britney Do Whatever She Wants' protest. As far as I'm concerned, she's form Pie Country and not worth the time. (EDITOR'S NOTE: The size of young Brit's boobies fluctuates more than Oprah's weight and Bush's popularity combined. I'm no longer impressed .) --Only 207 days until The Greatest Event in the History of the World. No one to date has guessed correctly what this Event is. --Last thought of the day, as this should inspire some real deep thought. It's game I like to call Hump Island. This has been done over many, many times in thousands of different ways, but rarely do you see it in print. This is your chance to make your list permanent and put it out to the world. Select five people whom you would most want to spend an eternity with on a Desert Island. Include one Wild Card in case one of the chicks gets too old, too boring, or too bitchy...the Wild Card shall also serve as your Flavor of the Week, so to speak. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Chicks answering the Hump Island Challenge can substitute males...I guess .) Goose's Top Five (in no particular order, as that changes often and without notice): 1. Catherine Zeta-Jones 2. Kelly Preston 3. Diane Lane 4. Erika Christensen 5. Natalie Portman WC. Rachel Bilson (Summer Roberts on The O.C ....oh my God....) Show me whatcha got, people.... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 17,November,2003 | urlLink Email --Email spam is a pesky phenomenon that dominates our daily inboxes. I don't personally know anyone that doesn't outright delete it all, but apparently people who don't do so exist, as Spam proliferates countless personal addresses. Who are the people sending out this trash? And more importantly, why are so many people reading it that it becomes profitable? In any regard, if you are having problems determining what might be Spam and what might not be, here are some handy tips for consideration: 1) You receive a message with a Subject line reading 'RE: Your membership application', yet you don't recall signing up at scratchingmytesticleswithaspoon.com. 2) Someone wants you to look at her webcam. If there is a girl out there that wants to give you free exposure to her personal lesbian-action sexual forays, I don't know her, and neither do you. 3) Your penis is big enough, you're not into nude midgets, you don't need a mortgage, you're not interested in harboring money for a representative of a foreign government, you've never thought about real estate in Madagascar, or you don't have a subscription to Celebrity Scat. 4) Your answer to the Subject line 'Are you looking for fun in your area?' is 'No'. Or even if it's 'Yes'. 5) You don't need eXtRa $$$$$$$ To PaY OfF yOuR DeBt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!aksg41. 6) You don't recall having a friend at the email address [email protected]. Asking yourself these simple question should alleviate any Spam-related headaches. Remember, though, these Spammers are getting ever more clever. Should questions arise, you know who to contact. More later. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 16,November,2003 | urlLink Email Growing up, my brother Kyle and I never really had the most poignant or loving relationship. Most of this is my fault. When I was hitting my stride, Kyle was there, but four years behind me in age and, as I thought then, eons behind me in compatibility. I think it's the typical Big Brother Struggle (TM)...you know you're stuck with this other kid in the house, but he's annoying and overbearing, trying to tag along with you everywhere and just generally f*cking up everything you're attempting to do as you swing around the corner into puberty. Your reaction? Make sure you know just how much you detest him. And boy, did I make sure I did that. I'm sure other big brothers have done the same. But that shouldn't be used as an excuse. I should have been a different kind of big brother all those years. Things were different for us because that was the same time we were warring our parents got divorced and life started mean more than just who got to watch what on TV or who owned which video game. For years I had a chance to be a role model, not only for Kyle but for our two younger brothers. And I blew it. I was too concerned with myself and what was going on with me to take responsibility for anyone else. I can't shoulder too much blame here, as I was only 12-16 and still figuring myself out, much less the rest of the world. But other people figured out how to step up, right? Why couldn't I? The positive side of the situation is that we made it through. And not even so much that we made it through but that we put it behind us. I grew up, Kyle grew up, time moved on, things got better. Don't get me wrong, it's not all peaches and cream that made everything disappear. You can't go back and redo it. I left for college and I knew there were a lot of things that I should have done different, a lot of choice I should have though better of, so much that might have made a more positive impact on his life. But if you asked me to go back and remember the things we fought about, who started what, who won in the end...I couldn't. Not because I don't want to, but because I have really put it out of my mind. Not in the way that psychologists classify it, Repressed Memories and the like. I don't remember anymore because, is the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. What I could tell you about were the ridiculous one-on-one football games in the backyard; teaching him how to climb a tree; taking a walk down to Rakestraw's; pushing him on his kiddie ATV when the battery power ran out; showing him how to throw a sweet knuckle curve with a whiffle ball; being the first person he called the first time he got drunk. All that was the stuff that mattered, not the petty bickerings or the fat lips that resulted. Somehow, after all we had been through, the kid looked up to me. Amazing how that kind of thing happens, right? It's cliche, sure, but only eleven or twelve years removed from the onset of the Thrilla in the Villa we're not only close-knit brothers, we're best friends. There's a sense of pride that comes with being related to one another. It's not like it used to be, but I have to think that it's so good right now, in part, because of it. When Kyle joined the Air Force two years ago I had reservations. Can he hack it? Will he take to discipline? What is he thinking, what with September 11th still burned into our permanent psyche? Doesn't he know how dangerous this is? If you know Kyle, you know these aren't concerns for him. It's not because he's a dumb kid or because he didn't care. It's because he's the type of person that almost always does what's right. He felt it was right for him to participate, to defend our country in one of the most turbulent periods in our short history. He didn't care that he could be potentially risking his life--he only cared that he had a chance to get in there and lend a hand. So he did, and he hasn't looked back once. Tonight, Kyle hops aboard a massive cargo plane and endures a 13-hour nonstop flight to the Middle East. He's not going over there because he has to; he never needed to sign up for this assignment in the first place. He's going over there because he wants so badly to matter, so badly to do what is right. It's what he's always done. It's a sobering thought to know what's going on over there and knowing he's going to be right in the thick of it. It's even more sobering to know that there's nothing I can do now. My little brother has taken quite a big step. Where he used to need me, I--and everyone else-- now need him. I missed a large part of my chance to take care of him, and now, when I feel like I should the most, all I can do is grasp at air and hope for the best. Now I'm looking up to him. Amazing how that kind of thing happens, right? And it all got me thinking today, thinking about Kyle, thinking about what is going on in the world, thinking about what our roles are here in this place. It got me thinking about heroism. 'Heroic' is a word we toss around too much too often for the wrong reasons. They often say that heroism is thrust upon unsuspecting men, not the other way around. Well, maybe that's true some of the time. But think about those people, all those people, that deliberately put themselves in the path of Harm's swift hands, knowing full well that the choices they've made could end their life at any moment. Think about all those people that work in the face of those odds. You realize that heroism is not based on time or chance. Heroism is not based on the number of wars in which a man fights or how many lives he takes in the process. Heroism is lives in the righteous ideals for which you fight, and the number of lives you preserve in doing so. So sure, there is sadness in Kyle's departure to places unknown. But most of the tears that continue to well up in my eyes come only from pure, absolute pride for why he's there and what he stands for. I can't even begin to describe it. It made me think about what I'll say the next time when someone asks me what my little brother does. There are a list of things I could run off--my little brother is an Air Force Airman; my little brother is an MP; my little brother is a peacekeeper; my little brother is a representative; my little brother is a soldier. Or, I could just keep it simple. My little brother is a hero. My little brother is my hero. Kyle, you do what you've got to do, and you come home safe. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 14,November,2003 | urlLink Email --Have you ever heard of Chuck Wepner? No? Chuck was a fighter back in the 70's. He was well known for being a boxer with very limited athletic ability but a TON of heart and chin. He would go toe-to-toe with anyone that would strap on gloves. He always lost, but he never got knocked out and never gave up. His career as a punching bag that couldn't be destroyed earned him the nickname 'The Bayonne Bleeder'. In a bout with Muhammad Ali, he went the entire distance (15 rounds), even knocking Ali down in the 9th, but lost by unanimous decision. After that he kind of scuttled around different circuits doing what he could. He now sells liquor for a living. Why am I mentioning this? Well, in several interviews over the years, Sylvester Stallone mentioned that he attended the Wepner-Ali fight and was awed by Wepner's moxy. So much so, in fact, that he used him as the inspiration for Rocky . Have you ever heard Stallone talk about him? No? Here's the reason I ask: this week, Wepner filed charges against Stallone and all the producers of the Rocky for a share of the profits to all five films and any upcoming releases, of which they are planning at least one. His lawyer's reason? Stallone had constantly been dropping Wepner's name over the years in different interviews linking Wepner to the Rocky character without his permission, using Wepner's celebrity to gain notoriety. This is disturbing for two reasons: 1. You do not need to retain permission from someone if you use them as only an INSPIRATION for a story. There is a big difference between 'inspired by' and 'based on a true story'. 2. I'm willing to bet that no one reading this ever heard of Chuck Wepner before I mentioned him. I follow boxing almost religiously and had never heard of the guy. I'm also willing to bet that if you had never heard of him until I talked about him, you certainly never heard Sly talk about him. Wepner is a product of our culture that allows us to sure each other for anything, bringing an entire case with baseless accusations and wasting taxpayer money in the process. Wait, let me back up: the fact that our country allows a person to sue someone for anything is a good exercise in freedom. However, I return to the old adage: just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD. F*ck Wepner's lawyer. I do not include Chuck in this tirade because many reports indicate that Chuck may have been brain damaged over the years due to his fights and that his family and unscrupulous lawyer are mostly in on the suit, using Chuck as a pawn. Any way you slice it, this sucks, and anyone bringing this against Stallone and other can go straight to hell in my book. Wepner isn't even from Philadelphia. Idiots. To date, between theatrical release, video/DVD distribution and merchandise, the Rocky series have earned over $1 billion. SIDE NOTE: Reason #4,592 I have the Ultimate Respect (TM) for Sly Stallone--He felt so strongly about his Rocky script--which he wrote--that he took $100,000 pay to for the script, acting and all production duties he handled after every single studio but one turned him down. Also, you notice how one side of his mouth doesn't move when he talks? That's because during birth they had to yank him out with foreceps and they damaged several facial nerves. Kewl. --The new Travis album is depressingly bland, boring, and horrid. I am extremely disappointed, as Fran and Gang are usually on top of their game. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Let this not take away from their first three albums, which were--yes Craig, f*ck you--brilliant: Good Feeling , The Man Who , and The Invisible Band . They could be described as elements of each Coldplay, Radiohead, Oasis, and The Verve.) My note to Fran: please let Radiohead monopolize, brooding 'I hate everything in the world and want to bawl quietly about it' market. Don't get me wrong, I'm a Radiohead fan, but I'm telling you, the people that listen to more than two of their songs in the same day are crying for help, desperate to commit suicide. Sidenote to Thom Yorke: there is a time to stoop bitching and whining and contemplating and be happy. Find it. Back to Fran: you are much better when your songs all sound different and they are downtrodden yet hopeful. Get off the schnide. Travis has never caught on in the American mainstream like Coldplay or Radiohead, to a degree, and this album will probably keep them from ever doing so. A shame, really. I hope they regain form. Addenduminining my Strokes comments, I'd like to add two drawbacks to the album that have really nothing to do with the music... 1) I realize you guys are going for a certain vibe, but the album is a bit overproduced. The megaphone effect for your lead singer is good in some songs, but not all of them (Craig there has to be a technical term for this, what the hell is it?). When the lead vocals are drowned out COMPLETELY, something is wrong. I know, I know, part of the gig is to sounds like a record...I get it. But if I wanted a record, I'd forget there were CD's...that sound good. C'mon, guys. I checked every EQ setting I had and nothing made it better. 2) Even if it were produced differently, I still wouldn't be able to understand a single f*cking word the guys says without the lyrics in the liner notes. Thank Christ for that, because they are great lyrics. I thought they were from New York? Do they still speak English there? Does this guy slur more than Paris Hilton at an open bar? What's happening? --Everyone is talking about this Triumph skit on Conan where he does the weather report from Hawaii. I'm trying to find it online... --I'm sure this joke has been made a million times, but do you really think the chicks on Baywatch needed the little orange thingys to float? I mean, come on. --Received possibly the biggest comment of my life twice this week from people who read the blog, to the effect that they have something to look forward to everyday. Though they're likely lying to be nice, this makes me feel quite good. With that, I reveal the news that there may be something much bigger in store than just this simple text monument. This is exciting to all five of you who read my blog daily. Details coming later... --As of today, 14 November 2003, it is a mere 211 days until the Most Important Event in the History of the World. The first person to email/IM me and correctly guess what this event is will win a Sony DVD Player**. Hint: I will be in LA when this event takes place. (**--Denotes that by 'win a Sony DVD Player' GooseTown Management means that entrant correctly guessing said Most Important Event in the History of the World will pay for own Sony DVD Player if they so choose to have one. Phrase 'win a Sony DVD Player' does not imply that GooseTown Management will actually award a physical prize, nor will they purchase physical prize, nor shall they take any part in anything having to do with a Sony DVD Player. Void where prohibited. See above for details. Contest not valid in New Mexico.) GOOSETOWN CINEMATIQUE Shamelessly copying off Craig, I shall begin my own list of GooseTown's Top Five Movies of the Week, which I suggest you peruse at you leisure. Good day. (EDITOR's NOTE: the html code to Bold text is a bookended 'strong' denotation on specified words. Goose finds this to be strong to...quite strong.) 1) urlLink The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari --Early German expressionismm aking it more disturbing than a night at a brothel watching your mother get sodomized by a midget with one leg. Tough to find anywhere, so good luck. I paid $75 for this movie on DVD, once again proving I'm an idiot 2) urlLink The Awful Truth --Good ol' screwball comedy. Impossible to go wrong with Carey Grant. You grandparents will remember this. 3) urlLink Kentucky Fried Movie --A John Landis classic. Expect little and you will laugh your face off. Not high quality filmmaking. Lots of nudity and a good-natured look at racism. And Asians. 4) urlLink The Graduate --If you are male, between the ages of 22-30, and have not seen this movie, please move to the front of the auditorium so you may be shot. 5) urlLink Bottle Rocket --If you liked The Royal Tenenbaums or Rushmore , run to pick this up. If you haven't seen either of those, watch this one, then move to the front of the auditorium with all the other confused gentlemen. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 13,November,2003 | urlLink Email --Was thinking about this today and relaying my feelings to a buddy. The whole thing was spurned by my comments about the homeless woman below... Homeless people bother me for a number of reasons. Very few homeless people are homeless because they are, as the PC culture in this country would tell us, 'less fortunate'. Maybe they lost their job; well, people lose their job every day but don't just drop all faith and head for the nearest corner to beg. Maybe they have a drug problem; well, in some form that's very likely their fault as well. There are a lot of people who are homeless who need psychiatric care--I'm not talking about them. And don't you see a lot of homeless claiming to be Vietnam Vets right now? There was a period of time in the mid-70's when a lot of these soldiers came home to find their fellow countrymen calling them 'babykillers' and refusing to employ them. This WAS a problem, yes. But now it's 2003. I haven't heard of anyone refusing to hire Vietnam Vets...ever, really. So no more 'Woe Is Me' excuses, fellas. Here's my thing: I owe $60,000 in college debt. Sixty. Thousand. I'm paying nearly $700/mo to keep ahead. And I'm making it on about $1,200/mo pay. It sucks and I hate my life. Also, because I had to help my family when it was needed, I took a HUGE pay cut and my credit is f*cked as well. But I'm doing it because it has to be done. I'm willing to bet 90% of homeless people are debt free. Debt. Free. So everyone who begs for change and holds up a sign reading 'Penniless and Homeless', I just want to walk up to and say, 'Look, pal. I'm sixty-thousand in debt. In the Red. I'll be paying out my ears, unless I hit it big, which I plan to but that's neither here nor there, for thirty years to catch up. And you're broke? Wrong, motherf*cker, you're broke even. Now go to a halfway house, take a shower, clean yourself up, go get a f*cking McJob, and you'll be ahead of me in life. Now shut the f*ck up.' --Remind me one day to tell the story about the girl who masturbated on Roalnd's coffee table, my favorite story from college. I just don't have it in me tonight, but soon. --I have noticed far more 16 year old girls looking at me lately, and I think I know why. Girls don't check me out. It just doesn't happen. But last week I shaved my head (well, almost, down to a '3' on the clipper scale) and I haven't shaved my face since. So now what I have going is a defacto Justin Timberlake coiffeur with the Justin Timberlake Tweener Beard (too long to be stubble, too short to be a beard). I am very fond of the tweener beard, as I have very soft skin and shaving causes razor burn like crazy. Plus, I think it's pretty manly. But back to the new hotness... Since my main man JT has popularized the look, I appear to be capitalizing with the pre-legal crowd. This is about as exciting as finding out you won a free cruise...while you're in prison. --As of today, 13 November 2003, it is exactly 212 days to the Most Important Event in the History of the World. --The new Strokes album is, as I expected, brilliant. I will be picking up the Travis album tonight. --I can't be the only one that watches every reality TV show that comes down the pike. I know I'm not alone. What I did not expect was to find out, last time down at JMU, that my buddy urlLink Craig is a fellow RW/RR Challenge: The Gauntlet Fantasy Game player. The kid has an MTV.com Fantasy Team. Craig hates MTV and hates reality television. I am blown away. I am currently 4658 out of over 84,000 teams, down from a peak of 497 earlier in the show. I fear that if I might win the Saturn, MTV might hunt me down and take it away because I know urlLink Steve from RR: The Quest. I swear to you, Omnipresent Viacom Media Conglomerate Chief Executives, Steve has provided me with no information. I assure you, if he had, I would not be talking about it, nor would I have slid nearly 3,500 spots in the last three weeks. Anyway, Steve posts the most informative behind-the-scenes Episode Guides each week, and you should read them. I will also link up the site for urlLink RW BTNY Lori , which I read regularly, as she is somehow more unstable than I am. I am going to win that g*ddamn car, I swear. Also, they are filming another Challenge in Mexico right now. I hope to Christ they take it back to a Male Vs. Female match up, because I love watching the hos lose. --Quote of the day from the incorrigible Steve Perdue: 'All I remember is that I drank and Geoff told me the next day that I was wearing a purple wig and telling some Chinese guy, 'Me love you long time.'' It really did happen. This, by the by, is the same kid that One Memorable Day (TM) got hammered, stuffed his mouth full of roast beef, decided to pick a fight, and ended up in wrestling match with one Mr. Jeff Farrell. Now, imminent danger of choking aside, there was this... As the two were entwined in some kind of homoerotic lustball, Steve reached down to grab Farrell's foot and gain an advantage in the proceedings. He gave Farrell's big toe a manly jerk...and screamed. Because it wasn't Farrell's big toe...it was his own. Genius. Sure genius. Also, the same night with the wig and the racism, he kicked a ledge for no reason and broke his foot. Ladies, can you believe this man among men is single ? |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 12,November,2003 | urlLink Email --Due to my hypoglycemia, I have been on a ridiculous calorie restriction for the past two months. Five days a week I have to take a serious load of vitamins and sugar pills, and bind myself to no more than 1,200 calories per day. I kid you not. The worst part of this has been giving up my beloved Coca-Cola products. I love Coke. I need Coke. It might not be my best friend, but it's close. And I know what some of you are thinking: ''But Geoff, there's Diet Coke!' True, but it sucks. It's like giving up Michelob Light for Michelob Ultra, which is a sacrifice only fat chicks on the Atkins Diet need to make. Have you had Michelob Ultra? It's like drinking bong water. It's so far from Mikki Light that it blows my mind. I don't understand. Let's talk about something else. Diet Coke...today I broke down and bought one. I needed caffeine, it has no calories, and I found one with Lemon. Diet Coke with Lemon. This could be OK, right? F*ck no. Apparently when they said 'with Lemon' they meant 'with Fabric Softener', because that's what it tastes like. I took three sips and started hallucinating. All of the sudden I'm driving the Snuggle Bear (TM) and he's asking me to buy him beer. That was my last foray into Diet Cola. I'm now stocked on water and I hate my life immensely. --If some of you haven't seen this yet, here is a urlLink link to my old website that I built for a class at JMU. It's pretty worthless but there are some good pictures. And yes, Stanley is still safe with me in PA. He's excited about our upcoming permanent road trip. --New link to urlLink Just Carmen . There is nothing stable about this girl, which is a good thing, and her site is littered with Britney Spears pictures, which leads me to believe there is a repressed lesbian fetish going on here, which is exciting in and of itself. And, I mean...what more do you need? I'm getting a happy battery just thinking about it. Where the hell are my pants? --So, OK, I'm officially moving to LA in May. It had been March, but that's a long story (incidentally, Tim and Eric, if either of you are reading this, don't tell Dad, I haven't figured out a way to break it to him yet). It's a liberating feeling knowing that you are no longer a spectator in a life you hate...you've taken control of the horse and put yourself in the race. My buddy Trev is coming with me, either just for the drive or as a roommate. I could count on fifty hands the number of times we've fantasized about exactly which college football package we will buy. I mean, we'll have to watch PSU games at like 9 AM West Coast time. There's finally a reason to wake up on Saturday morning...well, a reason that isn't masturbation. If there was a rap theme song to this road trip, it would be called 'Trippin' a UHaul: Maybe Not Us, But Two Men Could' by Goose feat. T. Richardson Brown, Banker. How you luh-dat? Is that yo ass or yo momma have reinderr? Collectin' so much grass PoPo...alright, sorry, I'll stop. More on Geoff's LA Adventure (TM) in the coming weeks. --I'll end with a funny story. I was speaking with the inimitable and lovely Lesbian Ali tonight and this came up, so I thought I'd share it with you all. If you have heard me speak of this before, well...listen again. Lesbian Ali lives with Lesbian Michelle in a Fantasy World called Hunter's Ridge, apt. 1360 E. Though they would tell you to the contrary, they are in fact sleeping with each other. There are two things that prove this, and I'm not making either up: 1) They have a cat together named Dillon, and when they get wasted, which is every day except Szzzblehmpfday, they torture it, exclaiming happily in baby-speak, 'Diwwon woves when his mommies get dwunk.' 2) They own a tandem bike together. Two. College. Girls. Tandem. Bike. So of course we make friends with them as soon as possible. Fast forward to this October on a particularly drunken trip to JMU. My buddy Loftus and I meet said Lesbians out at a party. We are not sober. We soon stumble back to The Magical Hunter's Ridge, where men have been created and ripped apart in a single night. Loftus, ignoring TWO plush couches in the living room(and probably Michelle's bed, but we won't speak of that), immediately pulls a...well, a Loftus, and passes out on the floor. I attempt to eat spaghetti, with little success. The lesbians retire to their respective bedrooms as I go vegetable on one of the couches. Fast forward again to roughly 7 AM. My eyes open. I have NO idea where I am. Suddenly, taking a slow, SLOW look around the living room, I recall, 'Ah, yes. JMU. Ali and Michelle's. That's right.' Then I feel a large object to my right. I look over. It's Michelle. 'Why did Michelle get on the couch with me,' I first wonder. Then I reassess my surroundings and realize that I've made my way into Michelle's bed. No explanation. I nudge. GEOFF: 'Hey.' MICHELLE (GROGGY): 'Aaaaaarghhthp.' GEOFF: 'How the hell did I get in here?' M (Now awake and startled): 'Um...I don't know.' G: 'Really, how did I get in here?' M: 'Really, I don't know.' A few beats of silence. M: 'Why is my closet open?' G: 'I don't know.' M: 'I never open my closet. Why is the bathroom door closed?' G: 'Huh?' Silence. Golden silence. M: 'Did you pee in my closet?' Honestly, I don't know if I did or not. I really couldn't tell you how or why I got in her bed. It just happened. Though no evidence was ever found of closetal urination, we can't put it past me. When I was four I peed in my babysitters closet about thirteen times over the course of one summer. I made an Olympic Event out of it. I was the Carl Lewis of Long Distance Closet Urination. So there's a pattern of past behavior. I'll be back at JMU on Nov. 22nd. Ali, I'm gunning for your closet next. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 11,November,2003 | urlLink Email (EDITOR'S NOTE: The following will make sense to few...or no one. What I am about to babble on about will be vague and contain no semblance of detail. The person mentioned in this entry will not be defined by name, sex, race, location, age, or any other distinguishing characteristic.) I don't want to understate the personal value of what I'm about to explain...I am at a loss. People who know me know I do not often, if ever, go into a state where I cannot speak. It may have happened once in college, where myself and a few buddies watched a girl spontaneously strip for us and then masturbate on a coffee table at 4 AM. Maybe then. But this blows it away. I have, in very few words, been had. The wool has been pulled very snugly over my eyes. I've been bamboozled, outwitted, and turned around. I have been Punk'd. And I don't know that I'll be able to accurately describe my state right now. I'm going to try to convey something to you all, but I don't know if I'll be successful or not. It has just come to my attention that a person I considered very near and dear to me has been working me over all along. I'm not talking pretending to be someone they were not...I mean flat out deceiving me. It has been going on for years and if you had told me straight to my face at most any point in that time, I would have laughed at you. I almost didn't find out. I had a conversation with this person recently, and something interesting came up. By chance I mentioned this to a mutual acquaintance in a phone call tonight and the whole thing came tumbling down. In an instant--and I really mean that, an instant, I can't overstate that--the whole damn thing came crashing down. Remember in A Few God Men where Tom Cruise gets Jack Nicholson to admit he ordered the Code Red? Like that, like a movie, perfectly planned along, and when it happens all you can think is, 'Wow, I should have seen that coming.' It's not quite like finding out that it was your grandfather who shot Kennedy, but more like that your Grandmother was one of Hitler's mistresses. That kind of thing. Not only because it is someone I cared about, but someone I trusted. I don't trust many people. I'm now reminded in Big Red Letters why. I'm making sure to be scant on specifics here, because even in my vegetatitve state of the moment, I know they matter little or nothing in the long run. I don't want to engender controversy or 'out' someone. It just happens to be one of those things that you know you can't completely divulge but you have to tell someone, anyone. I'm pulling the literary equivalent of Geoff's Pet Peeve #1, the infamous, 'I have to tell you something, but I can't. So I'm not going to.' Sorry. There are a lot of thoughts circling my head, and even more emotions. The most prevalent is shock, honest to God shock, like walking into a room and having sex with a random girl only to find out it's your sister. Then there was disbelief, which was fleeting and is gone now, because I can see the whole picture clearly. There are trace amounts of anger, which I'm sure will multiply once I've processed everything. Lingering below the surface, almost hidden from my radar at the moment, is an impending sense of hurt, which I know will come crashing down on me in the very near future. But most of all, when the smoke finally clears, the events of today will be humbling. Again, if you know me, you know this is a near impossible feat. It's not because this is a huge hit to my massive ego--though it certainly is. It's not because it detracts from my belief that I'm a highly intelligent person--it hasn't. It's not because it has shelved my faith in humanity--that happened a long time ago. It's because, with hindsight being 20/20 and all, I know deep down it's my fault. I let it happen. I let it happen and, though subconsciously, I encouraged it. That's the worst of it all. Above all else I value logic and reason, and in this case I threw them both out the window, apparently with the rest of my brain along for the ride. I'm disappointed in myself, though the game was certainly well-played by the other party. The thing is, I don't think this person will ever know that this is about them. I'm not even sure if they read this. That's not the point. I don't even know if I know what the point is, but I can tell you that if the victim weren't me, I'd be congratulating the afflicting party on a job well done. Perhaps I should fire myself as Coach? Find a new Offensive Coordinator? Hire a new Head of Scouting? Nah. I think the only good thing that might come out of this for me is a better grip on the realities of human nature. Not an understanding, mind you, but a plausible explanation that leads to me not making this mistake again. I am going to remember this for everyone I meet from here on out. Matter of fact, in my desired career field, this occurrence could help me out monumentally. In the long run. Someday. Maybe I'm still pretty great. This isn't life altering in the sense that it will keep me from being normal for an extended amount of time. But it's certainly going to shift my worldview in another direction. In the words of one of my gurus, 'The lesson, as always, is that I'm an idiot.' |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 10,November,2003 | urlLink Email -- Matrix: Revolutions was a huge success in my book. I am going to detail why for all of you, as this has caused much controversy, but will warn you that if you have not yet seen the film and don't want to spoil it for yourself, please scan through until you get to the second set of stars (****). This will denote the end of my spoiling. *************SPOILERS ABOUND BEYOND THIS POINT************************************************* 1) Let me start with the things I didn't like-- --The scene where Trinity dies is way, way too f*cking long and drawn out. They talked too much. Note to Wabalooski Brothers: people who have been impaled by large pieces of metal generally can't talk for five minutes. Say goodbye and let her die. This moment almost took me out of the movie. --The lady who played The Oracle in the first two films died before she could finish all of her scenes for the second installment, so they had to go out and get someone else. The reason for why she looked different in the third was paltry and useless because it added NOTHING. I want to make this clear: the Washavinskis would have been better served to just not mention anything about her appearance than do what they did. --These two are about it. 2) Why I did like it: --I thought the whole third story wrapped up the parts of the overall trilogy without giving you every single answer. I like very much that it combined parts of various religious theology (Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism) with an emphasis also on secular philosophy. I also don't think for a second that they talked too much, as is oft a complaint. One of the big themes of the movie is free thought...so they were apt to speak and think freely. Did anyone notice that much of the philosophical questions posed were answered during the fight scenes? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? When this comes out on DVD, rent it and rewatch it for this reason if no other. --I would have been lost with all the computer programming jargon if I hadn't done a little bit of searching to understand its connection to philosophy and theology. One of the major pulls of the film is that it takes so much from the Biblical story of the Great War in Heaven, the story of with which I am fascinated. It also helped me greatly to read up on the history of the Merovingian...and not the ones that ruled France in the 7th Century. It might be interesting to some of you to read about them urlLink here . It also helped to research urlLink oracles a bit, and not just The Delphic Oracle. There are also strong connections from The Oracle to The Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene. My point? I am immeasurably impressed at the amount of research and detail the Warbonski Brothers put into this work. It's depth is incredible and if you are even slightly versed in any of these studies I believe it makes the film much more interesting. --I have always been a big fan of the old martial arts movies. Even the sound effects. The Wac...ah, f*ck it, the W. Bros. were the same way and even used some of the techniques during filming. In the scene in Reloaded where Neo fights the hundreds of Smiths, they played with different sound effects, like toppling dominoes. I just think that's neat. I can't think of any other word but neat. Neat is the word I'm using. And I'm overly impressed by the fact that the W. Bros. and their team came up with a brand new cinematrographic/directorial/special effectual technique, something no one does these days. Have you noticed the proliferation of Bullet Time (TM) technology since the first film? It's everywhere. The whole concept blows my mind. I consider the final fight scene between Neo and the Smith to be one of the best things I've ever seen on a big screen, in scope and in execution because I really think it was appropriate and, though it was highly special effects laden, not overdone. --Finally, and this is my biggest point, one of my favorite Conquerable Postulates is that Free Will and Fate coexist. Think about it: everything we do is inevitable and nothing we have done is can be altered simply because we do not possess the capacity to travel back and forth in time. So all of the choices we make in life lead to a point. In the moment, we can make one decision or another, but that choice can neither lead us to where the other choice would have nor could we backtrack and do it over. Therefore, though we make our choices freely with each passing moment, we could never change them, and being that you can't go back, you are always set in one path. I have no idea what I just said. The point is, the W. Bros. offer a story in which the hero has a choice but ultimately cannot alter time and space. There will be a cycle that goes on. Does it ever stop? When did it ever start. These are eternal questions, and I think important questions. This story gave me another way to think about them, to contextualize in my world. Plus, I'm a sucker for this particular story, most popularized by Jesus Christ. You know how it goes: a stanger walks into town where everyone is afraid of him except a few, and these few befriend him and learn from him, and then he begins to affect the public, but there is a misunderstanding, and he is either run out of town or killed, and only afterwards do the people realize his intentions were benevolent and that he held the secret to leading a good life. This story's inception was NOT the Bible. The roots of this story can be traced back as far as ancient Mesopotamia and the first known civilizations at the axis of the Tigris and Euphrates. It is one of the Six Original Stories of the World, and it's probably the best known. Because it's so effective. We all want to believe there is a savior out there. We all believe in some deep recesses of our brain that we might be that savior. Or at least help him/her along. This trilogy does that for me. It's not so much the execution of everything--many parts could have been done better. It's not so much the manner in which it was done, though I think it was more than timely and more than appropriate. For me, it's all how it came together. Certainly they weren't going to top the first film. It was groundbreaking. It may have been the best overall film of the 90's. I resented parts of the second film that strayed from the form of the first. But I realized that the first film only told a very, very small part of the overall story, and that keeping it there would have eventually taken the characters nowhere. I'm very pleased with all three for those reasons. Disagree if you like. ***********************************SPOILERS DONE MOTHERF*CKERS********************************* --Here is a dream I had last night: I'm on a boardwalk-like area somewhere, maybe by the ocean, maybe not. There are a lot of college-aged kids around. I'm attempting to buy something to eat. My ex-girlfriend walks up to me, drunk. I try to be polite but she is being loud and obnoxious. I try to leave and she follows me around into a sporting goods store where I attempt to find a fitted Cleveland Indians cap to no avail. She comes in, still loud and obnoxious, and is so drunk that she falls over. I have to help her up. I leave the store, and she follows me out, yelling after me. She buys a beer as I try to walk away. She is drinking it and starts making out with the beer guy, then continues to follow me. There is a fast-forward (the first ever fade-out/fade-in in Geoff History), and I'm at a play. For whatever reason, I walk through the actors while they are in the middle of performing the play, up a ladder and out onto a very thin, creaky balcony outside. Trying to think of a move, as I can go almost nowhere, she walks out to face me. I wake up as I'm thinking, 'She's going to stab me.' Can anyone analyze this for me? I guess my real question is, do I see a psychiatrist or a psychologist? What drugs do I need? And how much of each? If it helps, I ate celery and a cup of Blueberry Yogurt before bed. --I have seen the Paris Hilton sex tape. I'm less impressed than I was and find her less attractive every day. That said, she does have better boobies than I would have given her credit for. I can say that. But it's all the nicer I can get. --I'm beginning to get my insulting swagger back. I like insults. They're like the S'Mores of the Communication World, but less sugary and more hurty. -- |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 10,November,2003 | Email: [email protected] --At a party I attended this weekend there was a girl who claimed to be from Greece. I engaged her in conversation. This is the dialogue which transpired. Mind you, I was drunk, she all too sober: ME: 'Are you really Grecian?' GIRL: 'What?' M: 'Are you really Grecian?' G: 'What's that?' (EDITOR'S NOTE: This is where my initial confusion set in. Slight red flag goes up.) M: 'You're from Greece?' G: 'Oh, yeah, I was born there and lived there 'til I was 10.' M: 'Oh, OK. I always wanted to go to Crete, did you ever get there?' G: 'Where's that?' (EDITOR'S NOTE: Major red flag. Crete is an island thirteen and a half miles off the coast of Greece.) M: 'What?' G: 'I've never heard of it.' M: 'Well what part of Greece did you live in?' G: 'I don't know. We were seven hours from Athens.' (EDITOR'S NOTE: What the f*ck?) M: 'Seven hours?' G: 'Yeah.' M: 'Greece is basically the same size as Georgia. There isn't a point on the peninsula that's more than seven hours away from another unless you're traveling by donkey.' G: 'That's all I know. We were seven hours from Athens.' M: 'Did you perhaps live not in Greece but in Turkey?' G: 'Um, no.' M: 'You're a liar.' G: 'What?' M: 'You're from Jersey, aren't you?' That was the last I got out, as my friends extricated me form the situation. Why do people like this exist? Either you are lying about your origins or you are the definition of stupid, and I struggle to decide which is more pathetic. --Everyone once in a while, you get word from someone that, for you, transcends time and space. Their very being inspires creativity and a deep calm in your very soul. Hearing from them in even the most simple of ways can send your heart aflutter and bring tears to your eyes. Every once in a while, this person sends you an email. But most of the time, you just end up getting email from Ben Foltz. Such is life. Ben writes: >>'after perusing through some of your thoughts i thought of something that id like to hear your opinion on: the tip jars at places like smoothie king and starbucks. i dont really like to tip these people, what exactly are we tipping them for? should we taste our drink first, and if its extra good, then give them a tip? just doesnt make sense.' Good question. Hell no, you don't have to tip these grubbing b*stards. Now I have not frequented the establishments you mentioned, but I ran into a similar annoyance at my local Chinese restaurant. I ordered my food, came back five minutes later, paid by check card, and handed the recipt back to the woman behind the counter. She nearly took my head off. LADY BEHIND COUNTER: 'Hey, you forget tip.' ME: 'What?' LBC: 'You forget tip.' M: 'I didn't forget...you're not getting one.' LBC: 'We work off tip.' M: 'You tip your cooks?' LBC: 'No.' M: 'Then who works off of tips?' LBC: 'Ownah get tip.' M: 'I'm not giving you money for putting my food in a paper bag and bending over to get chopsticks.' LBC: 'You leave tip.' M: 'I leave store.' The nice thing was I already had my food so they couldn't slip anything toxic into it. F*ck these people. You know who else has the wrong idea? This 80 year old woman who I saw sitting outside Grand Central Station in NYC last summer. She was holding a sign reading 'Vietnam Vet, Homeless, HIV positive' above a coffee can. Now let's ignore the fact that there are few, if any, 80 year old female Vietnam vets. If you want to promote yourself, do you mention that you're HIV positive? I realize you can't contract the disease from local airspace, but it doesn't make me want to come near you. How about 'Twenty Year-Old f*ckbunny wearing old woman costume, horny, will blow you for $7 and McGriddle'? At least then we know you're trying. --You might know I'd make a definitive post about my Fantasy Football domination and now I'm likely going to lose to Keith Miller, Sigma Pi Pledge Herald, UVa Chapter for the second time this season. Brett Favre better thave the g*ddamn game of his life tonight. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 08,November,2003 | Email: [email protected] --I shall now officially link another site to the GooseTown Federation (TM), urlLink Golden Road . This is a fledgling yet important little Blog dedicated to the wonderfully complicated world of my good friend and former roommate, Craig Metz (who also goes by C-Money or, as I like to call him, Crizzle Mizzle). This site is especially important in that Craig aims to tackle critical issues facing the world and our society, whereas I am rooted in my babbling about minutiae. He is one of the smartest people I know and, were I forced at gunpoint to pick a slogan for his site, it would certainly be 'Golden Road: Sometimes it's too much, sometimes you just want more.' Please leave comments and be sure to ask Craig about his Half-Price Law School Education Directive. So, to recap, here are my Linked Associates: 1) urlLink CannedJam 2) urlLink DanWho 3) urlLink Golden Road --Many who know me have heard me tackle this issue before in other forums, but I feel the need to bring it to the forefront here: The Erector Set Spoiler. Remember Erector Sets? For the younger generation, no, this is not a contraption that Rafael Palmeiro uses to mount his wife...it's a mechanical toy set, not so much unlike Legos, that allows to to build various objects out of metal and screws. I never had an Erector Set, but it was a much coveted item. I wanted badly to build the dinosaur they showed on the commercial, or possibly the car. I remember a good friend of mine getting one and we built the tallest building I had ever seen at the time, a monstrosity which stodd nearly four feet tall when we were finished. The important thing about whatever you built was that no, it wasn't 'pretty', but you made it yourself and it had some kind of fucntion. I was always a relatively smart kid, but standing there, looking at our magnanimous creation, not once did it ever enter my mind, 'You know, someday, some assh*le somewhere is going to make a lot of money by putting this sh*t on the backs of redneck cars.' C'mon, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The 'pimped-out' 1993 Nissan Stanza, Maroon with paint chips, lowered for mad good handling, phat 22's, tinted windows, coffee can exhaust system, banging bass....and an Erector Set Spoiler bolted to the top of the trunk. It's the equivalent of wearing an Armani suit to McDonald's with tin foil wrapped around your shoes for effect. It makes not an ounce of sense mechanically and even less aesthetically. True, a good amount of street racing proliferates my area (as I'm sure it does all areas where there is a heavy redneck population), but do you really think it's going to help you outrun a 1991 Mitsubishi Lancer for 200 feet outside the local Dunkin' Donuts? More importantly, how can you look at this ugly metal contraption and think, 'Yes. I need to affix this to the back of my car not only because it will help provide wind shear for a faster race time, but it just looks so absolutely stunning that many, many girls will want to sleep with me. Yes, I must do this now.' I have absolutely no answer for this. I see at least twelve per day drive by my office window. It's almost like each one is taunting me. I truly believe that whoever figures out this fetish should be the one entrusted to end World Hunger and find the Holy Grail. Along the same lines, I was at a party last night with my brother. He is twenty and all the kids his age in this area have only one interest: cars. They define each other by what car they have. Instead of describing another kid like, 'He's tall and has brown hair and always wears blue,' it's always, 'he drives a red Z4.' That's all they care about. One kid was trying to describe a girl to me, whom he said was perfect, and one of his big points for her was that, 'She can drive a five speed like a guy.' Holy f*cking sh*t, why didn't you say so?!? Get her over here now! I've always wanted a woman who exhibited innately masculine qualities such as being a gearhead and racing accountants on the highway. Maybe we can stay up late at night to talk about beef or why Toyota is better than Chevy or how Kevin Harvick is a p*ssy but Jeff Gordon rules. Please, write down her phone number before I lose my edge. Later in the night, the only girl who was there was shocked, dismayed, and horrified by my admission that I cannot drive stick. I never learned, I don't care to, and it's so far from being an issue to me that the light from Issue will not reach Earth for 4.2 million years. Now I don't have too much masculinity to begin with, but whatever I did have was gone from her radar in that instance. Therefore, seeing as how this is apparently a vital skill to women, I will no longer be attracted to any female that cannot use a blender. --I am steamrolling my Fantasy Football competition. I mean it's really getting ugly. True, I lost last weekend, but I was without my star player (Priest Holmes) and had previously been in a seven game winning streak, so something had to give. I certainly thought I had one of the best teams on draft day and now I'm sure. My buddies, at the time, scoffed at my draft. Holmes is injured. Jamal Lewis is injured. Who is Chad Johnson? Why would you trade for Brett Favre? Peons. The best part of our league is that we have two friends, Loftus and Roland, who couldn't figure out how to draft. Roland got impossibly drunk by the third round, at one time announcing that someone had picked 'Greg Maddux', and Loftus is one of those kids whose Fantasy Drafting Style is obscured by his Real World team loyalties and player affinity. Roland got LaDanian Tomlinson and Brett Favre in the first three rounds, but the rest of his draft then becomes a mishmash of washups and journeymen. Loftus, who was far less drunk, allowed his first eight rounds to go as such: 1) Donovan McNabb; 2) Peyton Manning; 3) Jeremy Shockey; 4) Koren Robinson; 5) Brian Urlacher; 6) Ray Lewis; 7) Keith Brooking; 8) Amos Zereoue Now looking back, picks One and Two were not so bad. No one could have known how horrendous McNabb would be, and Manning has been better than promised. But Round Three began Loftus's doom. In a league where Running Backs score a good deal points more than all other positions 75-80% of the time, you cannot afford to wait until Round Eight to draft one. Also inexplicable is the Mid-Round drafting of three consecutive defensive players. Though they are the top defensive players in the league, they almost always score fewer points than top offensive players on a week-to-week basis. The real key to the draft is the Round Three picking of Jeremy 'Where the hell is that End Zone Thingy?' Shockey. Again: always good to have a friend who is Fantasy Blinded by team loyalties. A massive Giants fan, Loftus went out of his way at least a round early to nab Shockey, who is having a decent Fantasy Year but not producing at near the rate of a Tony Gonzlalez, whom I was able to grab two rounds later. The Day before Week Five Sunday, Loftus argued with me. Asking which Tight End I would rather have on my team for the duration of the season, I chose T-Gon over Shockey. Loftus wholeheartedly supported Jeremy, at one point telling me I was insane. Stats since Week Four: Shockey: 35 rec., 380 yds, 1 TD, 1 Fum. lost, Overall Rank: 73 Gonzalez: 16 rec., 320 yds, 3 TD, 0 Fum., Overall Rank: 47 As TDs count for twelve times the amount as receptions, Gonzo is blowing Shockey away. Also note that Tony has played one less game in that timespan due to a Bye Week. Loftus and I talked about this a week or two ago. Asked if he felt the same, he said, 'I stand by Shockey.' Of course you do. That's why you're 2-7. Maybe Duce Staley can pick it up for you this weekend. And you can probably still grab Dane Looker off the waiver wire! --I will devote an entire Babble to The Matrix: Revolutions in a day or two. Suffice to say, I disagree with most of the critics and thought it was brilliant. Also took in Elf last night and laughed harder than I can remember. I highly recommend both. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 05,November,2003 | Email: [email protected] I have wanted to post about this for a while, but haven't had the time recently. Well here I go! Do you ever get into arguments with these animal rights people? Are they some of the most insane CauseHeads in the entire world? I'm not talking about those people that want to see criminal charges brought up against people who abuse their pets--they should be locked up. I'm also not talking about the people who oppose and protest the testing of dangerous chemicals on animals so we can have a silkier feel to our shampoo--that shouldn't be allowed either. I myself find circuses to be detestable, outdated attractions that should be shut down at all costs. PETA supports all of these causes. So why do I hate them so? urlLink PETA --The People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals--has gone from being an animal-activist watchdog group to a hippie infested, political and sociogastric lobbying machine of Neo-Aesopic robots. Check out their website and look at their causes. They hide behind their noble, original intentions of animal protection to mask their real concern...spreading their 'Vegans rule' propaganda. Things have gone completely out of hand. The main problem with PETA is that their organization is made up largely of idealistic young people who are so engrossed with their belief system that they feel the need to force it on everyone. And they will stop at no cost to subject our society to their cause. Consider a few of their more prominent 'causes' in the last few years: 1) A 1996 campaign that called for a boycott of the Green Bay Packers, as the name 'Packers' refers to meat packing and is therefore insensitive to animals. PETA demanded they change their name to one five selected nomers, including the 'Pickers'. 2) Their 2000 'Beer is better than Milk' campaign, in which they argued that beer was a better overall nutritional value than dairy products. 3) A 1995 campaign in which PETA 'operatives' protested and then vandalized a pharmaceutical lab that was forcibly breaking the legs of puppies and infant chimpanzees to test a new drug. The first two of these are harmless on a social scale and can be laughed off. The Mayor of Green Bay actually held a press conference in which he laughed at PETA, for as we all know, asking Green Bay to boycott the Packers would be about as effective as asking Mariah Carey to boycott insanity. The 'Beer No Milk' campaign can be seen as little more than Vegan zealots attempting to speak for the whole of society instead of just doing what is good for themselves. One might compare these PETA members to many Southern Baptists...most just want to see their cause have a voice, while the few radical members that make up the leadership and are most vocal shove their views down America's throat. But when you look at the last cause, the objective seems justified. Who wants to see poor little puppies and chimps harmed in the name of a large pharmaceutical company? It's barbaric, intolerant, and the firm deserved what it got. Or did they? The fact is, the medicine being tested on the furry critters was nearing the completion of FDA approval. The procedures were medically structured, mechanical, clean breaks done only once the animal had been anesthetized. The drug being tested was (and is still, thankfully) being touted as a possible cure for Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a debilitating, crippling disease faced by thousands of newborns each year all over the world. The disease causes the skeletal structure to develop at a very weak pace, resulting in a brittle bone density that lasts throughout life. The reason the puppies and chimps were used for tests was that scientists and researchers found their bone DNA and density to be most comparable to that of human infants. This ensured that the tests would provide the most reliable data without compromising the health of any humans. Now I ask this: though certainly no one wants to see puppies get their legs broken, if you are taking only a few puppies out of millions for the testing, is that not worth it? I think if my kid were born with such a disease, I would eschew my melancholy feelings for those puppies in favor of a possible cure. And this is the basic problem with PETA. They refuse to see the big picture. Stick to causes that matter. If a few puppies have to be sacrificed for the human race to better itself, hey, I'm all for it. People come first in my book. What PETA did was destroy years of data and research and the lab basically had to start over from Square One. PETA and other vergetarian/vegan groups also tend to twist science in their favor. They are notorious for paying independent scientific firms to find ANY evidence contrary to popular theories of evolution, a geohistorical food chain, or the fact that humans have carnivorous tendencies. If you try to debate them on this, they bring up 'Facts' about the history of the world that can be refuted by the simplest of elementary school textbooks. Why? These people cannot fathom that anyone would want to believe something to the contrary, and moreover refuse to accept that fact. They always claim that if we really wanted to eat animals, we should go out and catch them with our bare hands. I say we've just invented a less time-consuming way to process our meat. I recall a debate I had with one Zealot, to whom I brought up the topic of the Lab Trashing. As is the typical style of these activists, they resort to Poisoning the Well or ad absurdium logical fallacies, but this chick was absolutely off her rocker. She made a claim that I was 'looking for any excuse to kill an animal'. I replied by simply saying, 'If faced with the roadway decision of plowing over a squirrel or running your car full-on into a tree, I hope you choose wisely.' This is her response to that reply, word for word, and I wish I were making this up: >>'Some accidents can't be helped. I drive responsibly and at a good pace that things like that I see much ahead of when I will encounter them. I guess I can presume most dead animals hit such as deer were hit by ignorant people like you who drive fanatically. That type in so much of a rush that you endanger many people even on the road because you want to pass someone by and get to the place you are going quickly. To kill another living thing just for your impatience is so inhumane.' Unfortunately, this is the mental state of many of these activists, and they overshadow the people who really are trying to protect animals. Therefore, instead of actually helping to secure Rights for our nonhuman friends, they set themsleves back years. There's really nothing we can do as part of the Sane sector of society, as these people deserve every chance and right to express their views as they see fit. Probably best to just let them vent and sit back and laugh at them with the rest of the world, but every once in a while I like to point out just how idiotic I think they are. On that note, I shall be enjoying chicken wings for lunch today. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 04,November,2003 | Email: [email protected] --Not that I was eagerly awaiting its arrival or anything, but could the new Britney Spears song be any worse? I actually manage to get angry when it comes on the radio. Why do we constantly have to wait for her to skip to soft-core porn? Is there anyone that would deny that a third-rate acting career and a Playboy spread are already ingrained in her near future? The girl can't sing and this collaboration with Madonna gets my vote for the Exxon-Valdez Man Made Disaster of the Year Award (TM). But I'd still let her f*ck me. --Along the same musical lines, is it possible that Lifehouse is the best band of the last twenty years? (EDITOR'S NOTE: If you have a Sarcasm Meter hanging in your office, I apologize for just blowing it off the wall.) --Got another IM from the previously-mentioned Karyn, continuing the gymnastics debate: >>'i agree... its just disheartening to feel that it is not a sport... because somehow not have the 'sport' label seems to make it less in value' Not true in the slightest. It doesn't lessen the value, it just makes it a different kind of event. Now if somehow they made gymnastics into a contest wherein you comepted against another individual flipping through an obstacle course, with the winner completing the event in the least amount of time, well....you've got a Sport there. And that I would watch. Take into account that, though a NonSport, gymnastics is more physically rigorous than just about any Sport out there. And feel fortunate that you are probably bendy. Very bendy. Actually, We should all feel fortunate for my buddy and former roommate Kyle, Karyn's boyfriend. Good show. And mad props for using the Vocab Word 'disheartening' in a sentence and spelling it correctly. --Did anyone watch the interview on MTV between Ja Rule and Louis Farrakhan? Is there a more psychotic African-American leader besides Al Sharpton? If you are a minority, are these really the people you want speaking for you? It's the equivalent of me announcing my unwavering support for Jesse Camp. (EDITOR'S NOTE: If Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, whom I actually like most of the time, had a child, is there any doubt he would grow up to be Don King? Any doubt?) The whole time Ja, as I like to call him, looked very, very uncomfortable. Why? Because good 'ol Louie sat him down to discuss his escalating feud with...Fitty Cent. Fitty. Farrakhan called for the meeting because he didn't want to see--and this is a quote--'another Tupac-versus-Biggie-type agitation that would further divide the African-American community.' Members of the black community, your leaders have so little faith in you that they believe a rap showdown could tear apart the ties that bind your entire social structure. Good call. Safe to say that few African-Americans hold Farrakhan as a 'leader' in their community, but I'd like to hear thoughts on the issue. He's certainly no Malcolm X or Martin Luther King. He's more like a religious Bryant Gumble, only black. By the way, I want to get this out there: I hate Political Correctness and Hyphenated Americans. If you are black and request that you be called African-American, then fine, I'm willing to do that, but I want you to know I think it's dumb as hell. I would be beaten if I asked to be called 'Irish-American' instead of 'white', even though white people need just as much a distinction made of their ancestry as blacks, possibly more. I've never been a minority, so perhaps there's a much deeper issue there that I'm not seeing. But there was a guy I once knew from St. Maarten (which is in the Caribbean, for those of you not geographically inclined) who insisted on being called 'African-American' even though at least as far back as seven generations, by his own admission, his family was on St. Maarten. I mean seriously, alligators and crocodiles people, let's pick our battles. All for now, I have a big thought in the works for later today.... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 04,November,2003 | Email: [email protected] --OK, OK, I'm guilty as hell, I watched a show the other night called something along the lines of 'World's Craziest Wedding Videos'. It was horrific, except for the weddings where people started fights. I absolutely MUST comment on one wedding, however... The groom of this particular wedding was standing in front of the minister with his soon-to-be wife. He was clearly enthused about the whole situation, which is disturbing in and of itself, but let's skip past that. Towards the end of the ceremony, he began to whoop and holler with excitement. This is when the narrator decided to chime in, letting us know, 'This groom seems a little more excited than most. Why? Well, when he kisses his new bride in a few moments, it will be the first time they've ever kissed before, anywhere .' (EDITOR'S NOTE: I added my own emphasis at the end there, but it's effective and pertinent.) That's not a typo. These two people, who are up in front of their respective families getting married, had never even kissed before. I'll say this first: I respect the right for everyone to approach their personal relationships in any way they want to. I respect (and this sometimes--SOMETIMES--borders on admiration) the approach of 'Waiting Until Marriage (TM)' for sex if it is based on a religious conviction. I strongly disagree with that course of action, but respect in nonetheless. I can also most certainly see the point of not necessarily waiting for marriage, but waiting until you find someone you're comfortable and/or ready to sleep with. There are a lot of reasons to wait. That said... These two people are idiots. F*cking idiots and absolute losers. I will not debate this for even one second. F*cking idiots. Absolute losers. No debate. What possible reason could there be for this? For Christ's sake, even Jesus himself used to mouth-kiss Mary Magdeline. I honestly cannot comprehend what type of world these people live in. If it's a religious conviction, they have missed the point of whatever it is to which they prescribe. If it isn't, they are complete sheltered morons. I hope to God they never procreate, and as I type that I am visited by one of the worst mental pictures that my catastrophic mind has ever produced. God help these people. And me. Hey, I'm as big an idiot as they come, and far be it for me to tell anyone how to live their life. Except these people. Seriously, if the two of you ever read this, please do not ever have children and stay away from other humans for your period of being on this Earth, as you can only set the race back several generations. They had less stringent dating standards in pre-9/11 Afghanistan. --Answering an Email: Actually this was an IM, but let's pick our battles here. This comes from my good friend Nip...er, Karyn. Confounded by my 'Comments' system and unfamiliar with the rigors of email, Karyn asked me about gymnastics in the most direct fashion of communication this side of face-to-face verbalizing----> >>'ok well i tried to e-mail you a comment on your cheerleading argument that you wrote a while back but im an idiot and couldnt figure how to do that. I agree completely with your agrument that cheerleading is not a sport for all the reasons you listed, gymnastics however is a sport. I did gymnastics all while i was growing up...you say it is a judged competition and therefore cant be a sport..but there are set rules and regulations and standards on a performance and every routine starts from a certain score (not necessarily a 10) because it has been evalutated for its worth... it is partially opinionated and partially objective. what do you think?' Thanks for the IM, Karyn. Gymnastics is not a sport...it's an athletic competition. Though there may be objectives in gymnastics NOT based on subjectivity (a certain move you have to perform at some point, a standard piece of equipment that you must perform on), the end result is almost entirely based on someone's perception or your performance, not your performance itself. Think of it this way: In football, you must cross the goal line to score six points. Simple, basic, not up for interpretation. You are not awarded points based on HOW you crossed it; neither are you awarded points based on your grace or skillin crossing it. It either happens or it doesn't. Gymnastics cannot be this way inherently. True, you and another competitor may perform the same move, but who 'wins' is determined by which of you a panel of judges finds did it 'better'. Part of the wonderful rigidity of Sports is the objectivity that sometimes allows a lesser team to prevail in a contest, because they were better able to follow the established rules. So I hope that answers your question, as I have no idea what I just said. --'Finding Nemo' should win an Oscar this year for something, and I don't care what. Also, I'm setting myself up for a disappointment of massive proportions tomorrow when I view 'The Matrix: Revolutions'. That way, if it ends up being a good movie, it'll be a monumental...eh...non...disappointment (I think I have two brain cells left and they're fighting). --Did anyone watch 'The Joe Schmo Show'? I was completely crushed to watch the recap episode, after they had told the poor guy everything was fake. I take back everything bad I ever said about the guy, which wasn't much but was there somewhat. What a decent human being. Honestly, I always liked the guy but thought he was an idiot. He reminded me a lot of my buddy Sanders, who is a sweet guy but never going to split any atoms (I can say this safely, as he's stuck in Germany in the military). He once exclaimed to two other 21 year-old males in an otherwise empty room that one of our assumptions about the WWF was 'bullcrap' (and DAMN was he angry). I repeat, he was age 21. The funny thing is, every once in a while the kid busts out with a vocab word and you look around the room for Cyrano de Bergerac like, 'Who the f*ck is feeding this kid lines? Did he just use the words 'solace' and 'verisimilitude' correctly in the same sentence?' This Jow Schmo guy (Matt is his name) was just like that, or so I thought. Then I find out he went to law school for a bit. Well, I take back my sentiments and wish Matt the best. After all, he made off with $100,000...and a complete distrust for all of humanity. I have the latter myself...now all I need to do is somehow get the former... All for now...maybe more later tonight... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 29,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --I got into this conversation again the other night with a female friend, and I am going to lay down the law on the issue once and for all... I, as I know is the case for many guys, cannot tell if a guy is 'good looking'. It is not a matter of embarrassment, feeling as though I might be perceived as homosexual if I 'admit' I find a guy 'attractive'. This is always the first rebuttal you face from a female when this conversation comes up: GIRL: 'He's a really good looking guy.' GUY: 'If you say so.' GIRL: 'What, you don't think so?' GUY: 'I don't know, I can't tell.' GIRL: 'Yes you can. What, are you afraid if you admit he's good looking people are going to think you're gay?' GUY: 'No, I don't care, I just can't tell.' GIRL: 'Well girls can find other girls attractive. Why can't guys do the same? It's because you're threatened that it might challenge your sexuality.' And on and on into absurdium. I guarantee that since the inception of humanity, women have nagged men with this intellectually vapid assertion over 600 trillion times. So, for the broads, I am setting it straight (no pun intended) for you on behalf of men across the world (and myself, because I am most certainly not a man). I can tell if a guy is ugly or goofy looking outright, no problem. But as far as I am concerned, facially, every 'normal' male is just as good looking as the next. If a guy is not fat, decently dressed, has a normal gait and posture, and generally seems not to be a douche, I can easily say, 'He's a good looking guy.' No problem. But this has nothing to do with 'Attractive looks'. Biologically, I have no senses to tell me if a guy is 'good looking' or not in a sexual or non-sexual realm. I just don't, and if you don't accept that or can't understand it, then just shut the f*ck up, walk away, and talk to me no further. Aesthetically, I cannot tell you what about Paul Walker's facial features make him more attractive than Seth Green but less attractive than Ashton Kutcher. I know from listening to females and from general appearance that they are all considered good looking in many circles, but what sets each apart from the other is not only a mystery to me, but also a matter of personal preference. Good enough? I hope so, because it's the damn best I can do. Again, if that's not good enough for you, then shut off, I'm tired of having that conversation. --I can tell one thing that is decidedly not attractive, and that is the low rise female jeans. There are several reasons for my comment: 1. They just flat-out look unflattering on many otherwise lovely ladies. 2. They make otherwise lovely ladies who are NOT fat look fat by causing a bulging and flaring effect on whatever fat exists around the midsection, and specifically backfat. Concurrently, the trend is for female shirts to be cut higher, exposing a midriff, which is usually fine. The problem arises when the aforementioned bulging/flaring happens, causing FatWings (TM) to explode from the female midsection which, when coupled with the shortened t-shirt, is a disgusting sight even on the most attractive of coeds. 3. This particular cut of jean makes it appear as though the female has more narrow hips which, as far as I'm concerned, is not a good thing. What is with this trend of trying to look like a stick figure (see Paris Hilton or Tara Reid)? Female hips are a good thing, people. I'm not advocating a population boom on Fat Chicks, as there is a massive difference between Curvy (Beyonce Knowles, Kate Winslett) and Straight-up Pudge (fat people), and also between Fit (Britney, Jessica Simpson) and Stickly (Hilton, Reid). But come on. Let's get to work on this, ladies. Ditch the low-rise, please, or at least wear them without the backfat. --All that said, I would take the Tara Reid of American Pie I over the Tara Reid of Now any day of the week. Not that she didn't look good in Van Wilder . She did. But the boobies in American Pie , my Christ. And then they were all gone. See, that's the other thing about not going crazy about losing weight if you're a female--your breasts are going to be bigger. And that's good for everyone. I need to stop before I get off track here. --I hate the game of basketball. Hate it. I have all the Roundball Aptitude (TM) of a four year-old girl with no arms. I suck. Not that I was ever the most athletically gifted kid ever, but I could hold my own in several sports. Basketball was not one of them. The rim looks to me as though it's fifteen centimeters wide and being guarded by angry Rim Trolls. I'm terrible. However, one of the greatest Joys of my life is the running competition held between myself and three buddies. The Lower Allen Squad (T. Richardson Brown, Banker and Svelte Princeton Andy) routinely battles Team New Cumberland (myself and the venerable Private First Class Chez) during times of Respite. This used to include all breaks from college and good portions of the summer months, but now that three of the four of us have graduated college and all of us live in different geographic areas, it's near impossible to find time to dismantle each other physically and psychologically. Fortunately, we were able to meet up twice in the last week. It was somewhat somber, as this will likely be the last installment in the series for quite some time, if not forever. Trevor lives in DC, Andy is still plugging away at Princeton, I leave for Cali in May, and Chez is off to Iraq in February for a year. Though a somber mood threatened to cloud to proceedings on the heels of such, the games were well-contested by both sides, and neither side seemed to be hampered by the fact that, save for Sanders (Chez, don't ask), we are all in truly awful physical shape. The first series went well for LAS and, accordingly, was pretty much an overall pants-sh*tting for TNC. T. Rock and Andy walked away with a 3 games to 1 victory, as Chez carried our team through my inability to get the ball even close to something vaguely resembling scoring. Also troubling was the indoor venue provided no 2-point demarcation, leaving me without 72% of my scoring game. Watching me trying to drive to the hoop is like watching Christopher Reeve trying to successfully navigate his way through a workout on a Universal Machine. Fortunately, we were afforded 50+ degree temps in Central PA yesterday and a rematch was pressed. The pairs split the first two games, and then a LAS win was topped by two straight victories by TNC, giving us that day's Best-Out-of-Five, 3-2. All I can say is that, with the game on the line and the 2-point stripe at my disposal, well, my game was stupid fly, yo. This whole Christmas week reminded me that it really, truly is the small things in life that make you the happiest. Seeing family, making stupid trips to the mall, playing ball with your high school buddies...I'm headed out for a life that is assuredly going to provide with me immense amounts of excitement, intrigue, and financial/personal/professional success. I believe all that, knowing that the things I care about most involve no amount of money, fame, prestige or any other kind of Attained Bullcrap (TM). I can take the Earth to the Moon and back again, but if I can't pick up and hit the courts with some of my best friends, what the hell does it all really matter? That's what makes me happy. To an extent, that's what should drive people, and anyone who can't find some sort of joy in the minutiae of an Average Life has misspent a good portion of their days. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 22,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --Well, this just pisses me the f*ck off: urlLink Olson Twins to NYU A couple of issues with this... 1) Are the two of you ever going to do a g*ddamn thing separately? There are Conjoined Twins out there who would flip (not literally) for the chance to be away from each other for fifteen minutes, something that seems an outright impossibility with you guys. On one hand, this is mortifyingly annoying; on another, it's sorta creepy, unless it leads to some kind of porn career, which I'm down with. Start with each of you doing a different movie, then you can reunite to have sexual relations with me once you turn 18, and then split again and figure out what it's like to be a unique person. 2) What the f*ck are you going to study in college? Acting? You're going to spend $40,000 a year to learn something that you're already getting paid gobs of money to do? Or are you going to try to learn something 'real' and sell out, taking some kind of Sociology or Psychology crap that you'll never use? Want to do something good for the world? Take $1 million of your estimated $80 million personal worth, send 25 poor kids to a decent college for four years, and then suck it up and major in General Studies at Arizona State where you can drink your faces off, because Christ knows that's what you really want to do anyway. 3) As per the latter portions of #2, if you're just going to get the 'College Experience(TM)', NYU ain't the place to do it. A day featuring Morning Yoga with Hilary Duff and her Lead Guitarist followed by Trignometry and Applied Anthro capped off with dinner at Tavern on the Green and a night of clubbing with Britney is not exactly 'Slumming it through school'. 4) Why the f*ck must you move the entire way across the motherf*cking country right as I'm about to move into your backyard? Curse the Gods, someone up in Heaven hates me. --Had a very deep conversation with my good buddy T. Richardson Brown, Banker last night. T. Rich (as I like to call him) and I have had very similar experiences lately, and I would like to share with you all one of my most Ironclad Unconquerable Postulates: The Red Light/Green Light Sexual Allowance Treaty. If nothing else, I just hope to bridge the gap between genders. Imagine this: guys, you are with a lady. Things are getting passionate. There is some amount of overtly amorous kissing. One party (it doesn't matter which) suggests a transplant to a more convenient locale, most likely a bedroom. Things progress. Let's say you go from laying parallel on the bed to a point where the lady has climbed on top of you and, as T. Rich has labeled it, starts doing a little 'grindy pelvis' (accurate technical jargon). There is some amount of dirty talk. This turns into a large amount of dirty talk and very suggestive sexual innuendo. You remove the lady's shirt. She offers no resistance. At this point you figure all is a go. A move is made to enter the pant region of the female, and at this point, all hell breaks loose. The lady rescinds her efforts, asking what the hell you could possibly be thinking making such a move. The encounter is over, no one has been helped, and you likely have Blue Balls. What has happened? The failure of the female to abide by the Code of the Red/Light Green Light Proclamation of 2722, BC. It's simple ladies: if you don't want to do anything, don't act like you do. No grindy pelvis. No sexually-laden language. No allowed removal of shirts. Not if you're just going to cut it short in a snippy little tirade. It's as simple as the allegorical signal light: if you're not up for it, don't take it past the smoochies. If you are, let me know. Done and done. Now of course, we've all stumbled into a situation where the hormones are screaming the affirmative but the old brain kicks in and curbs the proceedings with a negatory. This is understandable and can be exacerbated with a simple, 'Hey, I'm sorry, but this is just too fast/not the right time/whatever.' That's OK. Once. Maybe twice. After two it's just flat out teasing and unacceptable. A variance of this is all the above mentioned, but then the lady stops and says, 'OK, well I have to go,' or, 'Eh, I don't think I'm in the mood for this.' Bullsh*t. No. F*ck no. It might be easy for a girl to float back to earth after getting revved up, but not a guy. Last I checked it takes four cold showers, seven shots of Ny-Quil and a basket of Blueberry muffins to stop the quaking. The problem is this: if you're a male, it's been drilled into your head--and rightly so--that when the girl says stop, you f*cking stop dead in your tracks, lest you be labeled a sexual predator. The problem is that girls either do or do not realize what a powerful rule this is, and not being cognizant of the proper way to handle it can lead to disaster. So the message is simple: if you don't want it, that's OK; let us know at the outset and don't act like you do. Not fun. If you do want it, that's fine too, just try not to change your mind while I'm in mid-pump. --Referencing the above, here is another thing I'm terribly sick of: chicks whining and b*tching when they f*ck a guy after the first or second week and he loses interest. F*cking stop the crying. As long as chicks tease, guys are going to Bang and Bolt. It's a rule of Nature. You know exactly the girl I'm talking about. She's a veteran of the Three Week Ready-to-Bake Relationship where she meets a guy, gets overly excited about him, lets him bang her and then is clueless why she 'can't find a decent boyfriend' and 'why all guys are assh*les'. This girl is usually a full-blown manhater and generally has nothing to offer to society at large. Note to Chicks: if you give it up right away, a lot of guys are going to blow right out of town. Not all, but some. Take a clue from Red Light/Green Light...if you like the dude and want to keep something going, just don't sleep with him. Sure, do other stuff if you want, but just keep it to a mild level. Say things like, 'I don't want to jump into anything serious,' even if it's a total lie. At least you've covered yourself and you're likely going to save him a case of Blue Balls. And then you don't get screwed, proverbially and actually, either. --Something else I consider a disturbing trend is people getting married to the person they've dated since high school. I know more than a few people who have done this, and while at this point they all seem to be working out for the best, my personal feeling is that it's a very bad idea, especially if you have gone to college separately. Allow me to expound. You've dated someone since you were sixteen. You date them all through college. You are now 23 or 24. Still with the same person. Now you're getting married. What are the inherent problems here? Well, first of all, it's been eight years, and if you were totally faithful in all that time (imagine me making a big huge wink right here), you've never experienced anything else. So almost the entirety of your 'growing up', per se, has been within the bounds of one physical relationship. Red flag. You think you haven't changed as a person since you were 16? If you haven't, you're an assh*le. If you have, can you really gauge whether or not the person you're with is not only making you truly happy, but is even still compatible with who you've become? I'll never forget one of my teachers telling me this story, and she swears it's true, and I think it makes the point brilliantly (stick that in your pipe, Metz): As a kid, she used to go to Baskin Robbins once a week with her family, all the way through high school and college. Always went home and took a nap afterwards. For years she went and got nothing but vanilla ice cream. Nothing. Always liked it. Never got bored. Then one day Pineapple showed up. Huge pineapple fan. Wanted the vanilla, but really wanted the pineapple. So she tried it. It was absolute crap. Swore it off forever. Went in the next week, and they were out of vanilla. So she tried the chocolate. Loved it. Raved about it even. Went home and didn't take a nap. Why? She finds out years later that she had, in her adolescence, grown allergic to the vanilla bean. She took a nap every week because it ended up giving her a splitting headache. First of all, is that not the perfect story for this situation? Second, this is not meant to say that you can't always stick with vanilla, that things will fall apart if you don't listen to me and life will go to hell. Certainly that's not the case. The problem is that we have a proclivity in our culture to believe that things have always been and will always be the way they are/were. We are forced, subconsciously many times, into situations that may not actually benefit us because societal norms are banged into out psyche from day one. Few ever examine what they are actually doing or, God forbid, find out what is on the other side of the fence, and THAT is the real issue here. People are so afraid to 'lose something' or disrupt the status quo that they never take any chances. Sure, plenty of these marriages work, and God Bless you, truly, if you find someone you love and can make it last. All the best. But we have a 53% divorce rate in this country, and I dare you to sit there and try to convince me that many of these arrangements are not to blame for a chunk of that. Want to see the sh*t really hit the fan? Ask someone who is vehemently religious to explore faiths outside their own. Want to talk about people who are walking in the pitch-f*cking-dark? Yikes. I have been wanting to breach this subject for months now, but it's almost impossible for me to put into words my perceived state of Current World Religion and just how sheepish I think people can be. Maybe someday I'll be able to come up with the correct verbage. GOOSETOWN CINEMATIQUE My buddy Carmen over at urlLink JustCarmen (aptly named, no?) suggested that we do a 'Top Five All-Time Underrated/Underappreciated Films'. This is a fantastic idea, and we will feature this soon. However, in light of the Xmas season, I decided that we are going to have a holiday themed GooseTown Xmas Cinema Poll: Which is the greatest cinematic nude scene ever? 1. Fast Times at Ridgemont High : Phoebe Cates. Dear Sweet Jesus in Heaven. The pool scene in this film singlehandedly defined adolescence for males for the next 75 years. Period. I'm serious, was there a better set of boobies ever? WE are talking perfection here, people. 2. Mischief : Kelly Preston. Wow. Wow. If you haven't actually seen the film, the scene is the picture that's all over the internet of Kelly Preston's boobies. Wow. 3. American Pie : Shannon Elizabeth. Now I am not a fan of fake boobies, hers included, but this is more about the context of the nude scene rather than the nudity itself. Why am I associating all these nude scenes with teen-themed flicks? Hmm.... 4. American Beauty : Thora Birch. A couple of things are wonderful about this one: 1) They're large and perky, an absolutely fantastic combo; 2) Seriously, if you were lucky enough to live next door to an attractive girl, what are the chances you'd not only catch her naked in her window, but that she'd actually be doing it for your benefit? 3) She was 17 at the time it was filmed. It was only allowed because her parents signed off on the scene, giving it their OK. Why is this significant? For many of us, it's the last time we'll see 17 year old breasts without getting jailed for it. 5. Wild Card: Your call. I've left some out intentionally to see if any of you mention them. Please do so. Don't say I never give ya nothin' to think about. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 18,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink Sorry, I have been away for a bit. I can't post as much during Xmas season, as I work 8-Midnight five days a week. I do have some random thoughts, however. --Watched a thing on MTV the other day about Hilary Duff, who will be quite hot once she reaches the age of 18. She is currently promoting her new album by touring with 'her' band. They kept showing clips of her onstage with her posse, and 'her' lead guitarist seemed really, really into the proceedings. This begs a question that is tailor made for comment by one Mr. Craig Metz... If you are the lead guitarist touring with Hilary Duff...have you 'made' it? Does that even really count? Can you tell chicks? 'Yeah, I'm on tour with my band right now.' 'Whoa, no way! Who?!?!?' 'Well, er...Hilary Duff and the Pretty Butterflys.' (EDITOR'S NOTE: OK, I made up the band name, but it's probably close to something like that .) Yeah....good for you man. I would like everyone to note that Hilary Duff's guitarist is making more money and getting laid more than myself. And he's Hilary Duff's guitarist. Did I mention that? No matter how much you say he's Hilary Duff's guitarist, it doesn't sound any less absurd. Similar industry jobs: J-Lo's Ass Buffer; Ben Affleck's Sanity Technician; Mark Hamill's Career Guidance Counselor; Heidi Klum's Beauty Double. --Speaking of Hilary Duff, she is rumored to be in a feud with fellow Jailbait-In-Waiting Lindsay Lohan. If you don't know who Lindsay Lohan is, do an internet search (I don't have the energy to link tonight) and find out. Again, you'll notice that she will likely be quite attractive once she attains the age of 18. If you are attracted to the aesthetically/emotionally ghastly Paris Hilton, Ms. Lohan probably won't do much for you. Then again, if Paris Hilton does it for you, you're already an idiot and well beyond saving. --Every time I type anything remotely like the two entries above, there's always a little statistician somewhere in the back of my mind reminding me, 'The authorities are coming, and if they happen to pound on the door while you're typing this, you're going to sh*t your pants and have a coronary.' --Yahoo! continues its exclusive run on the Most Important Stories of the Day: December 15, 2003: A student at some college somewhere in America, running a program on his computer 24 hours a day for seventeen days, found the Largest Known Prime Number in the History of the World (TM). The number, previously uncalculated, is divisible by only itself and 1 and is over 6,000,000 numbers long. When asked what he wanted to do for an encore, the student, an obvious new sex symbol, replied that he wanted to go on tour as Hilary Duff's accountant, noting that the lead guitarist gig was taken. December 16, 2003: Clay Aiken was named 2003's Most Well Mannered Person by the world-class, Household Name, Honorable Society of...The National League of Junior Cotillions. Weeping Jesus on the Cross I swear this is a real organization. The League's Vice President made the announcement, noting the League's President and CEO wanted to make the presentation but was unavailable as he is on tour as the lead guitarist for Hilary Duff. --Speaking with James of CannedJam as I write this entry, a question must be asked: does anyone remember Jello 1-2-3? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? I think James and I spent a good half hour of a drunken Homecoming morning discussing the relative peculiarities of the multidimensional dessert option that has since our childhood gone the way of the DoDo and MC Hammer. Can anyone with any sense of physics, chaos theory, or linear calculus please explain to me how the f*ck they got the layers to form? Is this a miracle of modern science? Has anything like it since been replicated? I think it may have been invented by NASA. For those of you not enlightened, Jello 1-2-3 was a derivative of the popular Jello line that made it's heyday in the mid - late 1980's. It was a thing of brilliance, of near science-fictional proportions. The powder was all mixed in the same bowl, like regular Jello, but after it was inserted into the refrigerator, it morphed into a seemingly insane creation: the bottom layer was a more dense, fruitier form of regular Jello; the middle layer was just slightly lighter than regular Jello, and the top (oh Christ, the top) layer was a fluffy (oh Jesus, so fluffy), spongy creation that could have only come from Heaven. If you missed out on this Wonder of Life...well, you can never understand true happiness. Please feel free to share your Jello 1-2-3 experiences. If anyone out there in GooseTown...er...Land...Ville, knows where I can get my hands on some, please, for the love of all things Holy, let me know. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 10,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink The Gods have unfavorable plans for me, my friends. Worst News Week (TM) ever. --For those of you not formally acquainted with myself, I am a medical foul ball. I have/have had no less than all of the following maladies: heart murmur, hypoglycemia, vertigo, mononucleosis, acute chronic tonsillitis (requiring tonsilectomy), and a bout with Cytomegalovirus that left me paralyzed for nearly a month with transverse myelitis (as a result of the tonsilectomy). I have been all over the place. Because of the last mentioned affliction, I must get regular bloodwork done for the next two years to keep watch on the ol' Immune System, mine of which is crap. You know that bar in any given college town that is notorious for letting in anyone, including all the underage kids, knowing full-well they'll get in trouble and lose their license? Well, my Immune System apparently employs the same bouncers. In any event, I get my bloodwork done and get a call from my doctor. He's asking me all kinds of questions about my eating habits since he moved me to my 1200 calorie/day diet five days a week (I'm pretty good with it) and my exercise patterns (the who with the what now?). After providing my answers, he tells me my blood sugar levels are hellish and that my insulin levels fluctuate more than Mariah Carey's sanity. Basically, my hypoglycemia is bordering on diabetic. With two or more members of my immediate family having such a disease, the prognosis is not good, unless I make changes. He asks me in a dense tone, 'So how does this sound?' (always a bad sign): --1200 calorie intake seven days a week --No sugar and nothing that can be processed as sugar, which means... --No carbohydrates --No alcohol --Multivitamin regimen --Fiber pills --Emergency sugar pills --40 minutes running/day --Eight month minimum contract. $250 fee for Early Termination. See website for details. How does that sound? It sounds like The Atkins Diet for The Hitler Youth, you limey f*ck. I swore openly a few times over the phone about the 'No alcohol' portion of my new 'Lifeplan' (I hate that terminology, it sounds like insurance you would sell a gay couple) and cursed everything dealing with Modern Medicine. He took it in stride, as Dr. Smithton does, because he's the best doctor in the world, really, and informed me that I didn't have to do it, and if I chose not to that's OK, he'll just fax over an order form for my first month's supply of twice-daily insulin injections. I chose Hell over the needles. The worst part is that my metabolism has denigrated to that of a 60 year old man, which is not good, and this should fix it, which is good. But I'm not ready to talk about the 'No alcohol' clause yet. Maybe some other time. Basically, be glad you aren't me if you weren't already, which most of you are, so I'm wasting my time talking about nothing right now. --Continuing the trend, my friends strive to make life hard for me. There is a girl that works in the mall across from my store who has been trying to get with me for several weeks now. I say this not out of arrogance but just out of fact, and God knows females rarely approach me, so I can't be making this up. It's not that she's so bad looking--she's not. Fantastic body. Huge boobies. Phenomenal. But she has two major factors working against her: an atrocious manvoice/lisp combo and the fact that she is certifiably insane. I mean criminally unbalanced. From her stories (none of which are verifiable) she grew up in Brooklyn, her brother went to jail for a gangland shooting, she got kicked out of the Marines, and she recently totaled a brand new Mustang convertible that she paid $23,000 for, but was only allotted $7,000 in her insurance settlement. She's constantly dropping me hints like, 'Man, it's a pain finding a ride home,' and, 'If you don't feel like driving back to York, you can crash at my place, I got my own place now,' all the while splicing in comments such as, 'Yeah, I've been sick all week, throwing up and stuff. I think it's the flu, but I hope I'm just not pregnant. Because I don't take birth control. It gives you cancer.' These conversations, obviously, make me insatiably horny to the point where I want to marry her. Until last night, I had made it three solid weeks without so much as making eye contact or asking her name. Of course my friends that I work with all find this hilarious because hey, it's not them. Were I in their shoes I feel certain I'd partake in similar enjoyment. Last night this girl comes in again. Little do I know, my buddy Jay has a plan. As she's talking to me, he walks up to us. The horrific conversation that follows: JAY: 'Hey, what are you doing?' MINDY: 'Nothing.' JAY: 'You giving Geoff your phone number?' ( Jay, what the f*ck are you doing ?) MINDY: 'What?' (Geoff's head is down, folding shirts, trying not to laugh) JAY: 'You should give him your phone number. So you two can hang out sometime after work.' ( Jay, why? Stop. Please .) MINDY: 'He doesn't want my number.' JAY: 'Yeah he does, don't you? You'll call her.' ( You motherf*cker .) MINDY: 'He won't call me.' GEOFF (head down): 'She's right. I don't call anyone. I never use my phone.' JAY (handing her piece of paper): 'He's just being shy. Here's his number. You can call him. Tear a piece off and write your number on it.' ( Son of a b*tch .) (Mindy begins writing number. Mindy enters Geoff's number into cell phone. All hell breaks loose in Geoff's head.) JAY: 'Did you ever even know Geoff's name? Geoff, do you know hers?' ( Holy f*cking sh*t, you sonofab*tch c*cksucking assraping c*mguzzler .) (Mindy hands Geoff piece of paper. Geoff reads name 'MINDY'. Small guttural emission from Geoff.) MINDY: 'I'm Mindy.' GEOFF (head still down): 'I...I...just met another girl named Mindy last week. I'm on a roll I guess.' ( Jesus Christ you idiot, stop talking .) And that's the end of the ordeal. She leaves. Everyone in the store who is not me is in hysterics. Greatest Thing Ever I guess. All I can contemplate is revenge, but I'm laughing so hard because g*ddamnit, if it hadn't been me it really would have been funny. G*ddamn my life. G*ddamn it all to Hell. I'm going to need a CAT san. --Here is something that is truly an enigma to me. This is a break from the norm, an honest query for which I'd like an honest answer from anyone 'in the know', as it were. If you are a lesbian, great. I love lesbians, the idea of two women getting together. Sometimes three. Maybe four on my birthday. Go for it. I'm not here to judge. But if you are a lesbian, you are by definition attracted to other women, as are heterosexual men. What I am befuddled by is the propensity for so many lesbian women to be attracted to the 'Butch' type--typically male haircut, typically male clothing, etc. It's so confusing--as a male attracted to females, I want a female...that looks like a female. Girly. Isn't that the point? You're attracted to females. Why do you want to be with someone that looks like a guy? It doesn't make sense. If that's what you want, date a guy. Does this seem unreasonable? I know the style is partly, for many, a social statement of rebellion of the female archetype, which I can understand if not appreciate. Why do lesbians who just look like regular females have to be labeled as 'Lipstick Lesbians', like they are somehow less? I'm way far from understanding this. Someone shed light. Preferably 100 Watt or higher. --One of Yahoo!'s Top Five stories of the day today was Elvis Costello marrying someone named Diana Krall. Does anyone know anyone who gives even a Remote Flying F*ck (TM)? Tomorrow I'm asking that Yahoo! post my riveting 'Man Drives Nearly 286 Miles on One Tank of Gas' featurette. GOOSETOWN CINEMATIQUE Suggested viewing for the theatrically challenged. 1) urlLink Unbreakable --M. Night Shayamalan's unfortunately overlooked followup to The Sixth Sense . With all the Comic Book style movies coming out recently, this one could be considered a trendsetter. Very deliberate but quite good, and with the famous M. Night twist ending. 2) urlLink Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses --I have been on a serious horror kick of late. This is not a 'good' movie in the sense of what you'd usually look for. But it's disgusting. And it's fun. And g*ddamnit, listen to me for once. 3) urlLink 28 Days Later.. . --A much different film than the previous, and better, in my opinion. The DVD has alternate endings that are great. 4) urlLink License To Drive --I know I have mentioned this before. First of all, you cannot go wrong with the Coreys. Second of all, is there anything wrong with a young and supple Heather Graham? Production values? Low. Level of my Irantenessosity Meter that this is not on DVD? High. 5) urlLink Following --First film by the director of Memento , one of my all-time favorites. You won't know a damn person in the movie, but it's very well written and executed. Next up for Nolan? Batman: Intimidation (or Batman 5, for you idiots). This one will house Halle Barry as Catwoman (a role which Ashley Judd turned down, sadly enough) and Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne/Batman. That's right. Patrick Bateman is Batman. The Gods are shining upon us, my friends. And by 'us' I of course mean 'all except me'. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 06,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink --It's cold. F*cking cold. The wind is blowing fiercely and it's not warm. In fact, it's the polar opposite (major pun intended) of warm. I shoveled my long driveway for two shifts of two hours each today, and the motherf*cker still isn't done, plus there's the roof to do. In case you're not following along here, I was just laid up for a week with the flu. Shoveling in Arctic-level temps is not Chicken Soup for the Unvaccinated Soul. I just thought I'd point this out. By the way, it's colder than a motherf*cker. Enjoy the copious amounts of swearing related to the temperatures in this, my latest Blog. --Have you all heard about the threatening letters sent to black athletes in the last two years? To be accurate, they've been sent to all kinds of prominent black entertainers, but some letters have gone to black athletes. There is an article urlLink here on ESPN.com about them, and the article starts off with a befuddling quote: 'Dolphins defensive end Jason Taylor and Eagles wide receiver Freddie Mitchell received two of about 30 threatening letters sent to prominent, successful black people over the last two years.' Prominent, successful black people. Freddie Mitchell. I don't see the connection. For those of you not in 'The Know', as it were, Freddie Mitchell is a second-string Wide Receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles, who possess one of the worst receiving corps in the NFL. He is not prominent, nor is he successful, other than the fact that he miraculously ended up on an NFL field in the first place. Jason Taylor is one of, if not the, best linemen in the NFL, so it would make logical sense that he would be targeted. But Freddie 'Hands of a Clock' Mitchell? I'm not trying to make too much light of the situation, but who the hell is this Terroristic Racist? Sitting around in a basement somewhere, plotting doom against all ethnic groups across America, trying to break apart the delicate racial bonds of the nation, and setting his sights on...Freddie, a perennial pine blanket who played second fiddle to 'He Hate Me' a few seasons ago. Good call, jackass. Thankfully for your cause, you managed to send a few letters to athletes who people give a damn about. All said and done, could you just really do something to help out society and shoot yourself? As a matter of fact, this should give police on the case a decent lead, as only a disgruntled Eagle's fan would have taken the time and initiative to bother poor Freddie with hate mail. Problem is that ignorant, boorish, maniacal, and socially juvenile describes...pretty much every Eagle's fan. So nevermind. --The time has come to give urlLink Tamala Jones her due. Damn the genius that is urlLink DanWho for beating me to mentioning her. The other night I tuned into The Tracey Morgan Show to find that she plays his wife. She looks better than ever. Most of you will recall Tamala from her role as Nikki in Booty Call with Jamie Fox. She is absolutely breathtaking, and unfortunately in our culture Halle Barry, who I am not a fan of, rose to dominance as the public's favorite as Most Attractive Black Actress. I disagree wholeheartedly, though Halle is quite attractive. I cannot fathom why Tamala has been ignored this long, but to help straighten out the matter, I shall now bump Kelly Preston from my Hump Island (TM) list in her favor. And no, this is not simply at attempt at Racial Validation (TM), because I don't care. The New Hump Island Docket: 1. Catherine Zeta Jones 2. Tamala Jones 3. Diane Lane 4. Kristina Kreuk (bumped Erika Christensen because I haven't seen her lately) 5. Natalie Portman WC. Rachel Bilson --ABC hired Justin Timberlake to host 'The Thrill of Victory 2003', a special about the greatest sports moment of the year. Huh? Someone explain this to me. Apparently, some Exec got up in front of everyone at a recent ABC meeting and dropped his plan. 'Yeah, here's what we're going to do: create this huge year in review type show about the greatest sports moments of 2003, because those are always popular. The twist is that we're going to hire JT to host it! Why? Because it will bring in the vaunted twelve to eighteen year-old female demographic while we secretly alienate our most profitable demographic, the 18-35 males. Is this a good idea or what? Huh? Huh?' BRILLIANT! Standing ovation even! Perhaps we can get David Duke to host this year's Soul Train Awards! Or Lawrence 'Hit Me Again Ike, and This Time Put Some Stank on It' Phillips to host the Men of Domestic Restraint Awards! Or how about Rush Limbaugh to MC the DARE Program Awards! Or... Ah, I've run out of steam. You get the point. --Why is this particular Blog so racially motivated? I just noticed this. Something must be on my mind, and dammit, whenever I figure out what that is I'll let you know. --Speaking of Awards Shows (and straying from racially-subversive commentary for a moment), has anyone seen commercials for the 2003 DVD Extras Awards? It's an Awards Show where they literally give trophies away for the best DVD Bonus Materials. I want to tell you all something, and this comes from a man who currently owns 175+ DVDs and has a necessity for buying them that borders on acute addiction: This is the dumbest, scraping-for-an-idea Sh*tty Awards Show in the History of Sh*tty Awards Shows. This is worse than the ESPYs. The one great thing about it, however, is the way it's being promoted in TV ads. 'See the stars come out for this star-studded bash with all the stars you've expected to see when stars come out for a star-studded Awards Show Bash. Stars.' Then they show some of the 'stars', the most prominent of which were the Olson Twins, followed by that dude, the guy who is married to Kelly Ripa, some girl with brown hair, and yes, Lou Diamond Phillips. What the hell happened to Lou after La Bamba ? Did he fall down and get lost? Apparently, not, because in the last few years he's cranked out a few hits, such as Bats , Absolon , Malevolent , Knight's Club , and the ill-fated TV Series Wolf Lake . Oooooh, I forgot though, he did 'star' in Supernova , a film so embarrassing that it's director, Francis Ford Coppola, refused to have his name associated with it and had it literally stripped from the credits. By the way, in Supernova Lou played a character named Yerzy Penalosa. Yerzy. Penalosa. True. I think I had that name on a fake ID once. The state was New Dakota. The good news for the 2003 DVD Extras Awards is that, with Lou Diamond Phillips in tow, they're only a Paris Hilton and a Richard Greco away from the Holy Trinity Talent Trifecta (TM). Always be wary of an Awards Show that's taped in advance. 'Taped in Advance' is producer speak for 'We Don't Trust Putting So Many Stars in Such a Star-Studded Star Event Because Irreparable Harm Might Occur for the Network if We Don't Get the Chance to Edit Out All the Dead Air'. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 04,December,2003 | urlLink Email urlLink After a long Thanksgiving vacation, I'm safely back and running. Watch your knickers, it's about to snow like a motherf*cker. --So I got the flu. Again. And again, just like with my allergy shot, I rationalized away getting a flu shot. 'Gee, I don't have any medical insurance, ' I sez to myself, I sez. 'Mayhap I'll save the $57 for a vaccination and pray to the Gods of Good Health that the influenza virus skips over me this year.' You can all guess what happened next. Flu bug again. This brings my record-chasing Days Between Sickness Index (TM) to 4.2. The Gods of Good Health can blow me, for time and time again they have forsaken me. Does anyone get sick in LA? Ever? I can't wait to find out that they don't. It should be sometime about the middle of next week when I get some rare virus, in hibernation since the end of the Incans, that makes my penis fall off. --Speaking of my penis, it certainly won't fall off due to overuse inside a female. Because that's not happening. At all. The good news there is that I've developed quite the rapport with my left hand. Unfortunately, this has led my family to start asking the questions that I suppose they ask any person who is 24 and single: 'Geoffrey, how come you don't have a girlfriend?' I could give them the standard answers, but these will only lead to more questions. More unfortunately, no matter what I say, the follow-up is always, 'Well what kind of girl are you looking for?' Why is it that people assume that A) you have to have a significant other and B) you are constantly looking for them? I'll tell you why--because females make up 98% of the conversating public (conversation that doesn't involve sports, that is) and 99% of those conversations revolve around relationships. They're obsessed with it. The most unhappy people in the world are those that are actively looking for a partner. Is there anything sadder than hearing someone grovel about how they 'need somebody', as if they need another body in the room to validate their existence? It's these people that ask the questions, and these people that drive the conversations, and they infect others and then here you are, answering another stupid question. I spoke with my friend Niki about this today. I will answer the question as simply as I did for her: 1. I'm not 'hunting' for anyone. 2. If someone comes along that is pretty, in good shape, intelligent, common sensical (above all else, except pretty and in good shape), not vain and not obsessed with materiality, then I would gladly be in their graces. 3. What I would really like for the next four months is a stream of attractive females to pleasurably manipulate my sexual organs and then leave me alone. I don't think that's too much to ask. Then again, I think Julia Stiles is hot, and everyone seems to disagree with me, so what the f*ck do I know? --The lovely and talented Lisa D'Onfrio correctly surmised--in the most lengthy and rambling GooseTown Email to date--the Most Important Event in the History of the World (TM), which is a mere 191 days away.... This is the date on which the Olson Twins turn eighteen years of age. Check out the urlLink Countdown Clock . No, I'm not obsessed. Yes, I am quite excited. Congrats Lisa, your DVD player is on it's way*. (*--Denotes that a DVD player is not on it's way and you have in fact won nothing. Void where prohibited. Not valid in Arkansas. No purchase necessary.) --Working at AE on Black Friday, I had a girl ask me for jeans in a size '12 Petite'. Let's get something out of the way here, clothing manufacturers (and yes, this is quite tactless and insensitive, but what do you expect out of me at this point?): If you go past a size 8, there is nothing 'Petite' about you, and I don't care that it refers to the length of the jeans. Nothing. Petite. So, in order to be less Politically Correct and more Honest, I hereby recommend that instead of 'Petite' for sizes 9+, we use the description 'Troll'. 'Hmmmm....can I see these in a 14 Troll?' It's accurate. Maybe we wouldn't have such a weight problem in this country if we just shamed people. --Did anyone watch The O.C. last night? Did you see Summer in the Wonder Woman costume? Did you see that? She just jumped over Anna as GooseTown's Official Choice for Seth (TM). Wow. Wow. What a performance. In other O.C. news, what the f*ck was that guy doing talking to Marissa at the psychiatrist's office? Are they planting the seeds for the inevitable Affair of Marissa already? And yes, I feel so girly right now that I'm fighting off the urge to pop Bon-Bons like aspirin. Speaking of TV Land, I was tricked into watching (and by that I mean voluntarily tuned into) Smallville last night. The show did little for me, but Kristina Kreuk...Holy Weeping Jesus on the Cross. She, apparently, is aggressively trying to work her way onto my Hump Island list, and I just might have to let her in the door.... --I am almost inconsolably excited about a few upcoming films, the biggest two of which are Dodgeball (starring Vince Vaughn and Ben Stiller, in which the two compete with a team in a National Adult Dodgeball Tournament) and a CGI adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are . I have a ton more to talk about, but the flu is taking my vitality rapidly and bed is a must. 'Yay, sleep! That's where I'm a Viking!' |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 30,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Here is a pet peeve of mine. Let's say we are talking politics. I offer an opinion on the issues facing the election. My opinion is based on facts which I have applied practically to a situation(s). Someone offers a reply to my opinions with, 'So? If you don't like so-and-so, tough. There are problems everywhere.' I reply, 'These problems need fixed and I'm offering my opinion on how that might be done.' The person replies with, 'Maybe you should fix yourself.' Problems: 1) This person has offered no opinion, but merely veiled hints to the fact that they disagree with you. 2) This person later states they are keeping their opinions to themselves. 3) They have resorted to a personal attack. If you can't hold a civil conversation and/or you don't know what the hell you're talking about, shut the f*ck up. --Does anyone watch Tru Calling on Fox? Me either. However, because it is urlLink Eliza Dushku (sorry for the awful pic on IMDb, not my fault), possibly my future wife if Kristin Kreuk turns me down, I always end up watching the commercials on TV. If you haven't seen any of the commercials, the premise is that Tru works in a morgue. Every now and then, one of the dead people talks to her and she finds that she can help them go back in time and prevent themselves from being killed. Hey, it's Fox. Now in the first trailer for the first episode, she's pulling the cadaver drawer out and a dead chick opens her eyes, turns her head to Tru, and says, 'Help me.' Tru jumps back and screams, understandably. Well, now we're on Week Six or Seven of the show. Every trailer shows her pulling someone's drawer out, the person looking at her and saying, 'Help me,' and her jumping back and screaming. Does this bother anyone else? After the first two or three, when you've figured out you have this 'gift', don't you just pull the drawer open expecting this to happen? Does she always have to be shocked? I don't get it. Incidentally, a year or so ago one of my buddies saw her in a Blockbuster. I asked how she looked, and he shot back this Hall of Fame Answer: 'Hot with a 70% chance of dirty.' --Did anyone see any of the interviews on ESPN with John Elway at the SuperBowl festivities? Can someone get him the 800 number for Rogaine? I can't watch Johnny Football disintegrate like this. It's like watching Diane Lane get a little more wrinkly every few months. Someone make this stop. --This is setting up as the best Real World Season ever. Truly. In the first four episodes you've had chicks kissing, a fight over a racial slur, a rape flashback, a chick who has a crippling phobia of large boats basically cheat drunkenly on her boyfriend twice (once vomiting in her sleep), a drunk housemate saying, 'Boom, Bazooka Joe, man,' two people fail a sailing test, a guy taking his d*ck out and two people getting arrested. It's like they went down to Mardi Gras, found all the people in the drunk tank, then put them on the show with a smart black kid who doesn't drink and a really, really boring hot Asian girl. I love it. And did you know that they might not be able to pull off Real World Philadelphia, which is next? Apparently, there was an alleged rape in the San Diego house (not involving any of the castmembers but one of their friends and a random person) and Bunim-Murray doesn't yet know their responsibility for the event. The kids of Real World Paris gotta be pissed, man. On a sad note, Mary Ellis Bunim, the co-creator of Real World, died this afternoon after a battle with breast cancer. --As many of you are aware, I drive the New Hottness (the extra 't' is for the extra 'Tang' I pull whilst driving it), a 1996 White Ford Escort Wagon. This week my father, who has owned more cars than the Sultan of Brunei, went out and bought a 1996 White Subaru Impreza Wagon. You should see us drive up to places together. People expect us to get out in matching suits with synchronized watches. And yes, I know it's adorable. --Dennis Miller's co-host on his new CNBC show this week was a Chimpanzee. God, I love this guy. --Saw Jennie Garth on some show as I was flipping channels tonight. On UPN. Jennie is apparently taking roles based on the Get Yourself Out Of High-Paying, High-Profile Jobs Fast So You Can Go Directly To the Lifetime Channel and Possibly Oxygen Network Handbook by Meredith Baxter-Birney with Foreward by Kirk Cameron. --My b*lls itch. There, I fixed it. --OK, I found something: having your manager call you and tell you they don't need you for your shift at American Eagle is almost as joyous as hearing that you have a Two Hour Delay with Modified Kindergarten because of snow. Basically, I hate working and I want it to go away. --Honestly, really, your life is not complete until you have visited urlLink The Badger Song Site . Many thanks to Pledge Herald Miller for the link. Hint: It's on a loop. You will never be the same. Thank me later. All for now. Check back when I have a real cause to write about. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 28,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Time to delve into the political realm here. I'm voting Democrat this year. I'm not a Democrat, but I am a Liberal, and frankly, I don't think Bush is doing much of a great job. I also don't think the Democrats have all the answers; not nearly. But I do think we need a new direction. Why? 1) Economy--Everyone is lauding the Bush Administration for this 'huge' economic recovery we've had. I don't know the world about business, but I can tell you this: not everything comes down to a slowly rising Stock Market Index and low interest rates. Fact is, Middle America is suffering. I know--I live here. The Manufacturing Sector is in its worst shape in over 50 years. Layoffs are coming down in droves all over the place. People here (who don't really know about politics, they just stick to one party or the other because they always have), when asked about Bush's tax cuts, give him all the credit in the world. 'Hey, got a $200 credit last year! Got a cut this year! I might not be around next year, so that works for me.' Which is exactly the idiocy that makes people OK with Tax Cuts that never actually solve a problem. Most people don't understand what a dibilitating situation this deficit is really going to become unless we get it under control. Along with this we need to reevaluate our Trade practices. NAFTA has got to go, and Bush's New Idea with Mexico is absolute crap. If we can't get our manufacturing capabilities up, we are in trouble. As my friend T. Richardson Brown, Banker will tell you, we cannot have a steady economy based on services and working-class jobs farmed out to foreign countries. So are tax increases necessary? It seems to me to be a temporary evil to fix a $500 billion-plus deficit and make some real changes FOR THE FUTURE. Now, if everyone would just f*cking listen to me and force Washington to institute a Flat Tax, we'd all be much better off. And don't give me any guff about Trickle-Down Economics, which is wishful thinking on par with Communism. 2) Administration--These people suck, flat out. I'm tired of watching Bush appoint Ultra-Conservative pundits to key positions. All this does is drag America further under the tarp of Christian 'Morality'. You don't think John Ashcroft is dangerous? I don't want uberSocialists appointed to these positions either, but I cannot stand this influx of zealots who are going to influence laws about how I should act. As per this, I want to issue this challenge: Someone give me one good, solid, secular reason as to why Gays and Lesbians should not be allowed to marry. One. I won't get started on Haliburton, as I had that conversation the other night, but I'll say this: you've got the Top Corporation in the World in this area, the best at what it does, and you're going to try to tell me that they landed this massive government project because they made a clerical error on their proposal, giving them only about 3.4% profit out of the whole deal? Please. 3) The War--I want to say this: I think Bush did an absolutely phenomenal job handling the fallout of Sept. 11th. No question, and the job he did should never, ever be forgotten. I also fully supported Military Action against Iraq. Saddam was dangerous. The world is a better place without him. Here is what I believe: I believe we knew that Saddam was not an imminent threat. I believe that so many Congressmen and women voted for the resolution giving the President the power to use force because they believed such would be carried out properly. I believe we should have waited at least long enough to give the world time to catch up to our intelligence before bursting in there, nearly unaided, and alienating ourselves from a global community--which we worked with for 80 years, orchestrating the end of the Cold War to establish a good rapport--in the process. After all of that, all the Shock and Awe, we've lost our focus on Afghanistan and Al Qaeda and they're regaining power. All because we had to do it right then. It just doesn't make a lot of sense to me. I think Bill Mahr put it best: 'Why are we attacking Iraq when they haven't bothered us for twelve years? Isn't Al Qaeda the real threat right now? Why aren't we doing more in Afghanistan? It's like saying you lost your keys in the living room, but you're going to look for them in the garage because the lighting is better.' On a related topic, this Terror Alert System is mostly a sham. It's is merely a blanket under which this Administration wants us to crawl so we believe we need them to make everything OK for us. Honestly, when they raise the color from Yellow to Orange, do you take extra precautions? Al Qaeda continues to attack American interests overseas and I seriously doubt that another attack at home will be thwarted because we see a damn Red Bar on the screen. 4) I just mentioned this elsewhere, but add to this that Environmental Standards have been relaxed nationwide, we still have the worst Health Care system in the civilized world, our urban public school systems are decrepit, our Civil Liberties are being threatened by the Patriot Act, and in the middle of an international crisis, we are talking about going to the Moon. Do I think the Dems can solve all of our problems? Of course not. I just think that we need to focus more on Homeland issues, get our troops the hell out of Iraq (turning the rebuilding process over to the international community), and start to move in another direction. No one is going to cure all of the ills that wear our country down, but I do think we can move in a much better direction. That said, I'll rank the candidates as to what I think of them right now: 1. John Edwards--I like not only the things he says but the way he says them. I like the fact that he is trying to take issues away from the current Administration and fight on his own ground. He doesn't seem to be influenced by special interests. I also like the fact that he's not a career politician. He's very well-versed on the issues (and no, I don't really find the Defense of Marriage Act to be much of an issue right now) and has an all-encompassing platform. His social ideas worry me a little, as they're...well, a bit Socialist, but he makes a good point: humans are fallible. It's nice to hang to the theory that the rich get richer and the poor are out of luck, and in a perfect world we could overcome that, but in a real world society you can't have 7% of the population owning 93% of the wealth. I believe there is a way to resolve this as fairly as possible while not only providing affordable Heathcare for every American but also weaning people the hell off of Welfare. 2. John Kerry--I have him neck-and-neck with Edwards, but what bothers me is his constant chastising of 'this President'. You can't blame it all on one guy; it's an entire Administration. He seems to be making this a much more personal battle than it needs to be. But someone asked me how anyone in the Military could respect any of these Democratic candidates. Well, aside form others with qualified credentials, Kerry is a War Hero and well-decorated Veteran. George Bush conveniently slid through the cracks of the draft by signing up with the Texas National Guard and then never reported for duty. Who should respect whom? 3. Howard Dean--I like this guy a lot as a person. I think it's great that someone says what he means all the time. I think it's great that he went nuts at a rally of his supporters and campaign workers after they finished third in Iowa. I don't think he has a temper problem. But there are three issues. First, he has no idea about foreign policy. None. Second, running the entire country is a bit different than running the relatively sheltered state of Vermont. Third, I don't want a President that runs on emotion as fervently. He scares me. I don't want a President hat runs on so much gut. 4. Joe Leiberman--I like this guy a lot too as a person. I can't argue with a lot of his politics. This is a sh*tty reason to have him fourth, but God's honest truth, I just can't see him as President. It's that simple. I don't think he's very strong on economics, either, or at least he doesn't address the issue enough. 5. Wesley Clark--Has really slipped in my opinion recently. He's well-spoken and any General has qualities you want in a President. However, he didn't distance himself from crackhe...er, filmmaker Michael Moore when he endorsed Clark, calling Bush a 'deserter' in the same sentence. Big mistake, as that moniker is off base at best. He also is strictly a one-issue candidate. Maybe in 8-12 years he can figure out exactly what he believes and run again with better success. 6. Dennis Kucinich--Another one-issue Candidate. His only concern is American jobs. No foreign policy. You can't do that. 7. Al Sharpton--I have to say I have a newfound respect for Al. In the debate before the Iowa Caucuses he was very impressive. He answered every single question that came his way and didn't dodge anything. He's a smart guy. Unfortunately, he's overzealous on the race issue and doesn't have a clue about anything else. He can host the f*ck out of Saturday Night Live though, huh? Again, I believe Edwards or Kerry could lead this country in a better direction. Hey, maybe George Bush is the most honest guy in the world and he has great intentions and has done a great job. I also don't believe that either of these guys will win against Bush. What I believe Bush has done a remarkable job of is keeping the American shee...er, people glued to him, thinking they need him to survive and to keep our country safe at any expense. I just personally don't buy any of that, and damn, I wish Colin Powell would just get off his ass and run. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 26,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink But a few other things first... --I talk often about my best friend from High School, T. Richardson Brown, Banker. At this time I'll ask everyone to keep his mother in their thoughts and send out a bunch of good vibes in hopes that she gets herself well soon. Suzie is a damn good lady. --Did anyone watch the Golden Globes last night? All of these Awards Shows are little more than popularity contests, but the Globes are especially fun to watch because it's the oldest one running and because they serve alcohol during the live telecast. Brilliant. Two things to note: Bill Murray got the award for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical for Lost in Translation . Bill Murray has been an underrated actor for about as long as he's been around. The great thing about him is that he's always picked roles not for exposure or for deep meaning, but because he liked the material or because he thought the role would entertain the most people. He didn't always pick wisely, but he's got a pretty good portfolio, and it's nice to see him get some kind of recognition. Second...I have always been a Renee Zellweger fan. She's hot, even if her eyes are a bit squinty. She's put on some weight for her role in the second film of the Bridget Jones's Diary series, and I just want to stress how phenomenal she looks. This frame works far, far better than the stick figure that she became after Me, Myself, and Irene . Renee, think about hanging around this way, eh? Oscar nominations come out tomorrow and yes, I'm f*cking excited. THE NATION'S CAPITAL THREATENS TO END MY LIFE FUNCTIONS I don't get to drink much anymore, so this Saturday's trip down to visit some buddies in D.C. was a nice change of pace. The stage was set thusly: my buddy Loftus lives with our buddy Adam and my two former roommates Kyle and Louie. Kyle's girlfriend Ni...er, Karyn is basically the fifth roommate and house mascot in Arlington, VA. Add to the mix that one Steven Perdue, Oil Magnate and General Ruby Burgoyne, Electrician are down for the weekend and, well...here we go... --Ruby calls me as I hit I-95 on the way down. He informs me they will wait for me and that we are going to a strip club. Joy. --I arrive to pleasantries and good cheer. Louie does not want to attend the strip club outing and Kyle and Adam are involved in a day-long Texas Hold 'Em tourney down the street. We talk, in front of Karyn, about the fact that we are going to a strip club--remember that for later. Ruby and Steve have looked up the strippers for urlLink Camelot on the Internet. I walk downstairs to find them spooning on Loftus's bed watching Good Will Hunting . Spooning. Ben and Matt would be proud. By the way, Loftus is toiling at work on a Saturday after being out until roughly 3 AM the night before, hammered, watching an 80's cover band called Leg Warmer. Reports detail that Mr. Loftus was less than three-deep from the stage at all times, pumping his fists and singing along to every song all whilst exclaiming to all around, 'THIS IS MY SH*T!!!!!' As my buddy Craig would note, Loftus is this morning likely performing his duties in an extreme haze, still thinking about Bananarama. --Perdue, Ruby and I decide that the best way to get downtown to Camelot is by Metro. Heading for the subway, we park in a garage in Stafford Plaza. We ask a desk attendant in the building how to get to the Metro. He mumbles something in an non-English dialect and points to our left. We walk to our left. Two bathrooms and an Employee's Only closet. We head back, asking for the Metro. He grumbles louder and more unintelligibly and points us back. We go back. Two bathrooms, Employee's Only closet. We look at each other. Head back, ask for Metro. He gets up, physically leads us around the corner, where we FINALLY see... Two bathrooms and a motherf*cking Employee's Only closet. I'm laughing. Perdue is thinking. Ruby doesn't know where he is. After a moment of standing we walk back and Ruby says, 'Look, there's nothing there, we just need to get to the Metro Station.' The guy fold his hands and says, in perfectly broken English, 'I apologize, I thought you said bathroom. Second Floor to left.' Thanks. Arriving at the station, Perdue and Ruby decide to share a card. Perdue puts his card through first, successfully. Ruby tries to follow him. Bupkus. Nada. See Station Manager. Remember this. They let Ruby through. The train ride is filled with discussion about where we are going. We are to take the Orange Line from Ballston to Metro Center, where we pick up the Red Line and head to DuPont Circle. Easy. Ruby has it written down. Perdue has it in his head that there is no such thing as Metro Center, that every stop is a Metro Center. He convinces Ruby. For twenty minutes they ask back and forth, 'Are we on the right train? Metro Center isn't even a stop. That was the metro center. Where are we going?' To break the monotony, Perdue offers Ruby $500 to drink an entire cup of his chew spit. Ruby refuses. This is the first thing in history I have ever seen to disgust Ruby. --We arrive in Metro Center. Perdue says nothing. Ruby must see the Station Manager again. On the train to DuPont, Ruby tells us he'd like to fly on the President's Private Jet, Air One. Somewhere, Nelly's ears are burning for the all the wrong reasons. --Exiting at DuPont Circle, I get to ride the tallest escalator I have ever seen. Upon hitting the street, we stand turning on the heels of our shoes for two minutes figuring out which way M Street is. Luckily, we begin walking the right direction, though Ruby is 'suspicious' the entire time. --We arrive at Camelot. There are a few things at work here. First, I am sober. Going to a strip club sober is tough for me because I find the whole thing extremely funny. You can walk into any bar in the world and see bottles, beer, people, etc. But walking into a Gentleman's Establishment and seeing all that plus boobies...well, I think it's hysterical. Therefore, the second I enter one I have a big, goofy smile on my face, and immediately people think I'm some kind of pervert. They're not wrong, but I just don't want them thinking that in the first five minutes. Second, it wasn't even bright daylight outside, but the inside of this place is f*cking DARK. I can't see a thing as I'm walking in and I'm banging into chairs all over the place. The bouncer must have sensed this and sat us as far away from The Pole as possible. I have to say that I as wildly impressed by Camelot. For a Saturday afternoon in the dead of winter all of the performers were quite attractive, and what more can you ask for? Also wonderful was the fact that, while some of the ladies had rather robust mammary areas, not a single one had even a drop of Silicon in them. Lovely. And somehow, I'm keeping a (moderately) straight face. All is well. I am, however, pounding drinks. I'm on Mixed Drink One and Beer Two before Perdue and Ruby finish their first drink. Our waitress, Hot Jamie, keeps making sarcastic comments when I order such as, 'Oh, did I forget to bring your drink last time?' Nice try, not going to help your tip. But let me state that the fact you are waitressing in your underpants will. At least one stripper and the old chick behind the bar comment about how cute Ruby and his hair are, both asking if he's even old enough to be in the place. Ruby is 25 and the eldest of us all. He takes it in stride. After each dance, if you haven't approached The Pole while they are dancing to offer a tip, they come to your table expecting to get one. This is fine. I just wanted to note that, when you first get there, you feel awkward and sheepish. You calmly slide your dollar in their garter belt and say only a quick thank you. Perdue can't even look them in their faces. He's actually just waving the dollar in the air and focusing on the cushion behind him. And if they make eye contact with you from the stage? F*cking forget it. Then, as the day progresses and the drinks start flowing, your comments get better and better. Here are some of the ones I threw out personally, feeling the buzz: 'That was technically perfect.' 'You were the best dancer of the group.' 'Thanks for dancing to Coldplay, here's two.' (EDITOR'S NOTE: You know you are in alcohol-related trouble when you start announcing how much you are tipping the strippers .) 'You were our favorite.' 'Thank you for the entertainment.' (Christ help me.) 'I enjoyed the shaking.' (This one made me really afraid I was going to be thrown out by my neck.) From Ruby: 'I liked that thing you did with your ass.' All in all, we spent about four hours and a hundred and fifty bucks there altogether. We get in touch with Loftus and we are headed to The ESPN Zone to meet him. --On the cab ride to ESPN, Ruby calls his girlfriend. At the end of a conversation that was way too long, he gets roped into the 'I love you'. Guess who we made fun of the for the last five minutes? Nothing like watching one of your buddies squirm, especially when you're loaded. --At ESPN Zone we concentrate on beer, Golf, Football, and Basketball. I'm not going to talk much about basketball, but you can figure that, since I'm the worst basketball player in history and I'm stupid drunk, I didn't do too well. I did establish the second-highest score of the day in football, however. --Eating dinner at said Zone, Loftus says something clever. Ruby responds with, 'Oh good one, that was a Widdly Tiddle.' With Ruby you're never quite sure, but we think he was going for a 'Witty Tidbit'. Whatever he intended this becomes my official vote for our Fantasy Football Trophy: The Widdly Tiddle Cup. Mark it down. --On the Metro back to the car, Ruby once again must see the Station Manager. She asks, 'Are you trying to use the same Metro Card?' Ruby replies, 'Yeah, but the damn thing doesn't work, and I've been having to see the Station Manager all day.' She informs Ruby you can't use the same gate the person you are sharing with just used to come through. No sooner does she tell him this than he tries again to use the same gate. Later, as the train is approaching and we are waiting to board, Ruby nearly falls into the track and Loftus has to pull him back. --During beer pong an hour or so later, Ruby and Perdue escalate their Your Mom Verbal Battle (TM). (EDITOR'S NOTE: WARNING. The following exchange contains graphic, awful language and mental images. Please be warned. Seriously. This is a very serious warning .) RUBY(makes a cup): Oooh, slippery when wet. PERDUE: Yeah, your mom was pretty slippery when I f*cked her last night. RUBY: That's because my dad's big c*ck stretched out her p*ssy for you. PERDUE: I wasn't f*cking her p*ssy. Gold. --Loftus, Ruby, Perdue and myself head to a bar in Georgetown. Georgetown is beautiful, and a Georgetown bar can only rightfully be compared to what you might expect at a Hahvad Bah, complete with equations on the walls and sh*t. Every guy--repeat: EVERY GUY--was dressed in a sweater with a button-down underneath. Rock and Roll. We head upstairs, where two things happen. First, I run into a friend of my ex-girlfriend. Kristina is a cool girl and lives in D.C. now, and we had a nice conversation. But I must being something up. Here is an excerpt of our discussion. K: So, I was told to go to your website and I did. G: Great! What did you think. K: Well, I want to know, do you really think you're smarter than everyone? G: Yes. K: Really? Because you went to JMU, and we all went to JMU, and you think you're smarter than people who went to JMU? (EDITOR'S NOTE: At this point I'm only interested in avoiding a situation. I'm drunk, she's drunk, no reason to start anything when it's been such a good day .) G: Let's just say I think I'm a better thinker and better able to express myself than others. (EDITOR'S NOTE: Then she pisses me off .) K: OK, because I was going to say, you misspell a lot of words. G: Really? Like which ones? K: Um, like...awkward. G: A-W-K-W-A-R-D. K: No, it's A-C-K-W-A-R-D. G: Eh...I think you're wrong. K: No I'm not. G: OK, well you go spellcheck that Monday and get back to me OK. (And I love this...)Maybe you're right. I change the subject and eventually we decide to go find our friends. People, I want to bring up a point. I know English. I don't misspell words, especially with the aid of spellcheck. My grammar is stellar. Every once in a while, I mistype a word, which is quite different. The lesson: don't come up to me anywhere at any time and criticize my work on a fact of which you are quite wrong. And people wonder why I think I'm smarter than most? Jesus. A-W-K-W-A-R-D. Kristina, it was very nice talking to you, but that's how you spell it. Later in the night, I am walking to the bathroom when I get bumped into an adorable little Asian girl. I turn around and put up my hand, and say, 'Sorry about that.' She's double-fisting, probably not thinking rightly, and she hip-checks me with surprising force. I look back, and she realizes what she's done. She flees, absolutely flees , and hides behind one of her friends who is laughing hysterically. On my way back, I see her again and walk up. She looks frightened. I apologize again, letting her know that someone had pushed me into her. Her friend speaks up in her defense, saying she is drunk and didn't mean it. I assure them that I'm not mad in the slightest, I just wanted her to know I didn't intend to jack her in the first place. So the adorable little Asian girl comes up to me and launches into a diatribe that went something like... 'Well, OK, if you say that it happened accidentally, then I believe you, but you still shouldn't bump into girls, I mean if you're a guy you're supposed to keep your balance and not do that, but it's OK, I mean as long as it was an accident...' Her cell phone rings, and she holds it up. Now I very, very rarely ever get to say anything clever. Usually I think about things I should have said afterward in a George Costanza-ish way. But this night, I finally had my glory. With Ruby and Perdue listening to the proceedings two feet away, and this girl's friends watching form just as close, I finally get my shot. With everyone watching, she raises up her phone, and I say: 'No no, that's OK, I don't want your number.' I must have smiled as wide as the Mississippi. Perdue and Ruby lose it. Her friends lose it. She is speechless in a, 'No, I wasn't, I mean I didn't...' manner as I walk away. For that ephemeral moment in time, I feel like a winner. It lasts for no more than four seconds, but still dammit, that's something. --The night is capped off by myself and a sober Louie driving to the Silver Diner, one of my favorites. Everyone is drunk and ordering either breakfast or burgers. When I order the meatloaf, which is spectacular, the waiter looks at me like I have five heads. The next morning, Karyn asks if we 'really went to a strip club' and then whines that '(I) really wanted to go'. Karyn, these are things you bring up before we leave. Not after. Before. Not after. Read up and down, left to right. Take Tylenol for any headaches. Midol for any cramps. But I love you Ni...er, Karyn. All in all a great night and a great excuse to get out of the house for a while. I drink next during the Fantasy Football Trophy presentation. Everyone have a Widdly Tiddle. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 21,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Most depressing new of the last two months: urlLink Dustin Hoffman Cast As Greg's Father in Meet the Fockers Let me state that I have nothing against Dustin Hoffman, who has proven time and again that he has great comedic acting chops. BUT HOW DO YOU NOT CAST JERRY STILLER?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Everyone wanted to see this! I'm hoping it's because he turned it down for some reason and not because they didn't approach him for the role. In-ex-cuse-a-ble, Mr. Steinbrenner would say. But that's not even the most horrendous and potentially depressing part of the article. Ben Stiller openly, willfully verbalized that his number one choice for Mrs. Focker be...BARBARA STREISHAND. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I will boycott, I swear I will f*cking boycott. Shoot me now, g*ddamnit sonsab*tching motherf*ckers. 22 December 2004 could be one of the best or worst days of my life. Someone console me. --I go to a gym now. Yes, I realize that such a concept strives to negate our belief in a benevolent God, but yes. Ignore that for a moment. In the room with all the treadmills, there are three televisions. Now I'm not trying to create a bias or start a commotion here, but usually when I go up there are more women than men in the room. Nothing wrong with that. Here's the problem: Inevitably, I swear to you, one TV is on Sharon Osborne, one is on some kind of Daytime Soap, the last on Lifetime. I promise you I'm not making this up. When I ask if I might change one of the channels, I am met with scorn and silent--yet highly detectable--outrage. There is no reason, no reason whatsoever , that at least one television should NOT be on some kind of sports programming. End of discussion. No debate. I'm asking for one television in a room of 12 treadmills. The volume is not up, you've got two other sets, let me f*cking watch Sports Center without feeling like I just abruptly asked you for anal sex in the middle of your Elliptical routine. --That's it for now. The Meet the Parents thing really pissed me off. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 20,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Late, late last night I was flipping through the channels and came across TRL on MTV. They were having some kind of cheerleading gimmick called 'Camp TRL', where the guy from 'Camp Jim' and two other people judged differing high schools on their cheering skills. One of the schools was Cumberland Valley. They ended up winning. Ugh. Cumberland Valley was one of Cedar Cliff's (my high school) biggest rivals in the Midstate. They are good at everything. They always have the best football teams, the best swimmers, the best soccer teams, the best wrestling teams, etc, etc, etc. When you have over 3,000 kids to choose from for sports, this ends up happening. You get sick of reading the scores in the paper and seeing that the Eagles (how generic) had notched another on their bedpost. I watched CV beat some other team, and the girls jumped around and screamed with their fake, heartless cheerleader smiles, yelling 'CV number one' and the like. So, naturally, this TRL competition annoyed me to no end. Then I remembered three things: 1) When I went to Cedar Cliff ('95 - '96, '96 - '97, '97 - '98), we dominated CV in the sports that count. Three years--yes, three years--in a row we beat them in their bread and butter, football. Our football team went on to win a District Championship and was a Runner-Up for another. In basketball, we beat them six straight times, and we were unstoppable, going to the state playoffs twice, losing once to a Lower Marion squad that held none other than Kobe Bryant as their star forward, losing by only 9 points. So in the two Money Sports that matter (don't try to argue this, you know it's true), Cedar Cliff was a combined 9 - 0 vs. Cumberland Valley. Yay. 2) Cheerleading is not a sport, so that doesn't count anyway. 3) Cumberland Valley girls are just that--Valley Girls--and the fact that most are as cranially vacant as a desprung Bobblehead means they probably didn't know where they were or what they had done anyway. All is right as rain. --Climbing up the list of 'Guess who got hot?' starlets is none other than little Rudy from The Cosby Show , Keisha Knight Pulliam. She's in the new Chingy video. Yowza. Who saw that coming? Between her and Tatiana M. Ali (my all-time favorite), we've got a good thing going here. --On the flipside, what in the Christ happened to Danielle Fishel, who played Topenga on Boy Meets World ? One season she was unremarkable, the next season she was absolutely on fire, and the season after that she comes back looking like she had Lawrence Taylor's shoulder pads surgically implanted. And you figure, 'Oh, she'll grow back into them.' Then BMW goes off the air and no one has seen her since. Can I get some Recon on this? Someone do research. Have her shoulders swallowed her neck? I want to know. --I haven't been as able or willing to follow politics this year as I would like, but I did pay close attention to the Iowa Caucuses this week. In case you live in a cave, John Kerry won in something of an upset with 38% of the vote, John Edwards finished an astonishing second with 32%, and the favored Howard Dean came in a disappointing third with only 18% of the vote. From what I can gather about these candidates, and this is on a very low level of really understanding these guys, it appears that Kerry, Edwards, and Wesley Clark could all do the job. I'm going to dig deeper and pay more attention in the next few weeks. All I know is I'm totally nonplussed with Bush. He'll probably end up winning again, as he and Ashcroft have everyone cuddled up under the Fear Blanket, but I'm telling you, I don't think it's good for this country. Also, Howard Dean scares me in a very fundamental way. He is evil, I'm telling you. --If you read and liked any of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy, then you should all be reading Stephen King's The Dark Tower series. Sure, it's seven books. Sure, most of them are over 400 pages. I know. But I don't read books too much, and I certainly can't get into much of the fantasy crap that's out there, and I find this amazing. Think of LOTR combined with a Western like High Noon or The Searchers and you've got TDTS. I will turn this series of books into a film franchise one day and win all kinds of awards. Mark my words. --Great night of television last night, beginning with American Idol , which was hysterical. I just don't understand how the need to be on TV for twelve seconds outweighs the pride and dignity of a person who can't sing. Some of these people seem genuinely surprised and angered when they're told they're awful. Please help: if you know someone who can't sing and is considering trying out for this show, tell them now and spare feelings. Wait, wait...what the f*ck am I saying? Push them towards the front of the line! Nothing better than watching someone humiliate themselves on national television. Then we had the finale of Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Gauntlet . I actually got tense watching this last one. RW Back to NY Coral nearly died of an allergic reaction to a spider bite, which was good TV. Team Road Rules prevailed by a slim margin. For some reason, I always feel obligated to root for Team Real World. I can't tell you why. Also, here is something I'm tired of hearing people complain about: 'Why do these people keep going on these things? Don't they have a life? Why are they trying to extend their fifteen minutes of fame?' OK, look: each of these people gets to leave for a month, go hang out somewhere beautiful where the weather is usually great, chill with a bunch of their friends, get in shape, hang rent-free in some kind of resort, be on TV a little longer, and get a chance to win $25,000+ and a car. Oh, also, they get five grand just for showing up at all. Um...yeah, you're right, I'd reject that on principal too. I'd like to add that my RR/RW Challenge Fantasy Team finished a robust 986 out of about 90,000 teams. Boo-yow. Bring on the Inferno! --My early pick for the Super Bowl: New England 17, Carolina 12. --Let's recap a few things about the NFC Championship game, shall we? 1) There's no earthly way to pin the loss on either of the Eagles' QBs. Did the WR corps have their helmets on too tight? Did the electric blue in the Carolina unis upset their synapses? Did the smell of Philly B.O. take over the Linc, causing a dimensia downfield? When you are a Wide Receiver in the NFL, you need to know how to run a pass route . It's pretty simple. The problem is that Philly has a team full of third WRs. And Freddie Mitchell. If I'm the Eagles GM, I'm going to take a serious look at trading up as far as I can to land Larry Fitzgerald. 2) My father insists that DeShaun Foster's TD run was the product of poor tackling. I disagree. He just f*cking wanted that end zone. Great run. 3) Chris Collinsworth is the biggest idiot on the planet. They guy knows all about the WR position, a bit about QB, and zero about anything else. His dumbest statements of the game were the constant reminders that, 'Duce Staley comes out and plays with so much heart...' Are you f*cking kidding me? Duce playing with heart? Please. Where the hell has this guy been all year? I'll tell you where--on the sidelines being consistently outperformed by Correll Buckhalter and Brian Westbrook. Know why he's playing so hard? Because he's not gonna be playing in Philadelphia next year and needs a contract elsewhere. The guy is reading directly from the book of Corey Dillon. Shame on the team that buys into his performance this weekend. As soon as he has the check, he's done. --Let's say you're coming back from the gym, tired and sore, it's cold and icy outside, you're wearing your shorts and a sweatshirt only, trying to get to your office, and you see an old woman struggling to get her car off of an ice patch. Strand her. Trust me on this. Nothing good can happen by helping. --Saw Along Came Polly this weekend. No new ground broken here, but Ben Stiller is always a good time and my sexual interest in Jennifer Anniston was rekindled--lotsa shots of her braless, which is a good thing. Oh yeah, they're real. Phillip Seymour Hoffman makes the movie. A good time. I need to discuss the trailers, however, and this is a Public Service Announcement if there ever was one. If you are not a fan of scary movies (I'm not--I'm a big, big p*ssy), make sure you go into the film AFTER they're over. Why? There is a trailer for the new remake of Dawn of the Dead , wherein a Plague-like virus takes over the world, turning most humans into flesh-hungry zombies. The point is this: the trailer is absolutely f*cking terrifying. People were literally screaming in the theater. Most well-made trailer I have ever seen, but I wasn't expecting it, and I'm not going to lie, a little pee leaked out while I was watching. Just warning you. --If you are a guy and an O.C. fan, good news: Mischa Barton (Marissa) turns 18 on 24 January 2004. On that day you can safely masturbate whilst thinking about her without fearing that the authorities will break your door down. What? --On the heels of the above, I know Hilary Duff will be hot once she turns 18, but seriously, does she really think she can sing? Simon would have driven her out of the room in nine seconds. Awful, really. Her lead guitarist rocks, though. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 19,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Made an impromptu trek down to JMU on Thursday, 15 January 2004 for a recreation of New Year's Eve at 1145 J Ashby, home of both James ( urlLink CannedJam ) and Smitty ( urlLink SmitHappens ). I stayed only for the night. Any more and I might have exploded into a billion little pieces. Before I get into the night's running diary (Sports Guy-style), I want to link to two pictures that tell a pretty good story all by themselves: urlLink Picture #1 (roughly 10:19 PM)--Left to Right: A mildly constipated Smitty, urlLink DanWho , James, Myself, urlLink Ryan , Piyum. This is early in the festivities, me on my secondish beer. I show this photograph for reference purposes only. Note the happiness on my face. Note the fact that I seem to be aware of picture-taking. Note that I do not look like I might fall over and pass out. Note all of this. urlLink Picture #2 (of totally unknown time period)--Look at what I have become. I have zero recollection of this picture. Zero. Expressionless. Motionless. Eyes covered in more glass than a...house of...glass. Sure, my skin isn't green and aside form the glazed ocular region there's nothing overtly troubling about my appearance (no comments), but upon closer inspection anyone can tell that this is a man on the brink of something explosive. Recall this as you read. On to the countdown... 9:45 PM--I arrive in the quaint little college town of Harrisonburg. I stop at the Ashby office to obtain a parking pass. Nada. Zilch. No guest passes. Typical. Ashby has gone downhill since I left. Totally. 9:47 PM--Someone outside the office ditches a parking spot. I race outside to my car. 9:47:04 PM--Parking spot taken by massive Escalade before I even reach the New Hottness ('96 Ford Escort Wagon). Motherf*cker. 9:48 - 9:57 PM--I circle the Ashby visitor's lots numerous times attempting to find a spot. It seems as though every time I enter a lot, someone is taking a spot of someone who has just left. Blind people with Parkinson's have had more success playing 'Operation'. 9:58 PM--I park my car and enter 1145 J. No one is expecting me, and in one of my finer moments, I enter into a room of about 15 people to, 'Geoff Baio is here!!!!' and 'What the f*ck are you doing here???', making me feel almost like a man. The situation is further heightened by my constant overuse of the 80's Transroom Point (TM) to anyone who yells to me. Ever closer to being a man. Almost. 10:04 PM--With the Parking Lot Authorities about to start towing, I resume my search for a visitor spot. One swipe through the back lot and I have my spot. Where the f*ck were you fifteen g*ddamn minutes ago? 10:07 PM--First beer is filled. I have not had anything to drink in roughly a month, so I make a conscious effort to pace myself. Unbeknownst to my liver, 'conscious effort' clearly means 'comatose noneffort', a stipulation that allows it to go completely out the window at any given time. 10:10 PM--Conscious effort to pace myself goes out window as I fill my second beer. 10: 25 PM--James comes out of his room with a 1/3 full Traveler of Jagermeister. Jokingly, I say, 'James, why don't you chug that' in a comical Tough Guy voice. James, ever the misinterpreter of sarcasm, does so. A violent jerking takes over his face for a few seconds afterwards, and the chance of the first vomit is in the air. However, James recovers remarkably and proceeds to the kitchen to check the level of other liquors. I follow him in and remind him, 'James, you better pace yourself. It's not a sprint, it's a marathon.' James, in all his infinite wisdom, spits back the Quote of the Night and current Quote of the Year: 'Yeah. Unless you're a Kenyan, then you can sprint the marathon.' Seriously, can anyone top that? And this man, drunk out of his mind, shot it off in .2 seconds. Brilliant. 10:47 PM--I'm headed to fill beer four or five, I can't recall which, and really feeling it. As I walk into the bathroom (where the keg is), two girls are having a conversation. I don't know what I came before, but I step in to hear, 'Yeah, so thank God I have a great ass because my tits are pathetic.' Then they see me. Silence. Awkwardness. I'm shifting. For some reason, some unGodly reason, I picked up a toothbrush from the sink. Why? Why? What would propel me to do something like that? Nothing good is coming out of this situation. They're giving me a look like 'What the hell are you doing in here?' I feel ashamed, but seriously, if you are going to discuss such issues over a keg at a party with 50 people at, don't you assume someone might hear you? Days later I'm still confused. I replace the toothbrush and get my beer. 11:13 PM--James, DanWho and I discuss what could be a breakthrough in the way we see history. Clearly, Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue in fourteen hundred and ninety-two. However, Cristobal (as I like to call him) was an Italian that sailed with the help of the Queen of Spain. Taking into account his nationality and the country backing his voyage, we decided he did NOT cross the Atlantic in the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, but in either a drop-top or T-top IROC. Possibly with hyrdraulics. Occifer, can you get me a coff of cuppee? Sanks. 11:45 PM--1145 J's Steve, ever the host, hands out tiaras and plastic hats--reminiscent of the Derby Malcom McDowell wears in A Clockwork Orange --to the partygoers. I take a yellow derby to be cool. I'm ready for a little of the ol' ultraviolence. Then, without warning, my Male Vagina Meter goes off the charts as I realize the plastic has begun to burn my head. (EDITOR'S NOTE-- I just want to say that this in no way reflects upon the graciousness of our hosts. Steve could not have realize the hat would burn my forehead so. The gesture was a phenomenal one, and has the chemicals not reacted unfavorably with my delicate skin, I would have kept it on .) What's funny is that I must not have been the only one, because all of a sudden there is a wave of people passing hats off to others. It's like a big game of Musical Plastic New Year's Hats. I'm worried we might spontaneously generate a leper colony. However, Ryan approaches with some champagne (the good Andre kind), and I forget in a glorious fit of cheap sparkling wine. 11:50 PM - roughly 3:00 AM--This time period is clouded in thick fog. After the champagne hit, I really lost myself. I barely remember the Fake Ball Drop, though I do remember yelling. I remember standing on the couch. I remember wandering and talking and bits and pieces, but nothing comprehensible. So let's fast forward. Roughly 3:00 AM--My friend Nicole is attempting to walk back to Southview, about a half mile away, by herself. Now I'm a jerk and an assh*le, but one thing you can never allow is for females to walk home by themselves, even at the relatively safe JMU. Note one thing: I know I have in my head that I have to make it back to Ashby, as my case for my contacts is in my bag in my car there. Note this. Post 3:00 AM walking--I recall little, but I do remember at one point I'm feeling very, very sick. Stomach rumbling. And Nicole is pointing to Hunter's Ridge and saying, 'I live that way.' Note that Hunter's Ridge is in the opposite direction of Southview. Things are looking progressively worse. Later--Somehow we find her place. Upon entering Nicole, ever the gracious hostess, is offering me drink, cereal, and aspirin like a concerned grandmother. My stomach is bubbling like a tar pit and I tell myself 'Yep, I have to puke.' Unfortunately, my inner monologue has collapsed, and I emit this verbally. Nicole, still the gracious hostess, near screams, 'Can you make it to the bathroom?' My answer comes in the form of me placing my fist over my mouth, creating a two points of pressure at either side of my mouth. As the vomit erupts through my esophegus and behind my teeth, I know that no good can come of what is about to happen. I figure, not in a sober manner, that I can hold the vomit in my mouth until I reach the bathroom. Unfortunately for all involved, my legs are not carrying me in that direction. The half-digested beer and gastric acid hit my lips with surprising force, and the pressure of my fist on the outside forces the vomit in--and I cannot overstate this--absolutely high-velocity gushing streams through the narrow gaps on the side of my mouth. As I spray, my legs finally kick into motion and I run for the nearest toilet. Nicole, whom I have never heard swear in my entire life, screams, 'NOT ON THE F*CKING CARPET!!!!!!' I have no idea when--I wake up facedown on the tile in the bathroom. Somehow my aim was true and all the vomit hit the commode water. I even managed to flush. However, the tile has left cross-mark imprint on my face. This hurts. I stand up wobbly and rinse my mouth out. The floor looks better than the tile. Christ knows when--I wake up on the floor. I can feel the imprint of the grainy carpet superimposed over the cross-mark imprint of the tile. I forget where I am. That couch looks good though. F*ck if I know--I wake up on the couch. I have forgotten where I am again. It takes me three minutes to right myself. My eyes hurt. I realize that New Year's Eve has truly come and gone, and hurray. Another in the books, and in the trenches. I feel my face. The grain of the couch has superimposed itself over the grain of the carpet and the cross-mark of the tile in an imprint on my delicate face. Before I pass out, I think to myself that I must look like the Swamp Thing. And there you have it. In the morning (well, afternoon) I have the second worst hangover of my life (the worst being Homecoming day 2000 when I had consumed two Steel Reserves the night before at Melrose. God help us all.) and want to die, knowing I have a three-hour car ride home. I return to the carnage that is 1145 J and retrieve my bag. I brush my teeth and remove my contacts. Smitty, James, Nicole and I are chatting. I present James and Smitty with a bad porn tape that I'm desperate to get rid of. The actual conversation that followed: SMITTY: Wow, 222 minutes of porn. Thanks. JAMES: How could you ever watch that much porn? GEOFF: I usually end up only watching about seven minutes at a time. Sometimes I wish I weren't so verbal. I show them a picture of Jameson, who used to be my dog, and Nicole exclaims 'EEEEWWWWW.' This conversation follows: GEOFF: Hey, c'mon, that's my dog! NICOLE: Sorry, I don't really like any animals. JAMES: Not even bunnies? NICOLE: Ew, no, bunnies carry rabies. Finally, as I'm discussing my trip to the PA State Farm Show, we talk about urlLink Alpacas . Nicole is looking at me confused. The conversation that follows: GEOFF: Have you ever seen an Alpaca? NICOLE: No, what is it? GEOFF: It's like a really, really, really f*cking dumb, more useless Llama. NICOLE: Oh. I thought you were talking about computers. JAMES: I think that's Compaq. Truth is stranger than fiction. Truly. My excursion ended with an everlasting motorcarriage trip home and a four-hour stint at American Eagle to boot. I was hungover until noon the next day. Numerous times I considered stopping the car to ralph, but in the end I persevered. Just like any other JMU weekend. Next weekend: I tackle the Nation's Capital. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 13,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Alright. Two separate people sent me IMs yesterday with basically the same theme: 'Wow. You are really are a female hater. Wow.' I have referenced this before, but I'll go over some points I may have left behind for all of you. I don't 'hate women'. However, I do think, in general , females can and tend to be vile, catty, bitter creatures. Who wants to deal with such a person? Notice the in general portion of my statement. That's because it certainly doesn't extend to all females, as one should infer from such a general statement. I know plenty of wonderful ladies who buck the trend and are far more than decent human beings. They know who they are and they know I love them. End of story. Something else: I am one of the happiest people on the planet. Anyone who really knows me knows I'm always smiling and laughing and doing something for the amusement of others. It's my nature. It is extremely rare that I have a 'Bad Day' or allow the things in life that do piss me off to affect my overall Daily Routine. Part of what keeps me a happy person is that I have this Blog to get rid of all the complaining I have inside of me. Keeps me smiling on the outside. Some of you should try this. So let's get to the meat of this... At this point in time, I am particularly disgusted with the female gender. It's likely a two way street--I've pissed off enough broads to fill the Atlantic. Also, I'm partly to blame, as I stayed in a relationship for far too long with a person that I just wasn't compatible with, but was too much of a p*ssy to do the right thing for both of us until I had soured on the situation entirely. All that taken into account, let's just drop everything on the table, shall we? (EDITOR'S NOTE: Yes, I am generalizing. These are my personal opinions and I do not intend to reflect society at large or anyone else but myself therein, irregardless. So don't f*cking put words in my mouth, lest I bury you .) 1) Women Are Catty--Chicks hate other chicks. It's a fact, and I don't care what anyone says. At one end you have girls who are only friends with guys and have no girlfriends. At another end you have girls with lots of girlfriends, and God knows they talk about them behind their backs every chance they get. Guess what? They both hate other girls. They will jump at a chance to criticize anyone who isn't their favorite celebrity. One of my ex-girlfriend's roommates said it best: 'Guys just have a fight and go back to being friends. If it was us, we'd talk about each other behind our backs and be awkward for two weeks.' 2) Women Are Too Emotional--Here is one of my main problems. Above all else in this world, I value logic in any given situation. Of course there is always an emotional element to everything, but females take it way, way overboard. Could guys stand to be more emotional and less stoic? Absolutely. But there's that two way street again. Chicks have to learn to be less f*cking emotional. Can you just cry over less and get worked up over bigger issues? Thanks. 3) Women Have No Concept of Male Society--If you are pretty and take care of yourself, seriously, there's no need to doll yourself up every f*cking day. The hours with the makeup and the clothes changing and all the bullsh*t....please stop. I'll lay it out for you right now: if you look as good as Britney or Jessica Simpson or whoever, good for you, that's fantastic. If you don't, that's fine too, because guess what? NO GUY EXPECTS YOU TO. I always hear all this crap that advertising and movies and TV teaches women they need to look a certain way or have a certain cup size and blah blah blah blah blah. You know who is perpetuating this ridiculous notion? OTHER WOMEN. Allow me to be as specific as possible: Guys don't give a flying f*ck about 'expectations'. Be pretty. Take care of yourself and your body. Stop bitching. I'm not kidding, it's that simple. You aren't being compared to anyone. Stop. Seriously. On a side note, if you are overweight or unhappy with the way you look, complaining and crying about it doesn't help. Find a gym and shut the f*ck up. Irregardless (both of them were for you, T. Rich), people do not exist solely as your own personal EgoElevators. 4) Women Say All They Want is Honesty, When This In and Of Itself is a Lie--This Blog is living proof of such. If you tell them what you really think, there's a firestorm of criticism coming your way. Why? For some reason, there is this mental block that disallows women to see any fault that is pointed out to them by anyone but themselves. It's ridiculous. Let me state something else very clearly, and this is a personal note: I do not sugarcoat or make nice. I have a pretty good sense of tact (unless I have more than four beers in me) and will exercise such. But if you ask me what I think, I'm going to tell you. If you don't ask, I still might tell you, and I'm not going to pussyfoot around an issue simply to avoid conflict. Too many people (guys and girls both) mistake honesty for meanness. That's stupid; don't do it. There are more but these are the bulk of my issues. Before you cast your stones, a few disclaimers: 1. Maintaining a conscious approach to logic, I do NOT, in fact, assume that every female exhibits the above mentioned qualities. In fact, the first time I meet a female, I'm giving the benefit of the doubt, hoping and praying I'm not disappointed. 2. On that note, I don't expect that anyone should 'try' NOT to disappoint me. That's not even an issue. People are who they are. If I don't like you, it's a personal decision. I don't think that anyone should have to live up to my ideal either. That's not the point. Everyone has standards, and I'm damn sure I'm coming in under the Ideal Radar for a hell of a lot of people myself. 3. Furthermore, some ignorant assh*le is going to bring this up, so I might as well squelch it right now: I do not think I am special. I do not think I am God's gift to the world. I'm a person with opinions, like many of you, but unlike many of you my opinions are based in a good deal of thinking, reasoning, and where applicable, factual research. Also, unlike many of you who are spineless or afraid to offend, I express my opinions. The fact that I am not Heaven's Intended Gift to the Female Population does not negate my right to assert what pisses me off. No, I am not perfect. I don't claim to be. Every chance I could be wrong. Got it? Thanks. 4. Debate is good and I encourage it. However, some will assert their right to make a personal attack on myself in whatever manner they deem suitable. Please know, however, that I am confident in the fact that I'm probably smarter than you (no intelligent person needs to resort to a personal attack, unless in jest) and should you choose to engage me in a verbal battle, you are digging your own grave. One more small point: one of the people who mused about my woman-hating was an ex-girlfriend. The relationship ended on good terms. It was the first time I had heard from her in probably five months or more. Hmmmmm..... |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 12,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Any of you who read Maxim will recall this list instantly, but I just thought it'd be good to have a quick Internet reference in case a rule check is necessary. Thanks to Dr. Lisa Ravindra (The Indian Barbie Doll) for the heads-up: urlLink The Man Code PS--Dr. Lisa, how's them teeth? Stay to the right...STAY TO THE RIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 12,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Does anyone else watch MTV's Cribs ? I am fascinated with it. I begrudge no one the right to do whatever the hell they want to do with their money. If you want to have a 40-Room Mansion with Solariums and Maid Quarters and all manner of useless amenities, please, be my guest. I'm just baffled because you have all these people with all this money, and they have NO idea what to do with it, so they buy these huge houses and clutter them with all this expensive sh*t that they probably never utilize. I cannot fathom that I'll ever want a huge house. Sure I'd like something decent sized with a nice pool and a movie theater. That would be great. But what the hell would I need all that space for? Besides (and this is a topic for a later post), I plan to be so filthy rich that I can be philanthropic out the whazoo. There have been a lot of Cribs showcases featuring a lot of materialistic, name-obsessed d*chebags (Mariah Carey jumps to mind immediately), but the wife of Hip-Hop mogul Russell Simmons takes the cake. Russell seems like a good guy. Not only is he laid back and cool, but his tireless self-promotion doesn't come off and conceited and showy or as pushing for more bucks--it just comes off as hard work. The guy's got Def Jam, Phat Pharm, and all kinds of other irons in the fire. He's a business whiz. Good for him. His wife blows a f*cking donkey. First of all, I'm back to the Asian thing, and she's an attractive Asian, but she's certainly not the hottest, not even close, and Russell, with all his money, could have done better. Second, the first thing she says as the cameras approach the door, in an I'm-better-than-you-because-I-have-money tone is, 'Hello, I invite you into our home with love, and for those of you whose job it is it to hate, you better turn the channel.' Really? F*ck you, you dumb b*tch, because here I is. Hatorade be splish-splashin' this day. The entire segment is Russell being low key and Kimora pointing out all of her wonderfully unspectacular material possessions. Oh, this is my six-foot high such-and-such chandelier. Oh, this is my collection of Versace furniture that I got from an auction. Oh, these are my custom pillows. Oh, these are my jeweled animals that remind me of people who used to pick on me in school, well I'm rich now, so there. Oh, my dining room walls are made of silk. Oh, Versace's bed. And blah blah blah blah blah into abf*ckingsurdium. Then, the most irritating part, on to her 'Office', of which she says, 'This is my office. It's on the ground floor because I run this house.' F*ck you, you blatant waste of human breath. May I point out that you are a 'model' (and I use that word lightly) who has done NOTHING but mooch off your husband for the past seven or eight years? May I point out that your efforts probably paid for little or nothing in that house? May I point out that only useless beings such as yourself would possibly care about your China, or your silk walls, or whatever else you wasted your husband's money on? And then you dare to pretend to be urban and tell people not to 'hate'? People like this annoy and aggravate me to no end. These are the people that deserve the 'hate'. She is exactly what 'hate' was designed for. I hope Kimora Simmons gets on the same plane as J-Lo and Mariah and it crashes wildly into the side of a mountain, burning them alive in agony for at least 15 excrutiating minutes until they finally expire. Dense f*cks. Again, your money is your money and spend it as you like, but don't brag about sh*t that A) Four people in the world care about and B) you had nothing to do with paying for. I feel bad for Russell. You can tell he is suffering form the Normal Guy Who Married the First Hot Chick That Banged Him for His Money Because He Didn't Realize How Powerful His Money Was Syndrome. I fell better now. --Also forgot to mention this bit of coincidence... As per the aforementioned laughing at the buffoon attempting an ill-fated Waistband Tuck (TM) at a party, as I was partaking in my joy, who should call but one Mr. Chris Loftus, drunk out of his mind, with our good friend Melissa Taormina at a party. It was loud there, and I could make out little that he said, but I was able to get out the following: 'Ican'tbelieveyoucallednowohmyGodI'mwatchingsomekiddotheworstWaistbandTuck(TM)I'veeverseenit'sincredibleI'mlaughingmyassoffbye.' That call placed at that moment by my Associate...well, needless to say, it made my weekend. Incidentally, if you see an awful Waistband Tuck (TM) being attempted in your town, please let me know about it. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 11,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Before I get into the Unconquerable Postulates (TM) and the InterMale Relational Topics (TM), I first need to point something out. --The Philadelphia Eagles are not only the worst 13-3 team in the history of the NFL, they are also one of the luckiest. True, they are in the NFC Championship Game, but saying such is the equivalent of bragging that you are the tallest midget in the circus. Eagles fans (and people from Philadelphia proper, in general) are widely considered--and rightly so--to be the most abomidable and disgusting sports fans in the country. So if you are one of these Eagles fans, take note: The Philadelphia Eagles did not win yesterday's game. The Green Bay Packers clearly gave it to them. Aside from McNabb, who showed only flashes of brilliance, no one else came to play yesterday and they all benefited greatly from the Pack's lack of defense and Favre's last second dimensia. Just wanted you all to know that. I'm not even an NFC fan. I just hate the Eagles. Also allow me to point out that, if the Eagles are lucky enough again to beat the Panthers (whose defense will likely swallow whole the pathetic 'Offense' of Philly), they shall be lambasted outright in the Super Bowl, a crushing defeat yet again for a crappy city. On to greener pastures... INTERMALE RELATIONAL TOPICS (TM) Please ignore the fact that the title sounds obtusely homoerotic. These three issues for verbal conveyance can be used at any time in almost any situation if you need to simply associate with those around you. Basically, if you ever need to establish common ground with another male for any reason, you can bring up any of the following. Examples include: --Hanging out with a group of your buddy's friends whom you are meeting for the first time --Male friends or male family members of a girlfriend --Co-workers at a new job Sadly, the ladies will likely be unable to vibe with these three topics, but then again this post is not intended for such vile beasts (I'm kidding. Mostly.). 1) The Contra Code--I have to say at the outset that I cannot take credit for developing this IMRT. This practice was initially introduced to me by one of my gurus and favorite writers, urlLink The Sports Guy . He brought this up in a column probably a year or two ago. The premise is simple: seeking to establish unity in a group of males with whom you are not familiar, simply recite the following: 'Excuse me...Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A Select, Start.' The room will be awash with glee and someone will immediately yell out, 'THE CONTRA CODE!!!!!!' This IMRT works 100% of the time it is used in circles of North American Males. The code, as any red-blooded American between the ages of 18 and 30 will recall, was the code in the Original Nintendo game Contra to cheat the system, beat the man, and receive 99 lives. It almost guaranteed you could soar through the game with vitality to spare. And EVERYONE knew about it. Everyone. I have field-tested this IMRT on many occasions, usually whilst drinking. It almost always brings a round of drinks to the table, and if nothing else, promotes some lively discussion while making you an instant cultural hero. WARNING: Should you encounter one or more American Males aged 18-30 who do not know of the code, or encounter a female who has more than a passing knowledge of such, extracate yourself from the premises immediately. DO not pass 'Go', do not collect $200, and may God have mercy on your soul. Be extremely wary of males who do not know 'The Code', as they are likely communist operatives. Also be on the lookout for females who possess too much of either video games or sports. Severe evil lurks inside of these individuals. Trust me. If there is no room to run away, bricks may be thrown. 2) The Middle School Dance Excitement Survival--Talking about this literally put me laughing on the JMU Freshman Mailroom floor back in 1999. It's an experience so common to males of any age that it is easily considered universal and transcends many geographic, religious, and time-specific barriers. The average 13-14 year old male is one of the most highly excitable beings in existence. The onset of puberty combined with the right breeze can send a skyrocket of blood and hormones to the unsuspecting crotch with a ferocity I dare not trifle with (more on this in a bit). Combine this with the fact that Middle School Dances are a breeding ground for the first real Female Body Contact (The Slow Dance), and you have the most frightening issue in the World of the Teenage Boy: The Spontaneous Erection. The problem with Middle School Dances is that, often, there is a Dress Code involved that includes a tucked-in shirt. This is extremely bad news, as it negates the possibility of a working Waistband Tuck (details, again, in a bit). But, as young lads, we are helpless. We have just begun to notice that girls are not icky; in fact, they smell rather nice, have pretty hair, and have grown inexplicably attractive mounds on their chests. This, unfortunately, presents a force of nature that will forever encompass our being, and at this cruel stage of adolescence, we are unable to rationalize the complications of the matter. When asked to dance (or on the rare occasion we did the asking, because girls were far more advanced in the art of...intergender communication, at this point), we oblige willingly and excitedly. The Slow Dance starts out innocent enough, but problems arise when the two individuals draw closer to one another. And closer. And closer. The girls know what they are doing the whole time; why else would they have asked us to dance? However, only when the bodies touch do the males realize the complexity of the situation, and then a stream of consciousness erupts that enact too many important, yet ill-timed, questions: Why did she ask me to dance? Why are we so close? Does she like me? Do I like her? What are those lovely bumps inches from my neck? What in th...oh no. And there it is. Without warning, a Grandiose Pocket Rocket has sprung, and your first thought is that it will take weeks for it to go away. Frantic, your mind searches for a solution to the Worst Problem in History. Finally, realizing that you're only 30 seconds into a four-minute song, it hits you--you must proceed with a Pelvic Backaway (TM). Amazingly, the bone structure of the Teenage Boy allows you to keep your head, chest, and legs connected to that of your dancing partner, while only slightly arching the buttocks outward and disconnecting your pelvis from the proceedings. Were you to stabilize your racing mind and look around, you would realize that every other male in the vicinity is doing the same. All are in luck, as during The Slow Dance the lights are low. Your worst fear is that the disco ball will stall or someone will get creative with the spotlight, announcing to the world that the tent in your pants is ready for the evening. This rarely, if ever, happens, and though it might not seem possible at the time, your trouser treasure should recede in the 2-3 minutes of song you have left. Should it not, you can always immediately fake a lower back injury or a need to tie your shoe for an extra minute as the lights go up and the problem rests. Though the reenaction of the Pelvic Backaway (TM) is usually a needed visual representation, I think you know what I'm getting at. There is no male on the planet who will not appreciate its inclusion in general banter, especially if a witty story is to follow. It can also lead into a discussion of.... 3) The Waistband Tuck--Ever see the E! True Hollywood Story of Milli Vanilli? Gripping stuff. Particularly entertaining is the segment of the interview with Rob Pilatus (I'm officially assigning him the role of Milli--he's the one who offed himself in '98) discusses the fact that they didn't want to get exposed as frauds. He told the interviewer they were desperate to NOT win the Best New Artist Grammy because everything would be found out. 'All we were thinking is, 'Don't get the Grammy, don't get the Grammy,'' he said in his thick German accent. 'And then, we got the g*ddamn Grammy.' This is, more or less, the feeling that sweeps over you during a Middle School Dance (or...well, anything, really) when you feel a stiffy coming on. It's the 'Oh please no, oh please no, oh pl...F*CK' that sweeps over you. To guard against the unfairness of nature, men have invented and perfected the Waistband Tuck. It's operation is simple, as my reader Stephanie correctly surmised: upon the onset of erection, one quickly feeds a hand into the pantal/crotchular affected region, gently lifts the penile organ, places it against the lower-lower abdominal region, and carefully folds the waistband of the undergarments over top to protect it. The result? A non or almost near-non showing of a full-force erection. An untucked shirt completes the transaction, hiding your boy from all scrutiny. Though the method sounds complicated, it can be performed by even the clumsiest or inexperienced of males in under two seconds. It has become second nature to many of us. The only pitfalls come when A) there is the aforementioned NonCasual Tucked Shirt or B) one is wearing a thin short, such as a gym short. I recall one of the worst days of my life in eighth grade. My mother had purchased a three-pack of silk boxers for me and, as we had a heated game in our school-wide kickball tournament that day, I wore mesh shorts to school. The combination of the cool, soft silk combined with constant movement...well, let's just say that I carried books in front of my crotch in between every period that day to mask the redwood growing in my loins (and yes ladies, that's an accurate description--call me). No Waistband Tuck could be performed, as the force of the erection is greater and more consistent than gravity. It takes a substantial material--a khaki or a denim--to visually repel its force. I attempted the Textbook Coverup (TM), but that becomes obvious before you even get to Lunch. This IMRT can be used any time as well, but is particularly effective when dealing with the goodbyes or during stories of related strife. UNCONQUERABLE POSTULATES: JMU (TM) A couple of theories, developed by myself and one Mr. Chris Loftus. 1) The Summer of George--after the clocks turned past 11:59 PM on December 31, 1999, the New Millenium was upon us. Some expected Armageddon in the works; we had none. Some expected the world's computers to crash; they did not. But you got the feeling that something was in the air. Something real. Something powerful. My friends, there was. Thinking back on the last century, males had traditionally been expected to make the first moves in an intergender relationship. A male was expected to approach the female, chat her up, ask for her number, and arrange a first date. The system dominated our and other culture(s) for at least the past 1000 years. But Loftus and I began to notice something after the turnover... Girls were approaching us with ferocity. This was nothing new for Loftus, though he could do nothing about the constant influx of females, as he is spineless and will admit to such. But the ladies never particularly hit on me. Usually I was the one making the advances. However, after that fateful December day, a change of monumental proportions occurred--I began to be noticed. I was getting heat from all corners of the JMU community. Loftus had seen a significant increase in his numbers as well. What the hell could be going on? The answer was right in front of our faces--the New Millenium had signaled a Thousand Year Long Summer of George. The Fates had realigned. Female Biochemistry had been affected. Social norms were destroyed in an instant. Mark my words, it still is happening, though I am now out of the college environment and cannot statistically reference such with profound accuracy. I got no better looking, 'game' did not improve, and I wasn't trying anything. It just happened. Mark my words, gentlemen. Sit back and enjoy the 21st Century. Don't bother to try to explain it. Let them come to you. 2) Hijacked Bloussant--Around the beginning of Second Semester, 2002, Loftus and I noticed a dramatic increase in the breast size of JMU females. I'm not talking a few more girls with enlarged mammary glands; I'm talking a full-blown Breastal Explosion. At least 50% of the female JMU population was carrying a C-cup or better. I kid you not. I wish I had taken pictures. Our only possible explanation (and this fit in well with our theory that all females were required to submit a headshot with their Application for Admission to the University, because Jesus Christ, you should see the girls there, my God) is that the Admissions Department had either purchased or hijacked a shipment of the then-popular Breast Enlargement Vitamin, Bloussant (I know you saw the commercials) and fed it into either the water supply or spiked the food at D-Hall. I'm telling you, this has to be true, because the next semester breast size had gone back to the normal level of noticeability. Speaking of Bloussant, that commercial involved me in one of my most embarrassing moments in history. My roommate Craig's parents came to visit one weekend. His Dad, a super guy, is a man of few words. I was engaging Mr. Metz in a very slight conversation--the how are things, how was the drive, etc.--when talking stalled. As he sat on our sofa in the living room, I moved to the kitchen to get a drink. I turned, asked him if he'd like something, and in the space before he could answer me, as if the volume was set on Level 2,514, the TV blared out the fabled commercial: 'Would you like to have firmer, larger breasts than you ever imagined?' I froze. Froze. Mr. Metz said nothing. The real horror of the situation was that the TV remote was too far away for either of us to casually reach to and change the channel . So we sat there, saying nothing, unsure of how to proceed. Being the mature individual I am, I hurried to my room, locked the door, and curled up under my comforter in the fetal position, crying softly. I don't know if Mr. Metz ever got his lemonade. Again, as always, feel free to discuss and leave your comments on all. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 11,January,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink So little happened over this Holiday Season that I can barely begin to comprehend its uselessness. The only thing that occurred was the passage of time, bringing me closer to Los Angeles. Even with the lack of events, I still have plenty to talk about. --Let's get right to my Totally Non-Judgmental Thoughts (TM) on the first episode of Real World San Diego. In such, I will assess the character of each individual participant, taking into account that all reality TV shows have Story Editors, and basically you can make anyone look any way you want to through editing. However, I will also note that eventually, creative editing notwithstanding, you have to be yourself over a five month period and the cameras will eventually capture that essence. Before I get into San Diego, though, I must make a note form last year... RW Las Vegas Steven is quite possibly the biggest d*uch*bag on the planet. I mean seriously, this kid is a leaking bag of douche. Spilling. How can anyone be fooled to NOT think this guy is a waste of organs? I point directly to the debate that ensued after he and RW Las Vegas Brynn got into an altercation. She threw a fork at him and pushed him because he called her all manner of synonyms related to 'Streetwalker'. Though a fork is truly an violent instrument of terror that should only be handled by top-level operatives (your SarcasoMeters should be exploding at this point), let's ignore its involvement for the moment. She pushed him. She is maybe 100 lbs, and Big Steve is cracking in at about twice her height and a good 180. His big argument was that he wanted her out of the house because, were she to go off on him again, he 'might be forced to hit her back' and 'would be labeled a woman-beater for the rest of (his) life'. And he kept saying that, like it was even a f*cking issue: 'This is the rest of my life!' Shut the f*ck up you ballsless d*ckbag. He just kept saying it, like his ridiculous argument had any merit whatsoever. Then, to cap it all off, in the elevator with RW Las Vegas Arissa, he says, 'I think I made some really amazing points.' RW Las Vegas Steven, you are the biggest flaming pile of trash in America, surpassing even Boomer Esiason and Hilary Duff's guitarist. Now what really bothers me about this whole fiasco is that both RW Las Vegas Brynn and RW Las Vegas Trishelle (don't get me started)both wanted to f*cking marry the kid. And there are girls out there who still would. Ladies, I don't begrudge you a roll in the hay if you think he's attractive, but is there any way you can NOT, again, NOT think he's the epitome of slime? Anyone? I will say this straight-out with no hint of sarcasm and will stand firm on it: Jessica Simpson is probably the hottest biped around, but after seeing what she's really like, I would only bang her senseless and three ways from Sunday. I would not date her and would certainly not marry her. No chance in hell. Do you see how grizzled Nick Lachey is getting (trust me buddy, I know the feeling)? She might be hot, but I have standards. I'm hoping females would exercise the same against RW Las Vegas Steven. OK, glad I got that off my chest. On to the current cast... 1) RW San Diego Cameran--Alright, you are certainly hot, though you could stand to put a few pounds on that frame. Legs are a little sickly looking. Fantastic ass. But you really, really bother me. Why? First of all, the Civil War ended about 140 years ago. Get over it, and that goes for everyone in the 'South'. I don't even care if you're joking, which you likely aren't; bringing up the 'I hate Northern Yankees' card is like me exclaiming 'We want Jim Crow'. Notice no one from the 'North' perpetuates useless lines of dialogue that are so blatantly in the geriatric. Stop. Also, your 'Aw, Shucks' attitude is fooling no one. No one. Not that you aren't probably stupid, but telling us that you think sex is 'messy and awkward' while overtly pointing out to everyone in the house--in a shameless fit of off-topicness, I might mention--that you brought your vibrator with you is just obvious. I'm not buying the Good Southern Girl bit at all, and I doubt too many people are. Chill out. 2) RW San Diego Jamie--Anyone who knows me knows I have a burning, itching, painful case of Asian Female Lust. I can't speak much to her character, as she barely talked in the first episode, but Jamie is by far the hottest castmember. Whoo. Whoo. I'm getting flushed. Jamie, call me. 3) RW San Diego Brad--See above with RW Las Vegas Steven. OK, OK...he's not that bad. I will say I'm particularly impressed with the way he handled the Hot Tub Frankie situation. It was classy and appropriate. However, I think had things not been on camera, it would have been a different story. RW San Diego Robin's assessment of Brad is true--the Typical Frat Guy (TM). Again, ladies, if you think he's the greatest looking thing since sliced bread, believe me, I'm not going to try to debate you. But the limpd*ck tricks on the motorcycle? The fawning of his girlfriend, who isn't very attractive to begin with? The overt meatheadedness? Come on. He might say he's from Chicago, but this dude positively screams Jersey Guido D*uch*bag (TM). If he's fooling any of you, well, I'm going to need to run out and buy some more stock in Females Are Idiots and Bringing About the End of the Planet. 4) RW San Diego Randy--What's not to like about this kid? He's got the sweet hair, he's from Boston, he runs security at a nightclub and attends Art School, and by golly, at age 24, he's the house Grandpa. If the females have any intellect, he'll get more ass than Brad when it's all said and done. 5) RW San Diego Frankie--You absolutely have to love the fact that a Punk Rocker with Cystic Fibrosis can get sh*tfaced on the first night of filming, try to make out with a roommate knowing that her boyfriend will be seeing it later, fall on the way to the bedroom, and then puke over herself. Does it get any better? I ask you, does it get any better? The Cystic Fibrosis thing is like the really, really especially big candle on a really, really fantastically burned cake. Made my week. And the whole thing is, if not for the weird bangs and lipring, she'd be a damn cute kid. Smoke another Clove, Coughy Cougherson! Nothing beats watching someone tear their life down on Basic Cable. 6) RW San Diego Jacquese--Seems like a solid kid and, honestly, anyone that can make it out of Patterson (the same town that drove Rubin 'Hurricane' Carter wrongfully into prison) and attend college is a damn fine human being in my book. One thing though--it appeared that he wasn't drinking the first night. Unless a recovering alcoholic, always be wary of someone who chooses not to drink. It's just a gut feeling of mine. RW San Diego Jacquese is my Dark Horse for Lunacy, running behind, of course, RW San Diego Frankie. Incidentally, not since RW Hawaii have two roommates been teetering so gently on the brink of insanity (RW Hawaii Matt and RW Hawaii Kaya, and if you don't seriously think RW Hawaii Matt was about to totally lose his sh*t, think again). 7) RW San Diego Robin--A good looking girl with a cool job, a good head on her shoulders, and two major fatal flaws. One is the Too Short Hair, often a horrible gamble if you're a female. It looks bad on her, as it does on 99% of the ladies who attempt it. Don't. You're a chick; look like one. Second, she's got some of the worst implants I've ever seen. Now, as those of you who know me know, I am staunchly against implants. Not for any moral reason. I just think they look awful most of the time. However, in this day and age, you can go out and get fantastic looking fakes. RW San Diego Robin apparently glazed over this fact on her way to the plastic surgeon, and instead appears to have asked her doctor to, 'attach the most gargantuan, obvious cereal bowls to my chest, and spread them as far apart as possible so that we leave no doubt I'm a huge f*ckup.' The good news is that, in the event of some kind of maritime disaster aboard their Touring Sailboat, RW San Diego Robin will float to the top fastest. As per normal, your comments, be they yay or nay to mine, are encouraged. --Some horrible news from this past weekend: watching one of those VH-1 'Where Are They Now' things, a segment came up on Kevin Kline. I always liked Kevin Kline. Damn fine actor. But I was irrevocably disheartened to find that he somehow tricked the luscious Phoebe Cates into marrying him. Did anyone know that? I think he's been secretly keeping her chained in his basement for years, forging the marriage certificate all whilst sustaining her on a strict diet of Wheat Thins and Soy Milk. Jesus, she still looks great, and honestly, what the F*CK is she doing with Kevin Kline? This is as bad if not worse than the Catherine Zeta-Jones/Michael Douglas union, which I still can't discuss with any amount of common sense. Can someone make this go away, please? If the Olson Twins marry Philip Seymour Hoffman next week, I swear to f*cking God I'm moving to a shanty in Upper Canadia. --I'm at a party last night, sober, meandering, and I hear some kids laughing behind me (and before you ask, yes, I'm the oldest person at this party by a solid three years). I turn to look at them, and they are mocking a kid on the other end of the beer pong table. He has been partnered with a blond girl for what seems like hours now, and they have begun to rub on each other quite a bit. The kid, obviously drunk and unaware of his element, is feverishly attempting the worst Waistband Tuck (TM) in the history of the world. At first I wasn't sure what was happening. Then one of the Laughing Kids yelled, 'Yeah buddy, tuck that in!' Then I knew. Instant, frolicking laughter. I hadn't thought about the Waistband Tuck (TM) in months, because when you do it, you do it subconsciously. It's simply a force of nature. But not this kid. No. He was digging, fidgeting wildly in his trousers, oblivious to our delight. Apparently defeated, he actually TURNED TO FACE THE WALL and continued to work at it. Then, finally winning the battle, he turns around like nothing is wrong. Somehow the Hookup Gods are smiling widely on this kid, because his partner (and later random hookup) failed to notice the entire incident . Such an event can only be amusing to someone with a fifth grade humor level. Someone like me. Oh, don't know what the Waistband Tuck is? If you haven't figured it out, wait patiently for the next GooseTown Entry. In said Entry, we will visit two of my favorite Unconquerable Postulates (TM) and three of my favorite InterMale Relational Topics (TM) from college. We will tackle: 1) The Summer of George 2) Middle School Dance Excitement Survival 3) The Waistband Tuck 4) Hijacked Bloussant 5) Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right.... It will be glorious. I will end by wishing a safe and uneventful return to US soil for my good friend Matt Sanders, off for a one-year tour in Iraq. Godspeed my friend. Godspeed. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 27,February,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Sorry about the 2+ week hiatus from writing. I have a million things I need to talk about. One of them is a Public Service Announcement--everyone should take $20 and buy the Microtouch Trimmer off of that TV infomercial. It's as good as advertised. Incredible. I will talk about this further later. Full review. I also need to talk about The O.C. and the fact that Ryan's ex-girlfriend rates a full 10 out of 10 on my Oh F*ck Me Scale. Hot. Whoo. Good times. I need to talk about obnoxious Yankee fans and how they continue to plague America. I need to talk about how people, faced with factual information, cannot stand long whilst arguing with emotion and conjecture. That the phrase 'That's incorrect' doesn't mean your opinion is wrong, it means that the data (or lack thereof) you are basing it on is. I need to talk about a lot of things. Some because they are important to me, some because they are important to you, most because they are important to no one. But there is one thing I'd like to talk about tonight. I recall a couple of years ago when my roommate got his picture taken for the school newspaper. Well, that's not accurate...there was a picture taken with him in the background. He was highly out of focus, but you could was him. He made a statement that was not meant to be taken deeply in any way, but it resonated with me and has stuck with me since. 'Hey, there I am. That's me. Fuzzy, in the background.' Fuzzy in the background. I can't tell you why it crawled into my head and stayed there. I thought it was interesting at the time, as I could relate it, barely, to a place or a situation here and there. It was always in the back of my mind. Fuzzy in the background. Until now, though, it never came through as an overall concept. Life is not my biggest ally right at this moment. We're not getting along. Apparently it wants things for me that I would much rather do without. I feel as though I'm below deck, and that's not the way it's supposed to be. You're supposed to be at the Captain's Chair, sun or storm, plowing your way to...well, to wherever you want to go, really. I haven't had that luxury lately. Right now I'm supposed to be sailing my way towards California and my future. I have a job. I have a shot, a shot that most people don't even ever get close to smelling, let alone have it laid in their lap. I feel as though I have a purpose and that if I can just get over the hill, I'll be coming down a mountain for a long, long time. But there are college loans--VAST college loans--to repay, sucking up about 1/3 or more of my finances. There is time. I'm not 'old' but in Hollywood, they don't take you past but a pup. And there are those around me. My father has been sick for quite some time now. He's going to be OK, but he's miserable, and there are certain things he can't do without me. Until he gets fixed, how can I leave? Then, last week, there was Mom. Without warning, diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. The good news is that it was caught early. It hasn't spread. Doctors think she'll be fine after a little radiation and a few passes at chemotherapy. But in the back of mind I toy with the idea that it might come back. Who would take care of my brothers? Who would watch out? It's perhaps a bit pessimistic and defeatist, but isn't it better to be prepared? It don't I owe it in the first place? Of course. So my life is on hold. It's that simple. Early in the week, selfishly, I thought about the recent turn of events in GeoffWorld. Allowed the bad attitude, the one that never seems to get a word in edgewise any other day, to bust through and take over. He told me that, if you looked at a picture of my life right now, you'd see a lot of sh*t, but you wouldn't see me in The Chair. Because the sh*t had taken over residence. The clear part of the picture would show it all over the cabin, drowning everything else out. And I'd just be Fuzzy In the Background, trying to pull myself to my feet. But man, dammit, I'm blessed, and that's no way to look at things. Immediately I shut out Bad Attitude, stinging back that yeah, I'm in the Red, but I'm paying it all back, slowly but surely, and there's money in the bank yet. I let him know that I'm not even 25 yet. Some people aren't even out of college at my age. Some never went. I'm way ahead of the game. I made he sure he knew that whatever faint stress my parent's illnesses put on me, it was nothing compared to what they must be going through, and damnit if my helping out won't see them through. They're both going to be OK. And before I stepped on his head, I made sure one thing was damn clear: I've not come this close to be denied. I will make it. And Jesus Christ himself will hear the low bellow of my f*cking foghorn when I do. I sound like Tony Robbins. Sorry. But, even though I missed the Big Picture at first, I carried through. Why? Because there is no g*ddamn Big Picture. Life is not a picture; pictures are permanent and ephemeral. If your life is out of focus, don't throw up your hands. Twist the f*cking lens until you can see yourself again. Then pick up and carry on. Get a head of steam, because when you move your view somewhere else, it's bound to get fuzzy again. Motherf*cker life is good. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 11,February,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink I am pissed today. Not pissed at the world or in a bad mood, but pissed at how absurdly stupid people are. I am going to share it with you all and be somewhat uncharacteristic in my tone. I have a few pet peeves: 1. Things females do. Pretty much all of them. 2. People putting words in my mouth. 3. People making awful, illogical arguments that eventually denigrate into namecalling and personal insults. 4. Sh*tty drivers. And possibly most vehemently... 5. Christians trying to legislate their own 'morality'. I'll make my little disclaimer now before I roll into this...Yes, I realize that not all Christians try to do so, but in lieu of typing 'a certain number of Christians' every time, it's just going to be the de facto 'Christians'. So if you are not included in this group, don't assume I am attempting to include you, I'm just trying to save time and space. Got it? OK. Two news stories that really Irked My Peeve (TM) this afternoon: 1. President Bush might propose a Constitutional Amendment vis a vis his atrocious Defense of Marriage Act, an official piece of legislation that is costing taxpayers $1.5 billion (not a typo) so the Federal Government can teach people that only the marriage of a man and a woman is healthy. In fact, let's say it again: CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT. In effect it would say that the only valid form of human union is between a man and a woman. When are Christians going to crawl out of their f*cking caves, realize we walk upright whilst thinking abstractly, and get a clue? I truly cannot believe that in the year 2004 people can still be this moronic. Can I put a few things out there? --Research over the past 25 years, from studies published in such UnChristianly Nonsense Texts (TM) as The New England Journal of Medicine , indicates that homosexuality is not a 'choice', but more a product of a deficiency or overabundance of a specific chemical in a specific area of the brain. --Research over the past 40 years, from studies published in such UnChristianly Nonsense Texts (TM) as Nature , shows that an overwhelming percentage of animal species--up to 90%--exhibit homosexual characteristics. A sample of these species include felines, canines, reptiles, fish, waterfowl, equines, and amphibians. In amphibians some scientists estimate that as much as 25% of the species is homosexual in nature. In fact, amphibians even have the capacity, in certain biological crises, to physically and independently change their sex if the male/female balance is highly skewed. Sinners. So there is practical evidence out there that in fact homosexuality is not a 'poor choice', not a 'sin', but rather a differently-wired function of nature. What of it then? Well, the Christian will insist that marriage and its sanctity are reserved only for a man and a woman because that is the only way to procreate, and the gift of procreation is one of the essentials of marriage. Wonderful! But consider... --There are an estimated 5 million married couples in this country who cannot conceive due to the infertility of one party or both. How UnChristianly! Revoke their charters! Send in the troops! Go to the back of the class! --Over 55% of all marriages in the United States end in divorce. Of them, 72% resulted in procreation, the product of which are now scarred for life by the sins of divorce. Scarred b*stard children. --An estimated 60% of all marriages in the United States each year take place in nondenominational or secular ceremonies, at locations such as City Halls, beaches, and Vegas. But do they give up? No! Christians must defend the 'laws' of 'God' that come from the 'Bible'. It is written in...a book! That has been passed down for...thousands...of years! That is iron-clad, considering the perfection of man and the fact that the validity of the average high school cafeteria rumor holds for exactly 7.2 seconds. Humans never embellish, never change anything, can never be evil, and have never tried to alter history to meet the needs of the powerful. Never. On the heels of the announcement by Bush's publicist, two Pennsylvania Senators want to make it absolutely illegal for gays to marry in the state. Not only that, they want to also create a ban on Civil Unions and the recognization of Common Law unions. Yeah, I've made this an issue before. In the election year, it's not the top issue, and not in the top five for most people. But why is it important? Because with so many other things to draw people's attention away from it, legislators can enact this kind of religious bullsh*t without much protest. It goes largely unnoticed and when people can get back to caring about it, laws are in place and they're damn hard to get rid of. In an earlier post, I challenged someone, anyone, to give me a good, non-religious reason as to why gays should not be allowed to marry and afforded the same benefits as married couples. No one can come up with a good answer. The only answer is this, and I'm going to be blunt--these Christians are f*cking bigot assh*les. Plain and simple. Absolutely counterproductive human beings bent on forcing the 'morality' of a fading ideology on a population as a whole. If you disagree with two men or two women marrying, fine, you have that right. If you hate it and detest it and find it vile, you have that right. What you do not have the right to do is tell people 'This is what is good for you because my religion says so'. The Constitution is supposed to protect people from idiots like you. For what possible reason could you care that two people make a private decision that has absolutely no impact on yourself or your antiquated theological doctrine? I'll tell you why. Because you are f*cking scum who just want to make sure that those who are so 'beneath' you know one thing: that they are not equal, that they are not human, that they don't deserve to exist in society because your Mythical Fantasy of the Everloving Vapid Bible told you so. Oh, and I'm not done. Peruse this article: urlLink Woman In Court For Selling Sex Toys In a nutshell, here's what's going on: the Bible Beaters in Texas have forced charges against a woman who had been holding discreet, customer-scheduled Sex Toy Shows in private homes. In these shows she displayed a line of sex toys, instructed the men and women in attendance on how to use them, and then sold them to some of the partygoers. Because Christians cannot stand to be in a town with someone of different values, two police officers posed as a husband and wife, went to one of the shows, and promptly had the woman arrested. What was her crime? Well, in the state of Texas (which we should just be calling 'Little China' at this point), it is illegal not only to explain how to use a sex toy correctly and safely, but it is illegal to sell them without a sticker on their package denoting 'THIS PRODUCT IS BEING SOLD AS A NOVELTY OR CAKE DECORATION ONLY'. I'm really not kidding. This is the law. Also, heterosexual oral sex and sodomy are illegal in Little China, so all you facebanging studs who also f*ck b*tches in the sh*tter need to take the moral highground and turn yourselves in. Now I understand that this is a law in Little China, and that ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it. However, someone find a way to tell me how this law is not Unconstitutional. Anyone. I beg of thee. Again, why the f*ck should you possibly care that someone might be having a private party in their home and that they might buy something that they will use only privately? It's has no f*cking effect on you. Don't you people get it? Hey, look. I think America is the greatest place in the world to live. I wouldn't want to be from anywhere else. Even on our worst day our triumphs far outweigh our problems. But that's no excuse to let the problems go unnoticed. No matter how ridiculous I find Christianity to be, I freely admit that I could be 100% wrong about it. I feel strongly that anyone out there should have a right to practice it freely. It may be the answer to everything. I don't know. But neither do you, no matter how strong your faith is. You don't know. And therefore, while you have the right to practice it however you want for yourself, you have no right to impose it on others. Straightforward. So we can we get all these f*cking d*uches on a boat and send them to Outer Bijian or something? They can all live there in peace, telling each other what they should do, scrutinizing and chastizing every life but their own. They can even take Marilyn Manson and sacrifice him. I don't really care. Just make them leave. Oh, did I mention that at the gym this evening, I ran on one of the eight treadmills, women occupied the other seven, and that EVERY F*CKING CHANNEL WAS FIXED ON THE G*DDAMN OPRAH WINFREY SHOW ? Sonsag*ddamnedb*tches. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 10,February,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Someone please tell me they've seen the new Quizno's commercials with the singing (I think they're) mice with the cutout mouths and the sombreros. F*cking hilarious. Blake, I wish you still owned a few. Absolutely hysterical. Every time it comes on I can't get it out of my head for hours. 'Any coupon works...for hair plugs or pony rides....eat Quizno's subs...' --On the heels of the brilliant Quizno's Mice, I need to talk about urlLink Threebrain . I recall being exposed to this sophomore or junior year of college. I don't know if you could call them a 'band'; I think they're more suited to the 'Performance Art' category. It's unexplainable. Here's what you do: go to their website I've linked here, click on the link on their page that says 'Rock Videos' and watch the one entitled 'Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee'. Did I say it would change your life? It will. A grand step above The Badger Song Site in creativity and artistic merit, but light years ahead in the 'What the f*ck is this?' department. --Has anyone watched The Inferno yet? It's the new RW/RR Challenge on MTV. Absolutely fantastic. RW Las Vegas Trishelle has zero--and possible negative--shame. To say that she has hit an all-time low in the realm of television would be The Understatement of This Short Century (TM) because 99% of television to this point have been fictional characters . If aliens came down to earth and judged humanity based on RW Las Vegas Trishelle, we'd either be vaporized or transported back to planet Schnarflat where we'd be forced to mine useless metals for thousands of years. That said, I sat watching The Inferno last night giddy as a schoolboy, giggling (possibly cackling) wildly at the sheer Christmas Gift of Reality Television, thanking the Gods that some people will put their Train Wreck Lives on display for the masses. But hey, true perfection has to be imperfect, right? And tonight's Real World San Diego? F*CKING GIDDY! --Every time I see the video for I Believe In a Thing Called Love by The Darkness I cannot even think of changing the channel. I feel like a sixteen year old girl in 1986 watching a Poison video for the first time. I'm guessing it's not possible, but is it...I mean, are they...is there any chance they can be serious? The guy with the mustache and Village People Hat make me think they can't be. I mean a giant Space Squid attacking their Star Trek Spaceship should tip me off, but then you see the lead singer and you have to wonder...Jesus. Here: urlLink The Darkness Their lead singer gets my props as #2 Most Disgusting Male On Earth, coming in close behind #1, the Guy Who Sings the Diddys in the 'Real Men of Genius' Commercials ('Don't knock my smock...'). --I picked up my grandfather the other night to get him to my mom's house. Pa is 83. Pa is not the safest driver on the road, and it's a miracle he asked me to pick him up, on account of the rampant ice here in Alask...er, Harrisburg. He advised me to take the highway to my mom's house rather than the back way, as, in his words, 'there are cops crawling all over it.' To which I said, 'Well that doesn't matter for you because you don't speed, right Pa?' He replied, 'Yes I do. I like to go .' Frightening words from an old, unsteady man who a few years ago bought a new car because he 'needed more Uumph.' God help us. I'm thinking we should possibly revoke his license before someone gets hurt. Seriously. Thought about this again today while I was at the DMV. First of all, I know people make jokes about this all the time, but that place really is a f*cking leper colony. I'm convinced that normal people don't walk into that building to get Driver's Licenses; they just have them drop-shipped to their house. Being in there made me concerned that there was really something wrong with me mentally and physically. I'm not kidding. Besides the deaf guy that was loudly asking people questions and getting pissed when they didn't understand his unintelligible garble, there was the dude who kept bopping his five year old on the top of the head, the woman who took up literally two seats and complained audibly that the chairs were uncomfortable, and the woman who complained extremely audibly to the desk attendant that she didn't realize you had to have a Birth Certificate to get a new license, much less take a driving test, and when asked was unable to produce a license form another state, and when the attendant queried how she got herself to the DMV, the woman picked up all her junk and left. Secondly, I sat there for an hour and a half the first time. Finally my number was called. I walked up to the guy sitting there and said I needed to change my license over from Virginia to Pennsylvania. Simple enough. I had a piece of mail with my address on it. I had my VA license. What else could there be? In Virginia, they just switch you over. Good state. Efficient. But not Pennsylvania. Oh no. I was told that I'd also need a Birth Certificate, a Social Security Card, and another piece of f*cking mail with my name and address on it. I explained to the guy that my Social Security number was already on my Virginia ID and that I had previously had a PA Driver's License. He looked it up in the computer. 'Ah, there you are,' he says. Phew. 'Now,' he continued, 'as soon as you can get that Birth Certificate, Social Security Card, and another piece of mail with your name and address on it, we can get you all squared away.' F*CKING MOTHERF*CKING B*TCHF*CKING ASSD*CK D*UCHECLOWN FOSSILC*CK MOTHERF*CKER. D*CKLESS BRAINLESS SPINELESS...HALLELUAH, HOLY SH*T. WHERE'S THE TYLENOL? I return home. I eat a chicken sandwich. I feel like I have to go to the bathroom, but settle for just a Dragon Draining (TM) only as I have plenty to get on with. For some reason I'm delusional, thinking I can wait. Remember this lapse of judgment. I return to the DMV. More of the same people. One guy, seated about three chairs away from me on the end of the row, actually blows a f*cking snot rocket on the ground. NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING. In protest, I move to the corner of the room and curl up in the fetal position, weeping gently. After a half hour or so of me crying, an old lady walks in. She's in the 70-80 year old range. She forgets to take a number, so someone points out to her that she needs to get one. It takes her ten minutes to find the huge f*cking orange box that says 'TAKE NUMBER HERE' located right in front of the f*cking entrance. Sure, I could have showed her where it was, but remember: You Don't Talk to People at the DMV. So she finally gets her ticket. Turns out she's there for a driving test and didn't need the number in the first place. Dumb Luck I guess. Her name gets called. I watch as she passes the Eyesight Test after four tries. The guy testing her is being really patient and too lenient for my own mental well-being. Finally, he sends her over to a block of computers to take her Computer Test. It's seventeen questions. The same one we all took to get our Learner's Permits. You have to get fourteen right to pass. After twenty minutes or so, she walks back over to her son who has now come into meet her. 'I didn't understand the questions,' she tells him. 'I know I failed. I didn't understand a single one.' She goes back to the guy at the desk and tells him the same thing. 'Maybe you did better than you thought,' he says. He clicks away at the computer. A look of grave concern crosses his face. 'Ma'am,' he starts, 'you missed every question. If you didn't understand, why didn't you come ask one of us to help you?' 'Well they were just so confusing.' The guy looks back at his monitor. 'Ma'am, your first question asked you, on a two lane highway, which lane is the considered the 'Passing Lane'. Do you remember?' 'Yes.' 'Answer 'A' was the Left Lane, answer 'B' was the Right Lane, and answer 'C' was Skip. You chose answer 'C'. Why?' 'I was confused.' He clicked something off on his monitor. 'Well then, Ma'am, you shouldn't be driving. I'll need to keep your license. It is currently suspended. You can retest in six months. Take a book and study.' I wanted to stand and clap. Whoop and holler. I don't give a damn if any of you think this is mean, as I think it's absolutely necessary. You might feel bad for her, but at least the roads are safer. She made some remarks about how she had been driving for 60 years and how would she get to Bingo now and what about if she wanted to visit her daughter in Dallastown (exactly one town over). 'My advice, Ma'am? Relish the fact that I'm going wait 20 minutes to suspend this license so you can drive home. Then get a bus pass.' YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now Pa's admission that he speeds doesn't make me so frightened. It probably should, and maybe I'm lying, but I don't think so. Everything else went smoothly, except for the fact that at the hour and fifteen minute mark of waiting for my number to be called...well, remember the chicken sandwich? The refusal to take care of nature's processes? The chicken sandwich was on wheat, and I don't eat a ton of fiber. By the time they called my number, I had to crap so bad that my lip was quivering and I had gone blind in my left eye. I sat down in front of the nice lady, lopsided from the pain, knowing that one sharp sound or one errant elbow from the person next to me and I'd release. Violently. Wait until you see my new Driver's License Picture. Then I really would have been one of the DMV people, fair and square. Final tally: $26 (f*ck me running, you pr*ck b*stards), 2.75 hours, one-half tank of gas, one chicken sandwich, and one distended colon. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 03,February,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --OK, finally saw a clip of Other Jacksons Gone Wild featuring JT. Definitely not an accident. I will say I honestly believe that MTV and CBS didn't know that was going to be part of the act, as Jackson has acknowleged. Yeah, MTV tries to skirt the boundaries, but always on its own network. There's no reason for them to offend the entire Viacom conglomerate during what amounts to a family show. Doesn't make sense. What does make sense is that Janet Jackson is a fading Superstar with a new album coming out and she desperately need the publicity. End of story. Here's something that pissed me off though. I was watching The O'Reilly Factor late last night. I usually disagree with much of what Bill puts out there but I respect the fact that he's well educated and deals in facts-- almost all of the time. Last night, he laid into MTV and Hip-hop in particular, saying that everyone involved in each was a weasel, they contribute nothing positive to the culture, and that he was sure that Viacom was going to go in and clean house and that this would be the end of MTV. On the contrary. His guest, a media expert, pointed out that it's great publicity for MTV. O'Reilly noted that they don't need any publicity, that they are huge on their own and their network of fans would be there without this. What Big Bill refuses to realize is that people who have moved away from MTV or were not yet fans will at least tune in for the next few weeks to gauge MTV's reaction. In that time they'll land even more viewers. Sure, they might get hit with a million dollar fine after the FCC investigation, but in the end everyone is going to come out on top. Except Janet, who might be done. Anyway, I wanted to address O'Reilly, so I sent him this email today. Mind you, anyone who knows me knows I am mostly anti-rap, anti-Hip-Hop. 'While I too thought the Super Bowl Halftime Show was deplorable and ill-conceived, I want to take issue with your assessment of MTV And Hip-Hop as a whole. I personally can't stand 99% of Hip-Hop, but my dislike for it does not incline me to negate it as an art form. Your comments pertaining to the genre seem to stem from prejudice rather than fact, and from referencing isolated incidents rather than a general effect on the culture. I would assert that the children who quote lines from songs and from Hip-Hip slang inappropriately were more products of awful judgment and misguided or ineffectual parenting than a media brainwashing. There are millions who listen to this music and conduct their everyday lives as considerate, respectful citizens. Isn't it possible that you are, like many in your age bracket, simply out of touch with popular culture? Seems to hearken back to all the adults governing your generation who thought that the swaying of Elvis's hips or the guitar work of The Beatles branded Rock and Roll with the Sign of the Devil. Didn't most of the early rockers end up OK? I hardly ever agree with your opinions but I respect you mightily. I think that Hip-Hop often carries incendiary messages, but I also believe it's up to the parents to make their kids understand the difference between good usage and bad, between careful understanding and careless application. It's difficult to hold artists responsible for someone mistaking their intention--entertainment--and labeling the whole of the community as reprehensible because a few listeners happen to be morons.' Maybe I'll make the show. --Did anyone notice that the date today is 02/03/04? Nice. GOOSETOWN CINEMATIQUE Was thinking last night about what snobs media critics are. A person finds their niche, be it music or literature or film, and through learning becomes an expert. However, what happens too often is the critic becoming jaded and taking him or herself too seriously. You see it happen most often with Music and Film critics. You read their reviews in the paper or in a magazine and you can tell that they're giving The All-American Rejects album a negative review because it doesn't stack up to Revolver . It's pathetic, because any idiot can tell that The Rejects aren't trying to measure up to the Beatles--they're just trying to put out a record that sounds good and people enjoy on some level. I made a promise to myself long ago not to become one of these people. I would consider myself a rough expert in film, and as such I would never make a comparison of Dumb and Dumber to Dances With Wolves . It's impossible, but you see people do it all the time. I think critics get into a trap of thinking that every movie has to be another Oscar contender, when half the time the general public doesn't even want to see an Oscar contender. Sometimes, you just want to have fun. Therefore, I am going to break down the four levels of Hollywood: Flicks, Movies, Films, and Cinema. Each has its good, bad and awful, and each holds a cache of favorites to choose from. (EDITOR'S NOTE: The Listed are not intended to be my Top Five Picks in each category, but merely examples. I don't have the time, patience, or sanity to pick a Top Five in each .) FLICKS --Generally end up being in the comedy or horror genre, with a few exceptions. Production values are not usually held in the highest regard, but you can often end up with some great individual performances or something that's so dumb you have to laugh at it. 1) License to Drive --I have referenced this before. No one will mistake it for a great film, but it's a riot. Nothing special but enough Umph to make you giddy. 2) Saving Silverman --Gets funnier every time I watch it. Absolutely dumb as hell but hysterical. 3) A Nightmare on Elm Street --Interchangeable with the Friday the 13th Series or the Halloween Series. Slasher flicks almost always lack good narrative qualities but you always come out having a good time. If gore and screaming are your thing. 4) The Goonies --See #1. 5) Office Space --Most of us have the DVD, but don't you end up watching it every f*cking time it's on TV? And did anyone see it in the theater? The trailer made it look horrible! It's an all-time favorite. MOVIES --Like Flicks, but bigger. More attention to production value as the Action genre takes hold or a comedy with a tighter story and writing. Hard to find a decent drama in this category, still. 1) Top Gun --Come on, you f*cking know you love it. The one-liners are irreplaceable and the combat scenes are great. 2) Dumb and Dumber --Because the writing is so damn good and because Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels are perfect. Mark my words: good comedy is much tougher to pull off than good drama. 3) When Harry Met Sally --Romantic Comedies are the lowest form of entertainment on the planet, bar none. But this one will be the only to grace the list because of the great writing and performances. I will give an honorable mention to Serendipity . 4) Die Hard --Movies like this, Bad Boys , The Rock , etc. These types of action movies are casually referred to as 'Popcorn Flicks', which just f*cking means 'Fun Movies'. 5) Finding Forrester --A drama with just the right touch of humor. Just not enough mojo to carry it over. FILMS --Increased production values and careful attention to casting, direction, and cinematography. More drama than comedy. Many are adaptations of popular novels. This is where most Independent Films start to creep in, as typical Hollywood studios are reluctant to produce films out of their two prior comfort zones. 1) Gladiator --I believe that the death sequence at the end of this movie is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Basically interchangeable with Braveheart in theme and scope. 2) The Sixth Sense --Brilliant writing, acting, and execution. Treads ground that few in the Horror genre have dared. 3) Lawrence of Arabia --Set the standard by which all current Epics are based. 4) Toy Story --Earns a place up here because the attention to detail is so great and the depth of meaning is even greater. Transcends age barriers as the humor, which has one meaning to the children in the audience, has separate meaning to the adults. 5) Chinatown --Probably the best screenplay of all time and technically perfect. CINEMA--Here's where we get into more foreign films and avant-garde independents. Often an experimental piece that clicks with an audience. Very fine line between brilliance and muddled idiocy. 1) The Wild Strawberries --Ingmar Bergman's masterpiece. If you get someone to help you decipher the symbolism its impact is profound. However, finding Osama's cave is probably easier than finding that person. 2) 8 1/2 --Fellini's masterpiece. F*cking weird, but again, if you can get a handle on the symbolism it's engrossing. Even if you can't, the photography is incredible. 3) Requiem For a Dream --The subject matter is horrifying and some of the visuals are pretty rough on the tummy, but I think this is an important and often overlooked film. 4) The Shawshank Redemption --Alright, I admit, it's probably more of a 'Film', but goddamnit, it's my favorite and I think it's perfect. 5) The Graduate --Took chances that other films of its era didn't even think about. Still simple enough in all the right places to resonate with just about anyone. Remember, you don't have to be a critical to be a critic. When you see a movie the only important thing is 'Was I entertained?' If you weren't, the assessment ends there. If you were, go and compare henceforth and irregardless (you're welcome, T. Rich). No reason to be a brooding, bitter assh*le. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 02,February,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Of course, of course, of COURSE, the only time in my life that I've skipped the SuperBowl Hafltime Show, something historical happens. We change the channel to Queer Eye For the Straight Guy , which of COURSE was a f*cking repeat that I've already seen but I watched again, and I miss Janet Jackson's Fabulous Breast in all its glory. In case you don't know what happened, Janet Jackson performed with Justin Timberlake during the MTV Halftime Show on CBS last night. At the end of their little performance, JT (as I like to call him) ripped off the breastal section of Janet's costume, exposing her right mammary gland for the world to see. Full out. No joke. The only thing between America and gratuitous nudity was some kind of gothic, sun-shaped nipple ring/clamp that looked not unlike the main weapon used in the 80's Fantasy Classic urlLink Krull . Anyway, enough of me talking about it, if you missed it or you just want to see Janet in the near-altogether, here's a link (Kudos to Ben Foltz for providing so quickly): urlLink Janet's Titty The best part of the whole deal? CBS and the FCC are fuming. CBS is saying it was an accident, but the FCC called the display 'a classless, crass and deplorable stunt'. JT's excuse? Swear to God--he called it a 'wardrobe malfunction'. I love America. --You can't be upset that the Panthers won, but I was pulling for the underdogs. What the f*ck happened to the Defense of both teams? Carolina's vaunted secondary was abysmal. You gotta feel good for Tom Brady though. He just seems like a nice guy. --Even though they lost, I still would have given the MVP to Jake Delhomme, especially after the first half he had. He was all guts and getting pressured every single down. And he didn't throw an interception, which is uncharacteristic of Cajun Jake, who apparently stopped turning the ball over incessantly only after our Fantasy Football Season ended and he was no longer a disease to my squadron. Thanks Jake. B*stard. --If you are an NFL team without a real top-shelf RB (Lions, Cardinals, Patriots, Browns, Steelers, Redskins, etc.) you had better do every damn thing you can in this off-season to make a play at DeShaun Foster. I'll be back with more later, just wanted to make sure you got the link to Janet. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 31,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink This may be the last thing that I write for long Can you hear me smiling as I Sing this song, For you? So a few things happened this week. Monday morning I decided I had had enough of lawn care and shed my job like a virulent Kordell Stewart jersey. I decided on this course of action while, in fact, on the way to work. So yes, you're assuming correctly--I had no real money, no plan, and no other job prospects. No, wait. I DID have another job prospect. Just 3,000 miles away in LA. Out of the question. Mom is sick. I feel brothers are in need of guidance. Other brother coming home in May. Family reunion in June. Can't go nowhere. Until June! I have told myself that I've been waiting to move to LA because I needed to save money in case something happened and I was without a job. Then a few thoughts occurred to me out of the blue. One, I'm waiting to move because I'm saving money to go out and take a job that will make me more money (mull that one over for a second). Two, because of One, I'm a huge embarrassing p*ssy. With those realizations in hand, I quickly extrapolated a brilliant plan from my inner gray matter...work two part-time jobs until June, give the Big F*ck-All to saving anything, and go out and take your job. I call my LA Guru. Come in June, job waiting. Done Deal. I quit work. OK, so I quit work before I set any of the previously mentioned into motion...minor detail. I'm excited. Long story short: stuff happens, plans change, and I'm moving to LA this Saturday. For good. No I will not explain. Just trust me. The main point is this: as stated, I've been a huge d*uching b*tch about this relocation thing. I've been making a lot of excuses--some valid, some not, but all excuses--for not leaving for a good year or so now. This is the best way for it to go down--I pack the hell up and leave. Done. No time to think. I feel good. I'm nervous. I'm anxious. I'm excited. Mostly, though, I'm so scared out of my ever-loving skull that one wispy, errant Spring breeze might cause me to fill my drawers. But Holy Weeping Jesus on the Cross, I'm finally taking control of my life. Remember the post I wrote a while back where I was feeling all sorry for myself and whining about the Captain's Chair and boo hoo all over it? Yeah, so now I'm actually doing something. I'm not even on the plane yet and already I can feel myself stepping off the curb and into the parade...instead of just watching idly as it passes by me. And I know I'm lucky. It almost passed completely. I want to write about the cash Friday I just had in NJ with my college buddies which, incidentally, featured a good portion of the night where we punched through all the walls in Keith's attic ('No, it's cool, really, we can beat the sh*t out of 'em.'). I want to write my damn Yankees article. I NEED to write about Real World San Diego and The Inferno . But for a little while, a few weeks at least, I'm going to hang up the Blogging and get my ass to work. I always thought people were stupid when they said that sh*t about getting what you always wanted and it being the most scariest thing ever. But those people are right. It's absolutely terrifying. In a good way. I want to thank a few people who have helped me out over the past few days. Some of them will see this, some of them won't, but it doesn't matter, because the 'Thank You' is 100% heartfelt and 200% deserved: Tim, Eric, Hannah, T. Richardson Brown, Banker, Jen, Cousin Carrie, and most of all, God most of all, Mom and Dad. They've helped me be able to say something I was never quite sure I was going to be able to say... I've got to pack now. Aye, for a ship is safe in the harbor. But that is not what ships are made for. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 19,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink If you somehow come across this in your internet travels and are a friend of mine and read this junk I put up here somewhat regularly, I can't get into my IM and my world is crashing down around me. Help. OK, let me ramble: --Why do they not make orange yogurt? Why is it constantly displaced on store shelves by Peach? And for that matter, why is there no peach juice? Something f*cking serious is going on here. --Now that I work in lawn care I see a lot of interesting things. One of the best was last week. A woman had a stone goose in her front yard about the size of my urlLink Stanley . The goose was adorned in a St. Patty's Day outfit, Leprechaun-style, complete with pointy buckle-shoes, pointy hat, and yes, red beard. Possibly the Greatest Thing I Have Ever Seen. I need to get Stanley one of these. Does anyone know where I might find one? --You know you're coming out of your sexual prime when you think more about March Madness and who will be on Conan O'Brien more than you think about getting laid. To be honest, I've often looked forward to this day. Can you imagine how much less stress you would feel with no sex drive? Can I just have it removed entirely? I'll pay good money. I don't even care anymore. --I'm still working up the energy to write and defend my Why the Yankees Have Ruined Baseball essay. --On that note, I'm tired of skirting around this fact, I don't care anymore, but aside from a few people I hate pretty much everyone from the following areas: North Jersey, New York City, Connecticut, Long Island. Is there anything worse than a North Jersey girl, with the accent and all the makeup and whatnot? I mean I know there are exceptions, but come on. --I need a shower. Or I could just not shower and move to North Jersey. God, I'm on a roll tonight. --Mark April 24th on your calendar: this is the day the Cleveland Browns draft WR Mike Williams and I shove a spoon into my eye. THE CHRONICLES OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE SANCHEZ MAXTON (HE'S VERY EXCITING) Chapter I, Epic III - How to Further Strip a Deformed Girl of Her Dignity It has become apparent to me that 92.37% of all the good things that have happened to me in my life happened at my lunch table in high school. This story (and the one to follow sometime in the near future) is no exception. Sitting at the edge of our lunch table was none other than the venerable Matt Klein, who was huge and had red hair. Thus, we called him the Big Red Ox. It was appropriate. A man of shallow thought and a dwindling number of brain cells, he spoke little but when he did what came out was usually important. During one sunny day of Junior Year, two girls got in a fight at the front of the lunchroom. There was some slapping and some pulling of the hair, and though the entire lunchroom got into the ruckus, it was pretty short-lived. Both were summarily escorted to the Principal's Office (TM). One of the combatants, Jess Jesserson (I'm going to run out of these adorable and clever aliases soon), was well known around school due a birth defect. She had since her inception had a bright red birthmark, not unlike a port-wine stain, that encompassed her entire right hand, forearm, and elbow. It looked like she had just dipped the appendage in grape juice. It wasn't disgusting or socially invasive (she was rather attractive otherwise and, as I'm told, did well with the men-folk in a romantic regard), but it was highly noticeable. Jess, apparently free of the repressive Principal's Office Environment (TM), came back into the lunchroom towards the end of the period. Possibly the biggest mistake she ever was to walk by our table and, consequently, by a scheming Big Red Ox. I leave you with the conversation that transpired, and good you bid day: OX: Hey Jess, come here a sec. JESS: Yeah? OX: So, you got in a fight with Tammy Tammerson, huh? What was that all about? JESS: She had been talking sh*t about me or whatever, but whatever, it's no big deal. OX: Oh, OK. Did you get sent to the principal's office? JESS: Yeah. OX: Wow. Guess you could say you got caught... red handed , then. (EDITOR'S NOTE: It was all in the timing and the absolutely pompous way he said it. I recall us all being to afraid to laugh until she walked away. Jesus Christ, where have those days gone ?) |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 09,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Posting this real quick because it made me laugh: urlLink Biblical Laws Religion is such a sham. Allow me to take a moment specifically to link urlLink Snopes . This is one of my All-Time Favorite websites. The people who run it have spent their time researching and investigating just about every Urban Legend and Pop-Culture Rumor you've ever heard and most of the ones you haven't. All Legends are backed with some kind of documentation. You can dig up a lot of really fascinating stuff here. I personally always thought that the 'The Average American Swallows Seven Spiders a Year Whilst Sleeping' Legend had to be true, but alas, it doesn't seem to be. Great stuff like that. Total time waster. Good for us then. OK bye. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 08,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Today (late last night actually) The Cleveland Browns signed free agent Jeff Garcia, formerly of the San Francisco 49ers, to a four year, $25 million contract. The Browns have scheduled a news conference for...well, now. That is, 5:00PM EST to introduce. Allow me a moment to thank the powers of the universe that influenced the Browns to make their first intelligent offseason move since their re-inception in 1999. I'm doing my best to sound official, but really, I can't wipe the PermaGrin off my face. We finally have a legit signal-caller, and I don't care if he's an old, goofy, effeminate redhead. I don't care if he f*cked me over for two consecutive Fantasy Football seasons. Allow me a moment to offer a stoic bit advice to the Browns' Front Office and Head Coach Butch Davis: keep the new guy safe, for Christ's sake. Either address the woeful offensive line via free agency or in the Draft. We don't need any more WR's. Or CB's. Ross Verba is coming back. Just get some big motherf*ckers and put them in front of Mr. Garcia. Please. Allow me a moment to address Tim Couch. Timmy, I have been a big supporter of you since day one. I was disgusted with the way Palmer put you out to pasture your rookie season behind a Kleenex-thin O-Line. I was disgusted when they booed you as you walked off the field with a concussion. May you find new life in Dallas when the Browns trade you there on Draft Day. You are a good QB and a good person. Godspeed. (EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm crying. OK, not really, but I think that would be very appropriate and dramatic .) Thus, I restructure my 2004 Cleveland First Round Pick Wish List (TM) as such: 1. Sean Taylor, S, Miami 2. Robert Gallery, OT, Iowa 3. Shawn Andrews, OT, Arkansas 4. Kellen Winslow, TE, Miami 5. Tommie Harris, DT, Oklahoma But soft, yet, for I can already predict what's going to happen. See, the Brownies have this propensity to draft WR's. Even when they're not needed. But I can already see the disease creeping into Butch's head... 'Well, we did lose (underachiever and no better than 2nd WR) Kevin Johnson. And we just signed a new Pro Bowl QB. Hmmm....let's grab ourselves a receiver with the Seventh Pick!' And there you have it...mark my words, if he's still there (and he probably will be) the Browns will draft USC WR Mike Williams with Pick #7. It's not that Williams is a bad prospect--he's not at all--it's just that they need so much help elsewhere. I am confident going into the season with Quincy Morgan, Andre Davis, and a hopefully re-signed Dennis Northcutt. They did just fine last year. Also, some teams are concerned about Wisconsin WR Lee Evans, who blew out his knee before the beginning of last season. He should be there for Cleveland's pick in Round Two. Grab him instead. He would have been a Top Ten pick if not for the injury, and teams are scared, but Jesus, the guy just ran a sub-4.4 40 at the Combine. Think he's OK? Anyway, good day today. I have something I really want to being to everyone's attention that I will write about tomorrow. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 08,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Got to talking to a co-worker today about a buddy of mine who is in the Army and currently stationed in Iraq. I have mentioned this fine young lad before, and his name is Matt Sanders, known to those of us who love him as Sanders, Sanchez, The Right Honorable Sanchez Maxton (he's very exciting), or the preferable, simple, Chez. Chez is a man of much laughter. Infectious laughter. Rollicking if you get him going. It's a sight to see. Watch the women and children if you get him near a movie with any kind of anal expulsion comedy, as there is every chance he will one day explode. In any event, whenever we get together here in good 'ol PA--times that are, quite sadly, fewer and further between these days--we rehash every sweet story from high school. They get Chez rolling. You know it's a good night when all the drunk people at the bar are staring at the four or five idiots (usually consisting of myself; Chez; T. Richardson Brown, Banker; Patty; and Princeton Andy) mucking up epics such as The Perfect College Bowl System, The Pat Gahr Special, The Time Geoff Nearly Got An Ass-Whipping From the Entire Steel-High Starting Five With Support by the Bench as His Friends Left Him for Dead, and countless others. Most of them would be funny to only the few of us. Most of them. Really, all but two. In honor of my conversation about my good friend today, I will present the following two stories. One directly involves Chez; the other is simply his favorite Cedar Cliff Flashback of All Time. He told me over Christmas break that he would be out in the field, doing some kind of military exercise with other Armyans, and think about this story, which sent him into fits of laughter that he could not accurately explain to his unenlightened companions. This brought about much joy. To go a bit further, any sweet story I relay to you all will now be filed under a new GooseTown Subsection... THE CHRONICLES OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE SANCHEZ MAXTON (HE'S VERY EXCITING) Chapter One, Epic I - We Can Only Hope the Desk Calendar Survived Senior Year, circa 1997. Chez is halfway, kinda-sorta dating one of our girl friends. She is a bit standoffish. He takes her to Homecoming; she summarily dismisses any attention he gives her both at the dance and at the after-party, at the house of a girl named Beth Betherson* (EDITOR'S NOTE: The names are changed not because I care but because I do not want to get sued. Even though that would be wicked sweet .) Chez is honestly the nicest kid in the entire world, and it would take a hell of a lot for him to ditch anyone, let alone a girl he took to Homecoming. But there's beer, she's pissing him off, and he does so. Long story short, the kid ends up not only banging the hell out of the hottest girl at the Cliff, Stephanie Stepherson, but doing it in Mr. Betherson's office. I do not find this out until someone brings it up by accident that Monday at our lunch table. I proceed to stand, clap, then sit and bang my fists on the lunch table chanting, 'SANDERS! SANDERS!' until Tony Carozza (Sean Connery V.2) asks me what the hell is going on. Fast forward to the break immediately following Homeroom that Friday. There is a fall sports Pep Rally that afternoon. The aforementioned T. Richardson Brown, Banker is Student Council President and therefore must introduce each and every member of each Fall Sports Team at said event. He has to throw in some nicknames. Chez is on the soccer team. Stephanie is on the field hockey team. They'll be on the floor at the same time. The whole school knows what had transpired. Naturally, this is a f*cking Potential Kodak Moment if there ever was one. It was right in front of us, and we just called it out; it was on the tip of everyone's tongue--we just gave it a name. Betwixt T. Rich and myself, we decided he would introduce Chez as ' Matt 'I Do My Best Work in the Office' Sanders'. F*cking brilliant, right? God I love this story. Fast forward to lunch. Banker approaches me in a panic. 'It's a no go on the Sanders thing,' he tells me. The faculty liaison to Student Council (her name slips my mind at the moment) nabbed him in the hall and told him the reference to Chez was inappropriate and was not to be used, lest he risk disciplinary action. One thought crosses our minds--how in glorious f*ck could the FACULTY have found out about this? There was no reasonable connection. Befuddling. Pure insanity. They know. Trevor spends the rest of the day up until the Pep Rally sweating the decision as whether or not to use the verbage we so creatively...eh, created. Pep Rally. Packed gymnasium. This was back when people cared about our Cedar Cliff and the sports teams were excelling. Trevor is doing his introductions. The announcement of Stephanie brings a few cat calls but nothing serious. Then we move to the Boy's Soccer Team. The tension is mounting...especially in my stomach. If banker has the balls, this is one for the books. Publicly defiling an otherwise innocent girl and sending a big F*ck You to The Man. He's calling them off...I can barely contain myself...we're three away from Chez...blind people with Parkinson's have had better luck trying to build a house of cards in a wind tunnel than I am having holding in my excitement...Chez is up...he begins to walk on the floor...Banker starts, 'Next, eh, we have...uhhhhhhhhhh...'...this is it, g*ddamnit, I can feel it...'Matt......' I'm coherent only of the fact that I'm standing and applauding before Banker spits out the fastest sentence in the History of American English: '...IDoMyBestWorkintheOfficeSANDERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' Absolute. F*cking. Mayhem. Everyone goes NUTS. I mean crazy. Standing, cheering, whistling. To that point, it's the best moment of my life, and I'm not even the one that got laid. The faculty are in disbelief. Banker looks like he has been arrested for anally raping a midget in the middle of Toys 'R Us. Pure Glory. I wish you could see the smile on my face--then and now. Stephanie is taking it quite well, not hiding behind her hands or running off the floor. Remember the goosebumps you got at the end of The Shawshank Rdemption ? Multiply it by a hundred. And Chez lives on as immortal to this day. Chapter One, Epic II - Did He Really Think Accosting the Lunch Lady Would Solve the Problem? I moved to Cedar Cliff when I was 15, in tenth grade, and knew only four people. They were all two years older than me, and one had been a family friend since the day I was born. Luckily, I had his lunch, and was able to position myself in a seat at one of the Senior Tables that year. The players: myself, Spencer Haller, Steve Clark, family friend Donald T. Gray Jr., Mike Brennan, and perhaps someone else. We had these Friendly's Ice Cream Cups in the lunch line. They were damn good, as anyone who has enjoyed Friendly's Ice Cream might imagine them to be. There was one fatal flaw to them, however: the cream in the cup was fabulous, but it was covered in a hard disc of chocolate and whatever candy was the marquee in the dessert (usually M&M's, not that it matters). Most people just cut around the disc and went right for the ice cream; the chocolate was like cement and far too hard to eat, let alone work into the main attraction. You would find them all over the halls after each lunch period. Kids actually assaulted their friends with these sugary weapons. Poor John Rodnick was once sent to the hospital and received four stitches after an errant Flying Chocostar hit his temple. It was terrible. OK, I made that last part up. I digress. There was one day a month when the school served Sweet Potatoes at lunch. Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you any more than I read Chinese. It made no sense then and it makes less now. No one ate them. They were a horrible orange color that always reminded me of cat vomit. This particular day, Mr. Clark decided to get a cup of Friendly's. He removed the cap of Petrified M&M Conglomeration from the top, ate his ice cream, and sat contently. In what would become an iconic moment in my life, he lazily set the chocolate disc back in place in the top portion of the now-empty cup. It fit in, snug as ever, and gave the appearance that it had never been touched, ice cream still waiting beneath. I think my eyes may have lit up first, but Spencer was the one who spoke: 'Steve, give me your tray.' Steve slid it over, and the magic began to unfold. Spencer packed as many Sweet Potatoes into the cup as he could, mashing them further down with a spoon. He then placed the disc back on top. Like a f*cking glove. You couldn't tell it had been touched. We all stared, dumbfounded--how could anyone have ignored the potential for so long? After a few minutes of debate involving flawless execution of Parliamentary Procedure, it was decided that Steve would place the Friendly's cup back in the freezer in the lunch line. He stood, looked around casually, and walked to the front of the cafeteria. Had anyone been watching the front of the large room it would have been over. But everyone one served, there was no reason to look that way, and no one was paying Steve any attention. He calmly slipped into the door to the nook where the freezers were, took another quick look around, and placed The Cup (as it has become known) back inside. When he got back to the table we exchanged a few high fives. We figured that we'd hear a story from either Third Lunch that day or First Lunch the following about someone getting duped. If we could have only known how perfectly our plan would unfold. Minutes later, a kid everyone affectionately called 'Dirt' walked up to the Lunch Line. He emerged from the serving nook with a cup of Friendly's Ice Cream. Steve was first to notice. 'Holy sh*t. Holy sh*t. Dirt's got The Cup.' We swerved to look. Steve had placed a small dent in the side of the cup, just in case. What a brilliant Just In Case it turned out to be. Dirt had the dented cup. The Cup. And he was paying for it. The poor Lunch Lady had no idea what was about to unfold. We were silent with anticipation. A strange smile had burned itself on my face. Spencer broke the void with careful advice: 'Jesus Christ, don't let him see you looking at him.' Dirt took The Cup back to his table. As luck would have it, my view of Dirt, at his table, was wholly unobstructed. Donnie, Brennan and I could all see what was happening, and Steve and Spencer had to rely on our play-by-play. Here is what I remember clearly: the whole scene played out like the most well-scripted scene ever in a movie. Dirt sat with The Cup, talking and laughing with his friends, paying no attention to The Cup as he opened it, exposing the replaced Chocolate Disc. Steve and Spencer were begging for action ('He's...yeah, he's got it open...I can't...I can't believe it, he hasn't noticed...he's not even looking...Oh God, OH GOD!'). Steve couldn't take it and turned, looking directly at the table. Spencer was half a second behind him. We watched as Dirt, distracted by the friendly (no pun intended) banter of his lunch table, drove his oversized spoon into the chocolate disc (apparently, and good for us, he was not wise to the ways of its popular extraction) and it emerged with a speck of brown and a massive underbelly of sweet, sweet orange Sweet Potato. I think I began to weep softly as he placed the massive bite into his mouth, chewing down once, twice, thir... MASSIVE projectile expectoration. A very tiny yet angry Dirt jumped to his feet. 'What the F*CK IS THIS?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!' We watched in simultaneous shock and rapture as Dirt hightailed it for the inevitable scapegoat, the lunch lady. He let off with a string of obscenities that has yet to be matched by any Sailor of the High Seas. Faculty Lunch Chaperones had to restrain him, calm him down. I can recall only two things: 1. I laughed so hard I nearly blew a hole in my large intestine, and I'm not kidding. 2. I never got the hell out of a lunchroom faster. Stuff of legend. How could it have worked so splendidly, without a single hitch? To this day I can't answer that, I can only be glad I was there. Hope you enjoyed. There will be future yarns, and hopefully son I'll have the chance to run them by Chez during an Editorial Meeting in the Greater Harrisburg area. Come home safe, friend. Godspeed. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 07,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --I would like to take a moment to officially link urlLink Jessica Asche, Will You Marry Me? , a Blog I found by complete accident. urlLink Blogger every minute generates a list on its homepage of Blogs from all over the world that have been posted in that 60-second period. I not-purposely clicked on the above-mentioned this afternoon and was pleasantly surprised. All other writers are good people as far as I'm concerned. If you feel like you don't understand writers in the least, click on the link of the left side of his page under 'FAQ' that says, 'Who is Jessica Asche?'. Perfect explanation of the Scribe Soul. Actually you'll probably understand writers less. Or more. I don't know. It makes absolute sense to me. --In my personal writing news, I'm am deadlocked with my brain on page 64 of my current attempt at a screenplay, thus giving us a total of one finished (and still horrible) feature-length script, several finished short scripts (film and play), and six screenplays at differing levels of completion. My latest Cranial Recommendation (TM) says that I should bag the script I'm writing and focus on the notes I have for the script about The Mailey Family, my mother's side. Write What You Know (TM), right? I've got a story all lined up. Now if I could just find a free week to put all of my notes together and write a first draft... Sign #3,478 That God Is Plotting Against Me and Laughing With Every Consecutive Success I've been pretty good at avoiding female problems for the last 8-12 months. Well...no, that's not accurate. But I've been good at avoiding almost all of them. What I had been entirely successful at was avoiding getting interested in someone beyond a short-lived sexual encounter. It makes sense--I hope to move sometime soon, I work all the time, I have no money (nice dichotomy there, no?), the blessings of not being in a relationship seem to vastly outweigh the benefits of being in one, and, oh yeah, females are Vitality Vacuums (TM). (EDITORS NOTE: I like that. From here on out I shall replace any mention of the generic 'Females' with 'Vitality Vacuums (TM)'. You see the trademark there. Don't try to steal it. I'm watching you, motherf*ckers .) So what happens? Of course! At the apex of my work-hour calendar and the deepest valley of my financial forecast, I meet someone who bucks all the V.V. characteristics I have come to abhor. But wait, there's more. Not only is the chemistry very well on, the young lady very attractive and quite my type, and the community of friends common, but it's the near-uncalled for Worst Possible Timing in the History of the World from about seven different perspectives. I mean it's uncanny. Am I not part Irish? Am I not supposed to have some kind of Ancient Gaelic luck on my side? What the hell happened here? And what does the situation make for? What's our favorite word here at GooseTown? You guessed it... A-W-K-W-A-R-D. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not so much in the minute-to-minute operations of hanging out and whatnot, but there have been several parting moments that would have made Kevin Arnold look like Rudolph Valentino. You know what I'm talking about: you both know that you should be throwing clothes on the floor, but there is this dumb cloud hanging around your head, so you know neither of you can make a move, so you have to play it off, and you can't hug (potentially too intimate), you can't shake hands (too gubenatorial), so you just avoid eye contact by scratching your head and rubbing your eyes until someone gets the hell out of the car. Aggravating. Even more so because neither is attached, no one is dying, no one is promised to an arranged marriage, but you have to sit around and wait for some kind of Human Respect Contract to pass its statute of limitations. God it's annoying. Of course, if history had progressed as it should, I'd be in LA now doing coke off a stripper's titty, so it's not like I should have expected different. I'm going to go ram my head into a tree now. --The Browns are currently courting Jeff Garcia and had Drew Henson in for a workout this week. If we can land one of those two (preferably Garcia for the time being), I will be a happy, happy man. In any event, the Browns have Pick Seven in the 2004 NFL Draft, and since I know they'll just find a way to f*ck it up and draft some kind of unnecessary Cornerback or Wide Receiver, here are my Pointless Draft Hopes, in order of whom I'd like most: 1. Sean Taylor, S, Miami 2. Robert Gallery, OT, Iowa 3. Shawn Andrews, OT, Arkansas 4. Ben Roethlisberger, QB, Miami (OH) (Total pipe dream, he'll be way gone) 5. Kellen Winslow, TE, Miami As per our current QB situation, well...I like Tim Couch. I've always been a Tim Couch supporter. I feel bad that he has to go. It's not his fault. Chris Palmer and the Old Cleveland regime ruined him, sticking him for 3+ years behind a sh*tty line with no decent RB and no go-to receiver. They put all the pressure squarely on him and then allowed his confidence to shatter. From what I'm hearing they have a trade in the works that would send Timmy to the Cowboys for draft picks. I hope it works out that way, Parcells helps him revitalize his psyche and career, and Cleveland brings in a Pro-Bowler to help get the boys back to the playoffs. All for now. Check back midweek. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 03,March,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink But a few random things first.... --Just helped some buddies shoot a movie. The short film was called Morning Sickness . Check out all relative information at urlLink Ice Nine Productions . I played a homicidal maniac and got to kick the sh*t out of someone. I'm not kidding. The shoot was great, Drew and Tim are cinematic geniuses, and hopefully they'll let me into this summer's Feature Length Film 13 Inches . And yes, it does refer to that . And no, it's not about me. Go to the site and read about it. There might even be a picture of my sorry ass up there soon. I want to talk more about it but I'll have to devote an entire thing and it's just best if you check out the f*cking website, for Christ's sake. -- American Idol is a joke this year. Thirty thousand people audition and they can't find 10 who are dynamite singers? There are about two that have the talent of the people from the first two years and no one even approaching a Kelly Clarkson, from whom, by the way, I am still awaiting a phone call. OSCARS 2004 Since I forgot to post my Predictions for this year, I'll just have to be honest and put who I thought would win in parentheses next to who actually did in all the major categories. I would have been dead, stupid wrong on at least two for reasons that should have been clear to me. Here we go: Best Supporting Actor: Tim Robbins (Benicio Del Toro)--Benicio is well-loved in Hollywood because he's picked absolutely all the right roles in the last few years, which should help forgive the transgression of Excess Baggage . Anyway, you figure the guy is due. I just thought he would have been stronger than Tim Robbins. But Timmy pulled it out. I'd like to say thank you to Mr. Robbins for not getting all political in the speech, and in fact saying something rather poignantly benign, if there is such a thing. And I have to mention this: when did Susan Sarandon get hot again? She had like a ten year period where she looked like my grandmother. Now she's back. Good for Timmy. Best Supporting Actress: Renee Zellweger (Renee Zellweger): I've said it before and I'll say it again--Renee looks incredible with that little extra bit of weight on. When she goes Ethernopian it ruins everything. Now if we could just her to open her f*cking eyes, we would really have something here. And she's banging the dude from the White Stripes, which once again proves my theory that I need a band. Best Song: Into the West ( A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow ): OK, this was the first year that I thought all of the songs were tremendous. Just fantastic, all of them. But the song that one was by far the worst of the bunch, and I'm saying even though I hated the way that chick spilled out a ramshackled Version of the song from The Triplets of Bellville . But the two songs from Cold Mountain were astoundingly good. Best Screenplay (Original): Lost In Translation ( Finding Nemo ): Here's where The Academy blindsided me with something I should have seen coming all along. If the final Lord of the Rings had not been in this year's category, Lost in Translation would have won for at LEAST Best Director and probably Best Picture. Clearly LOTR deserved every award it got and then some--that I'm not disputing. But here's a stupid thing The Academy does: since they can't give Sophia Coppola either of those two awards, they get her in on the only other thing she was up for so as not to stiff the Indie Favorite. Usually that's OK, but my God, the script for LIT wasn't even a factor! The script was bearable at best but was made so great because of performances. So this one pissed me off as it robbed a really great script of a well-deserved award. Best Screenplay (Adapted): Lord of the Rings ( Lord of the Rings ): Duh. Though if you haven't seen American Splendor , do it NOW. Best Director: Peter Jackson (Peter Jackson): Double duh. Was there any question with anyone, seriously? I will say this, however: clearly, they were waiting until the last one came out to award this, and that's OK. But it wasn't ALL the director. Doesn't anyone find it interesting that not a single actor in ANY of the three films got a nomination? Not Elijah Wood, not Ian McKellan, not Vigo Mortenson. No one. Best Actress: Charlize Theron (Charlize Theron): This one was out the door months ago. A done deal since Monster was released. I bet Stephen Jenkins is looking at Michelle Branch right now and rethinking his choices in life. Best Actor: Sean Penn (Bill Murray): Remember the whole thing with Sophia Coppola and the Screenplay? Well, this is one I figured on happening and it didn't. Alright, Sean Penn is f*cking great. We can all admit that. Insanely underrated actor by the public at large. Should have won last year for I am Sam . Maybe he threw down a better performance. But I don't think so. And for f*ck's sake, why the hell wouldn't you give it to Bill? Sean Penn is going to continue to command demanding and dramatic roles and be up for Oscars again. This will be the only chance Bill ever gets to win one. He's got an incredible body of work the whole way from Saturday Night Live up to Lost in Translation , in which he was absolutely and totally brilliant. I suppose I'm happy for Sean Penn, but I am literally heartbroken for Bill Murray, who really wanted the award. Sean Penn doesn't even show up for the Oscars 99% of the time. This has me really pissed. Give the guy the credit he has deserved for years. God I'm mad. Best Film: Lord of the Rings : I mean, c'mon, duh. So there you have it. In conclusion, my Top Five Hottest Women of the Night: 5. Nicole Kidman--Too tall for me but she always looks perfect. 4. Renee Zellweger--See above comments. 3. Angelina Jolie--Dear Sweet Christ in Heaven, help me. She seems to be getting back to normal after the whole Billy Bob thing, and it's always nice to see her dress classy. 2. Diane Lane--Oh Heaven Help Me. How can you be that hot at age 40? I don't understand. More importantly, why in the Name of Joseph is she marrying Josh Brolin? Why? This once again proves that I need a...wait, no. This one just proves that the world is not fair. 1. Catherine Zeta Jones--F*ck me running, every time I see her she is somehow more gorgeous. I honestly think I might urinate in my panteloons were I to ever get within five feet of her. G*ddamn. And for the 4,792, 991st time, Go Straight to Hell Michael Douglas. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 18,April,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink So I'm slow at updating. I don't care about your crap. --I think I need to devote an entire session to it's sheer virtuosity, but I do want to briefly mention Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind . Hands down one of the best movies I've ever seen in my entire life. There is something large to be said about someone (in this case, the genius that is Charlie Kauffman) who can create a 'love story' that isn't like any other love story that exists out there. That's hard. The point is this: coming from a guy (in this case, the genius that is me) who is not cynical or bitter but certainly possesses a less-than-amused outlook on 'dating', it made me wish I were in love. I highly suggest a viewing. 'Women don't run everything yet because women hate women.'--Chris Rock --Also went to see The Girl Next Door . First of all, the previews made it look like some kind of half-sappy romantic comedy girly movie. It's far more like American Pie , and I mean that in the best possible way. Hilarious. Go see it. Second of all, is there anyone in the history of film who made more of an Aesthetic Leap (TM) in a shorter amount of time than Elisha Cuthbert? Anyone ? Good God Damn is this girl amazing. I never watched 24 , but she was a cute kid in Old School and now she's sneaking her way onto my damn Hump Island List. I mean...wow. Third, it costs $12--TWELVE F*CKING DOLLARS--to see a movie here. I'll let it go as just that so as not to ignite a profanity-laced tirade that will hang over the L.A. skies thicker than the smog. Twelve f*cking dollars. 'I laugh when I hear about people getting killed by bees. If you're walking through the woods and you hear a bush buzzing, just f*cking walk away from it. Bees aren't scary. Flying horses, that's scary, they can fly by and jack you and kick you. Bees aren't scary. I'll punch every bee in the face. F*ck bees.'--Dane Cook. RANDOM HOLLYWOOD CLUB STORY NUMBER ONE Last night I and the other two legs of The Tripod, my buddies Nathan and Josh, go to Club Ivar, which is right off The Strip in Hollywood. Damn cool place. Not really my typical style, but I got drunk enough that I danced. Twenty dollar cover charge, and, I mean...Jesus Christ, are you serious? Six dollars per Amstel Light. Whatever. Anyway... More beautiful people than you could possibly imagine and, basically, my heaven, as there are like 4,000 little Asian girls running around the place. Insanity. I was dropping the Waistband Tuck (TM) every five minutes. Nathan gets hit on all night. He's tall and a good looking kid and he's also a trained dancer. Which I make fun of him for. A lot. But it gets chicks. Of course, they think he's gay at first, but them's the breaks when you can dance. Don't get me started. So at one point in the night, this girl sidles up to him at the bar. Serious McTrotty. Brown hair, tan, yes. I walk up to find him making conversation. Now apparently in the time before I arrived it became known that she was there by herself. Oh, one last thing: the girl is wearing a shirt that says simple 'COCAINE HIGH'. Here we go: NATHAN: 'Geoff this is (some name I didn't care to remember).' GIRL: 'Hi.' ME: 'Hey, I'm Geoff.' (hands are shaken)' (Pause for moment of silence and station identification.) ME: 'So what does your shirt mean?' GIRL: 'I don't know, what do you think it means?' ME: 'Well, is it, like, Cocaine High like a high school?' GIRL: 'It could be. Is that what you want it to mean?' ME: 'What?' GIRL: 'Nothing.' ME: 'So are you just high on coke or are you trying to be irreverent?' GIRL: 'I don't know. Do I look high?' ME: 'There's definitely something wrong with you.' She then proceeded to stare at me blankly for the next few seconds, and I wasn't drunk enough to keep this gem going, so I walked away. Nathan was too polite to make her look any more insane, but he bolted pretty quickly too. So if any of you live in L.A. and you see the girl with the COCAINE HIGH shirt, just remember that her modus operandi is to wear an article of clothing with some obscure phrase printed on it and then act aloof when questioned about such. --We went golfing the other day (well, three days this week, but this one in particular was special) at a little Par 3 course in Studio City. Walking out of the clubhouse, Nathan looks over to the driving range and goes, 'I think that's Joe Pesci.' I look over. There's a tiny little guy, maybe 5' 4', old as sh*t and wrinkled up like a wet dollar bill. I tell Nathan no way. Then the guy in question comes walking by. It's Joe Pesci, no question. So two things: first, when did he get so f*cking old? I mean this guy is f*cking old now. Second, what the Christ is he doing at a dumpy little Par 3 golf course? I can't figure this out. --The grass out here is so green that it f*cking scares me. I just wanted to mention that. It's like neon and glowing. I'm not kidding, I'm a little uneasy. THE AFOREMENTIONED THE PRICE IS RIGHT TALE OK, so this is probably really only going to be truly enjoyable for me, and I think I may have made it seem more exciting that it actually was, but f*ck off, it's my Blog. Quick backstory: I used to watch The Price Is Right every day at my grandmother's house with my brother Kyle and Cousin Justin for three straight summers. It was on our docket every day--Bob Barker kept us company from eleven to noon without fail. My grandmother would get pissed and near the point of cursing every time they played The Yodelling Mountain Climber Game or Three Strikes. I mean she hated these games. So anyway, I've wanted to go to a taping for like 12 years now. So I did, and I've mentioned it's fantasticness before. We got in line on Monday at 6:30 AM and didn't ever get tickets for either show being taped that day. So we got tickets to stand in line to get tickets for the next day, and yes, you read that correctly. They give you tickets...to stand in line...to get the REAL tickets to the show. So the next morning we get there at 5:30 AM and we STILL can only manage stand-by tickets, meaning they gave out their entire allotment of 200 guaranteed-into-the-show tickets. So we go back at 11:30 and stand in another line and end up being within the last 20 people let into the taping. Of course, we stood in that line for four f*cking hours, but I'm not bitter. Here's something interesting: as you file into the studio, you get this quick little interview with the producers, basically your name and where you're from. They decide based on that ten second audition whether or not you'll be on the show. So they have their contestants picked before the damn thing even starts. So we get in and the studio where it's taped is F*CKING SMALL. Like tiny. They make it look so damn big on television. I still can't get over that. So anyway, Barker comes out, and it's a dream come true, everything I had hoped it would be, and so on and so forth. One drawback: you get so absolutely tired of clapping that you want to rip your nametag off and give yourself enough papercuts to the throat that you eventually slit it so you die. Did I overstate that? Nah. Here's the setup... We are in the middle back portion of the studio. There are lots of groups of people together, but to my left there is a gaggle of about 20 kids from UCSB. To my left there is a huge section of 30-40 nurses. Well, one of the college kids gets called to come on down as does one of the nurses. Their respective groups go apesh*t. The nurse, in fact, end up making it to the Showcase Showdown and winning the whole damn show. This is when it gets classic. When you win the Showdown, Bob invites your entire group up on stage to celebrate with you and, like, you know, run through your new f*cking Winnebago and sh*t (I'm not bitter). So all these nurses come galloping up onto the stage, and they're screaming and hugging and whatnot. Then, all of a sudden, some random tall gangly kid takes off from the UCSB group and runs up on stage celebrating with the nurses. He's hugging and cheering and slapping high fives. He hugs Bob Barker and kisses the chick who won on the cheek. He waves to the camera. The nurses don't have a f*cking clue who this kid is. But now he's a prominent part of the party and he's got his mug on TV. No one is going to say anything, partially because you'd look like an ass for kicking the kid off TV, and partially because they're so happy they don't really care. F*cking brilliant. The kid's friends are in the audience enjoying every moment, but I think I got more out of it that anyone. I talked about for the next two days. I mean really, who else can say they crashed a celebration on The Price Is Right ? So yeah, I like it here and I think I'm going to stay for a while. I like my life now and things seem to be moving in a very positive direction, so that can only mean one of a few things: 1) The course of my luck has finally changed and I'm on the way up, with mostly good things happening to me from here on out. 2) We are about to get a 15.6 earthquake centered directly under the floorboards in my kitchenette. I will be horribly maimed and left in pain for the rest of my life, but not lucky enough to be killed. 3) I am a few days away from an attack by Africanized Bees. 4) I am about to get a disease that makes my feet fall off. If any of you know me, you know these are all more than a scant possibility, save for #1, which is a longshot. But I'll take my chances. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 07,April,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink L.A. f*cking rocks. I recall it as being different than the last time I was here, but then again, I was much younger back then, with a different thought process and a narrower view of the world. But no matter. Jesus there's a ton I could talk about. I saw the Santa Monica Pier for the first time. If I ever get homesick for the rednecks and ignorance of York, PA, I can always head down there. Malibu is amazing, and apparently even more so than I saw, but we were not permitted to drive onto Pepperdine's campus to check out the ladies. We were supposed to go to a real Hollywood Celebrity-packed club my second night here, but never made it, and that's OK with me. Pretty soon I will be a t-shirt wearing member of the Wednesday Night World Dive Bar Tour with some people from the studio, and that should pretty much be all I need. Some random stuff: --People told me and I kinda dismissed it, but it's true: no one f*cking walks here for a g*ddamn thing. Really. I walked for 2.2 miles from the place where I'm staying to the studio at which I'm working the other night and passed two people on the sidewalk. It's amazing. It's f*cking 65-70 degrees here all the time, sunny as hell, beautiful, and people are packed into their SUV's. Also, the ones that have convertibles don't even have the tops down for the most part. It's insanity. --The weather is odd in the regard that it's a non-humid warmth and for most of the day you can be equally comfortable in a t-shirt and shorts or jeans and a jacket. Very strange. I used to watch TV where people would be in LA and they'd be wearing jackets and I'm like, 'Why? It's 70 there all the damn time.' Now I get it. However, at some points of the day the sky is cloudless and it's just hot, and these people have to accessorize and keep their jackets on. Jesus Christ. --This really bothers me: there is a chain of burger places out here called Carl's Jr. But it's a f*cking Hardee's. I'm telling you. Same stuff on the outside (that weird little smiling Chineseish star guy thing), same food on the inside. One East Coast name, one West Coast name. Give me a motherf*cking break. It's a f*cking Hardee's. Jesus. Carl's Jr. my ass. --In what was possibly the apex of my personal life, I went to a taping of The Price Is Right yesterday. It was everything I could have dreamed it would be and more. In fact, the experience was so superb that I feel compelled to complete an entry about it tomorrow. Check back then, you won't want to miss this. All for now. Really, the Price Is Right Story is phenomenal. I didn't win anything, but trust me on this. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 28,May,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink That's right kids, I've cornered, sponsored and trademarked an entire weekend. Get ready for some swearin' and some rantin', because, for Christ's sake, I have to make like I'm actually at the family picnic. --Here's one thing I never want to hear from anyone again, ever: 'You're going to wear THAT to the gym?' Never. Hear again. Ever. Who gives a crispy crap what the f*ck I wear to work out? My dad was classic for this. 'How can you go out like that, in a maroon shirt and green shorts?' Are you kidding? I'm going to sweat and be nasty and stew in my own filth. The last thing on my mind is my textilular blending of the chroma scale. It's exercise, not an official Convening of Parliament. --Two interesting Blog-related items: 1) Thanks to urlLink VP Walling for this urlLink link , which details the plight of the Blogger addicted to Blogging like Blogging is digital crack. He he he, losers. 2) Have you guys seen/read about urlLink this guy ? He calls himself 'Rance' (get it, Rance? Rants? F*ck off then) and is causing quite a stir here in town. Rance claims to be a very famous actor - once pointing out that he's seen he's face quite a few times on magazines - and wants to anonymously detail little interesting nuggets about Hollywood culture. People are taking this seriously, and industry opinion, by and large, is that this guy is for real. Guesses have been thrown out as to his identity, which he closely guards. These hypotheses run the gamut but the most popular seem to be Matthew Perry, Jim Carrey, George Clooney, and Ben Affleck. I spent an hour reading every post last night, and whether or not this dude is actually an actor, this stuff is fascinating. My guess? If he is what he says he is, I'd put my money on Jon Favreau. Just seems like his style. --Next entry in my Why Would You F*cking Do That, You F*cking D*uchebag? Category (TM): the tool set I just purchased. Got this cheap 105-piece tool set over Amazon, $9.99, just in case things slip up around the house and I need to pretend like I know how to fix them. OK, here's a simple question, kids: if someone were to buy a tool set, what would be their most likely reason? Wait for it... Wait for it... Right. Because they don't have tools. Makes sense, no? There are no tools in my apartment. I order some. Tools arrive. I'm happy. Little snap case, everything I need, perfect. There's a rigid piece of plastic covering the open case. No problem, I'll just snap it off. I'll just sna...come on motherfu...why won't you...you've got to be kidding me. In a fit of genius, possibly to prohibit shifting and spiling of contents while in transit to my apartment, some gloriously fabulous motherf*cker took occasion to SCREW THE EVERF*CKING PLASTIC TO THE TOOL CASE. The problem, dear sir, lies in the fact that the very screwdriver needed to undo the deed is SEALED UNDER THE EVERF*CKING PLASTIC. To call whoever did this the Prime Minister of Insane Clodhopping D*uchebags is an insult to clodhoppers, mental patients, d*uchebags, and Canadia. And I know exactly who this guy is. He's the same guy, who I've mentioned before, that designed the photo label on a folding chair I bought in college. Simple canvas folding chair with a cupholder. Hung on one arm was a photo label (which included the price tag) that had four time-lapse photos on it: 1) a person holding my chair; 2) the person unfolding my chair; 3) the person setting my chair on the ground; 4) the person SITTING ON THE GROUND NEXT TO THE F*CKING CHAIR. It's the same guy, both times. I can just see this assh*le right now, sitting at a dive bar in Florida somewhere regurgitating ill-advised West-Virginia-incest jokes and bragging to three locals and a goat about what an assh*le he is. And he's right. --My buddy Johnny One Lung is in a urlLink band . You should care. --This week the Wednesday Night World Dive Bar Tour took a stop at The Starlight Room in North Hollywood. The best part of the night took place in the midst of a heated discussion. Before I get into the story, take into account that the place takes no credit cards, is roughly equivalent in space to a medium-sized apartment, and has a schizophrenic dartboard that shuts down for roughly five minutes after every game, refusing to start another unless someone agrees to push the 'League' button, which as far as we could tell did absolutely nothing but extend the non-playing of darts further. Also take into account that, out of roughly 40 people in the joint, the Dive Bar Aficionados (mostly industry folk) made up a little over half of the crowd for most of the night. My boss poses a simple question for me: 'Geoff - Brad Pitt in Seven : Serviceable or Brilliant?' Some other people answer before I get the chance, but I agree with my buddy Rainbow Room Nathan, the biggest Brad Pitt fan alive (he's not gay, but...well, that's a story for another day) that he was serviceable only because Morgan Freeman stole the show. Twelve Monkeys? Brilliant. But while the room is embroiled in controversy, someone calls out, 'WHAT'S IN THE BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOX?' This starts a chain reaction. Suddenly, you have ten or so industry males recreating arguably Brad's most famous line in front of a bunch of burly (and rather stunned) locals. Immaculately entertaining. This outburst is rivaled only by my buddy Kowabunga Dave who, upon Jeff Weaver's headshot filling the big screen at the Dodger Stadium, shot out, 'It puts the lotion in the basket!' You can't beat that ad-libbing. --I've begun tripping more often than I ever have in my entire life, and I'm not talking in the cool Jerry Garcia way. Like every remotely exposed crack in the sidewalk nearly puts me on my ass. Someone help. --You know what? I'm going to talk about it and I don't give a f*ck who calls me a pedophile: I have seen the Lindsay Lohan breast pictures. I stared. I ogled. I was at first elated, and then I realized that her breasts are quite clearly of the silicone persuasion. People (including Lindsay herself) have decried that they could not possibly be fake, as she's only 17 years old. Guess what? Bullsh*t. It's not routine, but there are doctors that will put fakies in a 16 year old. And if you're famous? Get on the reality train, people. I will say that, if they're real (and Christ knows there's every chance I'm wrong, I'm wrong a lot) they are the most impressive and beautiful mammary glands I have ever seen, and I yearn to touch them on any day of my life after July 2, 2004. --Hot? How about every female in Troy , save for Hector's wife. Not that there was any thing seriously wrong with her, but she was too skinny and had this elongated neck-thing that made me uncomfortable whenever she was onscreen. Speaking of movies, go see The Terminal . Absolutely phenomenal, save for the last five minutes. I won't spoil it for you, but suffice to say that while the God-awful ending doesn't spoil the rest of the fantastic film, it get agonizingly close. I actually sat through the credits, loudly voicing my displeasure and begging for the real ending to be shown. I even know of a perfect way to have done it, and Spielberg, much as I love him, screwed the pooch. Seriously, is Big Steve slipping or what? His last three films (this, Catch Me if You Can and A.I .) have all looked so strong and then staggered into the last five-fifteen minutes. In particular, Artificial Intelligence (which I loved, much to the chagrin of...yeah, everyone I talk to) could and should have been one of the best movies of that year, if not ever , and Steve f*cked it up by adding an extended homage to Close Encounters , stealing away from the darkness and grit that Kubrick had intended for the film, and closing it with a sappy, family-friendly ending. Has anyone besides Jenna Jameson and Ron Jeremy blown more film endings recently? Methinks no. Someone get the man an Aderol and tell him that we don't always expect films to end with the moon and stars perfectly aligned. That's all I've got for now, except to tell you that this only the second cloudy day to befall Los Angeles since my arrival nearly two months ago. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 21,May,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Alright, this is not something I usually care about, and Christ knows one of my least favorite things on the planet is Soulless Celebrity Gossip (TM). But this isn't really gossip, it's just a statement of fact, and frankly, I think somebody needs to f*cking say something. In the last few weeks, two of the bigger stars in Hollywood have had babies. Helen Hunt had hers today, a girl, and named her Makena'lei Gordon. Makena'lei. Gordon. The first name is that of a town in Maui. The middle is that of her father. All of this is bad. But not near as bad as... Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin (who, in case you've been living under a rock for the last five years, is the lead singer of Coldplay) had a baby girl. Apparently, both in a fit of Post-Natal Depression or suffering from severe PTSD, they named her Apple*. Apple*. That's not a typo. Apple*. Can we make this stop? Someone should start a service for wayward artists and other lightheaded peoples of the world to counsel and, if necessary, shoot them when they fabricate and/or allow ridiculous names for their children. I mean, don't you hate it when people name their kids after fruit? Hey, I'm the last person in the world to stifle creativity, but come the f*ck on; if we're talking about your kids, who clearly have no say in the matter, how about you make a decision based on their best interests rather than your drug-induced impulses? F*ck it, I'll start the service myself, set up right here in Hollywood, and make millions. I'll call it Disassociative Nomenclature Services (TM). If you know someone who's thinking about laying a f*cked-up name on their unborn child, let us know. If you know someone who says, 'Oh, we're going to wait until the baby is born and decide in the birthing room,' call us f*cking immediately. These people are prone to wild fits of pseudo-euphoria and end up naming their kids Ja'QuanDanian, La'Erique, Rumer, Scout, and Bjardkir. Case in point, File # A.1: there was a guy who (at least in recent years) played basketball for Pitt and then for the Golden State Warriors. His name? Vonteego Cummings. Von. Tee. Go. His mother told ESPN on a nationally televised broadcast how she came up with the name. Vonteego was born at home, and his aunt (the midwife), looked out his front window immediately following the labor. In the neighbors driveway sat two cars: a Volkswagon and a Monteego. Vonteego. SHE ACTUALLY ADMITTED THIS ON ESPN! I mean...are you serious? Case File # A.2: In second grade there was a kid in my class named Geoff Letcher (good name). His older brother? Fletcher. Fletcher f*cking Letcher. Swear to God. I could help these people. We could help these people. It's so simple. A concerned friend brings the person to our offices. A conversation as such follows: DNS: What can we do for you? CRAZY: Well, my friend brought me here. DNS: Yes. Tell me, are you about to have a child? CRAZY: As a matter of fact, yes. DNS: And what are you planning to name this child? CRAZY: Dweezil. DNS: No. You are naming this child Thomas and you will report to thrice-weekly counseling for a period of one year. We will then execute a contract wherein the friend to the party (heretoafter referred to as 'The Client') in question will sign a waiver allowing Disassociative Nomenclature Services (TM) to murder the client(s) if he/she/they proceed in naming said child something out of reasonable human context or fail to complete their requisite counseling sessions. This can work, I'm telling you. Possible exception: you can prove your last name is Costanza and you want to name your first born son 'Seven'. * - Denotes the fact that, in case you were wondering, this is not a typo. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 20,May,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink Figured this joint needed a new look. I have been on a neo-classical, German Expressionist binge of 'Imperfect Perfection' lately, and this new template espouses the themes of 1970's 'art' that I so despise. God, is this thing ugly or what? Wonderful. There are two 'Comments' boxes right now, one from Blogger and one from HaloScan. Pick either for your musings. Eventually I will disable to the HaloScan set but right now they're important for posterity. And go. |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 20,May,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink OK, so it's been a while since I wrote anything. Tough. I've had lots to do. Here's a rundown of the last month: --Worked --Beached --Golfed --Moved So I'm in my own place, I've got my own internet connection, things are going swimmingly. For the most part. I'm going to tell you a story that, for anyone who knows me personally, is direct proof that I am neither becomeing a man nor maturing in any sense of the word. Do I have other things to talk about? Sure. Is this better than other things I could talk about? Absolutely. Background info: A) I am a lightweight drinker. Seriously. B) I just moved in with two 20 year-old females. I have known them for a total of five days. C) Some people from work take part in the Wednesday Night World Dive Bar Tour, which takes them to a different sh*tty bar in the Hollywood area each week. This week was my maiden voyage. This week's event was at the Powerhouse bar on the corner of Hollywood and Highland. In supreme throwback fashion, this bar has three taps that serve nothing but Natural Light. The good stuff. Pitchers are a steal at $9. (EDITOR'S NOTE: I can hear some of you scoffing at that last remark '...a steal at $9'. Consider that, in Los Angeles, you're lucky to find a bottle at a bar under $6. So a pitcher for $9? Heaven, yet I have to admit I miss terribly cheap pitchers at Dave's in good ol' Harrisonburg .) The place is a hole but not in a dangerous way. They've got an old-fashioned juke box that spits out three songs for a buck. It's a blast. Like a hundred people in the place last night. Now some sad b*stard before me played 18 songs in a row for his $5. The problem is that they weren't good bar songs. They were ratty Zepplin numbers and the occasional Billy Joel B-Side; not the fare you're looking for whilst throwing darts and ogling women. So I took it upon myself to play three songs that I knew would set the room on fire. The place was relatively quiet before my first song started, no one singing along or giving any indication that they were there to rock. Then 'The Safety Dance' by Men Without Hats begins. There are cheers. People sing along. I dance like a robot. Good times. But it's not nearly over. 'Don't Stop Believing' by Journey hits the speakers. Near madness. Clapping, people really singing. Then we drop the bomb: 'Livin' On a Prayer', Bon Jovi. The place goes f*cking apesh*t. Loudest singing ever. They actually mute the juke so everyone in the bar can sing a line of the chorus. Pandemonium. So what do I do? I drink. I think I had put five pitchers away by myself by the end of the night. I have no way of knowing because I remember little to nothing after Jon Bon. What I do know is this: I wake up in my room this morning with my roommate Liz standing in front of me, saying she's going to get ready for work. I have no idea why she's in my room much less telling me this info at eight in the AM. Then, through a searing headache the likes of which I have not been afflicted with in ages, I look around the room. It ain't mine. It's Liz's. Confused, I inquire as to what I'm doing in her bed in her bedroom. Apparently, I had taken occasion to walk in at four AM, refuse to answer questions, and immediately pass out. NOTE: I've known this poor girl for five days. Five. Days. Now I'm Geoff the Creepy F*cking Roommate. Good times. Liz takes everything in stride and doesn't seem totally disgusted/frightened. I, on the other hand, am rather worried. Searching for answers, I look through my call log from the previous night. This is ALWAYS a disaster. Always. Mortifying, like, 'Oh no, I should have deleted that number for this exact situation. Dear God.' You know you have to look, and you're dreading it like there's a plane crash and you're looking for your parent's names on a victims list. So I scroll through the numbers I called (it was a doozy, and factor in that most of the calls are made to the East Coast, so I've called people between the hours of 5-7 AM their time) and talk to the last person on my list. This person wishes to remain anonymous because...well, because he/she was the reason I became Sketchy Geoff. I relate my story to the person. The person says I was 'slurring like crazy' and 'barely understandable'. At one point I remarked that it was 'cold in my room'. Jokingly, my friend suggested I climb in bed with one of my roommates. I declined. Still joking, this person said, quote, 'I dare you.' There was a click and I was gone. You do not dare someone who is drunk out of their mind. You simply do not. Let's make this a rule: no Drunken Dares (TM) unless you are willing & able to clean up the mess that this person will undoubtedly create. Other than that, things are peachy. The women are insane, though if hell freezes over at some point and I'm actually in a position to invite a girl back to my place, the phrase 'My car does not exist' is going to pretty much destroy the whole charade. And for those of you who are asking, here is a list of celebrities I've met/seen so far: --Joan Rivers --Joe Pesci --Schuyler Fisk (she was in Orange County with Jack Black...I actually talked to her - again, drunk - and said told her, literally, that she was 'in luck' because 'I only need to sleep with someone kind of famous.' Again...good times.) --Nicole Ritchie (physically ran into her near my office in Beverly Hills. Was looking at my phone. Was very sweet about the fact that I nearly killed her.) --Tommy Lee --Andie McDowell --Brendan Frasier (who is like 30 feet tall and getting fat, which is fun) Also, a very nice girl I met out here named Jen Morrison (a friend of a friend, she was in Grind and Final Destination II ) just got her pilot House picked up by Fox for the fall season. Congrats Jen. When I tell people from back home about this she will be known as 'my friend Jen'. Inaccurate, but do I seem like someone who cares? |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 14,June,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink It's the Dawn of an important historical event. This will be my last post from Blogger. Please visit me at... urlLink GooseTown, USA . Vaya con dios, Geoff |
2,162,182 | male | 24 | Communications-Media | Libra | 06,June,2004 | urlLink Email urlLink --Have you ever been so completely happy about something that you plumb forgot to tell other people about it? Was walking home from Walgreen's tonight (one of the few East Coast staples of California), this entry already in mind, when I discovered I forgot to tell my readers (all three of you) the good news: my brother Kyle, Air Force Soldier Man Extraordinaire, has returned home from a six month Tour of Duty in the Middle East. Last month. When I try to be serious I tend to get sappy, and when I get sappy I tend to ramble, and when I ramble people tend to get annoyed, so I'll just say 'Welcome home, little brother.' If my vote has anything to do with it, you won't be going back. --This last week has been pretty ordinary, save for a sweet Crazed Homeless Altercation (TM) I nearly witnessed outside Subway on Friday. I didn't have much to write about, thought the world might be lacking for real news. And then I saw urlLink this . I mean...are you f*cking kidding me? Man, Major Christian organizations are the LAST conglomerates I'd expect to bilk their members out of money. The final bastion of hope in the wonderland of Fab Dieting has crumbled! Get Skinny With God! I can just hear the Umpteenth Annual Baptist Convention Board Meeting (held in the Bahamas or Aruba, I'm sure) discussion when this came up on the docket: 'Well, Mr. Falwell, we've been discussing this and...true, we all live in mansions and belong to exclusive country clubs and, well, I myself drive a Bentley while my cousin Rupert suffers in a ramshackle home for retards with Down's...but the boys and I, we don't think we're exploiting our cranially-liquidated congregations enough. We tried that crack-cocaine, but they don't have the constant income. We tried them Beanie Babies, but then, well, them TeleTubbies came along and pissed you off, so that was out the window. So we're trying to think of an angle to squeeze every last half cent out of 'em, and it came to us like Miller Lite...CHRISTIAN DIETING! That Atkins thing went froggy, so we figured what the hell. Not only do we get $15 a pop for each book, but then when they get sick from fermented milk and malnourishment we tell them to pray to God HARDER! It's brilliant!' Strong. I curse every idiot that buys one of these books to an eternal hell of Joan Rivers red carpet shows. --Link #1 today to Owain at urlLink Jessica Asche, Will You Marry Me? I've linked this before, but, he's Welsh, you know... I've encouraged Owain to write screenplays because he's a great storyteller. I encourage you, again, to find the story about the thermos. And Owain, nothing personal, chap, but I'm reasonably sure that Welsh was created by a small sect of afflicted Druids that constantly vomited phlegm. Wheel of Fortune would be absolute feast or famine - there are either 14 unnecessary vowels in each word or a string of seven paragraphs without a single one. And I've never considered that b*stard letter 'Y' a true f*cking vowel. Insidious vermin Y. --Link #2 - If you like any kind of retro clothing, especially highly desirable Vintage t-shirts, you must take your sorry ass to urlLink Vintage Vantage . As I'm sure you're familiar, I here at GooseTown will not offer my endorsement to anything that I am not personally satisfied with (that Double Action Whopper Dildo notwithstanding, and I apologize to everyone for any inconvenience this might have caused, I had no idea there were flammability issues). That said, I am highly excited about this little venture. I recently ordered three vintage Ts and was delighted with the results. The shirts are the soft stuff that I remember from the 80's and the designs are going to result in people asking me a lot of questions...especially from angry feminists, who are sure to love the shirt that says 'WOMEN - You can't beat 'em!'. One of my shirts even happened to be a bit smaller than I thought and James was right quick in offering me an exchange. The good people there didn't even unlawfully make bogus charges on my Debit Card! Trust me, it's good stuff. In fact, if you're a fan of The O.C ., you've even seen one of their shirts worn by the affable and worldly Seth Cohen. So visit the website, g*ddamnit. --If you are a member of my family and happen to be reading this, it does appear that I in fact will be attending Cousin Mark's Funer...er, wedding this August. --T-shirt of the week: one I saw eight years ago in Ocean City, MD during Senior (not my) Senior Week. It had a picture of our now Dearly Departed Ronald Reagan, holding a glass of milk and featuring the requisite Milk Moustache. The caption read 'Forgot Milk?' Tasteless? Yes. Accurate? Perhaps. Comical? I dare say so. THE CHRONICLES OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE SANCHEZ MAXTON (HE'S VERY EXCITING) Chapter I, Epic IV In light of the Triple Crown Letdown (oooh...that HAS to be used as the title to an upcoming Wrestlemania, doesn't it?) of this past weekend, I'd like to recount for you my very own favorite story from The Track. When I was but an underappreciated Senior at Cedar Cliff High School in Camp Hill, PA, some fellows and I used to attend a once or twice monthly meeting at Penn National Racecourse. The ponies brought out a bit of delight in all of us, though some of us for a portion of the year were unable to place a wager on the equines, as we had yet to attain the age of 18 years. I was not part of this unlucky group, nor was my mate Jeff. Jeff never had much luck at The Track, and the countless weeks of failed attempts to pick the requisite Exacta or Trifecta had left him somewhat chagrined and melancholy. He invariably stood parallel with the large window that protected him from falling out of the viewing box, gambling receipts clutched tightly in his right hand, pining desperately from one small taste of glory, feigning joviality, staring out at the Great Dirt Oval. That was a lot of commas and a compound sentence that I'm sure violated several of the accepted MLA Grammatical Standards. I apologize. Where the hell was I? Oh yes, Jeff...in other words, the poor chap was down on his luck, as it were. So as it was we attended the track one night, Jeff steaming internally, knowing the chances of his luck taking a turn for the better were shamefully minimal. Nonetheless, we proceeded to the Great Glass Skybox, hopes high, dollars soon to fade from our wallets. For the most part, the night went to schedule: some of us bet, some of us won, most of us lost. Including Jeff; poor Jeff. He had yet to come even close on a single race the entire night. As the last jaunt was upon us, many considered the evening yet another wasted venture. I chose to bet a meager amount on a Superfecta I knew I had no chance of winning, as I knew little to nothing about either the jockeys or the horses themselves. One or two others followed suit. Jeff sulked. And sulked. And then he exploded. With a sudden rush (and $80 that seemed to come from absolute ether), Jeff crashed his way up to the betting window, and in a sensational fit of idiotic insanity, proceeded with the following exchange: JEFF: 'Eighty dollars. (Pointing to program) This horse. This race.' ATTENDANT: 'Sir, I think you should...' JEFF: (Voice cracking under severe emotional tension) 'EIghtYYYY dollars. ThEEEs horse. This rAYYYEEEce.' Reluctantly, sensing another fool on his way to the poisoned well, she stamped his ticket, and the fun began. The horses lined up. There was a general buzz alight in the crisp, er...Track Skybox...air. Not only among our group of fellows, but also among the scant few who had stayed, brave souls, for the night's last call. There was palpable apprehension in the air, but as the horses strode magnificently to their gate positions, no one said a word. Then, with the sharp whipcrack of the starter's pistol and the dull clang of metal, the ponies were off once again. No one knew which beast Jeff had picked, as we were wary to get too close to him at the window. But we could tell from his immediate reaction that it was the red horse, out to a blazing lead on the front straightaway. Number 6; good day to you, old Number 6! He strode like a Man on Fire, like a Bat out of Hell, like a Horse...on a...or, that is to say, on the...in a Race. As the gaggle of diminutive pilots atop brown inhuman warriors strode through the second turn, Our Number 6 had shot out to a five-length lead. We cheered wildly for our new best friend. But in the back of our minds, we all harbored the same malcontentededed - and logical - prognostication: Our Number 6 would inevitably tire and falter down the final stretch. And yet Old Boy continued to gain steam. Down the backstretch he careened, distancing himself from the pack. As he entered the third/fourth turn combo, Jeff made a rather gay (read: joyous) announcement: 'Sausages are on me! SAUSAGES ARE ON ME!!!!!!' This brought about a wild, cacophonously ebullient outcry from the fellows, and we began to pull for Our Number 6 ever harder. As he rounded out the fourth turn, we knew victory was in our grasp - to the tune of, post-sausage, over $600 for Jeff. We exchanged high-fives. Heterosexual hugs of pure happiness were shared. Strangers may have cried. We were all so emotionally sparkling that I don't believe a single one of us was actually watching the track when we heard what has become known in our circle as the Penn National Death Knell (TM): SNAP! GDunk...gDunk....gDunk....ffffffffffsssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh. (EDITOR'S NOTE: For those of you not aurally inclined, that is the sound of the horse's front left leg breaking, followed by somersaults one, two, and three, ending with a twenty foot skid atop the dirt. Caught up? Good. Moving on then .) I'd like to tell you we raced down to the track, forgetting all cares of lawful authority and personal safety, desperately attempting to give care to the injured animal as the race flew right past us. I'd like to tell you we faced danger head-on, giving f*ck-all for the consequences. I'd like to tell you there was a tear shed, a candle lighted, a moment of silence held. Yet there was none of this. What there was was an irate Jeff running to the Great Glass Window, the Translucent Divider of the Skybox, pounding on it with all his might, yelling, as I recall, 'GET THE F*CK UP YOU MOTHER F*CKING PIECE OF C*MGUZZLING SH*T! GET THE F*CK UP YOU B*STARD!' Jeff eventually calmed himself. We watched as the race ended, Our Number 6 expressed on the freshly-pounded soil, defeated. Injured. Seeming to bray. Seizuring just slightly. We watched sorrowfully as the track attendants approached the fearless strider and its humorless jockey. We wept internally as they laid it (Old Number 6, not the jockey) to rest humanely with euthenizing fluid in a hypodermic needle the size of Florida. We left as, simultaneously, an Elmer's Glue Truck loaded Our Number 6 into its back bed and an elderly janitor wanted that we should 'get the f*ck out' as his the details of his employment required him to 'mop the sticky sh*t up'. And so it is. So it was. We were happy to see the fine steed collapse into a tumbling ball of death? Surely no. Did we learn a lesson? Such is up for debate. Was there really an Elmer's Glue Truck? Let's not quibble upon details. Suffice to say that this weekend's Belmont Stakes brought forth a plethora of memories for me of fellows with whom I've now lost communication, phantom sausages never consumed, the unbridled enthusiasm of youth who know not the value of a dollar, misty ale-haze the likes of which has yet to be notarized, vestiges of cherry-flavored audacity from the depths of a misappropriated, lyrical harlot whose sole desire is to engender the very... Wait a minute...where are my pants? |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 23,August,2004 | wEee..! i'm back.. hahax. now hor. mi wil rite a short one.. cos now in school.. havin home econ lesson.. sIaNz.. miss dear.. mind tinkin wat is he doing now.. haIZ.. amelia sit beside mi.. then duno wat she doing..ask mi how to get into kidscentral.. hahax.. lame.. then.. nvm.long story.. i go back then updae.. cher also cuming le.. *WiNKsS* |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 22,August,2004 | baCk hOmE aFtEr a lOnG sTupId daE iN sChoOl.. firsT.. mR teO waNs tO sEe cHaIrpErSon.. tHeN pRefEcT waNs tO sEe cHaiRpeRsOn.. ThIs aNd thaT.. sHE Ma faN.. tHeN.. haIyO.. lOnG sToRy.. tHeN aFteR sChoOl.. haVe sCiEnCe tEsT.. aIyO.. dUnO whEthEr wIll paSs aNOt.. i aNYhoW do dE.. cOs i caNnOT rEmeMbEr ALL tHE noTes thaT i haVE meMoriSe thE niTe beForE.. haIZ.. aFtEr thaT wEnT tO t maRt tO eaT maC.. sO fUlL.. haHAz.. wEnT baCk tO sCHool tO lOok aT tHE aUdiTiOn.. buT oNlI sEe aWhiLe.. tHEn wEnT doWn wIF hoNeY tO plaY bBaLl.. oR raTheR sUn taNn.. tHen gO tO thE tOilEt aT thE d n T bLoCk.. aND cReaTeD aLOt oF gHOsT sToRieS abOut waT i saW iN thE tOiLeT.. waNteD tO sCaRe swEaT.. bUT shE haVE nO reAcTIOn.. nOt fUn at aLl.. haIyO.. saW eDwIn bUt nEvEr saE anYtiNg.. oNLi tOk duRiNG baNd.. tHen plaY tIlL qUIte laTe.. thEn.. tHen.. tHEn.. hahAx.. |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 22,August,2004 | fiNalLy.. caN gO oNliNe lE.. haHaX.. yEstErdAe dIdnT uPdaTe mI bLoG.. mI wIll uPdaTe tOdaE aNd yesTeRdaE ba.. eRm.. yesTeRdaE.. lIke oRdiNaRy daE.. gO To sChOol fOr banD.. buT hoR.. yesTeRdaE hAd tHaT sTupiD fOotdRiLl.. sIaNz.. wE hoR.. caN bE cOnsIDeReD aBiT lUcKy.. kaNna tEaCh bY meI yIn aNd sOphiA.. iF kaNna teaCh bY tHaT sTupiD yaN lIng.. tHen diE lE.. thaT 2 guRlS.. bEry fUnNy loR.. tHeiR cOmMaNd aLso wRonG dE.. tHeN iF wRonG.. wE anYhOW dO loR.. tHeN tHEy giVe uS.. 5 MiNs breaK.. bREaK lE.. tHEy aSk wE aLl tO gaThEr bACk.. wE SloW.. tHEy nevEr saE aNYtiNG.. tHEn taT sTupiD yaN lIng cUm.. aSk wE aLl tO dO pUmpiNG.. sIAo oNe.. wE nO cHoiCe haVE tO dO lOR.. sHe saE dO 10.. tHeN laTer saE dO 4 mOre tHen 4 mOre.. sO UnfaIr.. paT oNli dO 10.. nEver miND lOr.. wORsT tIng.. wE dO aT tHe roaD.. fInE loR.. sHe wIn loR.. beCos of ThiS sTupID tIng.. mI huRt mI leG.. bUt lUckIly.. noT paIn.. haHAx.. tHeN wEnT baCk.. haD piAnO lEsSoN.. tHeN cHEr kEeP on saeIn thaT pIaNo eXaM 10 moRe daEs.. tHEn aSk Mi tO dO sCAleS.. plaY plaY plaY.. plaY uNtiL fOr 1 houR.. whOlE hanD swOllEn..nVm.. buT luCkY mI.. haHAx.. aT niTe unClE tReaT uS fOr diNnEr.. wEeE..!! eaT quITe alOT.. tHEn aT niTe.. waTch tV.. tHEn gO sLEeP lOR.. toDaE moRniNG.. gO cHUrcH.. siAnz.. spEnT aLmoSt 4 hOUrs thErE.. eVEn sIaNZ.. haIZ.. thEn cUm baCk eaT lunCh.. aNd dO tHE sUNDaE rOuTinE.. hAhaX.. haIz.. mOndaE haVE tesT.. sCiEncE sUm mORe.. mI wORsT sUbJeCt.. haIZ.. nVm.. neEd tO sTudY lE.. [ misS dEaR..] |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 20,August,2004 | haIz.. tOdaE hOR.. sAw tHe fOtOs.. thEn eVErybOdy aLL kEpt ruShiNG tO sEe.. haIz.. tHen aFteR thaT wEnt tO t MArT wIF gUodOng, yInglinG, swEaT, hoNey aNd sElicIa tO eaT.. wHILE eaTinG.. wE waLk inTo fuRrY amIgo.. niCe sEh.. tHeN wEnt baCk tO sChool.. bEfOrE taT hElP cHEr da pAo fOod.. hahAx.. tOok iNsTruCtmEnt.. tHeN wEnt tO aTruIm tO plaY.. bUT NEveR wOulD i noE.. iT raIn sO heaVilY.. buT niCe.. haHAx.. wE play plAY unTil aRounD 5 plUs.. tHEn aMeliA fINiSh bBaLl pRacTicE thEn wE go AnD pLAy bBaLl.. tHe lONgEr wE plaY, tHe hEaVieR tHE raIn.. hAiz.. dUN waN tO saE lE.. mi oNe wRong mOvE.. cOS deAR tO bE sO anGry.. haiZ.. sOrRy deaR.. hoPe taT aFteR reaDin mI bLog.. yoU wONt bE anGrY.. haIZ.. bUt nEvER miND... dO aLsO dO lE.. yOu waN aNGrY tHen aNgRy bA.. jUs waNna sAe sOrRy..loVe yoU.. miSs yoU.. |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 17,August,2004 | to DaE.. hAiZz.. tirEd bUt cHaO jI fUn.. aNd i aCtuaLly plAy bBaLl.. hAhaX..canNot bElieVe siA.. aNd hOr.. chIneSe CheR saE thAt iN the cLAss.. onLi 5 paSseS iN cHInEsE.. i tOt i waS oNe oF tHE faIluReS.. buT.. haHAx.. i paSseD!! sO hapPY..aFteR sChoOl.. tRieD tO pOn fOr i T.. and wE oF cOurSe maDe iT.. tHen wE aT cLAss cHat cHAT.. tHen wENt tO t maRt tO eaT.. eaT lE.. aCtuaLly waNeD tO gO to hoNEy's houSe tO plaY wIF fIfI.. buT wE eNdeD uP plaYin bBaLl.. hAhAx.. i duNO hOw tO plaY.. buT wIF tHE guIdeNce oF hOneY, sWeaT aND doNg doNG.. hahAx.. i shoOt iN aBouT 4 baLls bA.. plaY fOr bOuT 1 houR.. sUN taNn uNtIl quItE daRk.. bUt i lIkE.. hEHeX.. haIz.. cHAo tIReD.. anD quiTe anGrY wiF huIshAn.. sHE saE mI aNd dEaR caN neVEr hAvE a 1 moNtH aNniVersArY.. waT siA.. sO waT iF yOu haVe rITe? i tInK aCtuaLly wE caN hAvE dE.. aLL thaNks to yoU.. wE havE tO breaK.. thaT was ThE paSt bA.. dUN waN to rakE iT up LE.. eX cLaSSmaTe caLl tO jiO mI ouT.. bUt haHA.. i hAvE dEaR deaR lE.. i loVe hIm.. lovE hIm uNtIl.. eRm.. aIyO.. alOt meaNS aLoT lORx.. siGn oFf... |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 16,August,2004 | k.. todae hUh.. eRm.. basically nutting much loR.. go school.. then.. after school.. then cum back.. at home.. do hw.. watch tv.. etc etc.. haiyo.. = ) miss dear dear.. miss him lots lots.. jus wanna tell him sumting loR.. he give mi that kind of feelings that.. no one gives mi b4 loR.. he is very over-protective.. but i duno why.. hahax.. i like lay.. edwin hoR.. never give mi that kind of feelin b4.. edwin and i ah.. never fight, quarrel oR argue.. then everyting he give in to mi.. I DUN LIKE!! but.. we break le.. jus becos i dun wan to break him heart.. amelia thot of a way to lie to him.. peOple may think i am bad [ which i am.. hahax ] but i tink that is the onli way.. to make him not that upset ba.. aiyO.. dun wan to sae le.. mi now hoR.. jus miss miss miss dear dear.. where is he? wat is he doin? questions flashin in my mind about him.. cannot forget him every min, every sec etc etc.. aH.. better stop le.. later go crazy tinkin bout him.. LOVE HIM ALWaYS.. |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 15,August,2004 | kK.. mI secOnd poSt.. haIYo.. todaE.. nutting much.. same as normal.. morning went to chruch.. then came back.. eat then study.. cannot believe sia.. i studyed for 3 houRs.. sianZz.. miss dear dear so much.. yesterdae forget to add sumting into the post.. but nvm.. mi add todae.. dear ah.. you sick.. stil go for bball practice.. next time cannot le hoR.. makE mI sO worry.. haiyo.. ohyar.. todae kanna scolded by mi daddy.. for no reason.. stupid lay.. haiyo.. nvm.. anyting.. i wan to watch 'zhen qing' also cannot.. miss the most exciting part.. gotta end here.. miSs dear.. and love him always.. |
4,231,133 | female | 13 | indUnk | Scorpio | 14,August,2004 | aH.. finally..!! all mi friends kept askin mi to create a blog.. but I was too lazy to create.. anyway.. first blog.. mus support mi woRx.. hahax.. in the morning had band.. woke up early as cher said that we mus be there at 8.45.. but.. haiyo.. both the cher were late!! That was the most angry part of all.. we woke up early.. went there early.. but cher was late.. never mind.. still had to face.. tat Yan lIng.. sum of you all may not noe whu she is.. but hoRx.. I intro you all to her.. she hoR.. tink that she is the world’s queen like that.. sum more say sweating the.. standard not good enuf to play clarinet 1.. haiyo.. anyway.. todae was a terrible dae.. luckily never kanna scolded by piano cher.. if not really sway.. sIan.. cum online then no one to chat wif.. haiyo.. mi end off here.. wanna noe more bout mi.. look at mi profile ba.. |
3,662,734 | male | 14 | Student | Capricorn | 17,June,2004 | urlLink This is me at school. urlLink |
3,662,734 | male | 14 | Student | Capricorn | 17,June,2004 | Welcome to my online journal. My name is BeauW and I live on the Gold Coast, Australia. I am fourteen years old and currently attend yr. 9 at my local high school. I have many friends, but only a few. I currently do not have a girlfriend, but I am looking. I spend most of my free time on my computer. I like designing websites, banners and awards. I am currently working a new website which is a dark community for goth teenagers or anyone who is interested in the dark and gloomy. I am a gothic teenager myself. I have been since January this year. I like it and do not rejret converting to the subculture. I don't care what people think of me. They can all get fucked. I don't have a life. Like I said, I spend most of my free time on my computer. I do get out sometimes though. My interests are; dark shit (dark, gloomy, black, ghosts, paranormal, vampires, haunted houses, spiders, death, all that other type of shit), computers (internet, web design), music (darkwave, gothic, depressive, metal, rock, punk rock), creative shit (art, writings), film (horror, mystery, thriller, crime), mental health (study of mental disorders, human behaviour, behaviour paterns) and counsilling (communicating with teenagers who have problems in their lives, especially teenagers who want to commit suicide or abuse themselves). I plan to finish high school (yr. 12) and move to Sydney, Australia to live. There I intend to go to University and study graphic art (commercial art) and graphic design. I also want to be a counsillor (that is if I don't get into graphic art). When I finish my study at University, I plan to stay in Sydney for a few years, hopefully moving to London to live my life out... This closes my first entry to my online journal. I shall continue to post entries about my everyday life as a gothic teenager. Welcome to my jounal! |
3,662,734 | male | 14 | Student | Capricorn | 22,June,2004 | Been a while since I was last here. I've been busy with shit in my life. Last weekend my mum went away & my older brother came up from where he lived to look after us. I thought it would be torture and the worst weekend ever, but it turned out allright. He didnt bann me from my computer (which I thought he might of) and we saw Shrek 2 at the movies and played with the footy at the park. Worked some more on my website. Updated design layout. Added some more webpages. Still not finished. Making websites really takes time... Was sick today and had the day off. My younger brother was hit by a car yesterday and he has had the day off also. He has brused all of his right arm and his back is completely grased. He should be fine though... Reading more of my book for English, Dracula (Bram Stoker). It is getting to the really good points. Must get off computer soon and start reading some more. (mem. find a biography on someone interesting). |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 31,July,2004 | gosh... i'm so bored sa house... pano kasi, my parents went to manila last thursday, and i was left all alone...huhuhu!!! but anyway, it's still fun 'coz i get to stay up late and make ingay-ingay to the highest level!!! i even get to stay at my friend's house 'til 7 pm... ei! lam niyo ba?! number 9 na si KING sa opm myx countdown!!! YEHEY!!! you know?! the song 'WILL YOU WAIT FOR ME?' kaya, ako,i'll keep voting for his song!!! GOSH!!! sana kayo rin!!! sige... that's all... thank you!!! BABUSH!!! ECHUSA!!! mga PASAWAY!!!!! p.s. di ko pa rin poh mailagay photo gallery koh!!! HUHUHUHU!!!!!!!!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 30,July,2004 | kainis!!! i'm so frustrated!!! hanggang ngayon di ko pa rin malagyan ng photo gallery 'tong blog ko!!!!!!! gosh!!!!!! inis na talaga ako!!!!!! anyway, i didn't go to school today.... why? wala lang... tinamad nanaman ang lola mo... kainis talaga!!!!!!!! pasaway ang blogger.com!!! anong petcha na?! di ko pa rin malagay photo gallery ko!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yun na!!!!!!!!!!!!BABUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! mga PASAWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 23,July,2004 | urlLink oh...kikay ba?! Posted by urlLink Hello |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 22,July,2004 | gosh! today i woke up early, got dressed and went to school! (in fairness,maaga ako!) mama didn't go to her office today kasi she's sick... she ,like, fainted yesterday so they had to take her home early... anyway,today was just like any other days so i ain't got nothing to say...masaya lang ako kasi number one pa rin si KING sa mga M.O.R stations...keep voting pala for his songs... especially yung new single niya, yung 'WILL YOU WAIT FOR ME' yun na! babush! ECHUSA!!! |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 21,July,2004 | wazzup?! i had a lot of fun today!!! i heard ba't di mo pagbigyan on the radio for like...10 times... wow!!! and guess what?! this song is like the number one hit on all M.O.R stations...the most requested song of the day!!! wow!!! anyway...today i had to excuse myself from my second class because i went to my mom's office (justice hall dagupan) to watch an oral argument by my uncle jojo...(he's a lawyer) anyway... after that...my mom and i went to nepo mall and bought this crown bracelet...it was really cute... i loved it!!! then i went home... you know what's really fun about this?! i didn't have to go to school!!! YEHEY!!! i'm so happy!!! ang babaw ko noh?! yun na! stop me! ECHUSA!!! |
3,988,150 | female | 15 | indUnk | Aries | 16,August,2004 | Haller!!! it's ELLIPSE MANIA na!!! we (bratz) bought the same brand of cologne!!! ELLIPSE COLOGNE!!! Hazel- pixie Annabelle- preppy Jennifer- cutie Danica- missy yun lang poh!!! MGA PASAWAY!!! ELLIPSE COLOGNE. YOUR SCENT. YOUR SOUL. |
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