My posting has gone down so much since the end of December. I'm not sure if people are going to be happy or sad about that.
I feel so uncomfortable during my days lately. I'm so intent on getting home from work and turning the rest of the world off. I've never appreciated my friends so much as I do now. Life sucks without people you can relate to. And even though I may not see people as often, knowing that they are there makes things so much easier. I turn my social skills completely off at work. I embrace the inner cog and just do what I have to do to get through the day. Honestly if anyone at work saw me in a good mood where I was laughing and joking and carefree they wouldn't recognize me at all. In some ways I like that because it makes me seem more mysterious. In many other ways I realize that it is just a slow form of death. And not the fun types of slow death, like drinking and smoking. No, this is the kind that is more like being drowned in your own dehydration. You think about that, and if it makes sense, then you, too, probably have had an experience in life like the one I am having now.
Bitching about work seems so pointless. No one really cares. If I bitch about it not paying me anything they say "well, you are basically a volunteer" and if I say I want to leave they say "you can't leave, you made a commitment." There really isn't any middle ground. I either suck it up or I am a horrible person. I know that isn't what people are really thinking, but that is the impression I get. I bitch to whoever will listen about my job. Most people get this tone in their voice that seems to indicate that I am a horrible person for bitching about working as an AmeriCorps. That really doesn't seem fair. Everyone is entitled to bitch about their jobs. I am really, really unhappy doing what I'm doing now and everyone treats me like a fucking asshole for even mentioning that I'm upset at all. Well, everyone but a few.
I'm not smart, I'm not wise, I'm just an average guy who wants to make something out of himself at some point. To that end I try a lot of different things. Working in security, working in restaurants, working in ballparks, serving coffee, trying to sell comics online, being unemployed for long periods of time, driving across country for no reason but to be on my own for a while to try to give myself inspiration to write something that other people might want to read at some point. And as for my romantic life I tend to go after the weirdest chicks I can find. Looking at my life the only constant is that I am always trying to find something new and exciting to get my ire up. Usually that doesn't work out so well. But I deal with it and I move on, because that is really the only other option that is available to me. I notice that I fail at a lot of things I try, and I don't think that it is always because of a lack of effort or because I am just a lazy bastard. Mostly it is because on some level I know the only way to enjoy my life is to get as much misery out of the way now so that I can actually understand what it is that I want and why it is that I want that. The fact of the matter is that I'd rather completely fuck up my life when I'm single and 25 then to suddenly try to drastically change my life when I am married with children at 35. Not that I suspect I'll have kids in ten years, but you never know. When I fuck up my life now the only person that really suffers is myself. Later I will lose that buffer zone. I will start to really screw over people that are counting on me. I can't even imagine anyone counting on me these days.
I really like my life these days, though. Despite my job, things are falling in place pretty well. Tanner living here is so far working out pretty well. And although I've had to adjust a few of my habits here and there to work around him being here, just having someone else around has made my life seem to suck considerably less. Plus Allison is here a fair amount, and I must admit that having a woman in the house from time to time makes it feel much more like a home than just some low-rent hobbit hole that I found. Life is happening here now! It isn't just a sad burnt out man with nothing to lose, now it is a place that people inhabit.
There are, right now, four women that I have made plans to hang out with in the near future. Most of those plans have fallen through already, and I suspect the rest will fall through as well. But, still, for a cynical asshole like me, that is fairly good. I often find myself wondering why I don't ever bother trying harder with women, then I get situations like this were I have cast a wider net and there is some level of interest. Granted it doesn't always turn into anything, but I like to think of it as practice. Much like writing and "publishing" a blog is practice for writing fiction that will be published. It may not amount to much of anything at the time, but in the long run it is helpful. Just knowing that I am doing something, no matter how febily, helps to make me realize that something will work out the way I want it to in the long run.
Speaking of writing, there is a short story I have been sitting on for some time that I feel needs to be published and I just haven't gotten around to sending it off to lit mags. It probably won't get published anywhere, but I need to try. Because I feel like if I get one story published then it is going to make me confident enough to try to start pushing through the rest of my stories. I really want to get paid to be a writer. That is probably the only job that I am really qualified for and want to do. Excuse the metaphor, but if I could get paid for writing it'd be like making a career out of masturbation. I'm going to do it one way or another, might as well get some cash for it.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga pt.2 1/2!
Okay, I don't have anything Science-non-fictiony to post tonight. No, instead I am simply going to talk about what they are talking about on Scientific American,
Top Ten Science Letdowns of the Decade
Though there is still a decent chance that I will change this to being "Sci-Non Fan-ta Ext-Ga" (The Fan-ta being fantasy) as the article has a perfectly acceptable, non-ironic, quote in it that reads: "But no second hobbit skull has been found yet to settle the debate."
But no space travel, no flying cars, no cures for incurable disease. I thought we were supposed to have it all figured out. I thought we were the future. Although there is a chance that children have stolen that title from us.
We have made incredible leaps forwards in science, but we are still so far behind what we could be. I've always believed that humans haven't really gained intelligence in the last million years. We've figured some shit out, but at our core our brains are essentially the same as the first humans to crawl out of caves and start building shelters. I am certainly no smarter than a person living in the dark ages, I simply have more access to information. Intelligence isn't a measure of what you know, but how you think. We haven't grown all that much in that department in our evolution, and therefore we are virtually unchanged from our ancestors. We just want to eat, fuck, and sleep in comfort. There really isn't a hell of a lot more to us.
So perhaps we are living in a science-fiction novel, and perhaps we are not, but I tell you this, regardless of which is true, we are just as dumb as we've ever been and we will continue to question everything we think we know just as much as we ever have.
Top Ten Science Letdowns of the Decade
Though there is still a decent chance that I will change this to being "Sci-Non Fan-ta Ext-Ga" (The Fan-ta being fantasy) as the article has a perfectly acceptable, non-ironic, quote in it that reads: "But no second hobbit skull has been found yet to settle the debate."
But no space travel, no flying cars, no cures for incurable disease. I thought we were supposed to have it all figured out. I thought we were the future. Although there is a chance that children have stolen that title from us.
We have made incredible leaps forwards in science, but we are still so far behind what we could be. I've always believed that humans haven't really gained intelligence in the last million years. We've figured some shit out, but at our core our brains are essentially the same as the first humans to crawl out of caves and start building shelters. I am certainly no smarter than a person living in the dark ages, I simply have more access to information. Intelligence isn't a measure of what you know, but how you think. We haven't grown all that much in that department in our evolution, and therefore we are virtually unchanged from our ancestors. We just want to eat, fuck, and sleep in comfort. There really isn't a hell of a lot more to us.
So perhaps we are living in a science-fiction novel, and perhaps we are not, but I tell you this, regardless of which is true, we are just as dumb as we've ever been and we will continue to question everything we think we know just as much as we ever have.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Quote of the Day
"Sheriff's officials won't comment on Moore's involvement in Shakespeare's life."
-AP
-AP
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Unavailable For Comment
My arms hurt right now. I lifted on Sunday and they still hurt. Apparently I overdid it. The thing is, though, that I invented something as a result. I had to drive a lot today and since it hurt to raise my arms in even the slightest, I ended up steering with my thumb. I have gone on and on and on about how fucking amazing Toyotas are in the past, and this is clearly proof that I was not just a crazy person who happened to like his car. I fucking drove my car, with great accuracy, with my thumb. Okay, maybe you can do that in a lot of cars these days, what with that fancy power steering, but that isn't really the point. The point is that while doing it I realized that I had a fucking giant steering wheel that looks like something off of a 17th century barge headed to the new world in front of me, yet I could control it accurately with one digit. I thought to myself "well, it is just a leftover from olde tyme cars. And it is the last part of the old way of making cars. A throwback, if you will." Then I realized that they still run on combustible engines, gas and breaks are still controlled with the feet, the car still needs to be shifted manually even though most cars have lost the clutch, and they still basically look the same as the goddamn model T. Cars have come a long way since they were put into mass production, but they still maintain almost the exact same model as the first cars ever built. I think it is time to change all of that. Which is why I have invented the first car that can be driven with a simple thumb operated joystick. Not unlike what you might find on an XBOX controller. The system would go in between the driver and passenger seats, and you would use your other fingers to control gas and breaking. When you need a break from driving, the passenger can take over without you even needing to slow down. Also, you don't have a giant wheel in front of you the entire fucking time. The technology is there, the know how is there, the will isn't. Maybe I didn't invent this, but, by damn, I am going to see it happen. Well, I might see it happen, if someone else makes it happen. Feel free to steal this idea, world, I don't desire any sort of patent or compensation. I just want to see you get this shit working. Also, if you could name the first cars that are built with the thumb joystick control system "Mormobiles" that would be appreciated.
A lot of time when I go onto Hulu I find that they are asking me which set of commercials I would like to watch. I hear Zool's voice and it is saying "Choose the form of your destructor!" What has the world come to that I have to choose what type of commercials I am going to be subjected to?
The guard greets the anonymous prisoner at the gate, "Yes, Mr. A. Terrorist. Welcome to Guantanamo Bay. We offer a wide variety of options for our non-existent prisoners. Would you like (A) Water boarding, (B) Giant Naked Pyramid, or (C) Gnads." Whispering, the guard says, "you do not want to pick C."
More and more I realize that I am just an ideas man. I am great at coming up with shit. Follow through, well, that is someone else's department. I have a meeting at work in a couple days and I have to show some ideas. I am so fucking prepared for that meeting already. I was going to make a presentation for it but the conference room doesn't have a projector. Instead I am going to just use my ideas to kick some ass and chew some bubble gum, and although I have plenty of bubble gum, I am not going to be chewing it.
Today at a client intake I met a woman who knew of me, from my awesome reputation and possibly because my dad is currently living with her son's ex-wife. She spoke fondly of me, almost heroically. I am exaggerating, and that isn't the point of the story. The point is that she was looking for respite care for her because her husband had been, in official medical lingo, Fucked up Something Serious. This has been going on for quite some time. The guy was in line to be the dean of a school in South Africa, then he got mugged and bashed in the head. This was seventeen years ago. Recently she had had caregivers come to the house. The caregivers were of poor repute. Or at least they were after they left her house because one had shown up drunk and one had changed the goddamn locks on her house. She spoke four languages. Her husband speaks at least eight.
The weird thing is that I was basically there to monitor the person doing her intake. We have had some questions as to what organization she is really working for. Don't get me wrong, she is a good person and cares about elder care in all its forms. But we were getting the impression that she wasn't taking my organization seriously. We've sort of hounded her about it for a couple of weeks. She is now taking it seriously. We get the funding, we get the volunteers, we get shit done. I have the unfortunate job of going in as something of an overseer. I have to make friends of people who see me as an obstacle. I am surprisingly good at doing that. Perhaps being a giant who rarely talks has given me an unexpected advantage in life. I know how to turn fear of me into a very real likability.
My dad turned 57 today. Happy Birthday! I really hope that he never actually reads that happy birthday proclamation, though, as that would mean that he has found my blog. I cannot function on this blog if my family knows about it. I am not ready for them to see this side of me, and perhaps I never will. Maybe, just maybe, if my dad is turning ninety I will say "you should go to ghostmorphine.blogspot.com," and that is assuming that I keep this blog going for the next 33 years.
There is a chance that I might have a roommate soon. There are many mixed feelings about that, but mostly I am hoping it happens. I love to live on my own but this place seems awfully dead most of the time. Plus, I think that when I decided to go with a two bedroom I expected to take on a roommate at some point. Its sort of like building a ship. Eventually you are going to take on water, what's important is planning ahead of time to accommodate that water.
I can't write and listen to NPR at the same time, so this is the end of the blog, as NPR is way more interesting than I am.
A lot of time when I go onto Hulu I find that they are asking me which set of commercials I would like to watch. I hear Zool's voice and it is saying "Choose the form of your destructor!" What has the world come to that I have to choose what type of commercials I am going to be subjected to?
The guard greets the anonymous prisoner at the gate, "Yes, Mr. A. Terrorist. Welcome to Guantanamo Bay. We offer a wide variety of options for our non-existent prisoners. Would you like (A) Water boarding, (B) Giant Naked Pyramid, or (C) Gnads." Whispering, the guard says, "you do not want to pick C."
More and more I realize that I am just an ideas man. I am great at coming up with shit. Follow through, well, that is someone else's department. I have a meeting at work in a couple days and I have to show some ideas. I am so fucking prepared for that meeting already. I was going to make a presentation for it but the conference room doesn't have a projector. Instead I am going to just use my ideas to kick some ass and chew some bubble gum, and although I have plenty of bubble gum, I am not going to be chewing it.
Today at a client intake I met a woman who knew of me, from my awesome reputation and possibly because my dad is currently living with her son's ex-wife. She spoke fondly of me, almost heroically. I am exaggerating, and that isn't the point of the story. The point is that she was looking for respite care for her because her husband had been, in official medical lingo, Fucked up Something Serious. This has been going on for quite some time. The guy was in line to be the dean of a school in South Africa, then he got mugged and bashed in the head. This was seventeen years ago. Recently she had had caregivers come to the house. The caregivers were of poor repute. Or at least they were after they left her house because one had shown up drunk and one had changed the goddamn locks on her house. She spoke four languages. Her husband speaks at least eight.
The weird thing is that I was basically there to monitor the person doing her intake. We have had some questions as to what organization she is really working for. Don't get me wrong, she is a good person and cares about elder care in all its forms. But we were getting the impression that she wasn't taking my organization seriously. We've sort of hounded her about it for a couple of weeks. She is now taking it seriously. We get the funding, we get the volunteers, we get shit done. I have the unfortunate job of going in as something of an overseer. I have to make friends of people who see me as an obstacle. I am surprisingly good at doing that. Perhaps being a giant who rarely talks has given me an unexpected advantage in life. I know how to turn fear of me into a very real likability.
My dad turned 57 today. Happy Birthday! I really hope that he never actually reads that happy birthday proclamation, though, as that would mean that he has found my blog. I cannot function on this blog if my family knows about it. I am not ready for them to see this side of me, and perhaps I never will. Maybe, just maybe, if my dad is turning ninety I will say "you should go to ghostmorphine.blogspot.com," and that is assuming that I keep this blog going for the next 33 years.
There is a chance that I might have a roommate soon. There are many mixed feelings about that, but mostly I am hoping it happens. I love to live on my own but this place seems awfully dead most of the time. Plus, I think that when I decided to go with a two bedroom I expected to take on a roommate at some point. Its sort of like building a ship. Eventually you are going to take on water, what's important is planning ahead of time to accommodate that water.
I can't write and listen to NPR at the same time, so this is the end of the blog, as NPR is way more interesting than I am.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Meaningless Status Update
Matt Moore had a dream about women so beautiful that he actually woke up pissed off that all women weren't so wonderful, albeit other women aren't so fictional, so there is a trade off. 06:47 am
Matt Moore is listening to "Monday, Monday" by the Mamas and the Papas. "Monday Monkey lives for the weekend." -Leela 06:53 am
Matt Moore drinks coffee like a pro. 07:01 am
Matt Moore realizes he forgot to put his clothes in the dryer last night, and now is going to be late. 07:10 am
Matt Moore can't find his goddamn wallet. 07:11 am
Matt Moore wants to put whiskey in his coffee now. 07:11 am
Matt Moore is out of whiskey. 07:23 am
Matt Moore is outt of herre, scukers! Woo! Works is goigng to be aweesome. Parrr-rrty! 07:33 am
Matt Moore is listening to "Monday, Monday" by the Mamas and the Papas. "Monday Monkey lives for the weekend." -Leela 06:53 am
Matt Moore drinks coffee like a pro. 07:01 am
Matt Moore realizes he forgot to put his clothes in the dryer last night, and now is going to be late. 07:10 am
Matt Moore can't find his goddamn wallet. 07:11 am
Matt Moore wants to put whiskey in his coffee now. 07:11 am
Matt Moore is out of whiskey. 07:23 am
Matt Moore is outt of herre, scukers! Woo! Works is goigng to be aweesome. Parrr-rrty! 07:33 am
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Stop it! Stop dying!
Sometimes when I am writing my blog I wonder how much fiction I could have written in the time I've spent writing blogs. My guess is a fucking lot of fiction. Yet here I am. At least I am writing something. But I just haven't been good at writing any fiction lately. There might be something to my age that affects that writing style. I feel like I don't have the experiences and the wisdom to write well crafted story. And since I write short stories and even I don't bother to read short stories most of the time, I realize there really isn't too much harm in waiting to build up some life XP before I really throw myself completely into it. Still, I need to get working on some stuff. I keep going back and forth between wanting to go back to school for literature or going back for creative writing. I think both degrees would be useful. But a Masters in Literature sounds cooler. And is probably slightly more useful if I ever want to teach. Of course, that is practical thinking. Generally the more practical I try to be the worse I end up feeling about my life.
When I was at the PSO training in Oregon last month I was talking with this woman who was sort of bashing her father because he was a physicist who couldn't hold down any sort of job and seemed, most of the time, to be a bit off. He would, apparently, just hang around the house and work on equations and fart around. I told her that I had watched a documentary on mathematicians and the high prevalence of insanity that occurs in that field (which is true). That knowledge seemed to soothe her. But it sort of made me mad at her, since I had always wanted to have some half-mad father figure in my life.
Then I look at the practicality of having a father that doesn't really do anything and it occurs to me that that would actually suck. My father is largely defined by his job, and his job provided us everything we needed to grow up in this society. Which makes me realize that no one is really free to just do whatever the fuck they want once they have kids to deal with. It's sort of sad, for me, to realize that because it means that I will likely never be able to have kids. Not that I want any now, but I just float around in this world, doing whatever seems to work out for me at any particular moment. I provide no stability, I provide no role model. The only way that I can really realistically imagine having a family of my own some day is if I am married to someone that makes enough money to support me, her, kids, and a full time nanny. I suppose its possible that I could meet, fall in love, and marry a woman with wealth and, perhaps, huge tracks of land. Honestly I just don't see that really happening though. Maybe if I hung out around prestigious law schools or something. With any luck I could find a woman who is on track to be a partner in some major law firm in the next ten years and has just horrible taste in men.
I came to my blog to post something that I haven't posted because I sort of forgot what it was I was going to post. I thought that if I typed for a while it would come back to me, but it hasn't. Instead I shall just post 5 more tall tales by climate change deniers and leave it at that.
When I was at the PSO training in Oregon last month I was talking with this woman who was sort of bashing her father because he was a physicist who couldn't hold down any sort of job and seemed, most of the time, to be a bit off. He would, apparently, just hang around the house and work on equations and fart around. I told her that I had watched a documentary on mathematicians and the high prevalence of insanity that occurs in that field (which is true). That knowledge seemed to soothe her. But it sort of made me mad at her, since I had always wanted to have some half-mad father figure in my life.
Then I look at the practicality of having a father that doesn't really do anything and it occurs to me that that would actually suck. My father is largely defined by his job, and his job provided us everything we needed to grow up in this society. Which makes me realize that no one is really free to just do whatever the fuck they want once they have kids to deal with. It's sort of sad, for me, to realize that because it means that I will likely never be able to have kids. Not that I want any now, but I just float around in this world, doing whatever seems to work out for me at any particular moment. I provide no stability, I provide no role model. The only way that I can really realistically imagine having a family of my own some day is if I am married to someone that makes enough money to support me, her, kids, and a full time nanny. I suppose its possible that I could meet, fall in love, and marry a woman with wealth and, perhaps, huge tracks of land. Honestly I just don't see that really happening though. Maybe if I hung out around prestigious law schools or something. With any luck I could find a woman who is on track to be a partner in some major law firm in the next ten years and has just horrible taste in men.
I came to my blog to post something that I haven't posted because I sort of forgot what it was I was going to post. I thought that if I typed for a while it would come back to me, but it hasn't. Instead I shall just post 5 more tall tales by climate change deniers and leave it at that.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Deliciousosity
One of my neighbors, who shall remain nameless (because I don't actually know any of my neighbors), is baking up some amazing Cinnamonie smelling breakfast. Probably for their loved ones or something. Mother fuckers. I am Jack's enraged sense of entitlement.
I am not nearly as hip as I used to be when it comes to finding cool British sitcoms, but I came across Black Books on Hulu and it is quite good. Although I might just like it because it has Bill Bailey and involves self-obsessed loners who drink and smoke to much.
Damn those neighbors. If anyone reads this in the next ten minutes or so, they should bring me over some sort of delicious baked goods. Especially if that person happens to be some sort of Master Baker (ha! master baker) by trade (*cou-Sara-gh*). I wouldn't be able to give you any sort of compensation, but isn't spending time in the kitchen baking then driving all the way over here to watch me eat something you made reward enough? Yes, yes it is.
Well, the mighty Blog-Off '09 is over. I won, just like I predicted. Cheb certainly gave me a run for my money, though. Honestly at the beginning I thought he would just spend most of the month coasting on the lead he already had and then maybe throw up one or two posts if I got close. But he pounded out nearly twenty posts. Had I not been completely obsessive about winning, I would surely have found myself on the losing end.
I don't know that I had the results I was hoping for from the Might Blog-Off '09, which I won, that I was hoping for. Sara says she might start blogging more. And Skot sort of resurrected his blog. All the rest of them are still down. Still, it is a start. And I plan on doing the Great Internet Blog-Off of '010 later this year as well. The plan is to get way more people involved. And perhaps to set up some sort of special blog that we can go to to either link to our newest blogs or all be more interconnected through one site that we can all post on. I don't know how well that will work, or how many people will constitute "all." Fortunately that is a project for the autumn, and as I have proved time and time again, I probably will forget about this by then. Although if anyone is interested, or if anyone has been blogging and I didn't mention that you've started up again (or never quit and I'm just an idiot) post a link in the comments, please. I thoroughly enjoy reading people's blogs, and there need be more of them.
I have been told that my Wednesday segment, Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga, needs a new name. I will take suggestions, if anyone has any, but this isn't some fruity democracy or anything. I mean, it's going to take one hell of a good name to get me to actually change it.
When I was a bit younger I was obsessed with Dave Barry. I really wanted to grow up to be just a random humor columnist. I guess that dream could be way easier to realize now with the internet. I hadn't really thought about it till recently, though. But after a month of power-blogging, I am starting to think about it some more. Most of the blogs I post here are just me talking about myself for a few pages. And generally they are just me complaining, but the ones that I actually put work into and try hard to get something that will be of more general interest are way more fun to write. Even if they aren't, as I'm sure many will point out, actually funny.
I am not nearly as hip as I used to be when it comes to finding cool British sitcoms, but I came across Black Books on Hulu and it is quite good. Although I might just like it because it has Bill Bailey and involves self-obsessed loners who drink and smoke to much.
Damn those neighbors. If anyone reads this in the next ten minutes or so, they should bring me over some sort of delicious baked goods. Especially if that person happens to be some sort of Master Baker (ha! master baker) by trade (*cou-Sara-gh*). I wouldn't be able to give you any sort of compensation, but isn't spending time in the kitchen baking then driving all the way over here to watch me eat something you made reward enough? Yes, yes it is.
Well, the mighty Blog-Off '09 is over. I won, just like I predicted. Cheb certainly gave me a run for my money, though. Honestly at the beginning I thought he would just spend most of the month coasting on the lead he already had and then maybe throw up one or two posts if I got close. But he pounded out nearly twenty posts. Had I not been completely obsessive about winning, I would surely have found myself on the losing end.
I don't know that I had the results I was hoping for from the Might Blog-Off '09, which I won, that I was hoping for. Sara says she might start blogging more. And Skot sort of resurrected his blog. All the rest of them are still down. Still, it is a start. And I plan on doing the Great Internet Blog-Off of '010 later this year as well. The plan is to get way more people involved. And perhaps to set up some sort of special blog that we can go to to either link to our newest blogs or all be more interconnected through one site that we can all post on. I don't know how well that will work, or how many people will constitute "all." Fortunately that is a project for the autumn, and as I have proved time and time again, I probably will forget about this by then. Although if anyone is interested, or if anyone has been blogging and I didn't mention that you've started up again (or never quit and I'm just an idiot) post a link in the comments, please. I thoroughly enjoy reading people's blogs, and there need be more of them.
I have been told that my Wednesday segment, Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga, needs a new name. I will take suggestions, if anyone has any, but this isn't some fruity democracy or anything. I mean, it's going to take one hell of a good name to get me to actually change it.
When I was a bit younger I was obsessed with Dave Barry. I really wanted to grow up to be just a random humor columnist. I guess that dream could be way easier to realize now with the internet. I hadn't really thought about it till recently, though. But after a month of power-blogging, I am starting to think about it some more. Most of the blogs I post here are just me talking about myself for a few pages. And generally they are just me complaining, but the ones that I actually put work into and try hard to get something that will be of more general interest are way more fun to write. Even if they aren't, as I'm sure many will point out, actually funny.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Insert Here
Over the next couple of hours I will have to monitor this blog and chebs fairly closely. The challenge ends at midnight tonight, and, after my cunning strategy of lulling cheb into a false sense of security by keeping him up most of the month and then powering through right at the end. Sort of an underdog story, there. I wonder who shall play me in the movie? Steve Buscemi, maybe, he'll have to put some weight on though.
Looking over some of my older blogs from this year, I remembered that I had started off the year talking about vague new years resolutions and I followed through with that for about as long as I figured I probably would, about three and a half weeks. Not that I was really being all that good with them, anyway.
Now it is time to start 2010 and again time to make resolutions, though I think I will skip that this year, since it isn't something that I ever follow through with. I don't think you can really change your life just because the calender skips to the next year. Its sort of like saying that regardless of what happened Monday, starting at 12:01 Tuesday morning everything is going to start going better for you. Even if your family was murdered. By you. At 11:59. That might be an exaggeration.
I am writing this on Paul's crappy as keyboard with his crappy ass mouse. Damn him and his sub par electronics.
There really isn't much that I am planning on doing tonight. Everyone here is shouting about trying to find a movie with some titties in it. Now they are arguing that the movies that have tits in them aren't that great, and seer claims he can get tits on his phone now, so theres no reason to watch a movie with titties. It is a riveting conversation, and certainly it was meaningful enough for me to transcribe the conversation. Or it wasn't, I don't know,it's hard to concentrate when people are shouting about titties.
I am at a point in my life where I realize that my memory is about as powerful as that of a goldfishes. Or people fuck with me and tell me they remember me when they don't. I don't know, there are several possibilities there that need to be explored. I was thinking last night that when I am an old man and someone says "you should write a memoir about your awesome life" I will say, "so be it, summon to be a biographer, an investigative reporter, and an archivist and we shall begin." And then I would write, through committee, my own life story. Just with all the gaps filled in through researchers. I imagine that many of my additions to the book would look something along the lines of:
"Although there are several eye witness reports that claim I did in fact strap the bear to the hood of my car and drive it through the mall, all I remember doing that day was leaving the house to go on my first date with the presidents daughter. Many people claim I never dated the presidents daughter, and they were probably right about that as well."
Right now I believe that I am done with this blog. Because I can't really think of anything to add to that.
Looking over some of my older blogs from this year, I remembered that I had started off the year talking about vague new years resolutions and I followed through with that for about as long as I figured I probably would, about three and a half weeks. Not that I was really being all that good with them, anyway.
Now it is time to start 2010 and again time to make resolutions, though I think I will skip that this year, since it isn't something that I ever follow through with. I don't think you can really change your life just because the calender skips to the next year. Its sort of like saying that regardless of what happened Monday, starting at 12:01 Tuesday morning everything is going to start going better for you. Even if your family was murdered. By you. At 11:59. That might be an exaggeration.
I am writing this on Paul's crappy as keyboard with his crappy ass mouse. Damn him and his sub par electronics.
There really isn't much that I am planning on doing tonight. Everyone here is shouting about trying to find a movie with some titties in it. Now they are arguing that the movies that have tits in them aren't that great, and seer claims he can get tits on his phone now, so theres no reason to watch a movie with titties. It is a riveting conversation, and certainly it was meaningful enough for me to transcribe the conversation. Or it wasn't, I don't know,it's hard to concentrate when people are shouting about titties.
I am at a point in my life where I realize that my memory is about as powerful as that of a goldfishes. Or people fuck with me and tell me they remember me when they don't. I don't know, there are several possibilities there that need to be explored. I was thinking last night that when I am an old man and someone says "you should write a memoir about your awesome life" I will say, "so be it, summon to be a biographer, an investigative reporter, and an archivist and we shall begin." And then I would write, through committee, my own life story. Just with all the gaps filled in through researchers. I imagine that many of my additions to the book would look something along the lines of:
"Although there are several eye witness reports that claim I did in fact strap the bear to the hood of my car and drive it through the mall, all I remember doing that day was leaving the house to go on my first date with the presidents daughter. Many people claim I never dated the presidents daughter, and they were probably right about that as well."
Right now I believe that I am done with this blog. Because I can't really think of anything to add to that.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saviour Of The Universe
Note: if you came looking for Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga pt. 2! And are perturbed to find some rambly post instead, I suggest you scroll down. Then scroll back up and read this post. Or read them in whatever order you want. Or not at all. I don't give a fuck.
I threw on some Queen and "Don't Stop Me Now" came on and I realized that, although I have sung along many times, I have no fucking clue who the hell this "Lady Godiva" is that he is "passing by like". And yes, that sentence ended in a preposition. So I looked her up on el Wikipedia and realized she was a smoking hottie that rode through town naked to protest taxes, well, supposedly at least. I was going to say something along the lines of "why don't tax protesters do that now?" then I realized they probably had, then I remembered they were fucking crazy:
All this got me thinking, though, that the metaphors in "Don't Stop Me Now" don't make any sort of sense. Let's examine a couple of them, shall we?
Lyric #1: I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity.
It's sort of like he sort of crammed two metaphors in there and hoped no one would give a shit. And, largely, no one did. But at the same time, shooting stars are just small hunks of space debris burning up in the atmosphere, as they are falling, to the surface, due to gravity. And, as far as I know, aside from certain Crouching Tigers, no tiger can actually defy gravity either. Of course, everything is subject to gravity. Everything but Penelope Cruz's cleavage .
I get it, I mean, what he's going for with that line, but you don't get to be a shooting star and a tiger in the same line. Unless its some sort of crazy PSA.
I threw on some Queen and "Don't Stop Me Now" came on and I realized that, although I have sung along many times, I have no fucking clue who the hell this "Lady Godiva" is that he is "passing by like". And yes, that sentence ended in a preposition. So I looked her up on el Wikipedia and realized she was a smoking hottie that rode through town naked to protest taxes, well, supposedly at least. I was going to say something along the lines of "why don't tax protesters do that now?" then I realized they probably had, then I remembered they were fucking crazy:
Pictured: Fucking Crazy
All this got me thinking, though, that the metaphors in "Don't Stop Me Now" don't make any sort of sense. Let's examine a couple of them, shall we?
Lyric #1: I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity.
It's sort of like he sort of crammed two metaphors in there and hoped no one would give a shit. And, largely, no one did. But at the same time, shooting stars are just small hunks of space debris burning up in the atmosphere, as they are falling, to the surface, due to gravity. And, as far as I know, aside from certain Crouching Tigers, no tiger can actually defy gravity either. Of course, everything is subject to gravity. Everything but Penelope Cruz's cleavage .
I get it, I mean, what he's going for with that line, but you don't get to be a shooting star and a tiger in the same line. Unless its some sort of crazy PSA.
Monkey's and Tigers have lived peacefully for all of time. Except for all those times Tigers have eaten monkeys.
Lyric #2: I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars On a collision course, I am a satellite I'm out of control, I am a sex machine ready to reload, Like an atom bomb about to, Oh oh oh oh oh explode
I shall skip the pointless comments I could make about this and go straight to the visual: 
Yes, I took time to actually photoshop that. You're welcome.
Look, I think the song fucking rocks, and it will probably long outlive me. All I'm saying is that if you actually think about all the things he claims to be in that 3:32 minute rock-opera, you will realize one of two things: (1) Freddy Mercury has a personality disorder, or (2)He is the rockingest, fucking awesomeist, King of All Mankind. I'm going with number two. He taught us all how to be awesomer, and he will live forever for that achievement.
Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga pt.2!
Welcome, one and all, to Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga, pt. 2!
There is surprisingly little evidence for what the universe is really made up of, of what is really out there, of what we are seeing. Why is it that both sides of the universe look the same, even though they never could have touched, nor been close enough for light to reach from one side to the other, even in the first moments of the big bang? If, as the big bang theory suggests, matter and anti-matter were produced in equal parts during the first moments of the universe, then why can’t we find any anti-matter? Or dark matter? OR negative matter? Or any other type of matter that has a fucking awesome name? Why?! And why can’t we call regular matter something awesome, like Indefatigable Matter? Or something even more rad that I can’t come up with because thesaurus.com is taking too long to load? What’s with all the questions? Who are you working for? What the fuck is the point I’m trying to get at?
Since we don’t really know what the hell is going on with, you know, anything, an insane amount of theories have been explored. My pick of the week: The Universe is a Hologram. Yes, like a special edition trading card.
What is most impressive about this idea, aside from the fact that we are living in a universe sized Matrix, is that the person that came up with this theory is clearly the son of Freddy Mercury and Dolph Lungrund, although probably sent back in time, possibly by the the Matrix itself.
Okay, so I am severely lacking in the ability to explain this in any way that could make sense to the common person (i.e. myself), but I have taken the morning to go over this theory and this is the summary I have come up with:
1. The universe is not in the shape of a Pringle, a doughnut, a Bugle or any other food (scientists either thing humans only recognize shapes that are also foods or they need to make a goddamn sammach) but is actually a regular, boring old sphere.
2. Surrounding that sphere is a layer of tiny ass protons about 10-16 meters in size. However, those are fucking huge because the regular size of those protons is 10-35 meters. If you don’t understand what that means (and I only pretend to know what that means), a meter is about 3.28 feet (or, the way Paul remembers it, a DV (Darth Vader) is equal to exactly two meters) So imagine something that is .00000000000000000000000000000000001 the size of 3 ¼ feet. Now imagine if you were to more than double that size. That is how big we are talking about the layer of protons surrounding the universe. Only, like, eighteen quadrillion billion zillion10 of them.
3. Those bigger protons on the edge are there, in theory, because that is where the picture starts to get blurry. Yes, like when you zoom in to far on a photo or try to watch a Girls Gone Wild Video on TV.
That is essentially where the image ends. The theory is that we are inside the massive hologram and that those protons are where the image starts to get all blurry. The idea is to somehow prove there is a blurriness, somehow measure it, and, then, somehow, prove the hypothesis. I guess.
Frankly I don’t possibly see how that plan could fail.
Still, if you decide to believe that we are all living in a holographic projection (and some philosophers think we are), it does beg the question as to who made the projection. I believe that I have narrowed it down to three possible candidates:
1. The Time Traveling Bird that sabotaged the Large Hadron Collider
2. A Zombie Creature that is using humans for some evil, self serving plot; or:
3. Raptor Jesus
The fact that we could be living in a holographic projection doesn’t seem to me to be enough to prove that we are in science fiction novel. And neither do any of these other crazy ass theories. And even the fact that the German’s have teamed up with the British have teamed up on a project called “GEO600” that seems to inadvertently be measuring the universe pixilation may still be too much of a stretch to prove we are in Sci-Fi.
edit: apparently if you copy and paste html from Word into blogger it can get all fucky-uppy. All the links were broken, you hear me?! ALL OF THEM! Now they should be fixed though.
There is surprisingly little evidence for what the universe is really made up of, of what is really out there, of what we are seeing. Why is it that both sides of the universe look the same, even though they never could have touched, nor been close enough for light to reach from one side to the other, even in the first moments of the big bang? If, as the big bang theory suggests, matter and anti-matter were produced in equal parts during the first moments of the universe, then why can’t we find any anti-matter? Or dark matter? OR negative matter? Or any other type of matter that has a fucking awesome name? Why?! And why can’t we call regular matter something awesome, like Indefatigable Matter? Or something even more rad that I can’t come up with because thesaurus.com is taking too long to load? What’s with all the questions? Who are you working for? What the fuck is the point I’m trying to get at?
Since we don’t really know what the hell is going on with, you know, anything, an insane amount of theories have been explored. My pick of the week: The Universe is a Hologram. Yes, like a special edition trading card.
Pictured: The Universe
What is most impressive about this idea, aside from the fact that we are living in a universe sized Matrix, is that the person that came up with this theory is clearly the son of Freddy Mercury and Dolph Lungrund, although probably sent back in time, possibly by the the Matrix itself.
Okay, so I am severely lacking in the ability to explain this in any way that could make sense to the common person (i.e. myself), but I have taken the morning to go over this theory and this is the summary I have come up with:
1. The universe is not in the shape of a Pringle, a doughnut, a Bugle or any other food (scientists either thing humans only recognize shapes that are also foods or they need to make a goddamn sammach) but is actually a regular, boring old sphere.
2. Surrounding that sphere is a layer of tiny ass protons about 10-16 meters in size. However, those are fucking huge because the regular size of those protons is 10-35 meters. If you don’t understand what that means (and I only pretend to know what that means), a meter is about 3.28 feet (or, the way Paul remembers it, a DV (Darth Vader) is equal to exactly two meters) So imagine something that is .00000000000000000000000000000000001 the size of 3 ¼ feet. Now imagine if you were to more than double that size. That is how big we are talking about the layer of protons surrounding the universe. Only, like, eighteen quadrillion billion zillion10 of them.
3. Those bigger protons on the edge are there, in theory, because that is where the picture starts to get blurry. Yes, like when you zoom in to far on a photo or try to watch a Girls Gone Wild Video on TV.
That is essentially where the image ends. The theory is that we are inside the massive hologram and that those protons are where the image starts to get all blurry. The idea is to somehow prove there is a blurriness, somehow measure it, and, then, somehow, prove the hypothesis. I guess.
Frankly I don’t possibly see how that plan could fail.
Still, if you decide to believe that we are all living in a holographic projection (and some philosophers think we are), it does beg the question as to who made the projection. I believe that I have narrowed it down to three possible candidates:
1. The Time Traveling Bird that sabotaged the Large Hadron Collider
2. A Zombie Creature that is using humans for some evil, self serving plot; or:
3. Raptor Jesus
The fact that we could be living in a holographic projection doesn’t seem to me to be enough to prove that we are in science fiction novel. And neither do any of these other crazy ass theories. And even the fact that the German’s have teamed up with the British have teamed up on a project called “GEO600” that seems to inadvertently be measuring the universe pixilation may still be too much of a stretch to prove we are in Sci-Fi.
edit: apparently if you copy and paste html from Word into blogger it can get all fucky-uppy. All the links were broken, you hear me?! ALL OF THEM! Now they should be fixed though.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Battlefield Girth
There is an art to finding a new bar. Bars are a dime a dozen, and there are probably quite a few in your area (check local listings!). But you can't just go to a bar. I know that TV would have us believe that if you are totally cool you can just wander into any bar and be the hit of that shit. However, it takes a little patience and perseverance. First you must find a bar close enough that you can walk home from, and then you must find one that caters to your needs, whatever those might be.
Once you find the right place, it is a matter of going there on a regular basis. It has to be at least once a week at first, and that is if you are going on the same night each week. It helps if you wear basically the same thing, as well, and order the same (or basically the same) drinks every time you go in as well. You are trying to reinforce yourself to the other people there and especially to the bartender.
That is why you have to go in on the same nights. Once you are in with the bartender you are in with the bar. This takes time, as most bartenders, in my experience, are somewhat evasive about talking to people they don't recognize. The stereotype is that all bartenders are there to chat with as many customers as possible, but that just isn't how it works. They chat with the people they know, they avoid the first timers that could very well be there because of some trauma they just suffered and want to find a place they can drink and talk about their issues. Bartenders don't really care any more than anyone else about your problems. I'm sorry, but its true. If you are truly a social person you can get in with the bartender on the first visit, but it could be a fairly tenuous In. They might be being nice to you, but they don't really know you, and they don't honestly give a fuck if you come back in. Trying to establish yourself at a new bar is like starting any new relationship. You can't just throw yourself into it, people need time to adjust to you being there.
My technique is to say very little on the first visit. Just sit and try not to look too pissed off for a little while. On the next trip, the bartender will recognize you and start warming up. On the third, they realize you might become a regular and they will be fairly nice to you. After that it can be a crap shoot, but if you keep going you will find yourself on friendly terms with the bartender and, subsequently, everyone else in the bar.
There is great fun to be had once you are part of a particular bars community. Once you start to get to know the people that come in, you will start to get to know everyone. And once you do that, you will find that you have more friends than you can handle whenever you go in.
I think that a lot of people think that people that go to the same bar over and over are either just alcoholics or are desperate to get laid. That isn't always the case, though. Sometimes they are looking for a sense of community with people that live relatively close to where they live. In a city like Reno that is hard to find. It's big enough that we don't bother to get to know our neighbors because they aren't really important to our lives. If you aren't religious a bar is really the only place you can go to meet people and socialize in a friendly environment. But they don't just welcome you right away. You have to earn it. Otherwise you are just a random dude that wandered in that once time.
The reason I bring this up is because there is a bar I've been to a couple of times now that I think I might want to try to make my regular tavern ("You said Tavern! I'm going to Moe's!"). I think that it could work out, but I need to follow my own rules and take it slow and get myself incorporated there. Everyone else seemed to know each other, so I figure that it is a strong community spot. And the bartender was hot enough to look at but not smoking hot, which means that I'll be nice to her but I probably won't start hitting on her after two beers. That is another important part to the whole integration scheme. You have to like the bartender, but you can't like-like the bartender, because then shit gets weird quick.
Once you find the right place, it is a matter of going there on a regular basis. It has to be at least once a week at first, and that is if you are going on the same night each week. It helps if you wear basically the same thing, as well, and order the same (or basically the same) drinks every time you go in as well. You are trying to reinforce yourself to the other people there and especially to the bartender.
That is why you have to go in on the same nights. Once you are in with the bartender you are in with the bar. This takes time, as most bartenders, in my experience, are somewhat evasive about talking to people they don't recognize. The stereotype is that all bartenders are there to chat with as many customers as possible, but that just isn't how it works. They chat with the people they know, they avoid the first timers that could very well be there because of some trauma they just suffered and want to find a place they can drink and talk about their issues. Bartenders don't really care any more than anyone else about your problems. I'm sorry, but its true. If you are truly a social person you can get in with the bartender on the first visit, but it could be a fairly tenuous In. They might be being nice to you, but they don't really know you, and they don't honestly give a fuck if you come back in. Trying to establish yourself at a new bar is like starting any new relationship. You can't just throw yourself into it, people need time to adjust to you being there.
My technique is to say very little on the first visit. Just sit and try not to look too pissed off for a little while. On the next trip, the bartender will recognize you and start warming up. On the third, they realize you might become a regular and they will be fairly nice to you. After that it can be a crap shoot, but if you keep going you will find yourself on friendly terms with the bartender and, subsequently, everyone else in the bar.
There is great fun to be had once you are part of a particular bars community. Once you start to get to know the people that come in, you will start to get to know everyone. And once you do that, you will find that you have more friends than you can handle whenever you go in.
I think that a lot of people think that people that go to the same bar over and over are either just alcoholics or are desperate to get laid. That isn't always the case, though. Sometimes they are looking for a sense of community with people that live relatively close to where they live. In a city like Reno that is hard to find. It's big enough that we don't bother to get to know our neighbors because they aren't really important to our lives. If you aren't religious a bar is really the only place you can go to meet people and socialize in a friendly environment. But they don't just welcome you right away. You have to earn it. Otherwise you are just a random dude that wandered in that once time.
The reason I bring this up is because there is a bar I've been to a couple of times now that I think I might want to try to make my regular tavern ("You said Tavern! I'm going to Moe's!"). I think that it could work out, but I need to follow my own rules and take it slow and get myself incorporated there. Everyone else seemed to know each other, so I figure that it is a strong community spot. And the bartender was hot enough to look at but not smoking hot, which means that I'll be nice to her but I probably won't start hitting on her after two beers. That is another important part to the whole integration scheme. You have to like the bartender, but you can't like-like the bartender, because then shit gets weird quick.
Magical Mystery Tour
So I suppose I had a fairly good Christmas. It is amazing to me how far removed I feel from the Christmases of my youth, though. We used to have to go to church and do all the religious baloney. And I was super excited about everything. The food, the candy, the presents. This year, though, I was looking forward more to going out drinking Saturday night with the Group more than anything else. I guess priorities change.
I have to be at work in an hour. Which is fine except that at the most I probably only have about an hour worth of work that needs to get done today. It's amazing how little is required of me at that place. I thought I was going to be super busy all the time, but I could probably show up two days a week and get about as much done as I do showing up five days a week. I remember once I took a personality/professional analysis test thingy and it said I wouldn't do well in an office environment. It was probably right, that environment seems to bring out my worst work habits. At least at a security job, despite there not being real work to be done most of the time, I am always doing something. Even if it is just patrol or sitting in dispatch, I am working my entire shift. I try to keep working there, but sooner or later I just have nothing to do. I know that I probably just seem lazy and I a constant procrastinator, but when I'm working I'm usually quite efficent. I like to get everything done as quickly as possible. Which makes me look lazy, because I'll end up sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time when I am already finished with everything.
I really should go and get ready. I probably don't really have time to blog in the mornings like this, as it always seems to take me longer to get out the door than I think it is going to. Plus my brain isn't really on in the morning, so these blogs are probably mostly filled with useless gibberish (which is different from my other blogs how?).
Some time has passed. Not in an epic sense, it's been about nine hours since that last line. I just got back from work and it turned out that the hour of work I had predicted was about five minutes worth of work. I spent the rest of the day reading articles about this or that on my computer. Probably not the best use of my time, but I couldn't think of anything better to do. People keep asking me about my job and what it is I do and I try to tell them and downplay the whole "helping people" part as I don't know I really am helping anyone just yet. I'd like to be, but it just isn't working out that way yet. I shouldn't be modest. If anything I should be overselling it. I'm not used to trying to push for myself that way, but I think I ought to start doing that. Mostly because when girls ask what I do they seem impressed until they realize that I haven't really done much with it yet. I should work on a sales pitch for it and make it sound like I am some sort of awesome dude that is dying to help humanity. I should also make sure that I have done a good job of shaving before I leave the house, as I got to work and realized that the crappy little razors I bought made me miss about half my face, and what with the mirror in my bathroom being too short for me and the fact that I'm usually half asleep, I tend to get crappy shaves more often than not. Add into there the fact that before having this job, my average amount of shaves per month since I started shaving was somewhere around three. That takes into account the times I grew it all out, but still, I honestly don't have much experience with shaving. Which is weird, as I am 25 now, but whatever. I should just grow out a beard again. I don't think any one at work would be mad about it so long as I kept it trimmed this time.
Only three more days. Not counting today. Or about three and a half otherwise:
Mor - 43
Cheb - 44
I have to be at work in an hour. Which is fine except that at the most I probably only have about an hour worth of work that needs to get done today. It's amazing how little is required of me at that place. I thought I was going to be super busy all the time, but I could probably show up two days a week and get about as much done as I do showing up five days a week. I remember once I took a personality/professional analysis test thingy and it said I wouldn't do well in an office environment. It was probably right, that environment seems to bring out my worst work habits. At least at a security job, despite there not being real work to be done most of the time, I am always doing something. Even if it is just patrol or sitting in dispatch, I am working my entire shift. I try to keep working there, but sooner or later I just have nothing to do. I know that I probably just seem lazy and I a constant procrastinator, but when I'm working I'm usually quite efficent. I like to get everything done as quickly as possible. Which makes me look lazy, because I'll end up sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time when I am already finished with everything.
I really should go and get ready. I probably don't really have time to blog in the mornings like this, as it always seems to take me longer to get out the door than I think it is going to. Plus my brain isn't really on in the morning, so these blogs are probably mostly filled with useless gibberish (which is different from my other blogs how?).
Some time has passed. Not in an epic sense, it's been about nine hours since that last line. I just got back from work and it turned out that the hour of work I had predicted was about five minutes worth of work. I spent the rest of the day reading articles about this or that on my computer. Probably not the best use of my time, but I couldn't think of anything better to do. People keep asking me about my job and what it is I do and I try to tell them and downplay the whole "helping people" part as I don't know I really am helping anyone just yet. I'd like to be, but it just isn't working out that way yet. I shouldn't be modest. If anything I should be overselling it. I'm not used to trying to push for myself that way, but I think I ought to start doing that. Mostly because when girls ask what I do they seem impressed until they realize that I haven't really done much with it yet. I should work on a sales pitch for it and make it sound like I am some sort of awesome dude that is dying to help humanity. I should also make sure that I have done a good job of shaving before I leave the house, as I got to work and realized that the crappy little razors I bought made me miss about half my face, and what with the mirror in my bathroom being too short for me and the fact that I'm usually half asleep, I tend to get crappy shaves more often than not. Add into there the fact that before having this job, my average amount of shaves per month since I started shaving was somewhere around three. That takes into account the times I grew it all out, but still, I honestly don't have much experience with shaving. Which is weird, as I am 25 now, but whatever. I should just grow out a beard again. I don't think any one at work would be mad about it so long as I kept it trimmed this time.
Only three more days. Not counting today. Or about three and a half otherwise:
Mor - 43
Cheb - 44
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga
(Wednesday Science Non-Fiction Extravaganza!)
This week will be an easy going entry into the world of real life science fiction. Not because I think my readers aren't ready for anything else but frankly because I haven't actually had time to dig up other articles today.
So what are you doing in 2023? Feel free to check your calendar. If you don't have anything marked down for June 2023 yet, you might want to keep it clear, as scientist plan to drop a boat onto Titan.
Sometimes I wonder how people go about getting funding for a project like this. After careful thought, I have decided that a meeting might go something like the following*:
CEO: Hi, come in, have a seat.
Man: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: Okay... So, Dr. Patton-
Ishmael: Ishmael.
CEO: Dr. Ishmael-
Ishmael: Just Ishmael.
CEO: Ishmael. I hear you have a project we might be interested in.
Ishmael: It's on the moon.
CEO: Yes, the moon, your email said something about that. You are looking for something on the moon?
Ishmael: Not on our moon, on Saturn's moon. Titan.
CEO: And there was something about a boat?
Ishmael: Not just any boat, but a boat that could explore the great lake, a boat that could change history, a boat and a crew for Ahab.
CEO: Yes, and by Ahab you of course mean Dr. Conners.
Ishmael: He prefers Ahab.
CEO: Right.
Ishmael: He needs a noble craft, but somehow almost melancholy. All noble things are touched with that.
CEO: And he wants this on Saturn's moon? Saturn the planet, right? Not, like, somewhere in Detroit or something.
Ishmael: The quest will finally be over, he can finally rest, once he's captured that Moby Dick, and sent him to a cold death over Saturn.
CEO: And he wants us to pay for this?
Ishmael: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
CEO: Shit. Fuck it, you'll get yourself a fucking Titan boat, but you better let me eat some of that sweet, sweet white whale meat.
Ishmael: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: I know.
I'll be 39. In June 2023 I will be 39 years old. It seems like a long ass way off, but I figure, realizing that even Hunter S. Thompson had to kill himself because he had lived past fifty, I'll probably be around for that. I mock this little scientific journey, but I am super excited about it. Setting sail on an alien world. Fucking goddamn amazing.
Granted its a moon, and its in our solar system. Still.
I've realized in the last couple of days that the real point of Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga isn't to try to impress people with scientific achievement. It isn't to prove that we are in a science fiction novel, either. The real point of all this is to just step back for a moment and say "Holy Shit! We can do that?" And just sort of point and wonder for a moment. This may not capture your imagination as it has mine. But I feel its important to point out that life around 2009 is incredibly fucking amazing. And eventually I am going to convince everyone that's true.
*I may have "incorporated" a few Moby Dick quotes into this conversation. I point this out to avoid plagiarism lawsuits. I will now needlessly promote the book to avoid other potential lawsuits: Read "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville!! Buy several copies of that book! They is GOOD!
This week will be an easy going entry into the world of real life science fiction. Not because I think my readers aren't ready for anything else but frankly because I haven't actually had time to dig up other articles today.
So what are you doing in 2023? Feel free to check your calendar. If you don't have anything marked down for June 2023 yet, you might want to keep it clear, as scientist plan to drop a boat onto Titan.
Sometimes I wonder how people go about getting funding for a project like this. After careful thought, I have decided that a meeting might go something like the following*:
CEO: Hi, come in, have a seat.
Man: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: Okay... So, Dr. Patton-
Ishmael: Ishmael.
CEO: Dr. Ishmael-
Ishmael: Just Ishmael.
CEO: Ishmael. I hear you have a project we might be interested in.
Ishmael: It's on the moon.
CEO: Yes, the moon, your email said something about that. You are looking for something on the moon?
Ishmael: Not on our moon, on Saturn's moon. Titan.
CEO: And there was something about a boat?
Ishmael: Not just any boat, but a boat that could explore the great lake, a boat that could change history, a boat and a crew for Ahab.
CEO: Yes, and by Ahab you of course mean Dr. Conners.
Ishmael: He prefers Ahab.
CEO: Right.
Ishmael: He needs a noble craft, but somehow almost melancholy. All noble things are touched with that.
CEO: And he wants this on Saturn's moon? Saturn the planet, right? Not, like, somewhere in Detroit or something.
Ishmael: The quest will finally be over, he can finally rest, once he's captured that Moby Dick, and sent him to a cold death over Saturn.
CEO: And he wants us to pay for this?
Ishmael: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
CEO: Shit. Fuck it, you'll get yourself a fucking Titan boat, but you better let me eat some of that sweet, sweet white whale meat.
Ishmael: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: I know.
I'll be 39. In June 2023 I will be 39 years old. It seems like a long ass way off, but I figure, realizing that even Hunter S. Thompson had to kill himself because he had lived past fifty, I'll probably be around for that. I mock this little scientific journey, but I am super excited about it. Setting sail on an alien world. Fucking goddamn amazing.
Granted its a moon, and its in our solar system. Still.
I've realized in the last couple of days that the real point of Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga isn't to try to impress people with scientific achievement. It isn't to prove that we are in a science fiction novel, either. The real point of all this is to just step back for a moment and say "Holy Shit! We can do that?" And just sort of point and wonder for a moment. This may not capture your imagination as it has mine. But I feel its important to point out that life around 2009 is incredibly fucking amazing. And eventually I am going to convince everyone that's true.
*I may have "incorporated" a few Moby Dick quotes into this conversation. I point this out to avoid plagiarism lawsuits. I will now needlessly promote the book to avoid other potential lawsuits: Read "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville!! Buy several copies of that book! They is GOOD!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Chebedia Springfield
I just came up with a new theory on cats. More specifically internet cats and cat memes. Cats have exploded on the internet*. Cats are more often associated with femininity. Cat memes are all about cats making fools of themselves. Therefore, the popularity of cat memes is directly related to how much men want to see women make fools of themselves. This is, once again, a theory I just came up with. I haven't exactly tested this.
I was getting ready for Sci-Non Wed-Da (Science Non-fiction Wednesdays)and came across an article about Super-Earths. I don't think they deserve a place in Sci-Non Wed-Das, as they are mostly theoretical. Still, the idea that the first life we are likely to be able to find will be on a planet the size of Jupiter that can actually have a livable atmosphere causes me a sci-fi erection lasting longer than four hours. That is a poor metaphor, but I think you see my point. Imagine a world filled with people so giant that they measure their planet, relative to their own size, to be the size of earth. Or a planet that large that houses such small intelligent life forms that they can't even conceive of a size larger than the size of their planet. Or anything in between! It's madness, I tell you. Madness.
Cheb surprised me with a 2am double-posting session last night. I've been nipping at his heals since my triple posting session on Friday and now he has put a little distance in there. At least now I know that Cheb is playing for keepsies.
What if Superman had been from a Super-Krypton? What the shit would happen there? Would be be somehow even more invincible?
I am currently in a horribly bad mood and a fairly good mood. I want to beat the shit out of someone then enjoy a burger and watch a football game with them. My mood has been going up and down all day. Like a minor, hopefully temporary, version of bi-polar, but without all that manic-ness. I think. Although it is difficult to diagnose manic behavior in oneself. I guess I am trying to figure out if I should be happy about the way things are going in my life or just pissed off. Logic and irrationality are caught in a mortal battle in my brain at the moment. I just hope I don't ram someone off the side of the road because they are driving two miles per hour too slow before they declare a champion.
Honestly I feel like there is just a lot of anger boiling up. And I'm not sure about what, but it is there. I can't seem to get a grip on it. Generally this feeling goes away, when I do happen to have it, after a day or so, but it still is bugging me. Maybe its just that I don't have a proper enemy right now. I need someone I can really just hate. A politician at least. Some focal point for my anger. I hate to admit it, but I sort of miss Bush. At least with him I had an authority figure I could hate no matter what was going on. I don't know if I have ever mentioned this here, but on 9-11, the first chance I got to get online, I went looking for sites that were mocking Bush as they had been before that day. Most of them had gone offline already by the time I typed in the addresses. I was sort of pissed. If it wasn't cool to mock the President right after a national tragedy, then, in my mind, it was never cool to mock him. Same rules still apply. If it was cool to mock Brittany Murphy last week, it should be okay to mock her now. I honestly have no idea who Brittany Murphy is, and so I don't really care one way or another if SNL pulled the skit, but if it was funny last week then a death shouldn't change what was funny then. Maybe make it more sad, but not just quietly deleted. Still, getting back to Bush, he was the President, and then 9/11, and all of a sudden he was a saint because no one would say bad shit about him. Then Iraq, then Iran-Contra, then Afghanistan (those events may or may not apply to him or be in any sort of chronological order). The point is that if someone is an enemy they need to stay your enemy, no matter what. Unless you win. Then they are still your enemy but a defeated enemy, which makes them more dangerous. I need to feel that again. You can say what you want about my politics, but I hated Bush while he was running in '99 and I hated him when he was waving goodbye from the helicopter in '08. The world just doesn't build enough of those types of people. Constant Bastards with Power.
I really do feel that a man is judged by his enemies. It is way to easy to make friends with people. To actually stand up, to fight against, to prohibit others, that is the true mark of a man. I have no enemies. At least none of any value. By my own standard I am failing. I need to fix that. Perhaps that is the cause of my un-focused anger.
*SEE: The Entire Fucking Internet
I was getting ready for Sci-Non Wed-Da (Science Non-fiction Wednesdays)and came across an article about Super-Earths. I don't think they deserve a place in Sci-Non Wed-Das, as they are mostly theoretical. Still, the idea that the first life we are likely to be able to find will be on a planet the size of Jupiter that can actually have a livable atmosphere causes me a sci-fi erection lasting longer than four hours. That is a poor metaphor, but I think you see my point. Imagine a world filled with people so giant that they measure their planet, relative to their own size, to be the size of earth. Or a planet that large that houses such small intelligent life forms that they can't even conceive of a size larger than the size of their planet. Or anything in between! It's madness, I tell you. Madness.
Cheb surprised me with a 2am double-posting session last night. I've been nipping at his heals since my triple posting session on Friday and now he has put a little distance in there. At least now I know that Cheb is playing for keepsies.
What if Superman had been from a Super-Krypton? What the shit would happen there? Would be be somehow even more invincible?
I am currently in a horribly bad mood and a fairly good mood. I want to beat the shit out of someone then enjoy a burger and watch a football game with them. My mood has been going up and down all day. Like a minor, hopefully temporary, version of bi-polar, but without all that manic-ness. I think. Although it is difficult to diagnose manic behavior in oneself. I guess I am trying to figure out if I should be happy about the way things are going in my life or just pissed off. Logic and irrationality are caught in a mortal battle in my brain at the moment. I just hope I don't ram someone off the side of the road because they are driving two miles per hour too slow before they declare a champion.
Honestly I feel like there is just a lot of anger boiling up. And I'm not sure about what, but it is there. I can't seem to get a grip on it. Generally this feeling goes away, when I do happen to have it, after a day or so, but it still is bugging me. Maybe its just that I don't have a proper enemy right now. I need someone I can really just hate. A politician at least. Some focal point for my anger. I hate to admit it, but I sort of miss Bush. At least with him I had an authority figure I could hate no matter what was going on. I don't know if I have ever mentioned this here, but on 9-11, the first chance I got to get online, I went looking for sites that were mocking Bush as they had been before that day. Most of them had gone offline already by the time I typed in the addresses. I was sort of pissed. If it wasn't cool to mock the President right after a national tragedy, then, in my mind, it was never cool to mock him. Same rules still apply. If it was cool to mock Brittany Murphy last week, it should be okay to mock her now. I honestly have no idea who Brittany Murphy is, and so I don't really care one way or another if SNL pulled the skit, but if it was funny last week then a death shouldn't change what was funny then. Maybe make it more sad, but not just quietly deleted. Still, getting back to Bush, he was the President, and then 9/11, and all of a sudden he was a saint because no one would say bad shit about him. Then Iraq, then Iran-Contra, then Afghanistan (those events may or may not apply to him or be in any sort of chronological order). The point is that if someone is an enemy they need to stay your enemy, no matter what. Unless you win. Then they are still your enemy but a defeated enemy, which makes them more dangerous. I need to feel that again. You can say what you want about my politics, but I hated Bush while he was running in '99 and I hated him when he was waving goodbye from the helicopter in '08. The world just doesn't build enough of those types of people. Constant Bastards with Power.
I really do feel that a man is judged by his enemies. It is way to easy to make friends with people. To actually stand up, to fight against, to prohibit others, that is the true mark of a man. I have no enemies. At least none of any value. By my own standard I am failing. I need to fix that. Perhaps that is the cause of my un-focused anger.
*SEE: The Entire Fucking Internet
Monday, December 21, 2009
Annoyinginging
I overslept yesterday. By about seven hours. Over by seven hours. Fifteen hours total. I didn't mean for that to happen. One minute I was reading a comic and the next I was asleep. I even had one of those annoying little sleep paralysis things happen while I was asleep. I think those happen to me more often when I have fallen asleep for a nap and its gone on far too long. And all day today I've felt like I've been drugged. Like someone slipped me a few uppers and a few downers and was seeing if I could still drive a car. Apparently I can, as I made it home alright.
A little bit ago I got an idea for hanging out with people this weekend as I think a fair amount of people will be in Fallon for the holiday. I realized after I sent it that a couple of guys families have moved away from Fallon since high school and therefore probably won't be around. Whoopsie. Oh well, at least they know that I haven't completely forgotten about them. Just that I've forgotten they've no reason to come to Fallon for christmas.
Christmas is expensive. What with all the traveling and the gifts and everything. I tried to go shopping at the mall, but everything was so damned expensive and there were so many people there and half the shelves had been stripped clean in apparent frenzies. I gave up after a few stores and just went home and ordered the rest of the crap online. Amazon offered free two day shipping with a trial of some new "Amazon Prime" thing they are running, and the discounts you get on stuff through them makes even having to pay for shipping way more economical than going to the mall. And there is the bonus of not having to go to the mall. I realize that this sounds like an ad for Amazon, and in a way it is. Lets call it an endorsement instead. I don't recommend buying a bunch of crap, but if you have to, just get it on the fucking internet and save yourself a headache or two.
My body is still sore from sleeping so much yesterday, but I am also very tired. I wish I could sleep from a sleeping bag mounted on the wall sometimes, the way astronauts do. Not that I would very often, but sometimes lying down is slightly more painful than keeping yourself vertical. Unless you fall out of the bag or something.
This AmeriCorps job is starting to turn out to be fairly good. I was having a few doubts about it, but between all the conferences and meetings and educational opportunities, it won't be nearly as slow as it was looking like it was going to be. I sort of wish that I had more of an interest in Geriatric studies as I am probably going to get to see a fairly wide array of doctors and social workers giving lectures on the topic during the course of the job. And it's all considered part of the job, which is nice. By the time I left UNR I was so sick of classes and books and lectures that I didn't want to deal with anything like that for a while. Now I am super excited about getting to go back to my old Alma Mater for a day or two and get to learn some new shit.
Probably the best part of all that, though, is that it gives me stuff to look forward to. Most jobs you go in, go to lunch, go home, repeat. Always the same thing over and over. At least here there is enough variety to make the days stuck in the office figuring out how to make a decent looking newsletter less boring. Although I say this after a week. After a month, after six, who knows? Maybe going to conferences and lectures will get old after a while, too.
I'm beginning to realize that this entry is fairly dull. Sorry. It sort of happens when I run out of steam. I've sort of acclimatized to the new schedule, but not entirely. And I can't help but try and fight off actually wanting to go to sleep at 10pm. Something about that seems so wrong to me. Yet it is 9:30 now and if it were not for my giant sized fountain drink I probably would have passed out on the keyboard by now.
I think that I am going to designate Wednesdays on this blog to being "Sci-Fi Wednesdays" or something to that effect but with a cooler name. I can't seem to go a day without finding more proof that we are living in a sci-fi novel/bad screenplay. Like this Geologist in Switzerland that was just acquitted for causing earthquakes while drilling for renewable energy. Yes, its the beginning to the fucking plot the 2003's The Core.
Only Hillary Swank wasn't involved. That we know of.
A little bit ago I got an idea for hanging out with people this weekend as I think a fair amount of people will be in Fallon for the holiday. I realized after I sent it that a couple of guys families have moved away from Fallon since high school and therefore probably won't be around. Whoopsie. Oh well, at least they know that I haven't completely forgotten about them. Just that I've forgotten they've no reason to come to Fallon for christmas.
Christmas is expensive. What with all the traveling and the gifts and everything. I tried to go shopping at the mall, but everything was so damned expensive and there were so many people there and half the shelves had been stripped clean in apparent frenzies. I gave up after a few stores and just went home and ordered the rest of the crap online. Amazon offered free two day shipping with a trial of some new "Amazon Prime" thing they are running, and the discounts you get on stuff through them makes even having to pay for shipping way more economical than going to the mall. And there is the bonus of not having to go to the mall. I realize that this sounds like an ad for Amazon, and in a way it is. Lets call it an endorsement instead. I don't recommend buying a bunch of crap, but if you have to, just get it on the fucking internet and save yourself a headache or two.
My body is still sore from sleeping so much yesterday, but I am also very tired. I wish I could sleep from a sleeping bag mounted on the wall sometimes, the way astronauts do. Not that I would very often, but sometimes lying down is slightly more painful than keeping yourself vertical. Unless you fall out of the bag or something.
This AmeriCorps job is starting to turn out to be fairly good. I was having a few doubts about it, but between all the conferences and meetings and educational opportunities, it won't be nearly as slow as it was looking like it was going to be. I sort of wish that I had more of an interest in Geriatric studies as I am probably going to get to see a fairly wide array of doctors and social workers giving lectures on the topic during the course of the job. And it's all considered part of the job, which is nice. By the time I left UNR I was so sick of classes and books and lectures that I didn't want to deal with anything like that for a while. Now I am super excited about getting to go back to my old Alma Mater for a day or two and get to learn some new shit.
Probably the best part of all that, though, is that it gives me stuff to look forward to. Most jobs you go in, go to lunch, go home, repeat. Always the same thing over and over. At least here there is enough variety to make the days stuck in the office figuring out how to make a decent looking newsletter less boring. Although I say this after a week. After a month, after six, who knows? Maybe going to conferences and lectures will get old after a while, too.
I'm beginning to realize that this entry is fairly dull. Sorry. It sort of happens when I run out of steam. I've sort of acclimatized to the new schedule, but not entirely. And I can't help but try and fight off actually wanting to go to sleep at 10pm. Something about that seems so wrong to me. Yet it is 9:30 now and if it were not for my giant sized fountain drink I probably would have passed out on the keyboard by now.
I think that I am going to designate Wednesdays on this blog to being "Sci-Fi Wednesdays" or something to that effect but with a cooler name. I can't seem to go a day without finding more proof that we are living in a sci-fi novel/bad screenplay. Like this Geologist in Switzerland that was just acquitted for causing earthquakes while drilling for renewable energy. Yes, its the beginning to the fucking plot the 2003's The Core.
Only Hillary Swank wasn't involved. That we know of.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Put a Little Mustard on That Mustard
After my triathlon of posting on Friday I completely missed posting anything yesterday. And now that I am finally getting back here I can't think of anything to say.
Paul and I were talking about comics last night and we decided that they need to create some new comic titles for some of the bigger heroes. The new titles would take place in alternate dimensions that started out very similar to the ones the heroes are in now, but they would have more continuity and bigger world changing events. I still like to read Spider-man comics, but they get boring knowing that everything is going to be ultimately the same as it was when Spidey first came out. And when they do change things up, they find a way to reset everything before too long. I get that people want to read comics because they know what to expect from the characters and they can pick them up after a few years of not reading it and know that things are going to be about the same. But that is so restrictive for writers. It makes them have to write all the cool stories in less than five or six books and then make sure the hero wins and everything goes back the way it was. We want to see some comics were major chance happens from time to time. We want to see the heroes actually change and grow as their story is going on. So, alternate universe. Paul and I would be happy to write for them, by the way, in case someone who can make that happen is reading. We would totally kick ass with that job, too, mysterious comic book company executive that for some completely unknowable reason reads this blog.
My keyboard is getting harder and harder to type on. I have to hit the keys as hard as you have to type on a typewriter. Maybe thats good because it will make me slow down a little and think more about what I am saying. But if I really think about what I am saying, then I would never have anything to type onto this blog. I probably wouldn't say half the shit I say here if I was really thinking about it.
I remember when I first got online and I would sometimes spend hours downloading a single song from Napster. The other night, on a whim, I downloaded a complete discography of Electric Six. It took less than an hour to download. And I spent that hour streaming episodes of Dexter from the internet. I know everyone is well aware of how much more awesome broadband is than dial up, but I still think it is something to point out every once in a while. Technology changes fast, yo.
Last night I was reading an article about how we need to work on neuro-security protocols to protect peoples microchip implants that they are putting in their heads so they can control their prosthetic arms/legs. Yes, a serious issue that is coming up in our society is being afraid that hackers will hack into your brain and shut down your limbs. If you didn't think that we were living in a sci-fi novel before, I think this proves my point fairly well.
And if I still haven't convinced you, here are 5 Reasons to Fear Robots from a reputable site. The quick slideshow ends with this low budget movie on how we are all turning into cyborgs.
Paul and I were talking about comics last night and we decided that they need to create some new comic titles for some of the bigger heroes. The new titles would take place in alternate dimensions that started out very similar to the ones the heroes are in now, but they would have more continuity and bigger world changing events. I still like to read Spider-man comics, but they get boring knowing that everything is going to be ultimately the same as it was when Spidey first came out. And when they do change things up, they find a way to reset everything before too long. I get that people want to read comics because they know what to expect from the characters and they can pick them up after a few years of not reading it and know that things are going to be about the same. But that is so restrictive for writers. It makes them have to write all the cool stories in less than five or six books and then make sure the hero wins and everything goes back the way it was. We want to see some comics were major chance happens from time to time. We want to see the heroes actually change and grow as their story is going on. So, alternate universe. Paul and I would be happy to write for them, by the way, in case someone who can make that happen is reading. We would totally kick ass with that job, too, mysterious comic book company executive that for some completely unknowable reason reads this blog.
My keyboard is getting harder and harder to type on. I have to hit the keys as hard as you have to type on a typewriter. Maybe thats good because it will make me slow down a little and think more about what I am saying. But if I really think about what I am saying, then I would never have anything to type onto this blog. I probably wouldn't say half the shit I say here if I was really thinking about it.
I remember when I first got online and I would sometimes spend hours downloading a single song from Napster. The other night, on a whim, I downloaded a complete discography of Electric Six. It took less than an hour to download. And I spent that hour streaming episodes of Dexter from the internet. I know everyone is well aware of how much more awesome broadband is than dial up, but I still think it is something to point out every once in a while. Technology changes fast, yo.
Last night I was reading an article about how we need to work on neuro-security protocols to protect peoples microchip implants that they are putting in their heads so they can control their prosthetic arms/legs. Yes, a serious issue that is coming up in our society is being afraid that hackers will hack into your brain and shut down your limbs. If you didn't think that we were living in a sci-fi novel before, I think this proves my point fairly well.
And if I still haven't convinced you, here are 5 Reasons to Fear Robots from a reputable site. The quick slideshow ends with this low budget movie on how we are all turning into cyborgs.
Friday, December 18, 2009
You are Damn right your Dad Drank it.
There, are you happy blog? I just erased an entire post because it was mindless gibberish. That's right, you win. Good for you, you surely have brought me to me knees. Except for that I have millions of words of mindless gibberish and the internet is a big place my friend.
You haven't been all that cool to me lately. Making me come on here and check my stats against Cheb and making me all like "I need to post something right now even though I have no idea what the hell to talk about." You fucker, I should kick your ass. And I would, if you were not just a computer program. Unless I'm in a computer program, like the Matrix, and I could totally just reprogram you into some sort of Agent and then kick the crap out of you with my mighty Kung Fu.
I wonder, and maybe you know this blog, if the Agents could have materialized out of forms that weren't human. I mean, they can take over any human, but why not a cat? I mean, think about seeing a cat turn into a human with sunglasses, a cheap black suit, and a scowl. That would be totally freaky. And awesome. If that were the case, though, the movies would have been way too impossible for the heros. They would have been all like "I'll just walk into this room to go to the exit and HOLY SHIT there is a motherfucking CAT in here! Run, motherfuckers, run!" Only all the emotion that was contained in that sentence would have been more deadpan and blank faced.
Honestly, blog, I don't know how you deal with all those fucking crazy ass agents running around.
I'm not really mad at you blog, you have been the forum for many of my rants and ramblings. I think I even had a post once called Rants and Ramblings or something like that. I don't know. I can barely remember what I posted up here a couple hours ago. But you can remember, can't you blog? You are like a backup for my memory. I just put shit here and you keep track of it and organize it by month. You are quite a nice friend to have. I wish I could have you follow me around. I could just tell you stuff and you would remember all of it and relate it back to me later if I felt I needed the information. What'd be great is if someone upped your intelligence, blog, they could make it like that little annoying ass paper clip "I see that you are blogging about robotic monkeys and ice cream again, when last you spoke on the topic you came to the conclusion that Chocolate ice cream would one day rise up and fight the monkeys. Is this of any help to your blogging now? []Yes [X]No."
Although I suppose if you came to life and followed me around it could be slightly annoying. I'll make what I think is an original and hilariously witty comment and you would say, like the annoying brat that follows me around everywhere, "I heard you say that before, back in March of '09. No one laughed then either." That is when I would tell you to shut your cake hole, you damn stupid bastard. And you would tell me, "Last time you told me to shut my cake hole I told you that last time you told me to shut my cake hole I asked if you were baking a cake. Is this of any help to your conversation now? []Yes []No [X]God how I hate you."
Actually the more I think about it, having little action boxes come up in real life would be handy. Like if someone you didn't want to talk to came up to you, you could just hit the ignore button. Or if the conversation was quite interesting it would say "Would you like to know more?" On the other hand, having to deal with pop ups in real life wouldn't be pleasant. We'd have to hire body guards to punch people who tried to throw pop ups at us. And although I can't think of a specific example, I am fairly confident I saw that in a commercial once.
Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Paul hasn't called yet. I was mostly blogging to kill time before Paul called and then I was going to leave and do some drinking or something to that effect. I shouldn't be surprised, as Paul is always late for everything. He has, this time, cost Cheb another point, though. As if he had called I would have stopped blogging and left. Now I am going to post it and there isn't a goddamn thing anyone can do about it.
"It looks like you are complaining about Paul being late for something. You have complained about Paul being late for something 387 times in the last fourteen blog postings. Was this information helpful to you? [X]Yes []No."
You haven't been all that cool to me lately. Making me come on here and check my stats against Cheb and making me all like "I need to post something right now even though I have no idea what the hell to talk about." You fucker, I should kick your ass. And I would, if you were not just a computer program. Unless I'm in a computer program, like the Matrix, and I could totally just reprogram you into some sort of Agent and then kick the crap out of you with my mighty Kung Fu.
I wonder, and maybe you know this blog, if the Agents could have materialized out of forms that weren't human. I mean, they can take over any human, but why not a cat? I mean, think about seeing a cat turn into a human with sunglasses, a cheap black suit, and a scowl. That would be totally freaky. And awesome. If that were the case, though, the movies would have been way too impossible for the heros. They would have been all like "I'll just walk into this room to go to the exit and HOLY SHIT there is a motherfucking CAT in here! Run, motherfuckers, run!" Only all the emotion that was contained in that sentence would have been more deadpan and blank faced.
Honestly, blog, I don't know how you deal with all those fucking crazy ass agents running around.
I'm not really mad at you blog, you have been the forum for many of my rants and ramblings. I think I even had a post once called Rants and Ramblings or something like that. I don't know. I can barely remember what I posted up here a couple hours ago. But you can remember, can't you blog? You are like a backup for my memory. I just put shit here and you keep track of it and organize it by month. You are quite a nice friend to have. I wish I could have you follow me around. I could just tell you stuff and you would remember all of it and relate it back to me later if I felt I needed the information. What'd be great is if someone upped your intelligence, blog, they could make it like that little annoying ass paper clip "I see that you are blogging about robotic monkeys and ice cream again, when last you spoke on the topic you came to the conclusion that Chocolate ice cream would one day rise up and fight the monkeys. Is this of any help to your blogging now? []Yes [X]No."
Although I suppose if you came to life and followed me around it could be slightly annoying. I'll make what I think is an original and hilariously witty comment and you would say, like the annoying brat that follows me around everywhere, "I heard you say that before, back in March of '09. No one laughed then either." That is when I would tell you to shut your cake hole, you damn stupid bastard. And you would tell me, "Last time you told me to shut my cake hole I told you that last time you told me to shut my cake hole I asked if you were baking a cake. Is this of any help to your conversation now? []Yes []No [X]God how I hate you."
Actually the more I think about it, having little action boxes come up in real life would be handy. Like if someone you didn't want to talk to came up to you, you could just hit the ignore button. Or if the conversation was quite interesting it would say "Would you like to know more?" On the other hand, having to deal with pop ups in real life wouldn't be pleasant. We'd have to hire body guards to punch people who tried to throw pop ups at us. And although I can't think of a specific example, I am fairly confident I saw that in a commercial once.
Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Paul hasn't called yet. I was mostly blogging to kill time before Paul called and then I was going to leave and do some drinking or something to that effect. I shouldn't be surprised, as Paul is always late for everything. He has, this time, cost Cheb another point, though. As if he had called I would have stopped blogging and left. Now I am going to post it and there isn't a goddamn thing anyone can do about it.
"It looks like you are complaining about Paul being late for something. You have complained about Paul being late for something 387 times in the last fourteen blog postings. Was this information helpful to you? [X]Yes []No."
You've been sick, but now you are well, and there's work to be done.
Earlier today I was remembering something my dad said to me when I wanted to quit a job to go off and do something else but was afraid my employer wouldn't be able to get on without me if I quit. He told me, "don't ever let anyone make you think you are irreplaceable."
That wasn't an exact quote, and it wasn't meant to be rude, and was, in fact, quite encouraging in its way. What he meant to say was that I should pursue my own dreams and not to worry about what might happen to the people I left behind when I went. They will always find a way to get through life without me there.
Sometimes I really wonder about what I am doing with my life. I've sort of lived with that philosophy my father dropped on me so casually. I tend to just go my own way and not to worry so much how people are getting by without me. The problem with walking your own path is that there aren't always a lot of other people around that are going the same way. It's like a highway at night. There are a lot of cars on the road still, but the closest one is just a speck of red tail light way off in the distance. And for all you know they are driving the wrong way.
The last few years have left me feeling rather lost. Perhaps I am realizing just how replaceable I am. I plow through life without a care as to what I am really doing. Then I just sort of end up doing something else for a while. There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. My theory on how to live life has often been along the lines of "do whatever you are doing until there is something else to do."
My favorite thing to do is to quit something that I don't like doing anymore. It makes me feel powerful, in control. Then there is the inevitable crash, as there is with all addictions. This is my problem, though, everyone seems to be telling me that life is all about doing shit that you don't really want to do. If that is the game of life then I am not sure I am ready to play.
I am trying to adjust. Trying to play like everyone else. I guess I've sort of been cheating most of my way through. But something that makes me endlessly happy is to sit down and write something with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. And you may wonder how I write like that. The secret is to set one of them down for a few minutes at a time. Right now I am drinking a bottle of diet coke, but it could just as easily be a coffee or a whiskey. I don't think it really matters, so long as I still feel like doing it.
For a long time at night I would imagine myself falling. Falling from an unknowable height to a ground that never got any closer. I would just fall, and it would relax me and let me fall asleep. These days when I want to go to sleep I plot out ridiculous zombie movies in my head. To be fair, though, I've pretty much always fallen asleep to the thought of a ridiculous story. Even when I imagine myself falling I am wondering how I managed to fall out of an aircraft so far off the ground that I will never land. Wonder how it is that all the laws of nature and gravity and physics have broken down to a point where I won't, eventually, hit the ground. But I keep falling. Perhaps that is all I'm really good at. Despite what is going on in my head I feel like I am always falling. Always starting from a point so high up that I'm not sure how I got there and falling but never hitting the ground. I'm sure that if a psychologist read this paragraph they would walk away with a certain idea about what all that falling must mean. But I like the falling. It's the landing the sucks.
My brain is all out of whack today. I'm having all these weird connections being made that I don't mean to make. It's like the neurons are firing an artillery barrage at my memories and the few that make it past the front line are standing around wondering what happened to the rest of their unit.
Sometimes I think that I dream about being a writer not because I want to write amazing pieces of literature but because I like to sit in front of a computer typing while I smoke and think. I like the way that I dress when I am at home doing nothing but writing, I like the idea of only occasionally having to deal with people in suits. I think, in a way, that dream sort of sickens me. Is that all I want to do with my life? Essentially what I am doing now, only getting paid occasionally for it? While other people drag their asses out of bed before dawn and get ready and go to work for a big company, where, if they are very lucky, they will get to be boss of someday and tell other people who have to get up before dawn what to do all day? While other people toil away running a small business with the hopes that one day it will be a big business and instead of getting to be in the store all day working with the customers they've come to think of as an extended family over the years they get to sit in an office going over quarterly reports? And while others are fighting fires, catching robbers, and saving lives? They all put so much into society and here I am jealously wanting to sit around and type up a few words and try to get paid for it. Perhaps if that was just what I was doing I wouldn't think much of it, it's just the way it is, afterall, but to actually aspire to that? But I can't hack it anywhere else. I suppose that is just the way it is. Life is all about some people doing the heavy lifting, some people sitting around being rich, and other people doing shit that doesn't make sense to anyone but themselves and expecting other people to want to see what they are creating. Maybe it isn't fair. But why should I spend years of my life trying to work my way up to something I don't think I'm cut out to be?
Right now this probably just sounds like general complaining. That I am lamenting my lot in life. I'm not, I'm lamenting the way my brain works. When I have time to sit around writing all day I don't bother to do anything with it. When I start to run out of time all of a sudden it becomes more and more important till my head wants to explode. I blame this on the fact that when you have nothing to get up for in the morning you sort of lose faith in everything. I've spent a singular week at this new job and I am already starting to rethink everything. It was only a couple days ago when I couldn't tell which path I would eventually want to go down. The thing is that I know which path I'm more comfortable with.
People always say, in addition to life being about doing a bunch of shit that you don't want to do, that you create your best work when you are hungry. When it just doesn't seem to matter anymore that creative spark seems to go away. My mistake often times has been thinking that that meant that you had to be desperate because you had no money otherwise. That you had nothing else to do and no other options. What I am beginning to see is that the times you are most hungry aren't when you are pinching pennies necessarily, but when you feel stuck in something. When you are doing something that you just weren't cut out to do. Eventually the only way out is to follow the only path that you really care about following. To follow those tail lights in the distance and pray to christ that they know where the hell they are going, and to always, always remember how replaceable you are.
That wasn't an exact quote, and it wasn't meant to be rude, and was, in fact, quite encouraging in its way. What he meant to say was that I should pursue my own dreams and not to worry about what might happen to the people I left behind when I went. They will always find a way to get through life without me there.
Sometimes I really wonder about what I am doing with my life. I've sort of lived with that philosophy my father dropped on me so casually. I tend to just go my own way and not to worry so much how people are getting by without me. The problem with walking your own path is that there aren't always a lot of other people around that are going the same way. It's like a highway at night. There are a lot of cars on the road still, but the closest one is just a speck of red tail light way off in the distance. And for all you know they are driving the wrong way.
The last few years have left me feeling rather lost. Perhaps I am realizing just how replaceable I am. I plow through life without a care as to what I am really doing. Then I just sort of end up doing something else for a while. There doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. My theory on how to live life has often been along the lines of "do whatever you are doing until there is something else to do."
My favorite thing to do is to quit something that I don't like doing anymore. It makes me feel powerful, in control. Then there is the inevitable crash, as there is with all addictions. This is my problem, though, everyone seems to be telling me that life is all about doing shit that you don't really want to do. If that is the game of life then I am not sure I am ready to play.
I am trying to adjust. Trying to play like everyone else. I guess I've sort of been cheating most of my way through. But something that makes me endlessly happy is to sit down and write something with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. And you may wonder how I write like that. The secret is to set one of them down for a few minutes at a time. Right now I am drinking a bottle of diet coke, but it could just as easily be a coffee or a whiskey. I don't think it really matters, so long as I still feel like doing it.
For a long time at night I would imagine myself falling. Falling from an unknowable height to a ground that never got any closer. I would just fall, and it would relax me and let me fall asleep. These days when I want to go to sleep I plot out ridiculous zombie movies in my head. To be fair, though, I've pretty much always fallen asleep to the thought of a ridiculous story. Even when I imagine myself falling I am wondering how I managed to fall out of an aircraft so far off the ground that I will never land. Wonder how it is that all the laws of nature and gravity and physics have broken down to a point where I won't, eventually, hit the ground. But I keep falling. Perhaps that is all I'm really good at. Despite what is going on in my head I feel like I am always falling. Always starting from a point so high up that I'm not sure how I got there and falling but never hitting the ground. I'm sure that if a psychologist read this paragraph they would walk away with a certain idea about what all that falling must mean. But I like the falling. It's the landing the sucks.
My brain is all out of whack today. I'm having all these weird connections being made that I don't mean to make. It's like the neurons are firing an artillery barrage at my memories and the few that make it past the front line are standing around wondering what happened to the rest of their unit.
Sometimes I think that I dream about being a writer not because I want to write amazing pieces of literature but because I like to sit in front of a computer typing while I smoke and think. I like the way that I dress when I am at home doing nothing but writing, I like the idea of only occasionally having to deal with people in suits. I think, in a way, that dream sort of sickens me. Is that all I want to do with my life? Essentially what I am doing now, only getting paid occasionally for it? While other people drag their asses out of bed before dawn and get ready and go to work for a big company, where, if they are very lucky, they will get to be boss of someday and tell other people who have to get up before dawn what to do all day? While other people toil away running a small business with the hopes that one day it will be a big business and instead of getting to be in the store all day working with the customers they've come to think of as an extended family over the years they get to sit in an office going over quarterly reports? And while others are fighting fires, catching robbers, and saving lives? They all put so much into society and here I am jealously wanting to sit around and type up a few words and try to get paid for it. Perhaps if that was just what I was doing I wouldn't think much of it, it's just the way it is, afterall, but to actually aspire to that? But I can't hack it anywhere else. I suppose that is just the way it is. Life is all about some people doing the heavy lifting, some people sitting around being rich, and other people doing shit that doesn't make sense to anyone but themselves and expecting other people to want to see what they are creating. Maybe it isn't fair. But why should I spend years of my life trying to work my way up to something I don't think I'm cut out to be?
Right now this probably just sounds like general complaining. That I am lamenting my lot in life. I'm not, I'm lamenting the way my brain works. When I have time to sit around writing all day I don't bother to do anything with it. When I start to run out of time all of a sudden it becomes more and more important till my head wants to explode. I blame this on the fact that when you have nothing to get up for in the morning you sort of lose faith in everything. I've spent a singular week at this new job and I am already starting to rethink everything. It was only a couple days ago when I couldn't tell which path I would eventually want to go down. The thing is that I know which path I'm more comfortable with.
People always say, in addition to life being about doing a bunch of shit that you don't want to do, that you create your best work when you are hungry. When it just doesn't seem to matter anymore that creative spark seems to go away. My mistake often times has been thinking that that meant that you had to be desperate because you had no money otherwise. That you had nothing else to do and no other options. What I am beginning to see is that the times you are most hungry aren't when you are pinching pennies necessarily, but when you feel stuck in something. When you are doing something that you just weren't cut out to do. Eventually the only way out is to follow the only path that you really care about following. To follow those tail lights in the distance and pray to christ that they know where the hell they are going, and to always, always remember how replaceable you are.
Join Death in a Final Dance
I'm falling behind in my blogging here. Mostly because by the time I get home from work I am sick of being on the computer and the last couple of days I haven't got up early enough to do it in the morning. But I fell asleep watching Law and Order around 8:30 last night, so I am wide awake now.
This weekend is going to screw up my sleep schedule, I am quite sure of that. Next week is going to be me trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour all over again.
I was working on a project at work and reading about volunteer retention with AmeriCorps Vista members. These social scientists tried to figure out what sort of factors actually kept the members at their posts for the time the pledged to do. Apparently I have a good 50/50 chance, according to the study, of not leaving before the end of my term. The thing with AmeriCorps is that you don't really sign a contract or anything saying you are going to stay with it. Part of their hypothesis was that people with higher self-esteem (the study was from the nineties by the way) would stay with the job longer because they felt it was more rewarding. They found out, though, that self-esteem actually worked in the other direction for it. The lower yours was the better chance you had to stay with AmeriCorps. That is sort of tricky, because I was driving home from work tonight and thinking about how I could already probably do the jobs of about half the other people there, and I've already started just doing whatever the hell I feel like doing there most of the time. I have fairly high self-esteem when it comes to working. I always feel that I can do whatever other people around me are doing better than they are doing it. However, my social self-esteem is usually fairly low. I don't feel super confident in my ability to go out and pick up chicks, for example.
Whatever, though. I'm going to muddle through. So far my biggest problem is that there are a fair amount of older volunteers that have claimed to have good computer skills that actually don't. I wish that people would make it more clear to people that if all you know how to do on the computer is check email and get on the internet for a few minutes at a time you are not computer literate. I get so damned impatiant with people who can't just sit down and figure out how to work the computer themselves once they say they know what they are doing. When I was a kid I went down to Mexico with my Grandpa and we built a chicken coop for this orphanage for a few days. I would not, however, say that I have excellent construction skills based on that. I think I could help to put up a house, but I wouldn't just show up at a construction site and try to do it all myself then get frustrated when I had no idea how to reinforce the header or use a table saw.
I have a feeling that I am going to have to try to bend that place to my will. The first thing I did when I got home was through on my cut off shorts and a tattered t-shirt and my coat that is falling apart. Then I went out in the freezing cold to go to the store. I realized that I looked like a total bum, and it felt good. I don't dress like a vagrant because I'm too lazy to go about trying to shop for halfway decent clothes, I dress like that because I like to. I apparently locked myself into the grunge look when I was a kid and have never really bothered to update. And why should I? Grunge isn't like most other styles. It's philosophy is all about not trying to look any particular way. It's about saving money on needless excesses of clothes. And, for those same reasons, it is actually the greenest way to dress. Imagine how much less Carbon would be realeased everyone dressed like that. There would be substantially less need to ship clothes and materials from third-world contries back to us.
The hipster look is sort of green, I suppose, as they often appear to have just walked into a thrift store and rolled around in the aisles until enough clothes fell on them. Granted, they look like the "special" kid in your classes growing up that had a color blind mother and a father that worked the late shift so he never saw what they wore to school. To be fair, though, I suppose many parents would prefer a horribly color coordinated outfit to one that was tattered to the point of nearly attaining rag-hood.
Cheb called me disreputable. I pretended to be offended for a moment when I first read that, but he's got a point.
It is closing in on the Winter Solstice, and if my knowledge of seasons is correct this means that the days will start to get a little bit longer past that point. And the snow is finally starting to melt. Hopefully that will be the last of the snow storms 'round these here parts. I doubt it though. My guess is that I am going to have to smack someone before the end of winter because they insist that global warming is a sham because it continues to snow in winter. Man that pisses me off. For fucks sake, learn a small amount about the thing you so completely dismiss as untrue before assuming that the word "Warming" means only that it is getting hotter. You do not get to debunk decades of scientific research because you misunderstand what the hell they are talking about. Not yours.
I have to drive to Fallon in about an hour for a client intake. I wish that I was meeting my partner there instead of picking her up at her house to drive her there. Mostly so that I could go and hang out at the card shop for a while then put up a flyer or two around town and just call it a day. Although, now that I think about it, school might be out for them teenagers by now, and they will likely be all up in my business. Well, Chuck's business.
I guess I'm gonna have to go christmas shopping this weekend. That is going to suck this close to christmas. Stupid people and there want to buy stuff for other stupid people.
Apparently I have been typing for a while as it is about time for me to start getting ready to go, so I bid you ado.
Cheb: 39
Mor: 36
This weekend is going to screw up my sleep schedule, I am quite sure of that. Next week is going to be me trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour all over again.
I was working on a project at work and reading about volunteer retention with AmeriCorps Vista members. These social scientists tried to figure out what sort of factors actually kept the members at their posts for the time the pledged to do. Apparently I have a good 50/50 chance, according to the study, of not leaving before the end of my term. The thing with AmeriCorps is that you don't really sign a contract or anything saying you are going to stay with it. Part of their hypothesis was that people with higher self-esteem (the study was from the nineties by the way) would stay with the job longer because they felt it was more rewarding. They found out, though, that self-esteem actually worked in the other direction for it. The lower yours was the better chance you had to stay with AmeriCorps. That is sort of tricky, because I was driving home from work tonight and thinking about how I could already probably do the jobs of about half the other people there, and I've already started just doing whatever the hell I feel like doing there most of the time. I have fairly high self-esteem when it comes to working. I always feel that I can do whatever other people around me are doing better than they are doing it. However, my social self-esteem is usually fairly low. I don't feel super confident in my ability to go out and pick up chicks, for example.
Whatever, though. I'm going to muddle through. So far my biggest problem is that there are a fair amount of older volunteers that have claimed to have good computer skills that actually don't. I wish that people would make it more clear to people that if all you know how to do on the computer is check email and get on the internet for a few minutes at a time you are not computer literate. I get so damned impatiant with people who can't just sit down and figure out how to work the computer themselves once they say they know what they are doing. When I was a kid I went down to Mexico with my Grandpa and we built a chicken coop for this orphanage for a few days. I would not, however, say that I have excellent construction skills based on that. I think I could help to put up a house, but I wouldn't just show up at a construction site and try to do it all myself then get frustrated when I had no idea how to reinforce the header or use a table saw.
I have a feeling that I am going to have to try to bend that place to my will. The first thing I did when I got home was through on my cut off shorts and a tattered t-shirt and my coat that is falling apart. Then I went out in the freezing cold to go to the store. I realized that I looked like a total bum, and it felt good. I don't dress like a vagrant because I'm too lazy to go about trying to shop for halfway decent clothes, I dress like that because I like to. I apparently locked myself into the grunge look when I was a kid and have never really bothered to update. And why should I? Grunge isn't like most other styles. It's philosophy is all about not trying to look any particular way. It's about saving money on needless excesses of clothes. And, for those same reasons, it is actually the greenest way to dress. Imagine how much less Carbon would be realeased everyone dressed like that. There would be substantially less need to ship clothes and materials from third-world contries back to us.
The hipster look is sort of green, I suppose, as they often appear to have just walked into a thrift store and rolled around in the aisles until enough clothes fell on them. Granted, they look like the "special" kid in your classes growing up that had a color blind mother and a father that worked the late shift so he never saw what they wore to school. To be fair, though, I suppose many parents would prefer a horribly color coordinated outfit to one that was tattered to the point of nearly attaining rag-hood.
Cheb called me disreputable. I pretended to be offended for a moment when I first read that, but he's got a point.
It is closing in on the Winter Solstice, and if my knowledge of seasons is correct this means that the days will start to get a little bit longer past that point. And the snow is finally starting to melt. Hopefully that will be the last of the snow storms 'round these here parts. I doubt it though. My guess is that I am going to have to smack someone before the end of winter because they insist that global warming is a sham because it continues to snow in winter. Man that pisses me off. For fucks sake, learn a small amount about the thing you so completely dismiss as untrue before assuming that the word "Warming" means only that it is getting hotter. You do not get to debunk decades of scientific research because you misunderstand what the hell they are talking about. Not yours.
I have to drive to Fallon in about an hour for a client intake. I wish that I was meeting my partner there instead of picking her up at her house to drive her there. Mostly so that I could go and hang out at the card shop for a while then put up a flyer or two around town and just call it a day. Although, now that I think about it, school might be out for them teenagers by now, and they will likely be all up in my business. Well, Chuck's business.
I guess I'm gonna have to go christmas shopping this weekend. That is going to suck this close to christmas. Stupid people and there want to buy stuff for other stupid people.
Apparently I have been typing for a while as it is about time for me to start getting ready to go, so I bid you ado.
Cheb: 39
Mor: 36
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Grumpy 2: Slightly Grumpier
Nothing sooths me when I am getting frustrated quite like rock and roll. Not that I should be overly frustrated today, it wasn't really a bad day. Still, I am not in the highest of spirits. I thought that my learning curve in going into this job was just going to be pretty straight forward. I thought it was all going to be about learning just how to do stuff. But I realized I already knew how to do pretty much everything. It's straight forward, write a letter, collate some papers, meet with some people, call some other people. But what hit me today after doing my first client intake was that I just didn't stumble hapharzardly into this job. My learning curve is actually coming to terms with feeling really bad for people in shitty situations.
Apparently under my badass attitude I actually have the ability to feel bad for other people. I actually want to help them. Today I met this guy who was almost ninety and he was asking us to get a volunteer to his house to watch his wife a few hours a week while he went out run some errands. I had to make a copy of something and he took me to his office, which was filled from the floor to the ceiling with video editing equipment, computers, and an electronic organ. I asked him about the equipment and he told me that he had been a video editor while he was working, and then he mentioned how much he really missed it. And to top it off, the guy made a joke out of everything, everything. His sense of humor was more dry than my own, so much so that I missed a couple of jokes he made at my own expense before he laughed. I seriously thought that the people we were trying to help would be more or less secondary to what I was doing. They were, in my mind, random people that needed a little assistance. It doesn't matter what I thought of them, I would give them the same consideration, and they would ultimately be numbers. That isn't going to be the case. I can't meet these people and then just as easily dismiss them. My Monkeysphere is going to be going nuts.
The weirdest part of working for a non-profit, I think, is going to come in the terms of people actually giving a shit about you as a worker. I went to a staff Christmas lunch today they do every year. Our boss announced that they had put in for a $95,000 grant to continue their program and that Harry Reid had made sure that we got $195,000. And I got to eat lunch and chat with the first lady of Nevada. Well, actually she is sort of divorced, which only sweetened the pot, as she is sort of a MILF. And she is on the cover of a magazine this month:
Okay, so she isn't step over your own mother hot, but in real life she's got a lot going on.
The point is that she was there, and she cared about this program and I am now part of this program. I never saw any politicians when I was slopping pizza onto warped aluminum trays. Okay, I did, but it was Fallon Mayor Ken Tedford, and he was only there to get drunk with his friends. His pizza could have been served by a monkey in a comical hat and he wouldn't have paid it any real attention. Although he might have at least patted the monkey on the head.
Right now I can see two paths before me. One is where I focus on writing and go to school and blah-de-blah and do something with that. The other is where I work in government/non-profit. Since I am a lowly AmeriCorps member and I can either leave after a year to pursue a life of helping people or I can leave after a year and go back to school seems to leave this whole year in my life as a total Schroedinger's Cat scenario. I am either a caring, helpful person, or I am a self-righteous author (the word author comes from the word Authority, and as a result the only people that write fiction are people that think they are authorities on whatever world they want to invent where characters will do whatever they do to prove their point. It is, quite possibly, the epitome of being self-righteous, as we push our own particular world view on an entire universe of our own creation).
All of that probably had nothing to do with anything.
The thing that sucks about being a human is that we aren't told what we are supposed to do. Did anyone tell Mozart to "be a musician?" I doubt it. He just did it. Did anyone tell Einstein to be a scientist? No, but he totally reinvented physics. And he did it with wacky hair. I have a portrait of Einstein on my wall. He's always so old in his pictures. I guess that is really why I like it. It isn't that he had the audacity to question Newtonian physics, its that when he became popular he was an old man. I guess I've always thought that was the time in my life I would be popular. "Old Man Moore writes Another Wacky Story" might read a headline. Why the word "writes" is the only word not capitalized is anyones guess.
I was thinking about how all writers were always like "I was writing from a very young age" and I, for a long time, thought, "I never wrote shit as a kid." Then I realized I did. It was crap and often it was left completely unfinished, but I wrote it. When I was in first grade I was told that my reading comprehension skills were low for my age group. So I decided to write my own stories so that no one could say I didn't understand them. The joke is that I don't understand most of my own stories.
That is probably all I have to say for now, so enjoy some randomness, which I honestly found by searching the word "random" through Google Image, and it was the sixth hit:
Apparently under my badass attitude I actually have the ability to feel bad for other people. I actually want to help them. Today I met this guy who was almost ninety and he was asking us to get a volunteer to his house to watch his wife a few hours a week while he went out run some errands. I had to make a copy of something and he took me to his office, which was filled from the floor to the ceiling with video editing equipment, computers, and an electronic organ. I asked him about the equipment and he told me that he had been a video editor while he was working, and then he mentioned how much he really missed it. And to top it off, the guy made a joke out of everything, everything. His sense of humor was more dry than my own, so much so that I missed a couple of jokes he made at my own expense before he laughed. I seriously thought that the people we were trying to help would be more or less secondary to what I was doing. They were, in my mind, random people that needed a little assistance. It doesn't matter what I thought of them, I would give them the same consideration, and they would ultimately be numbers. That isn't going to be the case. I can't meet these people and then just as easily dismiss them. My Monkeysphere is going to be going nuts.
The weirdest part of working for a non-profit, I think, is going to come in the terms of people actually giving a shit about you as a worker. I went to a staff Christmas lunch today they do every year. Our boss announced that they had put in for a $95,000 grant to continue their program and that Harry Reid had made sure that we got $195,000. And I got to eat lunch and chat with the first lady of Nevada. Well, actually she is sort of divorced, which only sweetened the pot, as she is sort of a MILF. And she is on the cover of a magazine this month:
Okay, so she isn't step over your own mother hot, but in real life she's got a lot going on.
The point is that she was there, and she cared about this program and I am now part of this program. I never saw any politicians when I was slopping pizza onto warped aluminum trays. Okay, I did, but it was Fallon Mayor Ken Tedford, and he was only there to get drunk with his friends. His pizza could have been served by a monkey in a comical hat and he wouldn't have paid it any real attention. Although he might have at least patted the monkey on the head.
Right now I can see two paths before me. One is where I focus on writing and go to school and blah-de-blah and do something with that. The other is where I work in government/non-profit. Since I am a lowly AmeriCorps member and I can either leave after a year to pursue a life of helping people or I can leave after a year and go back to school seems to leave this whole year in my life as a total Schroedinger's Cat scenario. I am either a caring, helpful person, or I am a self-righteous author (the word author comes from the word Authority, and as a result the only people that write fiction are people that think they are authorities on whatever world they want to invent where characters will do whatever they do to prove their point. It is, quite possibly, the epitome of being self-righteous, as we push our own particular world view on an entire universe of our own creation).
All of that probably had nothing to do with anything.
The thing that sucks about being a human is that we aren't told what we are supposed to do. Did anyone tell Mozart to "be a musician?" I doubt it. He just did it. Did anyone tell Einstein to be a scientist? No, but he totally reinvented physics. And he did it with wacky hair. I have a portrait of Einstein on my wall. He's always so old in his pictures. I guess that is really why I like it. It isn't that he had the audacity to question Newtonian physics, its that when he became popular he was an old man. I guess I've always thought that was the time in my life I would be popular. "Old Man Moore writes Another Wacky Story" might read a headline. Why the word "writes" is the only word not capitalized is anyones guess.
I was thinking about how all writers were always like "I was writing from a very young age" and I, for a long time, thought, "I never wrote shit as a kid." Then I realized I did. It was crap and often it was left completely unfinished, but I wrote it. When I was in first grade I was told that my reading comprehension skills were low for my age group. So I decided to write my own stories so that no one could say I didn't understand them. The joke is that I don't understand most of my own stories.
That is probably all I have to say for now, so enjoy some randomness, which I honestly found by searching the word "random" through Google Image, and it was the sixth hit:
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