Currently Listening Progress see related

Just so my earlier prediction won't come to fruition

So I'm leaving today to go to Maine, the land that birthed me.  Technically it's part of the same land that I'm standing on now as it is no completely separated from me by any body of water, but let's face it, Maine and Virginia are very different places. So anyways, I'll be gone for the next week and I thought that I shouldn't let this get too far down on the lists in any of my blog rings. The creative wheels in my brain have been turning and I have a few good post ideas, unfortunately the write-your-good-ideas-down wheels in my brain are jammed or something because nothing has come of what I've been thinking about. 

Here's a preview: my favorite idea is Dr Robotnik: the Face of Evil or a Misunderstood Genius? Pretty much I'm going to talk about Dr. Robotnik's creative genius and how the solution to the energy crisis might, in fact, be found in our Sega Genesis.  My second idea is The Fast and the Furious and the Course of History which is pretty much a philosophical piece about how crappy pop-culture movies fit into the grand scheme of things.  Those may end up in some of our school's publications before they come here, but either way you'll see them in the next few weeks.

PS: Stop putting music on your blogs, it's inconsiderate. Whatever you listening to sucks and I certainly don't want to hear it.  Besides, it screws with the music that I'm already listening to.  Also, the huge graphics in the backgroung, they make your words hard to read.  They're also cheesy.

Currently Listening Men, Women & Children By Women & Children Men see related

Sigh....

Why, hello, the internet! It seems that once again you hold me accountable. Just as I was beginning to waft away into complete obscurity I am called back.  Or perhaps it is my irrepressible ego; that little thing inside of me that waits for my lovely readers, all three of them, to leave me little comments telling me what a funny guy I am.  Or perhaps I am merely bored out of my skull and happening back upon my long neglected blog thought, “what the heck, why not bring it back to life?” Whatever.  I have returned, and that is that.  Odds are that I’ll forget about this little place very shortly, but for now I’m back.

I’m going to take this opportunity to say that I was right; Mel Gibson’s not that great of a guy. Now, to be fair, I never specifically said that he was a drunkard or a racist, but I think that I got the gist of it when I wrote my “Mel Gibson is a Cheeseball” post.

Currently Watching No Man's Land By Branko Djuric, Rene Bitorajac see related

So I visited St. Pete's Episcopalian Church in town today and I really enjoyed it, more so than I have any other church in the area.  I'm going to go back next week and I may be interested in becoming a member there.  These are the benefits from my point of view:

-I get to drink wine every week.

-The head pastor's name is Father Tom

-I'll be going to the same church as Oliver North

-I get to cross myself

-The church leadership all wear cool robes

-Oh, and the doctrine is good etc.

It seems like a good deal to me.

For those of you who missed or were unable to read it due to location, this was an article that I wrote that was published in the last issue of our school magazine.

Pulse of Purcellville

As you all know, over the summer I decided that it was time for me to leave the campus community behind and go live on the economy.  I reside in a lovely house in downtown Purcellville (you are all jealous) and this location has allowed me to observe the very unique and interesting culture of the town.  You, on the other hand, live in the bubble… the fishbowl… the inside looking out; from what I can tell, the vast majority of you only venture out far enough into the land of cretins and heathens to visit the local coffee shop and then only for a few hours at a time.  Goodness only knows what culture will do to you if you stay out in it for too long.  Since this is the case, you are no doubt ignorant to the condition of the bustling town of 5,500 which our campus calls home.  I am here to inform you.

Economy:

The economy of Purcellville is based around the town’s most plentiful natural resource: old furniture. This can be purchased at any one of the 10,000 precious, little antique stores that line Main Street. I, personally, have no idea where all of these antiques come from, probably elves that live in a cave in Round Hill or something. The greater mystery: who buys it all?  Really, the only thing that comes close to being competition for the antique stores for dominion over Purcellville’s marketplace is craft shops.  You know, paper stores, stamping stores, any kind of store that smells like potpourri and is supported primarily by stay at home moms.  Crafty sort of stores honestly don’t seem to do a lot of business, but they make up for this by charging ridiculous prices like $7 for a piece of paper with a lacy border or $10 for “texture wood,” more commonly known as saw dust. A force that has no effect on Purcellville’s economy are useful establishments such as clothing stores or decent restaurants.  The town has neither, requiring its citizens to go to Leesburg or farther to find them.

Population:

Purcellville is populated mainly by yuppies and their families.  The town being fairly near to a major city makes it prime real-estate for these individuals, but P-ville’s (as it’s called in the ‘hood) yuppies are not your common breed, mind you, they are cheap yuppies. This means that they were willing to add an extra half of an hour to their commute so that they only have to spend $500,000 on their modest, sub-urban home as opposed to $800,000 closer into DC.  Since the primary providers are always either commuting or working their presence has little effect on Purcellville.  Their families, however, are another matter.  Adults who don’t fill the roles of primary providers, wives to be politically incorrect, apparently support the antique industry in town. The yuppie’s kids add an interesting dynamic.  From what I can gather through observation, their favorite activities are smoking in front of Blockbuster and skateboarding outside of my house.  Why they do these things I have no idea, but who am I to question the culture of other people groups, no matter how primitive.  Anyways, aside from yuppies, Purcellville has retirees.  For the most part, all they really do is garden.

Law and Government:

To be completely honest, I don’t know a whole lot about the government of Purcellville, I don’t really care.  What I do know, however, is that they must make lots of rules considering that they employ half of the nations total police force to keep order.  Seriously, there are more cops in Purcellville than in any other town, ever.  How they meet their ticket quotas, I have no idea; they must just pull same people over again and again as I am pretty sure cops outnumber Purcellville’s population.  You get the point: the town has entirely too many police. 

There is your introduction to Purcellville, a strange and wonderful little place in a strange and wonderful part of the planet.  It is safe to say that if you’re a yuppie who wants to be arrested while buying antique furniture, there is no better place in the world for you.

Currently Playing The Ultimate Experience By Jimi Hendrix Experience Voodoo Child see related

Hi, I'm lazy so I'm going to ressurect one of my early and favorite posts.

Waste Deep in Crap

            The Joys of Self Expression

Do you remember the good old days? The days when, if someone wanted to express themselves, they wrote Beethoven’s 9^th or painted the Mona Lisa, or something?  Well, I don’t either, but I bet that they were good days.  Unfortunately, you and I are stuck in a world full of Goths and emo kids who, when they feel the urge to express themselves (which is often), spew forth crap. Not just ordinary crap, mind you, formulaic crap.  Usually it’s poetry about how everyone hates them (which is true) and no one understands them (again, true).  It’s painful to read, it stinks, and it burns my eyes.  What these individuals fail to understand in that everyone hates them because the selves that they choose to express are so damn horrible.  Honestly, if your true self is someone who paints their lips black, then very few people are going to be anxious to be your friend.  Seriously. To prove my point, I have so poetry written by individuals at my old school.

Exhibit A:                                    

“I want to come out”

By: Tiffany Bodine

Why can’t you understand me?

Take the time to know who I have become.

Please open your eyes to see!

Know where I have been and where I have begun.

I feel like my heart is crying, but you cannot hear me

It has been tearing’ my heart up inside.

I am crying silent tears.

I no longer want to be inside and I no longer want to hide!

I feel so left out.

Nobody notices me.

I want to scream and shout.

But then, who would I be?

I am asking for your time.

I am asking for your love.

Open your eyes for me for I feel blind.

Get to know me, I want and need your trust.

I know where I am, but I feel so lost.

I need you as my guide.

But how much would that cost?

I no longer want to be inside and I no longer want to hide!

Help me break the walls I have created.

I want to come out.

Let me know that I am worth it, and I can make it!

I no longer want to be inside, and I no longer want to hide, so help me come out!

I’m going to be honest with you… I have a conscience.  The fact that this is kind of a sad poem does make me feel a little bit bad about making fun of it, but still, I can’t resist.

Tiffany, maybe the reason that people can’t understand you is that your poem doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.  Lines 5-7 tell me that you're sad because your heart has been crying silent tears and that, for some crazy reason, I can’t hear them.  Now forgive me Tiffany, but is this really my fault? Next look at the first line, then line 4 and then line 8.  You seem angry that I don’t understand or know you, yet you say that you are hiding yourself inside.  Now, could there be any correlation between you hiding yourself and me not knowing you?  Hmmm…  While I do feel for you, Tiffany, I would suggest that if you want people to know you and understand you start making some sense!!!!

Exhibit B:                                         

Potty Training

   By: Greg Jackson

Gotta go, gotta go

But nowhere to go

Can’t hold much longer

I’m only 5 years old

People all around watch me do the potty dance

“Mommy where are you I gotta go”

“I’m sorry but I had to leave you and look at the Power Rangers.”

Don’t know what else to do

So as a kid I do what I know best

Cry, cry, and cry some more

“Awww baby mommy is here.”

But its too late I peed on the Power Rangers!

Oh my goodness! I can’t believe that you spent time and effort writing this.  Well Greg, there is obviously something wrong with you, aside from the thing that compelled you to write a poem about pissing.  Let’s look, shall we.  To be totally frank, I knew how to use the toilet when I was five.  That’s generally something that you learn a lot earlier.  Aside from not teaching you about using the bathroom, your parents also never taught you about contractions.  To quote a great man: “Oh! If you want it to be possessive, it’s just ‘I T S’ and if you want it to be a contraction then it’s ‘I T apostrophe S!’ Scally Wag!”  Unless this is some subtle metaphor that I am missing,  I have no idea why you would write a poem about it?  Generally, people find these kinds of situations embarrassing, and try to forget them, but not you Greg, you go right out and tell the world! I think that in your case, self suppression is the best option.

Now I realize that this post was mean, but it had to be done.  I further realize that I, myself, am the author of crappy self expression, as is evidenced here.  Please forgive my hypocrisy.