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I’m Voting For Hillary Clinton, But I’m Secretly Hoping Donald Trump Wins the “Election.” (Here’s Why.)

24 Sep

Anyone who has ever read any of my blogs probably realizes I lean just a little bit towards the cynical side.   The truth is that’s a bit of an understatement.  I’m pretty sure I’m actually a full blown sociopath, but it’s not my fault. It really isn’t.  I blame “Society.”

In person I’m actually a pretty friendly guy.  That’s because I have absolutely nothing against individual people, and choose to be nice to others as much as possible. However I absolutely loathe our society.  I mean LOATHE it down to it’s core.

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The pre-1940’s equivalent of a “Trump Rally”  People are dumb-asses now and they were dumb-asses then.

Human beings are absolutely, without a doubt THE lowest form of organism on the face of the planet we are so giddily demolishing.  We are after all the ONLY living beings capable of malicious intent.  Say what you will about animals that eat other animals, invasive plant species that invade and kill other plants, viruses that invade the bodies of other living organisms; the truth is none of these things are truly evil.  They have no malicious intent. They do what they do to survive and it is purely instinctual, not thought out.

On the other hand, the atrocities human beings inflict on each other (not to mention innocent wildlife and the planet itself) is nothing new.  We are fully capable of grasping the moral implications and yet we perform horrible acts daily.  Arguably it’s been going on since the first proto-humans figured out a way to communicate with other proto-humans.  Almost immediately it became the norm to hoard objects or land,  (equate with money) come up with wild ridiculous theories about natural phenomenon that could be used to exploit or ostracize entire groups of other people (equate with religion) and to make war on one another in all cases using  one or the other, (or both) of the aforementioned idiocies to do so.

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It’s only much worse now because there are so many more of us.  Not only that we are more aware of it thanks in part to the fact that nearly everyone is now walking around with their own personal video recording devices.  (Which is very inconvenient for the the alleged “authorities” who wish to get away with brutalizing the very same people their supposed to be working for.)
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At this point I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that it’s time for humanity to step aside.  There’s simply no hope for us.  The vast majority of our brainless masses are simply too stupid to ever better themselves or their world. Greed, intolerance, and ignorance are our masters now.  I was kind of hoping for alien invasion, but I think the plain and simple fact is that at this point our “progress” has completely ruined the planet far beyond any chance that extra terrestrial life would even have any interest in it.  Our salvation (through self elimination) must come from within.  So now at last I see an answer:  Donald Trump.

This is the guy the movie Idiocracy tried to warn us about.  (You thought it was a comedy, but no…it was a documentary…From The FUTURE!)    A Donald Trump presidency would certainly bring about the end of the world as we know it.  (If Lenny Bruce is not afraid it’s because he’s dead.)

Donald Trump has the potential to be America’s version of Adolph Hitler, for real.  It really doesn’t matter that, unlike Hitler, he’s just not very bright, and neither are his supporters, because nowadays the world has the firepower to destroy itself something like 8000 times over.

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So elect Trump, start World War 3 (which I pretty much envision as America and Britain as the Axis Powers versus the Rest of the World) and end the curse of Humanity that this planet has had the misfortune of enduring for the past million years or so.  (give or take a millennium.)  Because believe me:  NOBODY is going to win World War 3.

I can’t do it myself because I could just never vote for a republican under any circumstances, but by all means elect Donald Trump.  See what happens.  I dare you.  I Triple-Dog dare you!  (Do you see what I did there?  I created a slight breach of etiquette by skipping the required double dog dare and leaping right to the triple dog dare, but nobody will remember my gaff when we’re all being melted by nuclear devastation.)

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Oh yeah and on a lighter note, did anyone else catch that Stranger Things show?  That shit was DOPE yo!

The Pros and Cons of Going Through Life as a Pariah.

17 Sep

I believe it is safe to say I have at last reached a new plateau in my existence; a place I’ve always longed for.  I think I can officially apply to myself the much desired appellate of “Pariah.”  (Hooray!!!)

But let me revert back to my childhood for a few moments, to explain how I first came to desire this goal.

I’m a big fan of something called “Star Wars.”  I grew up with it.  Indeed the first Star Wars movie ever created may well have been the first one I ever saw in a movie theater.  (Unless it was Jaws.  To be honest my memories of that phase of my life are somewhat uncertain, buuuuut………..moving on)

During my youth there was a comic book series based on this somewhat popular movie franchise.  It was published by Marvel Comics and was entitled simply:  “Star Wars.”  It is, at this time, no longer considered “canon” but the series still holds a very special place in my life.  These were among the first comic books that I owned in my lifetime, and were purchased for me, without exception, by my mother during trips to the local neighborhood grocery store.

One I remember particularly well was entitled “Pariah.”

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The plot was as follows:  Luke and some other rebels go on a mission to fight the Empire while clandestinely piloting stolen tie fighters.  They emerge from the battle victorious, but upon returning to the rebel base Luke finds himself in most cases ignored (as if he doesn’t exist) and in others actively scorned by his fellow rebel fighters.  He does not understand why until he discovers that he himself (under the guidance of The Force) destroyed one of his own, a female rebel named Shia who he had in fact developed something called “Romantic Feelings” for.  (Eeeeewwww)  It is discovered later she herself was in fact an imperial spy.  (Go figure.)

The story itself was pedantic and plodding, like much comic book literature of its time, designed to make money off the brainless masses such as myself, but there was something else going on in the plot of this book I found myself drawn to.  Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could go through my life completely undetected by other people:  as if I didn’t exist at all.  It sounded like heaven on earth to me, and I began at that very moment, to strive for such an existence.   I believe I have at last achieved that lifelong goal.

It is, at the time of this writing, “Saturday Night.” It’s only a little after 6 pm.  Within an hour I shall be in bed, at a time when most people are probably just getting ready to do something called “Going out for the evening.”  (Boy that sure sounds like fun)

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(I’d like to point out that the human female on the right hand side of the photo literally appears to have puke filling her mouth at the same time as she is attempting to consume alcoholic beverages through her forehead. Wow.  What a good time.)

I am happy to report I do not have the burden of such stupidity.  At the exact same time that most of these drunkards (and most likely Trump Supporters) are passing out in puddles of their own vomit or waking up to ass-rapings in their jail cells I will be getting out of my bed, stone cold sober and ready for my day, in a dark, quiet and mostly empty world.  I will wander about town, playing a game on my cell phone and encountering only bums and town drunkards, the likes of which can easily (and most amusingly) be dismissed with a cheerful “Merry Christmas!  Good Morning!” as I continue listening to my headphones and playing my GPS based game.  (And no it is not Pokemon Go!. That game is for losers.  (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.))

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All of these people are probably going to vote for Donald Trump. 

This new phase of my existence has been most enjoyable, and I hope it continues for the rest of the my sentence on this piece of shit excuse for a planet.

So let’s get down to the Pros and Cons of being a Pariah. (That was, after all, the title of this Blog.)

PROS:

1.) I don’t have to attend “Music Concerts.”  (I’ve managed to avoid all but one this entire year, and I literally took a nap through most of that one, so I think I deserve a pass on it.)  The truth is I despise music and all those who perform it.  I wouldn’t be disappointed at all if they were all suddenly exterminated at the earliest possible convenience.   “Music” serves no purpose other than to annoy me.

2.) I never have to “Entertain Visitors.”  (Or as I like to call it:  “Waiting For People To Leave.”)

3.)  Food.  All the food I can eat.  Nothing else matters.  I can afford to eat anything I want, and it doesn’t matter how grotesquely obese I become, because nobody else’s opinion has any meaning to me.  Homeless starving people can all go to hell. (That is, of course, if I believed in such nonsense as “Hell.”   But, you know what:  SCIENCE! bitches,)

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CONS:

None.

All right it’s bed time.  I hope everyone reading this dies a horribly violent death in the next ten seconds or so.  (Just kidding.  😉 ) .

For I Have Become Fart Denizen: Destroyer Of Worlds.

26 Dec

There are many wonderful benefits to not having any friends or family and this is never more apparent than on December 25th, or as some people call it:  “Christmas.”

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Christmas, oddly enough, has actually become my favorite day of the year.  I don’t have to work.  I don’t have to go anywhere.  I don’t have to do anything, and most importantly I don’t have to see or talk to anyone.  It’s the one day of the year I can truly be by myself all day long.  In fact, much of the world around me becomes a sort of ghost town allowing me to pretend I am the lone survivor of some sort of Apocalypse that wiped out everyone except me and left buildings, trees and animals alone.  (That’s my favorite type of Apocalypse fantasy.)

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This is from a very underrated Charlton Heston movie entitled Omega Man

Not having anyone in my life to exchange gifts with, dine with or hang out with has freed me up to develop my own particular traditions on this annual day of extreme solitude. For quite some time I referred to the day simply as “Lord of the Rings Day” and would spend it watching all three extended edition Lord of the Rings movies.  (All 10 hours or so.)  I’d hunker down on the couch in my empty apartment, immerse myself in a cocoon of pillows and blankets, surround myself with food and other recreational substances, and spend the whole day in Middle Earth.

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As it turned out I got kind of bored with that after five years or so.

Another favorite Christmas hobby I came up with was to find a popular grocery store of some kind,  closed for the so called holiday, and just sit across the street from it all day watching one moron after another pull into the completely empty parking lot, climb out of their car and waddle up to the door of the completely dark, OBVIOUSLY closed place of business.  Sometimes they smack right into the glass like a bird hitting a window.  Sometimes they stand there and peer through the door, thinking there just has to be someone inside to let them come in and purchase whatever idiotic item they forgot to buy yesterday.  (They never seem to notice the sign posted on the door informing them the store is closed for the holiday.)  Usually, after several minutes of peering through the windows, the frustrated shopper will stomp back to their vehicle, completely aghast at the realization that they aren’t as entitled as they thought they were.  Such entertaining antics never fail to get a laugh out of me, though it also takes what little faith I may have once had in humanity down a couple more notches.

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Duuuuh…Are they open?

I thought it would be fun to set up a little judging station across the street, and I could rate people based on their performance.  The slow drive-by gawkers would just get a 1 or 2, but the  ones who actually park, get out of their cars and walk up to the door would get higher ratings based on their reactions.  I suppose I could probably even create my own reality show, but the truth is I loathe reality television and everything it stands for.

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I assure you we are NOT open.

  Then,a couple months ago, I started playing this game called Ingress.  I was dead set against it for the longest time, mostly because I was dead set against ever getting a cell phone.  For purely philosophical reasons I was determined to be the last person on Earth without a mobile communication device.  For one thing I like being off the grid.  For another, I generally think people who walk around (or drive around) texting or talking or just staring at their phones are the worst type of scum on the planet.  These are the kind of people who believe Onion articles or Fox News, can’t wait to vote for Donald Trump, and smell their fingers after they wipe their butts.  (I call people who do this “Shit n’ Sniffs.”)

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These half wits will no doubt be running our alleged “country” in a few more years.

 

Alas, some time ago my  employers gave me… you guessed it… a fucking cell phone, thus ruining my 40+ year streak of getting by just fine without one.

As it turns out, I really only use it for one purpose; to play a video game.  So now I myself have become that which I have always despised more than anything else:  “A Cell Phone Scum.”  This is why I selected a fitting moniker for my player profile:  “Fart Denizen.”

I must admit, however, there is something really cool about this particular game.  Unlike most video games one actually has to physically walk around to play it!  Using GPS technology the game takes place in real space, and players choose to be on either the green faction (aka: cool people) of the blue faction (aka: mindless tools) and these two factions battle to take over virtual portals located all over the world.   In some ways it works very much like an rpg, in that you have to level your player character up by performing various actions.  (Which is also why I so easily became addicted to it.)

Christmas, as it turned out, was the perfect time to go out, early in the morning (I left my apartment at 2:30 am) and take over the entire city.  Usually downtown Ann Arbor is almost all blue portals, but by noon I had it looking like this.

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I also got to add to my collection of cool pictures of downtown Ann Arbor with no annoying people in them.

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Suffice it to say, Ann Arbor would be a much cooler place to live if it looked like this all the time.

 

Mix and Mingle

6 Sep

This is a reblog from Be Free 2 Love, who is dedicating Sundays on her blog for meet and greets, which are always fun ways to find new blogs and new followers for your own blog!  Come by and check it out!

http://befree2love.com/2015/09/06/connect-with-memix-and-mingle/

I’ve Decided To Take A Day Off From Blogging Tonight

2 Sep

It was bound to happen eventually.  Sometimes I just don’t feel like doing something, and when I don’t feel like doing something I usually don’t do it.

The oppressive misery of the never ending Michigan summer continues unabated.  Eventually it might cool down a little.  At some point we might even get that day or two of “winter” we sometimes get treated to, but I have little faith.  Every day my dream of moving to Antarctica seems more and more like a fabulous idea.  Very few people, absolutely NO hot days, and to top it all off, there may even be the possibility of having my body taken over and mimicked by an alien life form dead set on taking over the entire human race.  Sounds like a dream come true right now.

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My crummy mood has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’ve had very little sleep lately.  Last night, for instance I was exhausted, and had to get up quite early the next morning, however not only did I have to endure the sensation that i was being baked in an oven, there was an annoying insect, bird or frog of some kind making an incessant noise over and over again, and it sounded like they were right outside my window.  (I know what you’re thinking but it wasn’t a cricket. I know what a cricket sounds like, and this wasn’t it.  I can actually sleep through cricket noise.  In fact I almost find it soothing.)  This, on the other hand, was a single, piercing, obnoxious repeating noise.  I’ve been racking my brain all day to find a way to describe the sound, but nothing quite captures it.  I suppose the closest I can come is a cross between a click and a chirp.  So I guess it was kind of like a “Clirp.”  It took place, almost without fail about every one and a half seconds.  Sometimes it would stop for a couple minutes, and as soon as I thought it was over, it would start again.

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CLIRP!   CLIRP!  CLIRP!!!

I laid in bed, wanting nothing more than to get at least five hours of sleep.  My eyes closed tight yet seemingly wide open at the same time.  The droning white noise of three fans surrounding my head did nothing to mask the insistent call of the mystery creature.

CLIRP!  CLIRP!  CLIRP! ………CLIRP!

I tried putting on these great big sound cancelling headphones on (They look like Princess Leia’s hair) but alas, not only was it impossible to fall asleep while wearing them, I COULD STILL HEAR THAT DAMN NOISE!!!  (And all I wanted was to try to obtain 4 hours of sleep.)

CLIRP!

I developed a real seething hatred for whatever living thing was making this noise.  It had to be doing it for no other reason than to torment me.  I fantasized about getting my hands on the creature, which I for some reason imagined to be some kind of giant locust, and slowly (yes slowly) crushing the life out of it.  A quick death would not do.  I longed to tighten my fingers around it’s body slowly while it’s eyeballs bulged and eventually it’s exoskeleton cracked, allowing its yellow guts to drizzle out in all directions as it writhed and withered helplessly to the ground.  (And all I wanted was 3 hours of sleep.)

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CLIRP!   CLIRP!…………….

…….

DId it finally stop?

……….

Could it be?

CLIRP! CLIRP! CLIRP! CLIRP! CLIRP!

So that’s how my night went.  Here and there I would manage to doze off, only to be awakened again to find that only a few minutes had passed.

Eventually I did fall asleep for a grand total of perhaps 2 and a half hours, yet for some reason, as I sit here not writing a blog, I’m not tired.  It may have something to so with the rum that I am consuming, or the fact that I’ve decided at long last to take a night off from contributing a post to my blog, or perhaps it’s the cruel irony that I most likely have to go through it all again tonight.

Also I had to take a drug test today for my promotion at work.  Tomorrow night I have absolutely no intention of writing about how awful that was.

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Me, Myself and I

21 Nov

Though I do have plenty of friends, and I am perfectly capable of functionally socializing with them from time to time, the truth is the only time I am really truly comfortable is when I am alone.

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(It’s Greta Garbo. If you don’t get it right away I don’t feel like explaining it. That’s what the internet is for.)

The problem with that is, I’m never alone.

First off let me start with a digression.  I’ve never fully accepted the theory that you have to let go of your past to move forward into the future.  I subscribe to the concept that our true self is somehow a composite of all the time we have (and will) spend on this planet.  (Like in that book Kurt Vonnegut wrote.) “Time” therefore as a concept becomes meaningless.  But this post isn’t about that.  It’s about Imaginary Friends.  (I like to start my blogs out with false pretenses.  Blame Arlo Guthrie.)

 I’m going to jump right on the bandwagon with the majority of the people here who wrote blogs on this subject by pointing out right away that I’ve never really had an imaginary friend.  I do, however talk to myself.  Constantly.  (What’s even better is that I frequently answer myself, and I do in fact refer to myself in the form of multiple third persons.  (Not out loud though.  I like to think that’s the difference between me and “That Crazy Guy on the Bus.”)

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To clarify, this never ending internal dialogue that runs through my head consists of a series of “Me’s” talking to “Myselves.”  Every few years or so, this collection of former Me’s (and current Me) is joined by another former Me, (or future Me) and now that I am close to beginning my 40th year, it’s getting pretty noisy in here.    

My interior dialogue consists almost entirely of an ongoing series of discussions between my current consciousness and those of my former selves.

If any of this is confusing, allow me to try to illuminate it with an example of what sort of thing goes on in my head at a key moment of the day, like when I’m trying to decide what I want to eat for dinner:

DOMINGO:  (I’m using the capitalized version to indicate the inner voice of my “current,” or dominant voice ) “What do we want to eat?”

5 year old Domingo:  “McDonald’s!”

DOMINGO:  “I should eat healthy, and save money.”

7 year old Domingo:  “Burger King!”  (Throughout most of my childhood, I was a McDonald’s kid, but around the time when I was 7, there were Empire Strikes Back glasses that could be purchased at Burger King.)

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DOMINGO:  “I should try to eat healthy, and not spend money.  I should go to the grocery store! Tuna fish sandwiches and fresh fruit!”

Recently Turned 21 Year Old Domingo: “Let’s just go to the bar and get drunk”

DOMINGO: “Hmmmmm…, I could go to the bar.  Or maybe just sit home and drink some beer in front of my computer.  I should eat first.  What to eat?”

Teenage Angst Domingo: “What difference does it make?  What difference does anything make? We’re all just going to die someday.”

DOMINGO:  (completely ignoring Teenage Angst Domingo) “Maybe I could get a burger at the bar, then sit there and have a few gin n’ tonics”

Sexually Frustrated/Living in Fantasy Land Domingo:  “Ooh!  Maybe we’ll get laid!”

Teenage Angst Domingo:  “SIGH!”

5 Year old Domingo: “McDonald’s!”

7 Year old Domingo:  “Burger King!”

More sophisticated Post College 30 something Domingo:  “Jimmy John’s”

DOMINGO: (Visualizing Jimmy John’s, which is actually downtown, and at least a 20 minute walk) “Hmmmm, maybe Jimmy John’s and then a downtown bar hopping adventure afterward. Wait: No  no no, I should go buy some groceries!”

Recently turned 21 Domingo: “Then beer afterward?”

Liquor Preferring Domingo: “No:  Let’s make White Russians!”

DOMINGO:  “Don’t have enough money.”

Liquor Preferring Domingo: “Friday?”

DOMINGO:  “Friday.”

Recently Turned 21 Domingo: “Pabst Blue Ribbon!”

Totally Lazy Domingo:  “Let’s just have pizza delivered.”

DOMINGO:  Don’t have enough money.”

Totally Lazy Domingo:  “Friday?”

DOMINGO: “Friday.”

I don’t want to give the impression that these long debates over what to have for dinner and/or “To Drink or Not To Drink”  go on every day, and I especially don’t want to give the impression that’s all we talk about. Sometimes we already know what I want.  (Especially if We’ve decided I’m having Sweet n Sour Chicken when Domingo gets off work.)  On the other hand, there are times when these internal debates go on for hours.  There have even been occasions when they’ve gone on so long that my body begins to digest itself in frustration, and sometimes we simply end up cobbling together a meal out of whatever food I happen to have in our apartment at the time.

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 And sometimes I “talk myself into” going into some restaurant we’ve never been to, and then wandering around town on a really fun bar hopping adventure with all my former selves tagging along for the ride.  

Maybe you’ve seen us.  I’m this guy:

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Remember the Time Blog Hop

This is the first time I have tried to take part in a weekly blog prompt.  (This one was about Imaginary Friends)   I probably didn’t do it right, but here’s a link to a bunch of folks who did:

http://www.inlinkz.com/wpview.php?id=340359

I’m a little more organized than that guy Kevin Spacey played in “Se7en”

6 Nov

Though it may be hard to believe, I was something of a “Playground Playboy” back in my youth.  And by youth I mean Kindergarten.  I have vague memories from that time of a little freckly face red haired girl named Amy that I developed a crush on and somehow coaxed into being my “girlfriend.”  (And no I’m not mixing up the events of my own life with those of Charlie Brown again.) There were even a couple of times we exchanged kisses at recess, much to the delight of a large group of our hooting and hollering 5 year old peers.  Alas, sometime between Kindergarten and 1st grade she disappeared.

Luckily I found a new crush in 1st grade.  Her name was Christy and she had big bright green eyes and long wavy brown hair, but I was more fascinated for some reason with this grayish blue woolen sweater she wore to school sometimes.  (Apparently I was a clothing fetishist even in the 1st grade.) One day we were all sitting on the floor having “story time” and she was sitting in front of me and somehow by the end of “story time” I was petting the back of her sweater and even more exciting: she was quite content to let me do so!  These events also somehow culminated into an actual “romance” of sorts and she and I used to hang out at the top level of something called  “The Rocket Slide” during recess, and when nobody else was looking , would steal hugs and kisses.

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This is me, sometime prior to my early Casanova years, standing at the bottom of “The Rocket Slide.” The slide is still there to this day, albeit under several more coats of paint.

My memories of these two girls are quite vague, though I’m certain the aforementioned events actually did take place.  I only wish I knew how, at such a young age, I had managed to get myself into such  situations with veritable ease.  In any event Christy was in a different class by 2nd grade, and I suppose it didn’t matter because by that time I seemed to have more or less lost interest in cultivating romances with the fairer sex, and moved on to more important things, such as my burgeoning collection of Star Wars toys and comic books.  (Interests which have not yet waned some three decades later.)

It would be five or six years before my interest in girls would surface again, but unfortunately for me it was around that same time when my face erupted into what was perhaps the worst case of acne in the history of the known universe.  There were quite a few girls I took an interest in, but I couldn’t even get close to them for fear that an erupting boil might spray them with much undesired pimple ooze.  Nothing seemed to help; Stridex pads, special creams, prescription medicine;  all were doomed to failure.  The only cure, as it turned out, would be to finish high school, but of course I wouldn’t know that for another 4 (or 5) years.

So in the meantime  I kept the pain of rejection at bay, for the most part, by delving into my studies, and at some point began to hone my lifelong interest in drawing.  I also continued my obsession with comic books, and much of the time the girls of my fantasies were not even real people, but characters from said comic books.  Shadowcat, She-Hulk, Cheetara, yes even Betty and Veronica: these were my girlfriends during the long cold winter of my adolescence.

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I had a particular fondness for Kitty Pride AKA Shadowcat.

    You may be wondering by now just what exactly the point of this blog is.  Am I going to go on rambling incessantly about various girls I kissed when I was 5, girls I liked when I was a pimply faced teenager, or comic book characters I fantasized about?  No.  This blog is about something I rather affectionately refer to as “My Journal”, but hold on I’m getting to that.

So eventually I found myself in what was supposed to be my last year in high school.  (SPOILER ALERT:  As things turned out, there would be one more relatively pimple free senior year that I would have to endure, but I didn’t know that at the time, and besides, that tale will probably make good fodder for a future blog.)  I had a job and a car.  I was also still scrawny and had horrible acne, but had acquired by this time a certain amount of punk rock culture, gleaned primarily from my rebellious high school friends, that seemed to lend me an air of “cleverness and mystery.”  (Most of the people in the small town grocery store where I worked had never heard of The Pixies, David Lynch, or Rocky Horror Picture Show, but I had, and just in time too, because it was right around that time that “Smells Like Teen Spirit” would hit the radio waves, thus making me, a previously unnoticeable freak, suddenly seem almost like “One of the Cool Kids.”)

So let me get to the point.  I finally get a girl to go out “on a date” with me, the whole situation crashes and burns, and I find myself in what seemed to be the deepest darkest depression I had ever known.  I don’t really know how to handle it, and proceed to take comfort in: after work kegger parties, my one brief attempt at becoming “A Smoker” and by purchasing deck after deck of playing cards, which I would use to play solitaire for hours and hours.  Then, on November 6th, 1991 (which was exactly 22 years ago on THIS day) I took one of my fifteen minute breaks from work, purchased a red, college ruled Mead notebook and a 4 color Bic pen, and sat down in the break room with it, to begin my destiny.

On the right hand top corner of the page, in black ink, I wrote the number 1, and circled it.  In the left margin I wrote, also in black ink; Nov 6th, 1991.  Then I decided, for whatever reason, that my first entry would be in red ink, and I wrote in that color:  “Journal Entry # 1” and began furiously dumping 17 years worth of angst fueled emotion and rage onto the paper.

I blasted through that first notebook in only a couple of months, filling the pages with teenage frustration, nostalgic memories of childhood, daily chronicles of my everyday affairs, song lyrics, and a few really bad forays into fiction.  (The latter most item is something I never do in my journal these days.)  The first several hundred pages of this Tome (And I really feel like I can call it that now.) are nothing short of embarrassing, and yet, I love and cherish every word.   (Though I’m not likely to let anyone read those horrid early entries.  You’ll have to take my word for it.  Imagine Catcher in the Rye as it may have been written by Horatio Alger)

Page 1, just as I described it.

Page 1, just as I described it.

Naturally I have held on to almost every page of this work.  (Unfortunately there was a relatively recent incident in which a drunken stroll home from the bar in downtown Ann Arbor resulted in the loss of my latest notebook, which luckily contained only a mere 30 pages or so.)

Each subsequent notebook has been numbered in sequence beginning with page 1 of that first red notebook, as have the journal entry numbers.  I have continued using a BIC 4 color pen to write the entries, and I generally favor rotating the colors in this order: Red, Black, Green, Blue.   There is no particular reasoning behind that color sequence, other than a deliberate avoidance of having red and green in sequence, as that would be far too Christmasy.  (Not that I have anything against Christmas, but that only comes once a year, and my journal is supposed to be for all year.)

Patrick Barnitt 2

Rumor has it this guy also kept voluminous journals, but with no dating, no page numbering, and stored on shelves in no discernible order. He also killed people. (He is also a fictional character in a movie.)

  I wish I could say I have done this every day since I started it.  Unfortunately, as is the case with all my obsessions, this one comes and goes.  It also tends to follow the same pattern as the rest of my motivation, meaning there is usually a fresh burst of excited almost frantic writing in the fall, followed by a slower but consistent jaunt through the winter, followed by sporadic but desperate attempts to keep it going in the spring, followed by, all too often, complete lack of interest in the summer, when all I want to do is stay inside in the air conditioning and watch movies.  There have also been good years for journal writing, and bad years for journal writing.  In fact through the years 1995-1997 I wrote not a single solitary word in it, then for the next five years, during which time I found myself employed third shift in a relatively quiet small town gas station, I cranked out over 1000 pages.  (This time period also saw my longest unbroken streak of some 137 days without a missed entry!)

Still, in 22 years I have managed to write 4648 pages.  (Yes that’s 4 thousand, 6 hundred and 48.  Pages.  Hand Written in ink on paper.)  That is more pages than any one Victor Hugo or Stephen King book of which I am aware.) The entries themselves range in length from a couple lines, to over 20 pages apiece, depending on my mood at the time.  I almost always have my current notebook with me, even if I haven’t written in it in months. (You know, just in case I want to write.)

Saturday 11-19-2010 004

The whole “Kit n’ Kaboodle.”

The journal has been my constant companion on many adventures, and non adventures.  It has filled lonely and bored hours of time, both in preserving and reliving moments of my existence on this planet.  I have thought of it as an invisible audience ready to listen to whatever mindless rambling I feel like bestowing upon it.  I can discuss it for hours.  In some ways I feel like it actually is me, more so than I my own physical being can ever be.  After all, it has remained, and grown, while I myself am still just me.  It is somehow a sum of all my parts for the past 22 years and more.  It will (hopefully) live on beyond my own time on this planet, and who knows maybe someone somewhere will read it long after I am gone.  That thought gives me comfort.   (As long as it’s long after I and everyone I have ever known personally is dead.)

If you’ve ever thought about starting a journal, but have not: Do it.  Right now.  For real.

Remember Myspace? (Me neither)

27 Apr

Current mood:nostalgic

I really am planning on being more active on here once I figure some things out.  I was trying to write a blog about the time I attempted to walk from Ann Arbor to Chicago.  (that’s a little over 200 miles if you’re unfamiliar with Midwestern United States geography, and I almost made it, but that’s a story for another day.)  The thing is I was trying to insert quite a few pictures from my journey and the formatting was giving me trouble, so I had to take a break.  I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually, but I have a low threshold for frustration.  Sometimes I even break things.  Better for me to work on that one a little at a time.
Q0s0czNzczhhNUkx_o_office-space-fax-machine-scene
In the meantime I figured it was time to post something, so I came up with the extremely novel idea (that I’m sure nobody’s ever thought of) of visiting my LONG neglected Myspace profile and digging up one of my better blogs from “The Good Ole Days.”    
Here’s the thing: I can’t figure out how to log into Myspace anymore either.  I have a different computer now that doesn’t know any of my old e-mail addressees or passwords, and it seems neither do I.  
So here, as best as I can remember, is a synopsis of my top ten favorite Myspace blogs.  It will at least give you a general idea of what sorts of things you can expect from me in the future.  
 (I’m doing this Lettermen style.)10.  Easter…(Huh)…Good God Y’all!…(What is it good for?)…Absolutely NOTHIN!

in which I relate that year’s Easter Sunday’s events with me and my friend Melanie trying desperately to locate an eating establishment in which to consume a cheeseburger and fries.  (I know I talk about cheeseburgers a lot, right?)  Also in this blog I personally invented the phrase “Zombie Jesus Day” before anyone else did, and I haven’t heard the end of it since.  I think I even saw it on South Park once.  (Those assholes are always stealing my ideas!)

ZombieJC9.  YES!  I Score Ten More ‘Dork Points’!!

in which I discuss an incident in downtown Ann Arbor where I found myself actually striking up a brief conversation with a cute girl behind the counter at Border’s where I was purchasing an Aquabats cd, only to realize with sudden and abject horror, I was wearing an Aquabats T-shirt!  I quickly extracted myself from the situation.

254
8.  FUCK the police!…fuck fuck FUCK the police!in which I describe a drunken stroll home from Aubree’s (a bar in downtown Ypsilanti, MI)   in the middle of the night whereupon I got into an altercation with some police officers while cutting through campus.  Yet another in a long line of events which probably should have led to my arrest and incarceration.  (For the record, I actually felt bad about it the next day.  They were just doing their jobs after all.)

7.  I’m Big in Japan

in which I discuss at great length and with many amusing digressions just how awesome Tom Waits is.  (I was…as usual…drunk and possibly under the influence of a certain type of plant fume.)

TW16.  Please…Kill…Me…

In which I admit that for reasons I cannot adequately explain I don’t really seem to hate baseball quite as much as I hate other sports.  What prompted this blog was the fact that earlier that day (at work, I might add) I had found myself thoroughly engrossed in something called “A Tiger’s Game”, and actually got excited when that particular team emerged victorious.  I closed that blog by warning my alleged readers that the next time they saw me I might very well be sitting on my front porch wearing a Nascar t-shirt, blaring 50 cent and Garth Brooks at top volume from a boom box, and drinking out of a 40 ounce of King Cobra in a brown paper bag.

5.  I’m Not Really an Asshole.  I Just Play One on TV.

in which I rambled incessantly about my personal views on many things.  Including the fact that I hate political parties, organized religion, sports, summer, commercialism, so called authority figures, and society in general.  (Though I genuinely seem to like and make friends with pretty much every person that I meet individually)  In other words:  I love people, I just hate people.  

4. Blogging Is Clearly For Scumbags

This was my first blog ever.  In this (my first blog ever)  I tried to insult every single person who has ever written a blog, mainly because I simply HATE the word blog.  I still hate the word “blog.”  It almost made me not want to do this.  Why did they have to come up with such a stupid name?    

3.  HG Wells Eat Your Heart Out!

In which, after indulging in a particular sort of herbal sinus remedy that you’re supposed to light on fire and then inhale, I managed to come up with a mathematical formula that proved once and for all that time travel is indeed possible.  Unfortunately I published it exclusively to my Myspace blog.  (Which I apparently can no longer remember how to log into.)  The first thing I was planning on doing with my new found discovery? Go back in time and attempt to seduce and have sex with Audrey Hepburn (circa Breakfast at Tiffany’s time period).  Now that would be putting science to good use!  Forget about going back in time and killing Hitler, cause we all know that would cause paradoxes and shit.

2.  A Drunk Domingo Is Not A Good Domingo To Invite Into Your House!

in which I start out by apologizing to a friend whose floor I had apparently urinated on in a drunken stupor the night before.  (I couldn’t remember.)  I then launched into a tale from my past, relating one of the very few times in my life I could have actually scored with an attractive girl!  (One who had picked me up from the bar no less!)  Alas, my prospects were dashed when I vomited on myself, her floor, her bed, and her.  (She never returned my calls after that.)

lardass-05
                                                                                            LARDASS! LARDASS! LARDASS!1.  Domingo’s Inferno

in which I relate a recent descent I made into Hell, accompanied by some dude named Vergil.  (We saw a lot of fucked up shit.)

gustave_dore_inferno32

What Will I Write About?

20 Apr

Here is my answer:

mrhand

I don’t know.

I like that.  It is short, concise, and extremely open ended.  All possibilities are left available.

I like it so much I’m going to leave it here all day for all my classes to enjoy, giving myself full credit of course even though I stole it directly from a classic children’s move of the 80’s.  (I call it that because when it came out, I myself was a child, which didn’t stop me from watching it.  It’s also a film I continue to quote to this very day, and sometimes people still get it, which indicates it has more than a little staying power.)

I’ve been toying with the idea of having my own blog for some time, but the big stumbling block has always been trying to figure out what I would write about.  It seems like everyone has a theme these days, so I guess maybe I thought I had to have a theme.

I was recently invited to guest post on a friend’s food and wine blog.  (By which I mean I invited myself, but he was generous enough to allow it.) Here’s a link to his blog.  He’s way better at this than I am.

http://foodandwinehedonist.com/

So could I be a food and wine blogger?  Probably not.  There are about three things that I’m willing to eat, and as I already wrote a blog about cheeseburgers, that really only leaves two more:  plain cheese pizza and plain (or sometimes barbecue) potato chips.  There it is.  There’s my entire food blog potential in one paragraph.  Hope you liked it.  I’m well aware of the fact that I eat like a five year old.  (I’ve been doing it since I was five years old.)  I’m ok with that.  You can keep your squids and your fish eggs and your weird vegetables I can’t pronounce the names of.  I’ll stick with what I know.

cheeseburger

As far as wine goes, I love wine, but unfortunately every time I try to drink it I feel like my stomach is on fire for the rest of the night.   So that’s no good. The center will not hold.

So what sorts of things do I like?  Well for one I like to write.  I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid.  I used to make my own little “horror novels” on notebook paper and staple them together and force my family members to read them.  I was convinced I was just as good as Stephen King.  (I wasn’t.)  If I can locate some of these ancient atrocities, which I guarantee I still have somewhere, I may scan them in and post them, just for laughs.  (Because I’ve found out through much trial and error that what I’m particularly gifted at is getting cheap laughs from a seemingly endless supply of self deprecating humor frequently peppered with movie references or other tidbits of pop culture lore. )

I’ve also been keeping a rather voluminous journal since November 6th, 1991.  (How do I know the exact date?  Because I wrote it down, dumb ass.)  Here’s a picture of it, just in case you didn’t believe me.

Saturday 11-19-2010 008

That’s some five thousand pages of college ruled hand written rambling.  Quite a lot of it was written in a drunken stupor.  Those are the entries I most enjoy reading later, when I can decipher them, which I usually can’t.

I also like music, movies, books, and brightly colored plastic objects.  I do not like long walks on the beach.  In fact I fucking HATE the beach.

So I’m going to write about all those things from time to time, most likely.

I will almost certainly never write about sports, unless it is to point out how meaningless and arbitrary they are.  (I feel much the same way about politics, religion, and reality television.  If I write about any of those things, it will be to make fun of them, including the people who think those things are important.  If that includes you: Good. )

I think that’s about all I got tonight.  Plus I’m almost out of gin, which means I’m probably going to go to the bar.

And if you’re wondering if I plan to be offensive, here it is in the proverbial nutshell:  fuckshitpisscuntcocksuckermotherfucker,

And tits.

003

(I drew this by the way.)

AlyZen Moonshadow

The words and works of AlyZen Moonshadow, digital mixed media photography artist, designer, musician, poet, philosopher, mother, muse, Goddess!

Are You Finished Yet?

I like to write about stuff. I usually try to be funny. Take it or leave it.

Michael Rios

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anewperspectiveperhaps

This site is about everything from my philosophy on life to the little things that make me laugh. IIt is about living, and breathing, and pausing long enough to take it all in. I hope it makes you laugh, sometimes makes you cry, but always makes you want to come back for another visit. It is your words, and your likes that inspire me to keep writing. And it is through my writing that you have a very large window to my soul. Relax awhile, read, and enjoy!

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La vie est belle !

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My mind poops here

emmakwall (explains it all)

Film & soundtrack reviews, good humour and lists

AlyZen Moonshadow

The words and works of AlyZen Moonshadow, digital mixed media photography artist, designer, musician, poet, philosopher, mother, muse, Goddess!

Are You Finished Yet?

I like to write about stuff. I usually try to be funny. Take it or leave it.

Michael Rios

Sherlock unlocking the past

anewperspectiveperhaps

This site is about everything from my philosophy on life to the little things that make me laugh. IIt is about living, and breathing, and pausing long enough to take it all in. I hope it makes you laugh, sometimes makes you cry, but always makes you want to come back for another visit. It is your words, and your likes that inspire me to keep writing. And it is through my writing that you have a very large window to my soul. Relax awhile, read, and enjoy!

Be Free 2 Love

Soaring through Life, Love, & Happiness: One story at time.

PotatoPen

That's right! I write!

Forty, c'est Fantastique !

La vie est belle !

Mr Tookles

tee hee

The Dependent Independent

TV, movies, books…rants… just trying to put skills to use.

Fictional Kevin

Cigar Fueled Creative Writing

Tubularsock

". . . first hand coverage, second hand news"

Elizabeth Conrad

True stories from a recovering asshole.

jenny's lark

the beauty of an ordinary life

Skinny and Single

Single and Over 40 and Not Suicidal About It

BunKaryudo

Lovingly Hand-Crafted Humor Blog

Life After 50

Life at any age can be amazing! We only need to grab hold & experience it!

Lessons from my daughter

Although all doctors agreed she would do nothing.....

lindaseccaspina

remembers the invention of the wheel

Fiction Favorites

with John W. Howell

Retro Girl & the Chemo Kid

Superpower: love. Adventures through childhood cancer, grief, healing and happiness.

What Rhymes with Stanza?

Words at rest, words at play

Life and Random Thinking

A old dog CAN blog

Fred in Wyo

I enjoy making photographs and putting words together

Live Laugh RV

Our next Chapter

NestOfSquirrels

Acorns. And scurrying.

The Falling Thoughts

Poems, Poetry Plus Passion

heretherebespiders

blowing through the cobwebs of my mind

Mental Defecation

My mind poops here

emmakwall (explains it all)

Film & soundtrack reviews, good humour and lists