Wheels 'n' Axlenoise

Facebook: Marketing Platform For The Two-Dimensional YOU

2011-05-08T15:26:00.002-05:00

I really struggle with Facebook. It's a very weird thing to log on and observe updates from people I have very little interaction with, and interact with people I have very little in common with. I have over 416 "friends" on FB, and regularly interact with maybe 3 or 4 of them. The rest are peripheral observances of people who no longer represent an individual voice as much as they regurgitate the paradigmatic rantings of a demographic and cultural/political lean (I'm sure I fit into that box for many of my FB friends). Sometimes they will "like" my status update or comment on another FB friend's comment. I've come to realize that Facebook is just as effective as a weapon in expressing, whether it's passively or aggressively, your general dislike of someone you apparently call a "friend". I seem to be concerned with this, because I want to be liked and I want to like everyone (It's a condition those of us with addictive personalities tend to suffer from).

Anyone who is on Facebook and believes that there aren't a myriad of their FB friends who haven't blocked their posts or unfriended them because it's easier than actually confronting someone is probably deluding themselves. Also, that's no reason at all to even worry about that person. As my friend in this post said: "Why would I waste a second of mental energy on my enemies, when I can take comfort in the thought of my friends, people like you?" Well, I can actually think of one right now: 1. Because they're making some sort of effort to effectively ignore, thereby erase you from what information they take in from the world. At worst, they talk shit about you, at best, they just simply forget you exist.

But...why do I even put any effort into worrying about that? At worst, they'll convince people who want them to be in their favor but know nothing about me that I'm not worth knowing, and at best they'll alienate others who see that kind of backstabbing as indicative of a real winner. There's no reason to believe that I'm not that person to a myriad of my FB "friends" who haven't hidden my posts by now. And I find myself worrying about it when really, I shouldn't. Life is full of people who think they have the right answer for others, and it's just a matter of time until those others come around to their way of thinking...or is that really the case? Do we all sit around thinking that we know the way of the world? I know I certainly do. It's not the greatest thing to admit, but I can't escape that the world makes sense to me, even though it really pisses me off that I can't always be happy in the uncontrollable chaos of it all.

The long and short of it is that the main function of Facebook in my mind is not to change the landscape and quality of human interaction between acquaintances, but to allow for quicker access to that interaction. The quality of the interaction in fact, is lessened. Rich depth of communication due to body language, eye contact, tone of voice, and surrounding is removed. We're merely advertising our current marketing techniques for 'Brand "ME"', and 'Brand "YOU"'. Our fears, petty differences, passive/aggressive behaviors, many of them holdovers from grade school cliquishness seem to remain for the most part. Have some of my FB friends changed since I knew them in grade school? Sure. They've either had profound religious or ethical dilemmas that have caused a large paradigmatic shift, but their behavior still exhibits petty little snipes or just the right amount of cold indifference to make a point that I've somehow irritated them. Or maybe it's just that I keep thinking I'm the center of the universe and any time the nature of my interaction changes with someone it upsets me as well. Am I that different from those I've just described? I think, not so much Andy, not so much.

Facebook: What's YOUR point?

Whatever Shall We Do?

2009-08-10T19:47:00.003-05:00

Let's go Jogging!

Really, it's been too long. I have a lot of writing to post. Saved as drafts. I'm actually weighing the options of pissing off the people from my band 12 years ago. I've been weighing them every night in the shower and on the toilet.

(Update: I actually wrote my former bandmates a very long, open letter of apology for my behavior in the past and recieved a very kind and welcoming response from both of them. Best thing to happen in all of 2010 for me. Do I still have lingering regrets? Of course. Do I still have lingering resentments? Legitimately. But the fact is, we are once again on speaking terms, we've matured, and hopefully forgiven each other for the most part. Life's too short to hang onto grudges willingly. I'm happy I've let most of mine go. I have to in order to make room for new ones. :) 5/8/2011)

Meanwhile,

I just walked my dog around Lake of the Isles, and there were a huge number of joggers out. Most of them looked really awkward as they approached, and when they jogged by, arms flapping, gangly legs supported by feet that, when airborne seemed to rotate in all planes so that I was amazed when the foot came down flat, over half of them had this look in their faces as if they were doing it for the wrong reasons...

Don't eat the chips.

I'm Really Not THAT Bad

2009-06-27T22:58:00.002-05:00

Posting an exchange with a Facebook friend in lieu of several other posts that are still a' brewing...

Me: "[My Friend's Name Will Remain Anonymous], do you ever get the feeling that people just flat out don't like you? I don't mean that like it sounds. But recently I've just been really surly about a lot of things, and I get the feeling that no matter how I attempt to come across, there's an air of trepidation and dislike where my presence is concerned. I suppose it's because I've created that to a degree, but I just can't sit back anymore when I listen to some of the blanket-statement crap that comes out of peoples mouths. Sorry, I'm just kind of venting."

[My Friend]:

"My dear friend, I know exactly what you mean. I know there are a world of people out there who despise me too. But guess what? They're not important. Why would I waste a second of mental energy on my enemies, when I can take comfort in the thought of my friends, people like you?

Maybe this will help. You have to remember that people are tribal. They define themselves by something basic and then live by that creed, rejecting all those who don't. It doesn't mean they're evil and it doesn't mean they're stupid. It's probably instinctual, which means we can't change anyone. Our ancestors survived the wilds of the savannah through tribal behaviors. And on an emotional level, so do we.

Here are some examples: Republicans hate liberals. Rockers hate rap fans. Southerners hate yankees. The wealthy despise the poor, and vice versa. Fundamentalist Christians sneer at everyone. Young people dislike the elderly. Pro-lifers hate the young women who appear for an abortion. I could do this all day.

So when someone dislikes you, my friend, it says nothing about you at all. It's them.

As for those blanket statements, I don't know what to say. Argument is unproductive, I've learned. No one ever says, "you raise an interesting point." Everyone sticks to their guns. To allow your thinking to change is apparently a sign of weakness. I don't believe that will ever change. But you don't have to be a prisoner to it. You can always walk away."

Me: "Thanks, I needed to be reminded of that."

This raises an interesting point...

We Live In A World Of People. Doin' Whatever The Hell They Want. The Future Looks Bright.

2009-06-20T22:27:00.005-05:00

What the fuck is up with people who are out and about at the same time I decide to go run my errands? Why is it that I continually run into selfish nimrod fuckbrains when all I'm trying to do is procure groceries and cat litter? Why do I feel the need to even comment on the inglorious state of society-at-large not doing what I want them to do when there are 1.5 blogs for every man, woman, and dried dog turd out there, bitching and moaning about the very same thing? I'll tell you why: Because I'd rather do this than yell at the cats. Yes, I get off on reading my own posts like you might get off on a good piece of whatever-it-is-you-do-to-decompress.

"Whoa! Shit! Marge! Get in here and taste a piece of this cake I baked up! Goddammit, I felt like I was channeling fucking James Beard!" Kind of like that.

The simple truth is that, the above awkward analogy somewhat not withstanding, we, as a still infantile race, have way too much lack of experience out in public, are increasingly informed socially by our choices on The Idiot Boxt, and as a result tend to work out our selfish impulses in public much more often than we care to admit, and, much to the chagrin of the others working their selfish impulses out, there is the inevitable clash of selfish impulses for the simple reason that there's too many channels of utter shit beaming through the wires, literally and figuratively. Sure, that's a weak thread, but so what. I'll bet there's more than a grain of truth to it all.

Case(s) in point:

1. The assholes that just stand in the middle of a grocery aisle oblivious to the fact that others need to maneuver through the space they've so punishingly blocked with their fat fucking asses. What is up with these people? Are they so inspired by their newfound realization that they actually have a CHOICE when shopping, that they have to make some sort of traffic-jam-spectacle out of themselves? "Look at me! I can choose ORGANIC frozen tater tots!"

Solution: Mini-cattle prods and air-horns. Taze the fuckers to the ground and then just lay on that air-horn until they bleed from the eardrums. Guarantee they'll be hugging the interior aisle line, and the post-traumatic stress will either make them work off the extra weight, or cause them to eat themselves into a cholesterol-induced aneurysm. Either way, you're doing those who mind the rules of courtesy a big favor by weeding out the herd.

2.Cyclists who blow 4-way stop signs when they're not the first ones to the intersection.

I'll admit, I'm always blowing stop signs on my bicycle...WHEN I'M THE FIRST ONE TO THE INTERSECTION, OR THERE'S NO ONE ELSE AT THE INTERSECTION! Otherwise, I leave it alone. My reasoning is thus: If I'm the first one to the intersection, it's much more of a hassle for the driver of an automobile to have to wait for me to stop...then SLLOOWWWLY get up to speed, pass through the intersection so they can be on their way. It's just a setup for tons of impatient automobile drivers to add to their list of Why Cyclists Suck. And to be honest, from what I've seen, most cyclists do suck. They ride like selfish little brats all stoked on their newfound freedom and they're gonna just do whatever the hell they want, because they've probably figured that no one really wants to deal with the hassle that comes with hitting a cyclist. And they're right. I have just about had it with these fuckers. Today, on the way to the store, in the car, I come to a four-way stop. I stop. I'm about to go when I see something out of the corner of my left eye. I look up, and there he is: Poster Child for Truth in Vasectomy and Abstinence. Long, flowing locks wound around a messenger bag strap wobbling atop an ancient lugged beater bike; eyes bagged out from too much living for one so young as this; weary lines cut from too much depth of thought brought on by swan-dives into violent psychedelic nights with his caste of idiots; lines forced into what was once a youthful expressive mask from too many drug-induced magical realizations. And now he's going to make us all pay by running a stopsign. Looks me right in the eye and just blows right through the intersection. Had I actually gone when I had the inclination, he would have plowed right into the drivers' side of my car. Which, among other reasons, would have been unfortunate due to the fact that I might not be able to open the damaged driver's-side door in order to stomp this idiots tongue into his mouthful of broken teeth.

Solution: Spring-loaded broom-handle launcher. Right into the spokes. Or the sides of the kneecaps. When the rider's down, exit the car and take a shit on their chest. Then say something witty like: "Say 'NO' to assholes who comment on YouTube!"

C'mon people. Be nice. Be sensible. Be aware of others. Take the time to take some time. Think. Otherwise there's going to be a lot of shit on a lot of chests. Wait. I forgot. Fetishists.

DAMMIT!

Fucking Procrastination!

2009-05-26T21:57:00.004-05:00

Shit! I really have to update more often. There's so much to say. I think I wait for it all to build up to the point of overload and then just puke it all out on the ol' blog here. My links are out of date. Who's going to click on those damned things anyway? Everyone clicking on each other's links 24/7. Kind of weird in a super-interesting sort of way. Wife's out of town. Dog's sleeping. I've been eating cereal and thinking I'm 10 years old again. Sci-Fi channel played a Land Of The Lost marathon last night. I remember watching that on Saturday mornings when I was a tot. Boy does it look dated. Quite cerebral and well thought-out though. I should have watched more. I probably could have figured out where things took a serious left turn for me...just from my childhood fantasies as they related to my fascination with Sleestacks. Problem is, I experienced a sugar crash from the three bowls of Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles and instead retired to bed dozing through four pages of Joe Haldeman's The Accidental Time Machine before drooling off to sleep. Idea: invent a video game first-person shooter where the player gets to hunt down all reality show contestant/participant douchebags (I'm looking at you, John and Kate Gosselin) and waste them with extreme prejudice, then gather all the folks together who watch this shit, mix them with equal parts sand, nuke the fuckers and harness the reflective energy from the resulting radioactive glass sea and sell it to polar regions as "stupid people heat". Use the resulting money to balance the budget. There. Who needs Obama? I'm on it, folks...

Easter Beans

2009-04-13T01:51:00.003-05:00

I joined Facebook, and tonight have had about enough Easter comments to last me another year. A good friend suggested that I post a rant that I posted in my Facebook "what's on your mind" window. So, after a couple of comments about me "being too deep" and "over-analyzing", I'm doing just that. By the way, I get off on being deep and over-analyzing at times, so if it upsets you, don't do it, but don't assume that it upsets me or that I'm poking around in the Devil's speedo, because there's no such thing as the Devil. It's a lipstick wearing Chupacabra from the 8th dimension. And it loves beignets.

Here ya go:

If we weren't quickened by time and the crush of electric reality that no matter how hard one struggles to define, no one really knows nor has proof of what happens to us after death, we would probably learn to coexist much more peacefully. For no matter how we try to define a reality for ourselves and how we feel others should live, there's always the restriction of the observer being subjected to their own subjectivity when defining what it means to be alive; what it means to be sentient; what it means to be. Even then, most of us develop some sort of paradigm we, for the most part are willing to kill for, put our children up to live against , subject the animals and environment to, but in rare cases, outright die for. It’s a shame to think that we can be so smug in our outlook that we impose our will on others when, in reality, we may not be willing to take that outlook to our grave willingly, and furthermore may just doing all that we can to keep ourselves in a state of semi-intellectual lethargy.

Happy Easter.

A friend responded: "I could exist more peacefully with myself and my internal monologue if I knew what lies in wait when this life ends. Faith would certainly be easier than this uncertainty."

I responded: "Well, sure. So could everyone. That's the point. Most religion is so freaking archaic, it only exists because most people are afraid to face the fact that you may just die and that's it. If that's the case, then it's all the more reason to live life generously and help others when you can. Really, I think it's what you leave to the world that matters in the end. That being said, I've got some work to do!"

Same friend responded: "Ditto. I helped resurrect someone today but I got paid for it so I don't think it counts toward the good deed department." (she's a fire-dept cmt, and I don't think getting paid to do something life-saving necessarily cancels out the good deed).

Another friend responded: "You would see the same lunacy, just under a different construct.

"I would argue if you knew when you died there was nothing following this world, that things would be much worse. Nothing holding anyone back, no moral compass, no consequences. I'm not really drinking what organized religion is selling (if there is something afterward I find it amusing that someone out there thinks they know the answer and everyone else is wrong), but you have to think something happens after you take the dirt nap.

"Having dealt with religious crazies first hand though, I feel you on this one....

"Happy Easter my agnostic friend. And stop being so deep, this is FB for crying out loud. What happened to the blog???" (point taken, bro.)

A high school friend responded: "Skiles, I am printing this and mailing it to Father Fred. You are in big trouble. Hope you are ready to sit in a desk for three hours on Saturday and think about what you just typed." (Father Fred was the vice-principal at a Catholic High school I attended. This was my fave comment of all.)

Another friend responded:

"Maybe you should make some lemondrops with all those lemons life has given you!

If religion did not exist, can you imagine the morality of the human race? I can't get my son to behave without threats of taking away video games, toys, etc. Taking away an after life, now, that's a threat!

You need a vacation. Go to the beach, the mountains, the lake. Quit over-anylizing life, and live. Enjoy this life. ... Read More

And- Happy Easter :-).

And I responded:

Can I imagine the morality of the human race? Have you taken a look around lately? Religion has been behind a lot of death and war lately. Religion doesn't exist for a lot of people, and they live perfectly moral lives. No disrespect, but Religious disagreement has been one of the biggest reasons given for war in the history of humanity; people shut others out because they don't believe the same dogma. I mean, listen to what you're saying. "Taking away an afterlife, now that's a threat!" That's exactly what I'm talking about. Nobody knows that there's an afterlife, there's no proof, but it's used as a threat instead of a metaphor for how one should live their life. I think we pile our own fears of our deaths up on our children with this idea of heaven and hell, and it's from a BOOK some folks wrote to keep the ignorant in line. Blind faith based on dogma handed down through the years. People have lived perfectly moral upstanding lives without a belief in an afterlife BECAUSE THEY BELIEVE THIS LIFE MAY BE ALL THERE IS. I've spent too much time trying to convince myself that there IS an afterlife, and really, that's where all the lemons have come from. Look at all the ... Read Morepeople who call themselves religious end up doing really sick shit. People will do sick shit whether or not there's religion, and I think that understanding that it may be socio-psychological and not the "sin impulse" or "demons" is a healthier way to approach it. I never really bought the afterlife thing anyway. So, I'm making lemondrops out of the fact that I'm perfectly comfortable with dying and that's all there is.
I've always analyzed life, and I always will. And I've realized that without lemons, you can't make lemondrops. Without pain, you can't realize the comfort of the beaches or the mountains, or a vacation.

And I had a good Sunday. It just happened to be Easter for some folks.

I'll leave it at this: George Carlin, my man, you said it in your own way. Sooo eloquently:

"Sanctity of life. You believe in it? Personally, I think it's a bunch of shit. Well, I mean, life is sacred? Who said so? God? Hey, if you read history, you realize that God is one of the leading causes of death! Has been for thousands of years. Hindus, Muslims, Jews, Christians all taking turns killing each other 'cuz God told them it was a good idea. The sword of God, the blood of the lamb, vengeance is mine. Millions of dead motherfuckers. Millions of dead motherfuckers all because they gave the wrong answer to the God question. 'You believe in God?' 'No.' *Pdoom*. Dead. 'You believe in God?' 'Yes.' 'You believe in my God? 'No.' *Poom*. Dead. 'My God has a bigger dick than your God!' Thousands of years. Thousands of years, and all the best wars, too. The bloodiest, most brutal wars fought, all based on religious hatred. Which is fine with me. Hey, any time a bunch of holy people want to kill each other I'm a happy guy.

"But don't be giving me all this shit about the sanctity of life. I mean, even if there were such a thing, I don't think it's something you can blame on God. No, you know where the sanctity of life came from? We made it up. You know why? 'Cuz we're alive. Self-interest. Living people have a strong interest in promoting the idea that somehow life is sacred. You don't see Abbott and Costello running around, talking about this shit, do you? We're not hearing a whole lot from Musolini on the subject. What's the latest from JFK? Not a goddamn thing. 'Cuz JFK, Musolini and Abbott and Costello are fucking dead. They're fucking dead. And dead people give less than a shit about the sanctity of life. Only living people care about it so the whole thing grows out of a completely biased point of view. It's a self serving, man-made bullshit story.

"It's one of these things we tell ourselves so we'll feel noble. Life is sacred. Makes you feel noble. Well let me ask you this: if everything that ever lived is dead, and everything alive is gonna die, where does the sacred part come in? I'm having trouble with that. 'Cuz, I mean, even with all this stuff we preach about the sanctity of life, we don't practice it. We don't practice it. Look at what we'd kill: Mosquitos and flies. 'Cuz they're pests. Lions and tigers. 'Cuz it's fun! Chickens and pigs. 'Cuz we're hungry. Pheasants and quails. 'Cuz it's fun. And we're hungry. And people. We kill people... 'Cuz they're pests. And it's fun!

"And you might have noticed something else. The sanctity of life doesn't seem to apply to cancer cells, does it? You rarely see a bumper sticker that says 'Save the tumors.'. Or 'I brake for advanced melanoma.'. No, viruses, mold, mildew, maggots, fungus, weeds, E. Coli bacteria, the crabs. Nothing sacred about those things. So at best the sanctity of life is kind of a selective thing. We get to choose which forms of life we feel are sacred, and we get to kill the rest. Pretty neat deal, huh? You know how we got it? We made the whole fucking thing up! Made it up!

"Thank you." --GEORGE CARLIN.

c:> Run Program...

2009-04-13T01:09:00.001-05:00

Activating power up...
Loading Data...
Linking Files...
Linking Data...

Boom.

Big Sibling Is Watching You...And Has Gone Cryin' To Momma.

2008-05-04T20:10:00.006-05:00

This will be my last post describing my work experiences.

Why? Let me explain.

Back in January I posted a diatribe about my failure to acquire a position in the Customer Service dept. where I work. I carried that around with me for a long time, and even though it is pretty caustic and unnecessary, I still feel that it is, for the most part, an accurate description of my feelings on the matter.

Flash forward: We have an annual employee survey whereby employees can express their feelings about their work experience. It's a great thing that the company provides, and they provided it about a month ago. I proceeded to describe my feelings in a comment box regarding the circumstances surrounding the January diatribe. I was asked to explain my survey comments to my then supervisor, which I proceeded to do. As I thought would happen, the supervisor seemed to become defensive, didn't take any responsibility for their actions, even though I took responsibility for mine, and made it seem as if I was the only one at fault. Fine. That's one reason I didn't want to meet with them in the first place. No win.

About two weeks after that meeting, I was asked into a followup meeting with Human Resources to see how the initial meeting between my former supervisor and I went down. I described the initial meeting, feeling fine about standing up for myself. Before the HR meeting was over I was told that this blog had "recently come to the attention of HR"... that "there is a policy against negative writing in a blog directly concerning the company, whether the company is named or unnamed." It's true. There is that policy. The only problem with that is that this policy concerning blogs was not in place when I was hired. In fact, it's only recently been put into place. I don't even know if it was in place when I wrote the above mentioned diatribe back in January. Nice coincidence. Either way, It was stressed that I wasn't in trouble for the January post, and it was politely suggested that I stop writing negatively about work because this is technically a public forum and more than a few folks from the company read it. It contributes to a negative image. Fair enough. I get it. Linkage, you know.

However, is it any worse than being in a position of power at the company and talking shit about me behind my back? Maybe. Maybe not.

Image.

Even though I still feel the January post was fairly accurate, even though it has been pointed out time and again that this blog is a way for me to get out the nasties, it was pretty caustic, and it's not worth losing my job over, and that's the unfortunate situation I will find myself in if it continues (even though I haven't posted a thing about it since January, and in fact, I was very supportive of the company and people who work there.). The truth is, the company is very supportive of open communication within it's walls, and I should have gone that route. Fair enough. Lesson learned.

I suppose I could be a little flattered that someone thinks little bitchy ol' ME could cause a decline in image and sales because of my issues, but really, I think this is just a sad case of someone feeling the need to have their own little manipulative power. Fine. You win. But it doesn't change the way I feel, and I can guarantee that there are others with similar feelings. I'll just set up a meeting in the future, 'kay?

The lesson here folks is: If you want to rant about those at work whom you feel powerless to change...do it in person. And if you blog it? Go anonymous. Play the game. Become an artist. Get some psychosis.

That being said, I'm sorry for my transgressions. Please forgive me. I love you all.

Peace out. Be nice to someone. Ride your bike. Stop eating animals.

-A

Some Thoughts While Biking Home

2008-04-17T20:19:00.003-05:00

I believe enough has been written about the joys, the release, the all out "whatever" of commuting by bicycle. I'm not going to add my poop to the pile of ideas, because Patch is diarrhea-ing that dead horse into fertilizer quite competently, thank you (no offense, Flecker.)

So...I'm just going to 'frost the cake' with random thoughts I have while riding home:

"I don't want to ride home with anyone tonight/this morning."

"Oh shit, who's that? Do they work with me???"

"Fucker's not gonna catch up with me."

"Jesus Christ."

"This is soooo beautiful."

"Goddamned fucking automobiles!!!!!"

"What the fuck?!"

"Fuck You Too!"

"Get there any faster, asshole?"

"YEAH!!! Mash that pedal, Shit-Lips!"

"Good Lord! GO for fuck's sake! God Dammit!"

"one, two, three, four, five..."

"Car????"

"Oh, there's a little doggiepooperbooters!!!"

"NICE."

"You know, I'm sick of your face."

"God, gotta lose this gut."

"She's hot."

"Nice outfit."

"Fuckin' idiot."

"Get off the fucking cell phone shitbait!!!"

"Wow."

"Just GOTTA get around me so you can turn right in front of me, dontcha?! Way to be an asshole!"

"It's a goddamned STOP sign!!! Go!!!! You have the RIGHT OF WAY. Fuck, fuck, FUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!"

"Use the turn signal! God dammitt!"

"Maybe I should act all fucking elitist while driving a SHITMOBILE LIKE THAT ONE!!!"

"Why is there a fucking STOPSIGN there?"

"Fuck your slogan"

"More bumper stickers, jackass."

"People are so fucking stupid...fine, me too...but you're dumber."

"How many dad's need to be a coach at every neighborhood little league game?"

"Nice, ride past me like it's no effort, then slow down."

"I've gotta do more with my life."

"This world is fucked up."

"Why keep pumping out the kids? Adopt one, you selfish suburban Jackelope!"

"Wish I had some Thai food right now."

"Why does everyone talk about 'that one guy who can ride faster than xxx'?"

"I'm not competitive."

"I'm competitive."

"I just don't get it."

"I get it."

"Wish I had a Hopslam."

"Ahhh...home."

"Hi Boots!"

"Hi, sweetie!"

"'Boots' is the dog. Her real name is 'Bella.' She's 13 years old."

"'Sweetie' is the other one. Her real name is 'Pamela'. She's pretty much ageless."

A Modest Dilemma

2008-04-11T18:36:00.002-05:00

You know, sometimes life just won't let you be the way you want to be.

You know what? I have more admiration for this than just about anything else at this point. You go, girls...

Black Mountain

2008-03-27T22:24:00.001-05:00

I saw Black Mountain at the 7th St. Entry today. 'Nuff said.

At The Expense Of Being Original

2008-03-22T18:23:00.003-05:00

Not feeling it, folks. Not a breeder, not a sycophant. Not a bulbous intelligence weakening the folds of reality. Just hanging out, making homemade vegan pizza, and listening to Black Sabbath.

So, read this Onion Headline

Happy Easter, Jesus.

2008-03-14T16:42:00.003-05:00

It's been way too long to not come to terms with the inevitable...

I've turned into an asshole.

It's okay. Because...well, because you're able to decipher that from the real thing, aren't you? And there's some truth to the fact that I am only a reflection of that which surrounds me.

Yes...I am surrounded by One Big Asshole. My father always said it about himself, and seemed to recognize the flatulent markings of an heir apparent in those conjuring words: "You know what? you're a real asshole!"

Well dad, I'm happy to say: "You were right!" I can't delude myself into believing that there's really anything outside of some deep seeded self-serving righteousness in each and every one of us. Even The Great Ones had their shinola shit-stained by the diligent workings of the metaphorical assaholic impulse. The Great Ones are those whom you hike upon the pedestal just to get you through your trials and tribulations. Jesus, Buddha, Barack Obama (I don't know why, but he strikes me as more of a fake than the Clintons), The Beatles, John Fucking Wayne, Javier Bardem (although I think that dude is one cool lettuce leaf), etc., and so forth.

They're necessary, eh? Just don't get too carried away. Trying to live up to your big boys' reputation can kill you! Just ask Charles Manson, if you can distract him from making poop-stained voodo hair molds of who-knows-what. He'll tell you that you're not eating enough Crazy. And you're probably not eating enough Crazy. So go ahead. Eat some more Crazy and get back to me. By the way, you can't eat crazy unless you're crazy. And just remember: The asterisk is just a stick-figure asshole. Make sense?

The Measure

2008-03-03T20:30:00.005-06:00

How do we measure the extent of our success in life? Is it happiness? Is it money? Is it Stuff? Is it relative to each individual, having significance only when we cross paths and compare our relative "success"? Why do so many individuals hold themselves in such high regard and yet cannot see the contradictive fallacies? Well, it's Psychology. It's Sociology. It's Faith. It's all of the above. It's a manic flight towards control and depth of reserve. None of us really can answer the question for anyone, because it's a conundrum; constantly changing and morphing into something that defies description, if only for the fact that most people don't wish to be labeled and will run screaming over a cliff of denial and fealty to crash upon the soft rocks of mysticism and self-preservation.

Do I blame? Sure. Why not? We're all diseased, you know. And why should you care what I think? Because if you really read the above, you know it's not me saying this as an individual. I'm channeling the real shit here, albeit condensed and condescended, and Armchair-Philosophized, by Fucking Christ!

I recently wrote a really long post about my attempt at and failure to achieve a position in the Customer Service dept. at the company I currently work for. I don't feel I can post it because this blog is not that anonymous anymore at my workplace, and really, I'm kind of sick of fighting against fucking assholes who think "it's just business". Fuck Them. There is SUCH a fine line between success and failure, that I've realized in this case it's all about "playing that game". It's sad to say, because I thought I was at a company that might be a little beyond that, but unfortunately the ego's and the FUCKING FUCKERS have taken over.

Eat Shit. Have fun.

Maybe I'll post that long tirade someday when I don't feel it'll have repercussions.

Until then, I can't stand it.

By the way, that guy with the velvety shorts on, touching the wheel? He's cool.

Have A Fucking Great Fucking Day, Fuckers.

Oh, and by the way...pick up this album if you have the wherewithal:

By the way, Dane Cook sucks.

FOR THE CATEGORY 6 RACING SQUAD'S MOUSTACHE RIDE: A TRIBUTE:

2008-02-10T18:01:00.000-06:00

"Diamonds...and dust. Poor man last...rich man first."

Lazy day, lazy post. Below you will find the first video ever posted on this blog. AC/DC circa 1978. The song? SIN CITY. The Album? POWERAGE. Why this video? Because Category 6 Racing Squad needs this sort of representation. AC/DC@BonScott.com. Nothing against Back In Black, but...seriously. Who wrote the fucking book? Bon Fucking Scott wrote the fucking book. After Iggy Pop. AC/DC has a way of taking a very simple, brainless, teenage riff and turning it into a timeless testimony to absolute gutterpunch cold-cockin' rock 'n' roll. You may laugh, but that's the point. And you can't deny the power.

The lovely and damaged Cat 6'ers had their annual Who Wants a Moustache Ride this weekend in 40 below wind-chill weather. It's a grow-your-beard-shave-it-'till-it's-a-moustach-and-bar-hop bicycle fiesta. The Moustache Ride is something in which I've never participated because my face was too fat to grow a beard. Don't ask. Someday, I will participate, and it will more than likely not be as gay as it sounds. But I hope it is. Because breeders get really fucking boring after a while. I stayed at home this year because I'm Old Balls. Nevertheless, here's a video of SIN CITY as tribute. It works. You know it does, because I can draw one fucking shit-storm of an analogy.

And now...

Substance, Space, College, Drugs, and That.

2008-02-10T11:59:00.001-06:00

When I was attending college in 1990 and still believed that there was an as yet unlocked secret to life/death/afterlife/the-meaning-of-it-all accessible through a righteous combination of lysergic acid diethylamide, marijuana, booze and chocolate, I remember being OBSESSED with space; you know, the Final Frontier. First and foremost, I was fascinated with the Cosmos; the perpetual mind-boggling amount of stars, galaxies, planets and the vast distances between them.

Why?

Something inside me craved to rationalize that there were other planets on which other beings lived, taking part in an idealistic, far-advanced utopian civilization where all manner of technology and time-space maneuverability were possible; something the human race could look forward to, maybe evenstrive towards, you know? It was my way of attempting to move beyond the human faces and personalities we tend to give our deities, fueled by a wish for some higher consciousness to take care of the fear that I was experiencing in feeling singularly alone.

Now, I realize that for a lot of folks, this is a natural progression of exploratory thinkin', and for other people, it's just plain stupid to think about something that is not tactile and right in front of you. And for other folks, it's just plain blasphemy and I'm possessed by some devil. To those I say: you're right. You've found me out. I'm Ralph The Devil. I've inhabited this corporeal body to bring our Lord Of The 666.314 Unholy Hells, Richard The Fuschia One, into the Material World to lay waste to those who would wallow in their own Something Or Other. These are the people that are born to eat food of which they have no idea the content, and who probably love to shoot animals with guns because some sort of written script(ure) told them that was the way of things. Good riddance, because in my opinion, if the human race is to survive for another four or five millennia, these types will more than likely become the hunted. 'Nuff said...

Anyway.

Then there was the OTHER kind of space. That is, space in the literal sense. Space being the distance, both measurable and unmeasurable, between objects of substance is a dimension that sentient creatures tend to be aware of, whether instinctually, consciously or subconsciously.

You still with me? If not, Just hang out here with Buddy Jesus, and then go microwave a few ham and cheese hotpockets, stuff them in your gob, and do something that justifies your ego.

Our idea of this "space"...of this "occupied territory" and our relationship to it and entitlement TO it is one of the great levelers. In other words, in mind, body, and theory, MOST PEOPLE ARE KEYED IN ON CONQUERING SPACE. They want more space. They want that space to reflect their ownership. The space where they move, the space where they sit and all it's observable and unobservable "territory".

A much more accessible way to look at it would be to call your space: "My 'Hood" or "My Grill". Okay, G?

[Even better: Just call it MySpace, because essentially the website of the same name works to a similar effect: You create an image for yourself either true or false, or a combination of the two, which is essentially what you spend your real life doing, then you go about getting solicited by people you don't want to know who are either looking to get money out of you or are as dumb as air.]

This whole post is more or less regarding my stumble through the metaphysical concept of space which is more or less very interesting to ponder, but will for the most part get you nowhere unless you're a civil engineer, a professor, a serial killer, or you have the discipline not to get lost in the details. I don't have that discipline very much. I tend to get lost in the details. I blame my parents. And if you are a parent, pay heed to this post. Your children too, will blame you for something. Something like their face, or their propensity to pack on fat where it won't attract that vapid male whore who inhabits the cool fraternity. Or the fact that you stole their childhood by smothering them in over-protective religious dogma that you took on just to satiate your all-encompassing fear of death and disease, the end result being that you're going to die anyway, and leave a socially impaired spawn to wreak more psychological havoc on this backwards assed world. Kind of like me.

I tend to become severely wrapped up in overthinking. It's pretty fantastic how I've spent my life thinking: "But what if I did this?", while all around me people were actually considering what they needed to do in order to not be straddling the poverty line at age 40. I, young readers got Lost In Space. And, it was so fucking fun. Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like listening to a white-collar rugrat wax philosophically after their second glass of wine, remembering that one or two or three college part(ies) I attended where everyone was flat-out blasted on LSD and just gobbling the shit like it was candy. Loosen your collar, son.

LSD was just plain weird, but it was fun for a while. I left parts of my psyche on 10-20 year re-con missions, some of which are only now returning from some of those trips. Ahem...

What does this mean? I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Do you? I could go on, but I'm getting bored. It's amazing how much time I've spent analyzing the how and why without really doing much. Space. Substance. Tricky Time everlasting.

Sticky...

....

so small...

Peace,

Grilgalh of Plimdd

Life Sucks. You Know It. And You Should.

2008-02-08T18:58:00.000-06:00

Of course, I'm speaking strictly of my life, not yours. Yours doesn't suck at all. It's full of huge riffs and relevant lyrics. Right? Don't look behind you. It's that situation you've avoided all this time. Right there on your neck.

Eat. Get drunk. Enjoy that life has many things to force past your sphincter, and you should be just fine.

Don't be a hater. Spend your money and give props to those who speak the truth. What a crock.

Be omnipotent in your philosophy, your religion, and your destiny. Outlive everyone else, even if you have to kill them. But don't be a hater. Have a donut. BE a donut. You fucking hole, you.

On a lighter note, I have some pretty cool friends...

Did you CAUCUS? I didn't. So what?

Sit and Spin. It's going to be a cold weekend.

Peace,

Andy

Just A Quick Reminder

2008-02-01T17:30:00.000-06:00

Hi Folks. Fuck You. Have a Nice Weekend.

Be Aware Of What You Eat

2008-01-30T19:40:00.001-06:00

Be aware that some of the images the links below send you to are of animal abuse and neglect. I have not included any pictures within the text of this entry. This is a knee-jerk reactionary post.

I have a challenge for each of you who read this and don't think much about the animals from which you acquire your yummy burgers and kung pao chicken.

Armed with the fight fire with fire Metallicaethica, I have added a few links to the right under "Be Aware Of What You Eat". I am aware that these are propagandanistic in nature, but the next time you think that cartoon animal caricature adorning the branding of your favorite burger/barbecue joint is truly representative of the creature actually enjoying itself being roasted on a spit for your pleasure, remember the Nazis. For a list of these Happy Hamburger Caricatures and their 1-5 noose rankings, click on Suicide Food.

Click on All-Creatures.org and go down to the "Animal Exploitation Photo Journal and Gallery". Stomach that for a while. In fact, if you are a dog owner, scroll down two columns and click on the "Dog" link. Be sure you fry up a nice Cub Foods bacon burger before you begin looking. You might as well know where most of your meat comes from. Have fun with that website for a while. Personally, I'm not into the whole God angle they take, but if you can look at that stuff and be unaffected, then you should offer yourself up as live bait for Mayan sacrifice, because by their calendar, the world's going to end Dec 31, 2012 anyway, and you may as well do something for the greater good, eh?

Now, check out PETA's website. There's a "State Of The Union Undress"...cute young lady giving a speech in front of the good ol' USA stars-and-stripes and stripping down to her furless beavered birthday suit interspersed with rousing applause clips from congress. Thank goodness the ol' donkeys and elephants can appreciate the bare truth. Wait. There's a clip that follows the strip.

What's the reason most of us don't give a shit about how animals suffer so we can exploit their precious bodily accoutrements? Can you just walk away from it that easily? Do you think any of it really matters? If animals are there for our exploitation, how much further of a stretch is it for you to exploit your fellow human, then your friends, then your family? Deposit some comments folks. Don't be shy.

I'm of the mindset that when you're confronted with the way humans treat the environment INCLUDING THE ANIMALS WHO INHABIT IT, you have two choices: Help change or hinder the progress. We're all a reflection of how we contribute to the suffering of those around us. I've had quite the temptation when someone who knows I'm vegetarian sticks a piece of bacon in my face and gobbles it down with a plethora of grunts and pleasurable groans to just bust their fucking nose wide open and say: "There, eat that."

It's my opinion that most people are terrified of change. Above all we require Food, Water, Air, Rest, and Shelter. Our diets are deeply instilled in us socially and culturally from an early age, and to dramatically change something so deeply intertwined with one of our basic needs is a very frightening thing because it challenges all that we've built on top of it. Think about it, folks. Don't be a bunch of assholes. I say this with more than a hint of hypocritical irony but: BE AWARE OF HOW YOU AFFECT. For a much less knee-jerk-your-emotions article check out this article in the NY Times that actually breaks down the toxic effect of factory farms. One of the factoids: If Americans were to cut their meat consumption by 20% a year, it would have the same environmental effect as if every American moved from the gas-gulping SUV to driving a Prius.

I was a vegan a long time ago. Then I went back to eating meat. Then I went vegetarian again, then back to meat. Now I'm vegan-based, with the occasional cheese or mayonnaise. It's extremely difficult giving up things we were raised on, but I think it has to be done in this instance. Probably not in mine or your great-great-great grandchildrens' lives, but we have to start seriously considering the AFFECT.

As for getting rid of my already purchased leather shoes and belts? It's kind of like: I already have them. I have to figure that one out. From now on, I'll probably just thank the cow before I put them on.

I have to go make dinner. Bye.

Dogs Of War

2008-01-29T11:05:00.000-06:00

A good high school friend of mine who is now a military rogue (in the most dashing sense of the word) sent me this link to a blog post by Andrew Olmstead.

Andrew served in the military, volunteered to return to active duty in Iraq after his time was already served, and was killed by a sniper. He had written this final post and asked his wife to publish it in the event of his death. She did. You should read it.

I'm not posting it for any reason other than it had an impact.

Peace,

Andy

[EDIT]: As Mr. Gary pointed out in his comment below, his last name was OlmstED. His wife did not publish his blog post. "hilzoy" did. She is a blog poster for Obsidian Dreams. I apologize for assuming she was his wife. Thank you, subconscious sexism.

Thanks for the heads up, Gary.

Now, let's move forward.

Onward and Upward and Outward and Inward, and ETC.

2008-01-25T17:00:00.000-06:00

I don't really know what to think of that last post. Pretty angry still. I have a great deal of awareness that these posts read as bitter and childish. That's part of the flavor of this recipe, so to speak. Life sucks sometimes, and I write about it. I'm not doing this to put a positive twist on things. That's too easy to do and honestly, it's necessary for social survival. However, these days "positive outlook" seems more and more like a trend than an actual positively fueled outlook. And if I were to go around blowing rainbows up everyones redeye, it wouldn't be true to myself. I don't enjoy being negative most of the time, but nevertheless, the reality of it exists, and I have to give it a voice.

What gets me is that when you fail in life, you're expected to smile and rise above it all. What if you don't feel like smiling? What if you feel like you've been somehow screwed over? Is it just a matter of circumstance? Am I paranoid? Or is it intuition? Both? Neither? Do you care? Probably not. I don't really know, because most of the people who could give me some feedback would rather just step back and observe anyway. That's another part of this recipe.

I actually feel that way sometimes...stepping back and observing, but I intended this blog to be about my cathartic, angry feelings. My initial idea was to have a blog and put the really volatile stuff out there, because that's what I like to write, and that's what I tend to focus on. I don't hate people...I don't really even dislike them. What I detest is presumptuous behavior that leads to other people being affected in a very unfair way. I detest this mostly because I've noticed it in myself quite a bit, and I feel that by calling it out in others, I keep an eye on my own little shitty social moves. It works for me. It doesn't have to work for you. That's okay.

Most Of The Daily Routine You Inhabit Is One Big Fucking Lie

2008-01-24T23:26:00.000-06:00

The following is a rant and only a rant. If this were a real opinion, you would be instructed to burn down the establishment and become a god-hatin' communist.

Be forewarned that if you take the following seriously, well...

Before this gets out of hand, let me go on the record as saying the company I work for is a great company manned by great people. I'm very fond of most of the people I work with directly and indirectly. There are also those whom are good folks but maybe don't know what to think of me, so they choose to keep their distance. It's a common thing we all do and there's nothing inherently wrong with that in my opinion. However, I use this blog to vent the egocentric side that just won't release it's grasp, and that's where things smear into the gray area. If you know me, you also know that I'm a good-hearted, good-natured person. If you don't know me, but read this blog to be entertained, good for you. If you don't know me and actually think you can learn about me by reading only this combined with the rumor mill. You're the perfect target. Good luck with that.

Now, onto the outline...

I don't really have time to spew the vitriol that has been building up regarding certain aspects of my life, specifically the recent bullshit I've been spoonfed regarding a fairly retarded self-righteous misinterpretation of my abilities to perform a customer service position at THE COMPANY OF INCREDIBLE THINGS AND BEINGS where I currently perform tasks for monkey money.

I will have something to say soon, and it will not be pretty, unless you toss flowers at the screen while you are reading. Then it will be somewhat flowery, real-time movement, petal-like with anger and fecal matter.

Anyway, the folks at whom it's directed are delusional where it matters the most, so more than likely they'll just chuckle and masturbate in their cubicles and feed real-time shit to the people who chew their turds for them...if they read this, which they probably won't because they'll be too busy shining the ass cheeks of some godforsaken crab-crotch higher up the ladder, but I don't care because I'm calling them out anyway, and more than likely, they've fallen into that demographic of sucking the big corporate bratwurst to keep their paychecks and feelings of self-worth chugging along. Have you ever been told: "It's not personal, it's just business"?

...Okay, Tony Soprano. You believe that. Just go right ahead...nice shit-eating grin, by the way. Nice knowin' ya. God, could you have used a more rediculous overwrought cultural shit-speak analogy? You said you were better than that. Well, apparently you're not. Who am I talking about? No names here, folks. You know the game.

Just like you like it, Current State Of Affairs.

All I know is that some of the higher ups have moved up to the cosmic shit-list in a major way right along with me, you naive motherfuckers.

Did I say that? I'm sorry, that was a little harsh. Enjoy your paychecks, though.

As an aside, here's a link from Paul Sanders, the former guitarist of Hammerhead: a local midwest, misshapen, beauty of a band. If you don't know of them, you should. He hooked up with the drummer and bass player of the band I moved to Mpls with after we got into a fistfight while driving along the highway and dis-banded in 1998. They disbanded and he moved to Austin. I never saw them live, but I did see The Cows opening up for The Jesus Lizard at First Avenue and it was second only to seeing Iggy Pop. Whatever. Shut up, Andy.

http://www.disastro.com/

Looks like he's disappeared again, but his blog is interesting enough..

Update. He's still around.

By the way, I've been informed that some folks I work with and actually enjoy being around read this blog are wanting me to update it, so...this is for you. Sorry it's been so long.

Peacock, and Pee-air, that's you, sirs.

Peace

I'm Just Gonna Say A Few Things, And Move On

2007-12-10T20:17:00.001-06:00

I don't really care about professional sports. I watched that train pull away a LONG time ago, and I'm not interested in catching up.

I like some college sports sometimes. I REALLY like some college football, and I REALLY like the Arkansas Razorbacks within that reality. Arkansas has always mirrored the Vikings in some strange way, and I don't think that, nor my long residence here is merely coincidence. We Arkansans generally are of a football tradition that holds may promises and they never deliver.

Minor case in point: Darren McFadden should have won the Heisman trophy.

Tim Tebow is good. But not like McFadden. McFadden had defenses stacked against him specifically. Couple that with an inefficient passing game, and a so-so quarterback, an early season concussion, and bruised ribs, and the 2,179 all-purpose yards he gained was more than impressive. Plus, he's only 19 years old, and shows a massive amount of class in defeat. I should learn a lesson from that.

But I won't. Tebow had an entire offense and a complete running and passing game to support his talent and keep the defense off balance (and they STILL lost to LSU, whom, after obtaining a #1 ranking were beaten by unranked Arkansas in three overtimes). ESPN was creaming their sportpants and sucking Tebow's weiner on live television so much, that very few were going to deny the juggernaut: "TIM TEBOW'S PENIS IS THE MIGHTIEST!". It was time to make history and vote a sophomore player into the Heisman ranks for the first time in history. Good. I hope you enjoy it, TEEBOW. Because you're gonna be a huge target now, bro. And the "God has truly blessed me" comment is just fucking hick squared.

Either way, In a perfect world, McFadden would resist the NFL draft, return to Arkansas next year, and put Tebow to shame. Unfortunately, that's not gonna happen with the NFL waving millions in his face. Good for him. He's been a joy to watch. As for me, I'll just sit here and feel remorse the same way I felt remorse when the Vikings lost to the Giants 49-0 after a stellar season. I gave up on pro football that day. That's just plain cursed, ugly hoodoo. And ugly hoodoo is nothing to chase down and try to explain...but that is JUST what millions of Americans do year round. Too wrapped up in personal drama to unwind it, they put their hopes and dreams in the addictive-like predictions of their favorite sports teams, run the stats, check the facts, armchair philosophize, and slowly begin to squeeze their doomed prayers-for-players into a season of potential disappointment. Such is the Way of the Wonk.

Go Hogs.

The Waft Of Entitlement/What Goes On In The ADD

2007-12-05T14:59:00.000-06:00

Currently crushed by the forces I'm trying to work with. Cocky motherfuckers. Going off on a tangent. Not with the group. Mindless little fragments of thought. Could care less about your state of mind as well, Mr. Hero. So what? Fuck off. What are YOU leaving to the world? Dust and Bones. Worm shit. I'm about to knock that cocky down your throat and out your ass. No. You're not worth the repercussions. Plus, I'm dreaming that situation anyway. I can smell the doubt. Just give me time and I'll come around. It's honest. Sometimes there are too many questions to ask. I have my reasons for not derailing the group. Bites me in the ass. Great. Lesson learned. Straight shooter. Speak up. It goes the distance. I still think you're cool beans. Ugh. Sleep. Ride. Eat. Sleep...

I Hate Most Human Behavior

2007-11-02T20:04:00.000-05:00

Mr. Patch O' Houli over at Urban-Crawl posted this and it sparked the remembrance of my commute home last night:

I left work at 10 til 6 and it was still light outside. I'd left my little white flashing front light at home because it had fallen off the handlebars on my way up the front steps the previous evening and I set it on a table next to the front door and forgot about it.

I DID have a massively bright rechargeable helmet light, but decided I'd just leave it in the bag as it was still daylight and would only be dark for about the last 15 minutes of the commute. I'd just be extra careful, dontcha know.

First mistake: Underestimating the tenacity some automobile drivers have in their unending quest to get where they're going three to four seconds faster than they would have had they not been overly-aggressive in breaking traffic laws and putting cyclists (read: ME) in danger.

Lesson learned: Take the time and patience to strap the light to the helmet, attach it to the battery and . Leave it off until it gets dark.

On to the meat...I was almost run over four blocks from my apartment as I attempted to turn left onto a side street from another side street. I had my tail light a-flashin', and this driver behind me tried to gun it around my left side, fully in the opposite lane, AFTER I signaled for a left and had begun to turn. I hesitated and swerved back into my lane. The driver hit the brakes realizing, I thought, that I was turning left, so...I signaled again just to be sure and began to move left and make the turn. At the point of moving to the left, the driver had decided that I was out of the way and started to gun it once again. I was squarely in front of the car at this point. The driver slowed down and I, fairly pissed off stopped in front of the car and asked the driver loudly if they "know what a fucking left-turn signal looks like from a cyclist!?" and she yelled that I didn't have a light on. I asked her, "what do you call that flashing red thing under my seat?" She said, "You don't have a front light on. You can't be seen."

What The Fuck?

Now all of the sudden it's Make Up Your Own Rules Of How The Human Visual Cortex In The Brain Processes Information Contrary To Everything Science Has Told You Just So You Don't Have To Admit You Were Wrong day? I mean, SHE WAS BEHIND ME. Why would a little flashing white light on the front of my bike change my visibility from behind when she's got 1000+ lumens bearing down on my shiny silver bike frame from 15 feet behind?!! I'll tell you why. She is one of these people so wrapped up in their tight little drama that when they get called out, they lie to your face with turgid turd logic just to avoid admitting they were over-stepping reasonable actions. Automobiles give the (temporarily or not) weak-minded an euphoric sense of entitlement, and that's dangerous when you're in control of a massive piece of bone-crushing, life-snuffing steel. The world is packed shit-full of these shit-monkeys. They have a hand in running the world, and they can take you out any minute.

The more I interact with the anonymous public, the more I realize it's a true battle of social standing, entitlement, wits, direction, fashion, and more: keeping up appearances.

I've been doing fairly well at not becoming angry with people for not living up to my expectations and actually having some independent, original thought. It's one of the reasons I used to just keep drinking until the brain said "fuck you", and shut down. I did NOT know how to relax without getting lubed up in order to slip through the claws of social anxiety and mindless chit-chat shit-shat banter.

This situation, however is not the same. I wasn't at an orgainized social function. I was riding my means of transport home. I should have a goddamned Vegas lightshow emanating from the bike because it only takes one fucker in an automobile with a momentary lapse of judgement to take your ass out- It almost happened to me in April, 2006 - and believe me, that lame excuse the aforementioned driver gave would more than likely hold up in court as a newly widowed currently known as The Wife tries to figure out how to deal with the loss of her crazy husband and tackle his crazy debt. At least the headlight would give the lawyer a heavy enough argument to sue the shit out of whomever snuffed my meager lifeforce out. But that's just the lamest of consolation prizes to actually making it home safe and having enjoyed the ride...

Ride on. It's your life. Just don't live all over me. Or I'll make you smell your own stink.

What. Is. It.

2007-10-17T19:42:00.000-05:00

"There are DICK JOKES on the way, Ladies and Gentlemen, please relax…(laughter)…Jusss…feelin’ a little tension in the room here…
‘Hehadn’ttoldanyDick Jokes, dudn’theknow he’s inAmerica? Dudn’t he know about our puritanical self-hatred of our bodies and it’s desires-the only way we can find relief is through the medium of penis material?’-Yeah I’m-I’m totally aware of where I am, don’t worry the, the DICK JOKES are on the way-here’s the deal Ladies and Gentlemen…I editorialize for forty minutes, th’last ten minutes we pull our ‘chutes and FLOAT DOWN TO DICK JOKE ISLAND TOGETHER…m’KAY?…(laughter), and we will rest our weary heads against the THICK VEINED TRUNKS OF DICK JOKES, while we sit in our big, cushony, BEAN BAG SCROTUM chairs and giggle away the dawn like any good American…”

-Bill Hicks, “Satiating The American Comedy Audience”

That's funny. It's even funnier as an audio file, but I can't download audio files to this page because I'm ignorant.

Which leads me to yet another recycled extrapolation on the rediculously shallow current state of Americana and it's vapid, slow, inevitable grinding down of all things of depth and integrity...like a fat pervert unexpectedly tackling you in the middle of a crosswalk as you marvel at the complexity and depth of human civilization in the city, and just pins you there on your stomach while everyone laughs and giggles, looking for the cameras, thinking it's another they-can'-do-that-in-public reality show, and you-immobile as this lard-bodied, feebleminded serial rapist lies on your back and rubs away all grunty, sweaty, and stinky until your innocence snaps and crumbles like a Lorna Doone shortbread wafer in the hands of a slobbering inbred child.

Well, that inbred serial rapist is the broken chromosome offspring (thank you, Hunter S. Thompson) of the feeble, over-the-top consumer minded, and the "you" is any sort attempt at originality and intelligent thinking outside the "parameters" of accepted norm.

In the past few weeks there seems to be a swell in the number of dipshits peeking their heads out of the cultural womb who haven't realized that the air of 'entitlement' they love to naively spooge all over their surroundings is naive at best and at worst, a certified argument for an instant round of Face Whipping.

There are a PLANET'S worth of sick, ugly observations in this brain's universe folks, but my semi-diagnosed ADHD is interfering with the I.Q. (means "I: Quotile"), so let's just start with that seething, rancid genetic spunge that is The Mall Of America, and move on to Target and then, possibly, the rest of the FUCKING IDIOTS that occupy this here modern day Roman Declination, o'kay?

Do I really have some sort of obligation to accomodate these narrow movers who've always stuck to the inside corner, you know: where the money is? Just because they make more money than I do and submerge themselves in Rybicki Cheese shops, The Gap, Bubba Gump's Shrimp, where a pint and 1/2 of Summit costs 7.50. Fuck ya, Bubba Gump: Forrest Gump is an overrated movie and Tom Hanks is a cunt. Camp Snoopy is okay I guess, cuz it's for the kids. But let's not get teary-eyed and sentimental about " the children". There are plenty of those malfunctioning poop units running around that need a good dose of humility, raised by parents who think they should be granted amnesty from any parental responsibility because it's God's Will that they pump out a few sentient turds.

Check out any one of several hundred jack off, current pop culture, inbred, shit-stink APPAREL BLING SHOPS with the latest OVER-THE-TOP-OBVIOUS pop/rap/hip-hop/cookie-cutter/audio video shit sandwich pumping out of the latest flat-panel idiot box; 16 year-old Sissy, standing with one leg hiked up on a bench, trying on a pair of new pumps, squeezed into the low hip-hugger jeans that are bordering on travesty because the image of herself in these jeans is WAY different than the reality: her ass crack is hanging out by a good four inches and a gut-hanging muffin-top that would give any baker worth their weight in sugar and fat a whole toilet-load of inspiration. Here comes the metro-young-hip male salesperson asking if he can help.

"No thanks, just looking for some knee-high womens socks to go with my man-pri knickers."

"Cool! We just got those in last week!"

So what? It 's not like sock technology is on par with the here-today-obsolete-tomorrow computer chip, so get a grip Chad, and learn when to leave a customer alone. Better yet, go on over to Sears, replicate your willingness to help, and cannon that motherfuckng load right up the asses of every Sears "team-MEMBER", because they're about as interested in customer service as Mother Teresa was in the Cleveland Steamer.

Someone should do something about the Mall Kiosk McStores. Unbelievable. I have to say, I am fascinated by the type of personality that can operate one of those day after day. It's a true testament to the evolution of micro-managing the "I'll support you in whatever you want to do in life son/this is just a stop on my way to fame and fortune" lowbrow thinking. Wow. The Great Captialistic Manipulator has these pawn-robot fuckers IN PLACE. But still...they need to go. They attract idiots like moths and essentially clutter perfectly good walking space. Why should I have to just let them stand in my way and guffaw-uffda at another fucking "MORE COWBELL!" t-shirt? The solution to me seems to be either a baseball bat to the hips or an air-horn right in the fucking ear.

On to the peripheral attractions. OOH! Get a load of Larry Sinciewicz (I'm sure his friends call him "Lar Bear") waiting in line for 20 minutes to participate in the next 3-LEVEL MINIATURE GOLF FIASCO because BERTHA, his WIFE wanted to bring the clan down for HALLOWEEN AFTER DARK FESTIVITIES, but ol' Don would rather be over at Hooters-where women truly empower themselves, watchin' th' game, the tits, and slammin' back a few cold ones, breaking down the barriers that keep him from realizing that he gave up the dream about 20 years ago, but he can't really embrace that broken past anymore because he's a church DEAN and a PILLAR of the community, God Help Him, so he's gonna just sit there and stare at his PUTT PUTT ticket for the tenth time over, and just resign himself to rubbing one out to the latest amateur porn submission on www.homefuckers.com after soaking up the latest football scores, putting the grandchildren to bed, and telling BERTHA that he's gonna "go over the applications" for the latest Bethel Church of The Holy Heart's Elder applications.

Then there's Rebecca and her Gang, dolled up and long stepping it through the food court in front of me at about half my speed, gawking, shopping bags and blubbered ass cheeks a-swingin' while I marvel at how someone can maintain such a stride on high-heels without losing balance from such side-to-side momentum. And where is The Gang going?

MCDONALD'S.

Wow. And they're just ecstatic about it. And they've stopped right in the middle of the goddamned walkway to squawk and cluck at the menu. I stand for a good 15 seconds, cut off from any forward mobility while apparently their peripheral vision, along with any awareness of others around them is severed at the spine by a left-field Mc Combo meal suicide bombing of their reality. At this point, I've had it. Time to shove. I bulldoze my way through, not saying anything, myself and my actions inevitably infected by the ME ME ME mental cesspool consumer culture downgrade that is The Mall of America. I hear a terse "EXCUSE ME!" behind as I consider briefly whipping around and taking out my hatred of this place on her face and ears.

But what good would it do? None. She's already firmly ensconced in Queen Bitchdom. I'd be just another "that guy was such a jaherrrk!", and really, it wasn't worth the effort.

So, why was I here in the first place?

Well, Sears had a sale on skinny jeans and I just HAD to get those funky socks. Jeans: none in my size. Socks: found one pair and purchased them from an elderly salesman who was polite, helpful, and unassuming. With him, I figured I'd hit the top of the evolutionary mob, nothing more to see here folks, so I resigned myself by heading over to Barnes & Noble and finding a corner to hole up until The Wife called in the rescue mission. She'd had enough shopping and jackasses after two hours and I'd had enough trying to park the fucking car before I ever set foot inside.

I don't really need to talk about Target or any other stores after this, do I? It's all very similar: The culmination of a culture obsessed with appearance, the IDEA that any one object represents-not it's true function, armchair-logic, and isolation in a crowd. It's the same as expecting the Dick Joke. Let's all coagulate around the lowest common denominator because everyone has such an air of entitlement that they can't comfortably agree on anything beyond the equivalent of the goddamned Dick Joke. We need a cultural colonic, castration, and possibly hystorectomy, and I need to take a shower to wash off the smell of constipated expectation.

Be Good.

The Bicycle Film Festival. Cute.

2007-09-16T00:29:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: the following is a not-so-well though out rant...

I admit, being old mentally and possessing enough reasonable brain cells to NOT want to drink and bike and party and bike and smoke weed and bike and not take a bath and bike and wear retro cycling caps and jerseys, rolled up thrifty jeans and torn wool sweaters with your choice of hip Timbuktu, Chrome, or whatever-messenger-bag-carries-the-essentials constantly glued to your back and looking just like everybody else who is trying NOT to look like everybody else, doesn't mean I can't comment on the hip fixie bike messenger culture as having evolved into mostly an exclusive, posturing clique with quite a few big-fish-in-a-little-pond syndromes. So what? Let 'em flounder. There are plenty of folks who have something to say about it, and there are plenty in the culture who are pretty fucking cool people, no matter how they dress or act.

I'm on this particular roll because I went to see the 2007 Bicycle Film Festival which, in it's own right, is something definitely worth seeing. What isn't really worth seeing, or in this case, hearing, is the all-too-common recycled social misfit attitudes that have invaded any subculture since subcultures existed that don't really make a difference, they just like to fart really loudly out of the mouth...with words for gas.

After downing the 5th or 8th Pabst (yes, they brought in their own beer) amongst these randomly placed brain-fogs, there were more than enough of these grunting, yelping Inevitables that were gonna LET YOU KNOW that they're slurred "YEAHHHHH, WHOOOOOO!"'s were the fucking end-all-be-all, Star-Kist White Albacore Tuna confirmations that what you were attempting to watch on the screen but couldn't because they're busy starting the party by yelling "YEAHHHHH, WHOOOOO!" struck a chord in their booze addled brains. That's all fine and dandy if you're at a party, but I paid for my ticket to see A COLLECTION OF FILMS, NOT TO GET A CUP TO THE KEGGER, and could have done without the ongoing blathering and shouting that only increased as the "pshhhhht" sounds of beer cans in the theater made debut after debut.

Other than that, it was a great collection of film, and you should go see it next year.

www.bicyclefilmfestival.com

Long, Long, Long...

2007-09-08T18:59:00.000-05:00

So I've been reflecting on my life. It's a weird process. I'm approaching 40 and every time the Fall months roll around, they seem to make more sense. It's an age old metaphor: Fall=change/death. I'm ready for some change, I'm even ready for death. But mostly, I'm ready to stop being so angry. I'm tired of being angry at people who walk around really believing that their perception is the fucking pinnacle of human achievement. I'm tired of the fact that most of you are fucking stupid. Stupid makes me angry and spiteful, because it gets in the way of people simply existing simplified lives. Stupidity arises when one is unwilling to change in the face of overwhelming reality because they're too damned anal to just let it go.

I'm beginning to think that I've been cursed/bestowed/blessed with a narcissistic personality. I think I'm better than 99 percent of the people out there. I KNOW this isn't really true, it's just a way of keeping the spark alive. It's a survival mechanism against the creeping reality of Stupid. It's a survival mechanism against everyman's Raymond Eschelon Briarwood III, Esq. and "his" creepy ego-driven dominance of the void bubble "he" surrounds himself with. Raymon Eschelon Briarwood III, Esq. is just a name I made up to represent that eletist ego present in everyone of us. Kill that motherfucker if you have the survival and surf know-how.

Everyone I meet wants me to relax. It's a ruse. Just like the moray eel's ruse. Stick something out there as bait, then BAM!, you're fucked. Goodbye@didya.com. Really, I wish I could have hung onto the days of psychedelics and the false sense of oneness and love I felt for humanity and the cosmos at large, but unfortunately I kept running into jerkoff gene sludge and, well, I wised up to the Truth. The Truth is: Who the fuck are you, and what do you want with me? It's what we all go through when having to interact. It may be faint, it may be a glaring, grinding brain-grate, but it's there. Dogs can deal with it. Some humans cannot. I can, but it's quite the game. I wish I were a dog. I wanna be your dog. I'm tired of being your human. I mean no harm. I just wanna get by.

So, I'm just gonna relax. I'm just gonna listen. I'm just gonna ease on through.

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe, and to dislike you.

peace.

Time For Vengeance

2007-08-18T22:58:00.000-05:00

This gentleman came into the bike shop last evening and began to describe how he was attacked on the Mpls Greenway at the Chicago St. overpass. He had been repeatedly picked up, thrown down onto the greenway pavement, head bashed repeatedly into the pavement, kicked until his eye socket was broken, blood covered the insides of his glasses, two broken teeth, 40 stitches to his inner lip, a broken rib, and a lifetime of anxiety. He was merely riding home from work at 10:45 pm. Several large males approached him from the entrance ramp and cornered him, did the deed, and fled. Nothing stolen. Violence for violence's sake. Okay, boys. You know it's not beyond the capacity to respond in kind, right?

Death. These fuckers should be tortured. I've just about had it. Vigilante. Someone should just camp out every evening with a high-powered rifle and take these fuckers out of the gene pool.

Stepping Gingerly Off The Wagon

2007-08-15T22:53:00.000-05:00

I've been having the occasional beer with my wife in the evenings now and even one beer two different occasions after work. I actually had a hangover from one of those nights because I had two more when I arrived home. I don't miss that shit.

The Trick to drinking seems to be having a stopping mechanism in place psychologically so that one has enough to relax and that's it. I falter by calling it a "Trick", because I'm not really sure that alcoholism is a disease where I'm concerned. That statement is a serious red flag for AA attendees across the world and rightly so. I don't know where this is leading, so they may be right, they may be wrong...I may be crazy/HEY, but it just may be a luuunatic you're lookin' for. Eh...okay.

I believe that one must have a system of checks and balances deeply rooted in the psyche that don't get uprooted or mowed over by the Drug-dozer. A Mechanism, if you will.

I've spent the last two years sober and, hopefully, manufacturing a proprietary design to this end. It's been tested a few times and has rattled around. It needs to be cinched down with some sort of psychological torque wrench: not too tight or I don't enjoy the beer. Not too loose or nobody else enjoys me enjoying the beer which eventually becomes Beercoholijuana...
and then it's back to treatment. The real intrigue for me is this sort of "hovering" around "The Beer" that is taking place. It certainly does not have the foothold it once did, and every time I have a beer, feel the buzz, I can identify the feeling that gives way to the impulse that I follow to the next bottle. Identifying that voice is not really the issue for me. Finding a reason not to listen to the voice is.

There is probably a voice in every drinker's head that say's: "NO." This voice is probably given a myriad of socio-cultural labels and tie-ins by the person that the voice is talking to, and the person responds appropriately given his or her place in the mix and the active direction they wish to take. That's part of the reason I believe choice has a lot to do with it and not so much the disease aspect. In other words, if you don't have a reason to quit, you probably need to quit and find a reason before you start up again.

What am I talking about? I'm talking about nothing that concerns any of you who feel the need to drink. In fact, belly up. Down that shit, folks. Get what you can. Who gives a fuck? You certainly wouldn't be the person you are without the fucking alcohol, so why stop now?

I pretty much hate everyone right about now. But that's just an illusion...

Hypocrites.

JOB INTERVIEWS ARE MULTI-LAYERED ASS-OFFS: PT. II

2007-07-29T19:49:00.000-05:00

Well, I had my followup interview regarding why I didn't get the position I applied for.
The thing that seemed to color the followup is something that, upon reflection is so intangible that I don't even know how to describe it other than: They Got It Pretty Much Wrong. I continually get misunderstood to the point of absurdity. It’s a vicious cycle that will have you on Prozac and Zoloft. One of the Interviewers' ground zero reasonings was that he thought, with the extreme crunch involved in the current round of training that I would "get crushed". Another's observation was that the dept. I applied for was “a laboratory”, meaning, in fact that it was not considered a place to experiment. I’m kind of at a loss with this one, because, the truth is, it IS a laboratory in some senses. What kind of job isn’t, really?

I've reflected on this the entire week, and let me tell you: I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE BEEN CRUSHED...EVER. I have been disappointed, I have been depressed, I have been near suicide, and I have come through each and every one of those experiences. Most people at the warehouse have no Idea the mental anguish and challenges I’ve been through. That’s the problem. You have to act as if you’re in it for the GOD of it all. I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’ll never make it through the current rank-and-file of interviewers in that dept. I also know that the folks they hired aren’t any better suited for that job than I am. But, nevertheless, they got it. And they’re happy. And they’re probably not going to “get crushed”. Last thing here: I’ve worked in situations that would, more than likely, crush about 90 percent of the people working in that dept right now, and, more than likely, crush a few of the interviewers as well.

JOB INTERVIEWS ARE MULTI-LAYERED ASS-OFFS

2007-07-17T18:04:00.000-05:00

I applied for a job within the company.

I didn't get the job. This is the second time I've applied within the company and haven't gotten it. I suppose being a highly qualified, personable individual that is very interested in what their company stands for and supports isn't enough. What IS enough is having snazz-bang interview skills. Let's make the analogy that: Interview Skills = Great Ass. You walk in, parade around the room, and show 'em your ass.

"Hey there, why do you have the best ass for the job?"

"Well, The last three jobs I've held, it's been well known that I've gotten top tier compliments for my ass...It's round, has proportion, and the fumes emitted from it smell like vanilla."

"Great, thanks. We'll let you know"

Later...

"We're sorry! We've decided to go with the other candidates that have applied. A few things: While your ass may have been raved about in the last position you were in (*wink*), and believe me, you DO have an INCREDIBLE ass, it's just that the asses that you're ass was up against were absolutely top-notch asses and, well, we feel that your ass tended to curve a little too sharply towards the upper part of the hamstring, and that scar you had from your accident could use a little blush. Also, the smell emitted was more of a clove-and-vanilla scent, and unfortunately, the noses that occupy the building in which you will be housed can't stand cloves." We will be hiring again in the fall, and would encourage you to apply then. This shoud give you some time for a little cosmetic surgery, pilates workouts designed to tone the lower buttock, and a pointed change in diet."

I will say that I know I am as much or more qualified than over half of the folks who are currently working the position(s) I applied for. Nothing against the department or the folks who made the decision. We're all human and I'm just a little pissed off right now.

But, my ass is great.

So...smell ya in the fall.

Fuck Ween. Ween Sucks Ass.

2007-06-17T19:13:00.000-05:00

I work with people who have to have music playing. Fine. However, I think it's only fair to share the airwaves. I don't complain when they stick in the latest alt-rock-critics-darling-talking-bard-crapfest, so I'm a bit tired of being the victim of an all-too-sensitive psyche not being able to handle The Jesus Lizard or Hammerhead for an hour or so. I don't really mind if it's too grating on the nerves as long as someone has the courtesy to say so. I can be accomodating. I can turn it off. I don't go over and touch the CD player when someone else is playing their selection. So why do I seem to be the recipient of such behavior from the spoiled little Generation Next fuckers that I work with? To turn off the only CD I've put in for the day while I'm helping a customer and exchange it for something equally as repulsive to my ears is like saying: "I don't like the fact that your stuff is in your house...I'm going to move your stuff to the dumpster when you're at work...tee hee hee! Sorry, Andy!", which at this point in my not-so boundless love for my fellow human beings is the equivalent of asking for an eternal enemy. Spoiled little shit. Can you guess the CD? Of course. It was WEEN. I'd rather eat a crap-and-vomit gordita than listen to another fucking turn of 12 Golden Country Greats. But since this was not an option, I took it like a whimpering male servant to the baffling enigma of Enjoying A Ween Audio Track.

"You can change it if you don't like it!", they said.

I should have crapped in the CD player.

The Act

2007-06-16T22:26:00.000-05:00

Mabye I need some medication, because I'm seriously considering flicking the Straight Up Asshole switch for the rest of my stay here in Minneapolis, and that's pert' near a deathwish.

Take the average patience quotient in any particular region, wrap it up with colloquialism, smear it all over clothing and media pieces, and you have your regional marketing campaign: Minnesota Nice. What such a crock of shit. I mean who crapped that one out? It's just like Southern Hospitality. People are going to talk about you no matter what you do. People are only going to put up with you for so long before they and the other folks you're around start molding an idea of just what sort of turd you are; some more than others.

The simple fact is, most people are prepared for their own little war and every waking hour is a strategic session to this end. Most folks call it Growing Up. It's more like: Preparing to Figure You Out And Fuck You Over Because Death Scares Me. Life is too short to be dicking around with fake niceties if all you're gonna do is backstab. Shit, say what's on your mind about people to their face and see how long it takes for you to get some honest answers. That is, if you don't lose your job and get sued in the process. Otherwise, shitcan The Act, be quiet and go about your conquest free of the delusion that most people buy The Act. There are really very few genuinely nice people in this world, and you could probably call them naive, dead, or mentally retarded. Oh yes: stop badmouthing people you know nothing about. It makes you look like an asshole, and honestly, that's MY territory. Besides, if you haven't sussed the fact that there's no better ostracizing tool than to talk shit about someone behind their back whom you won't talk shit about to their face...then you'd do well to start fuckin' sussing, friend. Personally, I'm done with it. Except for people like this guy:

Oh and that other guy who reads this blog and then treats me like a pariah in person. That guy's a cunt.

ciao.

Neko Case Might Just Save What's Left Of Your Soul

2007-05-19T23:46:00.000-05:00

If you have a soul, some inkling of a soul fragment, or what you think may be a soul, and you feel it is in jeopardy, tell Trebek to fuck off, get off your knees, give the Jesus thing a rest, and try some Neko Case. I'm late to this particular round of lovely, but better late than never. That's all I have to say about that.

NPR Just Put An Endcap Of Marbled Shit And Depression On My Otherwise Decently Mediocre Day

2007-05-14T20:17:00.000-05:00

As I write this, I realize that today felt full. Today felt full in a way that made sense for the first time in a really long time. I woke up feeling normal...not REFRESHED! Just normal. Waking up feeling refreshed turns me into a control freak and I tend to get all bent out of shape just because someone else isn't feeling the burn of happiness like I am. Recipes for disaster are many where I'm concerned, and that's one of them.

I rode to work without stressing about traffic or the fact that most people don't need to drive. I didn't focus on the fact that I was riding a 40 pound bike with knobby tires into a headwind and I wasn't going as fast as I wanted.

I arrived at work 30 minutes later than I wanted to, and I didn't sweat it.

I briefly got involved with a couple of issues regarding interpersonal acting out in my department then un-involved myself with Mudhoney and Kings of Leon.

I had an awesome lunch.

I networked two really cool guys from my current and part-time jobs who both are wanting to open a bicycle frame-building business.

I had a great ride home.

My wife turned on the radio and Terry Gross was interviewing Melinda Merck:

"Melinda Merck literally wrote the book on investigating animal cruelty -- a crime that's increasingly understood to be linked to domestic violence."

Melinda began to describe a crime scene where two young males esentially had set up an animal torture zone in their squalid house, and, in particular described an account of how a puppy had been tortured for hours before it was killed. These are the types of people I want to drag behind a car slowly until there's nothing left but a 30 mile chunky stain.

I just felt empty and sad. I looked at my dog and gave her a big hug. I don't have children and I may never ever have them. But I do know what it means to love and care for a creature that depends on, and is enriched by my interaction with them. It's important to me. It doesn't have to mean Cracker Jack Shit to you. My dog is 12 years old and she's been there for me when I wasn't even there, if you know what I mean. The drugs, the alcohol, the utter depths of sad, ugly, feelings, the suicidal thoughts, the manic anger, the paranoid frantic conversations had with people who weren't even there...there was my dog wagging, asking for a nuzzle and somehow realizing that I needed to be watched closely. And that's just what she did. My relationship with that dog is more visceral and real than most of my human interactions ever will be.

I own that reality. It's mine. It's real. It happened. It's probably boring you to death.

Maybe that's why I only get about four hits a day on this blog. That's a good thing too. I don't need to pose questions rhetorical and dichotomous that will generate tension. It's too easy to be the Devil's Advocate Marionette.

I could care less because it's like watching dogs fight over a bone you throw every so often. And the next day there's more of 'em waiting for that bone. Besides, that's SMITHERS' job. He's got the time for it and he does it well enough to merit a truckload of bones for the pack of hounds he has gathered in his blogyard.

Anyway, I had to write about it, didn't I? Wot?

Woof.

Wag.

Whatever.

It's All Been Done Once Again. For The First Time. Cubed

2007-04-20T19:59:00.000-05:00

So these people really pissed me off so i blah blah blahed, then they had the nerve to blah blah so I blah blah blah blah blah

I was just blahing along when some blah in their blah came along and gave me this blah and I really didn't care except for blah blah and the blah they were blahing to. So I blahed them to their faces and they got really blah blah.

Have you ever noticed when you blah and someone else tries to blah at the same time but they end up blahing all the blah for themselves even though you blahed first? Or you blah but they think you blahed and they're on a POWER TRIP so it doesn't blah what you blah? Huh?

And what about these Blahs who think blibbidy blah about blah? When are they going to learn? I wish I knew. You blah along blahing your blah all over the place and then BLAH comes along and blahs your blah.

Blah.

Ann Coulter is a Blonde-Headed Twig of Insanity and Attention-Grabbing Hatred

2007-03-04T20:38:00.000-06:00

Hello, I'm unhappy and crazy...

I don't know why I feel compelled to write about Ann Coulter's latest comment, since there are much more relevant issues to spit vitriol over, but in my own creepy way, I'm drawn to her public performances (let's just call it The Ann Coulter Show), because it's like watching the proverbial snake that eats itself; A sometimes strangely attractive, sometimes repulsively anorexic, insane, hateful snake with blond hair and cornpone follicle roots. Commenting about anything Ann Coulter says is like pissing in the ocean and waiting for it to rise; like farting against thunder; like attempting to find your turd in the local sewage treatment plant. Yet because she really is not someone ever to be taken seriously when weighing political commentary, I feel completely at ease attempting to FIND THAT TURD.

The problem isn't Ann. The problem is that there are people who actually think what she has to say is relevant and true. It's like believing A Modest Proposal was a genuine salve for economic malaise, or to a more extreme degree, that genocide is a viable solution to cultural disparity. Ann Coulter is an attention seeking gadfly. She is probably only now beginning to come to grips with the exponentially ugly realization that there are MANY folks out there who wholeheartedly support her twisted outlook, and it's only serving to slowly corrode the grey line in her subconscious that separates bat-shit crazy from mere polemical commentary, more than likely causing her to lose what little soul she has left to the anthithesis of that symbolic cross she wears around her neck.

You can't really get ahold of the Ann Coulter phenomenon, because it's run by the brain of a moderately intelligent, greased loose cannon. I suggest you don't attempt to comprehend her because you would be flirting with the threshold of crazy. Ann has a strange grab-bag of affections:

"Coulter is single. She has dated Spin magazine publisher Bob Guccione, Jr. ^[16] and conservative writer Dinesh D'Souza ^[17] She owns both a condominium in Manhattan and a house, bought in 2005, in Palm Beach, Florida. Although she claims that usually she lives in New York, she votes in Palm Beach and is not registered to do so in New York.^[18] She is a fan of the Grateful Dead,^[19] and some of her favorite books include The Bible, Wuthering Heights, Anna Karenina, most true crime stories about serial killers, or anything by Dave Barry.^[20] -Wikipedia

I love Wikipedia.

After reading that, look at the photo above. Gather in that beautiful, crazy, sad, I-don't know-where-I-am-please-love-me, cornered-animal gaze. Keep that image in your head and wrap your brain around the possibility that it's not beyond reason Ann developed her rather amusing, tricky polemical ability while tripping on LSD, listening to the Grateful Dead, and giving an amused nod to a gestating emergence of reasoning abilities that mirror those of a serial killer, a prostitute, and a mediocre humorist . Poor thing...she never really came off the acid trip... and is riding that crashing, lysergic wave with a creeping realization that, in actuality, she is one in a long, long line of many disposable vessels for channeling that viral spirit which infected Hitler, Paris Hilton, Dick Cheney & The Bush Administration, and to a lesser degree, Sergeant Cunt: my crazy next door neighbor who thinks she runs the block, and reported us to the city for not having our sidewalks shoveled properly within three hours of the snowfall beginning. Where's Wavy Gravy when you need him? Human Lemmings with power and influence such as Coulter are to be feared and commented about in whispered dread, if only to keep onesself from descending into permanent insanity by taking anything they have to say seriously and following them, dreaming and drunk with herdlike groupthink, over the edge and into the sea of madness.

Alternately, I could just accept the fact that I'm bat-shit crazy as well and am falling in love with Ann Coulter and her skeletal sex-appeal. I mean, she makes more money than I do, acting out in public like I do. Within her vastly fluctuating image, there is some web of commonality between dangerous malnutrition, hatred of humanity, superior aryan paradigm, love of the Grateful Dead, serial killer novels, Dave Barry, white middle class prostitution, and concentration camp victims.

And what's not to love about that?

What They Did To My Knee

2007-03-03T09:04:00.000-06:00

Here is a link that describes the surgical procedure done to my knee. Medial and Lateral menisci tissue were removed...no bone plugs or attachments were added. I've been pretty much out of commission for a little over one week now, and am losing money by my absence from work, but at least I won't get "fired" by the uncommunicative QBP gestapo management. I also get to stay indoors all week and use all of our ass-friendly furniture and watch my cycling muscles atrophy.

Joy...

Everything Louder Than Everything Else

2007-02-24T09:01:00.000-06:00

I began this writing session forgetting my username and password for the new Google account's bigger, better blogger. I then realized it happens every time I attempt a log in because I don't feel that my everyday observations are worth writing down until they've fermented for awhile. After I reset my password and began to stick my proverbial finger-down-the-throat to regurgitate ideas, The Wife---\/
hijacked my already shaky mood by relaying a story about the Quizno's franchise and how it's your typical pyramid capitalist franchise and how one owner blew his brains out in his store's bathroom after realizing the attempted futility of being able to make his own money from a franchise that requires the owner's to purchase EVERY ITEM from the Quizno's horde of toilet paper, soap, bread, meat, furniture, potato chips, soda, and fashionable uniforms, etc.

I'm currently spinning on a generic brand of vicodin after knee surgery Thursday, so if any of this reads more disjointed than usual, you're getting an uninterrupted interruption of my neural pathways. Nobody from work called to ask how I'm doing; probably because they're too concerned with the many different ways to view and do mundane tasks while smoking weed.

There's really nothing to report except that Bella turned 12 years old on Valentine's day.
And, I'm going to my 20 year high school reunion in June. Little Rock, Arkansas. Folks I haven't heard from in almost as many years have started emailing me. It's kind of nice, because for once I have a lifeline to the past that isn't hazed by embarrassing memories. Speaking of hazed, it's like there's this dude in my head shouting coherent passages and relatively witty non-sequiters (sp?), but they're just not making it to the written page. So, I'm going to go do my leg lifts to keep blood clots from forming in my knee and stare at the television blankly...

By the way, I have this Neko Case song, "Hold On, Hold On" stuck in my head ever since last Tuesday when, on my way to Da Hom Depo, the Current (89.3 f.m.) deftly knitted the song into my brain and before I knew it, I was a drooling convert. It's like finding that one sauce that tastes good on anything...even sweetened corn cereal...

Goddamned Knee Shit

2007-01-20T14:23:00.000-06:00

I'm just getting into shape and I end up mashing the medial meniscus (cartilage) in my right knee from an injury sustained 11 years ago which the doctors mis-diagnosed at the time because I didn't have insurance that would pay for surgery, and now that I'm on a roll, I have to have an MRI, and more than likely, surgery on my knee. Fuck. Boo Hoo.

Well, I drove around trying to find a place to wash the car today, not even taking the time to think that other people were doing the same, and I ended up on a 20 mile goose chase because every car wash had lines out into the street, and I believed I could find that out-of-the-way-hole-in-the-wall car wash that wasn't busy, the end result being that the car did not get washed, and I had to piss like a racehorse...so I came back home. Oh yes, and I ran into a bunch of wrinkled clothes wearing burger and brat eating college basketball MINNESOTA GOPHERS fans blocking the street cuz there was a GAME going on. Seriously, I wanted to use the car as a weapon. Fuckers running out into the street and in front of cars because they granted themselves some sort of holier-than-thou stature because they were in the periphery of a college gameday fan base. Fuck you. That would have been a perfect time for breaking shins and ankles vis a vis Irish Road Bowling.

My knee hurt the entire time. Fucking 'Old Balls'...that's me.

Iggy Pop Kicks Ass

2007-01-07T16:19:00.000-06:00

Iggy Pop just kind of hangs out on the collective shoulder of the fringe music culture; old, wrinkly, and in better shape than 95% of the POP u lation. Warts and all in plain view, Iggy Pop kicks your ass. Iggy Pop kicks everyones ass. Iggy Pop transcends criticism in my book. Kind of like Hostess Ding Dongs, even though I don't eat them. I eat them in my mind, and I'm listening to Iggy perform Repo Man, eating fantasy Ding Dongs and laughing at you, America.

In This, The New Year, Most Folks Still Just Plain Suck Ass

2007-01-06T11:39:00.000-06:00

I was offered a wheelbuilding position at my previous/current place of employment, despite the efforts of some supervisors who never even took the time to get to know me.

So, to them I say: "Fu-fu-fu-fu-fuuuuuuuck you as well, you backstabbing, self-righteous bags of maggot shit." I worked very hard to be helpful and have a positive attitude, but it just goes to show you that if you don't treat some folks like royalty and with submission in your voice, they're gonna label you as a subversive ne'er do well, and go to HR to attempt a coup of your re-hire.

Again, I say to thee from this little dark corner of the internet where almost no one can hear me:

I Win.

You Lose.

I know who you are.

I know how you operate.

Out in the street,

That's where we'll meet.

Up your ass with some broken glass...

Anyways. I like my current position.

Just remember: You can't please everyone, so mark the ones you don't please, because they're moving to keep you down. The best strategy is to tie them down and beat them with a cat-o'-nine-tails. But you must first disguise yourself. Preferably as some sort of children's t.v. show icon, like Barney or Big Bird.

Now, the up side is that there were many supervisors who stood up for me and the folks who hired me came to the conclusion that I simply "got a bad rap".

I'm just going to bide my time and do the best job I can until it's time to destroy these people from the inside out...like a new strain of viral gut-rot.

That's my New Year's resolution...

From the heart.

Eat your greens!

I Create Job Applications For A Living

2006-12-05T00:43:00.000-06:00

Yes I do.

And now that I have effectively lost my current job which was apparently un-loseable, I'll be making a living quite frequently for about a week.

No, on second thought, I'm going to draw unemployment because I've never done it, and I deserve it.

I'm a big bleep on the radar they said at the job, and I didn't feel that it was said to be rude. I took it as a compliment. I make a fucking statement! Except this statement was too full of picking errors to go unnoticed.

To wit: I have effectively marked at least 10 people who work at the company I just lost my job from whom I feel could be given a competitive run for their money by a bowlful of room temperature butter. What does that make me?

It makes me Toast...because butter is fat, and fat carries flavor, you see? Toast is just semi-burned wheat gluten proteins. People like butter better. And let me tell you, if you don't butter up the right people, it seems to get around that you may be a subversive. You're not a TEAM PLAYER. No one responsible for the termination of my employment approached me regarding the fact that I had just gone through some major life changing crap and a near-fatal car accident. Why is it always on the shoulder of the employee that's getting screwed to set things straight? I wasn't even thinking straight. I don't/didn't get paid nearly as well as those responsible for severing the ties...Let's all pretend I didn't get fucked with a splintery piece of particle board! There are a lot of folks at the company who don't really DO anything except hold positions of power, talk a lot about numbers, and make demands. And probably masturbate at their desk.

No one who still has their job gives a flying marmocet shit anyway. I certainly wouldn't.

This is my Booze and Drugs. My little corner of the bar just gets lonelier and lonelier. Good. I'm weeding out the shitholes who need fake friends to feel good about themselves.

G'day...

P.S. Thanks to Ms. Deannie for always throwing a comment my way. And thanks to those who read this and get it...no matter how few.

:|

The Elric Saga Pt. II.Com, or: Ignorant Generic White Boys

2006-11-26T13:10:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving is such a fucking bore. I really am at the point of resisting all urges to play the role of Honky Cat yet another year. Christmas is worse. You know why. If you don't, bleat another round of herdspeak and enjoy your superior stature for me, will ya? Thaaaanks...

The disorderly conduct citation I recieved from Minneapolis' Finest was dismissed. I absolutely dread going to court. It's as if I'm circling the drain, watching these other fools desperately trying their one last grappling hook to avoid being sucked down to the next level of sewage. Folks just making the weirdest remarks in an attempt at last minute salvation:

FREAK: "Man, that metal detector was WEIRD, huh?"

ME: "You bet it was."

FREAK: (Asking the desk clerk) "Um, can you tell me which [court] room I'm
in? I think it's for a traffic ticket."

DESK CLERK: "Name?"

FREAK: (Says Name)

DESK CLERK: "Sir, you were charged with posession of (x) amount of (x)
substance. There's no record of a traffic ticket for this
court appearance. You'll have to speak with an attorney for
the state. Room # blah."

FREAK: "Oh... That's strange!"

I really got the feeling that this person felt as if he could magically change the cited offense by stating it out loud to the desk clerk. Unbelievable. I started to get a little paranoid at this point because the county courthouse is a repository for weird vibes. Period. And weird vibes bring out the weird in me.

Naturally we had to go through a metal detector at the courthouse. Not really weird at all, just tense. I was waiting for Officer Fat Ass to get really nasty with one of us going through just so he could put a little "Hero" in his resume. Whatever.

On the way to the gym this morning, I was honked at loudly while crossing Hennepin on 27th street in Ye Olde Uptowne. Looking over, there sat a sort of Dodge Rambler with four, you guessed it, WHITE BOYS snickering to themselves at their genius move. MADE ME LOOK! And to top it off, one of the WHITE BOYS wearing, yes, you guessed it again, a: BACKWARDS BASEBALL CAP positioned perfectly on his underdeveloped cranium chanting some mantra at me while the driver snickered and adjusted something on the dashboard. I can't believe these guys found their way out of the vaginal canal into this world, much less learned that a red traffic light means stop. At first I thought the GENERIC WHITE BOY #1 was just chanting something to keep his mind occupied until his next bodily function let loose in those baggy jeans he was more than likely wearing, but then I realized he was actually forming a word...what was it? I think...yes! It was "ITALIA, ITALIA, ITALIA"; the name that was embroidered on my cool Target track jacket. I simply smiled and continued across the crosswalk, happy to give this little peabrained minnow a ray of hope that he was actually making a positive, long-term impression on his comerades.

Later, I began to fantasize regarding the different scenarios and how they might have played out. Most of them ended with me dragging his sorry ass out of the passenger seat and stomping that generic white boy face into some sort of unattractive pulp, much the same way a stereotypical Italian Soccer Player might do. Then I would steal his sorry soul and give it back to a more intelligent cycle of death and rebirth, thereby pleasing the Cosmic Spirit. If the other WHITE MONKEYS decided to hang around, they would have been systematically dispatched to the land of broken legs, arms, and torn orifices; would suffer a life of despondency and paranoia, become petty sociopathic criminals, and finally would begin to "circle the drain" whithout the aid of a grappling hook, forever doomed to the Hennepin County Courthouse proceedings in an eternal cycle of weird dominance and submissive power-play.

Happy Holidays!

A

The Elric Saga Pt I.Com

2006-11-05T10:24:00.000-06:00

I'm happy to report that even when sober, I can shoot myself in the foot. Not quite as powerful of a bullet, mind you, but the pain is greater because there is no alcohol to deaden the nerves, so to speak.

That was an analogy, of course.

Now, Elric of Melnibone springs to mind here and I don't really know why. What I do know, is when I overthink an inspiratorial analogy, it gets muddled in self-conscious analysis and ends up coming across as insincere. Anyway...
Elric has a sword: Stormbringer. The sword steals souls when it kills. Elric uses the sword to bring the world to an end, albeit unbeknownst to him at the time (although he seems to "get it" just before annihilation). He is prone to periods of self-loathing and slowly rejects the methods of the life he has abandoned in place of wandering the world alone. He slowly turns from serving the gods of chaos to the gods of law, eventually finding discontent with all gods and attempting to bring about a world without gods, thus destroying himself, and the universe; all to the apparent joy of Stormbringer, which is, in actuality a very powerful being from another dimension that makes it's appearance in this dimension as a black sword.

Now, if this all sounds a little too "Dungeons and Dragons"-y for you, relax. You're over the hump if you've made it this far.

I relate to Elric (although I am not afflictid with albinism, I tend to be a cave-dweller--close enough.). I have little or no contact with my former way of living and the folks involved. I posess a black-sentient-paranoid-anger thing (which one could liken to an independently thinking sword) I use to ward off people who annoy me and in the process end up alienating myself.

I have a very difficult time accepting any religion or god formula. Ayn Rand for president.

I am slowly bringing the universe to an end unbeknownst to me, although I am doing it while maintaining a very healthy diet.

Sorry, I had to write something...

Ciao,

#########

THANK YOU , OFFICER ASSHOLE, FOR AGGRESSIVELY EDUCATING YET ANOTHER OVERLY EXPRESSIVE BLEATING SHEEP.

2006-10-08T16:46:00.000-05:00

Around noonish, my wife and I trudged out to the car so that we could recon some olive oil from Sinbad's on Nicollet ave. Closed on Sunday. Okay, next stop, Rainbow...nope. Crappy selection, and too expensive for what we wanted. Well, let's zip on down to Whole Foods. So we did.

As we approached the traffic signals that divide Lake st into Minnetonka Blvd (if you hang to the right) and Excelsior (left), there was your usual traffic jam. No problem, I positioned myself in the lane that would allow me to turn left AFTER veering right and into the Whole Foods parking lot. Well, as I rounded the corner, veering to the right, suddenly I saw a construction project which was blocking the lane I was in and everyone was having to merge to the right lane. Sitting right there in front of the MERGE--> sign was a loyal Mpls Police Officer sitting in his super hot kick ass law enforcement mobile unit making sure things went smoothly. OK, good decision, I thought. I was a little miffed at the traffic crunch, but no more than any other time when things don't go my way. I could see from the gestures of the driver in front of me that he too, was also in a state of miffage...

As I sat, waiting to merge, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen ANY street signs that warned of construction ahead. I began to get more miffed. It seemed to me that this was an uncommon case of the city deciding to expend the minimum amount of effort to warn citizens of approaching construction, and, this being a busy intersection, I was a little upset. As I passed by the construction site, I let fly with a double middle finger salute. I must stress that this was a gesture at the SITUATION and not at any one in particular. Well, as I passed ol' Officer Orderly, I saw him mumble something, pull the leg he was using to steady his Mobile Kill Unit inside, shut the door and pull out behind me. I had this sinking feeling that I was about to get pulled over.

Sure enough, lights on, quick siren whoop jabs cutting the silence, and I pulled into Whole Foods market and extracted my license for Officer Petty to see.

Snatching the license out of my hand, Officer Ego broke the ice with the following comment (keep in mind, dear reader, that the officer's tone was not relaxed and questioning as the following transcript reads, but rather "leaned-in" and agressive. brush your teeth by the way, Officer Cavity Creep, your breath smells like shit):

OFFICER KICK ASS: "Um, please clarify for me because I'm pretty sure that I saw you flip me the bird back there"

CITIZEN REGRET: "No Sir, I would never flip an officer off" (at least where one could see me doing it), "I was-"

OFFICER RUDEBOY INTERRUPTOR: "Who or what were you flipping off, can you tell me?"

CITIZEN HOPING FOR UNDERSTANDING: "I was flipping off the fact that the construction was there, the whole scene, I was frustra-"

OFFICER PRICK: "Tell me what you're in such a hurry for that you couldn't wait, what, a minute to merge? Is there an emergency, something life threatening perhaps?"

CITIZEN FIXIN' TO GET A BEAT DOWN: "No, Sir."

OFFICER PARENT: "What could possibly be making you so upset that you can't wait one minute to merge on this Beautiful Sunday afternoon? Are you late for work? Cause I'm working. We're all working over there to make Minneapolis' streets more beautiful for you to enjoy."

CITIZEN ATTEMPTING REASON BUT GETTING UPSET: "Sir, there were no signs prior to rounding the curve saying anything about-"

OFFICER INSULTED SHORT MAN COMPLEX: "There were signs! I put them there this morning!

CITIZEN STUCK IN THE CHICKEN'S ASS: "I'm sorry, they weren't visible from where I was and-"

OFFICER MR. GRANBERRY FROM FIFTH GRADE: "Yes they were! Just because you didn't see them doesn't mean they weren't there. It's not my problem that you weren't paying attention!"

Officer Jump To Conclusion kept on with the lecture as if I were a four year old, and I kept attempting to get a word in edgewise explaining that I was sorry I got upset and flipped the bird, but that by no means was I directing it at anyone, ESPECIALLY A POLICE OFFICER THAT IS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME. I AM NOT THAT FLAT-OUT STUPID. Officer Fuck You Flyshit seemed to interpret any of my attempts to speak as an uppity citizen getting mouthy. In all instances, most people will suggest that you simply answer "yes" and "no" lightly salted with "thank you"'s and "I will, officer"'s and, in retrospect is the best way not to get the police pissed at you. I became very aware that I was on the losing end of a power trip instigated by my loss of control of the middle fingers on my hand. I have had quite a few run-ins with the law, and most all of the officers in retrospect have been somewhat civil and listened to my story. This instance, however was completely geared in the direction that Officer I Am God wanted it to go as it seemed he really believed that I flipped HIM off and he wasn't going to let it go.
This scenario continued on until I felt I was forced to actually tell him that I was trying to tell my side of the story and would he please quit cutting me off. Stupid, stupid, stupid... He became VERY uppity at this point and said "You wanna tell your story? Okay, go ahead" I wasn't four words into my attempt to tell the story when Officer Unfair Advantage lost his cool: "Allright, that's it...let me see your insurance."

I was issued a complaint of Disorderly Conduct, Statute/Ordinance # 385.90, which reads: "Disorderly conduct.No person, in any public or private place, shall engage in, or prepare, attempt, offer or threaten to engage in, or assist or conspire with another to engage in, or congregate because of, any riot, fight, brawl, tumultuous conduct, act of violence, or any other conduct which disturbs the peace and quiet of another save for participating in a recognized athletic contest. (Code 1960, As Amend., § 870.060)"

Well, that about covered it. In reality, my gesture of Birdinance was not directed at any individual, Nor was it an attempt to disturb the peace, but was rather me gesturing much the same way as one gestures when one throws their arms in the air and says: "What is this shit?" I was merely saying: "This fucking sucks".

I think any officer in a reasonable state of mind might recognize this, hear the person out, and offer some words regarding how gestures might be taken by another party and suggest that the person keep the gesture to themselves. However, I really felt that this particular Officer: Officer Asshole, was deliberately attempting to be rude and lay his balls on my chin, so to speak. Possibly because my wife was in the car and he had to be a man, possibly because he'd had a bad day as well and wanted to show the world via Citizen Forcibly Lecture Raped that he still had control somewhere, and he wasn't going to take a reasonable explanation for anything.

Well, Officer Fuckface, you win this one. I'm going to call the courts tomorrow and see if there is an impending fine, court date, etc. and then I'm going to at least attempt to reason with a hearing officer and possibly get my fine reduced. What this has taught me is that in our FREE society, you don't ever act human to a police officer once they have you in their sights, because it will quickly become an expensive and time-consuming mistake. The mistake is only that you're attempting to tell you're side of the story, when you should just shut your mouth and let 'em fuck you good. Don't worry, it'll all be over soon and you can go home and shit your pride down the toilet out of a freshly reamed asshole.

Hey, Officer Badge #: 4319 (6580): GO FUCK YOURSELF.

A Fatalists View: Do You Understand The Term "Cyclical"?

2006-09-02T13:43:00.000-05:00

"And the answer is: none...none more black."--Nigel Tufnel, Spinal Tap: The Movie

I understand why the mind eventually grows tired of input and wilts, retreating into infantile gestures in a last ditch effort to reinvent itself. It's an organ that is at once programmed to transverse the nearly infinite number of social and psychological combinations while trying to maintain some sense of individuality. The individuality's uniqueness is so miniscule in the face of death's finality that the only respite is to invent a personality, style and image that is unique in context. That context, to the individual, is as important as breathing. Losing one's identity in today's world is unbelievably terrifying to most people; And hovering in anonymity always runs the risk of painting ones image with so many grey areas that they run the risk of exile. When The Herd Mentality doesn't understand an individual, the fight or flight response gets to have its covert say so and the innocent get dragged quickly and unrelentingly through the Muck. Unique, original thought doesn't EXIST per se as it is channeled, or summoned, as a tool to perform a social or psychological task. And a task is nothing more than a series of actions (process) that bring about a Desired Result.

If any of the above made any sense to you, then here's the Nougat: Things get really messy when everybody's Desired Results begin to clash. Some folks don't even have Desired Results. Some folks will only make it through the first part of this rambling before shutting down mentally and labeling it as "shit". So what? It's my shit, and if you don't like it, move to another stall.

Okay, sorry 'bout that. Still a little defensive of my own mind.

Clashing Desired Results. The Final Process. Nothing is really "original". Live and let live, until YOUR living interferes with MY living. We constantly attempt to re-invent the wheel because not everyone has the leisure time to realize the wheel has already been invented. Just pass the information along, don't muddle it up with your Desired Results thinking.

"I am sick of the narcissistic self-bragging that "blogging" has become.

I would like to thank Blogger, LiveJournal, MySpace, etc. etc. for making it incredibly easy for any hack with an email account to get a blog. You effectively took all the fun out of it.

My blog's MySQL DB took a crap on me and I don't feel like fixing it. Maybe I will sometime in the future, just not now. Given my current thoughts on blogging, I am not real motivated to fix it merely so I can continue my pursuit of sharing my (largely) irrelevant thoughts with the world.

In the meantime, go read someone else's blog. You don't have anything better to do at work. Really."

This from someone who originally got into blogging because of a narcissistic impulse...go figure.

Why do I blog? Why does anyone blog? Don't delude yourself that narcissism isn't involved. It is. But there is also the reality that everyone is effectively channeling their "original" thoughts and feelings into a medium that, at best, stimulates the reader to critical thinking, thereby initiating change, and at worst, is merely cathartic. Catharsis can be a great thing. Don't like it? Don't read it.

One always runs the risk of exposing themselves to "behind the back criticism" in a blog. I had to think about that seriously before I decided to just Let it Blurt (thank you, Lester Bangs), and I'm glad that I did. It helps me to get through life by realizing that I don't have to put up a front in order to get through life. People spend way too much energy attempting to maintain an image, and it begins to reek of decay. Sayings that were once life affirming eventually become sad Mantras. Certainly, letting it all go in a blog can be a polarizing process for friendship, but honestly, I don't want to be friends with anyone who would find these writings offensive or weird and not discuss them with me personally. In fact, watch out for that kind of behavior. Gossip. Whispering. Power play. People making rash judgements on you without critical analysis. Be careful. Clashing Desired Results.

The mind tends to grow tired of this constant cycle. Waking up to realize a new generation has stampeded right on past, but, in effect is doing nothing new; Just dancing a grand lopsided stagger towards a generational-and-self-realization that is nothing more than a temporary fix for cultural ennui. Maintaining a sense of wonder and fascination with one's existence is not that difficult. Nothing stands up to extreme scrutiny. Rooted in this reality that "nothing is truly constant", the mind can find constant "reinvention" and solace. Don't cling too tenaciously to one way of thinking. Things change. It's when the mind holds on too long to a belief or philosophy without recognizing the conundrums that it begins to fade and lose connection with the world. It shuts down. It, in effect, dies.

Words hold within them an intended transmission of ideas, but they also must be interpreted by the listener and reader. The written word has an even more difficult task in attempting to transmit emotion. Take care how you label something...you may be setting yourself up for a smackdown.

Now, in regards to how I feel about ego: I got it, you got it. Keep it in check, Leroy and Lisa. It's not about who you were, it's about who you are.

"NOW...FUCK OFF!!!"--Brian, "Monty Python's 'The Life of Brian'"

Ass-Chickens And The Four Lightsaber Attack

2006-08-21T22:50:00.000-05:00

Just dropping in with a somewhat interesting title. I don't care if you don't care, so there. Work is work. Shoulder continuing to slowly heal. Watching peoples' addictions overflow. Trying to keep the paranoia in check. Watching folks' weird attitude. Found out some shit about my former bandmate of 10 years ago (I hold on to baggage for a while, ou know). Too busy to write in this blog, but you'll get some soon enough. Reading a book about the history of METAL. Awesome. If you're in the least bit unsure about me, be honest, or eat shit. Either way, it's your play.

Love,

My Dog.

I Wish I Were Stupid.

2006-07-24T22:31:00.000-05:00

Hi. Working 10 hours a day Mon and Tues, on my feet, hauling ass around a warehouse picking and packing bike parts. Get home and spend 2-3 hours helping Mrs. Pam fix our newly acquired Raw Food "diet". I don't really want to say "diet" because we have no intention of going off of it. I feel more even keel, my digestion is great, and I don't get quite as worked up about the little things, although I do get worked up. It's very easy to let one's mind wander with a headful of music while packing bike parts into a box and wondering about one's next move in life. Even though it sounds paranoid, I don't care, it's who I am, and I have to keep telling myself that so I don't start acting the way other people want me to act just so they won't think I'm weird...buuuuuuuut...I'm getting too wrapped up in how people interact with me. It's easier to care about that kind of trivial shit when you're not grounded. And I'm not really grounded right now. I know it sounds the same. Axlenoise, you know. I've got a lot to write about. Shout out to Adam at Freewheel Bike for helping me remember how to be patient when working on my bicycle. (it's almost finished), aaaand Muchas Gracias to Bernie Doll at QBP for turning me on to The Sword. Awesome. Went to their show at the Quest/Ascot Room w/ Saviors and Those Peabodys . I'm glad Bernie turned me onto it. Some reviewer described it like a herd of bison being slowly pushed over a cliff. They remind me of 1981-85, playing lots of Dungeons and Dragons and listening to a lot of metal, and getting WAY into it. More on that later. Not really feeling the flow, but whatever. PHLOYD LANDIS is a great human being so far. Oh, I forgot. My shoulder is feeling a lot better. I'm not as pissed off. If you, the reader cares about that.

thanks for stopping by

A

The Real Shit Talking.

2006-07-11T23:55:00.000-05:00

Regarding my depressed, angry, unfair lashing out at the Cat 6'ers I recieved the following comment and subsequently replied.

"Dood. Sorry you feel that way. From my perspective, I don't see it the same way. With your healing, you haven't been around all the much, that's all, and I think everyone understands that."

Hey man, I really appreciate your comment. I'ts been really tough for me for a lot of reasons. I'm going through a lot of life changes right now, and I get really frustrated and "off the handle" once in a while It's never been my intention to insult any one person directly, but I tend to carry a lot of baggage around, and the only way for me to deal with it, in a sense, is to open the baggage up, spread the shit around the room, then go through it and discard the stuff that's unnecessary. More than really calling anyone out, I'm just blurting out my frustration with things. I've lost touch with family and friends, except my mom and dad and I feel pretty alone at times. I'm sort of a control freak, and realize it's not healthy. Sobriety, for me, is a huge change, as I'm having to kind of deal with life clean, and it's difficult at times. I'm angry about a lot of stuff, and writing on my blog is a big catharsis for me. I should really put up a disclaimer that nothing written there should be taken too seriously because it's definitely the ranting of my frustration with transition.

I really had a LOT of energy, time, and hopes invested in racing this year, and with developing some friendships with the Cat 6'ers, because in the last 10 years or so, cycling and bikes in general have been about the only thing in my life representing a kind of clean, positive thing that I could focus on; moreso since I've sobered up. When I got into that accident, I was transitioning from a life working in restaurants straight out of Kitchen Confidential and waking up from a drug and alcohol haze of about 17 years. Personally, I don't find the idea of rogues and fuckups in the kitchen romantic, and after I quit the drugs, I got sick of it and the egos and a lot of shit really quick. I kind of went into a mental fetal position. I wanted to really focus on a career doing something positive, and I thought a job in the bike industry would be a good start. All of this really came crashing down with my accident and the physical pain is always a constant reminder. Little things build up, like not getting responses to my posts, and I get crabby. I know deep down t's just a phase, and I have a lot of healing mentally and physically to go through. Meanwhile, I should probably keep my rants a little more generalized, although I mean no harm. I know there's a contradiction to this, but that's where I'm at (<---preposition at the end of a sentence). I have to go look for a garden hose right now, wish I could write a clearer note to you, but I felt the need to respond immediately. Thanks for the words.

Peace,

Andy

See? I'm not that weird. Reach out a little and I'll reach back. I still feel ignored over in the forum because whether or not I'm physically "around" really means nothing when posting to the forum. Either way, I still hold my ground on some of the verbal gnashings spewing forth. If I'm wrong, time will tell, although I can say I was at Freewheel Bike working on my original Schwinn beater bike and I went outside to get my wheels from the auto and there was a fellow Cat 6'er in the parking lot talking on the phone. I said "hello" and got the cold shoulder. "Maybe he didn't see me" I thought. Walked back. Nodded. No response from the guy. He may not have recognized me. But this same person went out of his way to come up and say hello before. I'll try to blame it on those fucking cell phones, but it seemed weird. I feel weird. Like I said above, there is a LOT of baggage I'm dealing with right now, I don't feel like I fit in, and I'm frustrated with myself and people in general. That's why I write here in this blog, to let out some of my frustrations. If I come across as a little too out there or rough or asshole-ish, I'm venting a lot of frustration and it's meant to be cathartic, not to single any person out, but to lay out my anger and frustration with my situation in general. If anyone takes it personally (like I do), then maybe they should examine a little closer, their feelings towards what I say.

In my daily life and interactions, I think most people will tell you that I go out of my way to help and make people feel good and happy. I want to be accepted and treated fairly. In my more private moments and thoughts, I tend to be a little fucked up and issue-ridden. I'm telling you, I'm dealing with decades of issues here, and it's just going to take time. Meanwhile, I'm not going to keep my mouth shut. I've taken too many mental laxatives to keep all that shit inside, and besides, it's not very healthy to hold in one's shit now, is it?

CNN Shows It's Amateur Ranking

2006-07-10T17:06:00.000-05:00

CNN: "Russian agents kill warlord with $10 million on his head". That's a headline quote from CNN. Great, how "...on his head." slipped past the adult mindset of the editors I wish I knew because it would make for a much better story than the one it's reporting. Looks like Mitch Bussker, running late for school, and after a night out at the reservoir, hurriedly scribbled his journalism assignment in the back of a Monte Carlo after numerous bong hits.
Duude. Warlord. I don't know what CNN is anymore.

I've Got The Phone #.

2006-07-08T00:14:00.000-05:00

And I just called the Wah-mbulance.
Would you like a ride as well?

I Never Said "Fuck You", So What's The Problem?

2006-07-07T19:50:00.000-05:00

I've apparently alienated everyone over at the Cat 6 forum because the last few times I've posted something, there's a few "views" and no responses. Not really anything to be upset about, yet I am. I feel the need to be accepted by those guys and I don't feel as if I fit in. I'm not trying to air dirty laundry here, but I'm a little frustrated by it. I shouldn't feel the need for fellow teammates, most of whom I've never met, to validate me in a fucking forum, but I do feel a little left out. Nor do I feel I'm being paranoid. I've lived long enough to know when someone thinks a turd's a turd. Just because I may be overreacting a bit doesn't mean I'm not touching on a real situation. A few weeks ago, one of the fellow 6'ers asked me how my healing was coming along, and I spewed out quite a long stream of wordy descriptions which I didn't think was out of the ordinary...someone asks you how you are, you tell them, right? I tend to get talky and wordy, but so what? I thanked the 6'er for his concern, genuinely, and gave a thank you out to the rest for their somewhat entertaining comments. A hundred or so views and...No responses. I felt a little hurt, but that's me. Is that so wrong? I tend to take things personally and be too nice, cuz people usually can't handle me being intense, which is usually how I feel. It's okay to take things personally sometimes, because SOMETIMES it IS personal. Fine. I can't prove I'm being avoided. Maybe I should just go on over there and put it all out in the open and see how long it takes until the fucking moderator deletes the page. Bring everyone down. Or, I could just never really post anything again, because most of the topics are cyclical hashbrown topics anyway. It's become this kind of in-joke boys club of which I apparently never became initiated to anyway. So, here's to ya 6'ers. I'll be racing next year, but only because I spent a lot of money on my uniform.

JERKASAURUS

2006-06-26T23:52:00.000-05:00

Why is everyone trying so hard to look casual? It's like personal ads for a television commercial personality.

It's Not Me, It's My Medulla Oblongata, Pons, and Temporal Lobe Playing Rock, Paper, Scissors.

2006-06-26T21:45:00.003-05:00

Thank the High Holies for the search engine, because it enables otherwise uninteresting people to posit some sort of intelligent mind-vomit in forums.
I've been one of those people. And it's kind of a good thing for those seekin self-actualization. Just admit that you've been one of those people and you'll be on the road to admitting that you're not as quick and intelligent as you'd like to be. It reminds me that no matter how much information you gather, no matter how well informed you are there's always a specific BELIEF at the end of every little information highway steering your verbal journey. True objectivity is, I'm afraid, out of your reach. Argue it if you want, but I don't care. That's your opinion, not mine.

Find a forum. Follow a thread, any thread. It may start off somewhat intelligently, but in the end, some bonehead stops being "objective" and slides heavily, embarrassingly, face-first into the hard-wired subjective pavement to be descended upon in public and private by the "superior" vulture-argument-winners. Some folks probably orgasm when they point out another persons faults. So what? They're more experienced, more vicious, more of an intellectual Ted Nugent, caressing the heart of the victim's Virtual Persona with a compound-bow-and-arrow of reason and intellect. The true winner in these forum-argument situations is the one who doesn't give away their true opinions or beliefs, but maintain an air of mystery and ambivalence coupled with a quick access to facts and figures. Aren't they cool?

These people are about as real as dream farts. I'd just as soon take them out with a few quick blows to the throat rather than engage their ego worshipping. Fuck 'em if they can't let go of their personality. Been there. It was not pretty waking up and realizing that the real me was buried under some 12 year drug and alcohol fueled image building. Me, me, me...I'm rambling, no?

What I really wanted to say in this post is...Anyone who reads these posts (not many) and actually thinks that I don't look for the "good" in a situation needs to re-think and remember that they probably haven't gotten to know me. That's because this is MY BLOG. It's not a REAL, FACE-TO-FACE CONVERSATION BETWEEN CONSENTING, CIVILIZED ADULTS. This is the BLURT, the various parts of my uncivilized, selfish, pissed off personality having a go at world through prose. Get your Google on and figure it out. I try very hard to be positive in my daily interactions with people face to face. It's difficult. I manage. I make friends and acquaintances. I get miffed at people who seem to go out of their way not to make eye contact. Mix in lots of issues and an ego complex and you have someone here who doesn't react well to condescension or mind games. These posts come across as self-important and condescending at times. That's the point. They're meant to be cathartic outlets for all of the bullshit I've been handed down as real and are realizing it's actually BULLSHIT. If your opinion or belief is that I am more or less the sum of my blog entries or random comments, then you should probably eat a bowl of fecal plaque because it contains, via "cosmic generational connection", all the fat-burning Hoodia you'll ever need. And you're helping the environment by recycling shit. I, you, he, she, they tend to get involved in this just by being alive and thinking we have THE ANSWER. I don't have THE ANSWER. You don't have THE ANSWER. You have an opinion, informed by a belief. I'll discuss it with you. I'll even try it out. But don't put on airs about it or yourself, because I don't care how well established your imagined social position is...you'll be on the pavement soon enough, friend. And I'll be stepping over you to get to my destination. Need a hand up?

Everywhere I Sit Has A Different Broken Sentence-Ride The Ampersand

2006-06-07T20:56:00.000-05:00

It's been a month now, and I've been coasting along on hopes and dreams and doctors' appointments as a result of the accident The diagnosis is: I'm Virtually Fucked! First an MRI
revealed the dreaded torn rotator cuff: the supraspinatus
specifically. A 40% tear meant at least 6 weeks of boring, excruciating physical therapy of which I'm in the fourth week(preceded by 2 weeks of "hanging out"-FUN!- and being a bitchy little man). If there isn't significant improvement, there'll be another evaluation, and then surgery may be considered. That right there is a month out of work, and two to six months recovery with another six thrown in for shits and giggles.

Thankfully I'm feeling better after the Cortisone shot three weeks ago, and the therapy is coming along swimmmingly, so all things going well, surgery may be out. I still have some glass in my arm, Franken-Ass still itches and scabs, and I am experiencing post-traumatic stress even being around automobiles. Driving to work sucks because I want to ride my bike, and the more I experience these NASCAR wannabe commuter fuckjobs riding my ass like 35W is one big Talladega, the more I wanna just slam on my brakes. Fucking cars.

Speaking of my bike, I just recieved notice from the young-lady-that-hit-me's insurance company that they're not "supposed" to pay for the replacement value of my "vehicle", but only for "what it was worth at the time of the accident". In light of dealing with the above shit day in and day out for the past eight weeks, I didn't react very well internally to this information. I decided to consult the lawyer-whom-I-have-yet-to-retain and, understandably he hasn't gotten back to me yet. I am still only consulting him without payment, and since retaining his services monetarily would mean giving up one-third of the settlement (yes, he works on a contingency basis), I am at the back of the line. This means that if I were to contest the insurance company's damage claim offer, it would probably have to be lumped into the final settlement (if they're even going to offer me a settlement-I mean, that's GOING to happen or I'm GOING to hire MR. LAWYER to squeeze their Virtual Pain Receptors.) which includes lost wages and medical over and above what the No Fault law covers (a measly $250 per week maximum for lost wages and not to exceed $20,000 per claim for both lost wages and medical). Am I rambling too much to make sense?

I took a cut in pay to go work at Quality Bicycle Products. I had 98 hours of vacation pay saved up to buffer the transition. I was one week away from my first racing season-60+ dollars for my racing license down the shitter-I was two weeks away from purchasing the top-of-the-line race bike I'd always wanted. Then, because of the negligence of another person, I was out of work for a three weeks and had to use my vacation pay. All previous plans down the Godhead Shithole. The great folks at QBP cobbled together some data entry and repetitive task work which, nonetheless is temporary at worst and mind-numbing. I love them for giving me a chance, and there are some pro's to working in so many different departments and meeting so many different people, but I am worrying most of the time about this possibly tenuous situation becoming worse. It's a bunch of grey areas. The Ampersand is watching me through wary eyes. My wife just scratches my head and says it'll get better. But I need an answer. "It Could Be Worse" doesn't really work on my psyche anymore, but I say it socially anyway so anyone listening will have an out from my whiny, monopolizing soliloquy. Most folks don't want to hear about it because they're more worried about their own shit anyway, and really, shouldn't they be? It seems like the older and wiser one gets, the more distant and detatched and alone one becomes until the wisdom and loneliness plateau and force the sink-or-swim thingy. I could go on and on. And I will. My wife says she has a lot of clothes to fold, and I'm getting tired.
Peace.

Nobody Links To This Blog/The World Is Run By Addicts/Everybody Loves A Detour

2006-05-08T19:58:00.000-05:00

I have a dilemma here. Should I slut myself off to people by linking to their blog in hopes that they'll link to my blog so more people will read it so I'll feel important? Maybe.

Most of the folks I've met who have blogs seem to be absorbed in their own comments than getting to know me (in person, that is), so my first reaction is "no". Blogs are blogs. Of course, I could just link to every fucking blog I can get my brain on, kind of like shoving a bunch of crap down a pipe and letting the folks on the other end pick and choose which crap they want when it comes dropping out. Whatever. Pimp me, Google.

Why is it that I feel like most people who know I'm sober tend to treat me like a pariah over time? Is it just me? Am I paranoid? Yes, sometimes. And believe me: "Just because you're paranoid, don't mean they're not after you." is about as insightful of a been-there-done-that-trip-and-came-back-wise-and-disheartened lyric as you're gonna find. But who fucking cares if "they"'re after me? Unless I'm in a prison yard and gonna get shanked, I'll generally do best by sticking to my routine and not getting aroused by the detours. Anyone who's gonna try and bring someone down with bully tactics are generally already stabbing themselves in their own face, then getting blitzed to forget about what assholes they really are. That's a huge Detour I'm speaking from personal experience here, folks. Addicts love The Detours. Not the band, although not knowing a thing about the Detours (the band), they might very well be an addicts golden fleeced buzz rocket. The world is shaped the way it is because too many people in power love to detour the sheep. Stop being sheep, people. Wake up and smell your soul burning. You're potential rack o' lamb and you don't even know it. So what? Pound another two fifths of vodka. Take another bong hit. Meth it, baby. Snort all of Columbia. Nobody's gonna make you their fool, eh? Not The Man, not The Boss, not The Church...Nobody. You look fabulouso. You smell even better. Your outlook is so unique. Listen. Hear that? It's the sound of you winning.

Fuck "The Da Vinci Code"

2006-05-06T13:29:00.000-05:00

Who gives a shit? Apparently the majority of America gives a shit, if you listen to the hype. It keeps weaseling it's way into every nook and cranny of the information highway: "Play 'The Da Vinci Code' game at Google!" Newsflash, assholes...we ARE playing the Da Vinci Code game. Mass marketing sees to that. To wit, the description on the opening pages of The Da Vinci Code: "all descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents [...] and secret rituals in this novel are accurate". There's the stinker right there. The author, Dan Brown must have shit his pants with excitement when he sold his soul down the river on that one. Knowing that most of the documentation on such a subject as the "true story of Jesus Christ" would, at best, be rife with grey areas, he was well poised to send the sheep a' bleating by claiming he had The Answer. Well, he's making a lot of money, 40+ million people in 44 different languages are writhing and flogging in ultra-denial ridden ecstacy, and Doubleday (Fiction, mind you) is cleaning up. The whole thing reeks of soft-serve dogshit.

By the way, you know that guy that seems to narrate EVERY goddamned hollywood film trailer? He has that deep, whispering voice and reads narration obviously written by the same Marketing company. Diarrhea for the ears. Somebody cut his nuts off, please.

Gilgamesh Probably Wouldn't Enjoy Steely Dan

2006-04-30T19:48:00.000-05:00

I can only tell you in words how bored I am right now. Not that anyone other than my wife reads this blog, but nevertheless, I consider this my communique with my own imaginary friend. I've been getting the phantom pains that come with any traumatic physical injury. Mostly my arm is still tender and my back is still tender and I can't stand waiting for my body to heal. I'm sure it's stored resentment.

I helped man the Cat 6 table at Freewheel yesterday after spending the morning and noon hours trundling through a few antique malls in Stillwater because my wife's car was in the Stillwater Motors service garage having it's front brakes replaced. It was raining. It was cold. It was as boring as watching zits fuck. Then I was dropped off at Freewheel and had a great time hanging out, talking and meeting some local bike folks and generally enjoying myself. I need interaction or I begin to wither. Apparently I'm a Franchise.

I've realized something about Minnesotan mentality that maybe I've realized before, but never really thought about. Or maybe I'm just off the mark and wanting out of this boredom, so I'm taking swings at anyone who irritates me, because the majority of my experiences here leave a lot to be desired. Sorry. Anyway, most Minnesotans I've met and attempted an intellectual conversation with seem to have this overwhelming ability to gravitate towards a very informed neutral opinion. Unless someone actually has an opinion, then one get squashed. This kind of makes sense, you know. Let's call it a "bigger than your britches" radar. Look closely now...no matter how far one goes in a discipline or mode of philosophy, the theories seem to fall apart when one approaches a real definitive explanation or paradigm. String theory aside, of which I only know the general idea (everything's connected, multi-dimensional universes, Stephen King novels actually have character development), philosophy doesn't really answer anything, other than that there is no answer, which leaves the gaps open to faith and religion. I feel kind of crushed and bored writing about all of this, so If you'll excuse me...I have to go find my opinion.

Those People in Front of Me

2006-04-26T21:01:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I get really tired of coming back to the same situation over and over again, only to find that the people in charge of sizing me up in the social area have generally done a piss poor job of it. I mean, what a fucking drag. I have enough of a tough time getting myself in order and feeling a relatively comfortable flow of "who I am" without someone else deciding for me, and others (without my permission, mind you), just who I am. It puts me in the compromising position of having to deal with unwelcome assumptions and forces me to, in a sense, strengthen my character, of which I don't even understand the composition. I have a sense of my character, but the reality of it is usually mired in the belief that I'm someone else. Throw a bunch of alcohol, drugs, and denial into the mix and it gets really ugly. I think that's the trouble with most headstrong consumer-culture Americans. More than likely this is a result of too much tv and drug n alcohol infused wishful thinking mixed with real-time human growth and the underlying realization that we're something completely different than what we think we project. I'm really just speaking for myself, but I could almost guarantee you that it's true for a lot of folks. It's all the "talking behind your back" shit; sizing someone up, signed, sealed, and delivered, without even giving them a chance at be who they are trying to be. We all have a role to play in our roles in society, so why act like a know-it-all fuckjob?

How many times have you dealt with someone briefly and your interaction with them has turned out to be the basis by which you judge them for the next 8 years or so? Is this really fair? No. But, it seems to be the way most folks want to do business so, here we are.

A solution: Educate yourself to the fact that we're all different in some ways and, in trying to make our way, toes get stepped on... things get screwed up. Accept it and apologize, and the world would be a better place.

But no. The anal-retentive person is here to fuck that up. Someone who was so scared of letting go they couldn't release their feces as a child and now thinks they've gotta have the world sewed up in a bag, and me with it. There's always those folks who love to cling tenaciously, buttocks clenched, to some static idea so they can give order to the world. Order is fine, with the realization that THINGS CHANGE. PEOPLE CHANGE. We're not static creatures, so why get so freaked out when someone does something unexpected? Unless it involves unwelcome invasion of someones physical space, I'm usually o.k. with it, and you should be as well.

Now, my lovely wife has, within the last 8 months or so, begun to assimilate information on personality types via the infamous Meyers'Briggs personality test. I'm what's known as an ENFP. That's Extroverted Intuitive Feeling Percieving (the "Intuitive" is always read as "N"). Read the link to get the scoop. Keep in mind that these descriptions represent the DOMINANT personality characteristics, and of course allows and encourages development of all the types so we can all become a well-rounded, constructive, and diligent world of interactions.

If you try and get to know me, I'll try and get to know you. I'll make a mistake, say something wrong, and spend quite a bit of time obsessing over how I can rectify my mistakes and make you like me. It's okay to be that way, to a degree. Some people however, aren't worth the time. It's an individual decision we all make, and, metaphysical philosophy aside, you and I are individuals. If you're a friend, I don't mind the occasional "what the fuck did he mean by that?", as long as you understand that I don't hang out in weird zones attempting to confuse you or for world domination. I hang out in weird zones to avoid being confused and dominated by the world. I mean no harm, unless you're pre-judging me without proper buffers, which usually makes me want to bash in kneecaps and break teeth. Being and ENFP, I have a vivid imagination, and most people whom I know have either been drug behind a moving vehicle, stabbed, thrown off a cliff, or tortured in some way...in my mind. It's how I deal with rejection. And that's...O.K. It's why some people think I can be a major asshole. And I can be a major asshole. I can be a four star general asshole, but that's only when I'm defending the rights of others. I can also be one of the best friends you've ever had. I'm a team player for the right team, and I'm loyal; sometimes to a fault.

Which brings me to the title of this little rant: Those People In Front Of Me. These are the people who don't know me, don't want to attempt to know me, but nevertheless feel the need to judge me based on contextual and situational first impression. Maybe they DO want to know me, but have this really weird defense mechanism of acting like snotty, selfish fuckjobs at first. These are the way-over-the-speed-limit, beer drinking, red-faced, angry, anal, "the-world-owes-me-something", whiny, ride-your-ass, disrespectful, prune-faced jackasses. Get out of my way, please. I'm passing on the rational side. Pull over and masturbate yourself back to reality, but leave me out of your little shit-games. You shit and piss just like the rest of us, so don't tone down the attitude a bit. I've got enough going on in my own skull.

Either way, I have less and less time for that shit as I get older. My lovely wife has also said, "life's too short to surround yourself with assholes", and it's true. I think I'm the last asshole she's surrounded herself with, and what better asshole than a four-star-general asshole? Why seek it out? Shit sticks to you no matter what, so try and seek out the good in things, cuz the bad is a given. And I've been very bad before. Takes one to know one. But I'm growning out of it. You should too. Learn about yourself and quit living on borrowed ideas. Otherwise, your just gonna end up regretting your life right before you die.

My dog Bella, has the right idea:

My Accident: Revisited

2006-04-15T21:03:00.000-05:00

Hi. Feeling a little better after My Accident.

So, I was approaching the intersection of 22nd and Lyndale, on 22nd, and heading west. I had a green light and noticed that there was a car facing the opposite direction signaling to turn left (in front of me). The car was waiting, and so I ASS-U-ME'd the driver saw me. I accelerated to get through the intersection as I noticed from the flashing don't walk signal that the light was about to turn yellow. Just as I entered the intersection, the car turned left. I had about a split second to react, so I grabbed my brakes and slid to the left, hitting the passenger side front right quarter panel and impacting the roof, front windshield, then the pavement. I only remember the "thump" of hitting the car before I was on the ground. I mean, this was fast.

The rest is textbook. I am so thankful for the inner drive some folks have to help out. I was immediately surrounded by people telling me to stay down and that they were calling an ambulance. I wanted to get up and leave. Shock, folks. I was worried about my bike. I was worried about not being able to race. I wasn't accepting the reality here. I was pretty fucked up and didn't realize it. My back was beginning to tighten up, and I didn't notice my left arm was completely covered in blood until the paramedics, who arrived rather quickly, began to poke and prod and ask me questions. I was lucid and knew where I was, but I was unaware of how bad my injuries were.

The ambulance ride sucked. They couldn't get me anything for the pain because they didn't know the extent of the injuries. I guess the police that dropped my bike off at my house were chuckling about the damage to it. Fucking Pigs.

Minneapolis police officers as a whole, don't seem to give a shit about cyclists. The driver was not given a citation for turning left in front of me, but the accident report did state that witnesses said I was "travelling at a very high rate of speed" when I hit the automobile. Shit on that. I was going fast, but I know I wasn't going 30 mph, which is the speed limit, so that shouldn't even be considered. That's the ONLY written aspect of the witness statement. Fucking cops. Legally, the driver was at fault. If this goes to court, it could get messy. I'd love to hang that cop out to dry in my fantasies.

I spent only 9 hours in the emergency room, doped up on morphine and being attended to by some idiot intern who had to remove the stitches from my 8-inch ass laceration after he fucked them up. The head doctor came in and let him have it verbally. I had been asking for a blanket and water for about 45 minutes, and this guy was like, "sure, just let me finish up these stitches". Well, 45 minutes and said stitches removed later, I got my water and blanket. Morphine makes you not really too concerned about voicing an objection. The objection is there, don't get me wrong, but it's just too much of an effort to voice it.

I don't know why I'm even beginning to write a post on why auto/bike accidents are horrible, because most people understand that. Masochists and suburban thrill seekers a la "Jackass" may find some sort of cathartic hindsight by throwing themselves in front of a car and filming it, but sociopathological considerations aside, it just plain sucks for all involved.

It's been a little over one week now, and I'm off the vicodin and on the Extra Strength Tylenol. I love/hate vicodin. Addictive personalities such as mine don't mix well with the narcotics, friend. I found myself slipping into some shady thought patterns regarding my continuing use of the Vicodin. That shit should be dumped ASAP if you're ever in a similar situation. Besides the fact that it makes me itchy and slow, it throws off my bowel movements in an extreme way (this seems to be a common complaint). And when they finally become "regular" again, what comes out is not normal.

The first week I spent doped up, slow, bitchy, scared, and in pain. I wanted answers fast, but since answers are all dependent on my healing, I wasn't getting them. So I'm impatient; hit me with a car.

This week was spent contacting a lawyer and talking to the automobile owner's insurance agent.

I'm pissed that all my summer training is essentially going down the shitter. I can feel my legs softening up. I can't use my Cat 6 gear properly.

I'm pissed that I'm starting to notice little subtle nerve twitches and numbness as the healing continues. Is this going to become a serious physical issue in the future? It's one reason we get to leave the medical settlement open for a year or so.

I'm pissed that, when talking to the Insurance Agent representing the driver of the offending automobile, there was NEVER an acknowledgement of my pain and suffering, or any wishes that I get better. It was all this red tape crap that had an air of paranoia about it. It felt like she (the Agent) was just looking for me to slip up and start trying to screw her agency. I can understand why, too. I can see how someone in my situation would try to take advantage of every twist and turn, even if it meant lying. People who do this are the people that cause all the problems and create an air of distrust in the first place. Honesty is really a good thing to have. It's the little white lies that build up, y'all. Everyone does it, sure. But the idea is to do it less and less. Honesty can be painful, but it lets you look through a clean lens and eventually the payoff is a clear conscience and a feeling of having done the right thing, whatever the right thing is. If you have no conscience, you should probably just be taken out and humanely slaughtered. Fucking jackals. It's all part of the biz.

So now, the wait. I'm not sure how my injuries are going to play out. I'm having to draw on all of my vacation pay to supplement income while the above mentioned Jackals work out whether or not they can slip in some loopholes and not pay my missed wages.

One thing that is great about all of this is that folks who really care come out of the woodwork, and folks who don't kind of go through the motions of sympathizing, then get distracted by the halo of lies they've built up around their lives. I'm an ongoing victim of the Halo of Lies. Takes one to know one, you know. I think genuinely good people recognize genuinely good gestures, whether distracted by the Halo or not. Rambling.

Wear your helmet. Take a pause before you zoom into a busy intersection. Alwasy be a defensive rider. A few seconds of rationalization can save you months or years of pain. Once you start believing you know the ebb and flow of life, traffic, etc. without some careful consideration, you're setting yourself up for some serious trouble.

My Accident

2006-04-13T12:44:00.001-05:00

I had an accident tuesday

I won't go into detail right now because I'm on pain meds and tend to jabber more than I should, which is an excess of excesses, so to speak. Suffice it to say I had the right of way, a car turned in front of me, and I got plowed. I'm going to pick up the accident report tomorrow, and hopefully there's no funny business. Sorry about the above crack shot if it offends you, but it was a much better picture of the scar than the cropped cheek photo.

Thanks for the support from the Cat 6'ers.

Spin Class Redux: Instructors That Should Go

2006-03-31T02:50:00.000-06:00

Since last year around this time, I began a 5 day per week spin class jauntlet at the YWCA in hopes of getting in shape, losing weight, etc. and it has, for the most part, gone smashingly. In fact, I'm somewhat addicted to my Saturday and Sunday classes, moreso the Sunday classes in particular, because it's one hour and 15 min, concentrated hill work and speed work, and my instructor encourages anyone to burn cd's for the class, which I've been doing. She also runs the class in a way that allows for each person to be challenged while at the same time, riding at one's own pace. Nothing like getting to listen to music I picked while spinning in a roomful of folks who are also subjected to the tunes.

The Saturday class is way harder. The instructor is a masochist (in the nicest way possible, you know) who loves the sprint. He is a fast-twitch muscle fiber maniac who has helped me to push my aerobic and fast-twitch muscle fiber envelope, so...hats off to him, but...jesus that class is a screaming-bitch-with-a-basebal-bat of love. Swear to you, there have been a few classes that average out to a sprint every 30 seconds in a 50 minute session. Shit on that.

Anyway, I put a lot of thought into the flow of the music cd's I burn for the Sunday class, trying to make it uplifting and challenging at the same time. Having a penchant for heavy metal and 80's music mixed in with some shoegazer 90's soundwash, it makes for an interesting mix that ends up playing differently in the room than in my little mixing sessions at home. I enjoy trying to equalize that dichotomy, meaning: I want the other people in the class to get something out of it as well. It makes me feel like I did something to help make life enjoyable and challenging in my own little way. So fuck you if you don't like it.

Problem is, now that I'm enjoying spin class, it's about time to go out on group rides with the Cat 6'ers (I pussed out on the earlier cold morning rides this month...fuck that shit). They take place on Sat and Sun, so I'm gonna have to taper off the weekend sessions and ride with the 6'ers on the days I don't work (it's too much to ride 50-80 miles, then go straight to work in a kitchen for 9 hours-if you have never worked in a high volume upscale kitchen, take it from me...you're fucking toast with insomnia jam at the end of the evening; There's a reason the restaurant industry is full of fuckup, drug-addicted, buzz chasing, freakball, sex-starved, needy sociopaths.)

The long and short of it is: Spin classes can be awesome, but they can also be a hellish experience, dependent on mostly one factor...the instructor. The key is finding the instructor that works for you, and fitting that class into your schedule.

Now, personally, there are some instructors I love, and some I want to shoot with salt rocks.

For all intents and purposes, I want to focus on the salt rock recipients, because that makes for entertaining reading, and allows me to be a lil' literary bloggin' asshole in a way that I refuse to do in public because, well, the repercussions are fairly harsh, and once you begin to get a Groupmind turning a lobrow negative amoebic eye your way and chewing at your ass, you're fairly fucked. Make sense?

Instructors who feel the need to turn their microphone up so loud it hurts need go back to doing whatever it was they were doing before they got so goddamned power hungry. Turn it down. Ten years of playing in a band with amps cranked to a billion has given me some hearing loss. I don't need to experience eardrum pain every time they speak. I know you exist. I know you're here. I can see you. You're the instructor, not the ear-rapist. Same thing with the music. I don't care if there are a few songs I don't get along with, as long as there's a variety. I'm one of the last persons to impose my beliefs and musical tastes on others...especially if I know they don't like it (unless they're selfish assholes, in which case they're getting the full shit-sack, unlistenable, preachy colon bomb.). Seriously though, whiny, guilt-ridden, waiting-for-someone-to-save-me pop music dance re-mixes a la Bonnie Tyler's "Holding On For A Hero" don't make for inspiring spin class. It's a soundtrack for middle-of-the-road, in-denial relationship-handicapped masochists anticipating the annual office party romance which more oft than not turns out to be a ritualistic flirt, fuck, and dump. I'd rather hear ten minutes of worm farts. Be selective, put some thought into it by having other people in mind, okay?

Next, just because you have a microphone, I don't need to hear you're fidgety, endorphine-induced running commentary on whatever misfires in that brain. Especially if you're the aforementioned office party victim or an ex-hippy trying to re-affirm your move into the capitalist system. Jerry's dead, and he hated most of you anyway, so let's have some constructive instructions and brief commentary about body position, breathing, and counting down the intervals. Like my mother said: "I don't dislike you, I dislike how you're ACTING", and some of you (as do we all) tend to act like self-righteous dung beetles.

I still love you. Thanks for helping me get in shape.

My First Racing Season

2006-03-23T13:41:00.000-06:00

Here I sit, waiting to go to a job where I have enough skills to make good money, but that I hate. I need the good money to support a financial dive into the lake of local Minnesota bike racing; a lake I've been standing at the precipice of for a while now, looking at, dreaming about, but instead spending my money on booze, weed, coke and other non-essential impulse buys. Hence the credit card debt, and reliance on a job I hate. I've already sunk about $600 into the team kit, t-shirts, shifters, classes at the YWCA and am about to drop another 3,000 on a new bike (something I've told myself I would get someday), and racing hasn't even started yet. Not to mention the fact that I'm 10-15 years older than most of the other riders that have joined this year and I just don't have the enthusiasm for those weekend morning rides in the 30-40 degree weather. I enjoy the cycling classes, and I've lost about 35 pounds since I got sober last year.

Racing licenses, race entry fees, beginner's classes. I figure I'll go deeper into debt, pay off what I can over the racing season, then quit my job and get one at a bike shop. I don't mind being happy.

Enter...the ant.

2006-03-18T01:49:00.000-06:00

Feeling fucked up and not with it at my age and I like Iron Maiden NWOBHM and the younger kids I work with keep hanging on to that slip-sliding look of tolerance mixed with ignorance mixed with downright confusion. I'm older and not where I'm supposed to be and one year sober after 20 years of seeking enlightenment through the booze and pot and sometimes coke and music and magical thinking. Waking up to realize that the "enlightenment" was more a distraction from taking responsibility for my actions and being pissed off about this fucking drug coma I've come out of. If you think sober is boring, I've got a lot to tell you.

I love to bike. Road biking. And sometimes not so much the cycling itself as the dreaming behind it. Same problem, different drug. You gotta watch yourself when you're sober. If you're an addictive personality, you tend to use various actions as distractions to the reality you just don't want to have an answer for. Understand?

Currently training for my first year as a Category 4/5 racer in Minnesota. Cat 6 racing squad. Could be good. Feeling my age. Wish I would have done something like this way back in Arkansas, but I wanted to be a rock star back then. Now, I want to be a bike racer. More to realize a goal and network into something new than get deep into the sport as a racer. I'm too old for that.

I work as a glorified, well-paid line cook at an upscale jazz club and restaurant overseen by a jackhammer-brained executive chef whom I can't help but like a lot, but whom drives me nuts. The restaurant would fall apart if he were to go, and that's how he's maneuvered it. So be it. I'm sick of the restaurant biz. Looking for something new.

I love my wife and my dog. No kids. Too many uninformed impulses bringing unwanted kids into this existence.

Come on in!