Primordial Fear

An eminent threat exists to averaged sized society. One rarely noticed, even more seldom discussed. Primordial dwarfs. Genetically superior to their achondroplastic counterparts who are slowed by disproportionate cranium and inefficient skeletal structure, unassuming by nature, primordials are sleek, stealth and considered dangerous. Although there less than 200 currently in the United States - those that are known have recently been found persistently and diabolically scheming what is believed may be a crippling attack. Under the radar, yet unrelenting in their efforts, primordial cells have been spotted joining forces at LPA (Little People of America) meetings across the country, preparing and strategically planning an attack. To what degree is still unknown. They have been found to be physically training, teaching themselves martial arts, various spy maneuvers as well as the art of seduction. In preparation, evidence is coming forth, to somehow stun an unsuspecting averaged height community - then seduce and breed with their women.


Their full and complete intentions remain unclear at this point. Fortunately, recent Discovery Channel documentaries on primordials have haphazardly covered and shed light on these current objectives. It is the duty of all to inform. Be on the thigh high lookout. Your women are not safe - your shins have never been in such grave danger.

COOK-A-LIZED!!!!

“We just bought tickets to Dane Cook next month!” Eeerrrrpppppp. The record in the room screeched to a halt. I was taken off guard. I did not know what to say. The following was one of the more carefully constructed conversations I’ve had. I should get a Screen Actors Guild award for it. The awkwardness of an American History X family dinner was diffuesd with the precision of the LAPD bomb squad.

To put this experience in my personal perspective, this was along the lines of the conversation I had a couple months ago at a wedding, with a now husky girl from college I had not seen in about eight months. After not crossing paths since college, the last time I saw her was in line at a deli. She was noticeably about 5-6 months pregnant at the time. She told me she was just engaged and living where ever. We cordially exchanged emails we’d never use. So I saw her recently again at a wedding. My first words were the most sincere “Congratulations! How’s the little one?” I could do. “The last time I saw you, you were like what, 5-6 months pregnant??” Considerate of me right?? “What!!” she shrieked. “Me? Pregnant!! Noooo. Oh noooo” (ooohhh nooo ooohhh fuuu**kkk). (When you assume you make an ass out of you and me, right?). I froze. Couldn't have scripted that worse. This said right in front of her new fiancée who did not look very pleased that I pretty much said about his wife to be – that not only did the last time I saw her, around the time he engaged her, she looked second trimester, but now she easily passes for recent post pregnancy. Getting off the Lindsay Lohan diet since school really took its toll. The tension could be cut with a knife. I apologized before I was struck and said, “Please excuse me while I remove the foot from my mouth” and went to the bar to put a scotch right back into it. If you’re feeling bad for this girl, it was not malicious by yours truly, and lets just say that she is renowned for not exactly graduating first in class from Cotillion. During a laugh out loud funny moment in the father of the groom’s speech, she laughed and reflexively let out one of her patented bovine snorts, heard by about 300. Aware of this tendency of hers it was followed up quickly by a loud “Shit!!” which was also heard by most and is most likely on their wedding video. So the above is my field tested tolerance of awkward - I've weathered worse.

The Dane Cook discussion topic was brought up by my roommate’s guest for the weekend, about the amazing plans his fiancée concocted for next month. A very nice, intelligent person too. I could not be rude. If this was a close friend of mine this would have been one of the greatest days of my life. Like a friend telling me their wife just made them buy Celine Dion or Barbara Streisand tickets, season tickets to the Minnesota Lynx, went tampon shopping for three hours. Whatever. I would have had a hay day. But I was faced with an exited guest looking me in the eye. I remained calm, and restrained every ounce of comedic snobbishness in my system. However, with that, it was impossible for me to feign interest or mutual excitement in something I believe with every strand of DNA in my body. I loathe Dane Cook. His rising fame embodies how sadly low the American standards of entertainment actually lie. Spooning down there somewhere with Ty Pennington. His fame to funny differential has set historic records. Cruise control past Margaret Cho and Kathy Griffin. I will openly stand by and defend this statement - I would rather go to a 3 hour Carrot Top show. Flat out superior comic. So, I politely responded to his statement, “Oh yeah? Cool.” “Yeah they are sweet seats” he continued “.. 16th row – but they were like $150 each.” I almost spit my drink across the room. $150?? Holy Hannah Montana you got f*cked! Please tell me Dane Cook snuck into your house and held a PP7 to your temple and made you go on Ticket Master. Please. Something. I remained calm, “Neat.” “Sounds like you’ll have fun” and other cordials not revealing my year plus despisal.

There is not enough time in the day to describe better uses for $300. One thing I know, you better not miss The Stones, U2, Clapton, Page & Plant..EVER when they come to town. Seinfeld tickets were $80!! Yet I see Dane on TV, center stage at Madison Square Garden, completely sold out arena, surrounded by thralls paying $150 and more for his HBO special. Did you read that? ARENA! A craze not seen since The Dice Man, I can only compare the blindness to Joel Osteen followers. They took Dane’s special Double Platinum. Richard Pryor, Sam Kennison, Bill Hicks are all rolling in their freaking graves. This tool is making millions on a path they paved, fueled by legions of Super Fingered fans who have never heard one joke told by these legends. Get er’ done.

This isn’t the first time someone has expressed their love for Dane Cook to me. It is something I remember about you. Like “Meghan’s friend Cindy? Oh.. you mean the one with herpes?” Liking Dane Cook says volumes about your personal tastes. To me it says you don’t truly strive for superior craft, appreciate genuine wit and differentiate skill in humor. You’ll settle for average and call it great, goofy and crass are automatically funny. You’re content in your Nerf to the groin Ray Romano caliber entertainment. You probably own the Drawn Together box set. Wouldn’t mind it if Phil Collins did the Super Bowl halftime with Kid Rock. You dine regularly at Noodles and Company. Your ideal evening is a 12 pack of Budweiser Select and Ultimate Fighting with your girlfriend and Joe Rogan. Your least favorite character in Entourage isn’t Eric. You bought Fever Pitch. You went as K - Fed or a Dick in a Box for Halloween - and were the fifth person to arrive at a party with it. I don’t dislike you as a person if you like Dane, far from, I just know more about your tastes, and I have internally reevaluated the credit worthiness of your opinions. Not in life completely – but entertainment? Yes. I’ll listen to you - but I probably won’t check out a knee slapper you recommend. I have heard several people who I respected on TV, Radio or personally casually use the word “Taint” a favorite of Dane’s, describing the area between your nads and o-ring. I just slowly close my eyes and shake my head. How. How does this happen. You – now?

I gave Dane Cook a chance. One night at a friend’s house his HBO Special was on. We had heard about this hot new saucy Dane Cook comedian guy several times, the buzz of the town, but never actually saw a performance. Exited, we agreed and gave it a shot. 20 minutes into his routine, we had not laughed once.. The opening 20 minutes of a HBO Special. We just sat there. We started to yell at the screen. “Dane….Dane…we’re waiting...Make me laugh Dane! MAKE ME LAUGH!!” But sadly, the laughs never came. Yet his epidemic has spread vigorously… Romantic Movies.. and spread…voice of the MLB Playoffs. I mean he makes Don Cheadle for the NFL look like a resurrected Walter Peyton. Are there worse than Dane Cook for this job? Possibly.. Billy Bush. Billy Crystal. But still, why Dane Cook?? BASEBALL!! TAINT!! I for the first time wanted the FOX robot back. Please. Anything! On Collegehumor.com a few months ago there was a DaneCook-a-Tron. Where you type in a joke for a robot with a Dane Cook head, press enter, and it Cook-a-lizes it.. Not knowing what to expect I typed in ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’ expecting some response like ‘because there is some hot muff on the other side!’…. But what I actually got was “WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD!!!!!!!!!!!” which was so much sweeter.. Cook-a-lized to perfection.

Knowing that Dane Cook is making millions, and SUCCEDING in Hollywood frustrates and bewilders me. I can’t be the only one here completely annoyed by him, yet his base is growing. Who are you? I have not been this frustrated since I saw pictures of Frankie Muniz at the Playboy Mansion, at the Halloween party, in a non descript white mock turtle neck - apparently dressed as the little sperm that he is - standing right next to a Playmate with a spray painted leopard print bikini. Hef. Come on.. You’re killing me! I know you occasionally hang out with the likes of John Lovitz, Rob Schneider and Ian Ziering, but have some respect. Malcolm in the Middle? And he not only got AN invite – but is still getting invites? He’s in syndication! Powers beyond my control are responsible, but do you have to rub it in our face and put it in the mag? Knowing Frankie F-ing Muniz has been in the Grotto brings a single tear to the corner of my eye and slowly trickles down my face. It reminds me of a little saying of mine “Jesus loves me…he just loves Tom Brady a WHOLE LOT more.” It’s true. Where is the justice?

So flipping around the channels yesterday – I hit the end of Dane’s HBO special - and the inspiration for this. At the very end of his show he talks about being at a movie, and pantomiming trying to put a large soda in its holder, circling it around, falling out of his hands and spilling on the ground, making the floor sticky. Mimicking the noise of getting up and shoes sticking to the floor – he jokes the person behind him says “It’s my c*m!” Hilarious Dane!! Soda spills, c*m on floor.. Taint! Taint! Taint!! Double Fingers up. I’m out! I haven’t seen a standing ovation that big since Cedric the Entertainer gave us “When black people break…. WE BREAK!!”

Super Fingers.. Dane’s production company and logo, a hand with a thumb, middle and ring fingers up..most likely what he uses when he fingers Ryan Reynolds and every other frayed patchwork jeans, frosted tipped hair, stitch on the outside t-shirt, homo-seacrest-ual out there. At a rooftop kegger out side Wrigley last year, being out of town guests, we did not get advance notice that in order to attend this party, every male apparently needed to rip the sleeves of their shirt first. It was apparently an organized No Sleeves Party in Chi-town. Late in the party I look over at a buddy of mine, filled with maximum levels of liquor and despair. Penelope Cruz would have looked and said a la Vanilla Sky “E luuks like the most saad person on erf”. I go over to him to see whats up, make sure he wasn’t going to take a leap off the side of the roof.. turns out he had made himself sick with his own thoughts. He looks at me and says softly and drunkenly, “Every girl out there…has already had sex with one of these guys”. He didn’t mean at the party, and “these guys” reached far beyond the sleeveless guests. It was sad. A piece of me died that night.

My feelings on Dane also resemble my feelings for Ben Stiller. Not funny. Goofy. Success far surpassing his talents and tolerance, taking advantage of our reality tv Idiocracy. With solid supporting cast, Stiller has been in a couple good movies, however, watching movies where he is the headline and main attraction kind of make me want to, as one might say, start the car in the garage and do some Tae Bo. Scratch my name on a banister and go visit Brooks. Stiller is a box office mogul. Hollywood powerhouse. I apologize and no offense to the person who had me watch his most recent movie on video. A performance that could have been given by a Jewish Chihuahua on crack. “Da! da! d! d! d! Da! Da! da! d! d! d! Da!!!!” He screams in annoyance at the mariachi band.. Stiller..you…are the mariachi band.
My sister told me one of my favorite stories ever. She was at a movie with my mother..
At the beginning there was a preview for Dodge Ball .. at the end of the preview, right at the time when everyone makes a comment about the movie, my mother says loudly to my sister, “Oh…I just HATE that Ben Affleck!!!” Apparently there were several rows of people laughing at this one.. Funny – Yes - Very funny. Out of touch? Maybe. A possible sage? Definitely. If you dissect it, in one statement she expressed volumes. That not only does she not see or pay attention to their movies, but she cares so little about these two douche bags, she can’t even differentiate them. Kudos mom.
My second favorite example of my mom’s extemporaneous comments came when she was a chaperone at my eighth grade ‘lock in’ at a local YMCA. She was overseeing the gym, in which there was a basketball hoop about 7 ½ feet high. This led to of course some gravity defying Vince Carter action. At one point after a slam dunk, someone was swinging on the rim…my mom sees this and comes running from the door across the volleyball court to the basketball court, waving her arms frantically and screaming “NOOO HAANNGGG GLIDING!!!! NOOO HAANNGGG GLIDING!!!” The slam dunking stopped, and if there was someone standing on top of the basketball hoop, with a 30 foot hang glider about to jump, they heard her too. I’m reminded every once in a while about the strict ‘No Hang Gliding’ rules at that YMCA to this day..

Stench Soup

I will start this entry by expressing my grief over Heith Ledger. Ok, I’m done. Not trying to be insulting. I’m not. It is sad he left behind a 2 year old daughter that will never know him. Yes it’s weird that person I just saw in Knights Tale on TBS is now deceased. I just don’t know how you can get all clamped up about the wasted life of the next in line Hollywood who ever to die of an overdose. We all know we will find out next week after the toxicology report is released he ate a barbiturate sandwich for lunch, scotch dinner, cocaine desert, bagged an Olson twin or two, took some sleeping pills to balance out the blow, set his alarm, but this time before he could start it all over again..it ended. How can you be so sad? John Ridder was too bad. This, not as much. You screwed up when your life began and ended during the lives of Mickey Rourke, Robert Downey Jr and Keith Richards. Not trying to make him out to be a junkie – but just wait to see what was in his system – and I did just hear they found a rolled up $20 by his bed? You don’t say.. It’s going to take a Britney Spears suicide, a Cher plane crash, Jimmy Fallon sky diving accident or a Kathy Griffin bear attack for me to get emotional over a celebrity. The above being extreme exuberence. All others after Farley just don’t hurt so much.


So shortly after waking up on a glorious Saturday noon, I made it to the living room, fuzzy eyed, with some oj and started watching the BBC Human Series that was a close reach for me in our DVD case. Fascinating stuff. If you are a fan of National Geographic, Nova, Planet Earth type shows, this is as good as I’ve seen. It is a seven or so part series that covers the science, tendencies and capabilities of everything about the body; speech, sight, hearing, touch and so on. I don’t know how available it is in the States, our copy came via a study abroaders visit to the pirated movie lovers paradise of China. Where you can get a hot copy of most box office titles for so cheap it keeps Will Smith up at night. 50 Yuan gets you the The Soprano’s box set, there are even Jerry Sienfeld copies of just about any movie in the theatres. (Down in front!!) Sure the cover of our Twin Peaks box set is in Chinese – turn off the subtitles and you have yourself a Beijing bargain. God bless the Chinese and their pirated products. Movies. IPhones. Soon to be Cars. Sure they are slowly trying to poison us with lead, but they also show things can be made and sold with out an 800% markup. I read an article around a year ago about a Chinese city that as a means of attracting tourism, on their city’s website displays an image of the Minneapolis skyline as their own. They’re pirating our skylines too!! They need to work on pirating Ziyi Zhang for this guy here.

Ok back to this Human Series – I watched the one on Smell. I was out cold about 20 minutes into it, but kept going after I awoke again. There was a part in it where scientists were attempting to concoct the most universally vile scent ever made. This smell could then be used as a means of crowd control. They mixed the primary chemicals that make up the distinctively putred smells of vomit, skunk, rotting flesh, Taco Bell, doo, and called it Stench Soup. Truly vile. Every tester almost passed out.

Well I am about to write these "scientists" a letter to tell them they can quit their day jobs and halt their research, for on Monday night I discovered the most pungent, crippling, debilitating smell one has ever come across. Here’s my Stench Soup. Two parts unbathed, sweaty, dancing hippie pit stench - one part roadie food for a week dancing hippie fart. I call it Agent Hippie. No joke. I was at the Xavier Rudd show Mon. He’s a rising hippie jam bander from Australia. I will not take the following events away from his performance – he was great - playing the guitar, drums, didgeridoo all at the same time. None the less the hippies crawled out of their hole for this show. So about half way through I got drug onto the main, I will call it Stench Pit in place of Mosh Pit, to stand next to a friend we went to the show with. After two 15 minute songs with a high school spaz in glasses, a beanie hat and a brand new GerryBear shirt in front of me – ecstatically freaking out over every reference of “trees” in a song, and constantly jumping up and down to every House of Pain beat he heard - right in front of my face (about 30 people deep removed from the others in the FRONT ROW doing this) and slamming into me, I was ready to either take his legs out from under him, or leave the floor. So I turn around and saw another buddy of mine behind me standing on a nice perch, right under the stairs. I go over to stand next to him. Sounds good except for the only way to get there I had to part a sea of especially sweaty hippies, flush from epileptically flailing themselves all night to the music of a stage they couldn’t even see because they were behind the stairs in their convulsing area. So I go for it, “scuse me hippie, scuuuusssseeeee me”. Half way there I get hit by a flying dreadlock to the face. AAAaaahhhh.. Sssssssss..it started burning like a snake bite. I then reflexively and mistakenly inhaled. Ooohhh..ohh… myy gaaawwwddd. The most pungent stank pit odor I have ever smelt. My buddy sees me, eyes watering, looking like I just licked a toilet and was a stunned sacrifice circled by a dancing tribal village. In the midst of feeling my way out with an extended arm, I got double whammied with a nose full of the most foul, moist, VW tour van grilled cheese peanut butter and banana sandwich diet fart ever. I mean this was so foul, the hippies smelt it over themselves and cleared the area. Ooohh my freaking gord it was awful!! I don't know how they survive their own stench. Spray some Agent Hippie on rioting hooligans in Chelsea and they'll call uncle pretty quick.

I miss cigarette smoking in bars and concert venues for this reason alone. Now you have to smell everyone else.. It's not always the sun children that stink, there are smelly people everywhere. But, hippies for the most part do smell. I think we all can agree on that. Nag Champa isn’t deodorant and bees wax isn't shampoo. I'm pretty sure there are natural deodorants out there if thats your beef. Seriously people, I’m not asking you to conform, but this isn’t 1969. Feel free to use some soap.

Lastly, a pet peeve of concert going once again happened, happens every time. First off I can't stand it when the majority of a show is spent by people shimmying by you and knocking into you. I understand people move around and get drinks - explain to me why on your way around me do you have to touch my back when you go past? Some even do the back slide. What the hell! Are you all on E and getting some contact high off my jacket? F-ing don't touch me. I’ll take a back or shoulder tap. Excuse me. Scuse me bud.. But don't slide your hand across my back as you go by. Unacceptable.

A Punany Poet Emerges

After seeing the HBO Real Sex clip about Punany Poets in Oakland, I was intrigued.
Punany Poetry is urban live performances that through poem, song,
dance and cabaret bring entertainment and awareness in a sexy, sensual performance.
I saw a few. Such power.. Such afro-vaginal emotion! I am hooked.
I have searched and finally found a local Punany chapter.
Below is a piece I performed last Thrusday that went over quite well and
I was accepted in the group despite the fact that I am a white male.
Anyone can Punany - you just have to respect the Punany.

Do you want to touch.. My Punany?

Do you want to feeeeelllllll My Punany?

My Punany will control your mind,

Playing it over on rewind.

The power of My Punany is that strong,

Complex and challenging but never wrong.

My Punany glistens in moon light

Attracting cobras all through the night.

So you want to try my crepes?

My shag carpet, dark velvet drapes?

Try to find my chocolate chip?

I know you want to honey dip.

Can you get a scoop?

Beacuse I KNOW My Punany makes you want to shooop.

Don't think My Punany is within your reach!

Rookies - I don’t have the time to teach -

That brother man can’t get everything he fancies

Because theres a padlock on these panties.

You have to respect My Punany

You have to cherish My Punany

And if you play your cards just right

Maybe, just maybe, you just might

Get treated to a sweet delight

a fantastic time that’s out of sight,

if you meet My Punany tonight.

..and that is all I have to write.

New Years Schmooze Years

So here is a drawing Uncle Monty did I don't think y'all have seen so far. It is of as you can see two ladies.. The first on the right is of a great gal Uncle Monty thought was the bees knees freshman year - ... I hope she wasn't my one "I have to see about a Lady" shot, because if so, I was inside Fenway standing in the beer line. The left is of a girl - also a great lad that a friend of mine by the name of Lass got into a confrontation with at a house party on New Years a couple of years ago. I'll preface this by saying this was the same New Years that Lass was feeling a bit uncomfortable in a crowd he didn't know all to well, so what does one naturally do? Well one starts to drink quicker than normal. So after downing an uncountable amount of brews, and now apparently feeling more relaxed, it was time to pass gas clearing the living room and dance floor out two times before midnight. And then my guest may or may not have started shaking up a bottle of champagne with 10,9,8,7....until one writer grabbed it from his hands with 3,2 before it was sprayed over the crowd like a Stanley Cup celebration. After, said guest got into a discussion with said left drawing about recently ran marathons and flattered her with "You don't look like you run marathons.." which if you didn't already know is a terrific pick up line. Said New Years guest was ushered out of the party 30min post ball drop almost to applause after throwing patio furniture off a 2nd story deck, accusing another guest of hating America, and finally groping towards one unmentioned not seen in a while hot but far more sober high school companion.

Neighborhood Watch..

For the past two and a half weeks there has been a red Chevy Aveo that has been parked right smack in front of my house. It has not moved. WTF. A couple days, fine. But two and a half weeks is starting to piss me off. We know whose car it is, it belongs to the wife of the neighbor across the street. So whats the deal? (with airplane peanuts??). The first week wasn't a problem. Evidenced by the "I'm not a Republican" and save the earth bumper stickers I thought that maybe she works on an election, and out fighting crime with Obama or Hill Dog. But now it's two and a half weeks and starting to get irritating and to the point where I want to ask the guy across the street whats up and to move it. Seriously people, if you're going backpacking in Europe - ya mind parking it in your f-ing garage? You think you would want to as it has luckily stayed put through a snow emergency plowing. Whats the deal hubby? Do I need to report this? (long term residential parking is not exactly legal) Is she out on a fishing trip with Scott Peterson?
But if this is legit and lets say she didn't leave her husband and is just out on a plastic surgery vacation in the Caribbean or something - I know exactly why it is parked on our side of the street - because every sensible person on our block parks on our side of the street. Why you may ask? Because of one crazy ass old lady. Every neighbor four houses on each side of her parks on our side of the street. She is a prime example of why elderly drivers need to go. Up until a couple months ago she owned a Buick LaSaber. This car was beat to shit. It looked like she took it to a monster truck rally and lost a demolition match to Megasarus. Her back and font bumpers smashed, side paneling smashed, pieces sticking out, no right mirror, left mirror was on - but hallow from clipping something.. She gets in her car, and swerves down the street where ever she needs to go and just smashes cars along the way like bumper bowling. In front of her house is no joke a 100yd runway for her now - she confidently blazes in, with little brake she rolls the front wheel up over the curb and back down and then stops. When I first moved in I thought the car belonged to a drunk teenager, as I saw it parked with one wheel about a foot onto the curb. Rough night buddy. But now I'm scared. So every couple weeks there would be a new dent - last summer she plowed into our next door neighbors Excursion which was parked. No note. Only unknowing visitors park by her house. So a couple months ago, around Thanksgiving we saw her obviously neglecting family circled around her car. Wow... granny is really smacking the shit out of this one.. What should we do? Take her car away because she is obviously a hazard on the road, and we are concerned for her and the general public's safety? Nope..I know.. we'll just buy her a new one!!! Can you believe it? So now granny has a sleeker, smaller car, the old one was just too bulky. Thats the problem. You know my theory? I think Granny is getting boozed up at her bridge club. It's pretty sad, but I am close to reporting her too. Last year, in a six month span, I had to AVOID getting hit by three elderly drivers. One from swerving, two where I just saw the blue hair and knuckles coming my way at an intersection - it was my turn to go but I waited, and what do you know the crow just b-lines right through a stop sign. Get them off the road. YPAED. Young People Against Elderly Drivers. My new organization. Old people whine about their rights getting taken away. Boo hoo. You have lived your entire life - but face it - right now you're pretty much a drunk driver, and you want to risk the lives of people, children who have not had the same opportunities and life experiences as you because in the sunset of your life you want to drive yourself to Bakers Square. Because that and church are the only places old people go. Bakers Square should be required to operate Metro Mobility shuttles. I don't think old people are as sweet as their reputation precedes them - I see right through their charades. Many are just as selfish as everyone else and need to be regulated. If I don't take a stance on this, just who the hell is? Don't come crying to me when you get into a head on collision with Gladys on a one way street. Consider yourself warned.

Mikenastics Pic

As you can see Mike has always been an elite backyard gymnast.

Figuring this all out

Who blogs? Really. Me now I guess. This may be worse in my book than myspace. With encouragement to start one of these, I am trying to find the reason to start documenting online what I do, rather than just doing more of what I do. Which is pretty awesome might I add. This feels like a first step in the general direction of eHarmony. What does one blog about? What do you want to read about? I don’t read these. Random thoughts of my mundane day? Mundane squared? Are blogs some avenue for people to express themselves and their take on the world that generally goes unnoticed? Probably for good reason I say. What crowd do I try to reach? Do you write to impress? Do I start blogging about the gourmet dinners I make? About the fancy tiramisu I made with Jules the other day in home ec?
Or do I keep it real and write about how I handle a blender like the conductor of the Boston symphonic. Chug a beer faster than gravity. Or do you just go on random Seinfeld like rants? Whaaats the deeeaaal with aaiirrplane peeeanuts? Whats the ddeeeaaall with pop up ads? Is the end result of blogging just solidifying to your base readers, most who already know you, that you have time on your hands?
Do I really want so start documenting things that can just be linked back to me at some future point? In the realm of those stupid asses on Facebook/Myspace who post college photos of them doing gravity bongs in their basement wash tub and Krissy wrestling with her friend Katelin in their panties back after bar close because they are going cray-zay that evening and then wonder why upon graduation their resume, post background check, says hello to the paper shredder faster than a Lohan rehab stint.
I truly enjoyed the pics of your warlocks from your infamous night out former Miss Nevada, but those can’t be helping you out right now. I try to stay off the grid as much as possible. A Blockbuster account was a stretch.
With so many other talented writers out there, why should I encourage someone to spend their precious time reading my random thoughts? I guess because I’ve got some good stories and a knack for putting my foot in my mouth. I think all can enjoy some humor in that, and I enjoy sharing when I can. In an elective poetry class in college, Uncle Monty was odd man out, a chipper business student surrounded entirely by English majors and a morbid teacher, weak from a diet of booze and marb reds. Boxeaters, manhaters, emus, cutters with black boots and fingernails, all writing about death, breakups, their periods and the bleakest outlook on humanity a sheltered private University student can offer…I aced the class with poems about Jerry Springer, getting shot down, fear of our impending NASCAR nation and my gigantic tool of a roommate. Making some of the creepies laugh for probably the first time in a while. So, if you want to keep reading about the little slivers of gold that keep me going and a few good stories, I’ll do what I can to crack a smile with a glimpse into my days. I hope you enjoy.