29 July 2010
12 July 2010
Not Quite What The Fuckery
What I want to know is, WHERE WERE ALL THESE PEOPLE IN THE 80S? DID NONE OF THEM SEE LABYRINTH? DO THEY KNOW WHO DAVID BOWIE IS?
He definitely should've been in this commercial.
01 July 2010
27 May 2010
25 May 2010
Kind of a disappointment in terms of seriousness
Dear parents, this is what I want to do with my life:
19 May 2010
15 May 2010
I Have 56 More Minutes of Being A Teenager
I mentioned to my dad today that it was my last day as a teenager, and he said, "...Oh. Right. I always thought that being a teenager stopped at 18." Bear in mind that my father is a very smart man; he has a PhD and is a mathematical genius. However, when it comes to intuition or anything having to do with... emotions, he is borderline retarded.
Birthdays have always been important in my life in that most of them have been TERRIBLE. The worst was my eighteenth, when I got pneumonia, received no antibiotics, missed prom, my birthday, and the Dresden Dolls—I'm the most broken up about this, to be honest— and spent a week on the couch thinking that I was going to die. Last year, I did nothing. All my friends were still gone or studying for finals, and the only thing "special" that happened was I went to a show. Which, if you know me, you know isn't at all special.
So now I'm turning twenty in 45 minutes. To me, this means I have to put away childish things and genuinely be an adult (though I've been doing that since I was about 16). In general, I feel a bit ripped off. I never really got to enjoy my childhood, I don't think. I learnt too early that the world is an awful, unfair place and there is so much to WORRY about.
It's a strange adage that people say, these are the best years of your life, usually referring to high school or college. If this is the case, I won't be sticking around to see it get worse. On the other hand, certain friends of mine remind me that things can only get better. So with this contradictory information, I sit drinking on train tracks. I've got enough alcohol in my system that I'm considering lying back and waiting for the train to come, but not so much that I don't know what a terrible idea that is.
I would like to note, THAT IS A METAPHOR. My death certificate is not going to read "Cause of death: ripped asunder and decapitated by train." Hopefully. I don't even know where any train tracks are around here.
Anyway, I'm getting off point. In 32 minutes, I am no longer a teenager. Am I wrong in considering 20 the cut-off for stupidity? Maybe a different kind of idiocy. Also, I don't have any plans for tomorrow, or the day after, or the next week.
Happy fucking Birthday to me.
Birthdays have always been important in my life in that most of them have been TERRIBLE. The worst was my eighteenth, when I got pneumonia, received no antibiotics, missed prom, my birthday, and the Dresden Dolls—I'm the most broken up about this, to be honest— and spent a week on the couch thinking that I was going to die. Last year, I did nothing. All my friends were still gone or studying for finals, and the only thing "special" that happened was I went to a show. Which, if you know me, you know isn't at all special.
So now I'm turning twenty in 45 minutes. To me, this means I have to put away childish things and genuinely be an adult (though I've been doing that since I was about 16). In general, I feel a bit ripped off. I never really got to enjoy my childhood, I don't think. I learnt too early that the world is an awful, unfair place and there is so much to WORRY about.
It's a strange adage that people say, these are the best years of your life, usually referring to high school or college. If this is the case, I won't be sticking around to see it get worse. On the other hand, certain friends of mine remind me that things can only get better. So with this contradictory information, I sit drinking on train tracks. I've got enough alcohol in my system that I'm considering lying back and waiting for the train to come, but not so much that I don't know what a terrible idea that is.
I would like to note, THAT IS A METAPHOR. My death certificate is not going to read "Cause of death: ripped asunder and decapitated by train." Hopefully. I don't even know where any train tracks are around here.
Anyway, I'm getting off point. In 32 minutes, I am no longer a teenager. Am I wrong in considering 20 the cut-off for stupidity? Maybe a different kind of idiocy. Also, I don't have any plans for tomorrow, or the day after, or the next week.
Happy fucking Birthday to me.
07 May 2010
Alright, so here's the actual video I wanted to post
I was challenged by @dboling03 to "write/record a song using only voice and everyday household items as instruments. Not real ones" - Challenge completed!
I'm on a cute-British-boys-who-are-witty-and-sing bender, alright?
06 May 2010
So It's Almost My Birthday
Really, this is all I want. Either the song or a cute British boy. Both work.
26 April 2010
15 April 2010
A Matter of Present and Future
It is a tragedy and a travesty, in my humble opinion, that a mind with so much potential for brilliance is going to waste due to the utter BOREDOM it is subjected to.
I've never been one to explicate on my own genius— that's just not how I think— but since the commencement of my attending college, I have grown lazy and progressed in deep, unadulterated BOREDOM with academic life. I've been on the Dean's List for all three semesters and have exerted exactly no effort in attaining such a laureate. Every day I sit in a class and either stare off into space, creating greater products than those I am forced to churn out and turn in, or am outraged at the utter STUDPIDITY of content, verbiage, and company that occurs.
I don't declare it often, but the events of the last year and a half have slammed the truth into my face repeatedly so that, barring flagrant denial, I cannot ignore it: I am brilliant and that is wholly uncommon. The common man is a imbecile and a fool and I am completely BORED by him.
In theory my aspirations are not terribly high: learn something every day, never stop, and start an at-least moderately successful band with whom I could tour the country and, with time, the world. Most would view this last as idealistic and whimsical.
However, aside from my intelligence that goes vastly ignored, I also possess a certain amount of talent, which also sadly goes underappreciated. I learnt to sing from Freddie Mercury, Roger Daltrey, and John Lennon. Through many a chorus, musical, and memorisation of CD, I expanded my taste and vocal range. My heart, however, remains firmly rooted with rock and roll.
Here, however, my dilemma elucidates itself. I'm still in college, with no degree to speak of. I'm not learning much of anything, but to get a decent job, I need a degree, and to support a band, I need a job. There are no contemporary music schools with the programs I desire in the Bay Area. I have discovered some in New York, Hollywood, and Orlando, but none are San Francisco. Thus I must either compromise my one true desire and put a dream on a shelf, or abandon the city full of such fascinating people and communities for another far away where I will know no one.
No one can make this decision but me, and I flounder and panic and shut down when faced with life-altering decisions. Honest advice would be appreciated, but please, keep your selfish intentions. Twofacedness will only push me further in the direction of leaving.
I've never been one to explicate on my own genius— that's just not how I think— but since the commencement of my attending college, I have grown lazy and progressed in deep, unadulterated BOREDOM with academic life. I've been on the Dean's List for all three semesters and have exerted exactly no effort in attaining such a laureate. Every day I sit in a class and either stare off into space, creating greater products than those I am forced to churn out and turn in, or am outraged at the utter STUDPIDITY of content, verbiage, and company that occurs.
I don't declare it often, but the events of the last year and a half have slammed the truth into my face repeatedly so that, barring flagrant denial, I cannot ignore it: I am brilliant and that is wholly uncommon. The common man is a imbecile and a fool and I am completely BORED by him.
In theory my aspirations are not terribly high: learn something every day, never stop, and start an at-least moderately successful band with whom I could tour the country and, with time, the world. Most would view this last as idealistic and whimsical.
However, aside from my intelligence that goes vastly ignored, I also possess a certain amount of talent, which also sadly goes underappreciated. I learnt to sing from Freddie Mercury, Roger Daltrey, and John Lennon. Through many a chorus, musical, and memorisation of CD, I expanded my taste and vocal range. My heart, however, remains firmly rooted with rock and roll.
Here, however, my dilemma elucidates itself. I'm still in college, with no degree to speak of. I'm not learning much of anything, but to get a decent job, I need a degree, and to support a band, I need a job. There are no contemporary music schools with the programs I desire in the Bay Area. I have discovered some in New York, Hollywood, and Orlando, but none are San Francisco. Thus I must either compromise my one true desire and put a dream on a shelf, or abandon the city full of such fascinating people and communities for another far away where I will know no one.
No one can make this decision but me, and I flounder and panic and shut down when faced with life-altering decisions. Honest advice would be appreciated, but please, keep your selfish intentions. Twofacedness will only push me further in the direction of leaving.
23 March 2010
I Don't Remember When I Stopped
"The first God I remember was a Santa Claus God,
who you only turn to around
Christmas time, who you tried to butter up,
and you got mad at if you didn't get what you wanted.
That didn't make sense.
I knew if there was a God, he could see through us,
like we were made out of cellophane, like he could stare directly into our hearts,
the way we look into an aquarium,
like he'd know what was floating around in there,
like he were the one feeding it.
Then there were those people who used god to threaten you,
saying "you'd better be careful- God's watching,"
like God was some badass hillbilly sitting on some cloud,
with some binoculars, a cotton candy beard and a shotgun.
Then there were those people who had God's name on a bumper sticker,
like he was running for president.
And sometimes those people would cut you off on the freeway and give you the finger,
which is very different than lending a hand.
Then there were people on television,
dressed in weird clothes and scary make-up,
SWEARING that they had the secret to God,
like god was a keyhole their eye was pressed to it,
and if I gave him some money they'd let me look,
and I could see God just hangin' around in his boxers,
and though I liked the idea of spying on God,
I began to wonder if the world would be a better place if the Romans had just put up
with Jesus and let him die of old age...
And then there were the football players,
kneeling down in front of everybody, thanking God,
like he was their best friend,
but then they'd jump up and spike the ball yelling, "I'm number ONE!!",
and that confused me,
for if you're number one,
then what number is God??
Then I saw politicians trotting God out on a leash,
like a racehorse they wanted to hop on and ride to the finish-line.
But if they lost, it would be GOD's fault,
and God would be the donkey they'd pin their problems on,
and that was very nice of God,
to be both a racehorse
and a donkey.
And then there were those who said,
"You'd better be good on earth, if you wanna get into heaven,"
Like heaven was the United States, and the Earth was Mexico,
and angels were the Border Patrol.
Like when you die,
you sit in a parked car on the outskirts of Heaven, the engine idling,
your soul in the back-seat in one of those kennels used to carry small dogs on an airplane,
as you listen to the radio,
hearing the voices of all the people you ever wronged testify against you.
And then there's the church which was like this cafeteria,
where they serve God to you on these very un-Godlike plates,
but I wanted my God PURE, not watered down by humans.
So I had one of those catastrophe gods- you know, the one you called in an emergency,
like God was the National Guard you call on to clean up the earthquake of your life.
So I got drunk one night,
drove home, passed out behind the wheel,
and woke up, going 60mph straight at a brick wall.
I slammed on the brakes, my heart banging like a wrecking-ball in my chest,
staring at death's face,
close enough to see that we had the same cheek-bones.
Now I have a God who's like a mechanic who can fix anything.
So, when I wanna chew somebody's head off like a salt-water taffy,
or amputate my DNA, or open my wrists like windows that have been painted shut,
I just put my soul into a box, like a busted computer, and haul it in.
And He never asks to see my paperwork,
or says that my warrenty has expired.
And I walk out feeling better.
And I don't care if He doesn't exist.
-Jeffrey McDaniel"
who you only turn to around
Christmas time, who you tried to butter up,
and you got mad at if you didn't get what you wanted.
That didn't make sense.
I knew if there was a God, he could see through us,
like we were made out of cellophane, like he could stare directly into our hearts,
the way we look into an aquarium,
like he'd know what was floating around in there,
like he were the one feeding it.
Then there were those people who used god to threaten you,
saying "you'd better be careful- God's watching,"
like God was some badass hillbilly sitting on some cloud,
with some binoculars, a cotton candy beard and a shotgun.
Then there were those people who had God's name on a bumper sticker,
like he was running for president.
And sometimes those people would cut you off on the freeway and give you the finger,
which is very different than lending a hand.
Then there were people on television,
dressed in weird clothes and scary make-up,
SWEARING that they had the secret to God,
like god was a keyhole their eye was pressed to it,
and if I gave him some money they'd let me look,
and I could see God just hangin' around in his boxers,
and though I liked the idea of spying on God,
I began to wonder if the world would be a better place if the Romans had just put up
with Jesus and let him die of old age...
And then there were the football players,
kneeling down in front of everybody, thanking God,
like he was their best friend,
but then they'd jump up and spike the ball yelling, "I'm number ONE!!",
and that confused me,
for if you're number one,
then what number is God??
Then I saw politicians trotting God out on a leash,
like a racehorse they wanted to hop on and ride to the finish-line.
But if they lost, it would be GOD's fault,
and God would be the donkey they'd pin their problems on,
and that was very nice of God,
to be both a racehorse
and a donkey.
And then there were those who said,
"You'd better be good on earth, if you wanna get into heaven,"
Like heaven was the United States, and the Earth was Mexico,
and angels were the Border Patrol.
Like when you die,
you sit in a parked car on the outskirts of Heaven, the engine idling,
your soul in the back-seat in one of those kennels used to carry small dogs on an airplane,
as you listen to the radio,
hearing the voices of all the people you ever wronged testify against you.
And then there's the church which was like this cafeteria,
where they serve God to you on these very un-Godlike plates,
but I wanted my God PURE, not watered down by humans.
So I had one of those catastrophe gods- you know, the one you called in an emergency,
like God was the National Guard you call on to clean up the earthquake of your life.
So I got drunk one night,
drove home, passed out behind the wheel,
and woke up, going 60mph straight at a brick wall.
I slammed on the brakes, my heart banging like a wrecking-ball in my chest,
staring at death's face,
close enough to see that we had the same cheek-bones.
Now I have a God who's like a mechanic who can fix anything.
So, when I wanna chew somebody's head off like a salt-water taffy,
or amputate my DNA, or open my wrists like windows that have been painted shut,
I just put my soul into a box, like a busted computer, and haul it in.
And He never asks to see my paperwork,
or says that my warrenty has expired.
And I walk out feeling better.
And I don't care if He doesn't exist.
-Jeffrey McDaniel"
16 March 2010
I quote the Matches at least once a day
A clawed karmic kafuffle
What can you compromise besides everything?
Your pride, your goals, your fetish for faux-fettering footwear
Your sidewalk, your sanity, your satiable sonic serenade
But should you?
Should you give up happiness for bragging rights?
You might have a college degree, but it’s still useless.
You might have a year less than your peers,
But where’s the point if you’ve got no drive or ambition
Damning dereliction of destroyed deities
Don’t think you’ll ever grow up
What am I doing with my life?
What can you compromise besides everything?
Your pride, your goals, your fetish for faux-fettering footwear
Your sidewalk, your sanity, your satiable sonic serenade
But should you?
Should you give up happiness for bragging rights?
You might have a college degree, but it’s still useless.
You might have a year less than your peers,
But where’s the point if you’ve got no drive or ambition
Damning dereliction of destroyed deities
Don’t think you’ll ever grow up
What am I doing with my life?
10 March 2010
I Do Know HTML...
#2E8B57 |
Your dominant hues are cyan and green. Although you definately strive to be logical you care about people and know there's a time and place for thinking emotionally. Your head rules most things but your heart rules others, and getting them to meet in the middle takes a lot of your energy some days. Your saturation level is higher than average - You know what you want, but sometimes know not to tell everyone. You value accomplishments and know you can get the job done, so don't be afraid to run out and make things happen. Your outlook on life can be bright or dark, depending on the situation. You are flexible and see things objectively. |
27 February 2010
If I had an iPhone
I'd do things like look up the 23 flavours in Dr. Pepper!
1. Amaretto
2. Almond
3. Blackberry
4. Black Licorice
5. Carrot
6. Clove
7. Cherry
8. Caramel
9. Cola
10. Ginger
11. Juniper
12. Lemon
13. Molasses
14. Nutmeg
15. Orange
16. Prune
17. Plum
18. Pepper
19. Root Beer
20. Rum
21. Raspberry
22. Tomato
23. Vanilla
...Tomato? Really?
1. Amaretto
2. Almond
3. Blackberry
4. Black Licorice
5. Carrot
6. Clove
7. Cherry
8. Caramel
9. Cola
10. Ginger
11. Juniper
12. Lemon
13. Molasses
14. Nutmeg
15. Orange
16. Prune
17. Plum
18. Pepper
19. Root Beer
20. Rum
21. Raspberry
22. Tomato
23. Vanilla
...Tomato? Really?
09 February 2010
Bitches Ain't Shit But Hos And Tricks
"Casual Sex"
“As far as I’m concerned, being any gender is a drag.” - Patti Smith
07 February 2010
"Like the Matches. On crack."
Got this from Heather. My reaction: "It's perfect! It's bizarre and awesome and fantastic and a little disturbing! I love it!"
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