LIBERDAD!!!

I'm not yet released from this Guantanamo Bay of a trig course just yet (good thing they didn't feed me cock-meat sandwiches. Harold and Kumar Escape from Gitmo was fucking gross), but the point is that I will be in just mere hours, after I curb stomp the final in the face. I will have a month of freedom to pursue my interests before I'm black-bagged and deported back to Gitmo wherein I'll probably be fed more than one cock-meat sandwich by the sheer amount of courses I'll be taking on top of prepping for SATs, starting up college apps, and planning Interact shit. I anticipate the game. That being said, August will thusly be a month where I chill out and do nothing but hone the one thing I'm good at - writing. Here's a tentative schedule:

Finish Futility of a Secondhand Emotion: A Romantic Comedy in Five Acts.

This play of mine is a fictionalized account of my early high school years up to the present set in a wealthy 19th century town. I, of course, am the fictionalized main character with a few of my best friends as other main characters. The play chronicles all our struggles and emotions, mixed in with rampant sarcasm, colorful metaphors, and pretentious 19th century language. I'm trying for accuracy here, in terms of history, as well as characterization, so I'll be previewing this among those who have big parts in it. If you don't, fuck off and stop bothering me.

Finish Genghis Kahn of the Mountain Goats.

At this point, I'm not sure what this is anymore. It sure as shit isn't a novel, more of a novella, maybe? Even that's pushing it. I recently gave this to an EXTREMELY hot English teacher to read and determine whether or not I should continue with it, and because I'm a mindless drone who will do anything for the approval of a beautiful woman, I decided to oblige her. I have some ideas about where to go with it, but I just got to summon up the inspiration.

Start and finish short story: Machinations of the Mind: A Cautionary Tale

While I was sleeping, I thought of an idea for a short story (All my premises and ideas and inspirations come when I don't think about them!). I remembered Ms Michelle assigned the class to write a story about how we as a species rely too much on technology. My hackneyed attempt involved a mixture of homicidal robots, a poor knowledge of computer viruses, vengeful CEOs, and characters stolen from the Tom Clancy universe, but then again, I was 12 when I wrote it, so bugger off. Instead, last night, I thought about how a crazy guy (what's with me an my fetish with insanity?), or at least a guy kept on the very precipice of sanity by his television, car, etc would react to all these modern conveniences being taken away. I thought this would be a great premise for a short story, so I'll probably start work on this soon too.

Read the stack of books I got from the library, as well as Watchmen.

I got a metric fuck-ton of books from the library recently and I've only finished two, The Old Man and the Sea and Cyrano de Bergerac, the latter being one of the finest plays I've ever read, and the former being so slow and boring, Ben Stein wouldn't read it. I also started Heart of Darkness, but that might as well be renamed Peter Jackson's King Kong for how long it takes for things to start rolling. So I gave up on that too. I still have Cat's Cradle, A Clockwork Orange, One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, and The Jungle to read. Cat's Cradle is already turning me off; it's classic Vonnegut, which I'm still sure isn't a good thing considering how fucking weird he is. The rest I haven't even looked at. I also want to read Alan Moore's Watchmen , because the trailer for it was awesome, and it's like the greatest graphic novel of all time or something. I went to Borders yesterday and all of their copies were out. I was very sad :(

Do a fuckton more community service

I did Feed the Hungry the other day, it was fun, as much fun as you can have doing that kind of thing anyway, and ultimately fulfilling. While I would like to avoid associating with people (my ideal summer job is a stockboy!), I do want to do more community service. The lady who took my applications for RYLA offered me and Austin a "job" as a docent for the Mission San Jose museum, which would consist of guiding a tour for a bunch of little shit-nosed, snivelly nine-year olds. I'm mostly interested in learning about the Native Americans that used to live here, but the fact that learning about them and regurgitating what I've learned for community service and college recommendations sounds like the bomb. I'm definitely considering that.

And lastly:

Woo a girl

HA! As if. At least the other goals were semi-realistic, right? Besides, Princess already owns my heart, it's under contract for another few years before it expires and I can sue her for unpaid wages and cruel working conditions. Bitch.

PS. FREEDOM!!! It tastes so sweet! I got an A, forrizzle. What further brightened my day was when this stupid dumb cheating bitch got caught and O'Connell ripped up her test right there in front of the whole class. She was in tears as she walked out, it was brilliant. Am I cruel, or just a fan of schadenfreude? The two are interchangeable, to be honest with you.

Hey hey you you

i don't want to be your girlfriend, but I do want to inform my valuable audience I'm going on sabbatical. Yep, blogging allows for sabbaticals.

I'll post something when something particularly scintillating comes up.

PS. When you get on the wrong bus and go all the way down to Milpitas on accident, the panic generally saps you of all creative thought.

I'm a sellout.

I'm copping out today. This is going to be a brisk week, too much Trig, not enough Soul Calibur and Dark Knight. So here's something for you to read:

Self-depreciation the key to the art of seduction?

If such is the case, where's my harem? Come on now.

And here's something for you to watch:



And here's something for you to look and coo at:





PS. Guess who's giving up on Genghis Kahn of the Mountain Goats? I thought of a more entertaining thing to write - a romantic comedy play set in 19th century America. The characters should be...familiar. ;)

Cyrano de Bergerac

Someone recommended that I read an old French play called Cyrano de Bergerac due to its impressive ability to induce laughter and produce happiness. So then I went to the library and while scourging every shelf for something just half decent to read, I found a battered old copy, had a change of heart, and I picked it up. I let it sit there on my desk for several weeks before picking it up just yesterday morning.

I finished it in six hours.

There are few books that I gobble up in mere hours. Harry Potter and Calvin and Hobbes are examples of books that really suck you in, like a triple-cunted hooker. I found it even more amazing that I was engrossed by a play. I usually hate plays!

Anyway, Cyrano de Bergerac is based on the life of Cyrano de Bergerac, a French dramatist and duelist with an acerbic wit and painful heartache. While he kicks a supreme amount of ass, fencing a fatass while soliloquizing and drawing blood as soon as the refrain ends, Cyrano is also depicted as a self-doubting, tragic character, fearful that his big nose makes him incapable of being loved by any woman, despite his amazing ability to express his love.

Cyrano is in love with his distant cousin, Roxane, but because of his self-doubt and lack of confidence, he can't express his love to her. She loves a cadet in his company named Christian, who is handsome, yet unintelligent. Cyrano decides to act as a proxy and transfer his soul and wit into Christian's body, becoming an unstoppable juggernaut of beauty and intelligence so that Roxane will love Christian.

It is in this characteristic that Cyrano is so endearing. A man who can kick ass and take names at the drop of a hat isn't actually a cold-hearted killer out for blood. He's loving, more than us plebians anyway. Would any of us try to transplant our personalities and flesh-searing wit onto another person just for the sake of making another person happy? Who would be selfless enough to do that? Cyrano is just an amazing human being. And can you believe that he's real? This play was based on his life!

Great stories always have protagonists, or characters at least you can relate to. Such is the case with Cyrano de Bergerac. He's not a teenager with silly problems, but his sadness and self-doubt are easily relatable. Not to mention he writes poetry for ze ladies, does that sound familiar? ;). But my favorite thing about Cyrano de Bergerac is that he can write you a loving poem with one hand while slicing open your belly with another. That's just badass.

PS. Cyrano is also a lot like House. Hamlet is a lot like House too, but if you want to read about House in play format, Cyrano is a lot easier to understand. Of course, the character House is based on is most like House, to be honest.

I didn't swim because I was afraid of tiger sharks.

Yesterday's beach reunion was ace. I didn't develop hypothermia in the water or burn my feet off by walking on the Saharan sand, but I had a blast chilling with fools and collecting nametags (Fuck yeah, I'm the RZA!). Arguing fruitlessly with Justin about the immense sucktitude of Transformers and Shia LeBouf, leading into a heated shouting match about who's the best superhero, as well as screaming the lyrics to "Don't Stop Believin" and "Enter Sandman" were like fifty different kinds of awesome. It's possible to have fun in Santa Cruz without freezing your goddamn testicles off!

So let me talk to you about Santa Cruz!

I thought it was a pretty lame place the last time I was there, but considering I didn't do much, maybe I judged it a bit early. Maybe almost dying on the way there had something to do with it, but I'm not too sure. But what do I know?

I was driving back with a counselors (in Matt Shew's beautiful Lexus, by the way), and I saw that the surrounding neighborhood was very quaint, quiet, and the quintessence of "Sleepy Town" (like that "Q" action there, did you?). Combine that with the fact that the weather is almost perpetually sunny and you have most of a winner on your hands!

The rampant tourism and the unbelievably cold weather when it gets dark puts a damper on the parade, but I suppose they could be condoned. It's not like you have to party with douchebag tourists at night or anything. Unless you're a tour guide. In which case, you better kill yourself now because that's about as exciting a job as watching other people's nails grow.

PS. Such a filler entry. But I figured if I was going to talk about the Beach Reunion, I might as well continue with something relevant.

Kurt Suck-Bain

Being that I'm going to be gone all day at a beach thing, I wrote this entry the night before, posting it as I ran out the door. I've always wanted to express why I hate grunge music so much, so as to give my seething dislikes an air of legitimacy. And where else to start but Kurt Cobain's band, Nirvana? Sorry Princess, but unless you can offer me a lapdance while cooking me the most delicious steak in the world, I'm not exercising clemency. :]

Music from Seattle during the late 80's, early 90's falls under one category: grunge, a form of alt-rock that emphasizes apathetic lyrics, distorted guitar sound, and a distinct image of "I don't give a fuck what I look like." Most grunge artists only care about playing music, and that's admirable. The obnoxious glitz and glam of hair metal was cacophonous enough, but watching a series of androgynous men prance about while they squeal about love and happiness is akin to stuffing a pickaxe into your eyes and then pouring acid into your ears. But yeah, the cool thing about grunge musicians was that they didn't give a fuck, and it was different. Not to mention depressing.

And therein lies my problem with grunge music in general. I'm a fag when it comes to music, I judge more than just the euphoniousness of the sound, I judge originality of the lyrics as well as the energy and creativity of the song. In that sense then, Nirvana, and other bands like Seether and Creed lack energy and have the same apathetic lyrics (For god's sake, the classic anthem of grunge, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" repeats the word "Hello" like a billion fucking times). Of course, don't think I only hate grunge songs that do this. I'm highly critical of AC/DC and Dragonforce for being repetitive and unoriginal, though that's not to say all of their music is garbage. I guess what I'm saying is a lot of "stereotypical" grunge, so to speak, is abhorrent.

But reading my argument, I see that it's more like I don't like music that doesn't satisfy those three criteria. But I also realize I'm a hypocrite, because I have a soft spot for corny 80's love rock like this:



And a warm place in my cold heart for a song like this:



Seriously, though, Foreigner is fucking PUSHING IT. Next I'll be saying I like Duran Duran, harharhar. These songs have a ton of energy, but aren't creative in the least. So I suppose I enjoy songs with high intensity, something Creed, Nirvana, Seether, and Screaming Trees simply don't provide with their apathetic lyrics and guitars that sound desperately in need of some Zoloft.

PS. I absolutely love Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, and Stone Temple Pilots though. Their songs are actually varied though, with a wide range of topics encompassing child molestation, kids committing suicide, slavery, and Vasoline (anyone who knows what the fuck this song is about wins a prize, seriously, I can't make any goddamn sense of it).

Hail to the chief.

Election day is coming up in a few months, with the two big parties going head to head. You could also view it as one generation clashing with another, the younger, Internet-raised, self-enlightened, liberal douchemonkeys versus the older, obsolete, afraid-of-change, conservative dickholes in an epic, on stage, gladiatorial melee with the combatants being a young, spry, hopeful junior Senator from Illinois versus a former POW, flip-flopping, senile, fart with anger management problems. Guess who I want to president?

The way I see it, America is in a very large hole, one as deep as the vagina of Hera herself. Housing crisis, rampant inflation, selling several of your internal organs for a gallon of gasoline, and a quagmire of a war in country where the enemy isn't clearly defined. We need to get out of Hera's vagina before she's on her period. Because if we don't, we'll be up to our necks in menstrual blood, drowning. And once we drown, this supposed great nation will be utterly fucked.

If the introductory paragraph wasn't blunt enough, I want Obama to be president. At first, a few months ago, actually, I was afraid of his relative inexperience compared to Hill-Dogg or John McCain. But then I remembered that McCain served as senator for an untold amount of years and look at him now. He's a flip-flopping relic who doesn't even know how to use a computer. On top of that, he's been noted on the record of angry outbursts, calling his wife a "trollop" and a "cunt." Moreover, the policies he would enact as president are mere continuations of Dubya's dubious achievements. Again, he's said he wanted to stay in Iraq for a very long time, has provided no concrete plans to alleviate problems on the homefront, and is a general hypocrite and flip-flopper. If we don't know his position on certain issues, what exactly are we voting for here? He could claim to support Roe vs. Wade during his campaign to swing votes and then turn around and piss in those faces when he's in office! I appreciate John McCain's service to the country (he was a POW in Nam), and his experience has made him a relevant figure, but he just doesn't have the stones to fix what's broken. He simply does not have his priorities in order. I would think a military man who served in the quagmire of the Vietnam War would understand that staying in Iraq for a hundred years would be a very, very idiotic thing to do, especially in light of what bullshit has been plaguing America.

That being said, I'm not behind Obama 110%. Like most Democrats and liberals, I feel what he's preaching may be a bit idealist rather than concrete plans he can hammer out. He has made a lot of strides to prove he's got some meat on his bones, passing legislation that would improve our infrastructure, but I still can't shake the feeling that a lot of what he's saying would still be blocked in a partisan Congress and House of Reps. I support a lot of his positions, but disagree with a few of his foreign policy plans. Small surges in Afghanistan and seeking action outside of just sanctions with Iran are extremely abhorrent ideas. And while the genocide in Darfur is extremely unfortunate, let the UN Peacekeepers deal with it. What America needs is to reestablish its roots and get everything under control before we pursue other interests.

Right now, the economy needs to bounce back. The war in Iraq needs to end. Our debt needs to be reduced significantly. Greenhouse gas emissions need to be cut. Alternative, renewable energy sources must be uncovered and utilized. Dependency on foreign oil and oil in general needs to end. We need universal health care, funding for public education, and friendly relations with other nations. Is this possible? Maybe. Is it going to happen any time soon? Hell no. But it all begins with change. And Obama brings, ahem, change we can believe in.

PS. If Obama can convince my cynical ass that we can get out of this slump, you know he's doing something right.

Gay shit and feelings

Despite the depressing title that I blatantly stole from a friend's blog, I'm actually quite chipper. In the past few weeks, much has transpired, but being the oh-so thoughtful person I am, I've come to realize that there's nothing particularly wrong with me.

About two weeks ago I declared my undying, immortal, zombie love for a certain diminutive princess. It was a great weight off my chest, to be honest with you. I had liked her for like goddamn years so it was great to clear the air. She shot me down because she's a bitch (just kidding, <3), but I was surprised to find myself content with her decision anyway. Strangely enough, closure, so to speak, is so nice that everything else seems silly. But the official call was that we remain extremely close(;)) friends. I did tell her I would always be here, even if her parents want to emasculate me with a pair of salad tongs. They might have, allegedly saw a somewhat offensive Myspace with supposed racist and sexist comments. But that's all hypothetical and theoretical. Like quantum entanglement. But I digress.

With this occurrence, I also came to a realization that I'm old. Not in the sense that I'm a math teacher and feel like a relic of a bygone era when my students don't know what a 33 RPM record is, but I feel a lot older than I am. In my 17 years on this godforsaken earth, I haven't been chasing girls too much. I suppose I wanted to avoid that stereotype, of a teenager being a humping pile of uncontrollable hormones, which isn't anything negative. In fact, I applaud all who manage to...ahem, pick out the corsage properly by age 16. I think I've escalated myself, not sure if it's good or bad at this point, to a stage where I'm, hilariously, I thought when I first came to this conclusion, "Waiting for the right girl."

Let that soak in for a moment.

I'm fucking 16! I shouldn't be "waiting for the right girl" like a 20-something romantic who writes sensitive poetry and waxes nostalgic about the one good relationship he had years ago! I should be out there humping the legs of bitches, getting shot down on a regular basis instead of once every 16 years, and occasionally finding success when the girl's ugly and desperate enough!

But alas, that's what I am. I was waiting for the right person, biding my time, and treading the water to see if it was the right temperature. And Her Royal Highness was the perfect shark in the water to devour me messily :]. We were friends first, yeah, which I thought was a complete screw-up on my part, but is it so wrong to want to know someone well before you make a move? Yeah, the "Friend Zone" is always a hanging menace like a flock of starving vultures as you cross the Sahara Desert with naught but a piece of driftwood, but I dunno. If I like someone, getting to know them even better makes me like them even more. Which I think is a curse, and only occasionally a blessing. But my main point is, I feel out of place. I'm a goddamn teenager, shouldn't I be acting like one instead of a miserable, nearing middle-age guy? Granted, I'm still miserable, but that's beside the point. Bu I better lighten this paragraph up before you start pitying me. You earn the distinction, Princess, of being the only girl who I rely on for happiness. <3. That makes me sound like a dope fiend, but it's not like I consider you to be heroin or anything. Let's just say I'm an addict of many drugs, and you're the cocaine.

I just handed you more dominance and power on a goddamn silver platter. Now at least dance nakedly for me for a few minutes! :]

On a serious note(are you dancing yet?), my other revelation on this issue was that, "Do I really need a relationship to make me happy?" I figure I'm always miserable; nothing really keeps me happy for a long time. So by that logic, a relationship would probably provide me with some happiness for a short time, but like everything else I have, I would soon grow tired of it.

But at the same time, some scientists have said that human beings are different from inanimate objects! Crazy I know, but maybe that has something to do with it. I think that has some reasonable grounding. After all, I'm always in a jovial mood when with friends. Even if I'm playing something by myself and am joined by someone, whatever I'm playing is made more fun. On top of that, I like new things. I view every new thing as a game, something to play with. And a relationship would be a back and forth, sweatier, more erotic game of chess, at least in Princess Peach's case. I think I would want one, but at the same time, I wouldn't be upset if I weren't in one. But I still want one. Shit. But still, I'm in no rush, college is right around the corner. But I still want one. GIVE IT TO ME >:O

Although I am one of those "LOSER VIRGIN, HAHAHA" kids who didn't do shit in high school, I'm not exactly too miffed about it. I can take pride in knowing I'm at least not a super conservative cunt who focuses only on school. I can also enjoy the fact that whoever says that to me is an insecure pillock who needs to pull his head out of his ass before he chokes on his small intestine.

Anyway, that was the first time I've ever expelled my personal thoughts on this kind of thing. It's also quite liberating, to be honest, but I'm not too happy about it. I would be happy if her Majesty didn't have such a stick up her ass and would hurry up and see The Dark Knight with me, because I'm going through some serious fucking withdrawal now!

Eh, I wonder if any of this is at all rational.

PS. Sorry, no snarky PS comment today either. Come back when I'm not bone-dry out of funny. We'll get some in stock next week.

PPS. The names of people mentioned in this rant were changed to protect the innocent. But if you know me at all, you already know what I'm talking about. But if you know me, and don't know, and can't even hazard a guess, do me a big, huggy-wuggy favor and go lie down in the middle of Highway 17.

Genghis Khan of the Mountain Goats

I recently thought of a new idea for a story, and I wrote the first two chapters last night. Tell me how it is and whether I should continue pursuing it:

Day 324

They keep saying it’s going to be better. I know they’re lying. This is not medicine. This doesn’t taste like medicine; they’re lying to me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t belong here. I’m healthy; I need to get out of here.

This isn’t a hospital, this is a prison, to keep all of us crazies from hurting other people. But that’s not going to happen. My roommate Charlie is fine. All he ever does is hum anyway. I don’t think humming is going to hurt anyone. So why do they keep us in here?

I know I’m not sick and that’s all I hold on to. But more importantly, I hold onto the fact that I have a mission to complete. I was sent to purge this world of a great evil, I know it! I’ve felt it ever since I’ve been put in this hospital. These guys, these men in white shirts are His servants, I know it. I scream to them that they will be washed away in the holy light when the savior returns, for colluding with the horned beast. I knew that the time would soon come when I would break free from the shackles and complete my mission.

You see, what they don’t know is that I know what’s going to happen. I tried telling them many times that they will perish, but they never listen to me. They will die, and yet they face their own mortality with stolid faces and uncaring gazes. I tried warning others but they too seemed too embroiled with their own problems to recognize the coming cataclysm.

The flood will not only wipe the unclean from the earth but also liberate the pure and allow them to finish the mission with which they have been assigned. I have seen this vision in my sleep many times. I take the medicine they give me, they say it will make me sleep and I see within my mind’s eye: a great wall of water cleansing the earth, restoring the righteous and smoking the sinners. I know before long it will be over. I have prepared myself for the glorious hour of redemption. The purpose I have in life will be fulfilled.

I’ve made some plans for the day of reckoning. I made some weapons to prepare for the hunt with the Horned One, constructed from the knicknackeries that they give us. Plastic forks, spoons, cups, hairbands. I fashioned a makeshift spear from this stuff, a modest weapon for a servant of the mighty savior. This journal they let me keep has been very helpful in recording the arduous process of purification. All will know the great glories, the exact details of what I did, my mighty deeds.

When the world stops spinning, who will be there to mobilize it once more? I will rise to the challenge set upon me by my masters and annihilate that which stands in the way of progress!

The battle is only beginning, this is the way the world ends. Not with a whimper, but with the angry retribution of a thousand valkyries. This is the continuation of the Battle of Thermopylae! The foreign devils will meet their end, when we, the Chosen Warriors of his Almighty Army rise from the grave and ride once more! General Custer will be avenged, let the slaughter BEGIN.

So, tell me how it is and whether or not I should give up. Blog on my gay feelings (not feelings of homoeroticism, you cunt) tomorrow, unprecedented, eh?

PS. No clever PS comment today.

A list of people I hate

In this exciting sequel to "A list of people I admire," we travel down the opposite road, exploring a list of people I hate. I may just lump a bunch of people together or focus on one person, but make no mistake, the fury and anger that these people bring to my heart is so fiery you could cook a steak on it. So with that said, let us begin!

American socialites and superficial celebrities: I'm not exactly sure what these people have done to earn their fame; perhaps being a wasteful, repugnant, airheaded, wealthy dumbass are the required qualities. And admirable qualities they are, aren't they? So admirable that today's youth have taken after them, dressing like trollops, acting like superficial bitches, and generally being a bint. I honestly can't figure out how these cunts ever became famous and why the shit anyone cares. Is it because they have a lot of sex and video tape it? If that's the case, I should be rolling in a pile of money and paparazzi by now! (just not really :[)

Right Wing mouthpieces: Bill O Reilly and Glen Beck are just the beginning, in my opinion. Ever heard of John Hagee? Fred Phelps? These guys push a Christian extremist agenda so hard, Jesus sheds a lone tear in the afterlife. For fuck's sake, Phelps' church, the Westboro Baptist Church protests homosexuality by picketing the funerals of soldiers. That's just like fifty different kinds of fucked up. Not to mention these shitheads are calling for an agenda that would retard this nation 200 years. America sucks at the moment because the vines of Christianity and religious fervor are beginning to take hold. What would happen if our country had an official religion and was run by dicks like John Hagee. We'd be motherfucking Iran, that's what.

Uwe Boll: Remember when I didn't have to fear for my favorite video game franchises being bastardized by movie adaptations so sucky that a black hole couldn't escape them? Such fond memories I have of not having to watch Til Schweiger "act" like a character who was more wooden than that fence on Home Improvement. Every single one of Boll's movies are atrocious and a desecration of their original source material. It's saddening, really. On top of that, Boll has the chutzpah to scream angrily at his critics and challenge them to mortal kombat wherein these poor bastards, who have no prior experience are viciously beaten despite reassurances that they were going to have training. Really classy, you fucking sneaky German.

Chameleons: We all change ourselves based on who we're with, this is an undeniable fact of life. If you're with a person you don't know, you act in accordance a way that you think would be acceptable to them. Again, undeniable, we all do it. I'm talking about the chameleons who change so much, they might as well be Two-Face. One second you're talking to them and another second they turn around, 180 degrees, and become Don Juan or some shit, making you wonder if you were just talking to the same person or some Body Switcher that plans on viciously maiming you and cannibalizing your body as soon as they're done talking about throw pillows or something.

Parental "crusaders": In this day and age, it's understandable to be concerned about children seeing sex and violence in the media; I often don't let my younger cousins watch when I'm playing GTA4 or something (didn't expect that from me, did you!?). But there's a simple way to prevent your kids from being exposed to something you don't want them to see. READ THE BACK OF THE FUCKING BOX. The ESRB, MPAA, all that shit exists for a reason. Because you bitched about it hella years ago, and they finally caved and now you're bitching again. So instead of sitting on your fat ass and writing to Hilary Clinton or Jack Thompson about how you want legislation to ban video games, which will never happen, violations of the 1st Amendment generally have the that effect, get off the fucking couch and raise your mongrel devilspawn properly.

John Baczuk: No list of people I hate is going to be complete without this decrepit son of a bitch. It's been one year since he gave me a C, and I'm still extremely bitter about it. I'm more bitter at the fact that he gave me a C in English, my forte. But then I remember he grades more heavily on the silly red marks you draw in your paper and the way your staple is positioned then the actual fucking content. The least you could say about him is that he shocked me out of what little complacency I had, but in doing so destroyed all my confidence in my writing ability. Which is why I ask so many people for feedback when it comes to my pieces. I make a point of giving him a glare every time I see him around campus and loudly talking about how I'm glad I have a competent teacher this time around. I hope he shatters a hip as he's walking up the stage to accept his "Douchebag of the Century" award.

And of course, I hate all of you. Especially you. Yeah, you!

Just kidding, how could I hate a face like that? Er, faces. <3

PS. I haven't seen The Dark Knight in several days. I'm breaking out in hives and scratching my neck ceaselessly. Think something might be wrong with me?

PPS. I'm planning on writing an epic poem, sort of like Beowulf or The Odyssey about a crazy man who escapes from an asylum and travels through the Himalayas to hunt down an ibex. And this time, I'm going to fucking finish it.

A limerick

I am fucking exhausted, tired to the max
Perhaps I should not have tried to hump that sax
What I said about those prostitutes I retract
I was assaulted by so many ibexes, I had no time to react

I'll be back when I don't have cadaverous vitality (RIMSHOT)

PS. My math teacher is apparently a part-time sniper.

hello

Seven miles. AIDS walk.

For that shit, a cure better be found fucking soon

PS. My feet have removed themselves from my body and started their own body. With blackjack. And hookers.

I'm a man of my word.

This review contains minor spoilers.

Once in a lifetime does a piece of entertainment come along and cause you to question your standards. Perhaps it's some movie, some book that causes you to wonder if the bar can be raised any higher. The Dark Knight, Christopher Nolan's finest work thus far, not only achieves this lofty plateau, but also sets a new standard, for not only comic book movies, but film in general.

This sequel to the reboot of the Batman franchise, Batman Begins, is visionary. Nolan retains what was so entertaining about the first movie, doing away with the embarrassingly campy movies that were made by Joel Schumacher and embracing a dark and gritty portrayal of the Caped Crusader. Nolan's grim, almost noir, vision of Batman returns with a vengeance in The Dark Knight, painting an extremely compelling picture of Gotham City. As opposed to the colorful and almost silly version of Gotham in, say, Batman and Robin, Nolan's Gotham is decaying, about ready to eat itself from the rampant crime and corruption. Even though Christian Bale's performance as Batman and Heath Ledger's portrayal of the maniacal Joker are nothing short of amazing, Nolan's ability to make Gotham City feel like a real place, one about to tear itself apart, is just as impressive.

Of course, any review of The Dark Knight is going to talk about Heath Ledger's performance. My opinion on this is that Heath Ledger didn't play the Joker. The Joker played the Joker. It's so natural that it doesn't feel like an actor playing a role, it feels like they actually hired an escaped convict from Arkham Asylum to act as Batman's foil. Ledger's cackling insanity perfectly and precisely nails what makes the Joker so special. He's extremely crazy, but at the same time scheming and manipulative (heh, despite his claims to the contrary). What's impressive about the Joker is that he serves as Batman's opposite. They're two sides of a coin, they're fire and water, and they're order and chaos. And despite the Joker's insanity, you wonder throughout the movie whether or not he's really crazy, not inconsistency on Ledger's part, rather it's just more of that schizophrenia that manifests within the character. Would a loony be able to pull off these complicated schemes or is there something deeper within him?

Nolan also adheres to the "Two villains per movie" quota, throwing in the character of Harvey Dent, the man who becomes Two-Face. Aaron Eckhart's Harvey Dent is disturbing, and serves a greater point than just another villain. Dent, Gotham City's self-proclaimed "White Knight" is used as a pawn to prove that even the noblest men can be corrupted. Two-Face isn't used as a simple villain in the movie, he represents the lengths to which Batman won't go to fight crime, coldly executing crooked cops and criminals by leaving their fates up to chance. And while he may be a simple character in his methods and motivation, you can't help but sympathize with him, admiring the deep tragedy that has befallen the one legitimate ray of light in Gotham.

The rest of the cast are equally fascinating. Christian Bale plays the role of a conflicted and complicated Bruce Wayne extremely well. His portrayal makes you realize that Batman's just flesh and blood, despite being an immortal symbol of hope for Gotham. It makes his character all the more compelling.

The supporting cast are exceptionally strong as well. Michael Caine returns as Bruce Wayne's sardonically amusing butler Alfred Pennyworth, who serves as Bruce's father figure and adviser, striking another contrast between the Joker and Batman ("I hated my father!" cackles the Joker as he holds a knife to an old man's mouth). Morgan Freeman is equally amusing as Lucius Fox, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Gary Oldman plays a convincing Commissioner Gordon, and Maggie Gylenhaal makes the best of the role she's given as Rachel Dawes, doing a much better job than Katie Holmes did last time around.

Nolan's epic movie encompasses a wide range of themes that really make you think while delivering high-octane thrills and plenty of "whoah, did that really just happen" moments. Nolan manages to hit on how order cannot exist without chaos, how easily corruptible the human race is, and the "freaks" of society while meshing it seamlessly with high-speed chases, raw and gritty combat sequences, and deep and provoking dialogues; a feat to be admired.

When I left the theater at around 3:30 in the morning, I was trying to wrap my mind around what I had just seen. I tried to muster some flaw, some reason to believe it wasn't perfect. I'm usually extremely good at that kind of thing; I managed to criticize Batman Begins' schizophrenic action scenes and Katie Holmes' wooden acting, but I couldn't think of a single flaw. The extraordinarily talented cast, combined with Nolan's "haunting and visionary" direction and writing whips you into a maelstrom of emotions, resulting in a movie that can only be described as flawless.

PS. I was thinking of excluding a PS note today because I wanted the entry to be serious, but what fun would that be?

Total number of screenings since the movie came out: 2

Coming up next time...

Well, I saw The Dark Knight last night at midnight, lamentably not in an Imax theater, because the management are poofs, but it was quite an experience to behold anyway. I was planning on reviewing the movie, which I still plan to, after I remember how to write a critique, so I'm going to recount the experience instead.

So we get to the theater round 10:30, we walk in and figure "Wow, that line is longer than the welfare line in Compton, good thing we're seeing it in Imax." So we go get our tickets but the guy tells us they sold out weeks ago and we're going to have to settle for general theaters. Alright, fair enough, not much we can do. We go wait in line for a while and finally they let people in. But we were near the end of the line, so when we get into our theater...it's fucking packed. After hunting around the other theaters, we decide to settle into the fourth row, almost right in front of the huge fucking screen.

So after some ringtone fights, these little kids dressed up as the Joker went up and yelled that they wanted to do a pre-show. Turns out that pre-show was nothing more than them standing up there awkwardly not doing anything. The poor bastards were booed off. It gave me great pleasure and made up for the fact that my Sprite exploded.

So the movie starts and it's pretty much perfect and flawless and some other synonym, delivering me to the Promised Land and surrounding me with beautiful women (which is an ironic description because there was an especially repugnant hambeast sitting in front of me). Then we reach the end...and the fucking movie stops. Right at the fucking ending, man! The entire theater is outraged and yelling and shit. For a second, we think that was the actual ending, but turns out the projector got screwy. After about 15 minutes, the movie starts up again and cuts out again after about a minute. This time I got so livid, I screamed "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!?" not remembering there were kids in the theater (but then again, there were stoners who were talking loudly about blunts and people smoking, so a little profanity doesn't hurt that much!). And then the movie starts again, but the bottom half of the picture is on the top part of the screen, with a huge black line separating it.

Afterwards, we talked about how the management is going to fucking hear it. Good thing we left as soon as it was over, getting trampled to death by people dressed as characters from the Batman mythos would've been a terrible way to end the night.

PS. Yeah, there's no way in fucking hell I'm only seeing that movie once. A minimum of five times should suffice.

A list of people I admire

In this godforsaken world, there are few role models. Sure there's the occasional Martin Luther King Jr, but for the most part, the people on this earth are lonesome, predictable creatures that obey the basic rules of sociology, myself among them. But there are people I am in awe of, most of them fictional. Even if they're fictional, though, that doesn't mean they can't be role models, right? So let's begin:

Dr. Gregory House: This one is obvious. There's no person I love more than Dr. House. While he may be a misanthropic, cynical, rude sonofabitch, he's also brilliant, rational, and steadfast in his beliefs, and that's what I admire most about him. He doesn't change for anyone, his convictions cannot be broken and he'll go to extreme lengths to do the right thing. The show depicts him as this rugged antihero, but if his best qualities were to suddenly manifest in the world's population, the world would be a better place.

Bear Grylls: He's not fictional, so maybe you'll find me a bit more credible on this one. Bear Grylls exemplifies everything every young boy wants to be when they grow up. A savvy adventurer who experiences extreme thrills in the most beautiful places on earth while taking care of himself with nothing but a knife. He's intelligent, cool, collected, and can kill a stingray with a homemade spear. Who wouldn't love him? Besides stingrays. And maybe jaded Steve Irwin fans.

Batman/Bruce Wayne: Batman is the ultimate janitor; a ninja who uses fear, intimidation, and cutting edge technology to clean up the mean streets of Gotham City. But underneath that mask is a flawed man, traumatized by the murder of his parents. Everyone can relate to him; he's only a man, he has no powers, but at the same time, he's what everyone wishes they could be; a vigilante who takes action, striking at the heart of injustice and corruption: the shining example of change. The Dark Knight is ironically the light in Gotham.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: My favorite president of all time is also one of the few people I look up to. FDR is pure determination, grit, and badassery. This man was stricken with polio and still managed to steer the United States out of the Great Depression and building up a basis for the infrastructure we have today. Sure, a couple of his decisions were dubious, like the internment of Japanese civilians, but there's no denying that he changed the Oval Office forever. More than that, he showed Americans that the only thing to fear is fear itself. Yeah, you don't even need to fear polio. Or Japanese kamikaze fighters.

Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw: Video game journalism, and journalism in general, I suppose, has been spotty the past few years, with sites selling review scores and favorable coverage to publishers; you don't know who to trust anymore. But Yahtzee says "Fuck off, you sell-out twatmonkeys." Besides being side-splittingly hilarious and incredibly witty, Yahtzee's brutal honesty and journalistic integrity is something to be admired. He may be a video game journalist, but FOX News and the like could take a few cues from this callipygian superman.

Also, I challenge you to watch his review of Guitar Hero 3 and not laugh:



Buckethead: Buckethead is one of my favorite guitarists, and rightfully so. His music encompasses a wide variety, from DJ scratching to funk. His varied and impressive musicianship aside, Buckethead says things through his songs that I wish I could express. He dedicates songs to his parents, his loved ones, and through that you see he's a really nice guy, even if he's dressed like an even crazier version of Michael Myers. Rock on, Buckethead, rock on.

And of course, I love all of you who have been putting up with the bullshit I spew on this blog for the past month. Especially you <3. But not you. Yeah, fuck you.

PS. I was going to put Adolph Hitler on this list just for shits and giggles. But that would be mighty insensitive of me, wouldn't it? Good thing I'm so fucking sensitive then.

PPS. It's never too soon for Steve Irwin jokes.

It is nearly time!

Let us pray for Christopher Nolan to deliver us from another shitty Joel Schumacher movie. For this, we give our thanks.

THE BAT-POCALYPSE IS NIGH, SUCKAS!

PS. This movie better get the taste of Get Smart out of my mouth. If not, I'm going to need a septic tank's worth of Listerine.

For the nerds

I'm going to keep this nice and brief, like quickee sex. I shall rant about the first two days of E3, very quickly.

Microsoft's press conference was quite boring, even worse than last year, which is saying a lot considering they had Jeff Bell of all people speaking. The redesign of the Dashboard to make it even simpler (didn't think that was possible) sounds alright, but the Avatar system sounds retarded. The Mii system isn't exactly the key to the Wii's success, what's the point of copying it? The new eight-person chat sounds cool, but it was something they should've implemented in the first place. The Netflix thing sounds kinda superfluous, and the lack of any exciting announcements served only to drive a nail into this conference. But hey, at least us 360 owners are getting a bigger hard drive and a watered-down, 12 disc version of Final Fantasy 13, right?

I admire Sony stepping up their game this year, although the delay to Playstation Home is a bit disheartening. That's not to say what they showed wasn't impressive. PSN is getting a kick in the pants starting soon, competing with XBL Marketplace, giving it a huge run for it's money. On top of that, the library of noteworthy PS3 games seems to be mounting too. I also thought they had all but abandoned the PSP, but sheer number of games coming out for it in such a short time really put to rest all those doubts, especially considering the talent behind the people crafting these games (Resistance: Retribution!). More PSP and PS3 bundles have been announced, complete with price drops. Top it all off with the announcement trailer of God of War 3 (a series I personally abhor, but is a big deal in terms of first party developers), and Sony's looking to regain that foothold they lost in between consoles.

In terms of appealing to the core gamer, I lose more and more faith in Nintendo each day. Their conference was littered with nothing but inane peripherals, asinine gimmicks, and simplistic gameplay, fun perhaps for ten minutes, but has nil long-term appeal. The one exception is Animal Crossing, which is coming out in 08, which I suppose is a pretty big deal, again in terms of first party exclusives, but that's one fucking game. No further details of what could be their greatest title ever, MadWorld either. But the Capcom conference isn't until tomorrow, I don't think.

/nerd

PS. The announcement of the Rock Band 2 tracklist was probably more entertaining than anything the Big Three could give us. So much good shit there that the duds like Drain Me, Almost Easy, and One Step Closer seem decent by comparison!

Holy fucking shit

There will be days where I feel so unbelievably lazy and devoid of creative thought that I won't even write you a poem (with certain exceptions!). I will however, provide you with something to read.

Man cuts off his head with a chainsaw

Jesus H. Christ in a bucket of a fried chicken.

PS. Last Thursday I lost my watch. I put it on a stack of papers and let the fan blow in its direction. I went into my room for about an hour and when I came back, it was gone, and papers were littered everywhere. I said to myself "eh, I'll find it later." Last night, I decided that I would find the watch or die trying. It wasn't in the vicinity of my desk, so I deduced it must've fallen into the trash can I keep near my desk. So I rifled through the absolutely abhorrent trash bin outside and found it at the bottom. That may or may not have been worth the effort.

And now, the thrilling conclusion...

You know, I thought I had expelled all my thoughts on asceticism last night, but turns out I still have a few nuggets on it, kind of like someone taking a shit, thinking they've finished, but end up running to the bathroom five minutes later. But seriously, describing asceticism and contrasting it with materialism is all fine and good, but what about actually pursuing the lifestyle? Is it possible? Is it fulfilling, and is it something you can actually go through with?

The realism of pursuing the life of an ascetic is very possible, but so is pulling an 18-wheeler with nothing but your penis. Christopher McCandless, the man who gave up all his material possesions to live in the Alaskan wilderness pursued a life similar to Siddhartha's. The only difference? The dumb fuck died of starvation. I admire his ideals and his conviction to go through with a seemingly idyllic lifestyle, but this goes to show you, natural selection is still with us.

I suppose the point I'm trying to make is that I don't think there's such a thing as "pure" asceticism. You will always need food, you will always need water. Sure, you can hunt for it, you can collect it from a river. But you could always get zoonotic infections and amoebiasis too. On top of that, anyone raised in a materialistic culture, even if they hate it, have relied on some piece of technology at some point; cell phones, cars, computers, whatever. There's no way to fully sever yourself from the chains of materialism without cutting off your own arm in the process. You get what I mean.

Asceticism, in its purest form, like heroin, can be great. But like 100% pure heroin, it doesn't exist. Or at least, it's so rare, it's not worth trying to find it, otherwise you'll end up dead. So don't go into a shady nightclub in the Golden Triangle asking for asceticism. Or heroin. Because you won't find it. You'll only find death, or a severe beating.

PS. The AIDS walk is coming up and I need to get in shape for it, so there's a chance that there might not be any entries in the next few days.

What? Did you want a funny comment? Am I funny? Funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny? How the fuck am I funny, what the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what's funny!

PPS. Goodfellas is the greatest mobster movie in the history of fucking forever.

I lied.

Yeah, I'm writing something on the day I said I wouldn't. Sue me, I'll lose the case on purpose and we'll split the cash, yeah? I've had all day to ponder things, I will now vomit them in a fashion you philistines are all used to.

As mentioned in yesterday's midget of an entry, I recently finished Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, an excellent novel that I recommend to all of you, if you're smart enough to read that is. But then again, if you weren't smart enough to read, what the hell are you doing here? Shit.

Anyway.

The eponymous character in Hesse's novel embarks on a spiritual journey to attain Nirvana, true happiness in this world; a trip that spans decades and spawns very little fruit. In his travels, Siddhartha meets Buddha, affluent businessmen, and wise ferrymen who all lead him along their path. Siddhartha experiments with all walks of life. For the most part, Siddhartha becomes an ascetic, one who renounces all worldly belongings and pursues a mostly contemplative and simple existence. For the most part, his ascetic lifestyles afford him several degrees of happiness and when he embarks on a life of material goods, he becomes deeply embroiled in Samsara, the opposite of Nirvana, misery and lameness.

The mark of any good work of art is if it gets you thinking and if it teaches you something, whether it's about yourself or the world. The journey of Siddhartha is really remarkable in that sense then, as it has me pondering about an ascetic's lifestyle.

I'm not thinking of dropping everything in my pathetic life and running off to Yosemite to dance with wolves like Kevin Costner and speaking to birds like Vulcan Raven, but I wonder the merits of the life of an ascetic. It must be comforting, it must be amazing. What isn't appealing about unshackling yourself from this extremely materialistic culture (which I am guilty of perpetuating), this nation that has engulfed itself in idiotic memes, idols, and lies. Why wouldn't you want to spend the rest of your life becoming attuned to the beauty of Mother Nature? You needn't worry about the cell phone bill, car payments, and DVDs you forgot to return, none of that bullshit matters anymore.

In the novel, when Siddhartha pursues the life of a merchant, he becomes extraordinarily wealthy in the process, but at the same time, becomes bored with life, finding that "rush," so to speak only in Samsara, gambling. The life of a rich man, one who has everything and needs nothing is unfulfilling. This is a cruel irony, no doubt. It's been present in all the novels I've read about attaining wealth, to achieve the abstract standard of success. Jay Gatsby was a rich man, but he wanted more and look where that got him. Dead, drifting in a pool of his own blood. The mooks from Cannery Row were bums, sure, but they were happy. They were happy to collect frogs, visit prostitutes, and divide up the shack. When you've reached the top, what else is there to do? Life without a purpose is a life not worth living.

The life of an ascetic, then, would theoretically be ideal. Your purpose can never be fulfilled, you will always have something to do. And you're without a care in the world. And yet, you want to feel like you've achieved something. Is the satisfaction of knowing your way around a national park really that big of a deal? Is it a true mark of success, as opposed to a mansion in Beverly Hills (that's where I wanna be!). Both sides of the coin are equally ugly, but equally pleasing as well.

I hate thinking about paradoxes, they make my head hurt. I suppose I'll end it here, you probably stopped reading like five paragraphs ago anyway.

PS. Siddhartha also has a lot of sex in the book, so he's probably more happy about that than some silly nirvana. They're a shitty, overrated band anyway.

Hey Rocky!

Evening, ladies and gents, no entry today. I went to the library and got a fuckton of books that I want to get through before the weekend's over. So probably no entry tomorrow either. I do have a few topics in mind, but I've been dry for the past few days; these novels will probably give me some inspiration. I mean, I have three books about crazy loonies, one on a sarcastic Frenchman, one on the deplorable conditions of the Industrial Revolution, and one about an expedition. I got a lot of material to work with here.

But I also recently finished Siddhartha and it really got me thinking. So when I get back, I'll probably ramble for pages about asceticism.

PS. I got The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway too. Good message, good metaphor, but devoting close to a hundred pages on how a senile old fart is trying to catch a marlin and how his hand is cramping up is about as exciting as watching Schindler's List.

I'm a new man.

Well, not really. I am a man who got a lot off his chest, though. It feels fucking good to remove that weight that was granulating my lungs and causing Crush Syndrome. Shit I expected to happen happened. And I'm happy it ended that way. C'est la vie. :)

My rotten, apple core of a heart has always harbored a soft spot for, besides puppy grinders, BDSM, Coleman Hawkins, and extremely large sharks, Calvin and Hobbes. My fondest childhood memories were reading about the antics of that whippersnapper Calvin and his cynical tiger Hobbes. My little, underdeveloped mind was endlessly amused with the double act of Calvin and Hobbes, and being the little bastard I was, I laughed only at the extraordinarily imaginative scenarios Calvin got himself into and the ways he tried to avoid trouble.

Then I picked it up a few years later, and was sucked back into his world. I was overwhelmed by the subtleties, the sophisticated jokes, the social criticism, and the witty and pithy writing of Bill Watterson. I thought to myself "This is really interesting, amazing how he can fit all of this thoughtful bullshit into the framework of a simplistic six year old and his imaginary friend!" And now I've always viewed Calvin and Hobbes as the standard, the stick everyone should judge their shit by. The strengths of the strip also lies in the characterization that Watterson evokes, thought that's almost always the case. Strong storytelling, great writing, and a fresh premise is a formula for Winrars.

There are very few things in this world I think are perfect (Calvin and Hobbes being one of them, the Kill Bill movies, George Orwell novels, Hideo Kojima video games, and anything with Hugh Laurie in it are others), but this comic is more than just silly pictures and words; it's a fucking work of fine art, a big compliment in this large sea of shit we're forced to wade in.

Of course, I'm not very good at treading water, so I guess I'm fucked.

PS. I want to go to an Opeth concert in October, but I also don't want to die. Tough call.

PPS. Holy crap 20th entry. Now it is time for celebration!

Now I know why Elvis shot that TV

Let me be blunt for a moment, like the baseball bat I'm going to use to smash in my cable box. Most television is abhorrent and the people who run the television networks that broadcast their programs should be flogged, waterboarded, and then given a nice cup of joe made from the excrement of syphilitic baboons for their admirable efforts at retarding this already dumb-as-shit nation.

People often say to me, "Bao, you exemplary mastodon. Surely you don't think all television is bad? You yourself love House!" Why yes, I do indeed, but that show is in a different league. There's strong characterization, compelling story arcs, and intriguing medical mysteries that actually might teach you a thing or two (you could make the case that each show's layout is identical to the one before it, but you could also make the case that you have no idea what you're talking about and should shut up before I shoot you in the mouth with a staple gun). Television shows that place a strong emphasis on unique and original story telling with a good cast of characters and strong production values are always going to be impressive. The script for House is always sharp, witty, and hilarious and the characters are excellently portrayed and have good chemistry. What's not to like? I'm sure you could make this case for Lost, Dexter, Monk, The Sopranos, whatever. I have nothing against quality storytelling. If only these programs could merge with the Discovery Channel and the History Channel and we'd have one television channel that delivers non-stop quality programming all damn day. After they cut out Smash Lab, of course. That show fucking sucks.

My problem, however, is that these shows are the sole Megalodons in a sea of shitty tiger sharks (I really, really like sharks). I was flipping through channels yesterday during The Daily Show and watched a commercial featuring a show called Lipstick Jungle, a dramedy featuring, get this, three women living in New York trying to balance their jobs, sex lives, and family in the Big City. Does that sound fucking familiar to anyone?. This is merely one example. These tiger sharks are uninspired, cliched, recycled garbage. Admittedly, I haven't seen these shows (though why would I want to?, but it doesn't take a seasoned television critic with experience in the business to tell what's quality storytelling and what isn't).

Recycled garbage isn't the only problem. Sensationalism is running fucking rampant, permeating every facet of the media, like Motaba (anyone who gets this joke wins five Internets). Fox News is the goddamn quintessence of sensationalistic, right-wing propoganda. Read this and get outraged (irony!):

FOX News calls Obama's fist pound a "terrorist jab."

It's not just Rupert Murdoch's propaganda station that's guilty of the advanced form of Yellow Journalism. Even local news stations are luring in viewers with headlines that claim things "they don't want you to know!" in hopes of improving their ratings.

As for reality television? Fuck it.

PS. I am guilty of watching Hell's Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares, but what can I say? Watching Gordon Ramsay is like watching Gregory House in real life. Hey, at least I'm not watching American Idol.

PPS. I couldn't find a suitable synonym for "superman" without ripping Yahtzee off, and mastodons are fucking cool, so yeah.

Fear of the Dark

I've always harbored a fascination for the unknown, whether it be government conspiracies or undiscovered creatures. The element of uncertainty is utterly fascinating. Not to mention the potential threat of losing your life to belligerent extraterrestrial beings armed to the teeth with disintegration rays and probes that'll feel a hundred times worse than that time you spent sleeping in a certain part of San Francisco. Always a rush, right?

My favorite area of "recreational study" has always been cryptozoology, the study of unknown organisms. I've always found biology to be really cool, at least in the sense that I like learning about things in nature that can kill you. Survival instinct perhaps, wanting to know whether you can eat a hundred of those mushrooms or whether poking at it with your thumbnail is enough to kill you and your dog. Of course, studying mushrooms isn't very exciting, they don't have long necks and a mouth so full of teeth that Great White Sharks need to be renamed Great Green Sharks because they're so jealous (oh fuck off, mate). How fucking cool is it to know that a Leedsicthys , the largest fish that ever lived may be drifting about right now, sucking up huge amounts of plankton? Or if a Megalodon, the ancient ancestor of a Great White Shark was terrorizing populations of seals? (This would be fucking awesome)

I suppose the reason why I'm so infatuated with these prospects is because most extinct creatures, or most unknown animals are presented in a way that makes them incredibly badass. Not just Jurassic Park tyrannosauruses, but aquatic monsters as well. The Plesiosaurs were long-necked, gigantic predators that can take down dinosaurs. Badass. Remember when you were a kid and you were obsessed with dinosaurs? (Well, probably not because you're hella lame) Same situation applies!

Or maybe I just haven't grown up.

PS. Fuck nuclear weapons. Fuck anthrax. Fuck peak oil. Flying Megalodons are the biggest threat to mankind.

PPS. The connotation for "dinosaur" evokes an image of a bloodthirsty, raging lizard with a desire for flesh. That's pretty goddamn impressive.

Tremble before me, Robert Frost!

I like to think I'm a good, if not decent, writer. I've tried my hand and nearly everything there is; opinion pieces, stories, essays, rants on bullshit without a strong foundation of fact. But the one thing I've never been good at or have not dabbled in is poetry. I used to abhor poetry; I used to think it was pretentious and flowery, with limitations on how you could write it. My opinions on it have changed drastically in the past few months so now, being devoid of ideas (I told you this would happen!), I will write a poem. It'll most likely be shitty.

In My Time of Dying

Flowers and grievances laid upon my throne
In my time of dying; I want nobody to moan
Our lives; fragile flower petals, drift endlessly on the wind
Shattered, Death awaits, darkness, a shroud that has been skinned
In this world, Death eats away at us slowly, always without dignity
Corpses, shistosomiasis, cancer, coldness and rigidity
Solace cannot be sought when faced with inevitability
The only comfort that can be achieved is knowing you lived gaily
In my time of dying; I want nobody to moan
I don't want flowers and grievances laid upon my throne

Well, there you have it. Pretty awful, right? Not quite as bad as this one:

The Camera Lens

Through the viewfinder
everything appears concave.
What’s reality?

Captured black and white
to the viewer it’s simple.
In life, there’s color.

the onlooker sees only what’s in the frame.
but The photographer sees what’s beyond.

One moment captured
in spite of long exposure,
May not reveal truth.

Heh. She's gonna fuckin' kill me.

PS. If you say my prose is emo, I will fucking crucify you.

XOXO,

Bao

Revelations

Vivacity has never been my strong suit, and in my situation, all energy is pretty much being purified at the waste treatment plant because it's all down the fucking toilet. In spite of this, I've considered possible topics for my inarticulate tirades, in doing so discovering something very interesting in regards to the lack of vivacity.

People who are bummed, depressed, out of it, whatever, may be able to summon up a dreg of energy, or at the very least a small amount of mental strength to complete whatever tasks they have to do, in spite of everything else. I can't speak for others, but I found that after massive sleep deprivation (I do not regret those 300mgs of caffeine!), no food except for the meal, and being a bit bummed I still found the will, admittedly very tiny, to do whatever I needed to do. In this case, studying the shit out of Trig. Goddamn, I hate math.

This applies to a certain blog as well. Even though it's only been a few weeks, this blog and I suppose writing in general is the other half of the couple of things that make me happy. Expelling my thoughts really has had a therapeutic effect, and I suppose I want to keep feeling this happiness, which is why I continue to find topics to ramble about even when I have no ideas or am feeling like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. But I suppose I haven't been "true" to the blog (what the fuck is this, a relationship?) in the sense that I've been ambiguous towards things. To that I say...eh. A girl's gotta have some secrets.

I better stop before I start depressing you, my valuable audience of four people. We'll return to our regularly scheduled sarcastic ramblings on bullshit tomorrow, after I kick this trig test in the fucking teeth.

PS. Giant squids kinda look like penises.

Two tickets to paradise

A tragedy (If you could call it that, which you can't, dramatic words just give me a hard-on) that has recently decided to bless me with its presence and in doing so turned me into a brooding nightmare (you know, like I usually am). Funnily enough, I managed to brush it aside and focus on my reaction and the way I handled this situation. Leave it to a cold bastard like me to be interested in the human behavior that is present after a dilemma rather than trying to get past the problem itself.

A natural reaction to having to deal with a tough situation, I've found, is simply escaping from the problem, through various means. Drugs, alcohol, and just cutting yourself off from the rest of the world provides the comfort of not having to think about the problem. Originally, I thought that anyone hoping to depend on escapism, being whisked away to paradise and not having to think about anything is weak. They don't want to confront their problems, the monster in their closet because they're afraid.

But I realize now, once I felt the desire to get away from my problems, that it's perfectly normal; it's human. And now that I think about it, all those behaviors I considered to be "weak," being afraid of the unknown, wanting approval from groups, from other people, are differentiates us from the beasts. Although I wouldn't mind being a tiger; I'd fuck people up so hardcore, Deckard Cain couldn't identify the body (heh, I make that joke with apologies).

I suppose that might sound like a rationalization of my feelings for escapism, but I feel that it isn't. And I don't need to justify myself to you, fuck you! <3

Quandaries (Oh, I'm getting hard again!) also present many other dark things, not as innocent as simple escapism. Perhaps a bit of rage rears its head, for some reason or another, anger at being manipulated. And I've also found that I am more self-depreciating than usual. I feel "why the fuck did I get into this problem in the first place?" Feelings of idiocy arise for just getting into the pickle, despite how normal or commonplace it is.

Being screwed over to a certain degree really gets you thinking. Unfortunately, my train of thought is one of those little car thingies that requires two people to push up and down.

PS. Explosions, hot tubs, and pancakes can do wonders for being bummed out. But now I'm back, so I'm feeling sad again. Maybe I should blog about it like a faggit.

America, fuck yeah!

While you're scarfing down apple pie with one hand and masturbating yourself with the Stars and Stripes with the other on this gloomy July 4th, perhaps you'll take a minute and wonder what constitutes "Patriotism." What makes you a patriot? Is it going overseas and defending your country's ideals to your last breath, or is it something as thoughtless and idiotic as attaching a bumper sticker that says "Support Our Troops" to the back of your car? And where do we draw the line between patriot and nationalist? Sorry to bum you out on a day of celebration and debauchery, but fuck you, you'd probably be miserable anyway.

There's a fine line between patriotism and nationalism, though it's incredibly easy to confuse the two; just look at those flag-waving, shotgun-wielding, sunflower seed-spitting, ass-backwards rednecks. When you're a nationalist, you're fucking blinded by your love for your country, so much so that you condone whatever wrongs your nation is committing and feel that you yourself are superior to others just because you live in said nation. Does this sound familiar to anyone? I dunno, my definition is a bit vague, I don't think I can connect it to any 20th century regimes in Central Europe led by an Austrian madman or anything...

On the other hand...

Patriotism, I think, simply is loving your country. But like Haddaway once said, "What is love?" I'm going to shoot for an extremely simple metaphor here. If a parent loves their son, but he is failing school, what would be the responsible thing to do? Celebrate his shortcomings? (Hooray, you got held back from the 2nd grade for the fifth time! Let's have beers!) No, any trustworthy parent would help the kid improve on his mistakes, to help see him through his darkest hour. A patriot loves his country, but isn't afraid to criticize, especially in a democracy like America. Why would anyone want to live in a country crippled by high gas prices, the looming threat of a recession, and a housing crisis? A patriot wants to help rectify these problems, to keep his country strong. That, in my sick, twisted mind, is the definition of a true patriot.

I bemoan people who wave little American flags and stick jingoistic bumper stickers onto their cars. I find it utterly retarded that these meaningless gestures can be construed as patriotism. Wake up, those gestures mean nothing, kind of like when a single person decides to picket something. It is worth jack, or shit, let alone jackshit.

Happy 4th of July!

PS. In spite of their influence on our country, the Founding Fathers pale in comparison to Teddy Roosevelt Jr. This badass landed with the first wave of troops at Normandy, found that he was a mile off course, and walked with the aid of a cane to reconnoiter the surrounding area. From there, he quickly thought of an attack plan, boldly declaring "We'll start the war from right here!" He most likely needed that cane to help him walk due to his massive balls of steel weighing him down.

You've changed things...

In 17 years of obsessing over various movies, I've never been so smitten with one that my every thought revolves around it. Well, maybe it's happened a few times with Star Wars Episode 3 (which wasn't that bad) and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (which was pretty much south of "decent"). But the difference between those movies and what's coming out on July 18th is that I know that it's going to be good. In any case, my extremely high expectations will be satisfied, of that I am sure.

The buzz surrounding it has been infectious, to say the least. Lucky bastards have who have already seen it have praised Heath Ledger's performance as worthy of a posthumous Oscar. I seriously don't doubt that for a second, which is saying a lot considering all I've seen are the trailers (about 650 times each). Every line that comes from his mouth is delivered with such precise insanity (an oxymoron?), craziness that embodies the Joker so perfectly that anything less than an Oscar would be an insult to his performance. When Nolan announced that Ledger would be playing the Detective's archenemy, I was extremely worried. A pretty boy whose career highlight was an overrated love story about cowboys and sodomy? But shit, after the second trailer, he had me convinced of his extraordinary ability. In that sense, I kind of felt bad when he died; the preparation for the role, I believe, facilitated in his untimely demise. Unfortunate, but this movie will be the performance of his life, I have no doubt about that.

My admiration for Heath Ledger aside, my love for the movie lies mainly with Nolan's decision to keep the movie dark, broody, and dramatic. The reason why the first movie was so goddamn amazing was because it nailed the character perfectly. The Caped Crusader is not a fucking colorful comic book character who has keeps a credit card with his insignia over it, does not make puns with Poison Ivy, and sure as shit does NOT fight a Victor Fries played by Arnold Fucking Schwarzenegger who unleashes an unstoppable river of awful "cold" puns. Bruce Wayne is a tragic character, forever scarred by the murders of his parents, disillusioned by the rife corruption that's taken almost persistent hold of Gotham City, and seeking redemption for his wrongs. He's special in that he has no special powers; he's just a man, perhaps insane himself. Christopher Nolan has these elements in spades, the main reasons why his movies are so good.

The movie already has these two things going for it, and frankly, that's all it needs. Sticking to the original formula will most likely grant another big-ass success. Unless Nolan decides to throw in the pun-juggling cuntmonkey that was in Joel Schumaucer's debacle of a movie, I doubt anything will make it seem even remotely shitty.

PS. I wrote this whole fucking entry without once using the word "bat" "Batman" or mentioning the movie's title. I'll let you decide whether or not that's impressive or really goddamn stupid.

Declaration of Suckdependence

Despite the extremely flippant headlining, today's entry is like serious. Like seriously. So stop fucking laughing, you colostomy bag of a humanoid! Jeez.

As mentioned in an earlier entry, I hate religion. I am not, however, going to bash it. Well, maybe a little bit. Up until I was 13 or so, however, I was afraid. Fearful that I was a sinner, even though I didn't belong to any religion, unless you count Buddhism, which I don't. Anyway, I was young, impressionable (in fact, I probably still am), and I was secretly terrified that I was going to hell, that the use of God's name in vain would secure me a place on Satan's ass-rape machine. And despite reassurances from people, movies like The Exorcist perpetuated my fear.

Until one day, I realized it was all bullshit.

I suppose I should be thankful to that madhouse of a Junior High I went to. The emphasis in the curriculum was cold, hard, fact, whereas the elementary school I had previously attended provided ambiguous information in regards to this kind of shit. I slowly began to realize, through studying and busywork that there absolutely was no proof that a demonic being called Satan ruled over a realm known as Hell. Where was the evidence that a benevolent, yet strict omnipotent watched over us all in the Heavens? Where were the heavens in the first place? Is Hell in the center of the earth?

As I grew a bit older, my views towards all things religious became increasingly cynical. I was appalled at what Richard the Lionheart did in the name of Christianity. What was Torquemada's problem? Why did Mary feel threatened by Protestants? It was a shock, to realize that millions died because they didn't believe in the same system of abstract concepts that their neighbors did. On top of that, these people died over something that has no concrete evidence whatsoever, which made it all seem even stupider.

But I think my main problem with religion stems from something silly, pathetic in comparison to the other problems people have with it. I, like the legions of scientists and, you know, rational people in general, am in awe that people would rather accept a bullshit story about how God created everything instead of evolution. I lament the progress that could've been made in the past if religious authority weren't there to prevent "heresy." Who knows what else that crazy guy Galileo could've thought of if he weren't imprisoned for several years and had to deal with the stress of going to court against an authoritarian juggernaut? Yes, I am as outraged as the rest of you are, but my beef comes from something much simpler.

Religion is a declaration. You are declaring that you follow this dogma, and thus abide by its morals. And here's the problem. The morals they follow are common sense. "Thou shalt not kill," "Thou shalt not covet." It's all pretty simple, don't commit murder, try not to be a jealous little prick. On top of that, religious people often try their best to "get into heaven," to have an ultimate goal, a sense of purpose in life. So my question is, why do you need to be religious to do this?

I understand there are probably a hundred more facets I'm overlooking, but as a general example, I think the aforementioned works. Why do you need to pay money, go to church every Sunday, commit to having a small part of your life dedicated to religion (again, there are those who just follow the tenets and don't necessarily do any of this) when it's all common sense? Why do we need a man in a robe and hat to tell us not to kill, to covet, to steal? Surely we can work that out on our own as life goes on, right? Kids learn not to do this, we don't need religion hovering over our shoulder squawking at us not to kill, like some kind of self-righteous parrot. And that's where the headline of this entry comes from!

The other side of my argument is the whole "religion gives you a purpose in life" thing. While it may be true that you're working to earn your way into the pearly gates, why not just live life to the fullest? Instead of centering your backbreaking labor around trying to gain admittance into heaven, is it not possible to create your own happiness, your own purpose and sense of belonging in life by just thinking about what you want? My purpose in life is to become so rich I can take baths in liquidized money. And it's entirely possible to just set a goal for yourself and work towards it; you can create your "purpose" without having to pay a really old guy and then having to listen to sermons.

I recently had a conversation about this with a couple of my friends (while in a hot-tub, no less!). One of them is as anti-religious as me, but the other was defending it, because he is, to a certain degree, religious. He brought up the point that some people need to believe in something greater than themselves, that their existence has some meaning to someone up there. They need something to believe in to make it through their day, and sometimes can't really muster up a "purpose." I'm kind of split on this point here; I believe that his point is valid, that they do indeed need a higher power in their lives, but here's where I feel really dirty. I kind of believe in two opposing arguments at once. I think that wanting to believe in a higher power is human, while at the same time kind of weak. What I'm getting at is that we shouldn't be using that as a cop-out, which I suppose is applicable everywhere. Don't cop out and say "Because God did it!"

I have a distinct feeling that this entry was a bit rambly and disorganized, my apologies. I also have a distinct feeling that this was remarkably less interesting to read. But what the hell do I know?

PS. Does anyone else think that lighting a firework and inserting it in Glen Beck's anus would be utter hilarity until the cops showed up?

I'm a rocket man!

Well, the bug that has plagued me over the course of last week has left the building, albeit violently, like an evicted Chonga. Unfortunately, my illness has not left me with some abstract thoughts; I have not been enlightened by an untimely demise, even though that's what it felt like. I feel like death with a cold; people with shistosomiasis are probably scraping their jaws off the floor at what such a big pussy I am. But I digress.

So yeah, I'm not feeling thoughtful. In the previous entry (or lack thereof), I said I would be talking about masturbation, but then thought of something so much cooler.

Gay rock stars.

When you think of a gay guy, you generally don't imagine a nearly bald, clad-in-leather, motorcycle-riding, brute (well, maybe you do if you're thinking of lesbians). Not to stereotype, but that's not the first thing you think when it comes to fudge packers (Heh, sorry, I may not be feeling insightful, but I sure am being insensitive). But that's the admirable thing. In spite of preconceptions, these badasses: Rob Halford, Freddie Mercury, Elton John and those guys from Warrant have managed to overcome that stigma and still kick some ass.

Which makes me wonder, would a fan of the music who is against homosexuality (Don't know why, to be honest), start "disliking" some facet of the person or the band or whatever on the basis that that facet is gay? Would that be, well, I don't know, extremely fucking retarded?

To give my point a semblance of legitimacy, I suppose I better quote some famous guy from history. MLK said so many years ago at some important rally or something. "Judge the content of blahblahblah." That last part he said wasn't important, right? Pass judgment on the book you're reading, not the horribly malformed hunchback slave that's holding it up to you.

PS. Please don't take offense at my racial or gay remarks. I am only joking. And if you do get offended, kindly stick your head in a beehive.

PPS. I fucking hate Warrant.