Winter strikes with brutal vengeance once again. It's mildly cold outside, we all anticipate a white Christmas, and then WAMMO - the temp drops to negative 5 and I start to think about tires.
The sound of car tires rolling on fresh snow has an very recognizable sound to it. It's kind of a long, drawn-out crunch that eventually fades as the car gains speed. For some reason in the winter I think about my car's tires. How hard and cold they are when I first start driving. They have been sitting all night it negative temperatures and have probably learned a slight imperfection of non-roundness. As they move , of course, they warm up and eventually run smoothly but sometimes I think about those cold, hard tires and how much... you guessed it, I would not want to be a tire.
There are plenty of things I wouldn't want to be: a woman, for instance. Women's bodies are so complex and confusing (along with their emotions) that it makes me crazy knowing them sometimes. I certainly would not know how to deal with being one... Luckily, I don't have to worry about that.
But there are other things I would never want to be. Inanimate objects, most the time. You've already heard one - a tire. But there are others... I think about obvious ones (underwear, toilet paper, syringes;) but there are less commonly thought of ones that occasionally mingle in my mind. Like a stick of deodorant. I would never ever want to be a stick of deodorant. Can you imagine being shoved into a warm armpit and then thinly applied to skin? The mere thought sickens me.
I also would not want to be the cold ceramic outside of a precipitous toilet. There's a little twist one this one, because I guess I wouldn't mind being the outside of a toilet as long as I was in a warm climate - but in the colder areas of the country, toilets "sweat" as I've heard it called, and I cannot imagine being cold and dewey and drippy 24/7.
I would not want to be a butt. Staring through the vastness of enclosed darkness, with only short, bright spurts of time to breath. Eww.
I would never want to be a pore on the face of a pubating teenager. I would live of life of an oily cavern - filled with toxins and too-much poorly placed make up (for the girls). I would never feel the fresh cool touch of water (if I was a boy). Overall, I would want to be scraped off (which eventually would happen due to the fact that bodies shed skin). I sure would not want to be a pore.
I probably would not want to be a pool filter. But I would want to be one of those signs BY a pool that says: "Welcome to our OOL - as you can see, there is no "P" in it - let's keep it that way."
I wouldn't want to be a shoe. I can picture it now - my face leaving and then hitting the ground with each step....ahhh...AGHH!....ahh....AGHH!... A pebble sticks in of the corner of my mouth and a wad of gum greets my nostril. Oh, and with my luck, I would be the shoe of a smoker and would always be putting out cigarette butts with my forehead. Boy that would sure beat all.
I wouldn't want to be you reading this article. You are probably wondering who deals my crack or if my dealer stopped dealing it. You are probably wondering why you are even on this site, when you could be doing something worthwhile, like breathing or eating of looking at something. So get out of here and do something worthwhile - but check back in a couple days; I hear that it's pretty dang uncomfortable to be a silk slip.
December 22, 2004
December 02, 2004
Quote of the week:
Quote of the week:
"Ever notice that people who are late are often much jollier than the people that have to wait for them?"
"Ever notice that people who are late are often much jollier than the people that have to wait for them?"
November 25, 2004
That is Sick.
I was laying on my bed watching TV this morning. I had just woken up, and if you don't know me that well, you wouldn't know that I am super crabby in the morning. (It isn't unusual for me to scream uncontrollably at whoever woke me up - Some of you can relate.) But anyways, there was this commercial that came on that made me want to barf yet laugh at the same time. It was this liquidy stuff called "Scalpicin" for dry crusty scalps. (By the way, this is an actual product.) The ad showed a guy who went up to this woman and she smiled very flirtaciously... but then she looked at his head and turned away with this, "Oh no you di-in't" look on her face. The man's face was suddenly wretchedly sad (good word, huh?) and he slowly turned and left the room. Then it showed the man using this Scalpicin crap and then (of course) he met the women again and they fell in love right then and there.
***Let me just interject here that even typing the name "Scalpicin" creeps me out.
It's almost as bad as that ad for nail fungus... you know what I'm talking about, the one where the little devil-creature goes up to this GIANT toe, rips the nail up (the nail is hinged on the back so it looks like an old cellar door) then DIVES INTO the red meaty toe. AGH! I hate that ad! But then I got to thinking about more ads, and realizing how many ads are on that are so stupid. Who comes up with these things...? Have any of you ever heard of the Injector? It's like a giant medicine dropper that inserts SOLID foods INTO OTHER SOLID FOODS. (It's on one of those channels that no one watches (6,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20-23) except me and my friends.
The first thing they inject in three WHOLE cloves of garlic into this huge roast meat (I don't remember what kind of meat it is.) What in the the heck is the point of that?? What if you were eating a piece of that meat and you bite into a whole clove of garlic? Sick! I believe (and my friends agree) that if you are going to inject solids into solids you should take a slab of pork, inject it into a steak, and then inject those two into a pile of beef. Then you fry 'em all up and have a little something I like to call, "Pile 'O' Meaty-Meat-Meats".
Let's play a little game. I have listed three products below and given a small description of each. Your job is to guess which two are fake and which one is real. OK, here we go!
1. Extractor (designed in the late 90's)
Spins foods of any nature using centrifugal force. Meaning, any food (ANY food) can be juiced, including bananas, breads or even croutons. The juice flows down an outside cranny until it reaches the "Cook'n Chamber" where it reaches the un-sanitary temperature of 100 degrees... Warm enough to let it mildew and cold enough to keep it rancid.
2. Crustinator Deluxe (designed in 2002)
The Crustinator and Crustinator Deluxe crustify fruits and vegetables. Just put the item into the Cruster-Clamp and your foods are coated with a heavy bread-crumb-like coating. After this step the machine automatically dunks it into the inner "Dunk'n Chamber" where the fruit (or veggie) soaks for about a half hour. When your item pops out, it's golden-deliciousness you've never experienced.
3. The Easy Bake Oven (designed in '91)
The Easy Bake is a small convection oven made for small children. The set comes with little baking pans and even cake and cookie mixes. The cakes bake for about 18 minutes (or until golden brown). Children of most ages (but usually little rich kids) have the EBO and love it.
Can you guess which one is REAL?
I am sick of writing! Well, it's off to dig up more food....I'm hungry.
***Let me just interject here that even typing the name "Scalpicin" creeps me out.
It's almost as bad as that ad for nail fungus... you know what I'm talking about, the one where the little devil-creature goes up to this GIANT toe, rips the nail up (the nail is hinged on the back so it looks like an old cellar door) then DIVES INTO the red meaty toe. AGH! I hate that ad! But then I got to thinking about more ads, and realizing how many ads are on that are so stupid. Who comes up with these things...? Have any of you ever heard of the Injector? It's like a giant medicine dropper that inserts SOLID foods INTO OTHER SOLID FOODS. (It's on one of those channels that no one watches (6,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20-23) except me and my friends.
The first thing they inject in three WHOLE cloves of garlic into this huge roast meat (I don't remember what kind of meat it is.) What in the the heck is the point of that?? What if you were eating a piece of that meat and you bite into a whole clove of garlic? Sick! I believe (and my friends agree) that if you are going to inject solids into solids you should take a slab of pork, inject it into a steak, and then inject those two into a pile of beef. Then you fry 'em all up and have a little something I like to call, "Pile 'O' Meaty-Meat-Meats".
Let's play a little game. I have listed three products below and given a small description of each. Your job is to guess which two are fake and which one is real. OK, here we go!
1. Extractor (designed in the late 90's)
Spins foods of any nature using centrifugal force. Meaning, any food (ANY food) can be juiced, including bananas, breads or even croutons. The juice flows down an outside cranny until it reaches the "Cook'n Chamber" where it reaches the un-sanitary temperature of 100 degrees... Warm enough to let it mildew and cold enough to keep it rancid.
2. Crustinator Deluxe (designed in 2002)
The Crustinator and Crustinator Deluxe crustify fruits and vegetables. Just put the item into the Cruster-Clamp and your foods are coated with a heavy bread-crumb-like coating. After this step the machine automatically dunks it into the inner "Dunk'n Chamber" where the fruit (or veggie) soaks for about a half hour. When your item pops out, it's golden-deliciousness you've never experienced.
3. The Easy Bake Oven (designed in '91)
The Easy Bake is a small convection oven made for small children. The set comes with little baking pans and even cake and cookie mixes. The cakes bake for about 18 minutes (or until golden brown). Children of most ages (but usually little rich kids) have the EBO and love it.
Can you guess which one is REAL?
I am sick of writing! Well, it's off to dig up more food....I'm hungry.
November 19, 2004
Save the Last Brain Cell
"Save the Last Dance" --- a hip-hop groovin', styl'in movie that will make your head bob to the urban beats and dance songs of the new millennium. This early 2000's contemporary-urban "street style" movie was seen by every pre-teen/teen-age girl entering or currently in junior high. Each had the same secret desire floating through their minds - "When will someone see MY talent and discover my hot dancing ability?" Women who now deny this fact are lyers.
Can anyone honestly think this thought: "I can relate to Sarah." ?
Picture yourself there; the flashing lights and bumping bass pulsates through the club... The dance floor is packed (yet cool and breathable) and the alcohol flows freely to 16 and 17-year-olds who look at least 21. Sarah (the only white girl there) is dressed in low jeans, a hankie (on top) and 3-Ft hoop earrings. She shakes her thang on the dance floor, perfecting her dancing routine with her perfectly synchronized boyfriend, Derek. The crowd erupts in chanting, "GO SARAH! GO SARAH!" Hands bob up and down as the two do their synchronized dance groove over and over....and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until the viewer (ANY viewer, my 900-year-old grandma included) could do the dance with one hand, one leg, and a bunch of other necessary body parts tied behind their backs.
The next day in first hour, an energetic and alert Sarah looks around and smiles pleasantly. Her 3am bedtime has little to no effect on her studies, friends or teachers.
Meanwhile, out in the hall, a gun is being held to Derek's head. The principle walks by, "Good morning boys --oop, is that a 38? Oh, my bad, it's a 33... have fun guys." He continues his slow saunter to the teachers lounge where there is a massive teacher/staff party. He opens the door and beams of multi-colored light flood out onto the almost empty halls. He shuts the door behind himself and Ms. Benson, the librarian, grabs his hand and pulls him onto the dance floor...."aaaahhhhh.. FREAK OUT!"
"Yo, D - if you ain't got my back tonight, I don't know if I can let you date....her." Derek's "friend" holds the gun closer to his head. Derek, who has obviously gone to a different school for English class, replies with a professor-like attitude. "First of all---G--- (he rolls his eyes) "ain't" is not a word. And no, I don't have your back tonight. I will hang out with you and your "peeps" (he does the quotes thing with his fingers) but I am not going to hurt anyone. This highly violent culture has obviously intoxicated you in an irrepriable way."
"Dude...huh?" Home-G-Doggy-Dog Bone looks confused, but Derek continues.
"And please don't "diss" Sarah... there's something going on with her and I need find out what it is."
*** Later that night...***
Can anyone honestly think this thought: "I can relate to Sarah." ?
Picture yourself there; the flashing lights and bumping bass pulsates through the club... The dance floor is packed (yet cool and breathable) and the alcohol flows freely to 16 and 17-year-olds who look at least 21. Sarah (the only white girl there) is dressed in low jeans, a hankie (on top) and 3-Ft hoop earrings. She shakes her thang on the dance floor, perfecting her dancing routine with her perfectly synchronized boyfriend, Derek. The crowd erupts in chanting, "GO SARAH! GO SARAH!" Hands bob up and down as the two do their synchronized dance groove over and over....and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until the viewer (ANY viewer, my 900-year-old grandma included) could do the dance with one hand, one leg, and a bunch of other necessary body parts tied behind their backs.
The next day in first hour, an energetic and alert Sarah looks around and smiles pleasantly. Her 3am bedtime has little to no effect on her studies, friends or teachers.
Meanwhile, out in the hall, a gun is being held to Derek's head. The principle walks by, "Good morning boys --oop, is that a 38? Oh, my bad, it's a 33... have fun guys." He continues his slow saunter to the teachers lounge where there is a massive teacher/staff party. He opens the door and beams of multi-colored light flood out onto the almost empty halls. He shuts the door behind himself and Ms. Benson, the librarian, grabs his hand and pulls him onto the dance floor...."aaaahhhhh.. FREAK OUT!"
"Yo, D - if you ain't got my back tonight, I don't know if I can let you date....her." Derek's "friend" holds the gun closer to his head. Derek, who has obviously gone to a different school for English class, replies with a professor-like attitude. "First of all---G--- (he rolls his eyes) "ain't" is not a word. And no, I don't have your back tonight. I will hang out with you and your "peeps" (he does the quotes thing with his fingers) but I am not going to hurt anyone. This highly violent culture has obviously intoxicated you in an irrepriable way."
"Dude...huh?" Home-G-Doggy-Dog Bone looks confused, but Derek continues.
"And please don't "diss" Sarah... there's something going on with her and I need find out what it is."
*** Later that night...***
With the covers pulled up close around her, Sarah cries uncontrollably. (Movie critics still wonder to this day how Julia Stiles has perfected the art of weeping with no facial expression.) Derek sits by her side as she sits up and immediately stops crying. "My mom died" she says bluntly as she clips on her new 7-ft hoop earrings and drops her fake ID into her purse... "now let's go do 'diss thang!" They jump up and start to do their synchronized dance (AGAIN) but then luckily TBS goes to a commercial.
October 20, 2004
PTG...
Part-Time Gardeners? Pre-Teen Girls? Party Time Gum? Pigs That Grow?
Nope, nope, nope. PTG actually stands for Piano Technicians Guild. Yesiree, the piano tuner is our next exciting topic of the month!
The PTG is actually something that exists... I assume it's an organization that protects the rights..of..the...piano...tuner.......err.... that's really weird. What are some rights that piano tuners have?
Nope, nope, nope. PTG actually stands for Piano Technicians Guild. Yesiree, the piano tuner is our next exciting topic of the month!
The PTG is actually something that exists... I assume it's an organization that protects the rights..of..the...piano...tuner.......err.... that's really weird. What are some rights that piano tuners have?
- "You have the right to tune that piano --- any note that's out of tune can be held against you in a court of PTG law."
-"You have the right to remain un-silent... any tools you need will be provided for your use (although will be from the 1930's and brown and rusty)."
-"You have the right to baggy pants, the more your butt crack shows, the better."
-"You have the right to being a really creepy, crusty old man like most piano tuners are. Any person(s) you creep out will add a bonus to your check."
-"You have the right to breath too deeply and loudly like you have constant asthma, like 68% of piano tuners do. The more flem on their carpet or inside their piano will result in a higher pay check."
Piano tuners have always given me this odd feeling... we've owned an upright a piano since I was born and every once and a while we have it tuned. The tuner is always an older, creepy, and very wheezy man. He's one of those people that makes you shudder....
Whoa, randomness.
October 19, 2004
Little Billy Barnes
The first thing I'd like to do is apologize... I've abandoned my Blog (and my multitude of screaming fans) for about a week and a half. My deepest apologies. As a peace offering I'd like to offer you a story --- uncovered and developed in the deep recesses of my imagination (this could be frightening) --- actually a couple different stories.... you're confused now, right? Well what I mean is I'm going to tell a story from different perspectives and in different surroundings - just for fun. You got it? It will be the same story, in different settings. Oh, never mind, you'll catch on.
"All right, Billy Barnes! Settle down a minute! Let me finish up this paperwork!" his dad laughed.
They arrived at the hill a little past 8, and sled for the next two hours. His new SSSuper-Sled rocked! It was the fastest sled on the hill and he was the envy of all the kids.
ORIGINAL
Little Billy Barnes loved sledding. He did it almost every evening during winter break, and after opening the best gift ever on Christmas (a SSSuper-Sled) he was so excited to sled, he jumped up and down and screamed. "Dad! Take me to the sledding hill! Please! I can't wait any longer!
"All right, Billy Barnes! Settle down a minute! Let me finish up this paperwork!" his dad laughed.
They arrived at the hill a little past 8, and sled for the next two hours. His new SSSuper-Sled rocked! It was the fastest sled on the hill and he was the envy of all the kids.
REBELLING ADOLESCENT
Not-so little Billy Barnes loved sledding (although he wouldn't admit it to anyone). He snuck out almost every weekend during winter break to do it. After opening the worst christmas gift ever (it was one of those RETARDED SSSuper-Sleds for babies) he was so mad, he stalked off to his room and turned up his music really loud. After a while his dad tried to break the silence.
"Hey...uhhh, Billy! You want to go sledding with your new sled?" His voice was tentative.
"WHAT!?" came the reply, "I'M NOT A STUPID BABY, DAD! GOSH, WHY DON'T YOU JUST MAKE ME WEAR AND DIAPER AND HUG ME IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT...GOOOSH." That made his dad angry. "We are going NOW."
They arrived at the hill a little past 8, and sled for two hours. Billy's friends pulled him tot he side. "Whoa, that is SO cool! You're dad is awesome!" Billy glanced at his father who was talking to another parent. "I know," he said smuggly. "I asked for it and they got it for me. Actually I had to MAKE my dad bring me here."
AMISH
Little Billy Barnes would have loved sledding. But churning butter always came first. After opening his best present on Christmas (a new horse hitch for his pony, Star) he was allowed only to sit and look at it... but he was ever so grateful. He looked at it all that night before quickly feeding the chickens, cleaning out the horse stables, watering the garden, pruning the carrot plants, pressing and churning butter, kneading dough, making a fresh snappleberry pie, re-shoeing the horses, tending the hearts of sheep, harvesting 16 acres of corn, and then going to bed.
He woke up a little past 8.... in the evening. They had to get up so early it was the day before... Pa said that the cows utters would swell to an unhealthy size if they didn't milk the cows ever so gently. Oh how he longed to stare at yet not touch his new present...
GANGSTA
Little Billy Barnes loved sledding, ayite? He was down wid it almost every night wid his homies in his neigh-da-hood. After opening the most jacked-up present he had, he yelled, "Ayite, yo! I'm down wid' dis! Dis is tiiiiight!" Then he called the rest of the gang and they met at he sledding hill. On his way out the door his dad said, "Hey, son, can I come along for the ride?"
"Uhhh, no pops, we gots some'tim go'in doooown, tonight, ayite? We be chillin late---er."
He met he rest of the gang a little past eight, and they set up for the drive by. Using the sled as a bullet-blocker, they beat the other gang by at least 5 bullets. "This is tight!!!" Billy yelled.
OVERLY DESCRIPTIVE
Little Billy Barnes loved sledding. He did it almost every cold, lonely evening during winter break, when the snow drifted so softly to ground, landing there like tiny white flower petals, resting their heads on the frozen ground, and after opening the best, most thoughtful, nicest, coolest gift ever on Christmas (a SSSuper-Sled) he was so extatically excited to sled, he eagerly jumped up and down and screamed. "Dad! Take me to the sledding hill! Please! The one with the soft snowy paths where I can run and romp up and down the snow paths with my friends that I have become so close to from these years of troubling schooling in which I didn't excel at at first but then accomplished partly due to their support... I can't wait any longer! "All right, Billy Barnes! Settle down a minute! Let me finish up this paperwork!" his dad laughed heartily.
They arrived at the cold, snowy, populated hill a little past 8, and sled for the next two hours. His new SSSuper-Sled rocked his world! It was the fastest, dartiest, quickest, sneakiest sled on the hill and he was the envy of all the kids (kids with red hats and blue hats and coats and sweatshirts and fat kids and skinny kids and kids with zits on their face and kids who were ugly and kids who were nice and plumply huggable and kids of all (most) races.
October 08, 2004
Bush? Kerry?
Having trouble deciding on which presidential candidate to vote for? Click here for some help deciding!
http://moun.com/articles/Oct2004/bushkerry.htm?id=641%3E
http://moun.com/articles/Oct2004/bushkerry.htm?id=641%3E
September 26, 2004
"Jesus Walks" and "Bug 'a' Boo"
Rap lyrics: Usually very simple. The same lines are used again and again, the words are rhythmic, contagious, and very mymicable. But most lyrics to rap songs (rap songs played on Top-40 radio stations) are also not very "clean". By clean I mean kid friendly, and by kid friendly I mean adult friendly... so I guess the age that they are appropriate for is anyone between the ages of I'm-rebellious-and-listen-to-what-I-want, and, I've-been-de-sensatized-to-anything-wholesome.
Five-plus years ago I had the TV on. I was watching a concert by the then-hot (maybe...) group Destiny's Child. The shaky camera found the group outside back beside the concert stage, standing in a large group. All held hands in this tightly knit circle of prayer. "We want to thank the Lord for his blessings of our lives... ect, ect, ect." Show time! The trio bound on stage and suddenly the place erupted. Wearing tiny outfits and (seemingly) trying to shake the rest out for all to see, they danced provocatively... I can only imagine the millions of adolescent boys drooling over their TV screens.
On my way home one night, I flipped on KDWB, the Twin Cities station for "today's hit music" as I do every once and a while. The song "Jesus Walks" by Kanea West (sorry about the spelling) was playing. I had never heard the song before but I was curious what it would be about so I turned up my radio a little... OK, a lot. The lyrics surprised me. He sang about how his mother had worried he would fall away from Jesus, but he hadn't; that he follows (walks) with Jesus now. I was actually a little bit impressed and smiled. Then lyrics went on, "If I mention God you don't play me on the radio," saying that when God is mentioned in songs no one will play those songs... that there is a biased against "religious" songs. Well now, that's kind of cool. It's nice to see an artist standing for something beyond themselves. But wait, the lyrics went on and suddenly the word "sh--" was bleeped out twice. Then he started singing a little faster and used the word "hell" a couple of times. Whoa, wait a minute. Suddenly I was confused. What this guy talks about obviously doesn't affect his vocabulary.
Soon after the song ended, the DJ began a conversation with an emerging rap artist. I can't remember her name but I do clearly remember one thing she said. After the DJ made a comment about her new album she gave a cheery shout-out to God by saying, "Bless the Lord" or "Praise the Lord" or something like that. (Sorry, I guess I don't remember that clearly after all.) Anyway, then she announced her song name (sung with Ludacris) entitled "Shake that Sh--". I'm totally confused now. Actually I'm both disgusted and confused.
I still can't seem to put my finger on what the problem is with these rappers. They don't honor the God or a god with their lives, their bodies, their lyrics, so why do so many thank him? Why are so many "grateful" to him? Why are so adamant about sharing this so-called thankfulness with an audience? I suppose it's to look good, but can that be all? If these rappers (there is a multiplicity of other artists who do this, not only rappers, just thought I'd throw that in as clarification) actually wanted to honor God or a god, wouldn't you find them following "religious" directions? Let me give an example. If someone says, "praise the lord" they are probably referring to the Christian "Lord". Look at this verse found in the Christian's Bible in James 1:26: "If you claim to be religious but don't control your tongue, you are just fooling yourself and your religion is worthless." That pretty much sums things up! But let's look somewhere else too. In the Koran, a Muslims Holy Book it says in The Cow 2.83: "...you shall speak to men good words and keep up prayer..." This too shows that if you have a desire to be religious, you should control the words that come out of your mouth, because sometimes that can be the only witness to whatever "faith" you may follow.
My curiosity about rap and rap artists is still here, of course. My speculations will always exist, but one thing that does become more clear is that in my own spiritual journey one of the most effective ways of sharing my beliefs is by the words I use. When I let wrong things slip out, I start to lose my positive influence on the people around me. If artists think they are setting positive examples by saying things like "praise the lord" they are totally fooling themselves.
"The Lord is righteous, and he loves justice. Those who do what is right will see his face." Psalm 11:7
Five-plus years ago I had the TV on. I was watching a concert by the then-hot (maybe...) group Destiny's Child. The shaky camera found the group outside back beside the concert stage, standing in a large group. All held hands in this tightly knit circle of prayer. "We want to thank the Lord for his blessings of our lives... ect, ect, ect." Show time! The trio bound on stage and suddenly the place erupted. Wearing tiny outfits and (seemingly) trying to shake the rest out for all to see, they danced provocatively... I can only imagine the millions of adolescent boys drooling over their TV screens.
On my way home one night, I flipped on KDWB, the Twin Cities station for "today's hit music" as I do every once and a while. The song "Jesus Walks" by Kanea West (sorry about the spelling) was playing. I had never heard the song before but I was curious what it would be about so I turned up my radio a little... OK, a lot. The lyrics surprised me. He sang about how his mother had worried he would fall away from Jesus, but he hadn't; that he follows (walks) with Jesus now. I was actually a little bit impressed and smiled. Then lyrics went on, "If I mention God you don't play me on the radio," saying that when God is mentioned in songs no one will play those songs... that there is a biased against "religious" songs. Well now, that's kind of cool. It's nice to see an artist standing for something beyond themselves. But wait, the lyrics went on and suddenly the word "sh--" was bleeped out twice. Then he started singing a little faster and used the word "hell" a couple of times. Whoa, wait a minute. Suddenly I was confused. What this guy talks about obviously doesn't affect his vocabulary.
Soon after the song ended, the DJ began a conversation with an emerging rap artist. I can't remember her name but I do clearly remember one thing she said. After the DJ made a comment about her new album she gave a cheery shout-out to God by saying, "Bless the Lord" or "Praise the Lord" or something like that. (Sorry, I guess I don't remember that clearly after all.) Anyway, then she announced her song name (sung with Ludacris) entitled "Shake that Sh--". I'm totally confused now. Actually I'm both disgusted and confused.
I still can't seem to put my finger on what the problem is with these rappers. They don't honor the God or a god with their lives, their bodies, their lyrics, so why do so many thank him? Why are so many "grateful" to him? Why are so adamant about sharing this so-called thankfulness with an audience? I suppose it's to look good, but can that be all? If these rappers (there is a multiplicity of other artists who do this, not only rappers, just thought I'd throw that in as clarification) actually wanted to honor God or a god, wouldn't you find them following "religious" directions? Let me give an example. If someone says, "praise the lord" they are probably referring to the Christian "Lord". Look at this verse found in the Christian's Bible in James 1:26: "If you claim to be religious but don't control your tongue, you are just fooling yourself and your religion is worthless." That pretty much sums things up! But let's look somewhere else too. In the Koran, a Muslims Holy Book it says in The Cow 2.83: "...you shall speak to men good words and keep up prayer..." This too shows that if you have a desire to be religious, you should control the words that come out of your mouth, because sometimes that can be the only witness to whatever "faith" you may follow.
My curiosity about rap and rap artists is still here, of course. My speculations will always exist, but one thing that does become more clear is that in my own spiritual journey one of the most effective ways of sharing my beliefs is by the words I use. When I let wrong things slip out, I start to lose my positive influence on the people around me. If artists think they are setting positive examples by saying things like "praise the lord" they are totally fooling themselves.
"The Lord is righteous, and he loves justice. Those who do what is right will see his face." Psalm 11:7
The Goodnight Laugh...
I am so odd... seriously, I am probably the quirkiest person ever to walk the earth. Then again, maybe I'm just the only person who talks about their oddities openly, or maybe the only person who posts them on the web.
This is just a quick story about me. Actually it's something I still do, so I guess it's an on-going story. Whatever.
Whenever I get into bed -- OK, let me stop. I didn't say that right. It's not whenever I get into bed, it's every once and a while. Let me start over: Every once and a while (maybe once or twice a week) when I get into bed, I laugh... out loud and hard. Most of the time it's one of those suppressed laughs. You know when you laugh really hard but your not supposed to, your lungs are suddenly pressurized and they want to explode? It's that kind. The reason I don't laugh out loud (really loud) is that I would probably wake up my sister and / or feel like a freak if someone heard me laughing hard to myself.
So why do I laugh when I get into bed? Well, it's usually because I am literally so happy that I am finally getting into bed that I get extatically happy and - laugh. Some nights I get home very late from work (12-2am) and when I finally fall into bed I'm so grateful to be there I laugh and want to yell, "Oh, how I love my bed!"
So how weird am I? Really weird... oh, I mean differnent. Oh, come on, I can't be the only laughing bed-getter-inner...
This is just a quick story about me. Actually it's something I still do, so I guess it's an on-going story. Whatever.
Whenever I get into bed -- OK, let me stop. I didn't say that right. It's not whenever I get into bed, it's every once and a while. Let me start over: Every once and a while (maybe once or twice a week) when I get into bed, I laugh... out loud and hard. Most of the time it's one of those suppressed laughs. You know when you laugh really hard but your not supposed to, your lungs are suddenly pressurized and they want to explode? It's that kind. The reason I don't laugh out loud (really loud) is that I would probably wake up my sister and / or feel like a freak if someone heard me laughing hard to myself.
So why do I laugh when I get into bed? Well, it's usually because I am literally so happy that I am finally getting into bed that I get extatically happy and - laugh. Some nights I get home very late from work (12-2am) and when I finally fall into bed I'm so grateful to be there I laugh and want to yell, "Oh, how I love my bed!"
So how weird am I? Really weird... oh, I mean differnent. Oh, come on, I can't be the only laughing bed-getter-inner...
September 25, 2004
In Da Club...
I'm writing this as a journalist, I suppose. As someone who reports a story just as it happens. And although reporters are not supposed to put their own opinions into articles, most don't follow that rule so neither will I.
A week ago I was invited by some friends at work to go downtown and visit the Escape Ultralounge... an "upscale" dance club with a beautiful building and a strictly enforced dress code. I was told it wouldn't be a cruddy club like Tropix (I've never been there but would never go anywhere named Tropix), and that it would be so fun that I would enjoy myself all evening.
The day rolled around and no one contacted me. I was slightly (OK, very) uncomfortable about the idea of going and was only considering it so I could do something with the people I work with. I spent my evening with my family, volunteering at my Uncle's office to make telemarketer-like phone calls for the President. I had a fun evening with my family and arrived home around 10pm. I watched TV for about an hour before realizing I hadn't had my cell phone with me all night. I found it downstairs and saw that I had two missed calls. Oh, boy.
I gave my friend a call.
"Hey, it's me. Sorry, I didn't have my phone with me... are you guys all down there? Too bad I missed you..."
"No! We haven't gone! You should come, please! Meet at my house if you want and then you can follow me... can you come?"
"Sure."
It was almost 11:30 and all I wanted to do was climb into my pj's and hop into my nice warm bed with a cup of steamy cocoa and a novel. But I did the opposite. I put on some dressy clothes and went to my car.
The bouncer almost kicked me out. Escape is actually located inside a mall downtown, and after showing my ID, he looked down and said, "Oh, sorry I can't let you in... you're wearing tennis shoes." What an idiot! I had been told not to wear them, but had because they were comfortable. Besides, they were almost brand new, too!
"Who are you with?" he asked. "Them," I said, pointing to the group I was with. My friend, who was dressed up and looked perfectly "club-ish" turned around, smiled, and gave a little wave to the bouncer. "You can go," he said quickly.
We entered a long, low-lit hallway that wound around and finally brought us right to the middle of the dance floor. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew stronger: I did not like it here, not one bit. I have never seen so many people packed into one building. My first reaction was disgust. There are too many people here, too much alcohol, and not enough oxygen. My two friends seemed relatively comfortable, and one said... actually she yelled (the music was so loud, but I'll get into that in a minute) "Let's go find my friends!" Then she dove into the dancing crowd. I dashed to keep up with her, pushing by people, rubbing up against at least 200 people, and finally finding.... no one. We turned around and headed back to the edge of the group, realizing we had lost our other friend. "Oh great," I thought. Then he popped out of the crowd. "Weird! I can't believe we found you!" we both screamed at him. Then the three of us, led by one, plunged back into the mass of bodies, trying to get into the middle of the crowd. Once there, and touching at least three people all the time, we tried to dance.
Anyone reading this realizes that in order to have fun dancing you must either, A) be happy, be with your friends, or want to dance, or B) be drunk. I was neither, and had to convince myself to dance. I tried my best to fit in, but there were a couple of factors I found distracting.
First of all, the music was so loud, my blood was probably whipped up into froth from the bass. I have never experienced bass that intense. My nostrils were buzzing, making me want to sneeze. Because of the pure volume of the music, all thought was driven out of my head. I was now a warrant of the club. Whatever they played or said, I heard... actually I did more than hear, every noise was pounded into my skull. Even now, days later, I still have offensive rap lyrics slipping through my mind.
Second, the floor moved. As the mass of bodies bounced in synchronization to the beat, the floor moved up and down from the sheer weight of the crowd. This was especially unnerving because it was so dark that their was little sense of which way was what.
Thirdly, the heat was almost unbearable. Dancing in the middle of the crowd was like baking in a giant oven. I could literally feel waves of body heat flowing from my feet up to the ceiling. Every once and a while, a cold wave of air would be shot out into the middle of the room. Whoa, what a feeling... it's like you could breath.
Looking back on that experience gives me two feelings: One is relief that I'm not there right now, and the other is a feeling of being thankful... I'm thankful that I am not trapped in a life like many of those people are. I have standards, morals, resolutions, dreams of something so much greater than dancing with whores I have never met.
The people at Escape had given into their animal instinct... the instinct that is inside us all, but doesn't come out with as much vengeance. It's like everyone there gave themselves - their minds and bodies - to everyone else. If you wanted to get on someone, get to it. If they wanted to get on you, they should feel free. This attitude was reflected to me the very moment I entered the room, and it terrified (and continues to terrify) me.
So what's the wrap-up? I went to da club in da hood with some peeps... I felt ill, rumbled, shook, baked, coughed, and tried to dance a little. I don't think I would ever EVER go back there, and I don't recommend it to you either.
I enjoy doing things with friends.... bowling, watching a movie, spooning... after my club experience these activities seem so lame... and so absolutely wonderful.
A week ago I was invited by some friends at work to go downtown and visit the Escape Ultralounge... an "upscale" dance club with a beautiful building and a strictly enforced dress code. I was told it wouldn't be a cruddy club like Tropix (I've never been there but would never go anywhere named Tropix), and that it would be so fun that I would enjoy myself all evening.
The day rolled around and no one contacted me. I was slightly (OK, very) uncomfortable about the idea of going and was only considering it so I could do something with the people I work with. I spent my evening with my family, volunteering at my Uncle's office to make telemarketer-like phone calls for the President. I had a fun evening with my family and arrived home around 10pm. I watched TV for about an hour before realizing I hadn't had my cell phone with me all night. I found it downstairs and saw that I had two missed calls. Oh, boy.
I gave my friend a call.
"Hey, it's me. Sorry, I didn't have my phone with me... are you guys all down there? Too bad I missed you..."
"No! We haven't gone! You should come, please! Meet at my house if you want and then you can follow me... can you come?"
"Sure."
It was almost 11:30 and all I wanted to do was climb into my pj's and hop into my nice warm bed with a cup of steamy cocoa and a novel. But I did the opposite. I put on some dressy clothes and went to my car.
The bouncer almost kicked me out. Escape is actually located inside a mall downtown, and after showing my ID, he looked down and said, "Oh, sorry I can't let you in... you're wearing tennis shoes." What an idiot! I had been told not to wear them, but had because they were comfortable. Besides, they were almost brand new, too!
"Who are you with?" he asked. "Them," I said, pointing to the group I was with. My friend, who was dressed up and looked perfectly "club-ish" turned around, smiled, and gave a little wave to the bouncer. "You can go," he said quickly.
We entered a long, low-lit hallway that wound around and finally brought us right to the middle of the dance floor. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew stronger: I did not like it here, not one bit. I have never seen so many people packed into one building. My first reaction was disgust. There are too many people here, too much alcohol, and not enough oxygen. My two friends seemed relatively comfortable, and one said... actually she yelled (the music was so loud, but I'll get into that in a minute) "Let's go find my friends!" Then she dove into the dancing crowd. I dashed to keep up with her, pushing by people, rubbing up against at least 200 people, and finally finding.... no one. We turned around and headed back to the edge of the group, realizing we had lost our other friend. "Oh great," I thought. Then he popped out of the crowd. "Weird! I can't believe we found you!" we both screamed at him. Then the three of us, led by one, plunged back into the mass of bodies, trying to get into the middle of the crowd. Once there, and touching at least three people all the time, we tried to dance.
Anyone reading this realizes that in order to have fun dancing you must either, A) be happy, be with your friends, or want to dance, or B) be drunk. I was neither, and had to convince myself to dance. I tried my best to fit in, but there were a couple of factors I found distracting.
First of all, the music was so loud, my blood was probably whipped up into froth from the bass. I have never experienced bass that intense. My nostrils were buzzing, making me want to sneeze. Because of the pure volume of the music, all thought was driven out of my head. I was now a warrant of the club. Whatever they played or said, I heard... actually I did more than hear, every noise was pounded into my skull. Even now, days later, I still have offensive rap lyrics slipping through my mind.
Second, the floor moved. As the mass of bodies bounced in synchronization to the beat, the floor moved up and down from the sheer weight of the crowd. This was especially unnerving because it was so dark that their was little sense of which way was what.
Thirdly, the heat was almost unbearable. Dancing in the middle of the crowd was like baking in a giant oven. I could literally feel waves of body heat flowing from my feet up to the ceiling. Every once and a while, a cold wave of air would be shot out into the middle of the room. Whoa, what a feeling... it's like you could breath.
Looking back on that experience gives me two feelings: One is relief that I'm not there right now, and the other is a feeling of being thankful... I'm thankful that I am not trapped in a life like many of those people are. I have standards, morals, resolutions, dreams of something so much greater than dancing with whores I have never met.
The people at Escape had given into their animal instinct... the instinct that is inside us all, but doesn't come out with as much vengeance. It's like everyone there gave themselves - their minds and bodies - to everyone else. If you wanted to get on someone, get to it. If they wanted to get on you, they should feel free. This attitude was reflected to me the very moment I entered the room, and it terrified (and continues to terrify) me.
So what's the wrap-up? I went to da club in da hood with some peeps... I felt ill, rumbled, shook, baked, coughed, and tried to dance a little. I don't think I would ever EVER go back there, and I don't recommend it to you either.
I enjoy doing things with friends.... bowling, watching a movie, spooning... after my club experience these activities seem so lame... and so absolutely wonderful.
September 16, 2004
The Problem with People... It's Go Time...
To anyone who reads this: The problem with people is that they are just like other people.
I may know you and I may not know you. But one thing I do know is that people like being just like other people. I know I do. I like buying what my peers buy. I enjoy looking like my friends look. I enjoy shopping and hanging out and doing things not only with everyone but like everyone. But many people don't realize this one thing... if you step away from being like everyone, you step towards greatness. You see, you can't please everyone. That's what most of us try to do. We try to be the someone that agrees, complies; we try to be the "yes man" in situations at work or school. We think that makes us seem strong and we try to be strong because we can. We try to be strong because we can handle it. We all have that attitude. (If that isn't something you have experienced, you will.) But handling everything and doing it all so we don't miss anything isn't right. What happens? We burn out or get kicked out... both options leave you feeling pretty crappy. Trying to be like the next person does guarantee you with one thing... an "invisible cloak". And I suppose that's why we do it. We want to be quickly checked out, not thoroughly investigated. We want our lives to seem open, but actually be closed.
To all: Be someone different. Don't run with the good crowd or the bad crowd. Run with yourself. We are all called to be leaders in some way, and for some of us, it's go time. Here are some helpfuls: (1) Find someone wise in your life and walk with them; most will let you. (2) Develop your own personal board of directors (group you can learn from). (3) Focus on the "how" and "why," not just the "what" - people will notice. (4) Be an encourager! When you catch people doing something right, tell them!
If you are struggling like I am with your future plans, then try to develop what you focus on... in other words, when you find something that gives you great satisfaction, write it down! Read it over and over... think about things that make time go quickly, those are the things you are meant to do.
Be a person with four things: A Vision, A Mission, A Strategic Motivation and A Plan. Know yourself so well that you find great confidence in living. These four things will focus your life much more than you can imagine. Having a positive mindset will ease stress, even when you aren't exactly sure where you will end up.
"Leadership is willing to rise to the bottom."
-Dr. Glen Schultz
I may know you and I may not know you. But one thing I do know is that people like being just like other people. I know I do. I like buying what my peers buy. I enjoy looking like my friends look. I enjoy shopping and hanging out and doing things not only with everyone but like everyone. But many people don't realize this one thing... if you step away from being like everyone, you step towards greatness. You see, you can't please everyone. That's what most of us try to do. We try to be the someone that agrees, complies; we try to be the "yes man" in situations at work or school. We think that makes us seem strong and we try to be strong because we can. We try to be strong because we can handle it. We all have that attitude. (If that isn't something you have experienced, you will.) But handling everything and doing it all so we don't miss anything isn't right. What happens? We burn out or get kicked out... both options leave you feeling pretty crappy. Trying to be like the next person does guarantee you with one thing... an "invisible cloak". And I suppose that's why we do it. We want to be quickly checked out, not thoroughly investigated. We want our lives to seem open, but actually be closed.
To all: Be someone different. Don't run with the good crowd or the bad crowd. Run with yourself. We are all called to be leaders in some way, and for some of us, it's go time. Here are some helpfuls: (1) Find someone wise in your life and walk with them; most will let you. (2) Develop your own personal board of directors (group you can learn from). (3) Focus on the "how" and "why," not just the "what" - people will notice. (4) Be an encourager! When you catch people doing something right, tell them!
If you are struggling like I am with your future plans, then try to develop what you focus on... in other words, when you find something that gives you great satisfaction, write it down! Read it over and over... think about things that make time go quickly, those are the things you are meant to do.
Be a person with four things: A Vision, A Mission, A Strategic Motivation and A Plan. Know yourself so well that you find great confidence in living. These four things will focus your life much more than you can imagine. Having a positive mindset will ease stress, even when you aren't exactly sure where you will end up.
"Leadership is willing to rise to the bottom."
-Dr. Glen Schultz
September 15, 2004
The Dead Drunk...
It's a headline you read all too often: "WOMAN KILLED BY DRUNK DRIVER" Drunk driving is something our alcohol-prevalent society deals with much too often. In fact, in 2002 17, 419 people died from drunk driving accidents. That mean that over 40% of all traffic deaths are alcohol related. In 2001 over 500,000 people were injured in drunk driving accidents... That is a huge number!
We've all seen it. We drive past a car or truck that has been pulled over. There some jerk is, walking the line. You chuckle (at least I do) and probably mutter "moron" or some other polite saying under your breath (do you scream it out the window?) So what are the most common ways that state officials tell someone has had a little too much to drink? Here are some of the common Field Sobriety Tests (FSTs):
-Have the Driver:
-Try to walk in a straight line, heel-to-toe.
-Say the alphabet backwards (I don't think I can do that!)
-Tip his or her head back with eyes closed and try to touch the tip of the nose with the index finger
-Stand on one foot
But here's the question I'm posing: Why is that drunks in car accidents seem to be (commonly) less injured that pedestrians or other sober drivers? I've heard multiple accounts in which the driver (who is drunk) kills other innocent people but yet finds himself completely healthy. I've done a little research and have found nothing yet, but I assume that it's because the drunk person's body is so relaxed. Right before an accident, anyone would reactively tense up, preparing for the impact. But a completely clueless drunk that has no idea what's going on... Looking out the windshield is like watching a video game... is so unaware of what will happen, his body position and tension doesn't change. When the car gets impacted, his body flies where it wants, but he has no tension in his body that would help in muscle damage. Remember, I'm speculating here... but as I write this I'm more and more curious. Hmm..
So drink if you want. Just don't you dare drive around me. Once you let alcohol into your body, you give it the keys to not only your personality, but your intelligence. I for one enjoy having control of both of those things.
If you don't engage your culture, your culture will engage you.
We've all seen it. We drive past a car or truck that has been pulled over. There some jerk is, walking the line. You chuckle (at least I do) and probably mutter "moron" or some other polite saying under your breath (do you scream it out the window?) So what are the most common ways that state officials tell someone has had a little too much to drink? Here are some of the common Field Sobriety Tests (FSTs):
-Have the Driver:
-Try to walk in a straight line, heel-to-toe.
-Say the alphabet backwards (I don't think I can do that!)
-Tip his or her head back with eyes closed and try to touch the tip of the nose with the index finger
-Stand on one foot
But here's the question I'm posing: Why is that drunks in car accidents seem to be (commonly) less injured that pedestrians or other sober drivers? I've heard multiple accounts in which the driver (who is drunk) kills other innocent people but yet finds himself completely healthy. I've done a little research and have found nothing yet, but I assume that it's because the drunk person's body is so relaxed. Right before an accident, anyone would reactively tense up, preparing for the impact. But a completely clueless drunk that has no idea what's going on... Looking out the windshield is like watching a video game... is so unaware of what will happen, his body position and tension doesn't change. When the car gets impacted, his body flies where it wants, but he has no tension in his body that would help in muscle damage. Remember, I'm speculating here... but as I write this I'm more and more curious. Hmm..
So drink if you want. Just don't you dare drive around me. Once you let alcohol into your body, you give it the keys to not only your personality, but your intelligence. I for one enjoy having control of both of those things.
If you don't engage your culture, your culture will engage you.
September 14, 2004
College Dropout? Let me explain...
So. This is my first entry into what will be (what I hope will be) an outlet for my writing craze... and a fun place that my friends (and non-friends) can visit to be intrigued, entertained, saddened, maddened, crazed, startled, or energized. If you think of any other adverbs that will fit, please feel free to contact me.
So let's get started. I suppose I should first explain the "College Dropout" headline. This won't take long (that's fortunate for you) but isn't that exciting (that's unfortunate for you AND me)... Oh well, I'm dawdling (is that how you spell that...? I suppose that's wrong) but please, before I get going, let me just tell this stupid story.
After being homeschooled basically my entire life, I started attending my local highschool my freshmen year. I was thrown suddenly into public school surroundings. I was so incredibly nervous my first day. I didn't know how to handle myself; who to look at, who to NOT look at (a cousin of mine gave me this advice: "While walking through jock hall, don't make eye contact with anyone") Luckily, I wasn't that afraid, and ignored this so-called advice. One of the things I was most nervous about was eating lunch. There were THREE lines! I had no idea which line had which food and how much it cost. So for the first couple of months I brought my own bag lunch. My mom made it for me (bless her) and to keep it cold I would put it into once of those thermo-lunch bag things. But I was too terrified to show anyone that I had one of those thermo-bags so I kept it in my locker. Each day I would hike it on over to my locker to remove my brown-bag lunch from it's thermo-bag. I would then bring this to my lunch table and quickly devour it.
But then something happened.
One day my mom ran out of brown paper bags and had to put my whole lunch DIRECTLY into the thermo-bag. After reaching into my locker and realizing this, I (obviously) panicked. What would I do... There was no way in I was going to bring a THERMO-BAG to my lunch table and face pure ridicule from my peers. So I devised a plan. I stuffed each baggy of food into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. Then, with a bulging stomach, I marched to my table, sat down, and removed each food-item one-by-one. I ate each one and pulled out the next...
Why did I think this was less weird that having a Thermo-Bag? I have absolutely no idea.
The first few days of band was strange too. I sat down by this creepy kid who only dressed in black... he introduced me to another kid by saying, "That's Brian, he's gay". I was confused. Was he really gay? Whoa. (Turns out he wasn't gay... I don't think...) Anyway, I got kicked out of band that same year and got a two-day detention for something I didn't do. While walking to the front of the room, all the guys were yelling, "Go to your room, Jeremy! Haha! I bet that's what detention is like in homeschool!!" They were loving it.
A year later I joined the marching band. On one of the school bus rides to our football game, we drove by my house. Just as the bus passed by a girl named Nicole stood up and screamed "LOOK! IT'S JEREMY'S SCHOOL!!! ... Do you live in a bubble?" Laughter, laughter, laughter. Good thing I'm so self-assured.
I went to a community college last year. This is actually the part of the story the article is named after. I went for one year and then... Well, here I am now. Schoolless, have a crappy job, I live at home and have a three-legged, one-eyed dog. Scratch that last part.
There's more to come... Stop by again soon.
So let's get started. I suppose I should first explain the "College Dropout" headline. This won't take long (that's fortunate for you) but isn't that exciting (that's unfortunate for you AND me)... Oh well, I'm dawdling (is that how you spell that...? I suppose that's wrong) but please, before I get going, let me just tell this stupid story.
After being homeschooled basically my entire life, I started attending my local highschool my freshmen year. I was thrown suddenly into public school surroundings. I was so incredibly nervous my first day. I didn't know how to handle myself; who to look at, who to NOT look at (a cousin of mine gave me this advice: "While walking through jock hall, don't make eye contact with anyone") Luckily, I wasn't that afraid, and ignored this so-called advice. One of the things I was most nervous about was eating lunch. There were THREE lines! I had no idea which line had which food and how much it cost. So for the first couple of months I brought my own bag lunch. My mom made it for me (bless her) and to keep it cold I would put it into once of those thermo-lunch bag things. But I was too terrified to show anyone that I had one of those thermo-bags so I kept it in my locker. Each day I would hike it on over to my locker to remove my brown-bag lunch from it's thermo-bag. I would then bring this to my lunch table and quickly devour it.
But then something happened.
One day my mom ran out of brown paper bags and had to put my whole lunch DIRECTLY into the thermo-bag. After reaching into my locker and realizing this, I (obviously) panicked. What would I do... There was no way in I was going to bring a THERMO-BAG to my lunch table and face pure ridicule from my peers. So I devised a plan. I stuffed each baggy of food into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. Then, with a bulging stomach, I marched to my table, sat down, and removed each food-item one-by-one. I ate each one and pulled out the next...
Why did I think this was less weird that having a Thermo-Bag? I have absolutely no idea.
The first few days of band was strange too. I sat down by this creepy kid who only dressed in black... he introduced me to another kid by saying, "That's Brian, he's gay". I was confused. Was he really gay? Whoa. (Turns out he wasn't gay... I don't think...) Anyway, I got kicked out of band that same year and got a two-day detention for something I didn't do. While walking to the front of the room, all the guys were yelling, "Go to your room, Jeremy! Haha! I bet that's what detention is like in homeschool!!" They were loving it.
A year later I joined the marching band. On one of the school bus rides to our football game, we drove by my house. Just as the bus passed by a girl named Nicole stood up and screamed "LOOK! IT'S JEREMY'S SCHOOL!!! ... Do you live in a bubble?" Laughter, laughter, laughter. Good thing I'm so self-assured.
I went to a community college last year. This is actually the part of the story the article is named after. I went for one year and then... Well, here I am now. Schoolless, have a crappy job, I live at home and have a three-legged, one-eyed dog. Scratch that last part.
There's more to come... Stop by again soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
