I'm oddly psyched about The Police performing on the Grammy Awards this week, along with the prospect of them reuniting for a 25th Anniversary tour. I'm not a large fan by any means. I don't have any of their records except their Greatest Hits (despite the fact I normally steer clear of compilations in favor of albums). I know the big songs, but hardly any of the words. Still, I'm just jazzed to hear them and will try feverishly to get tickets if the hypothetical tour becomes a reality.
There's just something immensely appealing to their music and being able to see them live. It's such an event to me. A great band playing great songs with an unknown future, I cannot think of many other bands I'd want to see more. I don't even care for Sting, but the Police are most likely going to blow my mind this Sunday.
They called him a difference-maker. Surely, this was open to multiple interpretations, but the glee at which he was welcomed made us all hope for the best. Alas, hope is often dismissed with truth, as one will soon be forced to acknowledge after reading this tale.
His dawn as our new supervisor had barely cracked the horizon when already he was set to change the landscape. Though it is rarely the case that evil ventures to shake normality in such a fashion, his self-imposition started immediately and lacked any definition of subtlety. All pre-existing rules were done away with as though it were outdated canon law and God himself now spoke new truths to our recently designated leader, our champion of bile. The heads of time-tested procedures were lopped off, replaced with deformed, eyeless masks, demonstrating the lack of foresight and insight the future was to hold. The arms of production were torn from the body, layoffs needing no muscles. The humor of a generation became outlawed, firing Joy and her sister Happiness. Finally, the soul was sucked out of a corporation by the removal of he who was to be replaced by darkness. It is this chimera for which I now forfeit my labor.
He had a long frame. The kind that would start below the surface and escalate for miles until his face was but a voice, thundering from some nameless “—sphere.” Despite the appearance of being rooted, the man was never planted, always shifting that frame throughout our forest of cubicles and long-forgotten dreams. Well before we could hear the unapologetic voice of our new administrator, we could see the shadow of his over-bearing figure and smell the odor of a comfort that came much too soon.
The man was an interrupting force, only caring about what it was that he desired at a given moment, ignoring his surroundings. Forget the fact that myself or one of my fellow drooped torsos may be amidst a transaction, for his word was all-important and requiring instant attention. "Can you hold, please?" These four words I now know as a mantra to be cheered any time his shadow begins to creep over my desk and optimism.
To continue much further would be but a practice in masochism, but this is the plight I now find myself. I have somehow managed to go from rock-bottom to a place even deeper and darker. For how much longer should I have to bear the rule of the ignorant? I suppose only until I am murdered by madness, which I fear may soon be knocking.
10. Brent Johnson: Sharing mutual friends was probably destiny’s way of introducing us to each other, but it was Programming and Floering that was the true uniting factor, creating a friendship that was tame, mild, and fleeting. There was nary an argument or sense of conflict, yet you have still found your way on this list. How? You married my sister, you son-of-a-bitch, and that just ain’t right.
9. Chris Daniels: It was in junior high that we first met, not in class, but at the lunch table. You were a swimmer and I was a God, yet we found a common bond in one thing – mocking Tyler Halvor Killman. Our laughter soon found its way from the top of the clock to the morning hour as the young boy became the butt of all jokes, good and bad. It is the fact that today you stay in contact with him and not me that has put you on this list.
8. Emily Bembeneck: Okay, I’ll admit that I probably talk to you on-line as much as anybody, but we both know what kind of “friendship” this is. You remind me daily how you dread me, and were it not on my birthday that you permanently etched a message on my Facebook wall something so foul, I dare not reproduce it here? And can we really forget how you withheld the truth from me for years about what a degenerate you truly are? I think not.
7. Adam Giacobazzi: Only the spawn of Satan himself would attempt to lure a young, innocent child away from the comforts of Christianity into the fiery depths of Atheism with weak and vague arguments that are dismissive of history and logic. Not only this, but it was you that helped concoct a plan to strap me to a dolly at GKC, resulting in my resignation, and thankfully, one kick-ass rap song.
6. Dan Egan: A grade higher than me, you should have been a role-model, but instead, turned out to be the homo-gay, and I was forced to leave you behind forever. It was a test of my faith and my moral stances that we all knew would one day be challenged, but the eighth grade seems a little too soon.
5. Dave Bailey: Well, you basically attempt to convince me to kill myself every time we see each other, offering advice on the most efficient techniques. Come to think of it, isn’t this list only for friends?
4. Justin Gulseth: You may be one of my best friends, but you’re still an asshole. When I think back to all the hours in my life I have wasted collectively, I realize 98% are wasted waiting for you to follow through on plans. I hate being stood up, and by extension, I hate you.
3. Aaron Brzezina: Dude. You jackass. You didn’t know a single soul in junior high and I befriended you and introduced you to all of my friends. Quickly, you became one of my best pals, but then came high school. Something made you think you were the coolest kid in school and you turned into a schmuck. Your condescension and smarminess completely overshadowed all of your good traits and made you unbearable. Dude. You jackass.
2. Jared Halvorsen: This was a friendship built upon itching powder and fear. You turned my playful mocking of Tyler Halvor Killman into something much more cynical and humiliated me every chance you got. My father’s car was at risk in your presence and my self-esteem even more so. Children, animals, and orbs quaked in your proximity. O what a bastard you were! Never before has the earth witnessed such unadulterated bastardness! May your seed pay for their father’s sins for all of eternity.
1. Therese Gulseth: Your brother’s wrongs pale in comparison to your own. So many moments of weakness and vulnerability have I wasted on you, you silly little tramp. I still cannot believe the cruelty you displayed as you juggled my emotions like the clown you are. We may still be friends, but I think we both understand the hatred that should exist. It is only because of good ol’ fashion Christian-like forgiveness that I can forget all your evil acts and ignore the bitter taste left in my mouth by the ignorance and hopefulness of youth…obviously.
I can’t believe how far this has spread. I never thought my life would be impacted by the infection, but it’s been taking the lives of everybody I know. They attack you from all sides, transforming you into the same soulless beast they have become so that you can take the lives of others as well. It’s your friends, your family, your neighborhood strangers – the whole lot.
Now they’re after me.
I’m strong. I know I am. But it’s relentless. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hold them off, but I’m sure as hell going to try. Those MySpace zombies are going to have to do more than what they have planned to get to me.
Do you think spreading lies about me being the homogay on your blog will really work to break my spirits? My reputation is too good and I’m too clean for anybody to buy into that. Give up now and save yourself the trouble and the humiliation of a spoiled credibility.
I fear that it is up to me and me alone to create some kind of antidote for a world gone mad. In my heart, I know it to be reason, but this horde seems to have built up a resistance. Why don’t they realize that they’re dead on the inside and killing all those around them?
It’s getting dark now and I think I hear them starting to rally around my quarters.
So, there's two sports-related posts in a row? The Tigers are in the playoffs! Today, they clinched a spot, so they could go winless and still play in October. They still need to compete for the division and best record, but I'm just on cloud nine right now.
It seems like forever ago that I first started watching them, calling the now irrelevant John Doherty my favorite pitcher and Alan Trammel my favorite player. So many baseball memories from that time. I remember sneaking the radio into my bedroom when I was told to turn the TV off and go to bed so I could listen to a night game. There was making fun of Jason Schroeder and his love of Cecil Fielder only to hear him reply, "Shut up, you fat pig!" Keith Grabowski mimicking Mickey Tettleton's unorthodox batting stance, cheek puffed out, full of chew. Ripping each other off in baseball card trades. Watching from the stands Chad F-ing Krueter hit the ball on the roof of Tiger Stadium, his only HR of the year. Traveling to games with the church, and on one occasion, my best friend Brian VerBerkmoes as well. Seasons of Pee Wee and Little League baseball as my skills completely diminished as everybody else's improved, only to be completely shown up by my little brother. (Oddly, one year, my best game was one where I stayed up all night. I tried it again the next game and almost stole home). Another Little League memory, the one-armed kid that plunked me in the elbow and put me in a sling. I still have it out for that guy...Sean Monahan hitting an inside-the-park homerun at the parents versus the kids game! That shitty little baseball field we made behind the house that we played at everyday during the summer where fielders were rendered useless since it was either a strikeout or a homerun. My creation of the greatest pitch ever, "The Wrench," which I still contend I threw a no-hitter with in our sandlot game. I would probably still say that the best baseball video game was 'Ken Griffey Jr. Baseball' ("Oh, Come on!" ). Oh! Jason going home after he batted every game because he was a punk and didn't want to let the other team play. He had the only good bat too, so we had to steal it after he left in the rare case that we were able to scrape together enough people to keep playing. There was that one kid that lived on the peninsula that came over a few times saying he could throw 70 mph and was going to be in the majors one day. He broke both of our wooden bats, so his grandma made him buy us two aluminum ones to replace them with, which we used for probably half a decade. Of course, I remember my own Grandma watching when she would visit, her baseball cards all spread out in front of her, loving them until the day she passed (a day where they actually won).
All of these years never once seeing them end with a winning record. Having to listen to people mockingly ask, "Why do you even watch them? Tigers suck." So devoid of talent for so long, nearly breaking the record for most losses in a season only three years ago! And I actually watched most of the games that season, rooting for individuals to have a good game because there was no way the team was going to pull it out.
So much time has passed, but finally, pay off. Reciprocated love! Now, I just need to scrape together some cash in case they make the World Series. I'll pay what it takes to go! I may not get another chance.
I've been in a downward spiral since last weekend. Nightly, I wander the streets, just looking for a glimmer of hope, of love. Still, every night, I come home in a drunken stupor with only new STDs to show for it.
It all started when Los Diablos de Michigan beat the Irish last Saturday. I was put on suicide watch that night, locked in my room to prevent harm to myself and others. I know what you're thinking. "It's just a game, dude. What the hell kind of a loser are you? You should be killing yourself, not over that game, but over the fact that you're such a friggin douche bag to put any weight on it at all. Hell, if you need help ending your pitiful existance, just give me a ring, ass."
First, ease off some, man! Why are you acting so aggressive towards me? Second, I appreciate that there football, so there's an emotional investment. I know I'm not on the team, or a student at the school, or have any real association with Notre Dame or its students, but I wear a hat, ok? A hat with an "N" and a "D" on it, so that's all the justification I need.
Okay, I can go on with rubbish for only so long...hopefully ND recaptures my spirit by taking it to the Spartans tonight.
Ok, 2 semesters to go until I'm done...finally...assuming I don't fail anything.
This term I'm taking International Politcs/Theory, US Constitutional Law, Western Philosophy II (with Zingo, who was written about below somewhere), and Middle Eastern/North Aftican Politics.
As always, all four of my teachers seem to tilt left to at least SOME extent, but the teacher I have for my US Constitution course, Lees, may be the biggest liberal I've come across yet, but I suppose that's debatable. Speaking of "debatable," I can argue with somebody based on ideology or current events, but when somebody is a Constitutional scholar, he's free to spout off about all the evils that Republican-selected Judges have commited with really little to no argument from the audience. It's easy for a teacher to take a topic in which he has intimate knowledge in and completely trash the other side, and with little immediate evidence available, go unchecked. I can honestly say, I am not familiar with every position Scalia has taken and why while a member on the Supreme Court bench, let alone defend it when the teacher trashes him. Maybe he's right on a lot of his criticisms, but when he only attacks conservatives, I really doubt it.
Sure, the White Sox have a 6-1 record against my beloved Tigers, but I can't help but feel sorry for them. Little do they know what they're doing by beating the snot out of my team. What are they doing exactly, you ask? Well, they're cementing the Tigs dream season and an obvious World Series title this year, that's what.
See, every underdog needs a bully to overcome. They need some supposedly unmanageable obstacle that they somehow navigate when it really matters to become a hero. The White Sox have foolishly decided to become that obstacle, pounding the Tigers throughout the season only to set themselves to be defeated in the playoffs as the underdog advances to the Series.
Don't you people watch movies? Have you no life experience?
The Sox are the Tigers' "Biff," their "Jack Parkman," their "Sho' Nuff," and their Algore all in one. It's a good thing the good guys always win...right?
Having learned that people actually read this shitfest of half-thoughts and sorry prose, I've decided to update. Sometimes demand can be overwhelming and I count two people having asked me about my lack of activity here as overwhelming demand.
One major thing I should mention is that one of my best friends, Tyler, recently got married to his high school on-again-off-again sweetheart, Holly. I was a groomsmen and it was my second wedding ever in as many months, my first time as a part of the wedding party. It was a really nice ceremony and a fun reception. I think they really do belong together and hope for A-mazing things.
So that was something joyous, which means I should probably offer up equal time to the miserable as well. In this case, as in most cases, the "miserable" would be my job. Edcor is run by douches. We have this "re-engineering" (which will most likely be as successful as the "Reconstruction") and are all on call this weekend with a promise of canning if one fails to answer the phone. They have the same arrangement set up for Independence Day as well, so that's cute...
School's been out for a couple of weeks now, and that being the case, I have been picking up more hours at work so I am now fulltime. It's a long day and I mostly train people in the evenings, but hopefully I'm done for a while. It was okay, especially when they become "good enough" and I just sit there while they do everything, but I get antsy. I just listen to these 20 minute calls that should only be 2 minutes long, but theyre full of semi-misinformation and awkward silences instead.
Ok, anyway, that's my fascinating work update...
As for this weekend, my sister Jill and her family came to visit on Wednesday, so that was not bad. I didn't get to see a lot of them until Friday night and Saturday due to the new hours, but it was good times. We went to the movies last night and Gameworks today which was fun, but those damn games ate like 20 credits off my card, those bastards...I guess I should also mention how their toddler is the goofiest kid ever, with has an obsession with just spinning things. I had to babysit today and for like 2-3 hours, all he was doing was spinning tupperware and cake tins on the floor and on the table the whole time. Just sitting and spinning. He's teething also, so he's like a Saint Brenard, drenching everything in saliva.
There it is...I've put off updating for months, but I've more than made up for it with the above post.
She paced angrily, seemingly cursing her audience between the words she barked in her fluctuating
tone.Though this tone seemed to change frequently, it had one consistency: hatred.
Certainly that was an adjective she had been branded with since her birth before time began, begetting tyranny, begetting famine, and begetting demons.A woman had never walked the earth drenched in so much disgust as she did then.How dare we ask her a question?“Repeat yourself,” you pleaded?“Go f*ck yourself,” she replied, but doing so only with a glance.
Her ears were pierced with a variety of jewels, but it was her eyes that pierced each of our hearts, our souls.If a cold stare is often times described as daggers, then I could only depict those pale windows as rapiers.It was obvious to all they had seen much, but never benevolence.
A humorless beast, never had a laugh escaped her body, for that would be a sign of joy.Evil men take pleasure in the fall of others; evil incarnate take pleasure in nothing.It was her duty to cast fear upon this world, and in duty, one is not to take delight.
With this role of “fear distributor,” she was also to hand down wisdom.Much to the chagrin of her pupils, this rare treasure was only meant for those that were fleet of mind and able to endure the crippling pain we felt in our wrists and forearms, for she spoke in riddles at the speed of a hare, and us only with ancient tools of wood and graphite to document her spewing.
I sit here now knowing that a fourth of my waking day, twice a week, shall be devoted to her often silent torture.The only solace I am able to take is in knowing that it is through the way in which man handles adversity and misfortune that their character is judged.For me, this means that by the time the flowers bloom and those who live in the air return, I shall be deemed a great man by all who hear my name.
Classes are in full swing and ain’t that something? I’m taking a couple Policy and Western Philosophy courses that are pretty interesting. I have a brutal schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays, though. I have three classes from 8am – 3pm and then have to work 4pm – 10pm (extended hours due to “busy season”). Luckily, I don’t have class in the morning until 10:40.
I’m starting to realize that about 77% of my life consists of me in the sitting position between me in a classroom, at work, driving to and from places, watching TV, dicking around online, playing videogames, and eating. Then there’s like 21% with me sleeping a few hours a night and the other two must be me walking out of the car and into a building or to the bathroom (where, once again, I’m sitting). I need to find a way to be more active. The more I think about it, the more sickening it is.
I’m a little late on this, but I had an eventful Christmastime and thought it’s at least something worth posting.
With a couple days for Christmas off, Jakki, Jess, Greg, and I all traveled to New Hampshire to see my sister Kris and her family. We left after I got out of work on a Thursday at 8pm and drove straight through the night, arriving to her place around 8 am. Jess did most of the driving, but I tackled the 4-hour straightaway through New York State.
The last time I had seen Kris and Co. was over the summer and this was my first time out to NH. She lives in a small town full of homely people, but it was kind of nice. Very mountainy throughout the state, though I slept through the best of it.
They have all these kids (which I’m sure I mentioned when talking about them this summer), so it was all madness all the time. They’re all a bunch of fun though, so it was cool.
As far as Christmas itself, it was the first time I had done the gift exchange on Christmas morning as we usually due it the night before. Damn it was early…
It was all very nice and fun and without arguments. The trips were long, but not as bad as you anticipate. I got back in time to nap before work on Tuesday.
11/24/05 for most may have been the celebration of Indians and funny hats, but for me, it was a celebration of 23 years of semi-mediocrity and half-greatness.
The day started with a power outage. This put a damper on plans of sorts as Jakki was planning on having us over early for homemade cinnamon rolls and laughs. Instead, Jess trekked out into the powerless early morn to buy the rolls instead. As soon as he left, the power returned and he proved to be the fool I always suspected he was.
Eventually turkey was first made, then eaten, and finally tupperwared. We had a feast made for five consisting of a plethora of edibles and green stuff. Typical shenanigans for typical folk, I suppose.
As far as the Birthday portion, much was made about which movies to not see. Eventually, we all agreed to not see everything except “Shopgirl,” Steve Martin’s hail mary to be taken seriously again after such duds as...well...name a Martin film in the past five years.
It was a decent film, though by no means A-mazing. The book from which it was adapted (also written by Martin) was fairly poor, and the movie did manage to rise above that. For me, Jason Schwartzman stole the show, but Claire Danes was good as well. Steve Martin was humorless, and for once, intentionally. That was really the downfall for me. It’s a movie about a love-triangle, but only one half of it has anything the viewer wants to root for. Martin’s portion was one without “moments.”
In other uninteresting news, school has neared the end. I cannot say I’m too disappointed with this non-revelation. Most of my courses were uninteresting and without “moments” themselves. Journalism ranged from “eh” to “not bad,” while Advanced Playwriting was a gas. Everything else can go to hell. I mean, they were okay, and I am doing well in them, but I could care less for the subjects.
Notre Dame should be finding their way into a BCS game, so that’s cool.
Last night at around 9:45, Greg and I popped in the 3-hour and forty-seven minute behemoth that is “Lawrence of Arabia.” What a great, beautiful film. Jakki decided not to watch it with us, and what a mistake.
I’d always heard it was a classic, but knew little to nothing about it. It’s the true story of an Oxford grad who joined the British army and got wrapped into the fiasco in Saudi Arabia during WWI. At some point in his journey he starts to believe that he is destined for greatness and almost a second coming of Moses. He gets this incredible God complex, and when he kills for the first time, he becomes broken, drifting into madness and against everything he believed in when he joined the cause.
The movie has this great cinematography that does a lot with what you would think is a fairly bland, desert landscape.
Anyway, everything about it was good, so rent it, calm your ass down about the length, and watch something decent.
That’s pretty much it. That’s the summation of my life in the past 5 days or so.
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