C The Elf Jesters

Simulations Abound! (or) Buying Park Place.

2005-09-24T11:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent the afternoon in a park.

To get an idea of the experience, imagine yourself in a vibrant pasture of green that could never exist naturally in the wild (unless the hierarchy of the food-chain becomes upset to the extent that lawnmowers and landscapers began roaming the earth in tandem), dotted sparsely with trees and basking under a gentle blue sky. I had my guitar, and I was playing and singing for Preeta. It was relaxing and wonderful, and we had the place almost completely to ourselves.

However, it got me thinking.

The idea that such a place could never exist without the intrusion of man was a thought that stuck with me. The park itself was built to look like a vale in heaven, and largely succeeded in its quest. When you walk out into the rolling green of its expansive space you feel like you're coming home, whether or not you've ever been there. Like nature is accepting you back into its gentle arms. But, it's a complete illusion. There is nothing 'natural' about the place whatsoever; every piece is manicured and manufactured, planned and placed with the utmost care. If they could kick out the ants on the ground to make it more perfect, I imagine they would. It is not nature, it is a simulation of nature built for easy and ready consumption. Welcome to Nature Construct #243A, please keep off the grass, and have a nice day.

Baudrillard may be silly at times, but I think he knew his shit. We tread through a desert of the real, making maps that are reality and refering to the last vestiges of actual reality as we would a map.

To drive my point home, at one point I looked around to find that a woman was standing in the middle of the park taking pictures of Preeta and I. She was a young woman, and I think she may have been a college student from her style of dress and presentation of self. That photo of us sitting in the park will likely be displayed and recontextualized to mean whatever she wishes it to mean. Whatever was true or real about that day to us will be lost entirely in the display that the young woman will make of it. She will simulate the meaning as Preeta and I knew it according to her own perceptions or desires. Preeta and I have become a single floating signifier, captured by the digitality of modern technology. "Young love." Or maybe, "Trespassers."

Hell, "Beauty and the Beast." Who knows? I just hope she captured my good side.

;-) peace

up to date

2005-09-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

Since there may be an influx of people coming to this blog again soon (I'd sort of let it trail off into nothing in favor of using the myspace blog), let me catch everyone up.

This was a blog that existed through a very tumultuous time in my life. For a good portion of the existance of this account I wasn't a terribly happy person. Prior to and since the posts you find here, I've been known to be a pretty cheerful guy. For that single year, though, I found my self bogged down with a lot of stuff that kept me moderately moody (to say the least). :-) It actually began as a class assignment and turned into a way for me to vent about things and publish really awful poetry.

So, if you bother to read through any of this, please excuse the oftentimes silly and self-serving content. I don't like the idea of changing or deleting any of the posts merely because new readers may be arriving, and so they will remain the same. However, I felt that a disclaimer might very well be necessary. Such is what you've just read.

peace.

myspace profile...

2005-06-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

I've got a myspace profile that has some blog postings on it too. If it's to your taste, check them out.

www.myspace.com/thebricoleur

Peace,
jesse

Check this out.....

2005-06-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

These are kind of neat.....

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/demo/index.jsp

thesmokinggub

2005-05-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

This one I wrote a little while ago... makes me think of the bush administration....

thesmokinggub

The gub postures. Unafraid in silhouette, regal white eyebrows and prominent proboscis; bent loopy grey smoke trailing. Smolder stick shouldered in stubby finger sandwich, lift to thin lips and smooched twice. Dispassionately. Hip holstered. Pupils slide and heart flumps. Moustache twitches tight eyes. Irises to busy horizon. Rule #37: Flag the sky. Always flag the sky.

reflections on the spiral staircase

2005-05-03T23:27:00.000-07:00

I Am
segmented
in body,
clunky and bulbous
with delicate
wings
translucent and webbed.
An insignificant
thief,
stowed away
hoping to pilfer
what can be hustled
from your cheek.

My single gift
This…
a bitter kiss.

Or, am I

Signaling,
reflecting
as favorite
bedroom mirrors might,
the unknown larceny
hoping to save…
prevent?...
life’s persistent and
Necessary itch.
(or maybe just
the little brittle bits)

Can you tell....

2005-04-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

Can you tell I've been a little stressed?

I'm exhausted from school. My energy is at rock bottom, and I just hope I can finish this semester without saying or doing anything too stupid. In the next month, I've got to finish 3 finals, and each is for a grade that will largely determine the course of my entire graduate career. If I do well, I can choose a certain culminating experience (one that will help me get into better doctoral programs), and if I fuck it up I'm forced to choose another (one that won't help shit). Doing my best to organize my time effectively enough to ace these final projects, but it's not easy. I've had to take this entire week off from my normal workload just to get started on two of the finals. The third I finished most of over my easter break. I used the entire week to finish it, and still couldn't quite do it. Plus, it meant I got no break, which means I've been working straight through since the beginning of the semester (weekends included.... I've taken exactly 3 days off since day one).

So anyway, this is just to say I don't mean to bitch so much. I don't like to think of myself as an unhappy person in general, I'm just under a lot of pressure.

Ok, that's all.

a year....

2005-04-25T00:58:00.000-07:00

In a week, it'll have been a year. One fifth the amount of time we were together.

Tonight's one of those rare nights where I actually feel like I was worth leaving for an unprotected drunken sport-fuck at a party.

ugh

Self-Editor v23.0

2005-04-24T00:35:00.000-07:00

Can't write about what I want to.

Frustrating, to say the least. I don't do well with keeping things inside.

Racoons, coyotes, and butterflies.

Big boys play fort too....

2005-04-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

Each moment
Piling hard
pocked stone
forever up
a gray curtain
against winds,
shakes, and unfriendlies.
Personal stagehand
director and star.
Rehearsing lines
with the audience
of one.

Tempt yourself
for occasional flavor
(don't be cruel)
peer out over
balustrades
but remember...
mustn't give in
the outside
does not come in.

Scream down
(be polite!)
from the tips
from the walkways
and shotgun towers
but never again
let face to face
(sticky, hollow face to face)
adulterate
corrupt
destroy.

Do you
remember the lion
once within
these gates?

But,
cheer up!
You're not
really alone....
it's not like
they don't exist,
they just don't last.
Understand?
Me neither.

Happy Birthday, Dana.

ahhhh......

2005-04-04T23:27:00.000-07:00

What a great day.

I missed my brother and sister more than I'd realized, and adoring nephews are also pretty wonderful. I know it's cliche, but I can't believe how big they've gotten!!!

Oregon is beautiful, just like I remember it. I'm looking forward to having some friendly CSUN faces nearby. It's going to be nice having the only vehicle around. I foresee my popularity on the rise..... ;-)

This is exactly the trip I needed, I think. Now if I can just not fuck up the presentations.....

the patient

2005-04-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

Stuck eye fuzzy brains
Pinned to black asphalt
yellow drip drip
slip sliding
separating headlight from headlight
Oregon to California

Sunrise bedroom and sunset hotel lobby
barenaked nerve non-erotic curve happy
gas junkie
semi-nostalgic private bad habit
ghosting old haunts
with little buttons gotten bigger
and plucked string recurrences
to shift the visual gestalt

Ok, I have the solution.

2005-04-01T18:10:00.000-08:00

For all those ultra-religious types and republicans who didn't believe Terry Schiavo should be taken off life support, allow me to offer a suggestion.

When the pope dies, revive his body and hook it up to machines. Make sure it never ceases breathing, and keep those tubes pumping stuff into his system. Definitely don't bother getting another pope, cause the first one is still alive and functioning, and still fully capable of living his life. Don't let the world play God by killing him! Make sure his body lives forever... who cares if he can't talk, think, feel, understand, OR BE HUMAN.

What? You don't want a living doll for a Pope? You think that'd be disrespectful to his memory and life? You'd rather he pass away peacefully once his body decides it no longer wishes to live on its own?

Go fig.

Why I love sociology....

2005-04-01T09:42:00.000-08:00

There are probably too many reasons to list, but this poem seems to cut to the quick better than most.

My First Hour
by Sharon Olds

That hour, I was most myself. I had shrugged
my mother slowly off, I lay there
taking my first breaths, as if
the air of the room was blowing me
like a bubble. All I had to do
was go out along the line of my gaze and back,
out and back, on gravity's silk, the
pressure of the air a caress, smelling on my
self her creamy blood. The air
was softly touching my skin and tongue,
entering me and drawing forth the little
sighs I did not know as mine.
I was not afraid. I lay in the quiet
and looked, and did the wordless thought,
my mind was getting its oxygen
direct, the rich mix by mouth.
I hated no one. I gazed and gazed,
and everything was interesting, I was
free, not yet in love, I did not
belong to anyone, I had drunk
no milk yet--no one had
my heart. I was not very human. I did not
know there was anyone else. I lay
like a god, for an hour, then they came for me
and took me to my mother.

I love my tasty and uncomfortable science.

Drunk Blogging!!!

2005-03-18T00:30:00.000-08:00

ok, a friend told me I should drunk blog so here goes. no editing from this point on.

Don't ever drink, but I drank tonight. Irish day, and all. Spur of the moment. A long island and a vodka cranberry. plus, a big tip and 'surprise me.' fun times.

hung out with singer mike, best friend. told him I hoped we shared time in heaven. got to hang at the bar and drive through placerita canyon drunkish in the same night.

feeling pent up. lots of work on the platter. need to vent, in more ways then one. I could use some excitement. not looking likely, but it's welcome in my neighborhood.

my eyes are so tired. dad is up, I can hear him coughing upstairs. he and I both get up early tomorrow to get the workload up and out the door. weird to have him out of retirement... I hope this new job goes well. he deserves a better end than statefarm gave him.

Boxer chick broke her neck! Sad stuff.

Miss Paul and dana. think about them every day.

oh man portland is going to rule! haven't written a single word of my presentations, but I know the material well enough I'm not sure I ever will. I might just go up cold. Out of respect for dan's theory, maybe I'll prepare something.

my back is tired. did about 125 situps today, but slacked on the free weights. Goffman and Berger/Luckmann stuff tomorrow, which is less offensive than most. Don't agree with it though. Goffman just plain bugs me now, which is weird, cause as an undergrad I loved him. Now the notion of buying into this theory that fully seems ridiculous. In fact, it bugs me that so many of my classmates liked him. Bugged me more than it should have... I actually fumed a bit. No offense to any that do like his stuff, I just think his theory is the bubblegum of sociology. Tasty to children and other newcomers, but hardly useful in the context of adult understandings and tastes. again, no offense to any goffmanians.

MONKEY STEW!!!

MONKEY STEW!!!

2005-03-10T19:49:00.000-08:00

The other night something very funny happened. Well, funny for me.

Mike and I were walking late at night, through the paseos in Valencia, and he was telling me a story about chimps. You may have seen the story in the news recently... a couple was attacked by some chimps at a facility, and they were badly hurt. The man lost all the fingers on one hand, got his cheek ripped, a part of his ass ripped off, and his testicles torn to pieces. Upon hearing this, I thought to myself, 'How should I express to Mike my distaste for the idea of having a chimpanzee forcibly remove my testicles?'

Struck with inspiration, I whipped out my knife (huge, metal, Benchmade Stryker), flipped it open, and said, 'If those monkeys came after me, MONKEY STEW!!!'

Now, as this was occurring, I was just coming around the corner from the darkened portion of the trail to the lit trail. And, as I screamed MONKEY STEW, I became confronted with a little asian man who was out on a walk. To his vantage point, I had just jumped out of the dark with a knife and a partner and screamed monkey stew at him.

Thrown off kilter, not wanting to terrify my new friend, I immediately resorted to emergency mode and said the first thing that came to mind:

'No monkey is ripping off my testicles.'

No joke, that's all I could think of, and it's what I said. To make him feel better, no less.

The man slowly walked by us. I tried to say 'good evening,' but he didn't answer. He didn't even look at me.

Mike started laughing so hard after about thirty feet he almost fell over. I had to stop and catch my breath I was laughing so hard. I mean, I felt bad, but I didn't mean to.

MONKEY STEW!!!!

Please don't steal my sunshine....

2005-03-08T10:11:00.000-08:00

God bless the sun. I'm so excited to see that great ball of fire looming large once again. Placerita Canyon is unflooded (finally), and it feels good to be walking the hills again. Dad is out at the poppy fields in Palmdale right now, enjoying the gorgeous sights. In a few weeks, once the nights warm up a little, I can start running the Valencia paseos again, something I've been looking forward to for months. I feel damn good when I run. Plus, with the weather the way it is, I can read my theory in the backyard instead of the living room. The fresh air and the ambient sounds make concentrating on obtuse material much easier. All in all, the better weather should do wonders for my overall outlook on life. Knock on wood.

A toast...

2005-03-04T08:51:00.000-08:00

To his wife... May they continue to bring each other joy after the ceremony has ended.

To the vows... may their truth remain intact after the spoken words have long since faded away.

To their children... may their lives find serenity, peace, and meaning.

To old friends and a new life... to burgeoning love...

To Paul.

For Experienced Users Only

2005-02-25T18:22:00.000-08:00

Self-medication is a dangerous and exhilarating line to walk. Impossible for some, seemingly effortless for others. (See Also: ways to forget, and Ryder getting out of jail)

Immanuel Wallerstein may not be entirely scientific, but I think he did his homework and tells a good story. Easily taken too seriously, but useful in small doses.

I got a wall decoration signed by a new hero of mine... good stuff.

Still miss ya, D. Got two songs coming your way. Funny how they never came out well when you were still around, it seems easy now.

~

Happy B-day

2005-02-14T00:21:00.000-08:00

23 today.... will go to class in about 19 hours and study methodology.... no cake planned....

a tree falls in sand canyon

2005-01-26T16:25:00.000-08:00

Proud oak with old roots, thick trunk, solid shutes; embracing haphazard tree house and three young kids; summers with strong limbs. Good climbs. Different times. The slow change, the hard rains, the soft soil and arthritic weight. Stiff branches and a nagging wind... easing down now, giving in.

Crumple, laying; owner paying. Workers working and axes playing. Fuel now, ashes from shade. Young men climbing off, in no mood to play.

Sean mentioned today that you were getting married soon Paul, congrats. I'll keep you in mind on the special date. Much love to you and the new family, I hope it's everything you've wished for. Kudos.

Zombies, foot-stools, and prostitutes. (Oh my.)

2004-12-15T16:14:00.000-08:00

I wanna write something this break. Something fiction, something good. I've got a couple ideas, but they are lame. Lame. Since you're here anyway.... here's one.

Guy wants kids, but doesn't believe in love. He's very willing to adopt, but they won't adopt kids to single, never married guys. So he does what any good father would. He pays a prostitute to marry him on paper and adopts the kid. He then divorces the prostitute and raises a kid with some seriously screwed ideas on love. The kid is the main character.

Fast forward. He's now a man who's got a lucrative career and a wife and he's going through a midlife crisis because he's still not happy. After equating himself to the 'king of human foot rests' after getting yelled at by his prick boss, he quits his job to open a foot-stool store. Names it Ottoman Eve. Money grubbing trophy wife wife leaves him (obviously... gotta make that connection to the prostitute). His little store has trouble competing against a larger company (The Ottoman Empire). In the end he triumphs and is able to find himself in the process. If my own cynicism wanes, maybe he'll even find a way to believe in real love in the process.

LAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMEEEEEEE.

So yeah. I need better ideas fast. The last thing I wrote (awhile ago, mind you) had zombies in it.

*flat stare*

That means whatever I end up writing will probably be better, but foot-stools and prostitutes? argh.

Oh the stress of vacation time. I think I'll take a little nap. ;-)

Decrescendo

2004-12-12T01:57:00.000-08:00

Well, it's finally over.

I put the finishing touches on my classical theory final tonight. I loved the class, but I'm glad the final is over. It was getting a little tedious. I wasn't allowed to go into any detail, so it was too basic to really be fun. Anyway, it's over. It was the last group of essays, so the semester is officially done. My first semester for the Masters is in the books.

Next semester it'll be three core classes and probably more of the same. I doubt they have any big surprises in store at this point. I learned a lot this semester, including the fact that I can do this. So now, it's a year and a half of jumping through the right hoops (the flaming ones carefully). Then it's three more years of hoops for another degree that will make it easier to get in with the dumb bourgeois girls that live in the beach towns and don't know the difference between an MD's salary and a PhD's salary. Then it'll just be an issue of getting the bartenders to call me Doc in public.

'Dr. Fletcher if you're nasty....'

hehe

A moment of silence...

2004-12-09T01:21:00.000-08:00

Dimebag Darrell was shot and killed today while playing on stage in Ohio.

Of all the guitarists in this world, only Eric Clapton had as much influence on me as Dimebag did. I cite him on my bio as one of three musicians that shaped my own talent. I am shocked at the senseless nature of his death. He was a true innovator, and he will be sorely missed. God forgive the gunman, who was killed as well.

A moment of silence in Dime's memory, please.

Be careful out there. ~peace~

just another anomic summer

2004-12-07T01:05:00.000-08:00

reality is gobs of wet paint
on strips of black velvet
gaudy and supple
with a tendency towards movement
and a feel like fresh goosebumps
that ripple
and shudder

just another anomic summer

Q: What's yellow and goes click click?
A: A ball-point banana.

Monday Monkey lives for the weekends, sir.

2004-12-06T23:10:00.000-08:00

--This post is lame. You will gain nothing from this. This makes me feel better to post but in no way will it help you with your own issues. This is prose's equivalent to vomit. Fairly ye be warned, says I.--

Too much work. That's the theme of my life-coaster at the moment. If you've never ridden it yourself, let me describe it for ya. It's a slow rollercoaster where you push the cart up the hills and then chase it madly down the other side, trying not to fall or fall behind. Your knees get scraped up in the process. You can see your friends from where you are, but they're too far away to actually talk to. It's not the best ride ever, but at the end you get a gold star and a pat on the back. And that's a great deal because that and about four bucks will buy you a small cup of coffee at starbucks.

Nah, i bitch, but I don't really mean it. I want this degree and I like what I'm having to learn in order to get it. It's just that this computer keyboard is getting more attention from my hands than it deserves. My two cats and my guitar both deserve a larger chunk of my time.

I created a profile on yahoo personals today. I don't know what morbid little impulse prompted that. I searched under my specifications and the results I got back were not flattering to the gene pool in southern california. Every woman I know is a better catch than the people they recommended I take out. These were individuals displaying sentences like (I SHIT YOU NOT)... Who are you looking for?: 'People that arn't dumb.' C'mon people. C'mon.

So yeah. I'll be happy when I get my weekends back, instead of working right through them in order to memorize the thoughts of men long dead. Plus, it'll give me a chance to find a nice, sensible girl on yahoo personals and then alienate her by telling her how much I distrust the very notion of love and how little I want anything serious. Then I'll probably bitch about Dana for awhile just to seal the deal. Yeah, I'm smooth with the ladies like that. That'll comprise a good six weeks of fun before next semester, when I have two core methodology courses and contemporary sociological theory, also known as a full frontal labotomy and a gaurantee that you won't be getting laid anytime soon.

Now I'm just being a big baby. The key to this whole process is to remember that life is ALWAYS like this. Always on the verge of falling apart at the seams, always a trial, always a tribulation. The periods when you feel secure are simply the times when there is karmic money building in the bank... reality is lulling you into a false sense of security so it can slowly wrap it's hand around your most sensitive parts and squeeze. So if you're happy with your life, watch out.

That's why this monday monkey lives for the weekends and distrusts the work week. Too easy to lose sight of the important stuff on the five 'employed' days. Better to live life with the mentality of the weekend. No commitments, nothing you can't put down and walk away from at a moment's notice. And right now, it's about 6am Saturday morning in my heart.

I told you this was a shitty little post. I thought the monday monkey part might lighten it a bit.

C The Elf Jesters

2004-11-25T23:00:00.000-08:00

I also would have accepted:

Reject Fleshes
Jeers Self Etch
Lesser Chef Jet
Ejects Herself

This is a Thanksgiving Blog

2004-11-25T13:59:00.000-08:00

First off, thanks for reading this.

hehe

Secondly, allow me to commend the Stater Brothers for a simply magical holiday feast. *tips digital hat* Well done, boys. You outdid yourselves this year.

Third, and most important, let me say a resounding and general thanks to the Overarching-Cognizant-Force-In-The-Universe for giving me the blessings that are my friends and family. Won't see many of you this weekend, but you'll be in my heart... wouldn't be here without you guys. (A special thank you to Vanessa and Michaella for inviting me to their families' Thanksgiving celebrations... you guys rule!!! And Brian, you're in my prayers, keep your chin up.) :-)

Lastly, I'd just like to say that I'm thankful for the lessons learned this last year. Life is best when it's honest, even if that means it's not pretty.

Peace and love to you and yours!

Happy Thanksgiving

'sour minds into grapes of wine....'

2004-11-22T22:57:00.000-08:00

Pops asked me tonight, 'If you could have any living person in the world over to dinner tonight, who would it be?'

It took me a minute, but I answered the Dalai Lama. I'm pretty content with my answer... Stephen Hawking was winning until the big DL crossed my mind.

Dad then proceeded to ask, 'If you could have any person from all of history over to dinner tonight, excluding religious figures, who would it be?' (He knows me too well, and didn't want a Buddha/Jesus speech.)

That was a little harder, but I ended up deciding on Socrates, given the stipulation that he be able to speak English. Because if I wanted an older man of oft-questioned sexuality wearing nothing but a sheet while hanging out with me at the dinner table and babbling at me in Greek, there are easier ways to do it than resurrecting the father of modern philosophic thought. Close runner-ups were Shakespeare, Ghandi, and Mark Twain.

I think I'm going to turn the tables around and ask Dad this question tomorrow... 'If you could have over any fictional character to dinner tonight, who would it be?' As you can probably tell, he's big on these types of things. If you are too, please feel free to leave your answer to one or all three in the comments section.

(Don't even think about answering just two, you rat bastards.)

;-)

Fractals

2004-11-20T22:12:00.000-08:00

Saturday night, and nothing much to do. Hey now, hey now, a-shaw-na-naw-nee-day.

Smaller patterns are often indicative of larger patterns, have you ever noticed that?

There are these particular trees up in Placerita Canyon that are a perfect example of this principle. I've been hiking there a couple times each week ever since it got gutted by the big fire. Right at first, the land was simply black. The trees were skeletal, and the trails had gone from being carefully obscured by the vegetation of the valley to being exposed to the passing cars even from the distance of the road. Gusts of wind would stir up clouds of ash that could rival anything Peter Jackson's computer animators had been able to conjure up in Mordor. I loved it.

Anyway, these certain trees back there had gotten completely chewed up by the fire, and their leftovers are now brittle fractals dotting the landscape here and there with their crippled forms. Their branches are twisted up and gnarled from the heat, making each one taller than me, but not by much. What's neat about these dead trees is their shape. The little twigs jutting from each of their branches in hundreds of little clusters look just like the trees themselves. They are perfect little replicas, each and every one. It wasn't noticeable before, but now that the fire has had its way with them, their little secret is revealed. Patterns (as well as paths) are easier to see after something comes and burns away all the unnecessary shit. Are personalities the same way? That's more debatable.

I really like hiking back there. Small plants are starting to grow around the base of the trees again. It's not much green, but you'd be surprised what even a little growth can do for a burned-out valley. I have a routine of walking back there a couple times a week to keep an eye on how the recovery is coming. Recently the rains have been changing the landscape. The fire destroyed the root structures of all the smaller plants, and mudslides have begun to do their work. Some of the changes they make are pretty major (once I thought I'd taken a wrong turn upon seeing one of the changes for the first time, because it was so drastic), but all in all it's still the same park back there. The big trails all go to the same places, despite the few new twists and turns along the way.

Along with the rain has come a small stream running through the center of the valley, which I love. It runs as though it has every intention of remaining there all winter, which would be a rare treat for the desert and just fine by me. It's temporary life, but it gurgles and moves and that's plenty. The patterned movement of the seasons will dry it up eventually, but for now it's Placerita's titular little stream.

Now that I've buried my metaphor completely, let me finish by pointing out just one more thing about those trees. They may be distressed, but they're still standing. And if you ventured down under the earth, the roots you'd find holding them up would be composed of tiny fractals as well... perfect little replicas of the whole tree, each and every one.

Saturday night, people, and nothing much to do. ~peace~

'Blog' is short for 'Web Log,' not 'baby-log'

2004-11-17T14:41:00.000-08:00

Naming something you write is always the most difficult part. After you have the title, it's all downhill from there. Take this astounding work of absolute genius, for example. Once I had that snappy and insightful title, this really began to write itself. Inititiative is the key, I tell you. Just plunge right in. Ignore those silly notions like, 'What do I write?' and 'I don't want to look stupid.' Those aren't good thoughts to be having, those are the thoughts of a quitter. Those are the thoughts The Man wants you to think. I should know... I'm a 22 year old white protestant male living in the Suburbs of Los Angeles. Hell, I practically am The Man.

I see you snickering out there. You think I don't know what I'm doing, that I'm just rambling on without any particular purpose or direction. That I'm talking out my @$$ and such. Well, I'll have you know that this isn't my first blog. Nope. I've had one before this, and it was GREAT. It had all these funny things and smart things and cool things and..... ok, I'm lying. It was pretty lame too. Mostly bitter rantings about things in society. I had this one about Ashley Simpson that I remember posting somewhere else. Can't remember where, though.....

I've since deleted my last blog, so I have to start all over again now. Hence the hodgepodge of dismembered and reconstituted drivel you see above you. Hopefully the digital format will add the electricity required to pretty up my frankenstein. Or, maybe I should ramble about something partisan or polemical or NORMATIVE to liven up the environs a little. Unfortunately, I've been so busy with schoolwork, I don't have any opinions that are strong enough to warrant posting. So, you're going to have to settle for this: Stanley Kubrick sucks. I know most college people like him, but he's a total scrote.

There, I hope that got your blood rushing. Until next time, same blog time, same blog channel.

~peace~