clear rants

I was at Barnes and Noble today to pick up a certain book. I stole away to the section I knew it would be located in. I wanted to be there for as little time as possible. It certainly wasn’t a place I wanted to be seen. I quickly made my way to the M’s. I quickly scanned the spines for the name, George R. R. Martin.

“Oh, there’s McMarrow,” I thought to myself. I looked a shelf higher. And looked and looked some more. There wasn’t a George R. R. Martin in sight. I started to get nervous. This delay might cause me to be spotted lingering in that section. I started to look at every single spine carefully. There was no George R. R. Martin. Impossible. He was a popular author, they had to have at least one book by him.

Dejected, I was about to walk away when a thought occurred to me. Could it be possible? Could M-A be located after M-C? I checked the next row over–after M-C. Aha! Here are all the missing M-A’s. And there, on the shelf below, George R. R. Martin’s A Clash of Kings. I quickly grabbed it and got the hell out of there.

Is M-A after McSomething a common convention in organizing things in alphabetical order? I think I may have missed a memo.

The biggest lesson I learned today about surfing: wear a wet suit or similar-materialed t-shirt.

Why?

Becuase if you don’t, your nipples will chafe and you will feel pain like you have never felt before.

by Alan Watts

In music, one doesn’t make the end of a composition the point of the composition. If that were so, the best conductors would be those that played fastest. And there would be composers who wrote only finales. People would go to concerts just to hear one crashing chord, because that’s the end! But we don’t see that as something brought by our education into our everyday conduct.

We’ve got a system of schooling which gives a completely different impression. It’s all grading. And what we do is we put the child into the corridor of this grade system. With a kind of “Come on, kitty kitty kitty,” and yeah, you go to kindergarten, you know, and that’s a great thing because when you finish that you get into first grade. And then come on, first grade leads to second grade, and so on.

And then you get out of grade school, you go to high school. And it’s revving up, the thing is coming. Then you gotta go to college, and by jove, then you get into graduate school. And when you’re through with graduate school, you go out and join the world.

And then you get into some racket, where you’re selling insurance. And they’ve got that quota to make, and you’ve gotta make that. And all the time this thing is coming, it’s coming, that great thing–the success you’re working for. And then you wake up one day about forty years old, you say, “My god! I’ve arrived! I’m there!” And you don’t feel very different from what you always felt. And there’s a slight letdown because you feel there’s a hoax. And there was a hoax, a dreadful hoax! They made you miss everything!

We thought of life by analogy with a journey–with a pilgrimage, which had a serious purpose at the end. And the thing was to get to that end: success or whatever it is, or maybe heaven after you’re dead. But we miss the point the whole way along. It was a musical thing, and you were supposed to sing, or to dance, while the music was being played.

Awesome.

I’m not sure if it’s writer’s block per se; it might just be because I’m tired. But I’ve been able to write in this state before. More likely, it’s because I am still unable to approach this subject which I so desperately need to face.

I write fiction mostly for fiction’s sake. It’s fun to ink your imagination on to the page. Occasionally, however, I use it to secretly express how I feel. Sometimes it’s subtle but clear what emotion I’m trying to channel. However, at other times, the story and its undertones seem to have no discernable connection to what I’m feeling. But, for some odd reason, it succeeds in acting as a vessel for that expression. You may never know what I just poured out. But I do.

However, this topic, I just can’t seem to express in the written word–whether through outright discussion, subtle undertones, or through private disclosure. I’m confused. Lost, even. And, for the first time, writing about it isn’t helping me find my way. I can’t even seem to describe the path I’ve taken thus far.

I guess I’ll just have to wait it out. If I’m lucky, it’ll just work itself out in my head.

Loss. (In case you were wondering.)

Whoever said “time heals all wounds” was full of shit.

You can quote me on that.

There are two sides to every coin: there’s God v. Satan, the yin v. the yang, black v. white; the good and the bad. Human nature demands that we have a choice. Without it, we would be powerless to decide our fate. And we all know how much we hate being powerless. To combat this feeling, we’ve attributed a choice to every facet of our lives. You want to get from Queens to Manhattan? You’ve got the F and E trains. You want to eat some meat at a barbeque? Beef or chicken. You wanna get laid? Male or female. And for those completely unexplainable turn of events, we turn to luck: good or bad.

Let’s examine Friday night’s events and see if we can sort this out. Click after the jump for the play by play :D
(more…)

Who knew that I had a holiday all my own? Apparently, these 3 people did. Thanks for remembering jerks!

Person #1: Random girl on subway
As I was taking a nap on the subway on my way to work this morning, I awoke to a person pushing up against me. I thought to myself, “Wow, the person next to her must be a real fatty!” I opened my eyes and looked over. Surprisingly, there was a big empty seat next to her on the bench. She smushed me again. What. The. Hell. Why are you all pushed up next to me when there’s a giant abyss of space on the other side?

Exasperated, I went back to sleep only to have her wake me up about 3 more times. The last time, I looked over and noticed that an actual orca was sitting next to her. Luckily, it was my stop so I vamoosed the hell out of there.

Person #2: Coworker #1
I’m walking down the hallway when someone runs up behind me, taps my knee-pit and barks. As my face contorts into its best WTF face, I notice one of my coworkers skipping away with a look of mischievous glee on his face.

Person #3: Coworker #2
I’m standing in my cubicle when Coworker #2 walks by and decides to nonchalantly give me a pat on the ass. Great.

Thanks for reminding me of this wonderful holiday everyone! You can bite me! :)

Wow. That was a pretty fucking whiny entry back there.

Anyway. This morning I was greeted to the morning trifecta of repulsion. Let’s review:

1. As I groggily look out my window, I’m greeted to McDonald’s trash all over my street. “Yum.”
2. As I make my way to the car, and get closer to said trash, I notice two used condoms mixed in with it. Great.
3. As I’m walking to work, I glance over to the side of the sidewalk, and am greeted with a big, black asscrack.

And as a bonus, I get a drop of gross, air-conditioning water in my eye — just for good measure.

If all this happened before 8, I wonder what the rest of the day has in store for me.

PS - I’m pretty sure I used ‘trifecta’ wrongly here, but I don’t give a shit because it just sounds cooler that way.

This morning when I woke up, I felt like I had just woken from a bad dream. Did last night really happen? Regardless, I felt surprisingly refreshed and free. Perhaps it was the extra hour of sleep I got; or was it something else?

I was surprised to find that I was taking it better than expected. I was elated (again, perhaps due to the extra sleep) and bouyant. I could do this: no problem. My new life and all of its possibilities opened up before my eyes, and it didn’t look too shabby. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted–without any thought of anyone or anything. This imagined freedom was all too tempting.

A little bit more into my day, however, I was overcome with a wave of sadness. Gone were the happy images of freedom. Gone was the released burden. Instead, the burden had relocated elsewhere. My heart felt heavy. Everything just felt blah. Sure, with this new-found freedom, life would be fun. But with whom would I share it with? Who would I come home to to relate the stories of my exploits?

Life just wouldn’t be the same. Sure, change always changes things. But in this case, I don’t think it would be for the better. There are times when I just want it to end: it’s too hard, there are too many sacrifices, it’s just too much work. But then when you weigh out the pros against the cons, it just can’t compare. Not even close. One simple phrase, or one simple gesture is worth all of those sacrifices and trials.

But, alas. It’s not up to me.

I push it all down. I try to smile. What’s past is passed. There’s nothing left but to look forward. Push it all down. Now is not the time. What was left in Pandora’s Box? Hope. Hope that things will get better. Let’s just put it behind us. Push it all down. Breathe. Smile. Hope.

But the hope gets squashed every time. It’s hard to be an optimist when every time you get your hopes up, they get dashed. I don’t know for how much longer I can push it down and try to move on. I feel like if I just have hope: that things will get better; that they will somehow approach normalcy–then it’ll all be easier. I will be able to put it behind me. I will not have to push it down, because it will be gone. I will smile again.

I can’t give up. I have faith. Please don’t let me be wrong.