I was right.
I was right!!!
Yesterday, exactly 1 week after receiving the most badass birthday gift ever (zombies), a construction site was shut down across the street from my office when--get this--construction workers fell from ladders after feeling mysteriously faint and queasy. Then today the entire staff of a whole building called in sick. Why were they sick? Probably because a coworker bit them all sometime last week and now they have a craving for brains!
Ok, so you know how there are facebook groups devoted to "The hardest part of the zombie invasion will be pretending I'm not excited" and other such phrases? Well I used to laugh, but not believe! I'm really fucking excited now!
As I walk on campus between buildings, I see all these students I pass and think "What if I had to run through these without being bitten in order to save someone on the other side? How would I do it?"
I also think "I could take her out, take her out, maybe him, him...I would avoid him, easy, hard, has weak knees" and so on, and so on. Also, due to the fact that I have not made any really close connections here, I would have no hesitation in taking out anyone here with, say, a lawn mower or centuries old shot gun. If its for the good of the nation, nay world, then so be it. None of that emotional/moral crisis that occurs in the zombie movies. Do you know why William "B.J." Blazkowicz had no problem escaping the wolfenstein castle? Because he had no mercy. He didn't have to worry if this person was a good person in life, because he knew they were all nazi zombies. What I'm saying is, to me most of the time, Charleston Residents = Nazi Zombies.
Man, I hope it stays cold to slow down their undead metabolism. I may be itching for a fight, but I want the odds on my side.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
The procrastination of fear.
So I was at the inauguration. Most people know this.
I need to write about it.
In East Africa right now, the already tragic state of Somalia is going through yet again some really tough changes. With a new President and a new Secretary of State, I really want to write a series of articles detailing changes in US Policy, and what this means to the horn of Africa.
I haven't started either of these for over 15 days.
Why?
The only one grading them will be me. There are no parameters set except for my own. I think I'm a much harsher critic than any professor was.
Inauguration post coming very soon. I hope.
I need to write about it.
In East Africa right now, the already tragic state of Somalia is going through yet again some really tough changes. With a new President and a new Secretary of State, I really want to write a series of articles detailing changes in US Policy, and what this means to the horn of Africa.
I haven't started either of these for over 15 days.
Why?
The only one grading them will be me. There are no parameters set except for my own. I think I'm a much harsher critic than any professor was.
Inauguration post coming very soon. I hope.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
It's January in Charleston.
Think of it as April in the rest of the nation. Days are a crapshoot of rain, sun, "cold," and hot. Tomorrow there is a chance of snow; today was a high of 65. This weather kind of plays havoc with physical health, emotions, and your energy levels.
On top of this I'm looking at finding a new job in 5 months with an economy that's not just circling the drain, but is finding it's way out to the ocean through the myriad of sewage pipes that is our financial system. Unemployment for my age demographic is at 34% now.
Then, this past Wednesday, I turned 24. I have always said 24 was an important age. 21 - 23 is the final huzzah of true youth--that is wise enough to be an adult, but young enough to not be weighed down by responsibilities.
24 though...that's a new level of oldness.
On top of all this, Thursday (the day after my birthday) is the biggest project for my office of the entire year, so I'm not really going to be able to live it up.
My birthday is going to suck, right?
Not when you receive the greatest birthday gift ever conceived by man.
So there I was. Knee Deep. I'm driving to work, and within the first 2 miles I have to stop 3 times for firetrucks and ambulances. Not just a normal stoppage either--you know when you pull over to the side while they pass. No these trucks are straight out reckless in their drive to the ocean.
I get on the bridge to Charleston, and all sorts of sirens are coming at me. Now, each island and peninsula in the Greater Charleston Area has their own emergency services. If they are coming over the bridge, this is more than a 5 alarm emergency. This is an all hands on deck, shit is going down situation.
Let me set the scene now:
I'm sitting in traffic listening to the radio. The DJ comes on.
"And that was Mott the Hoople with a CLASSIC tune. Tell me, does anyone know what's going on over on folly beach? Police won't release a statement, and no visitors are allowed in. I'll tell you what. Free concert tickets to the Ravenettes for the first caller to tell me the 411. Now here's traffic."
And I switch stations. Perfect move.
At work we hear sirens go by for 3 full hours. The mystery is deepening.
On my lunch our I have to go deliver some mail. I come out the front door of the office, and what do I see but a line of white vans and trucks, with a weird company name on the side. It was like "EcoCom--Making the Future Now" or some crazy bullshit motto like that. I didn't have my pictures, but the internets provided me with this great mockup:
That's when it clicked. A mysterious occurence on the beach, sirens galore, police remaining mum and shutting down eyes, and a badass futuristic company fleet. Do I have to spell it out?
ZOMBIES!!!!
Name one movie that doesn't start with this exact same circumstance?! And it's been almost a week! It always starts slow and just infects a few people. Next thing you know half the city is gone! I haven't seen my roommates in 3 days, and last time I did one of them was really tired! Fuck!
I'm going to get my baseball bat.
Greatest Birthday Ever!
Think of it as April in the rest of the nation. Days are a crapshoot of rain, sun, "cold," and hot. Tomorrow there is a chance of snow; today was a high of 65. This weather kind of plays havoc with physical health, emotions, and your energy levels.
On top of this I'm looking at finding a new job in 5 months with an economy that's not just circling the drain, but is finding it's way out to the ocean through the myriad of sewage pipes that is our financial system. Unemployment for my age demographic is at 34% now.
Then, this past Wednesday, I turned 24. I have always said 24 was an important age. 21 - 23 is the final huzzah of true youth--that is wise enough to be an adult, but young enough to not be weighed down by responsibilities.
24 though...that's a new level of oldness.
On top of all this, Thursday (the day after my birthday) is the biggest project for my office of the entire year, so I'm not really going to be able to live it up.
My birthday is going to suck, right?
Not when you receive the greatest birthday gift ever conceived by man.
So there I was. Knee Deep. I'm driving to work, and within the first 2 miles I have to stop 3 times for firetrucks and ambulances. Not just a normal stoppage either--you know when you pull over to the side while they pass. No these trucks are straight out reckless in their drive to the ocean.
I get on the bridge to Charleston, and all sorts of sirens are coming at me. Now, each island and peninsula in the Greater Charleston Area has their own emergency services. If they are coming over the bridge, this is more than a 5 alarm emergency. This is an all hands on deck, shit is going down situation.
Let me set the scene now:
I'm sitting in traffic listening to the radio. The DJ comes on.
"And that was Mott the Hoople with a CLASSIC tune. Tell me, does anyone know what's going on over on folly beach? Police won't release a statement, and no visitors are allowed in. I'll tell you what. Free concert tickets to the Ravenettes for the first caller to tell me the 411. Now here's traffic."
And I switch stations. Perfect move.
At work we hear sirens go by for 3 full hours. The mystery is deepening.
On my lunch our I have to go deliver some mail. I come out the front door of the office, and what do I see but a line of white vans and trucks, with a weird company name on the side. It was like "EcoCom--Making the Future Now" or some crazy bullshit motto like that. I didn't have my pictures, but the internets provided me with this great mockup:
That's when it clicked. A mysterious occurence on the beach, sirens galore, police remaining mum and shutting down eyes, and a badass futuristic company fleet. Do I have to spell it out?
ZOMBIES!!!!
Name one movie that doesn't start with this exact same circumstance?! And it's been almost a week! It always starts slow and just infects a few people. Next thing you know half the city is gone! I haven't seen my roommates in 3 days, and last time I did one of them was really tired! Fuck!
I'm going to get my baseball bat.
Greatest Birthday Ever!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Dot Dot Dot
Headline: Legislators Vote to Impeach Blagojevich
The House voted 114-1 to impeach Blagojevich a day after a special committee unanimously recommended impeachment following hearings on a variety of allegations, including federal corruption charges that led to his arrest last month.
Excuse me but...
WHO THE FUCK IS THE ONE WHO DIDN'T?! "You know what? Fuck you guys! I like Blago and he's sticking around!"
The House voted 114-1 to impeach Blagojevich a day after a special committee unanimously recommended impeachment following hearings on a variety of allegations, including federal corruption charges that led to his arrest last month.
Excuse me but...
WHO THE FUCK IS THE ONE WHO DIDN'T?! "You know what? Fuck you guys! I like Blago and he's sticking around!"
Monday, January 5, 2009
Little Gidding
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from...
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
-T.S. Elliot "Four Quartets"
I completed my New Years Resolution on January 2nd, and it was a monumental shift in my self.
Most Americans, and indeed most citizens of Western Society, have made a string of some (probably) hefty New Years Resolutions designed to make you closer to that person you want to be, or if you are honest the person you already view in the mirror. Losing weight, being a nicer person, being more honest, eating right, quitting smoking, taking more photographs, these are all noble pursuits which, if accomplished will perhaps make you a better person. Except how often are these resolutions ever successful? How many times have made the same resolution January 1st after January 1st?
The problem lies not in our grandiose desires; indeed, the urge of man to improve his self is one of our greatest attributes. The problem lies in our own short sightedness and cowardice.
A body, a self, a constructed reality contains much momentum. This momentum, like its corporeal counterpart, does not change directions easily, but that is exactly what we attempt to do. We want our reality, which we have conducted over decades and decades, to swerve directions with just a slight push from our will. As happy as this wish may be, it will never occur. Our existential mass is too great. Instead we are left with two options.
With great foresight and planning, one can plot out those little changes--a tweak here, a nudge there--that will change our momentum from where we are heading to a new destination. It is difficult, and perhaps can not be accomplished through a simple resolution made while high on carbonated wine, but it is possible.
The other option is to identify a weakness in yourself that you can exploit. That one weak link, that one thread which is, unknowingly, is holding everything together--and snip it. That's all it takes. If you don't like who you are, destroy it and build anew. You won't know what the results will be, but you know it will be different. And if anything different is better than what you have now, what is holding you back?
I made that attempt, and the results won't be seen for possibly years. But I know January 2nd changed things forever.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Life is never lived in a Goldfish Bowl
Why do people like the over stretched, worn out, used up romance movie? This has been bugging me for awhile, because it seems like everyone without exception likes at least one of these. They may call it their "dirty little secret" but that doesn't excuse the fact that they do, in fact, love to watch the lonely yet caring man who always seems to be ready to give out love but hasn't found the right receptor meet the quirky, yet oh so slightly troubled 30-something woman (she probably owns a bookstore or writes, or something slightly elitist yet still accessible) who has always been the bridesmaid but never the bride. We don't see the rest of their relationship, but we know we know that they really have found "true love"--which in our book means two souls so perfectly complementing that as long as they are together life will never come between them. Why do we like this? I'm not criticizing those who do--I watch When Harry Met Sally as much as the next guy (which is a lot, even if they don't admit it. They at least watch something very similar.). I've just been trying to find out what attracts us to that particular scenario.
I wish I had an answer, but I do not know the universal soul of the western human to understand well enough why we have an instinct to respond to fantasy masquerading as reality. I do know, however, that it truly is fantasy.
Perhaps one reason is that we do always identify with one of the characters. If you don't think this is so, watch one of these movies with a group of women who have had a few glasses of wine each. You won't be able to hear the movie, but that's fine. Just listen to the cries of "That's just like me/you/her/your mother/your mother-in-law/Margaret Thatcher." The problem is, even if we do identify with the characters, and the universal problems they find themselves in, the solutions presented are never valid except in the world where responses are scripted, and the two lovers have no real interest in each other once the celluloid ends.
The dialogue is always perfect. The witticisms are just biting enough to be funny, but just tender enough to know there is love behind the words. The timing is always at a zenith--just after there has been enough strain to make us feel that the scenario represents true life, but not long enough to make us feel uncomfortable that perhaps it won't be resolved. And the words chosen are always heart melting, adorable, honest (yes), and completely and utterly useless.
In real life ideas like courage, uncertainty, self-doubt, cowardice get in the way. You know, you know, what you want to say. That every person in the last 3 years has been a lie, and a way to forget. That nothing has changed but geography, and really how important is that? That the weight of your decisions has been so unbearable as to make you morally and spiritually broken. That you are sorry and always have been. But the fear that saying the right words won't fix your problems is enough to mute you. You know you can continue to operate how you have been. To take the chance and fail would mean more than one person could handle. Instead it is much safer to swallow harder, and feel that unfortunately familiar drop of molten lead hit your stomach, where it will burn for at least a week despite your best efforts to quite literally extinguish it. Eventually it will cool, and that particular weight will pass. These circumstances, these internal struggles, those never enter into the celluloid world. All the quirky details a director includes to bring two characters to life never include their abject trappings. That would turn the happiest movie into a drama that too closely resembles life. While artistically it would be of great merit, who would want to watch that?
Amazing song:
Avett Brothers - Shame
Blech, everyone's allowed an emo post once in awhile, right?
I wish I had an answer, but I do not know the universal soul of the western human to understand well enough why we have an instinct to respond to fantasy masquerading as reality. I do know, however, that it truly is fantasy.
Perhaps one reason is that we do always identify with one of the characters. If you don't think this is so, watch one of these movies with a group of women who have had a few glasses of wine each. You won't be able to hear the movie, but that's fine. Just listen to the cries of "That's just like me/you/her/your mother/your mother-in-law/Margaret Thatcher." The problem is, even if we do identify with the characters, and the universal problems they find themselves in, the solutions presented are never valid except in the world where responses are scripted, and the two lovers have no real interest in each other once the celluloid ends.
The dialogue is always perfect. The witticisms are just biting enough to be funny, but just tender enough to know there is love behind the words. The timing is always at a zenith--just after there has been enough strain to make us feel that the scenario represents true life, but not long enough to make us feel uncomfortable that perhaps it won't be resolved. And the words chosen are always heart melting, adorable, honest (yes), and completely and utterly useless.
In real life ideas like courage, uncertainty, self-doubt, cowardice get in the way. You know, you know, what you want to say. That every person in the last 3 years has been a lie, and a way to forget. That nothing has changed but geography, and really how important is that? That the weight of your decisions has been so unbearable as to make you morally and spiritually broken. That you are sorry and always have been. But the fear that saying the right words won't fix your problems is enough to mute you. You know you can continue to operate how you have been. To take the chance and fail would mean more than one person could handle. Instead it is much safer to swallow harder, and feel that unfortunately familiar drop of molten lead hit your stomach, where it will burn for at least a week despite your best efforts to quite literally extinguish it. Eventually it will cool, and that particular weight will pass. These circumstances, these internal struggles, those never enter into the celluloid world. All the quirky details a director includes to bring two characters to life never include their abject trappings. That would turn the happiest movie into a drama that too closely resembles life. While artistically it would be of great merit, who would want to watch that?
Amazing song:
Avett Brothers - Shame
Blech, everyone's allowed an emo post once in awhile, right?
Monday, December 22, 2008
Pick a category, any category
As it turns out, Bristol Palin may be having her baby on Christmas. Can you taste it? That's palpable excitement my friend. It tastes like parmesan and broccoli. Even more exciting? What the hell is she naming the baby. My guesses:
Transport
-Auto
-Train
-Trolley
-Bike
-Shoe
-GPS
Food
-Soda
-Carrot
-Chestnut
Entertainment
-Film
-Rugby
Other:
-Futon
-Mantle
-Sofa
-Lamp
Numbers:
-Seven
-Eight
-Twelve
-Thirty
Drugs:
-Claritin
-Dayquill
Other:
-Tide
-Lanolin
Transport
-Auto
-Train
-Trolley
-Bike
-Shoe
-GPS
Food
-Soda
-Carrot
-Chestnut
Entertainment
-Film
-Rugby
Other:
-Futon
-Mantle
-Sofa
-Lamp
Numbers:
-Seven
-Eight
-Twelve
-Thirty
Drugs:
-Claritin
-Dayquill
Other:
-Tide
-Lanolin
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
