Stream of futility

I don’t have the burn right now.  I don’t feel the words in my mind like a logjam.  Contemplating that metaphor, but I don’t think I want to type it out.  When it’s there, fingers on the keys, the mind opens and I detach.  When I was a kid I loved to play with water.  In a ditch, in the yard, just the idea of running water, redirecting its path, damming it with a bit of mud, dropping stones into it to change the flow.  

This will be a learning experience, writing without the burn.  Words don’t come easily right now.  I have to dig for them.  It’s painful almost.  I don’t like this.  They come in snippets throughout the day.  Watching a documentary on Lewis Black, I had some ideas.  Or maybe a singular idea.  Then the blank white page stares out at me………..and nothing.  Watching Eddie Izzard showcase his genius, I had some ideas.  Then the blank white page stares out at me………and nothing.  If I ask why, the mind spirals into hypotheticals which can last hours.  Then I come back, and there it is.  The blank white page.  I started reading David Foster Wallace.  Feelings of Ineptitude.  If I ever wrote a book, that might be a subtitle.  A Million Reasons Not To.  But then I find alternate titles pretentious.  Or do I think other people find them pretentious?  Because I like them.  I don’t do well with decisions.  Adam’s book, with 11 billion alternate titles.

The Difference

or, A poor white southerners guide to mental clarity

or, I hate everyone

or, A poor white southerners guide away from mental clarity

or, Dane Cook, Hack

or, Sarcastic Snivelings of a Serendipitous Sociopath

Alliteration is a cheap ploy to a point.  It only becomes effective with perseverance (see V’s speech in “V For Vendetta”).  This sucks.  Now I’m referring movies.  My cat could come up with this. 

Interesting thought: trickle-down sugar-daddy economics.  Explored this notion with a friend.  Sugar daddy>cougar>Adam>college girl.  Sugarnomics?  The Sugar-as-honey movement (Bam! Physics joke.)?  I’m sure Reagan would be thrilled with the notion.  Too bad it wouldn’t help the college girl until 2025.  We’ll all be dead by then anyway.  Well you will.  I’ll be the last man on earth.  Fantasy of mine.  Fantasy in the real sense of the word.  Not “I wonder what it would be like?” but “If there was even a minute chance of bringing this to fruition I would blah blah blah…”

What do unicorns taste like?  Chicken?  Too easy.  Horse/narwhal maybe?  With a hint of pixie dust.  Which is lethal in large doses.  And to squirrels. 

^ This is what happens in my mind when “fantasy” is mentioned.  Except unicorns are real.  Hitler murdered one.  Bastard.

My cat thinks she’s a superhero.

I’m a selfish prick.  My favorite band is my favorite band, not your favorite band.  I liked them before you did so piss off.  I won’t even mention them here because I don’t want you buying their albums.  Which no one else on this planet still does.  Except me.  Because I love them.  Look at Kings of Leon.  They still make great music, but I sympathize with their early fans.  Can you sympathize with someone who doesn’t know they are being sympathized with?  McDonald’s executives need to be drawn and quartered for bastardizing sweet tea.  I don’t want San Franciscans sitting around going “Yah I think I might hop a trolley over to Mickey D’s and snag one of those hip new sweet teas they serve” (you pompous fuck. Who refers to their town as “The City”?  Smoke a J on the quad and eat another goddamn vegan wrap.  Ass.  I hope you choke on it while you’re riding the goddamn Powell-Hyde and a herpetic bum unsuccessfully administers mouth-to-mouth).  Sweet tea is a Southern peculiarity and I want it that way.  Like fife and drum music or good college football teams (booyah).  Even half of Texas doesn’t serve sweet tea.  Because Tejas belongs to Mehico.  When are we going to get involved in that debacle?  Predictions are around 5000 murders this year for Ciudad Juarez alone.  Christ Almighty.  Even if he wasn’t.  Cool dude, cool ideas, not divinity on earth.  

Hey look!  An entry.  Ta-da.

Some favorites off YouTube

I wish I was brave enough to do this. I'd have to wring out my pants afterwards.

Dodge hired geniuses to fill their ad vacancy. The Challenger and Charger commercials right now are flawless. Plus that violin kills me.

One day........

So she's a media whore. At least she looks like she puts emotion into what she's singing. So it can't be all bad. Well maybe its just this one.

Ok ok, this one to make up for that one. Wasn't sure how I felt about Dan doing a solo gig until I heard this and realized I was ok with it. As long as he doesn't neglect Pat.

And Jimi to smooth it over.

Thank you Cleveland! Goodnight!!!

Started writing this with wikileaks in mind; morphed into me lobbing tomatoes at a few political hypocrisi (?)

January 2011

Everybody take a deep breath with me ok?  Inhale, slowly exhale, let it out.  Now.  I’m about to say some things that are probably going to piss you off, because I’m me and you’re you.

To all the people who post Facebook messages counting down the days until Obama is out of office, or spew some garbage about how “the left/right wing nutjobs” are sending this country to hell in a handbasket, calm down (don’t you smell your hair burning?  But I digress).  You sound ridiculous.  If you’re going to be passionate about something, make it a cause or an idea rather than a person.  Gasp!  Shocking, I know.  But I’m gonna let you in on a little something just to show that I understand where you’re coming from: Sarah Palin pisses me off.  I don’t think she’s intelligent enough to run a Chuck E. Cheese much less a state or god forbid a country.  She has a reality TV show.  That puts her on a field playing powder puff football with Snookie, Paula Abdul and Kate Gosselin.  Isn’t that reason enough not to lend credence to a single statement she has ever made?  But let’s face facts here.  I’m a nobody.  I’m a poor redneck who doesn’t vote and lives in a trailer just outside Bum&#@! Nowhere, Mississippi.  So you know what I do?  Nothing.  That’s right I said it.  Nothing.  When I hear something about the latest speech Palin or Mike Huckabee or Jesse Ventura or Glen Beck or Rachel Maddow or Keith Olbermann gave somewhere, I do nothing.  And do you know why?  Because they are instigators.  Fire starters.  Talking heads.  They say and do things solely from the basis of one of these three motivations: 1) money (they’re getting paid to say the things they say), 2) money (the things they say get them more exposure > more ad revenue), or 3) money (the things they say polarize the public enough to swing more fence-sitters to their particular brand of democracy > more votes > more elections).  For example, Palin has a map on her website (I think it’s still there) targeting the remaining democrats in office with a banner touting something to the effect of “Only a few more to go!”  Seriously.  Do you (meaning you and her) really think things will change for the better if we have a single party government?  The founding fathers warned against the creation of a bipartisan system, much less a single party system.  You know what a single party government is called?  Totalitarianism.  Stalin, Mussolini, Mao, Hitler, Franco, ring any bells?  My friend made the statement (slightly misquoted), “Democrats keep us sane, republicans keep us safe.”  I’m inclined to agree.  We’ve made our bed with this two party crap.  Time to roll around or stand up.

 I don’t vote on anything above the state level, because the popular vote amounts to a slick graphic of a hill of beans in anything higher.  The electoral college elects presidents, so whether you voted for Obama or not doesn’t matter.  Unless you live in a swing state, you don’t matter.  If you have an issue with whom the outcome of the electoral college vote decides to be president, take it up with your congressman, not your friends.  Or better yet, don’t take it up with your congressman at all, because that’s sort of the point.  People working themselves into a froth over OTHER PEOPLE.  You know what that makes you?  Manipulatable.  A mark.  Money in the bank.  I say die-hard followers of a brand have no power in a free market.  Hey, Black Hole fan section of Oakland Raiders fame, Al Davis says he’s gonna sell off your top five players because he wants a new yacht.  Where are you going to be on Sunday afternoons in October?  At the stadium.  Right where Big Al knows you’ll be.  The valuable commodities are the guys who can’t decide whether to go to the game or spend time with the kids.  This is who corporate execs, owners, and politicians gun for.  The undecided majority. 

Take Julian Assange, the public head of wikileaks.  Elected officials (Palin, Huckabee) have called for violence against the man.  A human being.  This isn’t Russia, is this Russia?  Did he leak your private cell number to the public?  Did he have a one-night stand with your daughter and not call her afterwards?  No.  Well maybe he did, but that’s irrelevant.  He started a company that sheds light on corruption, conspiracy and hypocrisy.  And ELECTED OFFICIALS are calling for violent action against him.  Everyone needs to take another deep breath and really think about whether or not what you’re saying has a positive effect.  Be passionate about providing real healthcare to the masses.  Be passionate about fixing our broken public education system.  Be passionate about putting America back in its place as a world leader.  And will someone shut Sarah Palin up please?

A friend of a girlfriend and I were engaged in a lively dispute over the merits of Ole Miss athletics. Figure out which side I was on. And yes, I dropped out of Ole Miss. Doesnt mean I like the place.

October 2009


CC: To whom it may concern.....

"Delusions of Grandeur"

By ***********

It seems I've finally found the perfect analogy/metaphor for Ole Miss fans. You're the manchild whose best days were over when you could no longer beat up geeks and shoot spitballs.  You're the father who lives out his petty glory days vicariously through his children.  You're Bob from Grosse Point Blank. You're Mr. Moxon from Varsity Blues.  You extoll the virtues of your program when the only virtues of your program are keggers and cheerleaders. You speak of "championships" and "the best team in the

conference," when in fact the only obstacles you do happen to overcome (by sheer, dumb, blind luck, stumbling drunkenly around or staggering stiff-legged across, tripping as you go) are of only the slightest of consequence (Memphis {2-4}, SELA {who cares}, Vandy {2-4}, and now UAB. Seriously.). You seem hell-bent and honor-bound to relive your past glories, and oh, what glories they are! Shall we recap?  A single (claimed; and disputed) national championship during the Kennedy administration, and a single season of quasi-success (if "success" is being selected to the same bowl you always default to) since the millennium, which came at a time when nearly every other SEC team was in some stage of a rebuilding process. "Wait!" cry the masses. "We produced Eli! He won a Super Bowl!" Silly Rebels. But then, one would have to suppose that when faced with such a shortage of proof to a claim, the Rebel fan will cling to any thread of validation, no matter how tenuous. Rest on thy windswept and leafless laurels, ye faithful! "But nay!" say the naysayers, nefarious ne'er-do-wells and nubile nymphs of that the most notorious of nesting grounds of the needless, "what Wolverine wails not, waxing wolfish over the waning of a wondrous way-back-when? Verily the Volunteer too seeks to vindicate the verisimilitude of his own valued valorous ventures!" Verily indeed, good Rebel. But allow a fellow faithful to present a token of insight: these teams value their past instead of bedecking it with jewels and worshipping it as proof of their current worth. Truly, 'tis a shame to see a campus, nay, an entire community regress into the visage of a child who, spoiled and adamant, demands its parents attentions at a time when more pressing matters are at hand. (See what I did there? I put you in a metaphor where you are a crying baby, the nation's football faithful are the parents, and teams actually worth paying attention to are "more pressing matters.' Ha.) Perhaps this, good Rebel, is the perfect metaphor.

Respectfully,

a fan of a "more pressing matter"

             

P.S. To any Ole Miss fans still reading who haven't gotten confused by the language and decided to head to town for some new plaid shorts in Mom's Range Rover with Dad's credit card and your sexually unsatisfied in-it-for-the-money-because-our-parents-know-each-other girlfriend: this is a statement of purpose. This is Me saying that You have the all-time hands-down most overhyped overrated (yes it has two R's) and overestimated

sports team in history. Deal with it.

I was getting a lot of fake friend adds on Facebook at the time. Just a little comedy piece.

Ode to the spammer

by *********** on Thursday, March 4, 2010 at 6:45pm

Dear Randomly Generated Impossibly Hot Girl Who Sends Me Friend Invites, regretfully I must decline your request. I know this must be a dashing blow to your self-esteem, but I hope you can see the silver lining. Of course I would love to add you to my "friend" list, but sadly I know next to nothing about you, Selena Colwuity. It may have simply slipped your mind, but it seems your profile is lacking somewhat in substance. What, no contact info? Really? I know somewhere in the course of your day between spawning massive databases of facebook and myspace id's and hacking federal servers there must be an idle moment during which you could at least tell me something about yourself. The sad thing is that enough guys out there must actually add you, trying to up their friend numbers. Or perhaps more cynically they would love their actual "friends" to see some mysterious sexpot appear on the roster. What puzzles me is that some of my friends show your profile pic in their own friend list, but you're under a different name. What gives? I mean I want to trust you Selena. Or Tiffany. Or Esperanza. Names aren't important. But seriously, I'm such an emotional cripple and socially awkward and devoid of interpersonal communication skills that I might just add you anyway. I mean, who knows who could be thumbing MY friends list as we speak. And you're not on it! The horror! You know what? Screw it. As soon as I'm done here I'm adding you. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Right? Right???!?!!

Yeah, this is one of those shitty facebook surveys. Gives you a little insight into my musical sensibilities though. Enjoy.

This isn't 1-15 in order; straight stream of consciousness/thought-vomit style

1. Black Keys - Chulahoma  -----this album brought me back

2. Black Keys - Thickfreakness

3. Black Keys - Rubber Factory

4. Boston self-titled  ---------I will lip-synch "More Than A Feeling" in front of Jesus himself; don't give a damn

5. Junior Kimbrough - All Night Long

6. Led Zeppelin IV

7. Stevie Ray Vaughan - Texas Flood  -----was there anyone better? If you say yes, I'll punch you in the face.

8. Funkadelic - Maggotbrain

9. Weezer - Blue album  ----------my inner nerd is thanking me right now; "Only In Dreams" air drums anyone?

10. Eminem - Encore

11. Rage Against the Machine - The Battle of Los Angeles  -----my inner pissed off half-mexican gangster is thanking me right now

12. David Gray - White Ladder

13. D'Angelo - Voodoo  --------every time this album is mentioned someone, somewhere gets impregnated

14. Jack Johnson - In Between Dreams

15. Cat Stevens - Tea For the Tillerman  ------this ones for you Mom

Sue me. I'm a rule breaker.

16. Rolling Stones - Beggars Banquet

17. North Mississippi Allstars - Shake Hands With Shorty

18. Alice In Chains - Dirt *or* Jar of Flies

19. Gorillaz self-titled

20. Incubus - Morning View  --------"Blood On the Ground": greatest kick in the history of music

21. Everclear - So Much for the Afterglow

Composed this one morning, hung over like a champ after an all night casino binge.

(sung in the tune of Aaron Lewis' version of Pearl Jam's "Black") 

Heyyyyyyyy, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey/Phone rings late at night/I'm still drunk as hell/Who the f is callin this late/Goddamn its Jim, oh well//I know what he wants/And I'm way too broke for that, too broke for that/Now the sleep and dreams, have gone away//Ohhhhh, and all he's sayin is, dingdingding/Ohhhh, i know I shouldn't respond, but God its fun//And now my bitter hand, a seven and a two, there goes twenty more/All the ATMs, all call my name, just play twenty more//I take a look outside, and its so damn bright, I have class at 9/Oh, how the hell are we gonna get home, on nickels and dimes//Ohhhh, Entergy and Cingular, are gonna twist my balls, they'll twist em/Whoaaaa, they'll twist em and shit my truck note. Fuck me//And now my bitter hands, holdin shit to show, there goes my credit/All the collectors, all know me by my name, sayin "Pay me asshole"/All the money's gone, and I'm in the hole, deeper than I was/Before Jim called, shoulda stayed in beddddddddd//I know someday I won't pick it up, i know what I should do, but goddamn, who can resist titties and free drinks, and ohhhh, that sound, ding ding ding ding-ding-ding-dingggggggggg-dingggggggg-ding-ding-ding.