| RANDOM QUOTE | The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed and thus clamorous to be led to safety -- by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
-H.L. Mencken | |
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| BIRTH OF THE UBERMENSCH |  | Category: Personal
Saturday, March 23rd, 2002 @ 01:38 pm
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This past week has found me in rather rare form. A million circumstances all fell into place at once and the result has been -for lack of a better word- groundshaking. At least insofar as one might consider my head the ground.
Last weekend was a wonderful time filled with hanging out with those of you I know and love in this fair city. However, it was yet another weekend where very little economic input was coming from me and though I had lots of fun I was left feeling like a mooch. And if there is one type of human I have absolute hatred for at this point in the game, it's a mooch. So there's part of it. I was a mooch last weekend and I hate mooches. Something's got to change.
Part of the mooching resulted in my accepting a pack of cigarettes that I lacked the funds for at the time. And then I got home from my weekend of mooching and found that my finances didn't really allow for the purchase of cigarettes. And boy was I pissed. I tried cleaning my room and ended up throwing just about everything I picked up due to frustration tied with some aspect of where it was when I picked it up or some minor difficulty involved in putting it away. Then something got me really angry (something physical and substantial- not just the lame philosophical shit I usually go off on) and I just had to get out. So I went for a walk. And that walk was brisk. And that walk became a run. I ran for like two miles without stopping. Yes. I, who claim to be willing to walk to Cuba before running a block, ran for two miles. And did my little brain race.
My brain raced and said it was time to stop being a mooch. That means getting finances in order. That means cutting out wasteful expenses. Four dollars a day time thirty days a month equals one hundred and twenty dollars that could go to anything else. Anyfucking thing else. But I would be facing an increase in appetite and a hit in metabolic rate. This would not be the last night I'd be running. As I ran and felt my blood pumping and my muscles working in concert to move me forward, I realized what needed to happen. For twenty-six years I have dumped endless unrelated facts into my head. I have watched behind the music. I have read trivial pursuit cards. I put a blue led in my old answering machine just to see if I could do it. I've focused me attentions on a porn star and collected every picture I could find. I've seen the heart of a nuclear missile laid open and then reassembled. I can easily and confidently explain the origin of the term "breakdancing". My brain may not be the best when compared to those of my esteemed associates, but it's got a fair amount of sharp to it. My body is what is lacking. And that is going to change.
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It's about fucking time.
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I have goals. In the long run, I am aiming for something a little short of swoll. Why not swoll? Am I simply aiming low so that I don't have to work too much? No. Two reasons. One, I don't like the word swoll. Two, I've never much cared for the muscle-bound look. But I want command of this meat I'm living in. I want to knock out a few pullups. I want to knock out way more than a few pushups. And already I am making progress towards this. Within two months, if I stay focused, I should be able to enjoy a trip to the beach without the protection of a shirt to cover my pale, flabby self. And I have one person to thank as proof that all of this is possible.
I called him fat and he made himself not fat. And now I will do the same with myself. And then I will have achieved my own definition of ubermensch. I will be in possession of a sharp mind and a developed body. I will be able to carry my own in an argument as I have always done- with strongarm tactics like "shutup, you're fat". And I'll be able to last maybe a minute or two in a fight, as opposed to the ten seconds I could muster now. Regrettably, this has not been a very well-reasoned or laid out update, but it's been a few days of bnetd stuff and this is really just a mission statement. This is something for people to rib me about and ask if I'm keeping up with. This is not the "I'm not gonna drink thing". I lacked true purpose then. I do not now.
Over and out.
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| SOMEONE'S BREAKING THE 1/4 CENTURY MARK! | | Category: Personal
Sunday, February 24th, 2002 @ 09:58 pm
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Dude, these mushrooms are good
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Cel - a - bration time, come on!
Well, another birthday is here, and as is the custom, we must display the privates of one of our writers. Its a lovely tradition that dates back to, well, it doesn't date back that far, but I did it for Miss A sometime ago, so I'm repeating it here.
So Ian, how doth it feel? I find it pretty funny that a lot of our friends have birthdays compacted in such a close proximity: Ian, then Jason, then Matt, Peter, Brenda, me etc... All crunched between the end of February to the end of May. I guess it would be a hedonistic time of the year for all of us, except for the fact that Ian decided to lay off the sauce for lent this year.
Speaking of which, the martini party went smashingly, and Ian finally did collapse under the peer pressure and had a drink or two.
Well, happy birthday and all that jazz. I tried to call you tonight for the swim, but alas, no answer. And that wraps up this post. Short and sweet like...
[UPDATE] On a more somber note, it appears that Cowboy Bebop is no longer part of the Adult Swim line up. Fucking bastards. I believe its been transfered over to Saturday night's Toonami shindig. That sucks for one reason: Toonami blows whale dick. I watched the swim tonight, and after Space Ghost C2C, they played about a half hour of Rocky and Motherfucking Bullwinkle (un-AdultSwimonized) and then went to the gay ass Popye shit.
See you later space cowboy.
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| THE BLEAK WORLD OF SOBRIETY | | Category: Personal
Monday, February 18th, 2002 @ 09:45 pm
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Oh Yes, You Will Be Mine...
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I've been forced into a long haul of sobriety recently. Somewhat like Ian part of if is self inflicted, and unlike him, part of it isn't. Allow me to explain...
When I first started smoking, its was cool, I could have a cigarette when I was in the mood, or I could pass; no biggie. After about three years of ever increasing addiction, one day I tried to look back on the last day I could remember where I didn't smoke a cigarette and guess what, I couldn't. I couldn't even remember a day where I didn't smoke half a pack at the least. It was an extremely shocking experience. Unfortunately for me at the time, and presently, I enjoy smoking way too much for me to ever try to take a leisurely dent in my consumption.
Snap to the present. About three weeks ago, after a particularly harsh binge, I woke up for work on a Monday, drunk off my ass from the night before. I went through the motions of my job with head pounding and stomach churning, regretting all of my actions from the previous night. That day at work I tried to think back to the most recent day in which I had not imbibed the devil's brew. You know, hooch, booze, firewater, whatever your personal pet name for the spirits are. Once again I was floored with the revelation that I could not even glimpse a day in recent history that I had not sought out to alter my frame of consciousness. I know this is starting to sound like my intro speech to a 12-step program, but trust me, its a lot more shallow.
This revelation, combined with me being sick of going to work hung over, or worse yet still drunk, along side of the fact that I was in ship shape physically before I started drinking around the house, I have decided to lay off during the week, and target my mind altering chemical abuse on the weekend. I think it should all in all be a good venture.
Then comes another catalyst to my already shaky situation with alcohol: antibiotics. I got strep last week and ended up having to take antibiotics to get it under control. The good lord saw fit to stretch this arrangement over the weekend, thus effectively voiding my self allotted poisoning during my free time. Not done yet. Then Peter calls and asks me to go fishing on Saturday. Have you ever gone fishing without drinking? I think I may be the only soul on the planet that has had to endure such hardship; its almost an impossibility.
So, here I am. Monday. A whole week ahead of me before I can allow myself to do what unfortunately comes naturally now: drink heavily. Its going to be hard, but god knows, with the help of my friends, I'm going to bring myself to the brink of death this weekend, clinging to walls and wallowing in my own sick. It should be fun.
PS: after loading that picture up, along with a brief conversation at work today, I realized that I've never had a martini. So, I think I'm going to break my designer drink hymen this weekend and pick up a bottle of gin and vermouth (if that's even what goes in the bastards, I guess I'll look it up) and have a go at it with martini in hand. Cheerio mates.
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| PROBABLY OVERRATED, BUT CERTAINLY SOMETHING DIFFERENT | | Category: Personal
Thursday, February 14th, 2002 @ 06:03 pm
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Alright. I like the ass pics as much as anyone around here, but it's been a few days so I guess it's time for something new. and here it is.
As glitch and girlygirl found out last night, I've officially declared that I'm trying to lay off the sauce till Easter. It's not because I've suddenly found Jesus or decided it's time to fall back on my catholic upbringing, Just been doing some thinking lately and I've realized that I can sit here all day and night and cop nihilistic or whatever and whine about the unfairness of things and how it takes so much money and such to realize any degree of personal freedom OR I can actually shut up and do something about it. So... down with the bottle for lent. This is something I've been meaning to do for a little while and then I remembered about this lent thing and being a kid and how we were supposed to give up something like chocolate or whatever. So it's as much a nod to my childhood as any love for the powerpuff girls or surly upyerass comments.
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ish.
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And just to further solidify this whole thing, I'll try to outline all my reasons and hopefully make this all make sense.
Money that would otherwise go to alcohol can go to other things. like my long-neglected compulsive media purchases.
Been noticing my pants have been a little snug lately.
I'm tired of waking up the day after in a state of panic about what I said the night before and who I said it to. This ranges from the famous "can't take foo seriously until he loses weight" argument of months ago to the rather recent incident of seeing my neighbor out walking his dog one night and yelling "kill that queer". Just kind of time to sit down and shut up a little.
I've been a little in awe of the accomplishments of someone just a few years my senior lately and I've also noticed that there's someone else just a few years my senior who i sure as hell don't want to be. So maybe if I can pull my head together for a bit and get onto some kind of track I can hopefully be closer the the former and not the latter in a few years' time.
I can sit and whine about not liking being alive and writing DNR on my forearms till the cows come home and say that it's okay if I die because I've got x much life insurance, but you know what? That insurance policy is going to expire really soon And since I lack the determination to actually snuff myself I'm going to need to make some changes so that I don't leave anybody with any undue financial burden in the event of my passing.
So there it is. I'm still cool with hanging out and I'm certainly not sitting in judgement of everyone else for continuing the inebriation. God knows i love that detached feeling. If my saying any of this makes any of you uncomfortable I understand. I can't really believe i'm doing this myself.
over and out.
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| THE MOTOSCOOTER IS IN EFFECT | | Category: Personal
Sunday, January 13th, 2002 @ 09:30 pm
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| Its kinda like my bike, but not a turd.
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Well, since my tail light came in, I figured it was time to buckle down and bring the old Virago (read: virility [read: Male Virility (read: I have a big schlong)]) out of winter-like retirement. Yup, since I got a tool set, which I think makes me a man now, I now have the ability, minus the know-how, to do constructive things with bolts and metal and stuff, and that's exactly what I did all weekend.
So you're asking, "What the fuck did you break?" Well, nothing that I know of; I still have yet to get it on the interstate doing 55mph and have a piston explode through my gas tank, effectively taking out a quarter of my visible facial tissue, if not all. I have to say though, I'm pretty damned proud of myself. With zero knowledge on the subject, I effectively changed the tail light (linking up the power connections et al), changed the plugs and oil, and cleaned what little amount of the carbs that I felt comfortable about taking apart. I took the cover off the carbs, and saw a neat little rubber "diaphram thingy" staring at me. There was also a spring that boingged out of the middle of it, but I just pretended that those kinda things just happen. On the cover there was a little pinhole that I'm guessing gas and/or air goes through. That's what I cleaned. It wasn't all that dirty, but in my mind I just added untold amounts of horsepower to my engine by parting the Red Sea of Carburetor Filth. Let a man have his dream, dammnit!
Anywho, I put'er all back together with no parts to spare (whew), added some Gumout (somekind of sediment cleaner for the fuel lines and carbs) and she was purring like a kitten. A 8 year old, rusty, fucked up kitten with a banged up gas tank; but a kitten none the less.
Now all I need to attain my rightful throne in the gods of motorcycle coolness is to buy a motorcycle that isn't the big turd burger that mine is.
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